The thirty-five-year-old Segment was more human than he’d ever admit.
He was in the prime of his life, perhaps the most extreme of the bunch. He had grown into a man that you nearly didn’t recognize - long locks of hair bordering his face, a mask covering the upper half, a sly tongue - a far cry from the man you met in the Akademiya. Still, you caught glimpses of Zandik within him, daring to challenge the gods and defy the rules of this world, and though he would not say it, you could feel Thirty-Five’s silent yearning for acceptance as clear as day. No matter how much he isolated himself from the others, it was only natural for him to have similar desires to them. And yet, there was only so much you could do for a man that was incapable of change. Not even you could do anything about his simultaneous completion yet restriction of self. Even someone who taught a heretic how to love had limits.
But putting that aside, it was even more natural that Thirty-Five wanted to court you as well. That was obvious, and of course the Segment would act in accordance with his selfish desires that came with being in his prime. It was a desire that had initially been swept aside in the beginning when he was created. After all, there was only so much he could act on his wants when you were unresponsively sleeping the years away.
Still, Thirty-Five’s craving to keep you for himself had always lingered in the back of his mind. Now that you were back, it had jumped up to first place on his list of priorities. However, it was proving more… difficult than he originally anticipated. In fact, he had a lot to learn, despite being the wise doctor he was.
Specifically, the constant occupation of your time and energy was being monopolized by the other Segments, which was already a hassle, but what’s more, was that you were encouraging it. And that, he could not exactly understand, because from the very first meeting, he had made sure to treat you in the very manner that someone as lovely as you deserved. So many names he had been called: a radical, a madman, insane. Well, he had better things to do than to defend himself against those who could not think for themselves. But in reality, he could be courteous and exceptionally well-mannered if he wanted to.
Eighteen had embarrassingly fumbled his first meeting with you, nearly tripping over his own feet. Twenty-Five had merely observed you from afar, making you a bit nervous with his staring. Forty-Five was almost too friendly and smiley, which confused you. Sixty-Five was mellow and distant, and that made you wonder if you’d done something wrong. But Thirty-Five liked to think he made the perfect impression.
“Hello, [Name].” No pet names (yet), no false pleasantries, cut straight to the point, so you could understand him. “I hope my other selves have not tired you out too much.”
“Well, all of this is a lot to take in, but no… No, they’ve all been kind to me. And as for you…” Although Thirty-Five was the one wooing you, he tried to ignore the spark of excitement he felt when he saw the glimmer of curiosity in your eyes for the first time.
“Thirty-Five. It is a pleasure to finally make introductions,” he chuckled as you softly smiled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.” He then placed his hand out, as if beckoning for yours in return. You had no reason to decline, so you accepted when he delicately pulled your fingers into his.
“May I?”
“Hm? Oh… sure.” You blinked, perplexed for a few moments, before you realized his intentions. Thirty-Five brought your hand closer to his lips, while bending over for you a bit, before placing a kiss. It was brief and fleeting on purpose; even the tingle on your skin where his lips pressed against was hardly noticeable. Perhaps, going off the smile on your face, you would be intrigued enough to find out more.
So very obviously, he should have at least gotten into your good books with that.
Should have.
Alright, fine, he did, actually. But not to the extent he thought he would. The problem was that your attention was divided (as equally as you could) between his other selves, which he was not very fond of.
For some reason, you enjoyed being around Eighteen’s snappy and blundering self, despite Thirty-Five being far more of a gentleman to you. Twenty-Five was quieter and more reserved, and he could not entertain you as well as Thirty-Five could; but he could still hear your laughter down from the lab anyway. He didn’t understand why you had so much fun with Forty-Five, the man who did nothing but giggle and chat with you about frivolous things and spend too much time with the youngest Segment.
Sixty-Five was more of a mystery; he didn’t know what you could have in common with that old man. That also applied to the original Zandik, frail and nearing the end of his life, and yet you insisted on spending the most time with a man who’d depart from this world soon. And of course, that wasn’t including how you cooed and spoiled the eight-year-old Segment as well.
All in all, he was competing, with quite literally himself, over you, more than he anticipated. It was immature, it was embarrassing - it was like children fighting over a piece of the sweetest candy. Normally he would never partake in such a thing, but…
The thirty-five-year-old found himself unwilling to relinquish that taste to anyone else. And so began his experiment into the matter of your mind and heart.
—
Unfortunately, the experiment meant swallowing his pride a bit, because it meant observing what about the other Segments made you so happy. The fact he was stooping to this level because of you… lurking in the shadows to listen to conversations he was sure were trivial.
Regardless, the first subject of observation was Eighteen. He could provide the most interesting data, perhaps, considering the rest of them had to look the other way whenever the younger one said something idiotic to you. Even Eight found it effective to randomly bring it up to embarrass the older Segment during arguments.
“Say, aren’t you older than all of us, technically?” Eighteen thought aloud. Although your body remained youthful after many decades while you slept, your real age was close to that of the original. “So you’re in your seventies then,” he mused, “just like-” Before the Segment could finish his words, he was interrupted by your laughter.
“Are you just now realizing this, Eighteen? I hope you don’t go around calling me old and boring as you do with the others.” His face flared with heat as even he realized the implications of his previous words.
“I didn’t mean it in that way. You’re not old. Not in the typical sense, at least. I meant it in a literal way, not-” But it didn’t matter. No matter what the Segment said, he couldn’t come back from this, especially not when you were giggling in his face as he scrambled for a response to assuage your feelings (although you weren’t offended in the first place). Eighteen’s face was still flushed by the time he departed to do his own work, and you let out a content sigh as you watched his figure fade, before turning your attention elsewhere.
“Thirty-Five, have you also come to ask me my age?” You spoke to the seemingly empty area before the Segment revealed himself, a smile on his face and his hands up in playful surrender.
“You noticed me. Was I sloppy, or are you more attentive than I thought?” Thirty-Five made his way up to you, stopping just close enough to test the border of your personal space.
“This was peeking out.” You blinked at him before reaching out, fingers grazing the large, black fluff on his outfit, and the scholar let out a noise of understanding.
“Regardless, as for your first question. I would never ask something as rude as that, especially not to you.” Upon closer look, was the Segment pouting at the sheer thought? It was rather adorable.
“Why, isn’t that kind of you? I appreciate your gracefulness.” You couldn’t help but let out a sound of amusement at his politeness. “However… I really doubt you’d be listening in on our conversation if you weren’t trying to figure something out. I was waiting for you to get bored and interrupt us right away.” Your deduction was spot on, and he was impressed enough to not care about being busted, not that he would have, anyway. “So, what is it that you’re looking for?”
“Well done. I expected nothing less from you,” Thirty-Five praised. “To answer your question… I suppose it’ll be easier if I’m truthful, considering you’ve connected some of the dots. To put it shortly, I’m conducting an experiment.”
“And I’m your test subject?”
“You are the center of it, yes. And the others can be considered variables, if we’re going by those terms.”
“And your goal is to…?”
“To observe what it is about them that has you so enamored. Allow me to speak freely.” His heels clicked against the floor as he slowly paced around. “I’ve been around the others far longer than you have. Quite frankly, they are not the sort I’d seek out if I desired company. And yet, you call out to them of your own volition, perhaps more than you do with… me.” The last part sounded slightly strained, and a bit of sadness washed over you as you were starting to piece together things. “So, I’ve decided to observe how you managed to be so endeared by them.”
“And what have you managed to observe this time?” You moved closer to him, and he focused his attention on you again.
“So, Eighteen saying foolish things is what amuses you?” You sighed and shook your head before you reached to cup his cheek.
“No, not foolish things. It’s him being unafraid to speak his mind around me, no matter what it is. It’s him being comfortable enough to do so as well. And the other Segments are similar, in that regard.” Thirty-Five didn’t respond, as if he was processing your answer.
“But what are you, Thirty-Five? I won’t lie. I have heard some things about you from the others… Not so flattering things, to be honest.” Your finger twirled around his long lock of hair. “And yet, I haven’t particularly seen that side of you. You ask me to come to you, and yet, you do not show me what you really are. You act so bold around me, and yet you hide. You do what you think will please me the most. But that’s not what I want.”
“It’s a shame,” you sighed, and you truly sounded upset. One moment, you were smiling at him, and the next you had such a forlorn expression on your face, because of him no less. He did not mean for that to happen. “Because I’m very much sure anything you do will impress me. No matter how many of those traits have been denounced by others. Someone as intelligent as you must understand what I’m saying, right, Thirty-Five? So let this experiment come to an end.”
At his core, he may be selfish, but you saw that. His radicalism and insaneness - how could you cast that part of him aside when, in reality, they were partially born from you? His desire to create a new world, a world where you were not tortured by fate and your illness, was that not out of love for you? His methods were cruel, but was it not from the delicate emotion called love that set him into motion? Could you ever truly fault or hate him for that?
Thirty-Five’s jaw worked, having been silent the whole time during your little dialogue. You gazed at him, not looking for an answer, but for understanding.
“I see.” That was all he said before he reached for your hand, caressing his face, and pressed a kiss to it, similar to the first one he ever gave you. Except this time, it did not carry any ulterior motives or sly plans. It was simply tender and fleeting, before he withdrew, as if he needed time to ponder.
“I’ll be waiting for you, Thirty-Five.” You called from behind him as he walked away.
Well, this was not the expected outcome, but a better one anyway.
—
“Watch your step.” The thirty-five-year-old firmly held your hand, the other holding a basket of sweets and warm tea, as he guided you around the snowy terrain. “Snezhnaya isn’t exactly ideal for picnics.”
“And yet, clearly you searched around to find a suitable spot. Is this why you asked me to prepare some baklava?” At one point, you stopped caring about the embarrassment of the Segment having to steady you every time you nearly slipped.
“You’re the only person who can make it how I like it,” Thirty-Five stated simply. Even though he and the others sometimes visited the cafeteria, the food served there was not like the cuisine of the homeland he was exiled from.
“I’m honored.” You couldn’t help but smile at his openness. “Snezhnaya is quite different from Sumeru, isn’t it?”
“Do you like it?”
“The snow is pretty,” you offered, though it didn’t exactly answer his question. “Do you?”
Thirty-Five would not admit he preferred seeing the gentle sun of Sumeru tickle your face. Or that he’d much rather trek through the soft grass of the forest with the branches of huge trees providing shade, and then hoist you up one of them so you could sit at the very top and look at the view. He would not say that he would like to pet a Sumpter Beast or Tent Tortoise with you instead of constantly rewinding the memory of the original and you doing so. He had been chased out of his homeland and to another one where he was still not accepted. In a way, you were the link to the few fond memories of his younger days. Regardless, all he said was:
“It serves its purpose,” the Segment shrugged. You only squeezed his hand in response.
At first, you were surprised that Thirty-Five would do such a thing. Did a man such as himself really scope out the area to find a safe yet pretty spot for a date? Did he really grow some Padisarahs here, despite their demanding conditions for growth, and wrap them with a bow to present to you?
And yet, maybe it wasn’t so out of character. Because in the end, the Segment was more human than he’d admit. He could only yearn for acceptance, for your love and attention from the only person who could give it.
