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magicalbats · 7 days ago

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Stay, Don't Go

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 12,225

Warnings: Afab!reader, childhood friends, reader is on the ace spectrum, injured Childe (nothing crazy, its just a scratch lol) noncon to dubcon, manipulation and coercion for sexual favors, handjob, mutual masturbation

A/N: The next commission is for @scarameowww (I hope that tag worked, for some reason I don't see your icon populating when I type it!) and I had a lot of fun working on this one, it turned out really soft despite how the tags sound xcvkvndkek Please enjoy, everyone!

⭐

You’re standing in the kitchen, fumbling with one of the last few remaining potatoes from your cellar, when the knock comes at the front door.

It’s a tentatively polite sound, as if the person who’d come calling wasn’t sure they’d find you at home or not, but it makes you jump all the same as if they’d pounded at the chipping wood with the full force of their body. The sharp knife in your hand slips with the involuntary muscle spasm and you hiss a small noise when you nick your thumb with the blade.

Trying your best to ignore the sting, you pause there only long enough to watch as blood slowly bubbles up along the nearly invisible slice in your skin, so razor thin you would have otherwise missed it.

Well, that was just great.

You quickly drop the half peeled potato into the waiting pot on the stove and pop your injured thumb in your mouth, turning on your heel just as another knock rap-raps from the front of the house. “Coming!”

Heavy skirts swaying with each step, you hurry out into the hall and make a beeline for the door where you quickly wrench at the series of deadbolts along the frame. It was just you alone in the house while your father was off serving in the Tsaritsa’s army, after all, so the extra precautions made sense. But it was the middle of the day and not likely to be any hooligans up to no good, probably just one of the other girls from the nearby village if you had to guess.

Still sucking gingerly at your wounded finger, you finally get the last lock unlatched and you swing the door open wide to allow in a fresh blast of icy wind. What you find waiting for you on the other side nearly bowls you over on the spot though and you freeze in place.

Everything else around you seems to fade away to nothing, like you’re standing in the middle of some immaterial void as you look up at the face of the young man standing before you with nothing short of dumbstruck disbelief. You couldn’t believe it.

“Ajax? Is it … it’s really you, isn’t it?”

The coppery headed brunette sends you a playful if not tight edged smile from the other side of the threshold where he’s leant rather heavily against the side of the cottage. “I certainly hope no one else has been showing up at your doorstep with my face. And really, sucking your thumb? Kochanie, I thought we left that sort of thing behind us at the schoolyard.”

You give a small start at that, belatedly realizing that you were still holding your hand just in front of your face. The little cut hardly mattered in the moment though, and a wide grin quickly spreads across your mouth as you step forward to embrace him.

“Don’t tease me, Ajax. When you knocked I was just … wait, are you alright?”

Now that the shock of his unexpected arrival was starting to wear off you notice how stiffly he seems to be holding himself there on your front step, how his expression looks a bit pinched. A rush of concern comes pouring in to douse some of the happy flutters you’d first felt, and you momentarily forget about hugging him in favor of placing a careful hand on his arm over the bulky white cloak that hangs from his shoulders.

Drawing a terse breath, Ajax drops his chin to look at where you’re touching him and his smile turns somewhat wry. “I’d thought I could hide it a little better than that, at least for a while. Guess I really can’t keep anything from you, huh?”

“What is it? What happened, Ajax? Please tell me.”

“It’s nothing to fly off into hysterics about. I just got a bit too careless, that’s all.” Groaning softly under his breath, so quiet it’s nearly imperceptible, he forces himself to straighten up from his slouch which leaves him all but towering over you at his full height.

You can’t help the mild pang of surprise that curls through you though when you realize just how great the difference seems now, wondering if he’d had another late growth spurt since the last time you’d seen him. It had been a few good months now, maybe even close to a year, but …

“You’re injured?”

“Only a little bit.” He laughs a low, thinly veiled sound of pain, as if it were lingering and insistent rather than fading with time. “Like I said, no need to panic. I was just hoping you might let me stay here until I have enough strength to make the rest of the trek home.”

Your mind flies through a million different possibilities all at once. A hundred different wounds, a dozen weapons that could have caused considerable harm to a warrior as accomplished as him and the laundry list of potential complications that came with any number of them. If something was broken it would have to be properly set or it wouldn’t heal right, and if he’d been punctured or sliced with something it could easily end in a lethal infection if not treated … you were overwhelmed just thinking about it, and terribly out of your depth here.

“Kochanie?”

Feeling suddenly numb, you lift your head at his hedging tone. Far be it that you were a nurse or any kind of competent medic, but you weren’t stupid either. You knew exactly how dangerous it could be if Ajax didn’t get the right care he needed and you weren’t confident in your ability to provide that to him.

“Of course you can stay here. My home is always open, you know that. But you need to be seen by a doctor. Come inside and rest while I go to the village to get the physician. I’ll drag him here by his coattails if I have to.”

Still muttering an endless stream of disoriented, vocalized thoughts under your breath, you duck back inside just within the door to snag your own cloak off of the hook on the wall. You quickly start to step around him, focused solely on your objective as you lift the frayed cape to your shoulders, but he stops you in place with a gloved hand on your elbow.

“Wait.” He insists, emphatic enough that you snap your attention back up at his face again. “Don’t go. That won’t be necessary so just stay here with me. Please. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But … I don’t understand, Ajax. If you’re really wounded there’s not much I can do to help you …”

He gives his head a slow shake as the bottomless blues of his eyes disappear behind dark lashes, squeezed shut against the physical discomfort he was clearly feeling. “That’s not true. You’ll help me plenty just by staying here. The truth is … I don’t want to run the risk of Tuecer or my mother seeing me like this. If you bring someone here and word of this spreads, they might try to come knocking at your door the same way I did. Besides, didn’t you used to like playing nurse? Here’s your chance to finally live out that childhood fantasy of yours.”

“That’s not funny.” You insist, heaving a clipped exhale to make your breath condensate heavily in the air. He was only ribbing you a little bit, teasing you the same way he always did, you knew that well. But you still didn’t appreciate it or his attempt to brush off your concern very much. “Your condition could quickly worsen if you’re not properly treated. This winter's been hard and I don’t have much in the way of supplies even if I did know how to set a bone or stitch a gash but … I get what you mean about your family. You don’t want them to worry, right?”

At his stilted nod, the sincerity in his gaze, you shift your weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of relent.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing else I can say to that. Are you certain it isn’t serious or life threatening though? I can leave at a moment's notice, all you have to do is give the word.”

“I promise, kochanie. You worry too much sometimes. It’s just a little scratch, that’s all. Even you should be able to handle something like this without a problem.”

Well, that didn’t exactly instill you with overwhelming confidence but if he was certain he didn’t have immediate need for a doctor then you’d just have to do your best and hope for a favorable outcome. Ajax was much too stubborn to make him do something he didn’t want to and you couldn’t exactly force him either when he was already twice your size even though it didn’t seem like all that long ago when you’d been of a same height with each other. Pushing it any further would’ve been the very definition of fighting a losing battle.

“Fine. But if it starts to look like you’re taking a turn for the worse I’ll go running to the village straight away and you don’t get to complain about it. Does that sound fair?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Water drips and splashes in the basin as you wring the rag out, pointedly ignoring the dull ache it causes your cut. There were far more pressing matters that needed your attention right now though, and you listen to the sound of Ajax shifting behind you, groaning a faintly breathy noise while he works to discard his clothes. The wound was on his chest, he’d said, but you weren’t sure what sort of severity to expect. A gory mess or maybe only a minor laceration? It was sometimes hard to tell with him.

Mentally bracing yourself for the worst and praying for the best, you wait until you hear him sink down on the edge of the bed before turning around. You find him slouched back on his braced hands, grimacing slightly as he slowly nudges at one of his boots with the other to get it kicked off. And it’s no wonder what’s causing the discomfort anymore, a sharp intake of air catching inside your throat the moment your eyes fix upon his abdomen.

The injury did indeed start at his chest, he hadn’t been lying about that part. But it extends well past that and down over his stomach, almost straight to the top of his pants where it miraculously missed his bellybutton by a hair’s breadth margin. Ragged and uneven in spots, it looked to you like someone — or something had caught him good with a sword or … perhaps a lance?

You were positively aghast.

“This is what you call a little scratch?”

Leaving his boot halfway off for the moment, he lifts his gaze to send you a lazy, confident grin. “If you think this is bad you should’ve seen the other guy. Like I said, I just got a bit careless. But it’ll heal up fast if I can sleep it off for a while. I don’t even think it needs stitches.”

You’re not so sure you’re in agreement with that estimation but you decide to inspect it from a closer angle, picking up the basin to take it with you now that you had a better idea of the situation.

Coming right up to the side of the bed where you can stand between the wide spread of his knees, you lean forward to get a better look. Apprehension makes your heart thud heavily inside your chest but, to your surprise, the cut indeed seemed to be surface level at best. It’s bloody and pink around the edges, raw to denote its freshness, but you can make out no sign of bone, organs or even the subcutaneous fatty layer underneath. He must have lurched back from his attacker just in time to avoid it slicing any deeper than it had.

Mouth settling into a firm line, you sink down to your knees and set the water filled basin next to you on the floor. Then you take the damp cloth in your hand and lean up to dab at the bottom corner of the wound, exceedingly gentle in the way you brush at the drying flakes and clumps of blood, the jagged edges of sliced skin. He still hisses though, tensing at the contact, and you shoot him a quick look.

“Sorry. I’ll try to be careful.”

“It’s alright.” Ajax forces out a thin laugh that does very little to soften his tightly shuttered expression. “There’s no helping it in this case so don’t let that scare you. What matters is that it gets cleaned, right? Just stay focused and I’ll be a nice, cooperative patient for you.”

It feels like there’s a solid lump in your throat threatening to choke you up but you heed his imploring all the same and turn your gaze back towards Ajax’s middle again. Taking your time with it to ensure you don’t accidentally pull at the skin or tear the new scabbing off, you patiently work to remove all the brittle residue of coagulated blood along the gouge and wipe away the clinging red stains on his skin as you go.

You’re quite relieved to find that the longer you spend looking at it the less serious it seems. It had been plenty alarming at first glance yet your earlier evaluation quickly proves correct. It may have been a close call on his part but he’d narrowly avoided being gutted like a fish. Thank the Cryo Archon for that.

“What did this to you?” You finally dare to ask some minutes later.

“Bandits.”

You don’t know if you believe that but you keep that thought to yourself as you gradually reach higher up his torso, stopping every so often to clean and wet the rag. It’s easy to get lost in the rhythm of this task, letting your mind narrow and recede until only the simple objective of cleaning him off remains. Maybe it wasn’t the perfect results of a trained professional but you thought you were doing a pretty good job.

“It seems like it’s been some time since you were last home. Where have you been until now?”

“Mmm. I was in Liyue, by order of the Tsaritsa.” He suddenly sucks in a rough breath when you get a bit too close to the most uneven portion of the wound, right below the center of his chest. Your pulse jumps and you quickly apologize, but Ajax just gives his head a slow shake to accompany the faltering exhale he breathes out. “I’m okay, don’t worry. We were just doing early reconnaissance, by the way. I can tell you wanted to ask.”

None of that comes as a great shock but you smile up at him anyway, warming at the familiar sense of affection that curls through you. He really did know you better than anyone else. Your oldest friend, your …

Shoving that strange thought to the back of your mind, you return to the task laid out before you. There was an undeniable curiosity you harbored to hear all of his stories, his escapades in foreign lands, but you don’t bother asking him for more detail than that, knowing he wouldn’t divulge anything of any real importance.

Instead you settle on, “How was it? Everything the traveling merchants and adventurers say it is?”

“It’s a beautiful nation. In fact, I think I’d like to take you there some day … if you’d be interested.”

A quick laugh slips out of you. “Oh, is that so?”

The moment stretches into silence as you finally reach the top of the injury, idly wondering if he didn’t need a few stitches after all while you clean what looks to be the starting point of his wound. You were a novice at best but to your untrained eye it looked like whatever had attacked him had used a heavy downward swing, likely with the intention of cleaving him clean in half. It was horrible to think about but at least he was still alive.

So caught up in your whirling thoughts, you don’t even realize how expectant the quiet becomes until he abruptly shatters it with one, tersely delivered word.

“Kochanie.”

Stilling, you rove your eyes up towards his face again, a distant note of surprise settling in your stomach when you see how grim and resolute he suddenly looks.

“I’m serious.” He tells you with utmost sincerity. “I’ll take you to Liyue someday so you can see it for yourself. Or Mondstadt or Natlan. The whole world. Wherever you want to go.”

You aren’t quite sure what to say to that, uncertain how to read this new mood, but you offer up another small smile all the same. “That’s sweet of you, Ajax. But I’m perfectly happy right here in Snezhnaya. You don’t need to take me anywhere.”

“But …”

He sounds uncharacteristically hesitant and you tip your head to one side in question. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden? Did you lose more blood than you thought?”

Ajax barks a quick laugh, and just like that his outward demeanor shifts back to that of the laidback, confident man in the prime of his youth. His grin turns lopsided, almost cocky, as he leans back to brace his hands on the bed again, giving his taut body a long, lean stretch — clearly meant for your benefit.

“You think me delirious or something, kochanie? I’m perfectly in my right mind. I meant every word I said … but we can discuss that later. Are you satisfied?”

It takes you a prolonged beat to figure out he means the work you’ve done on his wound and you numbly drop your gaze back to the slice taken out of him. This easily would’ve been enough to cripple almost any other man, enough to kill the average person, but not Ajax. Still though, you wonder again if he should have it sewn up to ensure it closed and healed properly. Not like he wasn’t already littered with a myriad litany of different battle scars but …

“I think I’ve cleaned it as best I can.” You venture slowly. “Are you certain we shouldn’t have it stitched though? I could always - -“

“No. No stitches. I told you it would heal up just fine as long as I have ample time to rest, didn’t I?” His smile takes on a sharper edge then, turning into something truly sly. “Now do I get a reward for being such a good boy, nurse? You didn’t even have to tell me to stay still so I think that should earn me something in return.”

Quietly scoffing under your breath, you shoot him an unamused look. “What, like a lollipop? Are you still six years old, Ajax?”

“Aw, come on. Kiss it and make it better for me. You know you want to.”

You hardly wanted to do anything of the sort but at the roll of your eyes he merely arches his back with a playful wriggle to better present the flat plane of his stomach to you. The fact doing so clearly tugs at the skin, threatening to reopen the wound that looked like it had only just started to mend and scab over, fills you with a sickening sense of immediate dread.

“Stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Not until you kiss it. Please, nurse, pleeaaase?”

You have half a mind to smack him for being such a spoiled brat even after all these years but you understood too well exactly how stubborn he could be. He really wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted and, seeing no other choice, you quickly swoop forward on your knees to place a lightning fast peck to the uninjured side of his stomach.

Ajax’s skin is smooth against your lips, rough hewn the way one would expect a man’s to be but somehow still soft with what you could only imagine were the lingering traces of leftover baby fat. It’s so slight that you’d easily overlooked it until now, and feeling it under your mouth sparks a flutter of nostalgic familiarity in your chest.

Suddenly finding yourself wishing for the childhood you’d spent growing up together, you ease back on your folded legs to peer up at him again.

“Happy?”

“Not quite,” he drawls, mischief twinkling in the bottomless depths of his eyes. “It still hurts a little bit, miss nurse. Can I have another?”

You narrow your eyes in warning, wondering what he thought he was playing at here. But knowing that he was injured and likely just soaking up the attention while he had it, you still relent and lean in again to deliver a quick peck to the side of his abdomen.

Drawing a slow, almost anticipatory breath, Ajax shifts slightly to nudge his hips just off the mattress as if in offering, or perhaps needy supplication. “Another? A little lower this time …”

A dull note of uncertainty curls through your gut as you glance at the top of his pants, trying to pinpoint what he hoped to get out of this. You didn’t understand it in the slightest, having never even entertained the notion of touching him in such a way before now, and yet you still find yourself obediently bending your head close to press your mouth to the vulnerable spot just under his navel …

Where you proceed to blow a loud raspberry against his skin, making Ajax jump as if you’d just sucker punched him.

“H - hey! What gives, you little - -“

“I think that’s more than enough for now.” You intone as you push back and climb to your feet with a prim huff for good measure, dragging your hands down the front of your humble, everyday dress to smooth out any wrinkles. “I’ve given you more than enough allowances for one day, I’d think. Now you need to get some rest.”

Ajax looks positively bewildered by this, sharply watching you bend to retrieve the basin as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. “You’re serious? You intend to leave me, just like that?”

Hesitating halfway through the motion of turning to walk away, you send him a confused look. “Like what? I’ve cleaned your wound for you. Do you need something else?”

A mirthless laugh punches out of him, making his shoulders droop slightly as he drops his chin to his chest as if in defeat. “Unbelievable. You really don’t get it, do you?”

“… get what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He says, groaning ever so softly as he straightens from his restless slouch, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “We can talk about it later if you want. I think I should catch a nap though. I’m not in the best mood right now.”

Thinking that was an understatement given his extremely odd behavior, you start to turn away again. “Alright. Just yell if you need anything. While you’re sleeping I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up the ingredients for a poultice that I can put on your wound when I come to check on you later.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll be here.”

And on that decidedly strange note, you slip out into the hall with the basin hugged to your chest, gently closing the door behind you to a soft click from the inner mechanism. He’d changed a lot over the years since the two of you were kids but this was easily the most confounding development yet.

What a strange guy he was turning into.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s well after dark by the time you step inside the room again, carrying a large bowl of various supplies tucked in the bend of your arm while you hold up a softly swaying, glowing lantern with the other. You’d poked your head in a few times over the last few hours only to find him out like a light and softly snoring where he was sprawled out on his back atop the bed. Much to your chagrin, however, he was still fast asleep even now. But it was getting quite late into the night and although you’d hoped to avoid this you’d finally had no choice but to accept the fact you were just going to have to wake him up.

Hopefully he’d slept off his earlier mood, you think to yourself as you creep across the old floorboards, as silent as you can manage. Stopping next to the bed, you set the lantern down on the little dresser beside it to cast half of Ajax’s slack face in gloomy relief. He looks peaceful and blissfully still for once but his eyelids don’t even so much as twitch against the light.

You stand there and watch him for a prolonged moment, glad to see the even rise and fall of his chest rather than the labored breaths that might have indicated a fever was taking hold. Then you move to step around to the opposite side of the mattress, noting that he’d kicked off his boots at some point when you pass by his bare feet.

Crawling up onto the bed with your bowl, you momentarily set it aside next to your knee before leaning over his prone body to lightly touch his shoulder. Still he does not so much as stir though, so you give him a careful nudge.

“Ajax. Hey, wake up. I want to dress your wound for you.”

It takes another few coaxing jostles at his shoulder but at last a tight grimace spreads across his face, lashes fluttering with growing activity before he finally cracks his eyes open with a groggy, disoriented groan.

“Wha … where’mm I? Oh,” his searching gaze lands on you and he visibly relaxes into the sheets, allowing a sleepy half smile to pull at his mouth. “It’s kochanie. I remember now … I came knocking on your door just like when we were kids.”

“Yes, you did.” You give a solemn nod of agreement. “I’m sorry I had to wake you, but I managed to find enough herbs and dried plants to make a poultice. I’d like to apply it before the wound starts to fester but I didn’t want to startle you if you suddenly felt someone touching your stomach out of the blue.”

The grin that spreads across his face now is obviously mischievous but you can tell he’s still half asleep in the way he slowly lifts his nearest hand to lazily fling it across your lap. “I don’t think I’d mind waking up to you touching me very much. You’ve got a good bedside manner, miss nurse.”

“Well, thanks. And you’re not a bad patient to take care of, I guess.” Other than his curious mood swings that is.

Pointedly ignoring the way he idly twiddles with one of the buttons on the front of your dress, you grab the clean rag out of the bowl next to your knee. You’d already soaked it in distilled water, intending only to dampen the scabbing a little bit so the concoction could better do its job, and you carefully bring it down on his chest.

Using a light touch, you gently blot over the wound where the coagulated blood had started to truly harden and solidify. You’re a bit surprised to find that the wound was already closing up impressively well, and in seemingly record time at that, but he doesn’t keep his mouth shut long enough for you to further evaluate this discovery.

“Did I frighten you earlier, kochanie?”

You give him a quick, sidelong glance before focusing back on the wound again. “As if you even could. You were just being weird, that’s all. But I suppose that isn’t so out of the ordinary for you.”

Ajax snorts a quick laugh. “Something tells me those who I’ve faced on the battlefield would have a much different opinion of me. But I’m glad I didn’t scare you. Sleeping on it definitely helped clear my head.”

That makes you frown slightly. “What are you even talking about? I really don’t understand you sometimes.”

“Hmm. You'd like to know?”

“I think I’d appreciate some sort of explanation.”

Humming a soft sound of acknowledgement, Ajax seems to think it over for the next some odd minutes while you finish wetting his skin and set the rag aside to take up the smaller mortar bowl out of the larger one. Giving its contents a quick stir and a final press with the pestle to make sure everything is ground sufficiently, you start to apply it to the wound in a thin yet thorough layer.

“That stuff reeks.” He grumbles, scrunching up his nose.

“Maybe so, but it was the best I could do to try and keep you from getting an infection since you didn’t want to see a doctor. Just bear with it until I get the bandages on and that should help with the smell.”

You don’t mention that the ‘bandages’ were old sheets you’d ripped up into strips while he was sleeping, having had no choice when you’d discovered that you really were out of even the most basic first aid supplies. Once your father sent this month's meager army wages home you’d make sure to stock up on what you could just in case Ajax decided to make a habit of this.

But he doesn’t complain any further while you work over him and for that you’re quite grateful, not being well practiced enough to do this with a bunch of distractions pulling your attention away. He even stays perfectly still for you when you begin to lay out the shorter strips of cloth over his chest and abdomen, lightly pressing to keep the dressing in place. He just silently watches you the whole time with a particular sort of interest reflected in his eyes.

Finally deeming it sufficient some minutes later, you sit back to admire your handiwork. “There. How does that feel?”

“Awful.”

You give your tongue a bothered click. “Ajax - -“

“Have you ever given yourself to a man before?”

Starting at the abrupt question, you turn a horrified look upon him. “What? What sort of thing is that to ask?”

“A perfectly reasonable thing, in my opinion. After all, we’re in bed together right now and I’m even half undressed already but you don’t seem to care one way or another about any of it. And earlier … you were kneeling at my feet, kochanie, yet you acted like you didn’t understand what I was doing.”

You hesitate at that. “… and what were you doing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He scoffs quietly. “I’m a man, you’re a woman. What do you think I was doing? Surely you’re not that oblivious.”

More confused than ever now, your mind races a mile a minute as you try to make any sense of what he’s saying. At first it just doesn’t click, your lived experiences so far removed from the intimacy of relationships and bedding that most of your peers were all too eager to join in on that it just doesn’t even occur to you as a possibility. But then you abruptly realize what he’s insinuating, what he’d meant by being man and woman, and your face positively blazes.

“Y - you … do you really think of me that way, Ajax?”

“Of course I do.” He says as if that should have been the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to him it was. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re beautiful and smart, fierce in your own right. I’ve thought about having you for a long time now and I’ve wanted you for even longer than that. Are you going to reject me, kochanie?”

“Well — no, not necessarily, but - -“

“Then why didn’t you show any interest in me earlier? Why don’t you show any now?”

Your head dizzingly swims. Not only did you have no idea how to answer that when you didn’t even really understand it yourself, but the thought of telling him that you just … simply never had those kinds of thoughts about anyone did not seem to be the kind of response he was looking for here. On the one hand you could be truthful, awkwardly try to explain your perspective on things and likely make an even bigger fool out of yourself than you already have, or you could try to go along with it, for his sake.

Because you did have feelings for Ajax once everything was said and done, just not — those specific ones.

“I’m sorry.” You impulsively blurt before you can think any better of it. “I guess I’m just … easily embarrassed. We’ve known each other for such a long time now, I thought … I didn’t realize - -“

“Do you want me as I want you?” He cuts across, soft yet demanding in his search for a sufficient answer.

Unfortunately you really aren’t sure how to give him that, and you quickly grab for the bowl so you can get up and put some much needed space between the two of you. “L - let’s talk about this later. You still need to rest, and I bet you must be starving by now. I made porridge earlier, I can bring - -“

His hand is suddenly on your elbow, halting you when you’ve only made it halfway through the motion of climbing off the bed, and without any further ado he physically yanks you back into him.

With a startled yelp you fall against his bare shoulder and the bowl of supplies slips from your fingers at some point in the rush, sliding to the rumpled sheets where it’s almost immediately forgotten. Wide eyed and tense, you whip your attention towards his face even as you bring your hands up to push yourself off. But he only grins at you, smirking, for all intents and purposes, and you don’t quite manage to wriggle free quickly enough before he loops his powerful arm across your back to lock you in place.

“Ajax - -“

“Nuh-uh. You’re not leaving until you give me my reward.”

“Wha - … what do you want?”

“A kiss.” He says, dropping his gaze to your lips where it lingers for a prolonged beat before he slowly drags those eyes of deepest ocean back up to yours. “On the mouth this time. Kiss me, kochanie. Please?”

Slowly balling your hands into fists against his chest, you peer into Ajax’s face for a long stretch that seems to bleed into eternity. “I don’t understand what that’s supposed to accomplish.”

“It’ll make me feel better, for starters. You don’t want to see me suffering and in pain do you?”

“… no.”

“Then do it. Come on. Just one little kiss. For me?”