“We’re here,” Thirty-Five announced. You two had made it to a cliff, freezing water flowing and wildlife playing from far below. The snow was not as harsh, and the warmth of Kresnik’s Torch could be felt. The sky, usually gray and heavy, revealed a bit of color as the clouds parted.
“It’s lovely.” You approved, and the Harbinger was already setting down the blanket and pushing the thermos to your lips so you could warm up. You drank up while he carefully plated everything for the two of you, nudging you aside if you tried to do anything. It was only on his signal that he let you sit down and get comfy. “Thank you, Thirty-Five.”
“I should thank you instead.” When Thirty-Five bit into the baklava, he let out a sort of sigh you never heard him do before. It was as if something washed over him, from the way his shoulders loosened, and he gazed at the scenery as if he was seeing lush green instead of icy white. You were the only person who could provide him this sort of solace.
You peered at him for a few moments before moving closer, until your hand rested on his free one. He turned to look at you now, only for you to brush off some crumbs on his face, a cute reminder that his guard was down. The scholar watched you carefully, savoring the warmth of your close body even more than the treat, until you leaned in closer and finally pressed your lips against his own for the first time.
Thirty-Five nearly forgot that the purpose of this trip was to have a picnic, with the way he buried himself into your neck and dug his fingers into your softness.
—
Thirty-Five had made a great amount of progress in his relationship with you. Not that he expected anything less, despite the hiccups here and there, but it was still satisfactory that you had reciprocated his advances to a rather high degree. The grumblings of his other selves had become background noise, now that he had you in his grasp, and you, of course, had no problem with that.
Love. It was a fascinating thing. Was it selfless or selfish? Or was it both?
The Segment cared for you above all else, even more than himself at times. He tended to you in a way that was only afforded to you; he ensured your wellbeing and happiness even if it was at the expense of himself. It was only you that could have taught Thirty-Five such a thing. And yet, he was more than aware that these feelings had planted something deeper within him. It was the urge to keep your loveliness for himself. It was quite curious.
Regardless, it was not something that needed pondering at this very moment. It was something that he should let run its course. Answers are not found immediately, and perhaps it was the process that was more important. Especially not when he was intent on finding you, considering that he would prefer spending his free time with you rather than being pulled into the bickering of his other selves.
Though it was taking a bit more time than usual, seeing as you weren’t in your usual spots, Thirty-Five finally could hear a soft voice flowing from inside one of the rooms nearby. The Segment smiled, immediately straightening his shoulders at the thought of you. He quickened his pace until he could properly make out your words, and paused to listen.
“I love you most, Zandik. No one else can replace you. How is this fair?” The Segment heard your cries of love and mourning to the original from behind the door. “So please… don’t go… I need you…”
Thirty-Five’s lips, usually donning a smile, had turned downward at the sight of you and the original Zandik together. From the small crack in the door, he could see you grasp Zandik’s wrinkled hand in yours, face buried in the crook of his neck. The Segment could not make out what the original replied, but it seemed to make you more emotional, your arms wrapping around him tightly.
As much as the scene made something ugly coil in Thirty-Five’s chest, a part of him couldn’t look away. He could not look away from what he wanted. Your whole-hearted acceptance, to be someone’s first choice.
Why? Was he not enough for you? Truly, what did the main possess that he did not? What could the original do that he could not do infinitely better? Why would you not choose him instead? Was he also not irreplaceable? Certainly none of the others could ever fill his shoes. Could he not be your ‘Zandik,’ if you wished it? The flurry of questions in his brain started to clash with his rationality. His fingers stiffened before he flexed them in and out and turned on his heel, away from you and Zandik.
Well, you could spend as much time as you wanted with that old fool. He wouldn’t be around for much longer, anyway.
Loser Zandik or Loserttore is the version of Zandik in Modern AU. He's a socially awkward stereotypical otaku guy. You may have come across the term "Incelttore" in relation to him. Keep in mind, that I do not use such terminology. Remember: incels are not something to be romanticized or fetishized! Also, since this story happens in AU, this headcanon may content OOC. If you are okay with this, then proceed reading.
• As long as Zandik could remember, he was always lonely. The relationship between him and his parents was strained, and his peers shunned him, first because of his intelligence, then because of his shyness and silence.
• That's why he doesn't actually believe you're truly into him. For a good month or two he would think that you're simply pranking him. There's no way someone like you would ever be intrested in someone like him.
• Bro has zero rizz. His idea of flirting is mumbling about his niche hyperfixations: his favourite anime, some conspiracy theories, bad science you don't understand or ranting about how stupid Malenia's moveset is.
• If he tries to flirt conventionally, this sounds stupid or creepy. Usually it comes out like: "Your bone structure is stastically pleasant for an eye."
• But still dates with him are quite pleasant. Even though he mumbles without stopping you actually think it's kinda cute. He would keep mumbling, then suddenly stop and look at you in bewilderment, shocked that you're genuinely intrested.
• Actually a very jealous type but too insecure to do anything about it. He'd just sulk in the corner and mutter "whatever" or "not a big deal anyway" under his breath.
• Zandik will melt at any physical touch initiated by you. He's very clingy in general once he's comfortable. He constantly rests his head on your shoulder, holds your hand but still pretends like it's a chore and he doesn't like it.
• Forgets to charge his phone since he's too busy arguing with randoms on 4chan or Reddit on pc, so he's either unreachable or texting you at 3 AM with random existential crisis and gigantic piles of text.
• Leaves you on read quite often — not because he's a jerk, but because he doesn't know what to say and doesn't want to mess it up by answering wrong. This is a sign that right now he spirals over your "take care, pumpkin" texts.
• Can't cook at all. Will burn water. Don't let him near the stove. Don't let him cook for you. A big mistake.
• Surprisingly protective of you. He will glare at anyone who dares to look at you wrong. Even though he is not fond of communication with humans in real life, he will absolutely tear down in the argument whoever who mocks you.
• Will realize pretty fast that you're better than any fictional waifu he has because he never received as much love and understanding as he receives from you every day.
• If you try to kiss him, he will physically freeze until you shake him. He absolutely WILL stutter for the rest of the date, looking at you with dreamy eyes.
• His love languages are definitely gift-giving and physical, once he's comfortable enough around you. This is expressed in small things like buying your favorite cookies, a dress you stared at too long at the mall, noticing your phone broke and fixing it himself(it's worse now) and then waiting for your approval like a puppy.
• You have a chance to actually live a good life with this strange but loving and devoted man.
Warnings: Afab!reader, fem!reader, not gender neutral, BIG age difference, segment shenanigans;
With Zandik & 65 - bits of infantilization, nipple play, anal fingering, pussy slick as lube, spit as lube, ass to mouth (don't actually do this btw), piv, reverse cowgirl, blowjob, spitroasting, threesome, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of spanking, implied-ish daddy dom vibes from 65 😩
Webttore - attempted somnophilia
With 25 - rope bondage, anal fingering, lube syringe, butt plug, anal beads, anal gape, slut shaming, degradation, open mouthed gag, blindfold, blowjob, piss, wetting
Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
A/N: As always, let me just remind everyone that no matter what verbiage, no matter what descriptors I use, there are absolutely NO mentions of fecal matter or scat anywhere in any of my fics. It doesn't exist in my little world of make of believe and I do not see it. My goal is not realism (duh) but fantasy fulfillment, which dictates that butts are only for sex and not a damn thing else. Amen.
⭐
Dear mama,
I …
This is the third time I’ve tried to start this letter and I still don’t know where to begin. I tossed the first attempt into the fire where it rightfully belonged, and the second I crumpled up into a ball because it did not even serve any worth in incriminating me of anything. Just pointless, directionless prattle. At this point, I almost wonder if I should cease altogether before I waste any more paper.
If I could freely write out my thoughts, and if I had it in good faith that Lord Dottore would in fact deliver it into the hands of my mother, I think I would like to ask her …
How did it feel when you first fell in love with papa?
Oh, dear. Now this letter will have to be burned as well.
May the blessed mother help me!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The pointed nudge of 65’s cane is so slight, so subtle, that it just barely moves the front of your skirt where it has slipped underneath the fabric, but you feel it on your cunt with near startling intensity. It’s a little hard not to be hyperaware of it, though, when the handle is unrelentingly solid and firm the way it ever so faintly rubs against the apex of your slit through your underwear. And the unavoidable knowledge that he was doing this right in front of an audience doesn’t help much either.
Yet at your prolonged silence, when you neither move to pull away or make any sounds at all beyond that first gasp of surprise, the masked man rumbles another low chuckle of drawling amusement.
“Lovely to look at and obedient. That’s quite the rare combination of qualities to find in a young person, especially for a girl as pretty as yourself. I might have expected you to be a bit uppity.” Crooning at you so softly you’re sure you must be the only one who hears him speaking, 65 offers your captured hand a brief squeeze of approval. “Yes, I’d say Zandik certainly got the better end of the deal in this arrangement. Would you care for a piece of candy, little one?”
“I’m … I’m sorry?” You whisper back, letting your eyes momentarily pinch shut while you try to find your bearings again.
Humming softly, the dapperly dressed gentleman sitting in front of you eases his cane out from under your uniform and leans it against his leg while he reaches for a pocket in his massive black coat. You’re more than just slightly taken aback when, indeed, you soon find him pressing a neatly wrapped piece of candy into your slack fingers which he manually closes around the offered treat to make sure you don’t drop it.
“There. Run back to your master’s side now, dear. Be a good pet for us, eh?” He says, giving your curled fingers a rather fond pat.
Feeling numb and jittery, and highly confused, you ever so slowly straighten up from the respectful crouch you’d assumed to put yourself level with him. You aren’t really sure what to expect when you finally manage to turn away from 65 but, to your great relief, you find 8 still standing in front of Zandik’s chair with his back to you. It looked like he was still in the middle of telling the old man something about his trip to Liyue in that soft, vaguely supercilious little voice of his, and it doesn’t appear he’s even noticed what’s happening on the other side of the room yet.
Thank the blessed mother for that small mercy!
Still trembling weakly from the flood of warring emotions that kick up a storm inside your body, you stiffly step out of the loose sprawl of 65’s legs and make your way over to Zandik as well. There, you position yourself at his elbow where you send the hard ball of sugar in your palm a quick, surreptitious glance before sliding it into the pocket on your apron. You weren’t so sure you wanted to actually eat it but, even more than that, you have to wonder why he was carrying this sort of thing around with him. Was it for 8, maybe?
“My, it sounds like the two of you had quite the adventure.” Zandik is saying to his youngest counterpart, drawing your attention now. The affectionate way he speaks to the boy unexpectedly pulls at your heartstrings almost as much as the kind, almost grandfatherly expression on his handsome face does, and you come very close to getting choked up about it.
This situation really wasn’t fair. Not to him or to you, or any of them either. It’s somehow too much on your poor heart for you to think that even when they were so fundamentally at odds with one another, even when they looked down on the others existence, Zandik had still cobbled together some sort of dysfunctional family unit around himself with his own segments … it was enough to have you sobbing like a baby.
But you stubbornly blink back the tears that come into your eyes while you watch the two of them interact, choosing to focus on this instead of the way 65’s attention seems to linger on you. It wasn’t hard to see where this was likely to go, particularly when you were getting so well acquainted with how things worked in this place, but that would have to come later. Not now. Not when it feels like there’s a knife slowly twisting in your gut.
“And did you find what you were looking for?” Zandik asks the child who proceeds to huff a mildly bothered sigh.
“No. That place is much too massive. It would have taken us months to comb through every inch of The Chasm on what would have been a wild goose chase at best. I don’t even know what an archaic stone is supposed to look like to recognize when I’ve found one.”
The old man hums a soft sound of agreement, looking like he could truly sympathize with those frustrations. “I’ve never seen one either. They’re an exceptionally rare material that, at least according to what few sources still exist, are only formed in the veins of the oldest mountains. It makes sense that you would attempt to seek this ore out in Liyue, given that it is home to some of the most ancient stone structures in Teyvat. Do not lose heart, though. Perhaps you will have better luck next time.”
You can’t help the way you slowly blink at that, momentarily forgetting some of your sorrows. They’d gone all the way to the Nation of Contracts just to look for a rock?
But of course 8 notices your attention on him, and he lifts his face with a grumpy little frown tugging at his mouth now. “Your maid is confused, Zandik. Is she always so easily bewildered?”
Despite your best attempts not to, you still softly cringe at that. Yes, you could certainly see how this precocious young boy would go on to grow into the shoes of the Doctor when he was an adult.
But, to your great surprise, Zandik is quick to come to your rescue. “Oh, don’t terrorize her so. She’s actually quite clever, you know. But I expect you to be patient with her the same way you are with Feofan, alright? She can’t know something unless she is taught.”
Your heart gives a tiny, fluttery wrench at that. Just as he’d taken it upon himself to gently teach you how to find your pleasures in the flesh instead of taking it by force or demanding compliance from you. It seemed, then, that this impatience bred from his staggering intellect was one aspect of himself he’d truly managed to temper somewhere along the way. How curious.
And to his credit, 8 bobs his small chin in agreement, crossing his arms in a way that makes him look wise beyond his years. “Very true. And that’s why I am going to take it upon myself to teach her while I’m here.”
“Oh?” Zandik sends you a sidelong glance, but you’re too busy wilting in embarrassment to even look at him now. “You think my maid is in need of a tutor then, I take it? What ways have you found her lacking, hm?”
“Master …”
But even at your recoiling murmur, 8 will not be deterred. “I’d say it’s obvious. If she cannot even memorize our designations then she must be lacking somewhere. Can she even read?”
“Ah. Well, in that case, I’m sure you will be quite pleased to know that she is not only quite literate but even a rather accomplished writer on top of that. Occasionally, when my arthritis is acting up, I’ll have her jot my notes for me while I dictate. Does that help quell some of your concerns?”
8 sends you another slow, plainly critical glance. “Can she do any arithmetic?”
You hang your head in shame, internally wincing so badly your skin feels like it’s trying to crawl right off your bones, but it is 65 who chimes in then to shield you from the boy's harsh assessment.
“Come now, come. There’s no need to make the poor thing feel bad about herself, is there? You’re being much too unforgiving of her lot in life, if you ask me.” He says, giving his head a slow shake that makes the pointed beak of his mask stiffly bob. “Considering what Omega told us, I’d say the fact she can read and write at all is already impressive enough. Besides, what use does a maid have for arithmetic anyway?”
Another slow, grinding chuckle drawls out of him, making the excess of fur on his shoulders twitch. Despite the mild mannered reproach in that finely aged voice, 8 doesn’t even try to hide the way his little face twists up in peevish annoyance at that.
“But she is working not just for a Fatui Harbinger, but the number two rank at that. Doesn’t that reflect poorly on us? You would think even the servants of such high ranking officials would be able to add and subtract.”
Your hand flies up to your throat with unconcealed affront as you quickly rush to your own defense. “I - I can at least do that much! I’m not a complete idiot!”
“It’s alright, girl.” Zandik soothes you, reaching up with one wavering, cool to the touch hand to gently capture your fingers and give them a light squeeze. “You don’t need to explain yourself. As you can see, I’ve always had trouble knowing when to stop talking and I fear I still haven’t quite mastered that particular skill yet even at my old age.”
You send him a coddled look to which he gives you one of those exceedingly tender smiles that makes your heart turn into mush inside your chest before directing his attention back around to the frowning lad. Releasing you, he extends his arm out to give his younger self a mindful tweak at the lobe of his ear.
“And you don’t need to worry about such things. Trust me, she’s doing just fine for herself. But even putting that aside, you know I relinquished my title to Omega a long time ago. As far as the needs of a simple old man are concerned, I don’t think I could have asked for a better maid so be nice to her, alright?”
8 doesn’t look cowed by the reprimand, exactly, but he does deferentially drop his gaze in a clear sign of relent. “Alright. But can I still tutor her a little bit?”
The wizened man barks a warmly amused laugh. “You just want to have a student to instruct, don’t you?” At the child’s stilted nod, Zandik exhales a slow, patient breath that just seems to twist the knife in you even harder when you think this was how he might have been as a father. The thought alone is almost sickening.
“If she’s amenable to it then I don’t see the harm. But that doesn’t mean you can pressure her into attending your lessons whenever the whim happens to strike you. Don’t forget she still has a job to do. Understood?”
Looking fairly pleased at that, 8 brings his attention back up with another nod. “Understood.”
“Good. Then why don’t you run along and check on your yeast propagation experiment down in the cellar so you can tell me how that’s going, hm? I’m sure if you keep at it much longer, you’ll be making wine for Feofan to enjoy the next time he stops in for a visit.”
The boy scrunches his nose up at that, clearly signaling his thoughts about alcohol and the banker’s apparent propensity for drinking it, but he obediently shuffles off towards the door without complaint. Something about the scene really does warm your heart in a way you never could have guessed it would, and you abruptly realize that there’s a fresh prickling of tears in your eyes. Gods, why were you suddenly feeling so weepy?
To be fair, though, it has been an awfully long day, and you quickly decide you need to step outside for a moment to collect yourself. Luckily his leaving presented the perfect excuse for you to do just that.
“Hold on. I’ll walk with you down to the kitchen so I can make a fresh pot of coffee for everyone. Would you like anything else brought back, Master Zandik?”
“No, I think that will be more than sufficient. Thank you, girl.”
Hesitantly pausing there, you send a cautious look over at the sofa. “And you, sir. Can I get you anything besides coffee? A sandwich, perhaps?”
65 lifts a single, black gloved hand to give the offer a gracious wave. “That will be plenty, my dear. Do hurry back though. Two old fogeys can only keep themselves entertained for so long.”
Your cheeks faintly warm at that but you’re a little too eager to get out of that room to stop and question it. Pivoting on your heel, you quickly start to push off so you can trail after 8 who lingers in the doorway but Zandik reaches out to snag your hand, stopping you. Noising a small sound of surprise, you bring your attention down to the figure sitting in the chair and watch, slack jawed, as he brings your trapped fingers up to press a brief kiss to the backs of them.
And your face goes so immediately, so violently hot you woozily sway on your feet for a moment.
“M - Master?”
“Don’t even give it another thought, sweet girl.” He tells you gently, giving your hand a brief pinch in his bony grasp before letting go. “Off with you, now. And make sure you brew a large pot. You know how much I enjoy your coffee.”
You nod once, knowing that in this case ‘I’ actually meant ‘we’ and he was including 65 in that statement, but you can’t quite seem to find your voice now as you almost drunkenly totter off towards the door. He’s turned you into such a thrumming ball of shy, happy nerves, in fact, that you almost trip over your own feet before you can make it out into the hall.
While admittedly embarrassing to have him grace you with such sweet gestures in front of others, it's even more confoundingly alarming that you just feel so soft for him and how it very nearly leaves you incapacitated.
Unfortunately 8 does not seem to be the least bit impressed when he closes the door behind the two of you before turning his face up with a rather bland look.
“I thought he was only like that with Fanya.”
It takes you a prolonged beat to truly shake off your disoriented stupor, sending him an uncertain look as you start to make your way back down the carpeted corridor together. “Who is Fanya?”
“Feofan.” He says as if it should have been obvious and, really, no matter what Zandik said, he was still quite certain that you did not meet his expectations of what he thought the hired help of a Fatui Harbinger should be.
But despite any of his misgivings on the matter, 8 manages to catch you off guard when he brings his hand up to grab onto yours with his small fingers, exhaling a quiet sigh while he does it.
“Haven’t you met him yet? He and Zandik are close.”
That was certainly an understatement. “Oh. Yes, I’ve met … Lord Regrator.”
“He doesn’t let you call him Fanya?”
“Not yet.” You tell him, unable to hold back your laughter.
For being so clearly intelligent in a way that far surpassed his age, it seems 8 was still somehow just as guileless as any other child. Even for as confusing as you find that contradiction to be, it still gladdens you a fair amount. You’d almost worried that just by virtue of being a segment and having to deal with the unscrupulous behaviors of the others, he’d been robbed of what little innocence he still had left to him but thankfully that did not appear to be the case.
“I’m sure he will someday.” 8 assures you, sounding rather confident in this assertion. He falls silent for a while after that until the two of you have almost reached the kitchen again, when he abruptly brings his head back up. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
Even if he had, the fact he asked would have soothed away any of the lingering sting and you send him a warm smile. “Of course not. Don’t be silly. You were just thinking about Master Zandik’s reputation, weren’t you? Besides, what you said wasn’t even necessarily wrong. Truth be told, I actually am awful at mathematics.”
He doesn’t smile but the rich red in his eyes does faintly light up with what you think is an eager gleam. “I’ll teach you. If you want. I won’t try to force you if you’d rather not, but …”
You can tell by the inflection in his soft voice as much as the interest reflected back at you in his expression that he wants to do it, for some reason, and much like when dealing with Zandik, you just can’t seem to find the willpower to tell him ‘no’.
“I’d love that.” You tell him as you step into the kitchen together, guiding him by the hand across the flagstones almost without even realizing you were doing it. “Perhaps with your guidance, Lord Regrator might decide to hire me to work at his bank some day, after all. Wouldn’t that be funny?”
Slowly blinking at that, 8 tips his head to one side rather inquisitively, looking very much like a miniature version of the Doctor with that gesture. “But you’re already working for Zandik. Do you not like it here?”
“Oh, no. It’s not that, just …”
You hesitate, wondering if he fully understood what it meant that the old man was mortal and that he was subject to the ravages of time as much as any other. Did he know Zandik would not be around forever, or that without him here you didn’t really have a clear place in their patchwork, highly confusing hierarchy? Although you didn’t doubt for one second that he was wise well beyond his years and had likely seen plenty of things most children his age couldn’t even imagine, was his mind truly capable of comprehending the limited scope of the human lifespan?
You’re not so sure about that, and you’re even less sure you want to broach this topic when you already found it so very upsetting to think about, so you quickly decide to change the subject.
“Truth be told, I hope to work for him for a long time still to come. I’ve found that I rather enjoy his company but it’s hard to say what the future might hold, isn’t it? By the way would you like me to make you a sandwich before you go off to check on your … yeast?”
Another slow blink. “I don’t really need food to sustain myself.”