You hesitate to heed his wishes, not exactly repulsed by the thought of putting your mouth on his but just — unenthusiastic about the act. You’d seen plenty of people kiss before and had never felt a stirring or the desire to experience it for yourself, and in truth you hadn’t thought he would be interested in such things either. Maybe that was naive of you though, in retrospect. He was still a man, just as he’d said, and you were still … a woman. So did that mean this was only inevitable? Something you were destined for even if you felt no real yearning for that sort of physical intimacy?

It’s a strange feeling that settles in your gut but, silently reminding yourself that this was for his sake, you cautiously lean down to just brush your lips against his. The sensation doesn’t elicit much of any response at all within your body and you move to pull away, but Ajax is quick to tighten his arm around your back and pin you there.

Whimpering softly when he leans up into you, starting to kiss you with a low, breathy sigh through his nose, you stiffly hold yourself against him while he pecks at your lips in what was clearly meant to be a coaxing manner. It doesn’t work though and you almost feel a little bad about that. Especially when in spite of your inexperience you can still tell that he was far more practiced than you would have ever thought to give him credit for.

It seems like a waste on you, someone who doesn’t even truly want it and therefore can’t appreciate what he’s doing, yet you make no effort to slap him away.

The why of it is a mystery to you but you can tell he’s pleased by your acquiescence in the way he hums a faint sound into your mouth, tilting his head slightly to better work his lips against yours. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he’s trying to do, to understand that he wanted you to open up and let him in, but you eventually yield to this too, forcing the muscles in your jaw to relax.

Feeling the slackening of your mouth, Ajax wastes no time deepening the kiss and he swipes his tongue out to drag a wet line over the soft seam. That does manage to register as a displeasing sensation, prompting you to finally turn away and disengage from him.

But his hand is suddenly in the back of your hair, fisting it close to the roots to hold you in place. A squawk of protest rises in your throat as you finally give his chest a weak shove but he’s an unbudging force against you, taking the chance you've inadvertently given him to spear his tongue deep inside your mouth. You screw your eyes shut and squirm in place while he takes his time exploring you, flickering over your teeth and your tongue, trying to ignore just how unappealing this really is in your mind.

You cared for him deeply, perhaps more than anyone else in the world, but this … it was far beyond the pale.

Moments later when he finally draws back of his own accord to look at you with a heavy lidded, almost dreamy expression on his face, you quickly reach up to wipe the spit from your mouth. He watches you do it with a growing smile, barking a sharp laugh at the way your nose wrinkles in distaste.

“What, you didn’t like it? You were fidgeting an awful lot for me to believe that.”

You don’t know how to tell him that it hadn’t been a positive response so you don’t bother, simply settling on, “I didn’t realize you were going to be so messy about it.”

“Well, can you really blame me for that?” Dropping his tone down to a rather seductive drawl, Ajax casually readjusts his hand to curl around the nape of your neck in a clearly possessive gesture. “Just look at you, kochanie. You’re so sweet and plump, like a ripe cherry turnip waiting to be plucked and eaten at the kitchen table. I could make an entire meal out of you, y’know. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that I always clean my plate.”

You can’t help the way you reel back from him as far as his hand will allow, completely disarmed by what he was saying. “You’ve turned into a fiend! What have they been teaching you at the palace? If your mother ever heard the way you’re speaking - -“

“And she won’t hear of it. Ever. I’m serious, you’d better not go tattling on me like we’re still on the playground.”

The sharpness in his tone, that demand for compliance, cuts through your apprehension like a knife through warm butter, and you just look at him — really look at him for a long, drawn out moment.

And it hits you all at once that he was right. Neither of you were children anymore and you couldn’t keep treating this situation like nothing at all had changed over the long years. You’d been a fool to still look at him the same way you did when the two of you were seven, nine, twelve or even sixteen years old. He was a man now, well and truly, and in hindsight you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ever overlooked that fact.

Because you can see it clearly in his jawline, the shape of his face, and the muscular definition across his chest. His biceps and tight abdominals, very likely what had saved him from being eviscerated. There was still room for him to grow and fill out some more, of course, and you didn’t doubt that he would as he continued to train and grow stronger. But there would be no denying that the Ajax in front of you was no longer the same boy you’d grown up with. You weren’t exactly strangers to each other, yet …

“Fine. I won’t say anything. Can you let me go now? I’d like to go to bed at some point.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I don’t think I’m quite finished with you yet.” He murmurs, back to smiling and perfectly at ease again. “I’ve waited so long to have you to myself, kochanie … and my wound still hurts so badly. Think you can help me out a little more?”

You very nearly tell him no, certain more than ever that you didn’t want to keep playing this game with him, but despite all of your misgivings, no matter how much you didn’t care for any of it, you still feel compelled to give in and bend to his will. He was your oldest friend, after all. You didn’t want to see him suffering or in pain, and you certainly didn’t want him to think you no longer cared for him either.

It seemed you really had no choice in the matter.

“What do you want? Another kiss?”

“That would be nice.” Pausing, he meaningfully flicks his gaze towards your chest. “And maybe you could let me see those gorgeous tits of yours?”

Equal amounts fluster and shock creep up your neck, and you impulsively swat at his shoulder with a quick hand. “Don’t call them that! You’re so vulgar now!”

Chuckling a breathy sound, clearly unperturbed, Ajax lifts his opposite hand to reach for your front where he deftly latches on to the topmost button on your dress to fiddle it open. You suck in a sharp gasp and try to pull back, already slapping at his fingers, but the palm around your neck stops you from making it very far. Despite your halfhearted protests he easily manages to get the first one undone and he reaches for the second even as you anxiously grab at the material to hold it closed. No one had seen you naked since you were a child, not since you first entered puberty and your body started to morph right before your very eyes, and you’d always assumed that would never change.

It seemed unnatural in your mind to be looked at in a state so vulnerable and bare, especially when it was Ajax who was doing the looking, but your attempts to fight him off are cursory at best. He seems to realize this, sensing that your heart just wasn’t in it, because he keeps unbuttoning your dress until the front of it is hanging open almost straight down to your waist.

Eagerly, he slips that groping, searching hand inside to slide it across your ribcage where he can squeeze at plushy love handles. Feeling overwhelmed and far removed from your comfort zone, you merely whimper a frazzled little sound when he tugs you closer, bringing your chest nearer to his face. Reaching up, you press against his temple to halt him, further mussing the fringe of hair that was already disheveled from sleep, but he merely brings his hand up to grab your wrist and tug it away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss at the center of your chest. “Don’t be like that. You want to help me, don’t you?”

“I … I do, but …”

Groaning a heated sound against your skin, Ajax nuzzles into the swell of your breasts, not unlike a babe seeking warmth and comfort, as he uses his hold on you to direct your hand lower. You realize what he’s doing at the last moment and try to pull away but it’s no use. His grip is as good as iron, and there’s nothing you can do about it when he presses your fingers into the front of his pants. The sensation of something firm, hot and seeking, makes your stomach lurch with renewed apprehension.

“Wait! I can’t - -“

“Relax. I’m not going to rush into this when you obviously have no idea what you’re doing and I’m not exactly in the best shape to do all the work right now either.” Pausing, he turns his head to nip at the meat of one breast, teeth sinking into the bountiful flesh for but a moment before quickly replacing them with a soothing kiss. “But I wasn’t exaggerating or lying when I said this would help me feel better. All that adrenaline, the rush of a good fight … I don’t think you understand what it does to a man. And then to come here seeking shelter only to see you looking so damn soft and inviting on your doorstep. I don’t just want you, I need you, kochanie.”

He groans a rough, rumbling sound of anticipation then, his excitement mounting quickly as he adjusts the position of his hand to clasp it over yours. Manually, he closes your fingers around him through the material of his slacks to make you grip it and you respond with a stilted gasp. You’d never felt anything like it before, had never thought to know what touching a man there would be like, but he appears a bit too pleased by your touch for you to tell him off.

Mistaking your silent acquiescence for something it’s not, he quickly releases you in favor of reaching up to fumble with his belt. You watch him work it open with a sense of detachment, as if you weren’t fully in your own body at the moment. Of course you understood on some level where this was going, what he was aiming for, and yet you have no idea how to get out of it now that it’s already escalated this far.

All you can do is swallow around the rock wedged in your throat when he stiffly shifts atop the bed to make the old springs creak, hooking a blunt thumb into the waistband of his underwear as he lifts his hips. A quick tug and a shimmy pulls his clothes far enough down his narrow thighs for him to then reach inside and pull himself out.

And you just stare at it when it pops up into the air, all galvanized steel and sinfully smooth flesh, the unmarred perfection of it interrupted only by the occasional vein you can make out just under the skin. You’re not sure if you should be impressed or intimidated by it but he snags at your lax fingers, grabbing them again before you can decide.

“Like this.” He murmurs, guiding your hand around his cock and making you grip it, the sensation of skin on skin startling you slightly.

Firmly, he drags your hold up along the length of him to make the foreskin at the tip briefly bunch before pulling down to the starting point at the base once again. The glide of his fist over yours is so sure and confident that you quickly pick up on what he wants you to do, thinking if it was just massaging him like this then you could probably handle that much. This didn’t seem so bad, all things considered.

Clearly sensing your reluctant acceptance, Ajax carefully removes his hand from yours, letting it hover over your knuckles for a brief moment while you awkwardly fumble through another series of tugs at his length, completely on your own this time. The motion of your hand is not nearly as practiced as his had been but he still hums a low sound of approval before sliding his fingers lower, dipping between his legs to gently squeeze at himself.

You try not to look at it too hard though, silently praying for him to finish fast so you can put this whole thing behind you and be done with it. The only thought that gives you any amount of comfort in that moment is that at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. His breathing shallows out and deepens, his hips lazily flexing up into the grip of your fist, and you don’t try to stop it when he brings his hand up to impatiently yank at the front of your dress again.

Closing your eyes, you try to focus on the rhythm you’ve settled into while he paws at your breast through the thin slip underneath. It’s the only thing still standing in the way but all it takes is a good pull at the soft cotton and your heavy tit spills out right in front of his face with a muted bounce.

The harried noise you whimper is promptly swallowed up and lost under the masculine groan he gives in response, the sound mirrored in the heavy twitch of his cock. You have but a split second to think maybe you will try to put a stop to this after all, unsure if you could really go through with it, and then his long fingers are sinking into the meat of your breast to lift and give it a fascinated jostle.

“Look at you, kochanie. When did you grow such beautiful tits, huh? I can’t believe you’ve been hiding these from me this entire time.”

“Please, Ajax … stop talking.”

He snickers a quiet laugh at that, offering your breast a tight squeeze to make the nipple puff up as if — as if he were trying to encourage milk to squirt out of you.

“Why should I? You’ve clearly never heard it from anyone else so you should at least hear it from me. You’ve got the body of a fertility goddess. Looking like this, it’s a wonder you don’t have all those spineless men and boys from the village banging down your door to get at you everyday. Have you been saving yourself for me by any chance?”

“N - no …”

“Ooh, that hurts my feelings, you know. But it’s okay. You can be honest with me. There’s no room left for secrets between us, is there?” Adjusting his hand to cup around the underside of your breast, he leans in close to tauntingly flick his tongue over the pebbled peak. Back and forth, back and forth for a prolonged moment to ensure it was nice and stiff before at last sealing his mouth around the areola and suckling.

You pull in a harsh, seething hiss, struggling to keep your hand moving on his cock but it’s hard. It’s so very hard when you were torn between natural aversion to what he was doing to you and somber resignation of your fate. Especially when, glancing down at him through the heavy fall of your lashes, you find that rather than any feeling of high strung arousal he only reminds you of a nursing babe latched to your breast like this. There are no curling notes of desire, no heat, no excitement on your part. Only a sense of obligation that isn’t entirely comfortable but one you understand to be a necessary evil. If this was what was needed to care for him as a man then …

“Does that — feel good?” You warble hesitantly, and he releases you teat with a dull pop to tip his head back, groaning up at the ceiling.

“Yesss. You’re doing such a good job, kochanie … you can tighten your fingers, if you want. Don’t worry about hurting me. You won’t, trust me.”

Gathering your resolve, you heed his advice and close your fist around him more firmly, pumping him with the full force of your arm now even when it makes the muscles start to ache in protest. You just wanted to end this quickly, to see to his needs and then go back to your normal life where you didn’t have to think about or do such things.

And the effort seems to pay off, for his hips give a sensitive little lurch under your ministrations and he moans a heady sound, giving a full bodied twitch at the vigorous stimulation. His head lolling almost drunkenly on the pillow, Ajax peers up at you with a distant, hazy look in his eyes while his hand continues to idly fondle your breast, as if he just couldn’t help himself.

You take his abrupt silence as a good sign though, relentlessly working him over until his breathing soon becomes labored and harsh. His flat stomach expands and contracts rather dramatically now as he tips his locked pelvis up into your hand, shuddering faintly with what you sorely hoped were warning tremors. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of the injury across his abdomen anymore, but you don’t want him overexerting himself and risk reopening the miraculously stitched wound, so you persist even when your arm starts to feel like it might fall off.

“Oohn! Kochanie, I’m - -“ He suddenly blurts, back bowing dramatically against the bed when he jolts as if you’d given him a good zap of static electricity.

For a split second it almost alarms you and you’re not sure what’s happening — but then you feel his cock give a violent spasm in your hand and you watch, completely mystified, as it erupts in a sudden spray of white. That milky jet arcs up into the air where gravity quickly forces it back down to splatter harmlessly across the bandages plastered over the center of his body. Another healthy glob quickly follows, landing just short of the first, and his length aggressively pulses with the last of his spend as it bubbles out of the center slit to slowly ooze down the shaft.

Quickly withdrawing your hand before that sticky mess can touch you, you turn your attention to Ajax’s flushed face, noting that he still seemed to be reeling from the rush of his release. Deciding to take advantage of this opportunity while he was still trying to recover, you duck and slip out from under his arm. The fact he lets you do it comes as a great relief and you rush to stand up from the bed before he can stop you again.

Damn him.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

Fumbling to get your dress buttoned up again, you glance over your shoulder at him. “I have to. I need to wash my hands, for starters, and you still need to get some more rest. You should be satisfied with this, right? I … I gave you what you wanted.”

You certainly hoped he wasn’t going to ask any more of you than that but, to your surprise, he merely gives a slow, satiated stretch across the bed, looking for all the world like a pampered feline. A large, dangerously powerful one, but as harmless as a kitten when his appetite was sated. He doesn’t even seem to feel any shame about his nudity or his now flaccid cock where it was resting along his belly, spent. The exact opposite of you, in fact, and you can’t help bristling slightly at the way he grins up at you as if all was right in the world and nothing was amiss.

“And you did such a good job, kochanie. Thank you. I don’t feel quite so on edge now, I should be able to get some much better sleep this time. But I still want you to stay, even if we don’t do anything else tonight.”

“I don’t see why.” You huff, letting some of your displeasure show. “You’ve already gotten what you wanted from me.”

Ajax tsk’s very softly, pushing halfway up on one elbow to level you with a mildly bothered frown. “You make it sound like I was only using you for my own ends. I’d be happy to return the favor if that’s what you want.”

“As if I even would!” Hissing, you snatch the bowl of supplies from the bed and make a beeline for the door.

He tries to stop you, of course, calling out again for you to wait, but you don’t pause long enough to listen to anything else he might have to say. You can’t. Not when it felt like he’d just thrown a wrench in everything you thought you’d ever known about him and your relationship with each other, the once comfortable dynamic you’d shared. How were you possibly supposed to go back to normal and look him in the face as if nothing at all had transpired between the two of you this night? You really didn’t know. You weren’t even sure if it was feasible to hope for it at this point.

But you were willing to sit on it, let the situation blow over and settle in the back of your mind so both of you could move on from this and return to what you were used to. You just hoped he was willing to do the same.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The chirping of early morning birds is what awakens you from the restless half slumber you’d finally drifted off to after tossing and turning for what had felt like hours. You hadn’t gotten much rest at all, you’re immediately cognizant of this fact before you even open your eyes, but a new day was already starting. Time truly waited for no one and you’d soon have to get up. Aside from everything else that had to be done around the cottage, you needed to check on Ajax to make sure you hadn’t waited too long to apply the poultice and an infection wasn’t moldering the wound but …

This thought only fills you with sinking uncertainty, and you grumpily turn over to put your back to the window in your bedroom so you can snuggle down into the warm sheets again. You had half a mind to forsake him, leave the idiot to his own devices for the day so you could sleep in and recover from that frankly harrowing experience the night before.

But in shifting around you're abruptly made aware of the fact that you were not alone. At first it only registers as a distant suggestion of another’s presence there with you in your bed and then you feel the dull warmth of body heat, noticeable in the Snezhnayan chill.

Panic grips you in an instant and your eyes fly open, suddenly wide awake as you give a startled little jerk. Your vision positively swims with the immediate rush of sensory input that hits you all at once, the surge of adrenaline that slams into you like a solid brick, but a muscle chorded arm wraps around you to stop you from going very far.

There’s no question who it is yet you still gape up at him in disbelief as you furiously blink the remaining sleep from your eyes.

“Ajax! What are you doing in here?” You demand, pressing your balled up hands into his chest and shoving.

He’s just as unbudgable as he’d been last night though and he merely smiles down at you in casual greeting. As if this was the most normal thing for him to be doing, as if he belonged in your bed and he hadn’t selfishly invaded it for his own bullheaded desires. You weren’t sure if you should laugh or cry at the blatant audacity.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, kochanie. Don’t look so mad! I only wanted to make it up to you for last night, that’s all. Just relax.”

Tense and halting, you warily peer up into his face. “Make what up to me? How?”

Shrugging a broad shoulder — still bare, you can’t help but notice — he offers the soft love handles on your side a reassuring squeeze, making you whimper at the sensation of how easy it is for him to grab at you. His hands were so big …

“It seemed to me that you were under the impression I only wanted to take, not give anything in return. That wasn’t fair of me, was it? I want you to feel good too.”

“You can’t.” You insist, fighting the urge to start squirming. Massaging him to completion was one thing. It had been easy to remain a distant bystander, watching yourself go through the motions from somewhere else, but to be on the receiving end would rob you of even that much.

“I can.” He shoots right back, as stubborn as ever and effortlessly matching your intensity tit for tat.

You draw a sharp breath to snap at him with but the words catch in your throat when he somewhat aggressively nudges his pelvis into you, poking at your hip with the unmistakable jab of another erection. Eyes going round as saucers, you blurt a disbelieving sound in his face.

“You want to go again?” You gasp, trying to wrap your head around how he even had the energy for another round so soon after the first. It just didn’t make sense to you. You’d thought that would have been more than enough to tide him over for a good while, not a mere few hours.

Ajax merely cocks a brow at you though, as if you were the one with the problem here and not him. “I’m not sure if you’re underestimating me or if you really just don’t understand how men are, but of course I want to. You’re so lovely, kochanie, and I want you all to myself. Every time I look at you, these gorgeous curves,”

His hand on your back drops down to curl over your ass, squeezing you through the flimsy material of your nightgown to make you squeak a harried sound.

“I can’t help but want to sink myself inside you as far as I can go. Do you even have any idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you? How hard you make me even when I’m hundreds of miles away and I couldn’t touch you like this even if I wanted to?”

“A - Ajax …”

“You said you wouldn’t reject me.” He goes on, insistent and demanding in the way he grabs at your body to gather you tightly against him.

The strength in just his arm alone is absolute and there's nothing you can do to stop him from pressing you into his body, forcing your softer frame to mould to the hard contours of his front. This strikes you as exceedingly odd though, given the state he’d been in yesterday when he first appeared at your door, and your reeling mind disarmingly stumbles over this revelation. There should have been no way he could have naturally healed up that quickly from such a wound, even if it was not near as bad as it could have been. He’d barely been able to stand up straight without groaning in pain but then how —

“Touch me, kochanie.” He murmurs, snapping you out of it with that heated, low growl of wanting. “Just like last time. Please. Put your hand on me, stroke me. Make me cum for you again, moja miłość. I’ll show you how, as many times as you need, okay?”

Ignoring the faint whimper that slips out of you, Ajax presses his forehead to yours in an affectionate nuzzle, those bottomless eyes intently locked on you from only a hair’s breadth away. You think to fight it, desperately wanting your space and your peace of mind back, but just like with everything else you find yourself reluctantly giving in. Simply to placate or to earnestly please him, you’re not sure which.

Yet you still hesitantly slip your hand under the haphazardly twisted blanket, fingers skirting down his chest and over the smooth expanse of makeshift bandages. You don’t even have to search for it when you can clearly feel his cock digging into your hip, and you wrap that hot, pulsing girth in a loose fist, eyebrows lifting when you find him completely nude. He must have crawled into your bed naked, the shameless fiend.

He hums a quiet sound of appreciation though, sounding lazy and indulgent in your ear as he hooks his broad hand around the pudge of your thigh, pulling it forward to drape over his waist. The motion spreads your legs apart, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless, and you mewl an overwhelmed noise when he reaches back around to dip his fingers into that warm space. You’re still not quite sure how he's managed to remain so keen and eager despite having already done this once before, but as always you just can’t seem to tell him no.

And when he touches you, carefully feeling along the slit in your body, you screw your eyes shut against the sensation. Those rough, battle worn callouses drag at delicate skin as he threads them through the coarse hair padding your cunt, undeterred, until he reaches the starting point at the top of your mound.

Gently, almost uncharacteristically so, he starts to rub you there, moving the flats of his fingers in a small half circle, coaxing the nerves to respond to him. You’re more than just a bit horrified when it works and a dull thrum comes to life between your thighs, tingling warmly in response to his ministrations. It frightens you, as alarming as it is unexpected, and you halfheartedly try to pull away from him with a small squeak.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, kochanie.” He consolingly coos at you, tipping his head to give your nose, your cheek a series of fleetingly brief kisses. “I’ve got you. Don’t be scared. Just copy what I’m doing, alright? I’m not going to hurt you.”

You give a full bodied shudder, tucking in close to bury your face in his neck and hide from him. And he allows it rather than pushing you or demanding more, docking his chin against the crown of your head with another low murmur of reassurance.

As the seconds tick by in this manner, with the two of you tangled up and twisted together in your bed so thoroughly you start to forget where one of you stops and the other begins, you find that this, this intimate closeness with him, is not so bad after all. In fact, you rather liked it. The smell of him was deeply familiar to you and it swarms your senses now, drowning out everything else, and his intense body heat an old comfort. It almost reminds you of when you were children, the best of friends sharing a blanket together in front of the fire at his home. You wanted this, craved it more than anything else, you think, but the touching …

Perhaps this was just a necessary tradeoff for that happiness, an inevitability that came with your individual lots in life. And maybe someday you could even come to like doing these sorts of things with him, even if today was not that day.

Because his fingers are sure and confident where they continue to caress over that frustratingly receptive bundle of nerves and you can feel your body slowly coming around to it even if your mind still wasn’t quite in agreement. It could feel good if you let it and if it made Ajax happy to do these things then you wanted to make him feel good too.

So you shyly curl your hand to cup around the tip of his cock where you can follow his lead, lightly rubbing him the same way he rubs you. Your motions are unsure and faltering at first, but at his breathy sound of approval you gradually start to find some of your confidence. The head of him must be sensitive then, you think, just like your cunt.

“That’s good,” he whispers to you, warm breath ghosting over the hair on the top of your head. “Do you feel that sticky stuff? Smear it over me, like this.”

Showing you what he wants, he slides his hand higher up your labia until he can press in slightly on your entrance. A curling note of surprise flashes through your mind when his fingers come back slick, drawing that faint wetness out of you to spread it across your plump lips. You’re not sure what to make of it, what to think, but you mimic him anyway, drawing your palm over his length to leave that clinging gossamer consistency on his skin.

You distantly recognize it for what it is, the physical manifestation of his excitement for you, and you wonder idly at your own response to what he’s doing. In truth you still didn’t feel particularly eager to have him in this manner and yet …

The proof is oozing out of you, slicking your cunt completely against your will. A part of you finds it hard to believe he’s really just that talented with his fingers when you very much doubted anyone else could have netted the same results even if you’d given them an entire day to work at it.

It must just be him then, you decide, and the closeness you'd always shared. That’s the only explanation — and you suck in a stilted breath when he lays his fingers flat over your seam, reaching almost front to back with the length of his hand as he settles in to rub you with long, drawn out strokes now.

That fleshy friction makes you feel strangely dizzy but you remembered this from last night, the way he’d manually closed your fist around him and guided you through the motion. It’s a real struggle when you could hardly think straight anymore, but you force yourself to take him in hand again, matching the same pace and rhythm that he’s set for you.

“Oohhn, that’s perfect, kochanie. Just like that. You’re doing so good for me. So soft, so warm …”

Rumbling a masculine sound of ratcheting arousal, he shifts against you to work his other arm underneath your body. It almost manages to startle you, having not realized he’d been able to keep one hand to himself this entire time which was so unlike him, in retrospect, but you don’t even pretend to fight it when he pulls you up to lay half on top of him with your breasts pressed to his chest.

You try to redistribute your weight though, worried about hurting his wound, but he keeps you firmly locked in place no matter how you try to adjust yourself. Going still with a mild click of your tongue, you peer into his face, reminding yourself to keep tugging at his cock in the tight space between your bodies. You were slowly becoming more accustomed to the gesture although your arm quickly begins to ache again, but it was decidedly well worth it getting to see him like this.

He looked pleasure struck and almost intoxicated, his expression pinched with arousal, and yet he still finds the wherewithal to grin up at you when he catches your attention on him.

“What? Did you think you were too heavy for me?”

“You’re injured.” You mutter, embarrassed, but he only shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t hurt me. I told you that last night, didn’t I? You’d better not forget … I’m not some simple farm boy from the country. I can handle you just fine.”

Unfortunately you weren’t yet sure if you could handle him, but you were willing to learn as you fumbled your way through this confounding situation together. As long as he was happy then you could be happy too. Probably. It was worth a shot, at least, and you slowly lower your face to his, hovering just above his parted lips.

You weren’t certain if you wanted to take that plunge on your own just yet though, so you merely look into his eyes instead. So pretty for as unusual as they were. “Just tell me if you change your mind and I’ll get off. You don’t have to push yourself for my sake.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” he says, grinning a devious smile when he pinches you tight. “You’re staying right here with me and I’m not going anywhere either so you’d better get comfortable. You know I have a lot of lost time to make up for and plenty to teach you too.”

That earns him a roll of your eyes and a tired huff. Somehow you got the feeling that the two of you were going to end up spending most of the day in this bed but, strangely enough, that didn’t sound so terrible anymore. You could live with it, at least.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #childe tartaglia ajax #childe x reader #self insert bullshit

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magicalbats · 9 days ago

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Just making a general announcement that the third comm has been sent out and I’ll be starting on the fourth very soon. What a fun batch of commissions this has been! I feel like once all is said and done we’ll have covered the whole gauntlet of possible tropes. lol We’ve had incest, femdom, some light spanking and deflowering, and now … well, I don’t want to give too much away, but just know that none of these fics are quite the same flavor. 🤭

Anyway, I have to hop on ZZZ and do Ju Fufu’s agent quest before I run out of time. I’d also like to at least start on the Fate/ collab tonight, if time permits, although I do wish they’d included Gilgamesh in the event somehow. He’s my favorite, which at least partially explains why I like Mydei so much. lmao

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magicalbats · 12 days ago

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I just commented on the Ao3 posting for the Charred Manuscript, and I just have to reiterate it here. That story is going to live rent-free in my head for a long time. You’re creating miracles in the time of the great Scar content drought. I hope you’ll write more about our favorite Fractsidus overseers soon.

Omg thank you!! I was actually just reading your comment in my inbox from where I got the notification. 🙏🥹 You’re very sweet for going out of your way to comment twice, I really appreciate that!

And not to worry, for better or worse Scar does indeed have his claws in me despite the extreme, year long drought. If 2.5 delivers the way I’m hoping, praying, begging it to I probably will word vomit another little something something for our favorite lamb. ❤️ Or a big something something, knowing me. lol

Incidentally I do have a plot bunny kicking up dirt in my head for Cristoforo, I did happen to notice he doesn’t seem to have like. Any fics at all yet on AO3 except mine and one other when I looked. So maybe before I start on the fourth commission, I’ll quickly bang that out. We shall see. 🤭

#also I’ll just take this opportunity to let everyone know the third and current comm is very close to being done #I’m shooting for Friday to have it edited and sent out 🤭

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magicalbats · 18 days ago

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Know nothing of wuwa but ur x readers are so peak i dont even care, ill read anything from you mwwaa

Xmdkdjz that is so sweet, thank you!! 🙏 🥹 I hope you enjoy it!

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magicalbats · 18 days ago

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In case no one has told you yet your most recent fic isn't under a read more :) just a heads up!

Oh shit, I’m so sorry guys!! 😭 I’ll fix it right away!

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magicalbats · 18 days ago

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Alright, never mind. The celebration is cancelled.

Apparently WuWa pulled a bait and switch on me and Scar only appears for a few seconds with NO dialogue so I guess everything we saw in the 2.4 trailer will happen in the next patch.

I hate this fucking game, bro! I’ve never in my life seen a developer fumble every single chance they’re given so spectacularly. If 2.5 doesn’t absolutely blow it out of the park and sufficiently placate me I’m DONE with this shit and anything else Kuro Games ever puts out for the rest of my life!

And you CAN quote me on that!

#like I guess that’s on me for choosing to believe and have hope in Kuro to actually do something worthwhile for once #silly me for being so stupid that I actually believed in them 🤪#I cannot BELIEVE they made us wait two and a half weeks for this shit I am positively burning with incandescent rage right now

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magicalbats · 18 days ago

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The Charred Manuscript

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 11,871

Warnings: Afab!reader, noncon to dubcon, threesome, physical restraint, spit roasting, piv, blowjob, brief cunnilingus

A/N: Sorry the pic I had to use for this is so low quality, it was literally the best I could find. lol But the final countdown is officially upon us, and assuming the banners just flip over in about ... five hours we'll be seeing Scar again. Finally. After a whole fucking year. Hopefully well see how well I did at guessing their dynamic. 😂

⭐

Behind you Lupa snores, sprawled out carelessly atop the bed you were sharing. Outside of the hotel room window Septimont continues to buzz with the sounds of life, though noticeably dimmer and more subdued now than it was in the light of day.

You would be going into the semifinals of Agon tomorrow and you couldn’t sleep. Part of it was excitement for the battle ahead, sure, while another part was pure jittery nerves. It wasn’t every day that you got to fight in front of a cheering crowd with every eye riveted to you, after all, and the previous such battles up til’ now had been appropriately exhilarating as a result. But beyond that there also existed a sliver of fear too.

Not at the matchup itself or your ability to best your opponents, nor was it even the prospect of disappointing Lupa after she’d already placed so much of her trust in you. It was the uncertainty of what awaited you in your dreams that kept you awake, and for good reason. Phrolova’s last visit had left you feeling more than just a bit shaken up. You hadn’t even realized she could enter into your sleeping subconscious like that.

You didn’t really want a repeat of it, if you were being honest, especially when she’d hinted that there was yet another Overseer in Rinascita making moves behind the scenes. That was dangerous enough on its own. Especially when you had no way of knowing what she was capable of in that dreamy dimension of blood red flowers and the rifling pages of countless books. But you would need all of your strength and energy for the match tomorrow which left you in a bit of a predicament. No way could you stay up the whole night and not expect it to affect your performance in the ring, yet there really was no telling what the Fractsidus might decide to pull while you were asleep and unable to defend yourself. You truly had no idea what to do here.

The sound of you breathing out a tired sigh into the warm, humid night seems to stir Lupa from her slumber, and she gives a lip smacking groan as she half twists on the bed as if to face towards you. When she speaks, however, you can tell she’s still caught somewhere in the in between of sleep and waking.

“Y’still awake?” She grumbles at your back, her voice thick and her speech slightly slurred. “Get some sleep. Important day t’morrow. Gotta’ …” Interrupting herself with a deep, settling inhale and a comically loud yawn, Lupa nuzzles back down into the mattress again. “Gotta’ get some … sleep, Rover.”

You smile to yourself in the dark, feeling strangely comforted by her oblivious lack of concern for any of the troubles you faced. As far as she was aware your biggest worry should be winning the Agon with her, not letting your partner down, and you quickly decide that this was indeed much more important than whatever dreams the Fractisdus might send your way.

You could likely handle it, regardless, even if you had felt uncomfortably helpless and at Phrolova’s mercy the last time.

But you try not to think about that too deeply as you sink further into your pillow, eyes slipping shut so you can finally drift off for the night. It takes a bit of willpower on your part for you to relax your body enough for your breathing to shallow out and deepen but, eventually, you do fall asleep to the soft sounds of Lupa’s snoring.

And for a fleetingly brief moment in time, everything feels right in the world.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You’re not particularly shocked when you open your eyes some indeterminable amount of time later to find yourself standing on a cold, choppy shoreline. Feet sinking slightly into the sand grit and pebble strewn silt underneath you, your gaze lifts to peer out over the seemingly endless beach.

It appears to stretch on forever into the distance and, when you turn to look behind you, you’re greeted by the exact same view. Nearly identical in many ways, it almost gives you the impression of a continuous loop that would feed into itself if you chose to follow the churning, white foam waves in either direction.

To your right stretches an eternal sea. Dark and impenetrable, it almost looks more like an ink spill that has swallowed half of the world whole. You wouldn’t want to go swimming in its murky depths but, by the time it reaches the shore on frothing swells and rushing surges, the water turns clear as it washes over the rocks at your toes. Instinctively, you take a step back to put some more distance between you and the strange seawater, certain that you didn’t want it touching you. Even putting its mysterious consistency aside, you could tell it was freezing at just a glance.

To your left rises a steep, beachside hilltop with an old and decrepit plank wood staircase that leads up, up, up, to the villa at the pinnacle of its peak. It sits there amongst the charcoal clouds with all the imposing presence of a crown perched atop the head of a long dead ruler, eternally looking out over the vast ocean that was once its now bygone kingdom.

Even from down where you’re standing you got the sense that this shuttered manor was the true master of this place, the living center of its world. Its heart.

There’s nothing else that you can make out for miles around.

Realizing that you have no other choice, you start to walk across the beach towards the foot of the stairs. It doesn’t exactly look safe or sturdy, but if it got you any further away from that unsettling tide behind you then you were happy to take it.

Decaying wood creaks and groans as you begin making your way up the incline but luckily it holds fast. You can see the wood splintering and peeling away in spots while you wind your way towards the top of the hill, following the predetermined path laid out before you, and somewhere in the far distance a bird calls out. Looking to the sky, however, reveals nothing except a dreary, overcast cloud covering that seems to hang so low that it almost touches the tallest spire on the villa. You see nothing, hear nothing except the lapping waves at your back.

You know what this is, of course. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure it out after having already seen what some of the Fractsidus could do to bend and manipulate reality. But knowing that you were asleep in bed with Lupa next to you back in Septimont, somewhere far removed from where this place was, and understanding exactly how helpless that made you was an unnerving prospect. For as long as you were under their thrall, trapped within your own subconscious mind, there was likely very little you could do to fight back.

The weight of this knowledge has your chest feeling tight as you finally reach the last step but you can’t quite seem to stop yourself from moving forward. As if pulled by some invisible string, an exigent summons you couldn’t have ignored even if you’d wanted to, you walk towards the villa in something not unlike a trance.

Glancing up at its looming facade, you can tell that it was once white and pristine, likely a reflection of its owners wealth and influence, but it looked like it had long fallen into disrepair for many years. Maybe even decades. Centuries? You couldn’t be sure. The windows are shuttered and boarded up, a few spots are missing panels in the wood where they seem to have peeled off and cracked overtime, as if the unforgiving weather had relentlessly buffeted it into the state it was now in. And when you at least reach the front, you find the steps leading up onto the porch sunken and collapsed on themselves, indicating that they probably didn’t get much in the way of regular visitors.

You’re a bit chagrined by that thought but you still hop up onto the wraparound porch and shuffle towards the door. The paint is flaking off here too, the metalwork tarnished and rusting, and you almost catch yourself reaching for the bell string to announce your arrival. Quickly deciding that was silly though, given the total decrepitude of the building, you instead grab for the doorknob.

It hardly comes as a shock when it unlatches as soon as you test it, swinging open with a shriek from the hinges. Hesitating there for a moment, you stop and listen. But it’s completely still and silent inside, not even the scurry of an errant rat reaching your ears to indicate that there was any life at all in this place. You know there must be something here though, and you step over the threshold to another sighing groan from the hardwood.

Leaving the door open to let what little light there was inside, you creep through the foyer and into a short hall. On one side there sits a dark staircase that stretches to the second floor above but you can’t make out what’s up there from your vantage point and you’re not so sure you want to test those steps to find out. In front of you the corridor stretches ever onward into the dark and to the other side of you …

The wall opens into what looks to be a spacious sitting room that may have at one time been used to receive guests. Assuming there had ever been any to this desolate place, of course, and you cautiously inch towards it to poke your head inside.

“Hello?”

All that greets you is a thick layer of dust, long abandoned cobwebs and, through the bottom corner of a large bayside window, the rather scenic view of the ocean waves below. Nothing else in this room seems to be particularly noteworthy — a moth ravaged sette, more rotting wood in the form of a carved mahogany writing desk and an end table decorated with a crawling vine motif, an ornamental rug that had seen better days — so you move towards the window, thinking you might look out over the beach to see if it really went on forever or not.

You don’t quite make it that far though when a faint trill in the air suddenly stops you dead in your tracks.

Frozen in place and as still as any statue, you stand there for what feels like an eternity, just listening to the far distant notes of what you suspected was a violin. It’s the first noise you’ve heard since that unknown bird call and the only indicator thus far that you were not alone. Even having expected something like this to happen, you still find yourself breaking out into a clammy sweat. If it was ambience they were going for, they’d certainly accomplished it.

Forcing your lungs to expand with a steadying breath, you finally make your feet turn back towards the resoundingly empty hallway. There are no signs of movement though, no activity that might alert you to the trap that was being sprung, so you slowly step out into the corridor again to look around. Everything seems to be exactly as it had been when you’d first entered except — if you focused your ears on it enough you could almost make out where that sound was coming from.

Deeper into the abandoned villa, of course. That hardly comes as a surprise though and you were well aware that a smarter person probably would have taken that as their cue to vacate the premises immediately. But smarter people wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with the Fractsidus in the first place and, realizing that you didn’t really have any other options here, you wander further into the darkness.

The light coming in from the open door only reaches so far and you’re soon completely enshrouded in oppressive shadow. Struggling to make your eyes adjust while you rely on your other senses in the meantime, you lift a hand to touch along the wall to guide you. Eventually you hit a door jam that you step through into a much bigger entryway that seems to connect to the rest of the house at large. On an opposite wall are two large paneled windows that allow some small slivers of gloomy, dust mote ridden illumination in, helping you to determine the general layout of the room. A large dining hall, maybe. You can also hear those soft, fleeting notes a bit more clearly now and you somewhat apprehensively follow them over to a set of carved double doors on the far end.

Bending your head close to listen, you wonder if this is another sunroom or perhaps some sort of drawing room. It was nearly impossible to guess at the floor plan of this place, especially when you could scarcely see anything at all, but it seemed about as likely as anything else. Was your host waiting just inside for you to find your way to this place, or was it simply a lure meant to draw your attention while they circled around you from behind?

Was it Phrolova again?

Or had the mysterious Overseer she’d alluded to simply decided that now was the time to make an appearance?

That question compels you forward more than anything else does and you reach for the door handle, feeling decisive if not a bit uncertain regarding what you would find on the other side. The partially rusted out inner mechanism grinds and rumbles but gives way with a hollow little click. Bracing yourself for the unknown as much as the possibility of a fight, you swing the door inward and step over the threshold into … a clean, perfectly furnished den.

Bathed in the warm glow of a crackling blaze in the fireplace, every piece of furniture your eyes sweep over is in perfect condition and such a stark contrast to all of the disrepair you’d seen that you can’t stop from shooting a surreptitious glance back the way you’d come. Sure enough, everything in the connecting room is ramshackle, dirty and falling apart with rot — but you only have a split second to register surprise before the door slams shut on you with a deafening bang!

Your heart lodges in your throat as you jump back from the entryway and fall into a defensive stance, readying for a confrontation. It never comes though, and instead you only hear the soft flicker of a page being turned somewhere behind your back.

Whipping around, your attention jerks towards the far corner of the den in search of the source. At first you don’t see anyone, just as you hadn’t when you first stepped into this room. But then a faint shift in your peripheral accompanied by the rustle of moving clothes draws your attention to the high backed, gilded chair in front of the fireplace and you realize that someone is sitting there. You can’t see who it is from this angle, yet now that your attention has zeroed in on them you can indeed make out the occupying presence of another person there with you.

They make no move to get up and confront you though, and they don’t speak to you either, so you cautiously straighten from your crouch to glance around at the rest of the room. The imposing face of an ornate grandfather clock looms up out of the relative darkness, almost eerily lit by the dancing glow from the fire. It’s flanked by a series of expansive bookshelves that are filled to the brim with tome after heavy tome from floor to ceiling, not even a single empty spot that you can make out in their ranks. On the other side sits a slant-lid writing desk, the top left open to show off a small stack of parchment, a quill and a waiting inkwell as if its owner had just recently stepped away.

The source of that haunting melody becomes apparent to you now as your gaze drifts over the petal trumpeted phonograph that sits atop a daintily carved ornamentation table. The record is still spinning but the needle has drifted off so that the only sound coming out of it now was that of empty air. It had been a trap to lure you in after all.

Dragging your attention back towards the blazing hearth and the tall backed chair in front of it, you momentarily weigh your odds. It would have been foolish and ill advised to fly off into a blind attack without fully understanding the situation first, you knew that. But if it was who you thought it might be then you could at least take some comfort in the knowledge that you’d escaped without a scratch the last time you’d seen her.

“Phrolova? Is that you?”

Forcing your feet to move, you start to draw closer to the chair.

“Oh, were you expecting her? I’m afraid you might be a bit disappointed then, Rover.”

That was not Phrolova’s voice.

It catches you off guard enough that you hesitate midstep, feeling your pulse start to quicken as you stare in disbelief at the back of the chair. That was a man who had spoken just now. Certainly not the soft toned, slightly raspy drawl of the girl you’d seen the last time your dreams had been invaded. But did that mean this was the other Overseer she’d mentioned? You had no idea how to handle this one or what he was capable of. This might be more dangerous than you’d first thought it to be.

Instinctively your hand reaches for the sword at your hip but when you find it not there, withheld from you by the orchestrator of this strange realm of hallucinations, you have to make do with simply balling your fingers into tight fists. If it came down to it you still had options to fight your way out of here, but you weren’t so sure how well that would pan out for you.

All you could do was meet this potential threat head on and hope for the best.

With your posture tense and ready to react at a moment's notice, you cautiously step closer to the fireplace until you at last come up alongside the finely upholstered chair. Glancing down at its occupant, it takes your startled mind a prolonged beat to make sense of what it is you were seeing. This person was not a stranger to you, nor was he the faceless monster you’d assumed him to be. You’d met him before. You knew this man. Had even spoken to him at length on a handful of occasions now. It was —

“Cristoforo?”

The shock in your voice makes the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement but he still doesn’t glance up at you even when you’re standing over him like that. His summer green eyes, the brightest thing you’ve yet seen inside this dreary domain, remain fixed on the page of the open book in his lap even when he deigns to speak again.

“I had so hoped you’d remember me. It’s been a while since our last meeting. How have you been? Would you like a cup of tea, or perhaps some wine to make you feel more comfortable?”

It takes every ounce of strength you possess to forcibly shrug off your bewildered incredulity, fixing the playwright with a scowl. “I didn’t come to make a house call. What are you doing here? Are you really aligned with the Fractsidus?”

He chuckles softly at that, making his shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly with the mirthful laughter. “Ah, so she must have revealed the penultimate twist already. That’s alright though. You would have figured it out soon enough anyway, regardless of her intervention. I’m not exactly putting forth much effort to hide it right this moment, am I?”

“Just answer the question.”

Tsk’ing very softly, Cristoforo gives his head a brief shake while he sedately closes the book in his hands. Finally tipping his head back, he peers up at you with an infuriating little smile that makes you want to punch him in the face and get it over with. You could already see where this was headed and it almost certainly wasn’t anything good. Burn it all.

“Such impatience, Rover. I suppose what he said about you was true then. And here I’d thought to give you a bit more credit than that. A pity.”

An uncertain chill curls through your body, prompting you to stiffen your spine as every single hair follicle suddenly stands on end. You didn’t like the sound of that in the slightest.

“What who said about me?”

“Oh, but I’m sure you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” Smile growing wider, he leans into the armrest and docks his chin in the waiting palm of his propped up hand. Just looking at you. Practically grinning now. “Although I do often deal in misdirections, I’d like to think the answer should be an obvious one. Come, Rover. Why don’t you take a guess?”

Your mind reels at the suggestion, the implication of what he was saying, but you’re not so sure you can believe it. There was no way he could mean what you suspected … could he?

“I’m not interested in playing guessing games with you, Cristoforo. Tell me what you meant.”

He regards you for another moment longer, as unbothered and placid as any serene effigy you’ve ever come across, before slipping his eyes shut with a rather wistful little sigh.

“What a shame. I was looking forward to having some fun with you first before I’m forced to share you with my associate but it looks like you’d prefer to get straight to the point. Well, that’s fine too, if you ask me. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. He’s missed you so terribly since he last got to see you in Huanglong, you know.”

Your stomach drops and plummets right through the ground underneath you. It feels like you’re free falling in some vertigo inducing spiral despite standing perfectly still and in one place. The room starts to spin. There was only one answer, one man, one name. You didn’t understand how it was even possible but clearly he must know something you don’t.

“How do you - -“

You never get to finish your sentence.

A pair of grasping, clawing hands bursts out of the darkness behind you, snagging one arm across your chest up to the shoulder where it latches onto you like an iron manacle. The other wraps around your neck, not unlike a winding snake, to smother your nose and mouth with the broad palm. For a harrowing stretch of seconds the only thing you register are the soft squeaks of skintight leather and PVC moving with the body it’s attached to as well as the unnatural heat coming off of the person at your back, the acrid smell of burning. Then, all at once, they’re aggressively yanking you backward to damn near take you right off your feet.

It’s over in a heartbeat.

Slamming back against a hard, stiflingly hot body, you give a wild shout into the palm over your mouth but it’s no use. Even you can’t quite make out what it is you’re trying to say, and you ferociously twist against his hold. But he won’t let go, making the struggle that ensues a frustratingly subdued yet violent one as the two of you strain and rock against each other with each desperate lurch you give. Stumbling, wrenching, shoving and pushing. You’re locked in a seemingly matched battle of wills and it’s only when he finally drags his hand down to grip around your throat, jerking your head back at an extremely uncomfortable angle, do you finally allow yourself to give up the fight. At least for the moment, anyway. This clearly wasn’t getting you anywhere and you needed to preserve as much of your strength as you could.

So you force yourself to grow still against him, tense and shuddering from the diminished oxygen in your lungs. With your head yanked back like this you can’t see much of anything other than the ceiling, which you now notice is decorated with filigreed panels. It’s an odd thing to fixate on given the situation but the longer you stand there like that with him the more lightheaded you start to become. He was just so damn hot.

Rumbling a low groan of anticipation, the hand around your neck at last loosens and reaches back up towards your face again. You try to turn away from it but he’s got you so thoroughly pinned against him that you have very little wiggle room to move in. He merely clucks his tongue at you and hooks his brutish palm under your chin, squishing the meat of your cheeks with his fingers and forcing your lips into a slight pucker as he demandingly turns your attention back around.

Of course you’re not the least bit surprised to find Scar leering down at you, his grinning smile all teeth and his mismatched eyes glinting dangerously. Your pounding heart still skips a beat though, as if his presence there comes as a shock to your system despite having half expected as much, and you make one more half hearted attempt to squirm free.

No good. His arms were like solid chorded steel around you.

“Well, well, Rover. We meet again at last.” He sneers at you, his voice lilting with hard punctuation to belie his excitement. “You’re looking as charming as ever I see. It’s been so long now since we last saw each other but Rinascita seems to be treating you well. Did you miss me? I certainly did you.”

Frowning up at him, you snap your head back to dislodge his clawed fingers from your face so you can speak. “You’re supposed to be rotting away in a Jinzhou prison cell right now. How did you even get here?”

“Oh, no need for you to worry about that, little lamb. I have my ways.” Grin somehow widening even more, he readjusts his grip under your jawline to yank you back in place and hold you where he wants you.

Seething through your teeth, you watch him start to lower his head, leaning in as if … as if to kiss you.

Your eyes go round as saucers as you wrench back in surprise. But there’s nowhere for you to go, nothing you can do with your arms mercilessly pinned down at your sides. From your peripheral, you can see Cristoforo unfold himself from the chair with a subdued motion and you flick a nervous, sidelong glance at him. Scar would have been difficult enough to deal with on his own but between the both of them … you weren’t entirely sure how you would get out of this.

To your growing uncertainty, however, he merely steps right past where you’re still struggling in Scar’s arms while he hovers much too close to your mouth, maliciously cooing at you, and makes his way up to the phonograph instead. You try to twist your head around to see what he’s doing but Scar holds fast, squeezing your face so tight it hurts. Hissing a vitriol infused curse at him, you renew your helpless squirming in an attempt to dislodge one of your arms out from under his.

“Dammit, Scar! Let me go!”

“Aww, now why would I do that? I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time, you know. All I’ve had to do over the last few months while I was left to rot in that stinking Jinzhou prison was think about you … dream about you … imagine how I’d rip you to shreds once I finally got my hands on you again.”

His beast-like nails dig into your skin for emphasis, drawing a sharp little gasp of pain from you. Seeing your reaction makes him laugh; at first only a low, rumbling chuckle but it quickly grows in strength until he finally throws his head back to cackle up at the ceiling with his full chest.

The sound is only further punctuated by the phonograph scratching back to life, the somber notes of a weeping violin filling the room and making your unease swell disproportionately. You couldn’t seem to keep your ratcheting fear under control any longer as you mindlessly twist in a final bid for freedom.

Pivoting his weight to match the redistribution of yours, Scar rather roughly jerks you around to face Cristoforo. Once your eyes stop spinning in their sockets you’re able to see he’s still standing next to the table where his book now sits and when your narrowed gaze lifts towards his face, he just pins you with another one of those serene, eternally calm little smiles of his.

“Fret not, darling love. You’re safe here with us. At least for the time being, anyway. So just relax. Despite my colleagues' … enthusiasm, we don’t actually intend to do you any harm today. We merely wished to talk with you. That’s all.”

Grunting through your tightly clenched teeth when Scar leans heavily into you from behind, forcing you to bend forward and hunch under his unexpectedly sturdy weight, you struggle to keep your attention on Cristoforo.

“What is there to even talk about?”

“Oh, but there’s plenty for us to discuss, isn’t there?” You are the star of the show, after all.” Green eyes dancing sardonically in the cast of the fire, the blond moves to come stand in front of you. With a perfectly casual motion, he reaches out an elegant hand to slip his fingers under your chin and nudge your face up at him. “My infernal friend here seems to think you’re the one we’ve been seeking and I must admit I’m inclined to agree with him. So what say you, formidable Rover? How about joining us instead? I’m quite certain we can make it worth your while.”