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t, right?” You say, starting to tip your head in that now familiar gesture before you catch yourself. Damned Dottore! “Do you like to eat? I’d be happy to prepare something for you.”
Noising a small sound of consideration, 8 sends an almost listless glance over at the icebox along the far wall. “I like it sometimes … what do you have?”
Ignoring the warm, almost maternal flutter in your chest, you guide him over to the big chiller box where you take a moment going over everything you have on hand. Luckily with the delivery just earlier that morning, you were well stocked and he pretty much has his pick of the lot.
Eventually making his decision, he walks you through preparing a sandwich with left over chicken, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, black olives, mint leaves and a healthy dose of olive oil poured over the toppings which he informs you, rather curtly, would do even though it is not on par with what he could get in Sumeru.
And that’s when it suddenly hits you. The style of his relatively simple robe and slippers … all you’d recognized at first was that the clothes were foreign and not something you really saw in Snezhnaya. But between the ingredients he’d picked out and the way he goes on to rather intimately describe the sorts of pita sandwiches one could obtain in the far distant rainforests and deserts, it occurs to you that that must be where his attire originated from. But did that in turn mean —
“Can I ask you something that might seem a little – strange?” You hedge when he finally takes a bite of the sandwich after evidently exhausting his comprehensive knowledge of Sumerian cuisine.
“Hm?”
“You just have me wondering now … is that by any chance where you and Zandik are originally from? Sumeru? I knew he wasn’t native to Snezhnaya, but …”
And to your reeling surprise, the boy nods his head in agreement, swallowing his food so he can talk. “Yes, that’s right.” He tells you rather sullenly, the corners of his eyes faintly pinching. “Zandik — we were born there but it doesn’t really matter. That was a long time ago. We’ve been here in Snezhnaya ever since we left.”
You almost catch yourself reaching out to pull 8 into a hug, wanting to comfort and reassure him, but at the last moment you manage to refrain from acting on the impulse. The very last thing you wanted was to make the boy think you pitied him for his past, and yet it’s so hard not to console him in that moment. Given the way he talks about it, you could only surmise, then, that the Doctor had been telling the truth about this too.
“I see. Well, I’m glad all of you are here now.” You tell him softly. “I have to admit, it gladdens me to know Her Majesty would take you in like that. I’ve never gotten to meet her. Is she as lovely as they say?”
He gives a vague bob of his chin, making it clear enough that he has little interest in discussing this with you, and you certainly weren’t going to force him. If he ever decided to open up to you it would be on his own terms, when he was ready. Much like it was with Zandik.
“You can take your sandwich with you, if you want. Just make sure to bring the plate back when you’re done, okay? And please don’t hesitate to let me know if you want anything else. I’d better get started on that coffee before I have two angry old men wondering where I ran off to.”
Hesitating, 8 just looks at you with a strange, unreadable look on his face before he finally offers you another slow nod. “… thank you.”
At that, he shuffles off with his snack to disappear down the hallway with it, and you have to stop for a moment, just standing there while you blink back the rising tears in your eyes. This really was a miserable situation to find yourself in, wasn’t it? As if Zandik wasn’t already throwing your emotions into total disarray enough, now his eight year old self was too. You can’t help it though. Even if he was precocious and a bit abrasive at times, you still couldn’t imagine anyone turning their back on a child like that.
And although it was hardly justification, you could see how such total rejection from not only his own people but even his homeland would then result in the fiendish behaviors of 22 and the surgeon, and even the Doctor further down the line. How could a man show others kindness or consideration if he had never received any himself? But, still … at some point something did change, and that was obvious. Zandik may not exactly have been what you would call nice, yet he wasn’t cruel or standoffish like some of the younger segments were either. You do have to wonder what could have facilitated that change in him, though.
Thinking on this rather deeply over the next some odd minutes while you get everything together on a dainty silver tray — two place settings, and a large coffee carafe — you start to make your way back to your master, feeling much better now after taking that time to collect yourself. Of course you had even more questions swirling about inside your head now, but that was very quickly becoming the norm around here. It seemed that for every question answered, five more popped up.
You assure yourself that everything would reveal itself eventually, however, and when you nudge the drawing room door open a few moments later, you find the two men having what appears to be a very pleasant conversation. Zandik is perfectly at ease where he lounges in his chair, hands clasped together over his stomach, and he glances up to send you a pleased quirk of his mouth. 65 looks at you as well, but with that full faced mask in the way you can’t even begin to guess at what his mood might be.
“There’s the lovely little one. We were starting to miss you quite terribly, you know.” The dapper gentleman tells you with an accompanying, decidedly good natured chuckle that seems to caress over your skin like a spectral brush of velvet.
“My apologies, Master. Sir. I stopped to make a quick sandwich for 8 before he went down into the cellar.”
Zandik looks ever so slightly perplexed by that information as he follows you with his eyes over to the round table beside him. The very same one Pantalone had sat at with the two of you the prior day.
“That’s not much like him. He usually doesn’t show any interest in the food here.”
“Yes, well,” you respond lightly, making an effort to keep your voice in check when you weren’t sure how he would respond to the request you were about to make of him. In all your time here, you’d never once asked him for anything — other than to have your cunt played with, that is. “Considering what he had me prepare for him, I suspect he might have a preference for the tastes of his homeland, Master.”
A vaguely pregnant pause follows that statement.
“I see.” Zandik says at last. His voice isn’t tight, exactly, but it has an edge to it that makes you think he’s not quite sure how to navigate this new development. “And what might that be, sweet girl?”
You send him a cautious look as you carefully set his cup down next to his elbow, making sure it’s in easy reach. “Sumeru, sir?”
He grumbles a short curse under his breath, but 65 laughs a deep, reverberating sound made ominous thanks to his mask.
“That’s not really some closely guarded secret is it, Zandik?”
“No.” The old man huffs, shooting you a rueful look while you set the carafe down on the table as well. “But I didn’t know you had any interest in that sort of information. I would have told you outright if you’d asked.”
“I’m sorry, Master. It didn’t seem all that important until I noticed 8’s clothes when we were standing in the kitchen together.” You hesitate for the span of but a single heartbeat before pressing on. “Forgive me for making this request of you, sir, but do you suppose we could make some adjustments to our weekly deliveries? I’d be happy to learn how to cook more Sumerian dishes for you and 8, if it would please you.”
“… we can discuss it later.” He relents, waving you off with a vague flick of his wrist, and you quickly retreat with your little tray to give 65 his cup next.
And you can’t quite seem to keep the smile off your face now, knowing by his reaction that he would not deny you this. It wasn’t hard to understand why he would feel put on the spot in such a situation, and it was clear that he just didn’t like having the tables turned on him like that, but you were quite sure he must have felt secretly flattered by it given the way he’d immediately shut the conversation down instead of antagonizing you any further. It was kind of cute of him, actually, even though you’d never dare to say that out loud.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” 65 coos as you come up beside him to set his coffee on the small side table next the sofa. “Most native Snezhnayan’s turn their noses up at Sumeru’s cuisine, you know. If it weren’t for the housekeeping uniform, I might have even thought you were a homemaker instead of a maid with that charmingly dutiful disposition of yours.”
Your heart gives a wretched little twist inside your chest, skipping a long beat.
Sadly you’re a little too caught up in the warm, fuzzy rush that makes you feel like a bottle rocket set to go off to recognize the shady note in his voice for what it is, but you certainly notice the following nudge at the back of your skirt. Startling, you let go of the delicate saucer before it’s lying completely flat to the sound of a loud clatter as you snap upright and glance over your shoulder.
Sure enough, he’s got that damned cane casually stretched out to slip the subtly curved handle under the bulk of the material, slowly lifting it, and for a harrowing stretch of seconds you simply do not know how to react. There’s no question as to how you would have responded in your past life, that the old you wouldn’t have even hesitated before yanking yourself away to flee from the room in tears. But this place operated on a different rule set, and you were familiar enough with it now to understand that this was only part of the game.
“S - sir?” You stammer, unable to conceal your surprise as you shoot an apprehensive look back at Zandik.
And you find that he’s observing the unfolding scene before him quite closely indeed, the very interested expression on his face ensuring you he was amenable to watching the show, not put off by it. You have to consider it a good thing, then, that this was not the first time the prospect of sharing you had come up, otherwise you would not have been able to hide your scandalized alarm.
Even so that doesn’t really do much to dissuade your flustered embarrassment at having so much attention on you all at once, especially when you were only just starting to grow comfortable with having the attention of one man at a time, and you nervously fidget in place as a result.
“My, what cute little white panties you have on.” 65 murmurs, watching you shudder in response to the cool waft of air that washes over your exposed backside. “How very … innocent of you. I have a preference for black lace, myself.”
Zandik snorts a quiet sound of amusement at that. “She has no such lingerie. Everything is white and virginal. Simple. And all the sexier for it, if you ask me.”
“Well, we should amend that quickly, shouldn’t we? After all, it wouldn’t seem right to never see this luscious young body all wrapped up in the finest negligée’s money can buy, would it? I’m surprised Feofan hasn’t gotten on that already.”
“I suspect his mind is leaning more towards steel accessories.”
“Ah.” 65 relents, nudging his cane further down to slip it between your thighs, making you jolt.
It reminds you a bit too much of 22 rutting so ruthlessly against you for it not to spark a certain amount of apprehension, and yet —
“Tell me, little one. Do you like a taste of pain with your pleasure?”
“I …” Whatever you might have said is quickly lost in the tiny squeak you blurt when the shaft of his cane nudges up to press along the line of your slit. Your eyes grow wide and you sway unsteadily there for a moment, trying to reorient yourself to no avail.
Any reminders of 22 and his oafish treatment are gone in an instant, whisked away by the warm tingling pressure he exerts and the fleshy squish of your labia moulding against the solid presence between your legs. This was quite a different situation, actually.
Struggling to make any sense of your whirlwind thoughts, you have to force your throat to work around a rough swallow before you can manage to speak again. “Sometimes, sir. I think.”
“You think?” 65 prods, giving your cunt an attention grabbing, coaxing nudge. Encouraging you to go on while at the same time distracting you terribly from what you may have wanted to say.
“I’m — I’m still learning, sir. It’s a rather … new experience for me.”
“I see. But you are not outright opposed to it then, I take it? And unless my old eyes are simply playing tricks on me, your bottom looked like it may have been recently spanked too. Was it for pleasure or punishment?”
You turn your head towards the sofa to send him a plainly horrified look. “S - spanking for … for pleasure, sir?”
That unsettling bird mask gives an inquisitive tip. “But of course. I’m of the opinion that even good girls need to be regularly taken over a knee and given a nice peppering to ensure they stay on their best behavior. Don’t tell me Zandik has started to turn soft in his old age?”
Your master chuckles his amusement from the other side of the room. “I may very well be. This little girl responds beautifully to a softer hand though, and I just don’t seem to have the energy anymore to exact my will like a tyrant the way I used to.”
A sharp zap of static electricity races down your spine at that, recalling quite clearly how rough and merciless some of the treatment you’ve received from the Doctor and the other segments has been. Yes, you didn’t doubt for one second that Zandik had been a real authoritarian in his youth. You had the bruises on your bottom to show for it.
Humming a thoughtful sound now, 65 gently extracts the grip of his cane from your sadly squeezing pussy so he can pull it around to nudge at the outside of your hip instead. You quickly catch on that he wants you to turn around and, shyly holding the little silver tray against your chest, you oblige him with this request.
But you firmly keep your eyes downcast, far too embarrassed to be standing in the spotlight like this to look up and meet Zandik’s gaze, much preferring to keep your attention on the floor for the moment.
“If that is the case,” 65 muses thoughtfully to himself. “Then it must not have been you who smacked this poor girl's bottom. Who did it then, little doll? Be honest with me, now.”
You can feel yourself starting to wilt, bashfully hunching your shoulders up towards your ears. “It was … Lord Dottore, sir. This morning.”
“Heh. That selfish brute, eh? He never was very good at tempering his hand. Ah, but there’s nothing to get so watery eyed about. Why don’t you hurry back to your Master and receive some nice pets from him, hm?”
The cane eases back from your person, returned to its spot propped up between 65’s legs. Not sure what else to do now that you’ve been dismissed, at least temporarily, you mechanically turn and shuffle back over to Zandik. You feel dangerously close to fainting though, so hot and dizzy, roiling in shame as much as the startings of your arousal. Like you weren’t even in control of your own body anymore.
But when the old man holds out his hand to you in offering, you don’t even give it a second thought before you take his fingers, letting him gently guide you into sitting on his lap. It almost comes as something of a shock to find yourself perched there, and in front of company no less. Although, you supposed, it probably didn’t count when it was himself sitting across from you, now watching the way you relinquish your flimsy shield to Zandik when he reaches up to take the tray from your clammy hands.
Setting it aside on the table next to him, he then goes about tugging you closer to his chest, ensuring you’re nice and snug, and the polite gap you’d tried to maintain no longer exists. Oh, it was unexpectedly humiliating to have him coddling you like this in front of another person even while your heart swells the same way it does every time he’s soft and doting with you like this.
“There. You’re a very good girl, you know that?” He tells you rather candidly, bringing a hand up to tap your chin while the other curls around your back. Ensuring you can’t scuttle away and escape, you can’t help thinking. “But you do not need to fear this one. I know the way he looks might make it more difficult than it is with me, but I can assure you we do not have dissimilar temperaments. In fact, I rather expect you’ll come to enjoy the sort of attention I liked to give when I was in my sixties.”
Somehow your face has never felt hotter than it does in that moment, especially when Zandik reaches up to fondly pet over your hair, and you desperately cling to his jacket in an attempt to ground yourself. “W - what does that mean, Master?”
“Hm. Curious? Would you like to find out?”
It’s almost impossible to bring your eyes up and look him in the face but, after a real battle with your own will, you finally manage to shyly peer through the thicket of your lashes. And of course you find him attentively watching you, so keyed in on your expression, your body language, the way you gratefully lean into him as if in an instinctive search for more of his comforts. It really is no wonder that you crumple embarrassingly fast.
As long as it was Master Zandik, you’re relatively certain you would do anything at all he asked of you.
“Yes, sir …” You murmur softly, bobbing your head in a stilted nod and earning yourself a warm squeeze in return.
“Good. Then just sit with me for a moment. Relax. I won’t let anything bad happen to you in this room, alright?”
Something about that immediately chokes you up and, eyes burning furiously again, you quickly turn your head to duck into the crook of his neck, hiding your face from the rest of the room. Zandik rumbles a low laugh at that, rubbing up and down your shuddering back as if to reassure and console you.
To your surprise you catch the sound of 65 laughing too and you tremble harder at the indulgent, rich chuckle that slithers over to brush against your skin.
“I see what you mean now.” The other man drawls, the amusement in his thick voice heavy. Unmistakably carnal. Tinged and colored with something far more masculine than you could ever hope to name. “What a sweet little girl you’ve found, Zandik. For once Omega seems to have done something right.”
“For once.” Your master agrees, giving your shoulders a soft pat, pat. But, still, you weren’t quite ready to come out of hiding, content to stay tucked into his neck, and Zandik recognizes it for what it is. A clear indication that you needed time to sort yourself out first.
And he gives it to you.
“Why don’t we talk about your trip to Liyue for a while? I’m sure my clever girl would like to hear more about it anyway, and that should give her a chance to come around.”
“Oh, but I’m not even sure what clever little girls find interesting these days. It’s been a very long time since I last had one of my own. Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear about, my dear?”
You’re marginally surprised at being addressed like that, particularly when you were being arguably rude by refusing to look at him this way, but … what he’d just said did stoke your curiosity quite a bit. Rather than his trip to the Nation of Contracts, you were almost more interested in hearing about that. Had he done it on purpose? Was this a calculated part of their plan to tempt you and sway your resolve? You weren’t even sure if it really mattered.
Hating how very hot your face still feels, you carefully nudge your chin away from Zandik’s neck so you have enough room to speak. “Will you — tell me about the girls you’ve had?”
Your voice is so small, so fragile in the thrumming tension of the room, that you almost expect him not to have heard you.
But 65’s ears seem to be working perfectly fine, and he drawls another grating, granite scraping against granite chuckle that makes you feel invariably fidgety.
“If that is what you would like to hear, then it would be my honor to oblige the little miss.”
And he does.
He tells you all about a secretary he used to have whom he seduced — seduced! You’d never heard such a shameful admittance spoken so casually in all your life! — before turning her into his own personal plaything. She’d been the serious, no nonsense type which, according to him, was how she’d landed the job in the first place. All merit and qualifications. But after spending enough time with her, he’d subsequently decided that her energy would be better spent on other pursuits.
Those other pursuits being the servicing of his cock, and to hear him say it sends such an intense tremor racing through your body you nearly vibrate right off of Zandik’s lap. But your master holds you tight to his chest even when he can surely feel you vibrating at some of the more sordid details 65 relays to you, and he does not appear to skimp on any of them. For your benefit, you’re sure.
How to suck him off. How to take him down her throat. He trained her, quite tirelessly by the sounds of it, to have such an innate, subconscious reaction to even just the simple suggestion of his cock that she would drop everything she was doing at a moment's notice to assume the position. Ready and waiting for him to take it out and slip it into her open mouth without having to be commanded to do so.
He likes good girls too, 65 readily admits, but he has a particular sort of soft spot for training girls to be good. The rewards are just as important to him as the punishments, and almost as fun too. He tells you he likes spoiling good girls and taking away from girls who are still learning their place, whether that be his cock or the gifts he’s given them. And he informs you, rather curtly, that often it was the withholding of his cock that carried with it the most incentive.
“And what sort of … rewards?” You finally ask, sounding dreamy and distant now.
You’re not sure when, exactly, it happened, but at some point in listening to him you’ve turned your head to peer over at the couch from the safety of Zandik’s arms. Your head still rests against his shoulder though, not quite ready to fully extricate yourself from him just yet, but you’re able to observe the way 65 laughs to make his shoulders twitch from your vantage point.
“I thought that might be of a certain interest to you. Most little ones do like to hear about that part, I suppose.” Pausing, he reaches for his nearly forgotten cup of coffee to bring it up towards his covered face. “How many orgasms have you had in a single sitting, little doll?”
You tense slightly at the question, suddenly feeling put on the spot again. But somehow being asked that doesn’t surprise you half as much as the way he reaches to tilt the bottom half of his mask up. It’s hard to make out much of anything from this angle yet you are able to briefly glimpse the coarse mouth he drinks from, assuring you that, at the very least, there really was a person under there. Or something like a human, anyway.
But he makes no move to fully remove it and, in fact, nudges it right back into place as soon as he’s done sipping. An odd little sense of consternation trickles in then, effectively distracting you enough to keep you from getting too embarrassed about answering him.
“Two, sir. Or maybe … three?” You send Zandik a slow look at that, and he gives your waist a tight squeeze as if in reward for seeking out his input.
“I’m inclined to say two. There was some time between the first and the last one I gave you in the library. Although, knowing you, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you could manage more than that back to back.”
“This one has an eager cunt then, I take it?” 65 chimes in, making your master bark a sharp sound of mirth while you flush red hot.
“To put it mildly. What do you think, pretty girl? Would you say you have a needy pussy?”
“Y - yes, sir. I do.” You murmur, so caught up in staring into that handsome, wizened face, that you almost don’t even notice his hand angling towards your lap.
But you certainly feel it when he bullies those long fingers between your thighs, forcing them apart so he can cup around your quim. You go ramrod stiff against him, gasping at the sudden contact, even as you instinctively nudge your pelvis up into his palm and clutch at his jacket all the more fervently while you do it.
“Say it, sweetness. Be good and tell us what you have.”
Your mouth moves but for a long stretch of seconds nothing comes out. It’s like your brain can’t quite catch up with your body until a delayed moment later when you finally manage a stammering response. “I - I have a needy cunt, sir. A greedy cunt. It … it’s overeager and insatiable.”
Just like he was always saying.
Rumbling a low sound of approval, Zandik gives your pubic mound a slow, lingering squeeze that squishes your pudgy lips together and you suddenly realize you’re soaking wet. Not just damp or mildly sticky, but absolutely flooded with slick arousal. Was that all from listening to 65 tell you about his secretary?
“Mmmm. Good girl. And let me guess … even though I said no more after the last time today, I’d just bet you’re ready to go again, aren’t you?”
You rather blithely nod your head before recalling what he’d said about liking to hear you tell him how you’re feeling. It was humiliating to have to say something so vulgar out loud, but …
“Yes, sir. Yes. I’m already w - wet and — I want to cum again. May I? Please?”
“I think that will depend on what my esteemed colleague decides, don’t you? Why don’t you go ask him yourself, little girl? See what he says.”
Zandik slides his hand away from your pussy then, giving your back a gentle nudge with the other, and your chest wrenches painfully when you realize they’ve ensnared you in their insidiously laid trap.
Unfortunately you’re running just a bit too hot and thinking slightly more with your pussy than your brain, so you somewhat listlessly let him coax you off his lap. It’s just like when you’d heeded Pantalone’s summons to come put your mouth on the old man without really even understanding why you were doing it.
And when you find your feet, you reluctantly wander in the direction of the sofa even when you’d like nothing more than to turn back around and retreat to the safety of your Master again. But you know that’s not where you’ll find your pleasure this time, and you shyly shuffle up to 65 with your hands demurely folded behind your back. It’s an aptly fitting posture, given how much you feel like a naughty child approaching an amiable grandfather in that moment. Guilty, almost, as you come to a stop in front of him.
“Yes, my dear?” He prods you not unkindly.
For a prolonged moment you’re not quite sure what to say. How did you even begin to ask for something like this?
“M - … may I have another orgasm, sir? If it would – please you?”
“Oh, I don’t see why not.” Relenting immediately, he holds his gloved hand out to you with a showman’s flair which you carefully take.
Like a gentleman guiding a lady, he directs you to perch atop his thigh, much like Zandik often did, and you’re mildly surprised at how much sturdier he feels underneath you as you get settled. But he’s quick to grab you around the middle to pull you further into his lap until you’re situated quite squarely over the stirring tent in his pants. You can feel it poking up into you with a fair amount of interest, and yet it seems much more tempered than 22’s had been. It’s still intimidating in its own right, just as you were starting to suspect all cocks were to some degree, but not anywhere near as aggressive in the way it seeks you out.