“As if you have anything to offer me!” You spit at him, prompting Scar to belt out a fresh peel of laughter that makes his frame shake against you.

“Darling, darling, darling! But how can you know if there’s nothing for you here when you haven’t even heard what it is we can give you yet? At least listen to us first. That’s only polite, isn’t it?”

Still snickering under his breath, Scar releases his hold on your jaw so he can reach down to splay his wide hand out over your lower belly, pressing down on the organs within just ever so. That manages to surprise you enough that your mind momentarily short circuits, and you simply stand there with the two men in numb disbelief. Far be it that you hadn’t picked up on the undeniably flirtatious way he often spoke to you but … to do this here, right now, in front of another Overseer? Surely he wasn’t serious.

“You seem surprised.” Cristoforo murmurs, amused. “Not that I can hold that against you, I suppose. I’ve heard all of your previous meetings with us have largely been interrupted before any real discussions could happen. Not to worry though. I’ve taken great care to ensure that won’t happen again.”

“What are you - -“

He gives your chin one final tap that might have been read as encouraging in almost any other situation, chuckling quietly under his breath as his fingers slip away. You frantically try to track the movement of his hand when he then reaches down as if to touch you as well — but Scar turns his face to nuzzle into your neck, taking an aggressive nip at your pulse and thoroughly distracting you.

Groaning softly when you feel the bottom of your tunic lift as Cristoforo slips his hand under it, you give a weak jerk back against Scar but he still won’t budge. He’s got you so thoroughly pressed to the front of him that all you can do is strain in place, frantically kicking at the rug under your feet in a bid for leverage. It’s utterly useless though. You simply don’t have the physical strength to break free from either of them, and even trying to squeeze your thighs together does very little in the way of good to keep Cristoforo out.

He merely bullies his wrist up between your legs despite your best attempts to block him, and you jolt when he rather unceremoniously cups your pussy in the palm of his hand. Even through the layer of your shorts you’re hyper aware of the body heat bleeding off of him and it makes your cunt feel unbearably warm.

Ignoring your seething gasp entirely, Cristoforo hums a thoughtful sound to himself as he gives you an experimental, kneading squeeze through your clothes as if to test the plushy give of your labia.

At the same time, Scar has taken to mouthing at your neck with eager, open mouthed kisses that make his rough lips drag over the skin there. He’s ten times hotter than the playwright though and it feels like he’s burning from the inside out, making you sway almost drunkenly in his hold as your head lolls back against his armor plated shoulder. This wasn’t good. You could feel your energy sapping away much too fast for you to stop it.

“This isn’t … ahhn, what I would consider a compelling argument, you know.”

“But we haven’t even gotten started yet, have we? Rest assured that impatience of yours is charming in its own way, Rover, but my associate is for once right. You really should give us a chance before you make up your mind.”

“I don’t even understand what this is supposed to accomplish. What - what do you want from me?”

Rumbling a low sound from deep within his throat, Scar lifts his face to brush his mouth over your jaw, your cheek, aiming on a controlled trajectory for your lips. He stops just short of kissing you though, merely breathing in the air that escapes with your ragged exhales as if it were his sole source of oxygen.

You don’t exactly appreciate how very close to you he is like this, curling himself around you from behind like a possessive serpent guarding its treasure, but the proximity allows you to clearly see how his expression shifts. Slackening slightly as if with barely contained ecstasy that makes his dark lashes flutter before your eyes. He was enjoying this far too much.

“I already told you once before, didn’t I? Oh, but you do hurt my feelings sometimes, Rover. You really do.” Looking hardly put out, Scar slowly tips his head to the side so he can better line his mouth up with yours, speaking directly against your lips now. “We want you. All of you. The good and the bad. That stunning beauty and the terrible ugliness too. Don’t you see it? Those inconsequential nobodies only want you for what you can do for them. As soon as you stop being so helpful and complacent they’ll discard you like days old rubbish. And if you ever try to fight back, to stand up for yourself, well … they’ll seek to destroy you. They’ll kill you for what you are, what you represent.”

Stiffly holding yourself in place so you don’t accidentally close the distance between you and him, not wanting to unintentionally encourage his behavior, you carefully tip your face up just a pinch so you can speak against his cheek. “Are you trying to tell me the Fractsidus wouldn’t do the same? I’m not stupid. You want to use me for your own purposes too.”

“That’s not true at all.” Cristoforo mildly cuts in. “On the contrary, we merely want nothing more than to swear our fealty at the foot of your rightful throne for the whole world to see.”

Making a cooing sound at you, he adjusts his hand to grind the heel of his palm over your cunt. The focused pressure on your most sensitive spot ignites an immediate reaction deep inside your loins, and your legs start to turn limp under your weight as you helplessly slouch between them, hissing.

“You’re not wrong for being wary of us or our motivations, darling love. But you have my word that we only have the purest of intentions in mind where you are concerned. You are the promised herald of the new world, after all.”

“Pure? Hah! That’s rich coming from you right now … nnghn, if I had my sword - -“

You cut off with a startled, muffled squeal when Scar suddenly, finally slams his mouth into yours, tightly sealing your lips together and silencing whatever else you’d wanted to say. At the same time, Cristoforo laughs a delighted sound that seems to echo endlessly in the space between your ears where it mingles with the wild thudding of your heartbeat until you can scarcely tell one apart from the other. You honestly couldn’t make any sense of it though.

Scar’s mouth is almost scaldingly hot on yours, and for a split second you register it as being painful. But when you try to tear away from him, to turn your face and escape the blaze of his skin, he merely tightens his arms around you to crush you and keep you locked in place. Your mouth reflexively warbles open to groan a hurt little sound but you quickly realize your mistake when he takes advantage of that to deepen the kiss.

All at once his tongue abruptly invades your mouth in a wet, fleshy rush while he gropes at you with tightly pinching squeezes to your chest and waist, fingers sinking deep into love handles. Cristoforo soon joins in as well, making you fiercely shudder when he nudges his thumb up to give the apex of your cunt even more precisely applied attention.

The worst part is that it works. Not only can you feel yourself reluctantly warming up to them, your body responding to their touch, their smells, the simple presence of the two men zeroed in on you — but some tiny little part of you quietly decides that you’re not completely opposed to what’s happening. Whether by natural inclination or design of the manipulated dream, you can’t be entirely sure. But your pussy does indeed start to tingle pleasantly under the playwright’s focused stimulation and you can feel your nipples rapidly coiling under Scar’s groping hand as well.

And although you valiantly try to fight it, telling yourself again and again not to fall for their tricks when you understood exactly how dangerous it would be for you to give in to your baser urges right now, you can’t seem to put a stopper on it. Your arousal swells and crests against your will, making you plaintively arch between them while you’re relentlessly attacked from both sides. You absolutely detested how exciting this was, ashamed for giving in so easily.

“There, there, darling Rover.” Cristoforo coos at you, barely heard over the cacophony of rushing thoughts in your reeling, punchdrunk mind. “You have no need for any weapons here. We won’t harm you, I give you my solemn word of that. As long as we’re in this domain you’re free to reap as much enjoyment from two of your most humble pioneers as you’d like and no one will ever be none the wiser. Your secret will stay eternally safe with us. I swear to that.”

Groaning a confused sound into Scar’s mouth, you blink through the hazy delirium swimming over your head to try and snap yourself out of it, even if only a little bit. Pioneers … Scar had used that same word before but you still had no idea what it was supposed to mean or what it had to do with you.

And you don’t get the chance to ask, unable to speak even if you’d wanted to, when the man behind you abruptly rips his mouth away and straightens with a snap of his spine to pull you up with him. Your feet detach from the ground entirely now, leaving you to dangle helplessly from his hold, but he doesn’t even seem to register your weight as anything more than an afterthought as he hauls you against his chest.

Raggedly gasping for air as sweat starts to bead and drip down your skin in clinging rivulets of perspiration now, you’re finally able to glance over at Cristoforo again only to find him reaching for you with both hands. The impulse to fight him off, kick and spit, and curse him for everything he’s worth does flash through your mind momentarily but … your words and your strength fail you when you need them the most. All you can do is numbly watch him slip those broad, blocky fingers into the waistband of your short pants and give them a careful tug to ease them down your thighs. Lower and lower they go until he’s relieved you of them entirely, slipped off over your boots and rather carelessly tossed aside onto the empty chair he’d once sat in.

Now that there’s nothing standing in the way between them and your most vulnerable spot anymore, it hits you just how inflamed you really are. Your pussy squeezes in anticipation, tingling warmly at the prospect of more attention, and you don’t fight it when Scar adjusts his hold to keep you held up with one arm pinned around your middle while the other stretches down to grab under your knee. His sharp claws poke and scratch at your skin in the process, but you allow him to curl your leg up to leave you in a rather lurid spread with only the front flap of your tunic dress hanging down over your cunt to preserve any of your remaining dignity.

It almost manages to startle you, how very wet you realize you already are when the open air wafts at the bare, fleshy slit.

But rather than dive right in and take you, claim you, sink himself in you straight to the hilt, Cristoforo instead shuffles close to stand nearly right on top of you. Between his rather posh, noble posture and Scar’s battle hardened frame behind you, your head starts to spin alarmingly fast. These two couldn’t have been any more different and yet somehow …

“Ah, are you starting to come around? Good. I’d so hoped you’d be open to persuasion.”

Cristoforo’s hands lift again, this time reaching for your top, and you groan a low sound of distress as you tip your chin to follow the movement. Fingers brushing against you, he slips them under the black halter before rather sedately tugging the fabric inward to make it gather in the center of your chest. It makes your tits gradually slip out as more and more of the material is taken away until they finally spill free with a subdued bounce to hit the air.

The nipples are already stiff and seeking, and the sensation of them cutting up into the empty space in search of friction has you shuddering fiercely. It’s a reaction that Scar almost instantly mirrors with a rumbling groan, his stiffly held body swaying slightly with what you can only imagine is an intense surge in his own arousal to match yours.

“Ooohhnn, little lamb … just look at you.”

You’re so caught up in the intoxicating, sweltering heat of the moment that you hadn’t even realized your arms were now free — evidently let loose at some point in the shuffle — until you impulsively reach back, whimpering, to fist a hand in the back of his hair. The sensation of soft, surprisingly silken locks under your fingers makes you start slightly but, still, you don’t make any attempt to fight them off or defend yourself. You aren’t entirely sure why that is, why you feel so deeply compelled to see what they’ll do when they’ve got you like this, but Cristoforo doesn’t give you enough time to further examine that thought.

Smiling, he leans in to place a chaste, fleeting kiss to the tip of one breast before doing the same to the other, just barely teasing your nipples with the suggestion of touch. The pointed end of his elaborate hat tickles your upper chest as he moves, and you tremble so hard that Scar has to readjust his grip on you when you feebly arch in his arms. It felt like you were drowning in some kind of sensual fever dream born from your deepest, darkest desires, and you can’t quite deny yourself the urge to hesitantly reach out for Cristoforo with your other hand.

His clear green eyes positively dance with mirth as your fingers brush the strands of spun gold that hang down over the left side of his temple, pushing them back slightly when you curl your palm just above his ear. It’s like he’d expected this, for you to give in eventually, but … was it mere confidence that made him so sure of himself or was it actually possible that he already knew what you would do before you did it? You couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to even guess what this new Overseer was capable of, yet you still can’t quite seem to find the wherewithal to shove him away.

“Mmm, have you decided you want this then?” He purrs. “Of course both of us would be more than happy to oblige, Rover, but I think I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Tell us.” Scar echoes him, once again nuzzling at the side of your neck, his mouth aggressive and insistent against the skin. “Say you choose me — us, and I’ll give you the world at your feet. I swear it.”

You draw a steadying breath, bracing for the pin to drop. Far be it that you understood it yourself but …

“I don’t want the world. Right now I just want you — both of you to finish what you started. Show me you’re not all talk.”

Cristoforo’s smile turns truly devious, sharp edged by the flickering cast from the fireplace while Scar belts out a fresh peel of laughter that makes him shake against you again.

“I told you, didn’t I?” He rasps. “Our dear, precious Rover is more fierce than she looks. You’d better not hold back and disappoint her.”

“But of course. We certainly wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Eyes dancing like glittering polished jade, the playwright holds your gaze almost tauntingly as he once more bends his head low over your chest. You have half a mind to rip the foppish hat right off his head and cast it aside but you refrain, merely letting your hand fall away to grasp at the leather encased arm locked around your middle instead. It’s nearly painful how tight Scar is holding onto you, yet you’d rather have that than risk him dropping you; and you watch with bated breath as Cristoforo brings his mouth close to a pebbled nipple.

His lips slowly part to allow his tongue to unfurl, offering the stiff bud a sedate flick. You hiss at the contact even for as brief as it is, trembling at the cool sensation of saliva that makes the tip of your breast feel even more sensitized than before. Humming an amused sound at your reaction, he takes his time leisurely batting it back and forth for a drawn out moment, ensuring you can feel the fleshy nudge, before at last drawing the coiled teat into his mouth.

He starts to suckle and you drop your head back against Scar’s shoulder with a faltering groan, restlessly tugging on his short hair while you do it. Lifting his face from your neck where he’d been working some kind of love bite or other mark of ownership into the flesh there, he growls a hungry sound as he turns his neck to look at you. For a brief moment your eyes meet, his mismatched and gleaming, yours heavy with desire. Then he leans in, closing the distance, and this time you meet him head on, drinking heavily from those coarse and abrasive lips.

You’re not entirely certain why you’re doing this or what’s compelled you to be a willing participant in such an undeniably dangerous situation, but for the time being at least you don’t regret it. They feel good moving against you, both in their own unique way. Cristoforo was still so gentlemanly and well mannered even while sucking your tit to straining attention that you can’t help feeling peculiarly charmed to be on the receiving end of it, whereas Scar was just as wild and unpredictable as he always was. He’d appeared so suddenly like a turbulent force of nature to set the stage for a truly tempestuous meeting, but the way he kisses you now … it’s unexpectedly tender, fervent and sincere.

You wouldn’t have expected that from him but you find you quite like it, and you liked Cristoforo too, whimpering a low sound of wanting when he finally pulls back from your spit lathered nipple with a dull pop. Softly cooing at you under his breath, he takes the opposite teat between blocky thumb and forefinger to teasingly pinch it just as one might pinch the round cheek of a precocious child, tugging on it gently.

“I must say, Ragunna’s esteemed Laureate is surprisingly docile and tame when it comes to pleasures of the flesh. I might have expected you to show a bit more fang than this, Rover.”

Scar’s lips curl against yours, grinning into the kiss, and you suck in a much needed mouthful of fresh air when he disengages from you to peer into your face. Panting heavily, you peer up at him for a drawn out beat before laughing a thin sound. This really was like some kind of fever dream.

“I could start putting up a fight again if you’d prefer.” You say, sounding strangely light and airy, almost playful as you turn your attention to Cristoforo. “I’m no pillow princess if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Perish the thought. I just find it rather cute, that’s all.”

“He’s not wrong.” Scar sighs dreamy, distant, sound in agreement, sending you a pointed look. “I knew you’d enjoy yourself if you just gave it a chance and it seems I was right. That look on your face is driving me crazy … and the way you keep fidgeting too. So tell me, little lamb. How do you want it? Can you handle both of us at the same time or should we take our turns worshipping at your altar?”

It’s not hard to tell he’s trying to goad you into a challenge but your heart still skips across your ribcage at that question, your swelling excitement telling you in no uncertain terms which you would choose. You don’t even really have to think about it, in truth, and you send each of them a warm look of anticipation.

“I think I can take you on together. If you’re sure there’s enough of me to go around, that is.”

Snickering a delighted sound, Scar carefully bends at the waist to set you back down on your feet and you somewhat reluctantly slip out of his hold to stand on your own. You sway slightly between them at suddenly finding yourself on solid ground once again but you’re in no danger of falling when you were sandwiched between the two of them like this, Cristoforo’s hands coming up to take your shoulders so he can gently gather you against his front.

Working his way up to your face where he carefully cradles your cheeks in his palms, he tips your mouth towards him so he can lean in and claim them for himself now. You give a faint moan into the kiss and lean further against him, quickly realizing how different they were in this regard as well.

At the same time you can feel Scar go down behind you to press his face into the space between your legs, somewhat rudely nudging you forward to make you jut your pelvis out. His large, much too hot hands grab at the meat of your backside to squeeze and knead the cushiony flesh before spreading the cheeks apart. He delivers a quick, lightning fast peck to the pucker of your asshole to make you jolt before aiming lower still until he reaches the apex of your slit.

His tongue lashes out then to attack your clit with unexpectedly fine tuned precision, the immediate onslaught to all the most sensitive nerve endings in your cunt making you squeal a harried sound. But Cristoforo is quick to swallow it up, sighing the softest little moan into your lips as you quake against him.

It’s only when his fingers drop down to play with your tits some more do you fully realize what it is you’ve signed up for with them. They’re both equally relentless and tireless in their own right, attacking you without mercy from both ends until you start to feel like it’s too much. Between Scar’s energetic, lapping tongue and Cristoforo’s deliberate fingertips, you were suffocating in it.

Rapidly reaching the point of overwhelm, you wrench your mouth from Cristoforo’s with a keening sob that rises in pitch when Scar goes up to rather unceremoniously shove his tongue as far it will go into your pussy. The wet muscle shamelessly squirms inside of you, gathering your juicy slick and mixing it with his saliva to create a truly viscous substance that clings to the soft folds of your inner labia. Gasping at how much of a mess he’s making, you start to twist around as if to glance back at him — but the blond in front of you is quick to bring your attention back to him with a hand cupped to your cheek.

“Don’t look at him.” He croons at you, smirking. “Look at me. You wouldn’t want me to feel like the odd man out, would you?”

“N - no …”

Humming a soft sound of approval, he gives your nipple one last playful tweak before reaching for the front of his pants. You watch him do it with a voracity previously unknown to you, tracking the motion as he slips the fingers just under the bottom hem of his extravagantly detailed waistcoat. He pulls at some unseen button or latch on the trousers to make them loosen around his narrow hips, and then the soft sound of a zipper descending reaches your ears. That slow zrrrt only ratchets your excitement up another notch, and you eagerly bring your hands up to assist him in tugging the material down enough to free himself.

Either deeming his preparations sufficient or sensing that the mood was shifting towards action now, Scar pushes up to stand over you again, though not without giving the meat of your ass a brief swat to make it jiggle. “Mmm, something tells me you’re having an exceptionally good time now, Rover. Are you glad you decided to hear us out?”

“Yesss.”

You fumble your hand into Cristoforo’s pants while Scar cackles a victorious laugh, his clawed digits coming down to take bruising hold of your hips. It’s suddenly extremely difficult to focus on any one thing that’s happening when so much seemed to be happening all at once. As the man at your back nudges into you from behind, grinding leather and PVC into your defenseless cunt to make sure you feel the insistently hard cock within, the man before you helps you in your endeavor of releasing his own galvanized length, sedate yet clearly anticipatory. A fluttery sleeve tickles your knuckles when he hooks his thumb into the top band of whatever undergarments he was wearing, nudging it lower and lower until you’re able to see the thatch of golden yellow that crowns the manhood, the thick base and then —

He springs up into the scant space in front of your nose, perfectly smooth and alabaster with a faint pinkish flush just under the silken skin. Your mouth positively waters at the sight of it even as your pussy simultaneously clenches under the hard, demanding pressure of Scar’s cock, separated from you by only the thin barrier of his bodysuit. And somehow you had a feeling that, unlike the dignified and proud playwright, he wasn’t wearing anything else underneath that skintight getup.

Licking your lips in growing hunger, you wrap your hand around Cristoforo and give him a series of experimental tugs. He sighs a pleased sound of appreciation as his fingers drift towards the top of your head to idly play with your hair whilst you slowly nudge the foreskin back and forth over the glans, fascinated. Trance-like.

Shifting behind you with a low snarl, Scar reaches between the two of you and you soon hear the much more aggressive zrrrt! of his black zipper descending in a rush. Your entire body tingles warmly in response, knowing what was coming, and you obediently tip your face up at Cristoforo when he gives your head a pointed nudge. He makes you look at him, smiling the whole time, while Scar impatiently lines himself up with your cunt.

When he finally pushes into you again it’s with straining, rigid flesh this time and you choke on a keening trill as he bullies his way through sticky lips to find your entrance. Hitting it almost dead center, he quickly starts to fill you and your body gives little to no resistance at all, much too slick and gooey to fight him off. You readily yield to the penetration, in fact, and even rear back on it, jutting your ass higher up to better accept his cock as it spears into you straight down the middle.

Shuddering against you, Scar groans a deeply animalistic sound in response, claws digging into the plushy give of your hips so hard it seems a small miracle he doesn’t break the skin.

“Ooooh, Rover! You’re already taking me this well … fuck!”

Reflexive tears spring into your eyes, moaning a heavy sound of pleasure at the delicious stretch to your guts and the way he forces your pussy to moulde to his size and shape, but Cristoforo is not one to be forgotten. Adjusting his palm to cup the curve of your skull, he guides you towards his expectantly twitching length with a careful yet demanding nudge. You yield to this too, almost embarrassingly so, not stopping long enough to reconsider this or the possible consequences as you open your mouth wide to take him as deep as you can comfortably go.

Giving a little jolt at the abrupt sensation of being enveloped in hot, wet warmth, he tips his head back with a savory sigh aimed up at the ceiling. “Mmm, there you are … how does it feel being taken from both ends, darling dear? Utterly delightful, I hope.”

Noising a muffled sound around him, you weakly bob your head in the affirmative. It did feel good. Alarmingly so, if you were being honest, but your head was spinning much too quickly and your cunt pulsing much too hard for you to pretend to be coy about it right now. It felt like they were splitting you in half, spit roasted between them like this, and you give an intense shudder when Scar finally finishes feeding his cock into you.

This part of him is almost unbearably hot too, giving the impression that you’ve been speared through with a red hot iron, but rather than registering as painful it only seems to make your cunt drool all the more excessively. It’s as if the sheer heat of him has sent the nerve endings into overdrive and they violently thrum around him when he starts to thrust, quickly building up to an energetic snap of his hips that has him pistoning in and out of your body to a fast paced rhythm only he was privy to.

The force behind his driving length pushes you forward, further down onto Cristoforo until he seems likely to breach your throat, before yanking you back into the next slam of Scar’s pelvis against yours. You’d been so focused on them and everything they were doing that you’d momentarily blocked out the weeping sound of the violin coming from the phonograph but now you can hear it in startling clarity. It seems to swell inside your head as you listen to the vigorous sound of skin slapping against skin, and the half smothered noises of Cristoforo plunging inside your mouth. All of it bleeds together, musical notes mixing with your breathy groans and whimpering exhales, their masculine grunts and pleasured hums to create a truly raucous melody.

It’s shockingly easy to get lost in it, to let it pull you under just like those churning waves down on the beach would have if you’d allowed them to. Impossible to breathe, impossible to think, all you can do is just feel. The fleshy drag of skin against skin against soft squirming tongue. You had no idea why you’d given into them but somehow, someway, it just feels right.

And when Cristoforo gently takes your face in both hands, prompting you to roll your eyes upward to look at him again, you do so with an excited shudder, knowing how you probably looked with your mouth stretched open wide on his cock like this.

“Such a lovely thing,” he croons, one brow lifted in a rather mocking arch. “And to think this is the poor girl everyone is fighting over. It almost seems ironic, doesn’t it? I wonder what they’d think of you now if they could see you like this …”

You give a muted jolt when your heart wrenches inside your chest, and somehow that manages to startle you at least partially out of the strange trance you’d fallen into.

Pussy squeezing tight around Scar, making him woundedly lurch over your bottom half with a seething groan, you give your head a frantic shake. You didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be seen in such a humiliating and demeaning position, bent in half and fucked sensless by two men who were by all accounts supposed to be your enemies. Even if you didn’t know the full story yet you still understood that they weren’t the good guys here. But you, however, were supposed to be better than that. You were supposed to be one of the good guys — weren’t you?

The stirring panic in your eyes as much as the desperate clench of your hands against the front of his trousers makes the playwright chuckle a heady, dangerous sound. Always amused, infinitely humored by the world around him, as if he knew something that no one else did. It was singularly maddening, especially when you had his cock stuffed in your mouth like this and no way to spit him out.

“Ahh, not to worry, my sweet darling dear. I told you your secret would be safe with us, didn’t I? Nnghn … lucky for you, I’m an accomplished scriptwriter and I don’t like to rush to the climax when I can help it. I’ll ensure our little dalliance here is locked tightly away in the vault so it doesn’t ruin the ending just yet, no need to worry about that. Aren’t you happy?”

You noise a confused sound, not entirely understanding what he was saying, but Scar manages to thoroughly distract you when he leans across your back, arms winding under you to take two, grasping handfuls of your swaying tits. Plaintively moaning at the pinching squeeze he gives them, claws sinking into soft, malleable flesh, you weakly buck against them as if in a futile attempt to escape the full brunt of their attention. It’s no use though. They’ve got you so thoroughly locked in place between them that there’s nothing you can do to stop it when Scar brings his mouth much too close to your ear, rattling a tremulous sound directly into it.

“Little lamb, little lamb, ohh, you are just ripe for the butcher's block, aren’t you? This sweet pussy, these juicy tits … you’re going to be the main course at our feast at the end of the world, you know that? Huh?”

Practically snarling like some kind of rabid beast, he takes a rather viscous nip at the side of your neck to make you squeal a harried sound around the cock in your mouth. Crisroforo just grins down at you though, his smile stretching wide across his lips.