Whimpering softly as 65 gives you a final nudge that leaves you leaning back into his chest, he wraps his arms around you tight to anchor you in place before giving you a somewhat belittling bounce on his legs. “There you are. That’s much more comfortable, isn’t it?”
“Mm … yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Now then, little miss, I do believe you asked me a question, didn’t you? If I’m not mistaken you wanted to know what sort of rewards I like to give to good girls, isn’t that right? Well, since you’ve got such an eager cunt, how do you like the sound of being held down and having your pussy licked until you can’t stand it anymore, hm?”
“O - oh.” You squeak, swaying dizzily there in 65’s hold, feeling like the room is starting to spin around you. This really was too much.
“Or,” he goes on, evidently seeing that you were far too intoxicated by the rush to verbally respond. “If you find penetration the more satisfying option, I have some lovely little toys I could stuff you with instead. Ones that rumble around inside your guts or ones that simulate thrusting. I even made a few that would fit just right inside your sweet little ass too.”
Seething a truly mindless sound, you have to close your eyes against those mental images and try to get ahold of yourself but it’s no use. It feels like you’re really sinking, suffocating in it. Just barely treading the surface of some great, bottomless lake that would drag you under, forever down into the dark void below.
And it’s especially hard not to react to what he’s saying when it instantly brings back the memory of 25 fingering your ass open, how good it had felt even when you wished that it didn’t. It was the kind of pleasure you just couldn’t deny no matter how embarrassing or shameful, or humiliating it had felt to experience it in the moment. But now you almost find yourself wanting to feel that unique rush, the singularly mind numbing sear of penetration again. Knowing you shouldn’t want it isn’t nearly enough to deter you.
“Oh? That’s quite the reaction from you, pretty girl.” 65 intones, turning his head just ever so slightly to angle the closest glassy eye hole in his mask towards your face, although he remains mindful of the presence of the beak and does not turn fully towards you. “Is that of a particular interest to you, then? Have you had your ass played with very much?”
Groaning a reluctant sound, you squeeze your eyes shut again and fitfully shake your head. “N - no … only — once, sir.”
“Technically twice.” Zandik mildly corrects you from the opposite chair. “I also wedged your back end open with one of my fingers, although it was not with the intent to be pleasurable.”
Somehow you’d almost forgotten about that. How he’d paused in the middle of spanking you over his knee to slip inside your already stretched and loosened ass to explore the sticky contents of your guts, thinking one of his segments had already taken you in that manner.
65 gives his head another nudge at that, angling his mask toward your master now. “Is that so? And what did you do to earn yourself having fingers slid up into your ass as a punishment? Don’t tell me Zandik had to give you a suppository?”
You can tell by the way he proceeds to chuckle another rumbling laugh that he’s joking, teasing you, but you cringe so violently at the suggestion that you can’t help the way you try to curl away from him. 65’s arms are as good as iron around your middle though and, ignoring your flustered whimper, he drags you back into place with a jostle. The thought of someone doing something like that to you is much too potent though, too witheringly humiliating, and you bring both of your hands up to cover your face so neither of them can see your expression.
“Goodness, and what’s all this for?” The one in the mask croons, giving you another decidedly condescending bounce in his lap.
“It wasn’t anything like that.” Zandik cuts in, speaking slowly, almost thoughtfully. No doubt watching and observing your reaction with that close attention to detail that made him so very frustrating to deal with at times when he seemed to notice every little twitch in your body, recognizing it for exactly what it was. “Actually, if you want the truth, it was something of a misunderstanding on my part. It was — 25 who truly got to play with her in that way.”
“Admitting to your mistakes? That’s not like you, Zandik.” The way 65 says it is without judgement or accusation. It’s not even a question. Just a simple statement, and then you feel him swing his attention back to you when his long beak gets a bit too close to your bowed head.
“If that is the case though,” he tells you, not unkindly. “Then perhaps we should take the opportunity to reframe the experience, so you don’t associate having your ass stretched with such an unpleasant memory. Especially if it was 25 who opened you up first. I’m sure he was rather demanding of you, wasn’t he? Poor thing.”
Softly tsk’ing under his breath, the sound rattling within the mask, he gives your waist one more reassuring squeeze before slowly drawing his hands up your body, dragging them to rumple the uniform. You tremble helplessly at the sensation, thinking you should protest — knowing you should protest this treatment from him before it got any further out of control. It wasn’t right for a man of sixty to talk to you as if you were a child. To croon and coo just as one might at a baby when he was saying such sordid, inappropriate things.
It successfully mixes your wiring all up, just as you suspect it was meant to, and when 65 ever so carefully nudges his beak close to nuzzle against the back of your wrist with it, your sense of self slips just that little bit more. How could you continue to let this happen to you?
“Oh, but don’t be so shy, little one. Come, now. Take your hands away and let Zandik look at your face while I tend to you.”
You almost don’t do it, far too overwhelmed and stretched thin in this hazy, weightless atmosphere that’s inexplicably fallen over the drawing room. But with another encouraging, not demanding nudge from 65, you reluctantly lower your trembling fingers. You aren’t sure what to do with them now, however, and you finally let them drop to the forearms that bracket your waist to clutch at his sleeves.
This really was a nice suit, you think, far off and dreamy. Distant.
And when the man behind you murmurs soft words of praise at you for being an obedient, good little doll for him, your cunt gives such an intense, drippy pulse you deliriously start to think you may actually cum without even being touched.
But then, he leans back against the upholstered cushioning of the sofa to stretch out underneath you while he drags you along until you’re lying out over top of him with your head resting on his shoulder. From this angle you have no way to avoid looking over at Zandik when you can no longer duck your head the same as before, and your attention momentarily fixes upon him again.
That you find him watching you just as intently as before with a sharply knuckled hand now resting over the center of his pants makes your cunt throb like it’s melting. A subconscious reaction you feel twice over when, seeing your eyes on him, he gives himself a slow squeeze to nearly send you into a full blown swoon.
“M - Master - -“
“Yes. That’s right, little one. Just keep your pretty eyes on him and make sure you put on a good show for us, alright?”
The long fingers wrapped around your ribcage give you one last encouraging pinch and then they’re sliding higher up, gloved palms dragging over the swell of your breasts. You shudder fiercely at the sensation, back bowing dramatically to jut your tits up into that teasing touch, but they just keep going. Following the curve of your chest until he reaches your sternum where he pauses for but a split second and then starts to direct his hands back down again on another slow, taunting glide.
“O - oohn!”
Tossing your head back against him, you sensitively seethe up at the ceiling as you twist in his hold, stiffly writhing. Your nipples, as it turns out, are still quite tender and receptive from the session in the library, and they sensitively stiffen under the broad swipe of his hands to poke through your shirt. That 65 seems to pick up on it immediately, the potency of your response, does not come as a surprise but the way he continues to torment them with the steady drag of his palms does. Given the eager impatience of the other segments, you’d half expected him to rush right in.
“Be careful with that one.” Zandik murmurs, his voice noticeably pitched down now to make for a rather rumbly, vibrating drawl. “She loves having her tits played with and pinched. You’ll have her making a mess everywhere if you keep that up.”
When 65 chuckles this time it makes the expanse of his chest swell underneath you to send the masculine reverberation dancing through your body, and you have to close your eyes against it or risk getting pulled under.
“Well, isn’t that cute, little miss? I wonder if we could make you cum if we just play with your nipples long enough.”
Your hips involuntarily buck at the suggestion, canting your pussy up into the air as if in search of relief even when you know there’s none to be found. “I - is … is that really — possible?”
“Some exceptionally good girls and boys can, yes. But we’d have to run the experiment first to find out if you’re one of them.” He gives you another nuzzle with his beak, this time rubbing the cool material that you think might be leather against your face.
You loose a quiet, faltering mewl, feeling a little too intoxicated, a little too caught up in the tender heat of his words to rouse yourself from the shameless sprawl he’s pulled you into. The smell of him and the way it registers in the back of your mind, having a man underneath you like this ...
At the sound of that sweet, faltering sound, 65 finally — finally! Slides his hands up over your heaving breasts again, stopping this time to carefully pluck at your straining teats through the layers of your top.
“What do you think, lovely little miss? Would you like me to keep toying with these mouth watering tits of yours until you cum for us? Hm?”
You wheeze, very softly. “Yuh - … yes, sir.”
A rumbling exhale of approval slips out of him, and he rewards you for your sweet answer by tweaking your nipples with greater fervor. Making sure you can feel every little nudge against tightly coiled flesh, every lingering pinch, every friction inducing squeeze, even when it’s dulled by the fabric of your shirt. It’s enough to have you squirming on top of him though and you bleat a truly mindless sound when, in the midst of your restless fidgeting, you grind down on that hard, hot cock under you in the process.
Gods, it really was almost too much. Too many sensations, too much stimuli, too many sights and smells, and sounds. You felt like you were going to go mad.
But he’s relentless and patient — far more patient than you are in that moment, and even when you whine for him, for both of them, he just keeps plucking, plucking, plucking at the straining tips of your breasts until you start to think you really might cry from it.
Only then, only when you’re hiccuping rather sadly in your shuddering arousal, does 65 at last take his fingers off your poor tits and direct them inward to start working on your buttons instead. You don’t even have the presence of mind to worry about how you might look from Zandik’s perspective anymore, although you can still feel his sharply focused eyes boring into your skin even from across the short distance that separates you from him. Some small part of you still wants to go back, to return to his side and ask for your master to pet you instead, but you can’t.
Even if you did not already know that he’d meant for 65 to have you this time, you’re not entirely sure if your body would have cooperated. Your limbs are much too loose and languid, heavy, where they clutch pitifully at the edges of his big black coat, and all you can truly do is watch through the hazy sheen in your eyes while he gradually gets your shirt unbuttoned.
Straight down to the apron around your waist where he stops, seems to consider it for a moment, and then evidently decides he’ll come back to it later, for he reaches back up again to pull your blouse open around your laboring chest. The rush of cool air feels, admittedly, good on your terribly hot skin, and you just barely turn your head to watch through the haze as he carefully pinches at the silk of your slip. Ever so slowly, gently, he nudges the material down, down, until your bare tits slip out over the top, nipples cutting up in sharp little points. And you once again swivel your hips in search of the stimulation your sadly throbbing cunt so desperately needed, seething an overwrought sound into the static charged room.
“Oh. These are lovely, aren’t they?” 65 murmurs, to himself as much as for your benefit, slowly bringing his big hands up to mould them around the outer swell of your tits. With exceeding gentleness, he gives them a gradual, palpitating squeeze before pushing them together into a fleshy press. Then, as if to intentionally highlight the size of them, the shape and the weight, he gives them a vigorous jiggle between his fingers to make them bounce for him.
Whining a quiet sound of pure, unfiltered wanting, you gingerly turn your face away, unable to look at your own defilement just as you are unable to lift your attention to glance over at your master. You know he’s watching and that is plenty to have you squirming atop 65 while he fondles your tits, the leather of his fine gloves sticking slightly to your skin.