“I can’t wait to see you trussed up and stuffed like a holiday bird, dear Rover. You’ll make the most stunning centerpiece on your throne of destruction and chaos someday. I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as we are.”

You give your head a dull shake, trying to dislodge him from your mouth, but Scar is quick to grab under your chin and hold you firmly in place. With him still roughly driving into you from behind, making your pussy loudly squelch under the force, all you can do is helplessly jostle between them as you gradually slip further and further under, rapidly losing what little bit of cognizance you’d gotten back. It’s as if you’re drunk and quickly succumbing to the hazy delirium of intoxication, a feeling that only increases when Cristoforo shoves at the back of your head to force you down, down, down to the very base of his cock.

With that wiry thatch of golden curls tickling your nose while you stiffly wretch and try not to regurgitate whatever was in your stomach — if there was anything at all within this manufactured dream — you find that you can’t breathe and your eyes start to roll back in your skull. Whether in doped out, reeling bliss or in the throes of death by suffocation you couldn’t be sure.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

You were going to cum.

You were —

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Warm, blinding sunlight creeps across your face and makes you squint, groaning a disoriented sound as you start to stir. For a long moment the dream doesn’t seem to want to leave you, desperately clinging to the corners of your subconscious mind as if to keep you there with it but, finally, you at last manage to break free.

Lashes reluctantly fluttering open, you blink through the near blinding glare to find that you were … back in Septimont, in the bed you’d shared with Lupa. The tall tell style of the architecture, the furniture, clues you in immediately and it somehow comes as a great relief. Feeling strangely glad to see these still new but relatively familiar surroundings, you breathe out a terse sigh into the still morning air.

As if her keen ears had caught the sound, Lupa steps into the main room off of the mini lounge area to look at you with a strange expression on her face. You don’t really think much of it at first as you stretch out with your arms high over your head, groaning at the faint pop in your spine, but then you look a little closer at her. Eyes a bit wide and uncertain, her cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink as if she were embarrassed.

In truth you’d never seen her look quite so timid and hadn’t thought she would have the capacity for this particular emotion.

“What is it? Are you alright?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She rushes to say, assuring you that it was indeed something. “I just wanted to check on you. It sounded like you were having a maybe not so great dream. I wasn’t sure if I should be — worried or not.”

A note of uncertainty curls through your gut at that. You did have the sense that you’d just woken up from an unusually long, turbulent dream but you couldn’t recall much of anything about it. The only thing you could somewhat clearly make out in your memory when you really thought long and hard about it was some ramshackle beachside villa standing on a cliff. Beyond that though you were drawing one big blank. You couldn’t even be sure if it had been a good dream or a bad one, but if it was as she’d said ...

“Sorry about that. I’m not usually such a heavy sleeper that I don’t wake up from a nightmare.” You tell her with a reassuring smile as you move to sit up. “I guess I was just so anxious about going into the semifinals that I didn’t …”

Trailing off, you noise a small sound of confusion when the shifting of your body makes you realize how very sticky you are between the thighs. It strikes you as being decidedly peculiar, and you can’t quite shake the feeling of real unease that settles over you now.

The memory of the night before, of struggling to fall asleep while worries of having another run in with the Fractsidus plagued your thoughts, slowly comes into hazy focus but that hardly explained the wetness of your cunt. You were certainly tense down there though, your fingers twitching with the urge to reach under the sheet and rub yourself to completion, although that didn’t seem to make any sense either. Rather than a nightmare it must have been a very good dream to have gotten you this excited.

“Ah … well then, I’m glad.” Lupa helpfully chirps when you never finish your train of thought. “How about I order us some breakfast? You’ll need the energy for the semifinals.”

“That sounds good. Thank you.” You send her what you hope is a reassuring smile and she quickly spins on her heel to disappear back into the small lounge attachment.

Giving it another moment to make sure she isn’t going to come back, you discreetly lift the blanket from your lap to glance down at yourself, thinking perhaps it could have been something other than what you strongly suspected. But you stop short when you catch sight of what looks to be a charred, half burnt piece of parchment resting on top of your thigh. It’s no bigger than a coin and the blackened edges leave a tiny trail of gritty dust on your skin when you reach out to carefully pick it up. You had no idea how this had gotten here but it looked like there was perhaps writing on one side, an expressive curling scrawl if you weren’t mistaken.

The destroyed paper immediately crumbles though, unable to withstand the touch of your hand or the physical act of being lifted from your leg. Whatever it had said was now lost to the void of unknown, and you breathe a frustrated little sigh as you thoughtfully rub your sooty fingers together.

Just what had happened to you while you were fast asleep?

⭐

Crossposted: here

#wuthering waves #scar #scar x reader #cristoforo #cristoforo x reader #self insert bullshit

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magicalbats · 21 days ago

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You know what, I was actually planning on skipping Kinktober this year so I could focus on wrapping up the last two (big oof, I know they’re just meant to be fun prompts and they don’t usually amount to much outside of a self contained one-shot so it’s not like I’m leaving an actual chapter fic hanging, but still big oof)

But then I found myself curious and just wanted to see what kind of lists were floating around for this year, and the very first one I looked at has … incest/masturbation/orgasm control for day one.

🙈

God help me, I have three months to prepare

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magicalbats · 21 days ago

Text

Big Bad Wolf (Wriothesley x OC)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 11,044

Warnings: Afab!OC, power dynamics, warden/inmate, dom/sub, brat taming, light spanking, cunnilingus, piv, creampie, technically public sex if you squint (they do it in the infirmary lol)

A/N: And here is the second comm! The very lovely commissioner asked to stay anonymous so I'll just say again, thank you for everything! You know who you are. 🫶🥹

⭐

Come rain or shine, hell and high water, there was always something in Meropide that needed his attention. Not because of any real faults in the system or even any serious issues with certain inmates or guards, or other prison staff but, rather, simply because he was the residing Duke of this place and that in itself demanded a certain amount of his energy. If not from obligation bestowed upon him by the powers that be then certainly out of a sense of responsibility.

Sighing faintly through his nose, Wriothesley pushes from the desk and reclines in his high backed, very official looking chair to stare up at the ceiling in listless discontent. He wasn’t sure how many more of the same supplies checklists he could look at and jot his signature on before going inevitably mad.

Shouldn’t the vendors on the surface already have some idea of what was needed in the undersea fortress after sending the same shipments down, week after week and month after month? It seemed obvious enough to him. Crate upon crate of fresh fruits and veggies to stave off illness and deficiencies when the sun didn’t penetrate this far below sea level to do anyone a lick of good. More loaves of bread than you could count, plenty of protein to keep the workers strong and healthy. New bedding to replace the old, medical supplies and, of course, his much anticipated stock of tea leaves for him to hoard away in his office. Just the necessities, really.

So why did he have to sign off on it every damn time as if any of that had changed since the last delivery?

Pondering over this thought and deciding that it must be simple bureaucracy, some paper pushers sadomasochistic wet dream, he leans over the desk once again and takes up his writing pen with a purpose. He was going to finish this stack of work and then treat himself to an afternoon stroll. Perhaps he’d even pay his favorite inmate from afar, his darling pet project, a personal visit to further sweeten the deal.

But he only manages to get through signing the topmost piece of parchment, an order and expense sheet for ripe bullefruit to be delivered, when a sudden bang on the steel lined door to his personal chambers gives him pause. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for various people to come knocking for him throughout the day — something or other was always happening in the fortress, after all — but Wriothesley was immediately overcome with the sense that this wasn’t a mere housecall for pleasantries. The firm rapping had been a bit too hurried and rushed for that.

Distractedly setting the signatured order form aside, he stands with a brief scrape of his chair and walks around the desk to go open the door. It doesn’t particularly surprise him when he finds a pale-faced guard standing on the other side, looking more than just a little uncertain to be the one calling on the Duke like this.

“What’s wrong? I take it that something has happened?”

The young man bobs his head in a quick, faltering nod. “Yes, sir. My deepest apologies for intruding like this … it’s the cafeteria, Your Grace. A fight broke out over the lunchtime meal and, well. I think you should probably see it for yourself.”

It takes a great deal of self control of Wriothesley’s part to refrain from pinching the bridge of his nose, undeniably frustrated to hear of this news. But oh, how he wished the inmates would just take any grievances they had to the pankration ring instead of wasting the food he slaved over ordering for them every month. He could only assume the worst if the cafeteria had been mentioned specifically.

“Alright, I’ll come down right now. Were there any injuries?”

“No, Your Grace.” The guard reflexively answers as he shuffles back a step, allowing the taller of the two to step out onto the platform, but then he seems to hesitate. “Ah, on second thought, yes, I guess technically there was. But … rather than an injury I think it might be more apt to call it a bruised ego.”

Pausing at that, Wriothesley sends him a cool look. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Initial reports from witnesses state that one of the instigators took a welfare meal to the head, sir.”

His mouth opens, to laugh or to question the guards sincerity, he isn’t sure which, but no sound comes out at all. It wasn’t every day he heard a report of that happening.

Forcibly shrugging off his bewilderment, though, Wriothesley begins to walk with the guard. “Who all was involved? Not any repeat offenders, I hope.”

“Not this time, Your Grace. In fact I’d say the scuffle came quite out of nowhere. Based on the information I received before being instructed to come fetch you, it sounded like the inmates at the center of this ruckus were Aubert, that tax evading scoundrel, and the little foreigner from Inazuma.”

Wriothesley’s heart sinks like a stone in his chest. There were only a small handful of those in Meropide, either because Inazuman’s weren’t a particularly enterprising bunch by nature or thanks to the great, sheer distance between here and there. And the only one he could conceivably classify as being “little” was …

“Do you recall the name?”

“Evelyn, I believe it was, sir.”

Burn everything. This would require his whole attention for the rest of the afternoon.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He knows the cafeteria is a complete mess when he first spots it from a distance, and it doesn’t get any better the closer he draws.

Stools and tables are overturned everywhere, momentarily left where they fell while the brunt of the cleanup effort was focused on clearing the area of food debris. A handful of stone-faced guards are stood in a loose circle around the perimeter to watch over the dozen or so inmates who were sullenly working to pick up crushed bread, remnants of salad, sodden cold pasta and an alarming amount of what he could only guess was seafood soup. It was going to take weeks to get that smell out of the air.

Wriothesley’s heart hurts at the sight of all the carnage but he keeps his expression schooled as he steps up next to the most senior warden while his chaperone trots off to be of help elsewhere.

“What’s the situation?”

Scoffing under his breath, the no nonsense Jameson sends him an unreadable glance. “Food fight, Your Grace. It’s funny, isn’t it? Like we’re babysitting a bunch of toddlers. By the Hydro Archon, you can’t turn your back on them for even a second.”

Wriothesley allows himself a wry smile as the middle-aged man shakes his head, disapproving and weary in equal measure. He wasn’t wrong about that. “Do we know what started it, or was it just for the hell of it?”

“Hard to say, Your Grace. Inmates who were nearby at the time said it seemed like they were just having a normal conversation at first. You know how that Aubert is though. He’s a crafty one. Always has something clever to say.”

“And what of Evelyn?” He prods, secretly savoring the taste of her name on his tongue, the way it fits in his mouth. Luckily his poker face was well practiced though, and the guard doesn’t even seem to pick up on the weight in his careful intonation.

“She insisted it was in self defense but, eh. That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Couldn’t get much out of her besides that though, so we decided to send her to the infirmary to cool down more than to receive any care. I had Louis escort her.”

Well, that decided his next stop. But before that …

“And what of Aubert? Where is he?”

“Carted off to solitary, sir.” Jameson diligently answers him, brisk yet unerringly respectful in the way he addresses Wriothesley. “He was having a right fit so it was no easy matter of simply separating him from the others. Not that I can blame him, I suppose. I’d be spitting mad too with haggis dumped all over my head.”

A note of surprise curls through the Duke’s chest but it’s quickly replaced with ironic chagrin. That little birdie was hardly a wilting wallflower but he’d told her to behave herself, to make friends, to do anything really that might keep her out of trouble while she was serving out her sentence here. In self defense or not, it seemed she hadn’t taken their talk on the matter to heart. He was going to have to personally see to it that this was properly corrected.

It’s not a prospect that truly pleases him, but Wriothesley keeps his tone in check when he says, “I see. Thank you for all your hard work, Jameson. If you’ve got everything under control here I think I’ll pay our troublemakers a visit and see if I can’t get the story straight between them. I leave everything in your capable hands then.”

At the guard’s polite, stiffly executed bow, he turns on his heel and starts to make his way across the length of the fortress, making a beeline straight towards the infirmary. Of course he would go there first to not only check on her but to also figure out just what exactly happened today. Wriothesley didn’t like to think himself a brute or a tyrant drunk on power so he wanted to hear her side of it before anything else. If he found her justifications lacking, however, then he would have no choice but to discipline her.

He was even less excited about this but there would be no helping it should her explanation fall short. In many ways the relative peace of the prison hung in a delicate balance that rested almost exclusively on his shoulders. If he were to ever push too hard or too far the place could easily erupt into chaos, but on the flip side if he was much too lenient with bad actors or directionless individuals lashing out then everything was just as liable to start falling apart. If the other inmates started to suspect that he was showing Evelyn any amount of favoritism it could easily spiral into a much bigger problem.

That was just a convenient excuse for him though, if he wanted to be honest with himself. The truth of the matter was he’d been partial to Evie ever since she first arrived, such an interesting study in contradictions and an altogether pleasant person to be around. Given his own protective nature, it only made sense that he would endeavor to keep her safe. He liked her and only wanted the best for her. Not every prisoner was lucky enough to find themselves on the receiving end of his friendly advice — in fact most never got to speak directly with him even once during their stay, but he’d given her his time because …

Because why?

He’s not entirely sure of it himself, though he did have his suspicions, and he mulls this complicated feeling over in his mind as he makes his way down the steel lined corridor that leads into the nurses station. His heavy boots make plenty of noise to announce his presence before he actually reaches the doorway, and when he pokes his head into the room he’s not the least bit surprised to find Louis already standing at attention to greet him. Behind the alert guard, seated on the edge of one of the sturdy bunks, Evelyn keeps her attention turned away and focused on the wall, refusing to glance up at him.

Rather than out of guilt or remorse, he can tell she’s still sulking and that manages to bring a brief smile to his mouth. She was certainly cute with that grumpy pout tugging at her lower lip.

“Your Grace.” Louis says with a bow when he steps fully into the room.

“Thank you for all your hard work. I’ll take care of this from here so please head back to the cafeteria and help out with the rest of the cleanup, if you would.”

Thankfully this guard doesn’t need to be given his orders twice and he takes his leave seemingly without so much as a second thought to the matter.

Listening to the retreating footsteps as they echo down the hall, Wriothesley waits for the sound to completely fade off into the distance before finally making a move to approach the occupied bed.

“Well, you look to be in one piece at least. That’s good.” He drawls when he comes up alongside her. “I admit, you gave me a bit of a fright when I heard you’d been involved in some kind of altercation.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Cocking a brow at that muttered yet no less petulant response, Wriothesley crosses his arms over his broad chest in an expectant posture. “You wanna’ tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

Humming a soft sound of consideration, he lets the moment settle for a long beat before he bends at the waist and reaches out to catch her chin in a gentle pinch, turning her face towards him. Evelyn puts up a cursory fight, trying to turn her head away from him, but relents easily enough at his insistent nudging. And when she finally looks up into his face he can’t help the bemused laugh that punches out of him.

“Goodness, that’s a nice little goose egg you’re sporting. I take it you’re the one who took a welfare meal to the head then?”

Stormy brown eyes flash at him — not in anger, he doesn’t think, but rather it was just as the first guard said, a bruised ego — and she hisses a tender sound when he brushes his thumb lightly over the reddened bump on her temple. Nothing too serious, if he had to guess, but he wasn’t exactly a trained professional in such matters.

“Where is Sigewinne? Has she had a chance to look you over yet?”

Momentarily dropping his gaze, Evelyn glances down and off to the side in what he might have interpreted as a deferential gesture were he just a little less tuned in to her body language.

“No. Louis said she made a trip to the overworld today … and since it wasn’t anything life threatening he told me I could wait for her to get back. But really, Wriothesley, it’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine, and … I’ll even apologize for the cafeteria if that’s what you want.”

The sound of his name on her tongue fills his chest with a strange helium feeling, warm and tight to make him all the more inclined to forgive her the transgression. More than anything he wanted to be lenient with her, a slap on the wrist at most, but …

“I’m glad you’re not hurt, Evelyn. I don’t want an apology though. I expect some kind of explanation so I know what happened today and why.” Straightening up, Wriothesley once again crosses his arms in a waiting, expectant manner. “I trust you’ll give me one and I won’t have to force it out of you?”

Scoffing a quiet laugh under her breath, Evie at last glances up at him full on with her usual tranquil, vaguely far off expression, indicating that she was starting to relax in his presence. Good. He didn’t want to inadvertently push her so far that she started to pull away, but he needed answers.

“Do you think you could? Force me, I mean ...”

“I could certainly give it a shot,” he says with a shrug. “But I’d rather not resort to that if I don’t have to.”

She tips her head to one side, making her short, silken soft hair shift with the motion. “Why do you even care?”

“Well, it’s sort of expected of me to care, isn’t it? I am the Duke of this place, after all. Or have you forgotten that little tidbit of information after taking a tin tray to the noggin?” Playfully, teasingly, Wriothesley reaches down again to softly brush away some of the wayward strands from her forehead. Even just that much makes her wince slightly though when he gets a little too close to that angry knot, and he relents with a stilted exhale. “Sorry. If you want the honest truth of it though, I actually care a great deal. I wasn’t joking earlier when I said you gave me a fright. I’d be beside myself if something happened to you while you’re a guest under my roof.”

“A guest, huh?”

“A ward under my care then. Whatever you’d like to call it is fine by me. The point is you’re my responsibility for as long as you’re here in the fortress and I take that role very seriously. I don’t want to see anything happen to you. So please, tell me. What happened in the cafeteria?”

Visibly holding herself in place, Evelyn sends him a cautious glance. He could hardly blame her for the uncertainty, given that although they spoke quite openly with one another and she was the only inmate he permitted to call him by name, this was the first time he’d talked to her quite so candidly. None of it was a lie or an exaggeration though, and he tries to impart that sincerity in the way he looks at her now.

Whatever she sees in his expression must have some effect because a charming flush slowly spreads across her cheeks and she quickly turns away.

“You sure are a strange one, Wriothesley … but I guess that’s not really a bad thing. I still don’t understand why you’re pretending to care so much about someone like me but - -“

“I’m not pretending.” He firmly cuts across her, earning himself a frown of consternation.

“But I’ll be upfront with you. There’s actually not much to say. That guy … Aubert, I think his name is. He was being a complete ass in the cafeteria. Trying to scam people out of their coupons. I only gave him what he deserved.”

Wriothesley’s brows take an expeditious trip up to his hairline, hardly even believing his own ears. “That doesn’t exactly sound like you, Evie. You’re not usually so altruistic as all that.”

Her face somehow manages to flush even redder. “I didn’t say I intervened on anyone else’s behalf. The exact opposite, in fact. I intended to keep to myself and just listen because I … I thought I might tell you about it later, so you could be the one to do something about it. But then he decided to set his sights on me. And he wouldn’t stop, so I upended my lunch over his head. It’s not my fault he decided to grab the nearest tray and throw someone’s food at me instead of backing off.”

This time he can’t stop himself from reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling a tired sound into the still infirmary. “And I take it your clothes being relatively clean means his aim wasn’t very good and that’s how the food fight started? That was quite the unnecessary escalation on your part, don’t you think?”

“Like I said, he deserved it.” She shoots back, her tone of voice turning sharp and rigid with renewed petulance. There went all of the good progress he’d made with her over the last odd minutes then. “If you ask me, he’s lucky that was all I gave him. I could have just as easily shocked him instead.”

“Now, Evie,” he intones, dropping his hand away to fix her with a hard look. “Don’t make me regret giving you your Vision back. You know better than to joke about something like that.”

Fidgeting under the disapproving spotlight of his attention, she visibly starts to become restless and agitated again. He’s not entirely sure where this was coming from, understanding that she was usually much calmer than this current behavior would suggest. That little spat in the cafeteria must have really riled her up, or …

Was it simply that he was putting his foot down and being stern with her for once that was the cause of this?

“Don’t talk to me like that, Wriothesley. You may be the head honcho of this place but I can take care of myself just fine … and I don’t need your permission for that.”

“Hah! Is that so? You know, I can’t say I was expecting you to be such a little brat about it as soon as I gave you some pushback but I’d suggest you check your tone.”

“Or what?” She bites out, dangerously close to flashing her teeth at him.

“Well, that would be for me to know and for you to find out, wouldn’t it? I'd prefer not to let it come to that though, if we can help it. Look, I understand you're on edge right now but you need to listen to me instead of flying off at the mouth to talk back. You’re not an unreasonable child, are you?”

Evelyn’s spine snaps ramrod straight with a dull jolt, as if she’d accidentally electrocuted herself. Rich, rich brown eyes, so reminiscent of the sweeter teas he sometimes fancied, dance at him in affronted shock and incredulity, like she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t wrap her head around the fact he was talking to her like that.

And it was hardly any wonder there. He was always so accommodating with her, so understanding and patient, and foolishly susceptible to her common flights of fancy. Had been since the first moment they met. But it was hard not to be soft on her when he suspected her past was a harried one, her reluctance to participate in any capacity of community — with anyone besides him, that is — was the sole reason he’d encouraged her to go out and be active in the first place. To work in solidarity with the other inmates and earn her keep, to talk with them and eat with them, to be a part of something. How was he supposed to know that she would resort to such an immature outburst?

That’s not really what was bothering him though. The food fight she’d inadvertently started was bad enough, sure, and plenty of reason to mete out some clearly much needed punishment. But that seemed water under the bridge, a mere footnote in the byline, when her attitude with him was twice as egregious as any silly tussle she’d gotten herself into.

It wasn’t that he was a tyrant or a brute, he tells himself, or even someone with such a thin skin that any amount of sassing felt like a personal attack on his ego. Wriothesley was plenty humble when the situation called for it — but this was not one of those times.

“Now you’re being an ass too.” She finally rattles, her pretty eyes narrowing on him.

“Watch your mouth. I’ve been happy to give you plenty of leeway up until now, but you still need to show me some respect.”

Nostrils flaring, Evelyn stiffly pushes up to her feet so she can stand before him, meeting his scowl head on and without fear in a clashing battle of wills. She doesn’t even seem to falter as she peers up into his face as if she were just short of daring him to do something about it. Such an audacious thing!

“And if I refuse? If I won’t show you any respect … what then?”

Wriothesley’s broad chest slowly expands with the sharp breath he pulls in. “I’m warning you, Evelyn. Do not keep testing my patience just to find out what I’ll do or say if you push me hard enough. I don’t think you’ll like the end result very much and neither will I.”

Scoffing a bitter laugh, she gives her pretty eyes an impatient roll before moving to step around him. “Sure. I’ll believe it when I see it, Wriothesley.”

The way she says his name, all sharp edged and caustic, so intentionally lacking in any amount of decorum or respect for him is what finally makes that final thread of restraint snap.

Its pure masculine instinct that has him reaching out to snag her arm before she can take more than a single step away from him. She starts slightly but he doesn’t give her a chance to react other than the confused sound that blurts out of her when he drags her back into place, making her stand before him again. And when she looks up at his face, bottomless brown eyes taunting him with the total lack of uncertainty reflected in them, as if she was so sure he wouldn’t actually do anything to her, Wriothesley starts to understand himself a little better. It wasn’t even about the dynamic of prisoner and warden, commoner and duke that was driving his actions now. It was his attraction for her manifesting in its simplest, most archaic form.

Ownership. Control. He wanted not only to have her but to make her submit and bend to his will.

Perhaps he was a bit of a tyrant after all.

But he chooses not to focus on that right now, deciding that it was a problem for future Wriothesley to sort out as he leans down to close the short distance, swallowing her much slighter frame in his shadow and putting his face right in front of hers. There would be no escaping his sights now that he was locked on to her, both figuratively and literally. She had to know that.

“What is your problem today?” He demands of her, neither raising his voice nor flying off into a lecture right off the bat. It seemed important that he hear it come out of her mouth first, and the simple act of using a stern tone with her seems to do the trick, for she trembles plaintively in his hold now.

“I - I don’t have a problem but you sure seem to … why does it matter anyway? What have you even done to earn my respect in the first place? I don’t have to give it to you just because you returned my Vision to me …”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Birdie. Haven’t you figured out how this game works yet? I don’t have to earn your respect to get it.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” She protests.

“Maybe so, but life usually isn’t fair is it? I’m not asking you, Evelyn. I’m telling you. Show me you have some good sense in that cute little head of yours. Address me properly for once. Go on.”

Defiantly lifting her chin in the face of his attempt to impose any authority over her, she looks him dead in the eye and says, “No. I won’t.”

Straightening up to his full height, he doesn’t push any further, doesn’t question or berate her. Doesn’t say a damn word as he hauls her by the arm to turn her around and face the bed so he can then clamp his other hand on the back of her neck, forcing her forward over the mattress.

Ignoring her flustered squeak as she’s made to bend over, Wriothesley keeps her pinned and in position easily enough when he releases her struggling arm so he can reach lower and deliver a solid smack across her behind. It’s an impulse he doesn’t stop long enough to think through all the way and he manages to surprise himself almost as much as he surprises her when he does it.

Jolting in alarm at the sudden swat, she goes immediately still, her body tense and halting under his hand. Like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it or how to react. He isn’t entirely certain either, but quickly finds that he warms to the idea quickly enough. This might be exactly what she needed to set her straight.

“Did that hurt?” He asks, more to gauge her pain tolerance and better decide his course of action than any real concern for whether or not it had caused her discomfort. It was obvious enough to him now that she needed to be wrangled in somehow and this was the most readily available option to him, the most appealing.

But she still insists on being foolhardy and stubborn, rattling out a weak, “N - no.”

“Don’t worry, Birdie. It will.”

She has but a split second to noise a frazzled sound of confusion before the flat of his hand swings again to clap across her ass. Mewling a surprisingly timid sound, Evelyn comes alive and squirms underneath his hand, shoving at the top of the bed as if searching for enough leverage to slip out from under his grasp.

It’s no use though, and he spanks her one more time to really drive his point home, secretly delighting in the way her whole body rocks with the impact despite him only using a quarter of his strength to do it. But it pleases him a great deal all the same, his cock stirring with eager anticipation when she hiccups a sad little sound into the sheets.

“W - wait …”

“Don’t worry. My goal here is not to simply beat you red and raw and send you on your way. I’m making a point here, Evelyn, so do try to pay attention. I want you to address me with the proper respect.”

It’s clear that this is still something difficult for her though, and she weakly pushes back on his massive hand, starting to fidget in place. Like she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, so he gives her another solid slap across the seat of her overalls to encourage her along.

“Now, Evie. Not sometime next year.”

“I … I’m s — sorry, sir.”

“Well, that’s better, but it’s still not quite right. Would you like to try again?”

For a harrowing moment it doesn’t look like she’s going to give in and he’s just braced his arm for another half arc swing when she hesitantly mewls for him, as sweet as any caged songbird.

“Grace. Your Grace. Forgive me …”

His chest suddenly feels like it’s going to explode as he gently cups his hand over the petite swell of her backside. Carefully and exceedingly gentle, he caresses the lingering heat beneath her clothes, both to rub it in and to indicate he was pleased with her. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Good girl.”

A sound that seems to him deeply embarrassed catches in her throat to accompany the way she wriggles under his hold, arching up off the bed as if in a desperate bid for freedom. He finds it curious, though, that she doesn’t resort to screaming for help when he knew as well as she must that the sound would carry in the fortress. Someone would probably hear her and, depending on their nature, they might even come running to her aid. He very much doubted she was actually scared of him, too frightened to call out and risk further incensing him, but …

Casually dropping his gaze to regard her upturned bottom, Wriothesley finds his attention being naturally drawn, not for the first time, a little lower to regard the tops of her thigh highs and the forbidden area of skin that sits between them and her short overalls. He was very tempted to reach out and finally touch that most coveted spot, to feel the flesh of her lean legs under his hand and tease it, squeeze it, caress it.

This was not yet the time to get distracted though. He needed to make sure this lesson stuck. That meant he had to be hard and unyielding when the situation called for it, when she was acting up like a brat, and in turn be soft and indulgent when she capitulated to him, to reward her improved behavior.

Quickly making up his mind on the matter, Wriothesley holds the air in his lungs — in anticipation or fear of what response he would get, he isn’t sure — as he drags the hand on Evelyn’s rump lower to gently cup his large palm over her cunt. He’s never touched her like this before but his hand still slots between her legs like it was meant to fit there and she shakes so hard at the contact that it seems a small wonder she doesn’t shatter into a million pieces right then and there. But rather than shirking away from it, she manages to catch him off guard when she not so subtly rocks back into his hand, stiffly nudging her pussy against him.

“My, you like that, do you? Color me surprised. But is it my hand that you’re enjoying … or is it when I praise you that’s making you squirm like this?”

Helplessly twitching as if it was too much for her to even think about, let alone to hear him say it aloud, she whimpers a threadbare little sound into the sheets. “Oohh … I - I don’t know, Your Grace. Don’t know …”

“Mmm, I’m not so sure I believe that. You must have at least some inkling which it is, right?”

Using the pads of his first and second fingers, he firmly rubs her through the center seam of her overalls to incentivize a response out of her and it makes her shake. He’s unable to feel a whole lot through the material other than the dull, plushy give of delicate flesh underneath but that was probably for the best, considering how much his mind was already reeling. Wriothesley had acted solely on impulse and snap judgment when he’d decided to spank her but that all too easily could have backfired on him in the most spectacular way. And for him to be touching her like this now …

His undeniable attraction for her was getting mixed up with the natural inclinations he harbored for order and command, and the end result was a gross abuse of power on his part. There would be no getting around that fact, especially not when he had one of his inmates bent over a bed like this. She would have been well in her right to kick and scream, and slap him across the face but that is not what happens.

Instead, and much to his surprise, Evelyn twitches and stiffly rolls her hips back into the pressure with a tiny little groan. So soft he could almost miss it, but it was much too quiet inside the infirmary and he was standing far too close. Almost completely against his will, Wriothesley’s cock springs up to shove at the front placket of his pants with near violent intensity. This was a dangerous situation for both of them. He was going to have to tread very carefully moving forward but there was no overlooking the fact that she was indeed yielding now, turning soft and pliant under his hold after only a few swats to the behind, and it makes his molars ache with the need to have her, to take her just like this.

“Well?” He prods, sounding thick and heavy to his own ears.

“Both,” she finally manages to get out, though not without a faint whimper attached at the tail end. “It’s both, Your … Grace. Ohh … that’s …”

She was starting to trail off more and more now, as if she were getting lost in her own whirling thoughts before she could give voice to any of them. It wasn’t just that she was capitulating to his authority, she was practically melting into it.

That knowledge stirs something hot and cloying deep within him, urging him to keep going. But Wriothesley is ever mindful of where they were doing this, of how lacking in privacy the infirmary was, and he glances up at the wide entryway. The coast was clear, at least for the time being. Surely he would hear anyone coming the same way Evelyn and Louis had no doubt heard the sound of his approach coming down the corridor though. That was one thing about living in a steel fortress at the bottom of the ocean. It was difficult to sneak around.

Turning his attention back on her, watching the way she hesitantly arches her back to better feel his broad fingers on her cunt, he quickly makes his decision. It wasn’t a good idea to pause now just so they could relocate somewhere more secluded and interrupt the strangely exhilarating momentum between them. And that was to say absolutely nothing of the raging erection he couldn’t have willed away even if he’d wanted to.

So Wriothesley slides his hand off the back of her neck, giving Evelyn the freedom to lift her head. She starts to crane her face around as if to look back at him in question, but he beats her to the punchline.

With a thick arm quickly slipped around the middle, he all too easily flips her over and she hits the sheets with a muted bounce, owlishly blinking up at him in wide eyed, red faced shock. She remains still and compliant though as he steps right up the side of the bed, tugging at the loose knot of his tie while he does it so he can pull it further down. He was going to need his full range of motion for this, and his blood positively boils as he looks down at her.

“If it’s both you like then it’s both I can give you,” he intones, his cool eyes locked steadily on hers. “But I need to make sure you understand something first, Evie. You’re free to tell me ‘no’ at any point and I’ll respect that. I won’t even question it if that’s your decision, I give you my word.”

Nervously, shyly, she brings her legs together in a fidgeting squeeze as her attention drops from his, lifts, flickers to the side and then back up again. Like she couldn’t quite decide where it was appropriate for her to look.

“I don’t want to say no … but …” Hesitating, she sends an uncertain glance at the entryway much the same way he had just a moment ago. “Right here? Is it safe …?”

“Probably not.” He admits with a chagrined, vaguely tortured smile. “We’ll just have to be careful though, and keep our ears open for anyone coming. We can’t get carried away but I think it would be remiss of me not to see this lesson through to the very end. Only with your permission, of course.”

She peers up at him for a long, drawn out moment as if weighing the odds, or perhaps his sincerity before slowly pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth. It’s clear to him in the way she drags her attention lower to take him in, lashes fluttering slightly while she does it, that she wants this. Wants him.

And at her stilted nod of acquiescence, he bends down to bring his hands together over her chest, carefully working to unhook the strap from one side of her overalls bib. She watches him the whole time, her breathing deep and slowed to the unmistakable rhythm of anticipation, something he couldn’t have missed even if he’d tried to overlook it.

The soft clatter of the rounded hook unclasping seems loud in the still silence and he reverently pushes the strap up to free her shoulder from his constraint. Reaching for the other side next, Wriothesley looks directly into her face when he speaks again.

“You’re going to be good for me now, isn’t that right? No more back talking. No more attitude.”

Groaning a stuttered, threadbare little sound, Evelyn’s lashes heavily droop as if it was becoming difficult to keep them up and open. “Yes … Wri — Your Grace. I’ll be good.”

His cock positively thrums with her sincere show of deference, the way those words sound so very sweet in her mouth, but he gives his head a brief shake as he unlatches the opposite strap. “You don’t have to keep calling me that if you’d prefer not to. I was just making a point … but I’m not so full of myself that I’d expect you to use my title in a situation like this. Besides, I like the way you say my name. Let me hear it again.”

Slowly grinning at that, Evie eagerly arches up from the bed to allow him the space needed to pull her topmost layer of clothing down now that he’s got both sides unfastened.

“Wriothesley …”

Twitching at that inviting coo, the way she forms her mouth around each syllable, he pauses when the coveralls are bunched around her middle. He takes a moment to gather himself, his restraint, under the guise of tugging her short sleeved top up to gather under her chin. She’s utterly malleable for him now, so much more complacent than when he’d start that it nearly strikes him as some small miracle. He’d never seen her like this, so at ease and yet braced for the pin to drop at the same time.

This spurns him on more than anything else, and as soon as he has her shirt out of the way he sets his sights on the skintight, clinging back fabric underneath. He can tell at just a glance that nothing else stands in the way beyond this final barrier, her tiny nipples stiff and seeking through the fabric. No brassiere, no chemise. Not that she really needed either when her tits were so compact and petite that even now they don’t stand out very much the way someone of a fuller figure would. But he finds it irresistible, something ancient and primitive sparking in the back of his mind when he puts his hands to her chest, cupping his callous worn fingers over those unobtrusive breasts, and he finds that his large palms come very close to swallowing them in their entirety.

Once again thinking he might be some kind of brute after all, given how much the size difference excites him, how arousing it is to know he’s so much bigger than her, Wriothesley drags his hands lower to cradle her ribs. Extending his thumbs, he brushes them upward to just tease across her tightly coiled nipples and she shakes plaintively for him in response.

“Nnghn … that’s — oh. It feels good …”

“Does it now?” Smirking to himself, he nudges her teats back and forth, back and forth for another moment longer until she finally shudders so hard her dramatically arching spine briefly comes up off the bed. “I’m sure you can already tell, Birdie, but I very much enjoy seeing you like this. You’re being awfully sweet for me now after getting your behind lit up a little bit.”

Whimpering faintly at the reminder, the fresh memory that must have surely still been at the forefront of her memory, she restlessly shifts underneath him. “Why … why did you decide to h - hit me like that?”

“Well, it seemed like the best way to get your attention at the time. You were so caught up in your little attitude that you just weren’t listening to reason. And it worked too. As soon as I snapped you out of your hissy fit you started behaving much better, didn’t you?”

She sucks in a sharp inhale at that, tossing her head back against the sheets to look elsewhere. The flush staining her cheeks is burning hot, a clear indicator that she was just as embarrassed as she was excited, but he’s not one to let her escape it that easily.

Carefully slipping his fingers under the stretchy material of her top and nudging it up, Wriothesley slowly bares more and more of her small mounded chest until he’s got it bunched from armpit to armpit, and her nipples are freely standing up in attention seeking points. She shudders helplessly when he leans over her, bending his head close to kiss the tip of one pebbled peak before doing the same to the other. Here he pauses to flick his tongue out, dragging the broad flat of it over her teat to make her gasp.

Then he’s closing his mouth around the delicate bud, gently suckling to draw further in towards the back of his throat. Unable to make herself be still anymore, Evelyn positively writhes under his ministrations, both hands flying up into his hair where they can clutch him against her breast, trilling the most seductive little sounds under her breath while she does it. It’s all too easy to get lost in her like this and he wants to, more than anything else — oh, how he wished to sink into her, shield her body with his and never leave the comforting warmth of her embrace.

He knows he can’t do that though, especially not here in the infirmary, and he soon comes up off her chest with a hungry, voracious growl. She trembles fitfully at the sound, fingers pulling at his hair when he directs his attention to the opposite side of her chest to suckle that nipple too.

At the same time, his hands start to work her coveralls the rest of the way down until he finally slips them over her thighs. He can’t quite stop himself from grabbing at them, finally following through on the powerful compulsion to feel along that forbidden strip of flesh. She’s soft under his touch yet firm and lean, making for a truly delightful experience as he drags her underwear off so he can then pry her legs apart into a wide spread.

Pulling back and straightening up so he can look upon her at long last, Wriothesley groans a heavy, painfully stricken sound when he sees her pussy plump and flushed with arousal. It leaves him feeling sluggish and intoxicated with the overwhelming urge to sink himself as deep into her as he can reach. Dangerous, so dangerous.

“Please,” she groans, very softly, yet it’s enough to snap him out of his moment of transfixed stupor. “I want it but … please be gentle.”

A thin, halfhearted laugh slips out of him as he drags his gaze over her petite hips, flat stomach, the little mounds of her breasts up to her face. “I wouldn’t be anything less with you, Birdie. This is a reward for good behavior, not a punishment. That’ll come later, for the trouble you started in the cafeteria.”

Evelyn cracks a tremulous smile at the playful ribbing but something in her expression still reads of uncertainty, and that gives him pause.

Sobering now, Wriothesley looks at her — really looks at her and he suddenly realizes she seems to be a bit nervous. “You can tell me to stop, if you’d rather not do this. I told you I wouldn’t take offense.”

Especially when she should be the one getting upset with him in this situation.

But she merely gives her head a brief shake, shyly glancing away from him. “It’s not really that … I want to but — it’ll be my first so …”

That successfully catches him so terribly off guard that for a long, drawn out beat he just stares down at her. Was she serious? Far be it that he’d taken her for some kind of shameless trollop but to have never given herself over to someone in this manner before, and then to choose him on top of that …

Oh, he was feeling more and more like some kind of knuckleheaded brute by the minute, particularly when his cock eagerly flexes at the thought of deflowering her. This revelation probably shouldn’t have excited him so damn much but that’s exactly what it does. There was a wild animal hunger pounding in his veins now, the wolf closing in on its prey, and he slowly slides his attention back down to the spot between her legs.

He was going to absolutely devour her.

Without a word, Wriothesley drops to his knees in front of the bed and he uses his hands latched to the cushiony give of her thighs to yank her right to the edge. Evelyn squeaks a surprised little sound, pushing half of the way up to peer down at him, but it’s too late. He buries his face in her cunt with bestial abandon, mouth opening wide to kiss and lick, and suck at her delicate slit while he works to hook her legs over his shoulders.

Her entire body gives an immediate spasm and she falls back to the mattress with a stifled yelp, squirming as every inch of her twitches in response to his ministrations. All of her wriggling and squirming likely would have been enough for a lesser man to lose hold of her but his grip is as good as iron, and he forces her to stay right where she is.

After swirling her sweet little clit for an extended moment, he wraps his lips around it and gives it a fierce, coaxing tug that makes her back dramatically bow. He releases it and pulls back, barely stops long enough for a quick gasp of air before moving lower to tease around her entrance with the tip of his tongue and then slowly pushes into it when she groans for him, the most supplicating whisper of his name.

This was a reward for her, yes, but a torture for him. Even now, even while he’s eating her out sloppily enough to smear clinging slick and spit all across his mouth, he still laments where this was happening. He should have insisted on escorting her back to his office, his personal chambers, where he could have feasted on her from the inside out, slowly and without any threat of discovery. It was incredibly shortsighted of him, in retrospect. He should have thought this through a little better.

But there’s no stopping it now and all he can do is hope — pray for the best when he drags his tongue back up to the apex of her mound where he can batter that poor, defenseless cluster of nerves back and forth, back and forth. And to her credit Evelyn manages to keep her voice in check, no doubt understanding just how precarious this really was as much as he does. Her soft, seething hisses and groans just drive him ever onward though, and he soon directs one of his hands inward to crowd in tight with his face.

Locating her entrance again through all the mess of excessive arousal and satiny soft folds, Wriothesley nudges into her with one finger that slowly breaches the barrier of her body. She goes ramrod stiff against him, her legs vibrating around his ears, but she doesn’t even attempt to dissuade him as he works his way further inside at a gradual pace, gentle yet insistent in the pressure he applies.

The first joint, the second and then, finally, straight up to the knuckle. She takes it all and he has to close his eyes, just groaning into the heat of her pussy for a movement while he basks in the sensation of her tight inner sleeve clenching around him in a rhythmic pulse as if it were trying to milk his finger of something it just didn’t have to offer.

And oh, how he wanted to give it to her. He wanted it more than anything in that second, damn everything else. His title and the power it afforded him, the fortress that was now his home, the humble wealth he enjoyed as a Duke. None of that was important and it didn’t matter in the slightest. His instincts were howling at him, barking like a hound at the full moon to claim and take, and to make her his.

But even in his blind hunger for her, he understood that he had to take it slow and handle her with the utmost care, ignoring every masculine urge in his body for the sake of her comfortability. He simply wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he actually hurt her, so he forces himself to take his time with it despite the agony of his trapped cock.

Patiently Wriothesley works her open until her guts start to relax around him, turning pliant and gummy to better accept the penetration. Only then does he add a second finger, repeating the process while he continues to eat her out to the melodic, trilling sounds of her pleasure. She really was like a caged bird, trapped in the clutches of some far greater predator, so slight and delicate under his massive paws, but she yields beautifully to him and all that he does to her.

Even when he slides his opposite hand up off her thigh, reaching for a tit to squeeze and grope, her legs remain locked around his head as if the thought of pulling from him or shying away never even occurs to her. That fuels his voracity, his need, to still greater heights until he feels mad with it, delirious in his need.

Finally he pulls off of her when her cunt is dripping and ready for something far more substantial than mere fingers. Moving to stand is a delayed, difficult process when he was just so damn hard in his pants but he manages, somehow. And looking upon her now, spread out on the infirmary bed in a lurid, wanton display, already so wrecked for him, he knows intrinsically that this is just a risk he’ll have to take. Sigewinne might hate him for it if she returned at the worst possible time and caught him ravaging one of his inmates, but that was a gamble he could live with. There was likely nothing in this world or the next that could keep him away from Evelyn right now.

Reaching for his pants, Wriothesley fumbles to get everything unfastened and unbuttoned, and shoved out of the way until he can finally free his cock. It hits the air with a heavy, muted bounce that pulls a quiet gasp out of her, but he doesn’t stop long enough to give her a chance to admire it. He can’t.

Bracing one knee on the mattress just under her hip, he nudges his pelvis close and guides his cock forward to slot along the pudgy seam of her cunt. Wide eyed and trembling, Evelyn watches him do it with a mildly startled expression on her face. Perhaps she’d underestimated how big he would be, or maybe she was simply surprised to find her estimation of him had been correct, it was hard to tell. But he takes a great deal of pleasure in rolling his hips to simulate a sedate thrust that sends his length dragging upward towards her bellybutton. And he only stops once he feels his testes brush the silken lips of her cunt, using his thumb to press and hold it in place along her stomach.

“Do you see that, Birdie?” He murmurs, his speech sounding slow and almost drunk for how thickened it is. “That’s how far I’m going to reach. Are you sure you’re up for this? You can still tell me no.”

“Ohh … Archon’s … that’s …”

Lifting his other hand, he curls the digits under her lolling neck and carefully lifts, forcing her to look down at his waiting cock again. She whimpers and whines at the sight of it, fidgeting restlessly, but he holds her fast.

“I need to hear you say it, Evelyn. Tell me what you want. Should I stop?” Leaving his cock to rest in place, he reaches up with these fingers to give one of her straining nipples a sharp little tweak that makes her mewl an overwhelmed sound. “Or would you like me to keep going? Just know that if you say yes … I’m not going to pull out. I won’t stop until I’ve completely filled you up.”

Sucking in one ragged gasp after another, she sways almost drunkenly on top of the bed. “Nnghn, I do … I want it, Wriothesley, please … give it to me. I - I need it …”

A stiff shudder works down his spine, making him seethe, and he leans down to bring his face close to hers, caging her in with his mouth just a hair's breadth away from hers. She’s so hesitant and sweet, almost innocent, that he can’t help teasing her a little bit. “Tell me where you want it then. What do you want this big bad wolf to do to you, Birdie? Huh?”

She groans, sounding absolutely gutted, but she still obediently responds, much to his growing satisfaction. “I … oh, gods, I want you to stretch me out on it, Wriothesley … want you to — to make me yours and … breed me. Claim me. Ruin me for anyone else … my pussy … yours …”

His galvanized length violently twitches at that, flexing up off of her stomach for a brief moment before the sheer weight of his arousal drags it back down with a soft plap against the skin. Growling a heated, animalistic sound, he presses his forehead against hers for a moment to try and calm himself, to get his rioting urges under control. The way she’d said it was so guileless and naive, so blithe in its trusting unassuming, that his desire to completely own her inside and out starts to reach its breaking point. He was going to greatly enjoy turning her into a cock hungry masochist, of corrupting and tainting such a sweet, sweet girl.

Holding himself painfully rigid, Wriothesley at last backs off enough to send an eager glance between them. His lingering hand gives her tit one last, savory pinch before reaching down to guide himself to her cunt, leaving a sticky thread of precum across her lower belly. His other remains locked around her neck though, ensuring she stays still and oh so very compliant, making her watch when he angles himself towards her pulsing entrance.

As soon as he starts to push into her she rattles a harried gasp, trembling uncontrollably now, but she happily relents to it, nudging her pelvis up to better accept him. And accept him she does. All it takes is a mild, halfhearted push of his hips and the head sinks into the tight, wet warmth of her body’s embrace with very little resistance to show for it. He has to grit his teeth, molars gnashing in an attempt to stay grounded while he patiently works his way inside.

The girth of him forces her guts to stretch and make room, gradually taking more and more of his cock until he eventually reaches even deeper than his fingers had. Still he continues to feed himself into her one staggered inch at a time, alternating between watching her face pinch in red hot, blazing ecstasy, and admiring the way he slowly disappears into the fleshy spread of her cunt. It was an utterly transcendental experience, especially for someone like him who rarely allowed himself to be intimate like this with anyone. He can only imagine it might feel the same for her, being her first time and all.

But he knows he can trust her and he’s certain Evelyn must feel the same, for she brings her arms up to twine around his neck when he finally settles against her and leans forward. Their mouths finally meet in a sudden, hungry clash and he starts to move, merely nudging his hips forward and back at first to give her a chance to acclimate to the sensation of being stuffed full.

And she moans into his lips, already wound so tight and taut from his tongue that even just that much is enough to have her convulsing with warning tremors. He quickly picks up the pace though, pulling half of the way out just to shove back in, demanding her cunt accept him, again and again.

It quickly becomes too much though, and Evelyn rips her mouth away to let out a faltering sound into the otherwise still and silent room. He can see her tongue lolling in her mouth, trying to form words but all that comes out are desperate sounds of deep, intense pleasure that further belie her inexperience. She really had never known this before now, the merging of flesh and heat, blood and sweat. He can see it in her face, how she can’t seem to brace against what she’s feeling, and he presses his forehead to hers to watch the shameless display.

She’d asked for him to ruin her but did she even fully understand what that meant? Did she have any idea how thoroughly he was going to wreck her and make every other man pale in comparison?

“That’s it,” he croons at her, encouraging and comforting in equal measure. “Just hold on tight, Birdie, and don’t let go. You’re going to cum for me and let me see that pretty expression on your face … isn’t that right?”

She jerks her head in a quick, distracted nod, clearly more focused on the myriad sensations that are making her body sing like an overturned chord than on any outside input. So lovely and malleable, and all his for the claiming.

“Good girl. You’re being so damn sweet now.” He angles his face up, pressing a hard kiss to the center of her brow while he continues to drive into her endlessly, tirelessly. “Makes me want to spoil you rotten and pamper you. That’s why I asked you to stay out of trouble. I know you’re not a bad girl so don’t act like one, okay?”

Evelyn tries to speak but all that comes is a heady, lilting moan, sounding like it was punched right out of her by his cock, so she swallows hard and tries again. “Y - yes … I’ll be good, ooohn … I’ll be good, Wriothesley, I promise, I — ahhn! I promise!”

Her pussy clamps dizzingly tight around him then, locked tight and pulsing like a second heartbeat. He can tell she’s getting dangerously close now and her words trail off into mindless babble again as he really starts pounding into her now, forcing her body ever toward that pinprick of euphoria at the finish line. The sticky wet clicks of her pussy taking him in deep, deep, on every downward plunge comes loud and fast to join the energetic staccato of his hips slapping into her upturned ass. She can’t seem to breathe now, struggling for any amount of air, but he holds her painfully tight while he drills her into the mattress.

And she cums so suddenly that he almost doesn’t even realize it’s happening at first, her body so tense and shuddering that it’s nearly impossible to differentiate between that and the orgasmic spasms that roil through her. It’s her cunt that gives it away though, fluttering so wildly around his pistoning cock that it makes her feel somehow even tighter than before, and he woundedly lurches over her with a sucker punched sound.

“Ohh, shit … that’s it, Birdie. Keep cumming. Don’t stop until I’ve pumped you full. There … mmnngh, right there. Just like that. Don’t stop milking me. Oohn. Good girl. Good, good girl. I’m close, so close. Gonna’ take every last drop I give you, isn’t that right?”

“Wriothesley, please …”

That’s what seals his fate. The way she says his name, the way she pleads for him so soft and heated, yet somehow demanding of him at the same time. Like she was just as hungry to have his seed as he was to give it to her, so different from the way she’d said his name earlier, and he finally throws his head back with a hissed snarl aimed up at the ceiling.