And yet, despite your best attempts to keep your eyes averted, the lifting of his hand from your chest draws your curious gaze and you watch, utterly gobsmacked, as he grabs under the curve of the beak, shoving the mask up only enough to expose his mouth and the bottom portion of his nose.
You have but a split second of reeling surprise to recognize familiar coarse lips, the shape of that nose, before he’s bending over your chest to capture your closest teat between his lips.
65 gives it a harsh suck that has your back bowing in a supplicating arch while you whimper and whine at the sensation, head lolling bonelessly on your neck. The sensitive flesh, already a little tender, a little raw, aches gloriously in response to that firm, demanding suction he applies to nearly send you vibrating right up off his lap.
“Please!” You blurt, half sobbing that one, stricken word in your ratcheting distress. “Please, I - I wanna’ cum … please play with my pussy, sir, please let me cum!”
Those abrasive lips curl against the swell of your breast even as he pretends not to have heard you for a moment, working his wet mouth around your teat to pull it towards the back of his throat. And then he sets in to vigorously batter it with his tongue, letting you feel the fleshy nudge, the fat, swollen quality of your tit.
And then he releases you just as abruptly to the sound of a sticky, smacking pop that makes you twitch, nearly going blind from how violently you shake for him. You can’t see straight, can’t think straight, can’t even seem to straighten out your drunkenly bobbing head. Your only choice is to cling to him, desperate and mindless, groaning a wounded little sound when 65 extends his tongue to press down on that delicate bud, flattening it, so he can then proceed to draw tight, nonsensical patterns over it. Just the same way he might grind his tongue down into your —
“Oouughnn! Please, sir, please! Ahhn!”
Chuckling a good natured sound at your spiking desperation, 65 gives your teat another vigorous lick before retracting his tongue and replacing it with his lips so he can place a lingering kiss to the tender tip.
“What do you think, old friend?” He says, straightening up over you and quickly sliding the mask back into place, much to your groaning frustration. “Do you think this good little girl has earned her orgasm or should we try to make her cum with her tits?”
“Masteeeer …”
Zandik quietly clears his throat across from you, his voice noticeably pinched when he next speaks. “I think she deserves to cum. She’s always so good for me anyway, but … I have to say her pitiful sounds of pleasure are doing more for my cock than any distressed wailing ever could.”
“Hah. You are getting soft.”
With that amused murmur, 65 hums a low, grating sound of consideration as he gives your tits one last sharp squeeze to make your breath hitch before dragging them lower. Over your expanding ribs and your tense stomach, one hand presses into your belly as if to grab at your womb through layers of clothes and flesh, as if to take it squarely in his palm. Your skirt is inched and twisted askew in that unmistakably possessive gesture, giving the other hand access to what was nestled safely between your legs.
But he doesn’t immediately touch you where you most want him to, instead curving his fingers around the soft, pudgy cushion of your inner thigh. Gloved fingers dip into the malleable skin, just hard enough to pinch and have you groaning a needy mewl. And when he tugs on your leg, spreading it out from the other, you simply writhe in place as your damp panties are shown to the old man sitting across from you.
And you know the exact moment Zandik gets a good look at them, at the way white cotton is all but plastered to your cunt, moulded to the shape of fat, swollen, puffy lips that must call out to some intrinsically testosterone driven aspect of his psyche, because he pulls in a clipped breath. The sound is hushed and nearly imperceptible but you hear it all the same, and you supplicatingly cant your pelvis up as if inviting him to reach out and touch you. You’re positive just a single, fleeting brush of his fingers would have you immediately convulsing in spasms.
He is much too far away though, and your pussy just sadly twitches in the air while 65 directs his hand lower down to trace rather lovingly over the tiny metal clasp on your garter belt. You feel downright diminutive against him, the way his palms seem so broad and coarse against your body, his frame sturdy under yours where he reclines in perfect ease. It’s contradictory to the Zandik you were most accustomed to and most familiar with, but somehow you still recognize him even in that difference.
The build and proportions are the same. One is just stronger than the other, slightly more filled out. That tall tell waver of Zandik’s hands is absent when 65 confidently flicks the first clasp loose but the way he proceeds to grab at the meat of your thigh, kneading and pinching you with devious intention behind the gesture is almost unsettlingly reminiscent to the manner in which your master often touches you. Like you truly belonged to him and his stake on you was absolute, even if he was in no physical condition to defend that territory from younger predators. From his younger selves.
You’re half convinced that 65 could likely hold his own against them well enough, though, and you tip your head back to look at that horrid bird mask while he reaches for the top of the other stocking. It’s still disconcerting to see that particular visage looming over you but somehow not near as alarming as it had been the first time he’d turned his face towards you. Still, you wished he would take it off.
As if hearing your thoughts, as if you’d spoken them aloud, he faintly tips his beak in your direction, angling the nearest glassy eye hole at your face. “You do me a great honor by giving me so much of your attention, little one. I wonder what I could have possibly done to deserve it.”
You don’t know what to say to that. Especially when it’s so hard not to look at him when his mask is this disconcerting, at almost complete and total odds with his otherwise agreeable demeanor. The fact he’s currently fiddling with the other clasp to get it open, promising another rush of euphoria that was soon to come, doesn't help either.
And when he gets that one undone as well, 65 shifts beneath you as he gathers you up to his chest so he can then slip an arm under your legs. Pulling up on them, he folds your knees in the air while his other hand slips down to expertly tug at the back of your stockings, getting those clasps loosened too. With nothing there to impede their descent anymore, he finds your panties and pinches at the material, nudging them over the swell of your ass.
Folded up on his lap like that, all you can do is whine a faltering sound, squirming again, even as you send a shy, split second glance at the adjacent chair. Zandik’s hand is still on the front of his pants but you can easily make out the stirring weight behind the material now, and the deft thumb he idly strokes over the stiffening length within. The validation that unexpectedly comes with knowing he was getting excited from watching 65 manhandle you, that he was aroused enough to get hard again despite your dalliance with him earlier in the day, is nearly shocking.
You wouldn’t have thought you’d find it so very appealing to be watched like this …
Yet that seems to be exactly what’s happening, and your cunt gives a muted, eager throb when 65 gets your underwear inched over your knees and then quickly pulled off over your shoes. But he still doesn’t let up his hold on you just yet, readjusting his grip under your legs instead to keep them braced up in the air. His unoccupied fingers reach inward to find the fleshy mound of your quim where it’s trapped and pressed between your thighs. You suck in a sharp little breath at the first brush of leather encased digits gliding over your slit where he takes a moment to simply smear copious honeyed arousal with that featherlight touch.
And then, startling you a great deal, he abruptly points his fingertips further down to swipe them over your ass hole, coating it with your own slick.
“Y - yeek!” You blurt, jolting hard and trying to angle away from it, but 65 merely croons at you in response.
“Hush, little one. Hush. I’ve got you.”
There’s no question that he does. Even when you fidget in his hold, helplessly twitching your hips in a blithe attempt to escape the slow rub of his fingers, you simply have nowhere to go. And he remains undaunted by your restless shuddering as he ever so slowly circles the pucker for a long, drawn out stretch of seconds before just as casually reaching back up to gather more of that eager liquid youth on his glove.
It strikes you as uniquely insidious for him to go about it this way, to use your own arousal against you. Rather than touch you directly, where you actually want him to touch, he instead attacks that vulnerable wrinkle with slow, patient precision until you can feel the rim starting to raise for him, turning fleshy and soft. And the worst part is, you can’t seem to decide if you’re more excited about that or frustrated.
He doesn’t ask for your opinion though as he repeats that steady process a few more times before he eventually starts to prod in earnest at the delicate center of your hole. It doesn’t immediately relent to him, too unaccustomed to this sort of stimulation to give in easily, but he continues to work at it until you eventually feel it start to give. Just a tiny dip in pressure at first, only enough for you to feel it, but not enough to penetrate.
And somehow that long, drawn out teasing, the suggestion of it, the carefully intentional poking at your puckered entrance, just leaves you wanting it, more and more, so desperate to feel that hot sear of being entered again that you could almost sob.
The urge is so overwhelming, in fact, that you do cry out when 65 finally presses in on the slackening wrinkle with enough pressure for the tip to barely breach you. For a singularly glorious, dizzying moment, you can feel the heat of him in your ass, the weight of his finger wedging you open, but then it’s gone. Retreated back up to your cunt to gather yet more slick for him to lubricate that tight little sleeve with.
“Oh! Please … please give it to me!”
“Hmmm. You want it, little one?”
“Yes!”
Zandik roughly hisses across from you as if he’d been sucker punched. “Gods, girl!”
Drawling that low, vaguely grating sound that was starting to make your pussy twitch every time he did it, 65 slides his fingers down to your waiting hole and this time when he pushes in with one long digit he does it with enough firmly applied pressure to slip up inside to the first joint. It seems to gut you, trembling so wildly at that mind melting rush of being entered, of being stretched, that your hips pitifully buck in response. Burn everything, you were going to lose your mind if you didn’t cum soon!
And slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, 65 starts to gently nudge that finger back and forth, barely even moving it within the constricting passage. Just working to loosen you up some more, to get you acquainted with the sensation and give you a chance to relax into it. That was certainly more than 25 had given you. He’d demanded so much from your body, never quite satisfied, but 65 coaxes it out of you, encouraging your ass to accept what he’s offering it, which it does. Gradually, but in no uncertain terms.
Soon, he’s able to wriggle his way a little deeper inside when your body gives a pulsing throb around him, in time with your erratic heartbeat, and he hums a rumbling sound of approval at the small acquiescence. You can’t help but wonder, distantly, how you must look to Zandik in that moment. Curled up in a lap that was both his and not his at the same time, getting your backend fingered open while your cunt positively weeps in its neglect.
“What a good little doll you are, taking my finger like this.” 65 murmurs at you, giving you a slight jostle when he readjusts the arm hooked under your bent knees. “I bet you want to take even more for me, don’t you?”
You bob your chin in a drunken nod, shooting that inhuman mask a pleading look. And when you whimper a tiny little plea at him, for good measure, he tips his head to the side in a rather indulgent manner, as if to say he couldn’t possibly deny you that request and he’s happy to coddle you. To spoil you.
But his digit starts to withdraw then, moving intentionally slow to ensure you feel the drag at your interior, the way your gripping hole tries to cling to the material of his glove. The sensation pulls another faltering mewl out of you, shuddering when he slips completely out to leave your ass sadly clenching after him. You half expect him to go back up to your cunt again to coat himself in more arousal but, to your surprise, he reaches for your face instead.
That he expectantly presents this finger to you probably should alarm you far more than it actually does, but you’re feeling a bit too caught up in the rush, the attention, the carnal wanting to truly fight it. Even when your chest tightens and your stomach roils in rejection of this entreaty, you still find yourself hesitantly opening your mouth for him.
Zandik noises a quiet sound that is both shocked and deeply aroused when you accept 65’s digit into your mouth, shyly closing your lips around it. Your tastebuds are flooded with salt and leather, a hint of oil, the flavor of your own cunt and a distant tinge of copper. You have a very strange thought then, wondering if this was what your ass tasted like, but the notion is quickly washed away by other, far more pressing concerns.
You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.