His cock jumps inside her, violently painting her walls white, and she groans a truly mindless noise when that flood of hot, sticky warmth squirts deep inside her guts. The once steady rhythm of his thrusts instantly devolves, and he twitchingly rolls his locked hips into her a few more times to make sure he’s fully emptied himself. Then, with a haggard, deeply satisfied moan, he slouches forward to shove his face in the crook of her sweat dampened neck, working to catch his breath.

In the aftermath, when the hazy thrill of desire pulls back and the stark post orgasm clarity has come rushing in, Wriothesley wonders what had possibly possessed him to do any of that. A gross abuse of power didn’t even come close to it. He'd had no business putting his hands on her like that, of spanking her like some unruly child, and this … the evidence of their tryst slowly oozing out to dribble onto the sheet underneath her was in many ways the final nail in the coffin. Something truly uncivilized had gotten into him.

It wasn’t usually in his nature to be quite so impulsive, much preferring to think things through and act accordingly, but all that he’d done over the last forty some odd minutes had been like that of some mindless, wild beast. He was starting to doubt himself again, wondering if he was perhaps the tyrant rumor made him out to be after all.

But when he finally pulls back to look into Evelyn’s face, finding her comfortable and lax where she’s spread out on the bed underneath him, a small smile of contentment pulling at her mouth, he realizes she had not accepted this treatment from him under duress. He hadn’t coerced her, nor had he given her no choice in the matter. She’d bent to his authority willingly, perhaps even for the first time in her life, and she was happy with that. Pleased with how things had turned out between them, at least for the time being.

It almost makes him laugh, to think that the caged bird would willingly choose the big bad wolf over her own freedom.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x oc #self insert bullshit

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magicalbats · 1 month ago

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SCAT?????

Stop and read, babe. The red text is the kink I chose from the options for that day, if I’d planned to do all of them why bother highlighting it in the first place? lol Not every kinktober list has multiple choices but I specifically look for ones that do so I don’t get stuck writing something I really don’t want to. 🤣 Like I’ve said so many times before scat is a hard no for me. Here’s a different (and relatively tame) one also from 2023

Edit just to add, since I belatedly realized not everyone has been following me long enough to have seen me talk about this before: I don’t like making my own lists for Kinktober because I’ll definitely approach it with bias and pick things with certain characters in mind. I prefer to find lists that someone else made (with multiple choices) so that I can play around with fitting different characters to things I might not otherwise think of. Like I can’t say I would’ve naturally thought to write that lactation fic with Dottore but in brainstorming my options for that day the inspiration hit me and it ended up being one of my favorites. Once I find a good list I’ll just copy it into a word doc so I can write on it. If you’ll notice Scara’s day 28 I think it is, is crossed out because it’s done. So yeah, that’s my process. lol

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magicalbats · 1 month ago

Note

if you intend to finish them, which characters will you put in your kinktober series? also, i really, really like the way you write. have a nice day!

Thank you so much, anon! I hope you have a nice day as well! 🫶😊 And sure, I can share what I have planned for the final few slots but do keep in mind this might still be subject to change.

Here’s the end of 2023’s list (red text indicates the kink I chose from the options, though for some I do try to incorporate all three when I can)

And 2024’s

Edit: I just noticed Xingqiu’s name is misspelled up there but for all intents and purposes this word doc was meant to be for my eyes only, just overlook that little typo and anything else 🤣

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magicalbats · 1 month ago

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Also since I finally opened my laptop to post that fic I went ahead and created a dedicated page for the commissions faq so that I can easily reference it and make announcements for new openings there. Of course I'll still make a normal post to let everyone know when I open a new batch too, but I figured having a specific page would be helpful. 🥹 Happy thirsting everyone!

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magicalbats · 1 month ago

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Glory in Wrath

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 11,197

Warnings: Afab!reader, incest (half siblings), stalking, panty stealing/sniffing, premature ejaculation, femdom, high heels, cock stepping, dry humping, pussy job, just the tip, excessive orgasms, sex work, reader isn't really a prostitute but more like a professional dominatrix 🤭

A/N: This is the first comm from the current batch and I'm honestly so, so happy the lovely @reideux brought me this project! I had a lot of fun working on this as an appreciator of dominant women making proud men snivel, and also as someone who has been lucky enough to have their support for such a long time. 🥹 Thank you again for always reading and commenting on my fics, Rei. It really does mean the world to me!

⭐

He watches. He observes. And you notice nothing.

Just as it should be, just as it was always meant to be.

Some would call it fate or destiny.

He preferred to think of it like a hero’s curse.

Hugo is a creature of the night and encroaching shadows, more at home shrouded in darkness than bathed in the light of day. The world of the waking has always felt like some place he did not belong though, something he wasn’t privileged enough to be a part of or worthy of calling his own. But as far as midnight wraiths go … well, he was perfectly in his element there.

“I think it’ll go off without a hitch so I wouldn’t dwell on it much. You know how untouchable these rich and powerful types like to think themselves.” Vivian drawls into his ear through the wireless bud, sounding largely disinterested in the topic at hand. Likely painting her nails or applying a face mask at home, if he had to guess. “By the way, where are you?”

“Oh, just out for a little late night stroll, that’s all. I thought some fresh air might do me some good.”

She hums a noncommittal sound at that, clearly willing to accept his answer at face value.

Still though, there’s some faint edge of curiosity in her voice that seems to suggest she’d noticed how many of these walks in the middle of the night he’s been taking as of late. Oh, well. There wasn’t much he could do about that.

Leaned back against the rough brick wall of a butcher's shop, he looks out over the road at the apartment complex in front of him. A few windows are lit up from within by the warm cast of electric bulbs to allow any nosy passersby a brief glimpse into the lives of the strangers inside. Some are covered with blinds or shades, their occupants much more reticent to share their private moments at home with unwanted interlopers, while others were darkened out, either already in bed for the evening or still out and about.

Of the few that were left wide open there are a number of different scenes playing out before him that Hugo could choose to focus on. A family of three sitting down to eat, a shameless bachelor jerking off to porn on his computer, an old woman putzing over the stove — but it’s only one window that has his full and undivided attention.

You’ve just finished up your dinner and are now going through the motions of cleaning up after yourself, entirely oblivious to his presence outside as you carry the dishes to the sink to be washed. It was impressively self-sufficient for a member of the Ravenlock family, if he did say so himself.

Except you weren’t really a part of that noble family, were you? Poor thing.

“You know,” Vivian says with practiced nonchalance. “There’s a new art exhibit opening up in Lumina Square next weekend. I was thinking maybe we could go check it out together, if you were interested.”

“Mmm, and what, pray tell, is going to be there that’s caught your attention? You’re not usually one for stuffy exhibitions.” He murmurs, earning a faint scoff from the girl even as he continues to watch you through the window. Nothing could ever hope to tear his attention away from the singular object of his obsession though, not even dear Vivian.

“That’s not true and you know it, Hugo. I just … I heard some rumors, that’s all. That the art broker hosting the event is on the shady side. Something about stolen heirlooms or something.”

Putting his head to one side, the Phantom Thief considers that for a brief moment. It was certainly a good thing he could multitask. He would’ve been beside himself if he’d missed the way your t-shirt rides up to expose a tantalizing strip of your belly when you reach overhead to put away a bowl in the cupboard. It was easily enough to distract him from anything else but what Vivian was saying also had his interest too …

“Why don’t you send me his name and I’ll do a little digging on this end when I get back home. If he’s the sort of person who would take precious heirlooms from those less fortunate, well, it would be remiss of us not to make an appearance, wouldn’t you agree?”

But he couldn’t do it right this moment. Not when he was much too focused on you, entirely unawares and naive to his laser focused attention, and oh so very ripe for the taking.

Hugo had done all the research. Uncovered every stone and tracked every possible lead no matter how small it may have been in his tireless pursuit of tracking down every known Ravenlock. Even distant cousins and uncles hadn’t been far removed enough to avoid the brunt of his scrutiny, though most of them were unknowingly lucky enough not to draw his vengeful ire when they weren’t close enough to the center of the family tree to matter much in the grand scheme of things. He still liked to keep tabs on all of the moving chess pieces regardless. But you, on the other hand, were much too closely related to the source, that damnable wellspring in the bloodline, to escape his sights.

His sister. Younger by three years and only half related, but a direct product of that hateful bastard he called a father nonetheless. You’d been practically a babe when he killed one of his siblings in cold blood and evidently too far down the hierarchal line to be considered for the position of heir, because he’d never met you before. Not face to face, anyway. Not yet.

And although he’s never spoken to you to confirm this Hugo is relatively certain you have no clue he ever even existed in the first place, which suited his purposes just fine. You’d been cast off and thrown away, excommunicated from the family shortly after his own time with the Ravenlocks came to an end. For this reason you were technically innocent and his call for revenge was more than just a bit misguided when directed at you. But that didn’t change the blood in your veins or the fact of whose loins you’d been conceived from. You were a direct progeny of the Ravenlock’s regardless which meant, on some level, you still had to pay.

Perhaps not with your life, no, but there were other, equally important things he could take from you instead.

Mismatched eyes twinkling sharply in the dark, Hugo watches you meander from one side of the kitchen to the other to deposit something into the garbage. Your apartment is on the third floor to give the impression that you were safely out of reach up there, and lucky for him you don’t seem to have any presence of mind to close the curtains to block him out. He’d been looking at you from afar for quite some time now so he was intimately familiar with your routine. After cleaning up from your meal you’d start to get ready for bed, just like clockwork.

A smirk tugs at his mouth in the shadows when you move to do just that, such a creature of habit that you don’t deviate from the worn path even now. He follows you with his gaze while you make your way out of the kitchen and further into the apartment where he eventually loses sight of you. That was alright though. There would be plenty of time for him to admire you in the coming days, weeks, months. Perhaps even years, if he decided to drag it out for that long.

“I have to go now, Vivian. I’ll keep you updated on anything I find out and we’ll plan our next move from there.”

“Alright. Have a goodnight, Hugo.”

“Goodnight, little love. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The line disconnects with a small beep and Hugo pushes off from the wall, confidently sauntering across the street to come up alongside the apartment complex. No one even notices him at this time of night to question his presence there as he makes his way further down to the fire escape at the corner of the building. A quick jump and the powerful flex of his arms to haul himself up quickly has him making nimble work of the steel enforced stairs leading up, up, up to the third floor where he’s then able to silently creep along the platform until he reaches the end of it. From there it’s an all too simple matter of stretching his long legs out to find footing along the closest ledge, going from window to window as quick and unseen as any passing ghoul, until he at last reaches the entrance to your humble abode.

He’s done this about a dozen times now, and just like every other instance he does not find the windowsill locked when he tests it. You really had no idea you were being haunted by a vengeful spirit from your past … or perhaps hunted was the better word.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Hugo quietly eases the window up so he can slip inside, climbing carefully over the counter to plant his expensive shoes on the tile flooring before turning to shut the entry point. Didn’t need to let a draft and whatever else in while he was here. Mosquitos were particularly bad this year and he’d already long decided that if anyone was going to be feasting on your blood it would be him.

The apartment he now stands in is perfectly still yet comfortable with the feeling of being lived in and occupied. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom as he moves deeper inside, catching a glimpse of wafting steam coming out from under the closed door when he steps into the short hall. You would be in there for at least another twenty minutes or so, which gave him plenty of time to do what he’d set out to accomplish.

Further he skulks, making sure to tread lightly as he makes his way up to your bedroom door. Left ajar, all he has to do is nudge it open and it swings wide to grant him entry. The smell of you immediately overwhelms his senses as he steps inside, pausing there just over the threshold to take in this space.

It’s virtually unchanged since the last time he invaded your privacy like this, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to commit it all to memory again. Your untidy bed which you never bothered to make as far as he could tell, the small collection of plush animals and knickknacks dotting the corners of the room, your best clothes hung up on a dainty rack against the wall. They were altogether humble furnishings for someone with such esteemed family ties but still quaint. Cozy even.

A very real part of him wanted to take a match to it and burn it all to the ground.

But he's not actually going to do that, of course. Hugo had other plans for you, much grander ideas that were far more fitting for a member of the once esteemed Ravenlock family, making do instead with shuffling over to the laundry basket near the foot of your bed. Here he bends down to quickly rifle through the clothes awaiting wash day until he finds a used pair of your underwear. Hooking a finger into the band, he holds it up to inspect the garment in the column of light coming in from the hallway. Cotton with soft lace details, two little faux buttons on the front to give it a girlish charm. They were certainly cute. And he couldn’t wait to defile them, to destroy that laughable guise of innocence they represented.

Giving his wrist a quick flick, he gathers the panties in his palm and balls them up, shoving them down into the pocket of his slacks. He takes a moment to ensure the laundry hamper looked untouched just as it did when he’d first entered before taking his leave. The bedroom door is carefully nudged halfway shut again, then he’s making his way back towards the kitchen.

He can’t quite stop himself from slowing to a stop in front of the bathroom on his way out though, bending his head close to the crack in the woodwork to listen. You’re singing some radio tune or another very softly, likely so as not to have it bleed through the walls and disturb your neighbor, but he finds it’s a lovely sound regardless. If they’d known back then that you would grow up to have such a pleasing voice perhaps the Ravenlock’s would not have been quite so eager to toss you aside. It was certainly unfortunate for you, yes, but undeniably fortuitous for him.

Because what should have been nothing more than a passing interest for a sister he’d never known in his search for revenge had already morphed into something much more akin to twisted fascination. He couldn’t have pinpointed the exact moment even if he’d wanted to, but Hugo knew it had happened somewhat recently. Maybe it was the first time he’d snuck into your apartment, telling himself he just wanted to better know you and the life you’ve lived as an outcast, not unlike his own existence in a way. Or maybe it was when he’d taken the first pair of panties in an impulsive rush that had left him running so damn hot and throbbing that he’d barely made it back to his own studio apartment on the other side of town before succumbing to it. The aftermath of that incident had only seemed to solidify his almost fanatically growing fixation with you, turning it into something tangible and real. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shot off so hard as to leave him feeling lightheaded and dizzy with relief, as if the sick reality of what he’d done had only made it all the more gratifying.

The when and the how didn’t really matter though, he supposed. He was already in this deep and you were still ignorant of his schemes. You’d been perplexed by your missing underwear, no doubt about that, but you still don’t suspect a thing given the window you continued to leave unlocked even now. Of course you wouldn’t automatically jump to the conclusion that someone was stalking you but did you suspect? Did you wonder? And to think that someone was your own half brother …

It’s devious in its cruelty, this petty attack on your person, but he isn’t going to stop. He can’t. Not anymore, not when the line had already been crossed and there was no going back from it at this point.

Reluctantly, he forces himself back into motion and quickly exits the way he came in, through the window in the kitchen. Back down the fire escape and across the street, he lets muscle memory steer him through the city along a number of roads that he hardly even recognizes when his mind is reeling with the potent rush of dopamine straight to his brain. All of New Eridu seems to pass him in a blur while he winds his way home, eagerly twitching in his pants the whole time with your stolen panties sitting bunched in his pocket like a weighty reminder. He’s even only distantly aware of fishing his keys out to unlock the front door of his studio some forty five minutes later, panting softly under his breath in his excitement.

Taking off his hat and shrugging out of his coat, he quickly tosses them aside over a chair in the foyer before digging down into his slacks to retrieve his prize. At the same time he meanders deeper into the spacious apartment — much roomier and nicer than yours, of course — as if he were in a trance. In fact, Hugo is certain he must be. It was the only thing that could conceivably explain this behavior or this driving urge to destroy you so completely.

Groaning a soft, threadbare little sound, he brings his hand up with the pilfered treasure resting in his palm and shoves his face into it. A deep, faltering inhale has the lingering scent of your pussy swarming his olfactory system in a potent rush. His cock, which had persistently remained half hard despite his attempts to will it away during the trek home, now roars to life with keen intensity, springing up to shove at the inner placket of his pants. His self control was usually better than this but he can’t quite seem to rein it in when you smelled so good, tasted so damn good, and he stiffly nudges his opposite hand around to press down on that seeking, demanding tent.

He practically smothers himself with your underwear while he savoringly grinds the heel of his hand down on his cock, hips rolling into the motion with a stuttering swivel. His body aches fiercely for you; for all that you represent and all that you are, a trophy for him to lay claim to and destroy at his own leisure. It’s not very polite or genteel of him; no, no, certainly not. But oh, how he craved to tear into you and render you to pieces. Even knowing you were just as much a victim of the Ravenlock’s as he is wasn’t nearly enough to douse his deep seated hatred for you.

That must be what makes this so damn satisfying, he thinks to himself as he unfurls his tongue from his mouth to take a long, savory swipe down the center line of your underwear. The flavor of you erupts along his tastebuds, eliciting another groan from him while his eyes start to roll back in his head. It’s that sharp, chaotic feeling of pure and utter loathing that seems to be fueling this lust for you.

To have you and to claim you would be to ruin you; mind, body and soul alike. You would be as good as a pariah shunned for their mere existence and forever tainted as a brother fucker, defiled by your own kin if he had his way. It wouldn’t affect him much in the long run but you, oh, you would never be able to escape that scarlet letter he’ll brand into your skin.

Hugo’s stomach clenches painfully tight at that thought and his chest hitches, stuttering on a gasp that catches in his throat. He’s cumming before he even realizes how dangerously close he’d been toeing that edge, before he can even fumble his pants open and fist his cock out, but it’s much too late now. All he can do is stiffly shudder with the spasms, seething softly through his teeth at the warm, sticky sensation of his spend coating the inside of his underwear while he clutches himself through his pants.

He’s positively coated in the clinging mess by the time his cock stops pumping, and he heaves a tortured sound as he lets his arms drop boneless to his sides. Slouching slightly with the languid ease that always comes in the hazy afterglow of orgasm, he shifts back on his heels to look down and regard himself. These pants were going to have to be dry cleaned. Great.

The only silver lining is that at least this had saved your panties from a similar fate, which meant he wouldn’t have to pilfer another pair quite so soon. Still though …

Hugo allows his mind to drift back to what had made him bust like that, wandering in the direction of his spacious bathroom to change out of his soiled clothes. A scarlet letter, huh? That was quite the idea. And a rather novel and tempting one, at that. But he didn’t see much appeal in forcing himself on you, reluctant to stoop to such low and uncouth methods even when he was willing to do just about everything else. Where was the fun in it if you didn’t come to him willingly? He was going to have to talk to you sooner rather than later then, if this was truly the route he wanted to take. Give his charm and charisma a real test for once.

Lucky for you, he had yet to meet anyone who was completely impervious to his bag of tricks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His opportunity presents itself with the kind of stark clarity that one usually only finds in the perfect merging of fate and happenstance. The hero’s curse rings true once again.

The hostess club you worked for was a nondescript cabaret bar tucked off from the main hub of bustling activity in Lumina Square. Down a dark and rather shady looking alley, one would find themselves emerging on the other side into a much smaller but no less busy street that was clearly more geared towards nightlife and entertainment than the shopping center back the way they’d come. The outer facade is clean and relatively sterile, with a tasteful sign over the door that merely reads Club Iris and nothing more to indicate what sort of business it might be. For all intents and purposes it was nearly indistinguishable from the massage parlor near the riverfront or the karaoke place further down the street.

It’s only real give away was whichever girl happened to be standing out front to greet people with a welcoming smile, inviting anyone who looked gullible enough to come inside. Having been watching you as long as he has, Hugo has seen you standing there on the sidewalk a handful of times before when your lucky number was drawn for curb appeal duty but today seems to be a bit different. You’re wearing a new dress, for starters.

One that is by all means demure in its style and cut, but so seamlessly fitted to the curves of your body that he’s forced to cross his legs to hide the growing bulge in his pants. It did not leave much to the imagination. In almost any other situation he would’ve been quite delighted by this turn of events — a daughter of the Ravenlock’s fallen into such unfortunate circumstances that she’s forced to use her own body just to make a living? It was poetic justice, in a way. But the unfortunate side effect of that being other men ogling you up and practically fucking you with their eyes … well, he quickly finds that he doesn't like that very much.

And they do look at you, just like they were meant to. He can see them turning their heads in rapt attention to stare at you from his vantage point on the patio of the coffee shop across the street and down a ways. The young, the old, the married and the singularly lonely. All of them men who would have given anything just to be in your presence, to be on the receiving end of one of those flirty little smiles you were so adept at. As far as self advertising went, you were doing a spectacular job of drawing the covetous glances of all who passed by.

It disgusts him. Makes him feel sick and nauseous with a jealousy that was not entirely foreign to him. He knew the feeling well even if he didn’t like it. And he also knows that he’s not going to be able to sit idly by while anyone else was raking their eyes over your body in that form fitted little number. He’d have to act quickly if he didn’t want anyone else to pay for the privilege of your time though, which didn’t leave him with much of a chance to think up a plan.

It was just going to have to be now or never.

Unfolding himself from the patio chair, Hugo inconspicuously shifts to redistribute the weight of his cock in his pants and better hide the bulge of a half hard erection. Even now he’s surprised at how lacking in self control he was becoming whenever you were involved but like with everything else he doesn’t stop long enough to really question or evaluate it. Creatures of the night had no need for self reflection, after all, and he finds a certain comfort in his blind obsession even as he digs a hand into his pocket to discreetly tug himself more to the side.

Withdrawing his wallet in the same, smooth motion, he tosses down a handful of dennies for a tip before stepping off of the patio into the street. He was just going to have to play this by ear, and his long legs make quick work of the short distance down to the cabaret bar despite his unhurried pace until he soon finds himself stepping directly into your line of sight. His heart stutters an eager rhythm with the knowledge that this would be the first time you ever laid eyes on him only for it to stop beating altogether when you do just that, glancing up at his considerable height.

A split second pause in which he feigns ignorance of you, the establishment behind you, the blood ties you shared, and then your mouth pops open in his peripheral vision. Just like he’d known it would. Between his expensive clothes and the innocuous yet important looking briefcase in his hand, he’d known the bait would be too good for you to resist.

“Hey, Mister.”

Still pretending to be oblivious, Hugo turns his head this way and that as if looking around for the person you were speaking to. Then, putting on his best imitation of an innocent facade when he finds no one else on the street with him, he stops to glance back at you.

As if only just now realizing you were indeed calling out to him, he allows his mouth to settle into a polite smile. “Hey to you, too. Sorry, I’m not used to being called that so I didn’t think it was for me at first. I hope I don’t look that old yet.”

You seem to find his usual charms funny, which was also well within his expectations, and his loins curl painfully tight under the glowing grin you flash at him.

“Don’t worry, you don’t look a day over twenty. I was just trying to be polite. Would it have been better if I’d called you handsome instead?”

He can’t help scoffing a quick laugh. “Well, that certainly would have caught my attention a bit quicker, I’ll give you that. It’s not everyday I get catcalled by someone as beautiful as you. And, really? Twenty? Maybe you should have called me a sucker.”

Your eyes flash at that, clearly latching onto his wit and sharp tongue just like he’d known you would. Growing up in the real world rather than the carefully manufactured bubble of the Ravenlock family’s money and prestige had done you a world of good. A wilting wallflower you were not.

All of those fake polite niceties they’d once tried to drill into him are not present here, and you unhesitatingly drop your eyes to take in his pressed slacks and his briefcase, his luxury brand dress shoes and the decidedly bespoke coat hanging from his shoulders. You don’t even attempt to hide it as you quite clearly size him up.

“Are you a businessman?” You finally ask, dragging your attention back around to his face. Direct and straight to the point. Oh yes, he liked that very much.

“‘Maybe. Depends who’s asking.”

“Ooh, mysterious are we?

His smile grows slightly at that, flashing a tiny peak of fang. “Only when it amuses me. I’m an art dealer so hardly a paper pusher, if that’s what you wanted to know. The names Hugo Vlad, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.”

He holds his free hand out to you in offering and you don’t hesitate to act now either, confidently reaching over to take it. You tell him your name, oblivious to the possibility that he might already know it, as you give him a surprisingly firm shake. You’d be a formidable little thing in a boardroom.

“Trust me, darling. The pleasure is all mine.” Quickly flipping your hand over before you can protest or pull away, he bends over your outstretched arm to plant a lingering kiss to the back of your knuckles. Just that brief contact, the brief taste of you that comes in with the breath he takes, is enough to have his cock twitching in his pants again. Oh, but you were positively delectable.

Slowly straightening, Hugo finds you pinning him with a playful if not rueful little grin. Cheeky, right down to the letter.

“You’re a charmer, I’ll give you that. Most guys forget how to be smooth and suave when they realize what I’m selling.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not ‘most guys’.” He says with a pointed quirk of his brow, making something in your eyes shift towards hazy. “And what exactly is it you’re trying to sell me, beautiful? I might be interested.”

You draw a slow breath that makes your chest expand, pushing up against the gossamer silk of your dress. When he briefly drops his attention at the motion he finds your nipples growing stiff and puckered, poking out in what could only be invitation. And Hugo has to subtly bite down on his tongue to stop himself from groaning at the sight of them, of you standing there like that while your body subconsciously reacts to his presence. Oh, but little darling, he was going to tear you to shreds.

“I’m an entertainer. A hostess.” You say, speaking softly now as you halfheartedly motion back at the building. Clearly distracted. “Would you like to come in for a drink and chat some more?”

Once again feigning innocence, Hugo glances up at the nondescript sign behind you as if it never even occurred to him what sort of establishment this might be. “Oh. I see now. Isn’t that how places like this always trap you though? You invite me inside under the pretense of getting to know each other better and then by the end of it you’ll have taken my entire life savings. Besides … it’s the middle of the day, lovely girl. What would people think if they saw me entering such a shady business?”

Rather than getting defensive, you merely shrug at him. “Whatever it is, they're probably already thinking it since you’ve been standing here talking to me for so long. Most would have kept walking if they weren’t at least a bit interested, but definitely if they were embarrassed about being seen with someone like me.”

Someone like you? Yes, someone like a disgraced Ravenlock who has no idea what sort of monster she’s inviting in.

Genuine amusement tugs at his mouth, curling Hugo’s lips into a sly smirk. “Touché. You make a convincing argument, I’ll give you that. Alright, I’ll come inside with you but only under one condition.”

You shift your weight from one heel to the other and pointedly cock your hip out. “Which is?”

“I’d prefer to be alone with you, that’s all. Do you have any private rooms to rent out in this place?”

Real surprise registers in your expression. “Are you sure? Can you really afford that?”

“Oh, trust me, sweetness. You needn’t worry about my finances.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s not a very big room that you take him to but, glancing up at the reflective surface of mirrors on the ceiling, he quickly decides that it will do.

After following you down a starkly lit, carpeted hallway with an inconspicuous row of doors on either side, you’d finally stopped to open the last room on the left. Not a soul had come or gone in the trek from one end of the building to the other, and it’s almost eerily still and silent as he casually moves to take in the room after setting down his briefcase. A white leather couch that would have looked gauche in almost any other setting were it not for the glitzy, overly dramatic glass chandelier hanging above it. To the left sits a steel lined mini bar of dark charcoal with perfectly polished glasses sitting neatly along the top of it. He can see a small sound system tucked just to the side, which is where you head now to turn on some music and give the room a bit of ambiance. To the right and partially hidden behind an exaggeratedly large plant with reaching fonds is a standalone hot tub that looked like it could comfortably seat six. This was probably a VIP lounge meant for groups of businessmen looking to unwind. And to think, it was just you and little old him.

He could almost wretch at the thought of anyone else bringing you back to this room.

Hugo knew well what this game was and how to play it though. You weren’t a prostitute in the strictest sense, particularly not when it was technically illegal in New Eridu, but as always there was a loophole in place to sidestep the law. There was always a workaround for everything.

The club owners were likely happy to look the other way on whatever their girls were doing as long as it kept paying customers happy and coming back for more. The women who worked here were indeed entertainers on paper but behind closed doors, well … that was more up to individual discretion.

He’d extensively researched this place right at the onset and he knew for a fact that some of the employees did exchange sexual favors for dennies. It wasn’t a requirement to work here but the most successful hostesses usually put out, and the cheap little apartment you had over in the less savory part of the city was likely a very good indication of where you stood on the matter. There were plenty of bathhouses and massage parlors that operated on similar terms scattered around for anyone desperate enough to seek them out, though this club seemed to cater to a wealthier clientele. And as long as they didn’t get caught, the owners were likely fine with their employees charming the wallets out of however many men they wanted and by whatever means necessary.

He had to give you credit if you really thought you were skilled enough to pull something like that over on him though. It was cute.

The quiet sound of your heels coming up behind him brings Hugo back to reality and he realizes that a soft, crooning melody is now playing over the tucked away speakers. Something thin and sultry. His pulse gives a dull thud and, slow with anticipation and thrumming hunger, Hugo turns to greet you with a pointed smile.

“If I didn’t know any better I might think you were trying to rob me blind back here.”

You give a low laugh at that as you step right up to him, hand lifting to press delicate fingers into the bend of his elbow. “And you might be right if I was one of the other girls but I don’t like to stoop to that level. Your dennies are safe with me, Mister Vlad.”

“Just Hugo is fine. No need for formalities.” The corner of his mouth hitches slightly in wry humor. “Are you trying to tell me that you really brought me here just to chat? I’m not quite sure I believe that.”

“You misunderstand me, Hugo. I didn’t say I was a virgin pure with lofty standards. It’s just that I’ve found my clients are usually happy to keep coming back all on their own so I don’t feel the need to drain them in one go with crafty traps.”

His heart stutters a beat inside his chest. Now that sounded interesting.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said you haven’t piqued my curiosity when you put it like that. Something tells me I wouldn’t mind being entrapped by you though.”

“Oh? Would you like a demonstration then?”

“Gladly.”

A glint of mischief flashes in your eyes as you slide the hand on his arm higher up to press lightly on his shoulder. You’re half his size as most people are when Hugo was so tall and leanly svelte so he doesn’t have to bend to your will but he chooses to do it anyway.

Taking a shuffling step back and then another, he lets you guide him towards the waiting couch where you give him an unexpectedly firm shove. He allows himself to be moved and he plops down on the cushions, too curious and delighted to consider fighting it as he stares up at you in transfixed silence. His long legs fold underneath him with the motion but they stretch out now in a wide spread of invitation when you step into his space to stand over him. He couldn’t wait to see what you would do even if it meant handing over all of his control.

Smiling at him like the cat that had its sights set on a particularly appetizing canary, you reach out to brush your fingers over the mockingbird pin on his lapel.

“This is cute. Did you make it?”

“I’m afraid I’m only an appreciator of art, not a creator.”

Humming a soft sound of consideration, you trace your manicured finger over the delicate chain across his chest until you reach the clasp that connects to his jacket. You bend close to fiddle with it, gracing him with a tantalizing glimpse down the front of your dress that has him suddenly struggling just to breathe. It’s as if every drop of blood in his body has shot straight down to his groin in a sudden rush, and he tightly fists his gloved hand against the armrest in an attempt to keep his cool. Not only was the fleshy swell of your tits right in his face, perfectly offered to him and all his for the taking, but the smell of you …

Hugo feels like he’s drowning in it. It’s the same smell from your bedroom except it’s ten times stronger when he’s close to you like this, a hundred times more potent, and his cock violently springs up to shove at the front of his pants with such intensity it makes his vision blur at the edges. All at once he’s bombarded by the spectral memory of how you’d tasted on his tongue and how the lingering flavor of your pussy had sent him into a pulse pounding frenzy.

And that had only been the residual leftovers on your used panties, too. But now he had the chance to drink right from the source, to put his mouth on the most intimate parts of your body … all while covetously hiding the truth of his relation to you.

He thinks he might actually bust right then and there, the twisted, sick delight he feels curling in his stomach almost as intoxicating as the arousal itself. You really had no idea who he was. Not even an inkling of suspicion that he might be the Ravelock family’s rightful heir and personal boogeyman.

Otherwise you wouldn’t be touching him like this.

As soon as the little brooch is unclasped from the jacket, you let it fall loose from his shoulder with a brief rattle of metal. The burnished sun insignia falls to his lap while you slip a hand under his thin tie to give it a solid tug. Your eyes read of sly intent when he looks into them with his own blown wide and hungry for more than just the pleasures of the flesh you were offering him. He could fight this too, if he truly wanted to, but he doesn’t even put up a facsimile of struggle when you use his tie to pull him closer, making it cinch around his throat.

He’s sure you’re going to kiss him and seal your own fate right then and there, yet you stop just short of pressing your mouth into his. Only a scant few millimeters, if that, remains between his lips and yours, and Hugo has to force his lungs to expand on a clipped inhale. What were you …

“Just a few ground rules first, handsome. Keep your hands to yourself unless I tell you otherwise and I’ll make sure you leave here with a skip in your step. But if you say or do anything that I interpret as disrespect I’ll send you off to take care of yourself. Understood?”

“… perfectly.”

You cock a brow at that, clearly nudging him to come up with a better response, and he swallows his excitement down with a small gulp.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. The second rule is that you let me set the pace. I don’t want to hear any complaints from you and you’d better not try to rush me either. If you can’t behave and take what I give you then …”

Hugo’s mouth stretches into a slow, toothy grin. “You’ll send me on my way to jerk off alone like a pathetic loser. Is that right, ma’am?”

“Mm, a bit of a brat, are we? Well, that’s just fine with me too.” Giving his tie one last, taunting pull, you slide your hand up to sedately curl it over his shoulder and slide his jacket off. He shifts with the motion, giving you enough room to tug it out from behind him so you can toss it aside on the other end of the couch.

Pausing there, you take a moment to gently tuck some of the long forelocks back behind his ear to get it out of his face. The simple brush of your fingertips against Hugo’s skin is enough to have him trembling faintly in anticipation, so eager to have you and to claim you, to destroy you from the inside out, that he can hardly contain himself. But he forces himself to remain still and pliant as you guide your hand back down to wrap it around his tie again.

The sudden yank you give it is hard and fast, and he jerks upright with a muted little gasp of eager excitement. He lets you drag him forward to the edge of the cushions, forced to fold himself at the waist under the guiding pressure of your hand. Bent up like that, there’s not much he can do to protect himself when you bring one high heeled foot up and press it into the center of his pants. The presence of his erection is unmistakable as you press down on it with a grinding motion, making him groan a faltering sound at the indelicate pressure you apply.

“You’re already this hard? I guess you wanted this more than your mysterious cool guy act let on … or maybe you just really like me?”

“Definitely the latter.” He grits out, wincing when your shoe mercilessly digs into the sensitive flesh of his cock. Even through the layers of his clothes it’s a painful sensation but Hugo had never been one to shy away from a little bit of discomfort. It’s not enough to scare him off, at least, though he is admittedly quite taken aback by the dominant display and how easily you’d slipped into it.

If this was how you handled all of your clients then that would certainly explain why everyone seemed to be so hush hush about their time spent with you.

As if realizing that his mind was wandering off to other things, you give his tie another good pull that has it tightening around his throat and starting to cut off the airflow. Letting his eyes slip shut, Hugo sighs a quiet, faltering breath into the still room. He already felt like he was dangerously close to another wildly premature orgasm …

Dammit, he wasn’t even going to have a chance to fully enjoy this.

“How interesting. Are you always this much of a masochist, Hugo?”

Only when it was his little sister doling out the punishment.

He can't say that though, not yet, so he settles on a wheezy laugh. “With the right incentive, sure.”

You giggle a mischievous sound at that, flipping your hand to wind his tie around your knuckles and give yourself a better grip on it. “Then let’s make sure you stay incentivized, hm? Be a good boy and unbuckle my shoe for me, will you?”

That task is far easier said than done, especially when you refuse to let up your hold on the impromptu leash around his neck, leaving him with no choice but to fumble blindly with it in his lap. Your skin is so soft even on your foot that it takes all of his self control not to flip the tables and claim you for himself like some crazed, half starved beast. And he’s well aware of how pathetic he probably looks while he struggles to unclasp the little eyelet hook around your ankle without being able to see what he’s doing, bent in half as he is on the couch. But you’re a demanding little thing and oh, how his scorching blood just sings with satisfaction.

Finally he gets the heel unfastened and he reverently lifts your leg with one hand so he can slip the shoe off with the other. Letting it fall to the floor next to him, Hugo hunches further over you to press his lips against your toes which he notices are painted a tantalizing shade of red. The perfect color for you, in his opinion, and he quickly opens his mouth to suck on the first toe before you can protest or dissuade him.

“Oh,” You breathe out, sounding pleased if not a bit surprised. “What a good pet you are. Be careful though. I didn’t give you permission to do that, now did I?”

Coming up off your foot with a dull pop, he tips his head to peer at you from under the slightly mussed fall of his bangs. “No ma’am, you didn’t. But I do hope you’ll forgive me for my impertinence. Your skin is so beautiful, it just makes me … want to sink my teeth into it.”

“Well, don’t get carried away.” You murmur, the faintest falter in your voice belying your true thoughts on the matter. “I’ll take this tie and wrap it around your wrists if I have to. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

He gives his head a mute shake. The needy look on his face must be enough to sufficiently placate you, because you hum a brief sound of approval as you slip your foot free of his hold to stand fully on the carpet again before lifting the other to his lap.

“Take this one off too.”

Licking his lips, Hugo complies with a bit more surety than the first time, quickly getting this shoe unbuckled as well. It soon joins its counterpart on the floor and he gives the arch of your foot a brief squeeze that makes the toes curl in response, a silent promise of what he could do for you if given the word.

You draw a stilted inhale though, apparently determined to keep that razor thin boundary in place as you direct your foot back down to his pants again. Finding his straining erection easily enough when it was practically ripping right through his slacks, you rather carelessly nudge at it to make him hiss a wounded sound. His cock flexes as if with a mind of its own, bobbing heavily underneath the expensive material while it pulses almost violently in warning. He really was going to cum like this and you hadn’t even touched him yet …

Hell, you might not even touch him at all at this rate.

“You look like you’re getting close, Hugo. I wasn’t expecting you to be this sensitive.”

“Mmnghn … please …”

Your foot briefly stills while you seem to think about it, clearly weighing the situation and your own arousal against his. He can tell you’re getting excited too but whether or not you’d give him another inch was the real gamble. It was in his nature to push though, and in many ways that was what he was best at.

Suggestively, he rolls his hips forward to grind himself on your foot with a slow motion thrust that drags the galvanized length of him across the arch. It’s intentional and deliberate to ensure you feel every inch of him, how big he is and how heavy. He was usually more adept at the game of seduction than this but between his own pulse pounding need and the overwhelm that comes with having you standing over him like this, it’s the best he can come up with.

And to his surprise it seems to work, because you give him one last, pointed nudge before taking a step back from the couch. His tie slips free with the movement and he’s able to straighten up a little bit from his uncomfortable hunch, following after you with a hazy puppy dog look.

“Keep your eyes on me, handsome.” You murmur, pinning him with a salacious grin as you reach up to coyly slip the straps of your dress over your shoulders.

He’s so riveted to you that Hugo isn’t quite sure what he expected so it comes as a bit of a shock to his system when you fold the front of the garment down under your breasts. Even now you show neither hesitance or bashful uncertainty, and his lungs catch on a sharp gasp as you bare your naked tits at him.

The size and the shape of them, the perfect nipples standing up in attention seeking little points. They’re perfect. So much better than anything he could have ever imagined them to be, and his narrow hips give a stiff jerk in response to the sight of you. Exposing yourself to him, getting naked for him. Your own brother.

Hugo only realizes he’s cumming when he feels the first rush of sticky spend shoot off into his underwear, and he grits his teeth as he lurches in place there on the couch. It’s too much. His cock never stood a chance against you, not like this, and all he can do is wheeze his way through the abrupt spasms with a deeply tortured groan.

It’s over almost as quickly as it started though, and he heaves a frustrated sound as he falls back against the cushions. His hand comes up to cup his face, not exactly embarrassed that he’d just cum completely untouched, but annoyed that he couldn’t have held it back a little longer. And things were just starting to get good too …

“Oh, Hugo.” You coo at him, bringing his attention back up when you sound neither disappointed nor displeased with him. His fingers jerk away from his face and he peers up at you, feeling another low twist in his gut when he finds you smirking down at him. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. On the contrary, I’m actually quite flattered. I thought a guy like you was going to make me really work for it but …”

Looking like you wanted to eat him alive, a sentiment he was sure must be reflected back at you in his own face, you drop your arms to your sides and allow the sagging dress to slide further down your body. A quick shimmy of your hips has it slithering down your legs with a soft whisper of silk brushing against skin, and suddenly you’re standing there in only your underwear.

Feeling like he was about to shoot off again, Hugo brings his gloved hand down to gingerly cup himself through his damp pants. His cock was still terribly sensitive post orgasm but it readily springs up again, pushing at his palm as if in search of freedom, and he seethes a pained moan into the static charged air.

Goodness, your stomach, your thighs … he was quickly reaching the point of true overload, feeling drunk and borderline delirious.

“How much?” He blurts before he can think any better of it.

You tip your head at him in question, making him wince when he realizes what he’d just said.

“My apologies. I was wondering how much it would take to convince you to sleep with me. I’m not hard up for dennies or anything, and I’d be willing to give you the shirt off my back at this point but — I understand how that probably sounds. I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, that doesn’t sound great. But there’s nothing to apologize for. I can tell what kind of shape you’re in so I can’t exactly expect you to be thinking straight, can I?”

He sends you a slow look, further caught off guard by the serene way you stare back at him. Unexpected, given he would’ve thought that would be more than enough to get him booted out onto the street. How curious.

“Don’t worry about it, Hugo. Luckily I like you so I’m willing to keep playing. And it looks like you are too.” Giving his lap a knowing grin, you step forward to come back up to the edge of the couch where you lean down to move his hand out of the way. Your naked breasts shift with the motion and he has to screw his eyes shut, unable to look at you while you work to get his belt undone. “You’re already so hard for me again. Most men are ready to go home after one round, especially if I’ve made them cum in their pants like this, but you seem to have plenty of stamina left. How am I supposed to send you away, hm?”

Panting at the head rush of dopamine and endorphins, he tips his chin down to watch you unwind the belt from around his waist and set it off to the side before going back in for the hidden button on his slacks. The delicate zipper quickly follows with a quiet zrrrt, and then you’re tugging at the material to get it pulled down his thighs.

He sees the very obvious mess bleeding through his underwear at the same time you do, bringing a hand up to impatiently shove some of the hair back from his sweaty face while you coo at him again. You really don’t seem at all bothered by it though as you curl your fingers around him through the thin, sodden fabric, giving his restless cock a slow motion tug to make him seethe. Taking a long moment to just play with him like that, ensuring he’s fully recovered from his first orgasm and hard again, you outright laugh when he starts to beg you for it.

“Still so needy. Are you sure you aren’t always like this?”

“Positive.” He croaks, grimacing at the sensation of his cooling spend dragging over his length. “Believe it or not I … ooohn, I usually have much more pride than this. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m sure I probably look like a clueless virgin right now, huh? Gods … I’d give anything to have you. Anything at all. Just say the word and it’s yours.”

“You don’t have to buy me, Hugo. I already want you.”

A bitter, ironic laugh slips out of him. He’s certain you’d be singing a much different tune if you knew who he really was. What he really was.

This isn’t the time to reveal all of his cards just yet though, so he keeps those thoughts to himself when you finally deem him ready; carefully slipping your fingers into the band around his hips so you can tug his boxer briefs down. Biting his lower lip, Hugo watches his cock spring up from his pelvis, glistening faintly with the lingering remnants of his release and flushed a dark shade of pink. He looks raw and overspent even to his own eyes, and he can’t help groaning a tortured sound when you climb up to straddle him.

With your thighs bracketing his legs, you make careful work of lining yourself up with his cock before lowering your weight to pin it between your body’s. Your panties remain an ever present barrier separating him from you, but it does very little to stop him from feeling the pudge of your pussy lips pressing down on him or the meaty slit that runs down your center. It makes him positively shake and he tips his head back to plaintively hiss up at the ceiling. He couldn’t cum again. Not so soon. It would kill him.

“What did I tell you, Hugo?” You croon ever so sweetly as you nudge your pelvis forward to drag your cunt over the length of him. “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away. I want you to watch what I’m doing to you. If you’re so intent on giving me something then give me your attention.”

Forcing himself to blink through the hazy delirium, he brings his head back down to glance at the spot where your body meets his. Your underwear, already so thin and sparse to accommodate that sinfully form fitted dress, is moulded to the shape of your cunt, giving him a perfect view of how the slit spreads open around his aching girth. It looks like you’re gripping him, so soft and pliant, and unbearably hot, and he almost can’t stand it. He was either going to bust again in record time or he was going to faint dead away from trying to hold it back.

“Damn! That’s … nnghn! You’re a darling little menace, aren’t you? Please just let me touch you. Please. I want to feel you. Need to … oohhn, need to hold you. Something. Anything. Ahnn …”

Clearly pleased as punch, you lean forward to loosely wrap your arms around his neck while you continue to grind yourself against him. The sensation of your tits pressing into his now wrinkled shirt very nearly sends him careening over the edge, but he desperately squeezes his hands into tight fists at his sides to stop it. Most other men probably would have wrongly taken that as an open invitation for them to put their hands on you, but it was just as he’d told you earlier. Hugo Vlad was not like other men. Even when his head was spinning dizzyingly fast and he had to fight just to keep from cumming again, he still remembered his objective. He’d wanted you to come to him willingly and you were, completely of your own volition. He couldn’t screw that up now with impulse. If he was going to rob you of your peace of mind from now until your dying breath, he had to make sure the decision was entirely yours.

Unfortunately for him you seem to be utterly content just riding him like this, using his throbbing cock for your own pleasure. It must feel good humping against him like that, because he can see the faraway look in your eyes, hear the way you softly sigh in pleasure. And he wants it to feel good for you, needs it for his hatred of the Ravenlock’s — every Ravenlock to be satiated. Oh, how this will haunt your every step for the rest of your life. He was going to make damn sure of that.

His own helplessness in the current situation hardly matters on the broader stage of his plans, and he pathetically starts to swivel his hips up to meet you, adding more pressure to the glide of your cunt. Hugo’s breath hitches in his chest with the motion even as he realizes he’s making a grave mistake when his balls draw up uncomfortably tight to the scrotum in warning.

Too close. He couldn’t keep it at bay much longer.

But rather than try to save himself, he merely whimpers an overwrought sound into the air, joining the thin moans that slip from your mouth. It feels like he’s moving in quicksand when every stiff thrust of his hips brings a sharp, static charged bolt of pleasure with it, nearly debilitating him and yet he can’t seem to stop. His pelvis just keeps rolling up to meet you as if he’s running on autopilot now even when his thighs start to wildly shake from the effort.

The tension in him finally snaps when you toss your head back, shoving your chest further into his while you groan his name up at the mirrors on the ceiling. That’s what does him in this time, and his cock violently erupts with another spray of hot spend that jets across his dramatically flexing stomach. And he lurches under you, feeling well and truly sucker punched as he sends a harried glance at the spot between your legs, numbly watching himself shoot rope after rope while you continue to drag your pussy over him.

He couldn’t believe it. Even when he was watching it happen, feeling it happen, he just couldn’t believe it.

“Ooh, Hugo … again?”

Hissing through tightly clenched teeth, he desperately bucks under you for another second or two before the pulsing finally stops, leaving him feeling drained and boneless. He immediately deflates on top of the couch, bringing his hands up to once again shove at the hair around his face while he tries to catch his breath. It’s no use though. Not only was his body being pushed right to the limit, but you weren’t even done with him yet. That much is clear in the way you mockingly coo at him, feigning sympathy even as you continue to grind yourself on him despite his cock’s valiant attempt to flag and soften. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could conceivably take but …

“I really have to give you credit, handsome. Even though you look like you’re about to cry … you still haven’t complained once yet. Most of my clients are asking for mercy by now. And you even remembered to keep your hands to yourself. You’re being a very good boy for me, I hope you know that. And I for one think good boys deserve to be rewarded.”

His cock instantly stirs and stands up, hardening to full attention again despite how much it hurts to do so, and he could almost laugh a bitter sound at the ridiculousness of it all. Would have, if he’d had the extra oxygen for it. You were going to be the death of him if you kept this up.

He’s much too far gone to even question what you’re doing though, and all Hugo can seem to manage is staring in rapt fascination as you go up on your knees and reach down to tug your panties aside. He suddenly has a full shot of your pussy, with neatly trimmed hair framing the fleshy slit and a clear glisten of arousal coating the lips. His arousal skyrockets so hard and so fast that he almost feels sick with it, lurching woundedly underneath you when you lower yourself to once again dock your cunt along his length.

Then you’re moving again, dragging those petal soft creases and folds over him, and this time he can feel every little drag of flesh against clinging flesh. The intense body heat coming off of you, the sticky slick that smears across him and helps to smooth the glide. It feels so much better than your panties did rubbing against him, his long legs jerking with an oversensitive shudder.

But the worst of it is how he can feel the entrance of your body passing over him, the suggestion of it, the implication too much for him to bear. Hugo feels like a slathering, mindless creature as he impulsively jerks his hands up to latch them around your waist in a white knuckled, squeezing grip. You freeze in place at the sudden contact but he just leans up towards you, begging with wide blown eyes.

“Please, darling. Please. Just the tip. That’s all I want and I’ll be happy with it, please just take me into your body. Let me feel you. I won’t ask for anything more than that, I swear on all that I love. I just need you.”

Silently, you look down into his face for a long moment, the gears clearly turning in your mind before you issue a clipped sigh at length. “Well, I did say I was going to reward you. I don’t typically go this far with customers but … lucky for you I like you. You’d better take me out for dinner after my shift is over though. I’m not giving you a freebie here.”

Hugo blinks wide blown eyes at that, hardly even daring to believe his own ears. You were serious? “… yes, of course. It would be my pleasure. Anywhere you want. I’ll just need to run home and — clean up a bit first.”

Grinning a secretive little smile, you lean in to press a briefly fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. Because I’ve greatly enjoyed getting to play with you, Hugo. You might not be a masochist by nature but you’ve taken to it like a duck to water if you ask me. So for now your reward will be just the tip … and who knows. Maybe later I’ll let you eat me out and have you show me how good you are with that pretty mouth of yours.”

A tense shudder works down his spine, making him shake against you, and it’s not only because his raw cock is starting to throb again. The thought of wining and dining you, treating you to fancy restaurants or clothes that you probably weren’t accustomed to having access to, of — courting you sounds undeniably tempting. If not because he does like you too, even though he’d be loath to admit it, then certainly because that would make the big reveal all the more sweeter, wouldn’t it?

If you actually fell in love with him …

Fingers digging into your hips, Hugo presses down and you oblige with a dreamy, distant sigh. The head of his cock pushes into you and spears through the fleshy embrace of your cunt in painful slow motion, making him grunt at the gradual squeeze around his sensitive glans. You’re so warm, soft and gooey that it almost makes him feel sick with high strung arousal, but even that seems to pale in comparison to the malicious delight he feels swelling in his chest. This was really happening. It was playing out even better than he could have ever anticipated.

His sister, all alone in the world except for the brother she never knew she had and who she was now seeking comfort from. As man and woman. Lovers. Unbeknownst and oblivious, but siblings all the same.

It was exquisite.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#zenless zone zero #hugo vlad #hugo x reader #self insert bullshit

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