“Yesss. What a very good girl you are.” 65 all but purrs, clearly quite pleased with your obedience, the total surrender of your autonomy to him. “Get me nice and wet for your ass now, hm? I’m going to help you along, alright?”
You don’t know what that means but you like when he praises you like this a little too much to truly question it, or any of this, for that matter, as you dutifully swirl your tongue to coat him in saliva. As long as he kept talking to you like that, as long as Master Zandik continued to watch your patient defilement, you were content to be at their mercy.
At length 65 appears to deem your efforts sufficient, for he carefully withdraws his hand — much more mindful in this action than 22 had been down in the cellar — and he reaches back down to find your ass hole again. Locating the center, he gives it one good, solid push, and you jolt as if you’ve been electrocuted when he rather easily slides up into you again. You’re not sure if it’s just a result of his gentle stretching or if it’s due to the viscous mixture of spit and arousal, but the glide of him is suddenly made smooth. The leather of his glove still drags at your insides slightly, yet even then he’s able to wedge himself over half of the way inside you before he finds too much resistance to keep going.
You give a wounded little lurch on top of him at suddenly finding yourself well and truly stuffed, effectively impaled on his hand, and you bleat a frazzled groan that seems to bounce off of the walls. 65 offers the back of your thigh a fond pat with his other set of fingers as he gives you a tiny nudge in his lap.
“Ooh, that’s it. That’s a good girl, opening up your ass for me like that. And how does it feel in your little cunt, eh? Are you getting nice and drippy for me, now?”
Your head is already weakly bobbing before your mouth even has a chance to catch up, your brain struggling behind even that. “Y - yuh - yes! I’m so … so wet, so drippy, I’m melting, sir, I’m melting! Please, wanna’ cum, wanna’ cum, wanna’ cuh - ahh — oouughn! Please, sir!”
Some small, semi conscious part of your mind realizes you’re babbling rather incoherently but you can’t seem to stop. Your pussy feels so hot, so terribly sticky where it’s trapped between the press of your thighs, and you’re very aware of the slow ooze gathering along your fleshy slit. You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself in that moment as you twist in his hold and needily swivel your pelvis as if in an instinctive search for the stimulation your poor cunt so badly needs. There is none though, when pleasure is only being given your ass, and that almost breaks you.
Inhaling a sedate, anticipatory breath, 65 nudges his face towards you just enough to lightly brush the curve of his beak against your hot cheek. “Well, then, if you want to cum so bad, why don’t you show us? Go on, little one. Use your fingers on your pussy. Show your master how you like to be played with.”
Your mind momentarily goes back to the hallway outside of Zandik’s bedroom. You’d wanted it so badly then — not as bad as this, not even as close to being out of your mind with pure, unadulterated need as you are right now — but it hadn’t felt as good when you touched yourself like that. It was no wonder, then, that you only wanted them to rub you, tease you, to pluck your throbbing little clit until you came, screaming in delight, but he wanted you to do it. He wanted to watch and … for Zandik to watch it too.
It’s a real struggle to make your limbs cooperate but, at length, you manage to rouse enough to lift your bonelessly lolling head. Looking past your tits where they spill out of your top, the nipples flushed and hard, you peer down at your thighs with plain faced longing.
No doubt seeing your decision before you can even act on it, 65 carefully eases up his grip under your legs, although he does not pull away entirely at first, just hovering for a moment to make sure you keep your feet skyward.
“Hold your legs up and wide open for us, doll. We want to make sure to give Zandik a nice show, don’t we?”
“Yuh - … yes, sir.”
Crooning his soft approval, 65 slides his hand out from under you, leaving you to have to balance yourself on top of his lap. The instinctive compulsion to close your thighs nearly gets the better of you but he gives the finger in your ass an attention grabbing, slow motion pump into your guts, and you frantically seethe as you curl your knees inward, completely of your own accord now.
Spread open like that, you know Zandik can see every inch of you, every little hole, every curly hair, every single droplet of glistening slick that’s smeared across your labia and inner thighs. And you shudder with that knowledge as you shyly slide one hand forward to dip between your legs, locating your cunt and nearly startling at the mess you find there. You really are soaked with so much excessive arousal that your fingers simply slip and slide through the obscene coating when you give your clit an experimental, stuttering rub.
Much like before it doesn’t feel quite right when your fingers are not nearly as broad or coarse, or practiced as Zandik’s, but your own desperation for release compels you to keep going. The rhythm you fall into is sloppy and uncertain, hesitating at the eager throb of warning your cunt gives a moment later before you force yourself to press on.
You even lean up to get a better look at what you’re doing, mouth dropping open to pant when you see how very swollen you are, how puffy. The gloved hand positioned just under your slit slowly flexes, moving the finger inside your ass again to send fresh shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your taut body. It’s such a shamefully sordid scene, such an indecorous way for you to be comporting yourself, and somehow you just can’t seem to do anything but find it exciting.
Especially not when 65 brings his newly freed hand up to squeeze one of your tits, slowly pinching around the full swell and then dragging his grip towards the center to close in around the coiled teat. He graces it with an encouraging tug, stretching the bud slightly as if to incentivize you, and you give a full bodied jolt in response when your pussy clenches like a vice. The nerve endings seem to vibrate at a hitherto unknown frequency, making the skin tingle and buzz, and you mindlessly rub your clit faster. So desperate for release that you couldn’t stop working towards that end even if you’d wanted to, and the eager, sticky click that starts up isn’t nearly enough to dissuade you either.
Between the insistent rubbing and the tweaking on your tit, and the sensation of 65 casually fucking into your ass, you’re already barreling headlong towards the drop off. You can practically taste it, in fact, and your back molars start to ache from how intensely that mind melting, deeply pleasant weight of a long overdue orgasm bears down on you full force.
But what really sends you over into the void is when you glance up, dizzy and reeling, gasping for air that suddenly seems to be in regretfully short supply, only to find Zandik staring intently at what’s happening between your legs while he strokes himself through his pants. The material is all but moulded to the shape of him, weighty and full, and you can tell he’s fully erect under his clothes. Long and hard, and twitching, given the way the cotton not so subtly flexes from below.
And somehow, even with everything else going on, it is the thought of him taking that stiff cock out and putting it inside of you that sends you careening into the pit of oblivion. You cum hard, wailing some stricken animal noise while your feet stiffly twitch in the air, letting those terrible waves of crashing pleasure wash over you, sweeping you up and carrying you out into an endless, bobbing sea of absolution. Your cunt absolutely floods with warm slick, your ass throbs and spasms around 65’s still thrusting finger while your poor little teat screams in protest when he gives it a sharp tug as if in reward.
And you just watch Zandik the whole time you judder away, crying out for him — for them with shameless abandon.
It’s such an all consuming rush that you aren’t even really sure how long it takes for you to start coming down, but you do know you’re still thrumming with it, floating somewhere far outside your own body when you finally go boneless on top of 65 a long moment later. Your head rolls back against his shoulder as you wheeze, so pleasantly warm and comfortable in your post orgasm haze that you don’t even think to question it when his finger is carefully removed from your back entrance.
You also don’t think to question why 65 then reaches under you, gathering your weakly drooping legs so he can fold you up again and angle your bottom up from his lap.
Even when he uses his other hand to fiddle with his slacks, the gesture quick and full of some unnamable tension you might later linger on, in the secluded safety of your bed, but which you don’t give much thought to in the moment, you simply lie there while you try to catch your breath.
It’s only when he shifts underneath you in a particularly intentional way do you start to stir from your inebriated stupor.
And at the feeling of something hot and fleshy, silken smooth yet unrelentingly rigid, slotting over the seam of your meaty lips, you finally pull your head up to look.
The cock you find lined up with your cunt where it juts between your legs from below nearly startles you but you don’t even seem to have the wherewithal needed to gasp at it. You feel too good, your mind far too pleasantly numbed for you to have any real alarm at this development, and all you can seem to do in response is whine an overwrought sound even as you nudge your pussy against that straining length. Was he going to fuck your thighs like 25?
“Goodness,” 65 seethes, very softly, as he takes hold of his shaft to give it a tight squeeze, making the flesh swell slightly before angling it to smack against your bare cunt. And you jolt at that, both at the wet, fleshy sound that it produces as much as the sharp little sting. “Zandik was right. You really are a messy thing. Just look at how very wet you’ve gotten for me, little doll. Between you and me, though, I rather like messy girls. They’re always fun to play with. You’d be shocked at how well equipped they are for taking cock.”
An intense zap of static electricity shoots through your body when you realize what he’s saying. What he’s suggesting.
But this, too, is something you just can’t seem to bring yourself to fight, and you simply watch in slackjawed disbelief as he flicks his wrist to lightly slap your pussy again. Smack. Smack. Sedate. Almost thoughtful.
Then, without so much as a word of warning, he gives it a sharp nudge down, dragging the fleshy glans through your sopping wet folds to find your creamy entrance. And he does it much too fast for you to protest or ask for a short break, which you think your pussy is sorely in need of, because the sudden friction of him sliding up into your cunt very nearly ruins you. It was either too soon after your last orgasm or too soon after being deflowered by Zandik earlier that morning, the fingering that had followed. Your inner sleeve is overly sensitive and puffy, and you feel every single millimeter of that jabbing cock as it invades your body.
It comes as such a shock to your system that you go momentarily crosseyed, seeing double and then triple for a harrowing stretch of seconds while 65 grunts a low sound at the tight heat of your guts. But you still take him, almost beautifully so, swaying unsteadily on top of him when he finally halts, buried half of the way inside you.
“Oohn, yes. Very good at taking cock.” He rattles behind you. Over you. Within you, nearly suffocating you in his all encompassing presence. The crushing weight of his gravelly voice as it washes over your drunkenly nodding head. “What a perfect little girl you are. So sweet and obedient, so eager. Something tells me you were made just for servicing old men, you know that?”
You mewl some utterly incomprehensible noise at that, half slurred words and half mindless bleating.
Both of his hands come up then to anchor around your waist where he carefully nudges your pelvis down to meet the slow flex of his hips. He sinks a little farther into you with the motion, stuffing you and stretching you a little more, and you groan a truly dire sound in response. Gods, it felt so good even as it makes you ache terribly.
“There. Isn’t that a nice cock for you to sit on, hm? Come, now, let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”
At his gentle yet insistent prodding, you woozily push yourself upright to sit upon him. But the settling of your weight just makes you sink even lower, forcing your sadly stretched cunt to take more of him, and you whine a faltering plea into the heavy tension that blankets the room.
But you can do nothing at all to extricate yourself from his lap when he’s got you so thoroughly impaled on him like this, so you just perch there, trembling, while he makes quick work of loosening your apron so he can toss it next to him on the couch. Shifting slightly underneath you, increasing the pressure on your guts, 65 then reaches up from behind to tug the rest of your buttons open. With a soft, coaxing word from him, you lift your arms up so he can pull the dress over your head, soon followed by your slip.
You abruptly find yourself naked, save for the unfastened garter belt around your waist, the stockings on your legs and the buckled shoes on your feet. It’s a decidedly strange state of undress to be in and you fidget in place as you glance down at yourself, noting the wide spread of your thighs and the pinstriped pattern on his dark slacks underneath them.
His lap is so big, you suddenly realize, even as you take in the soft pudge of your lower belly and the full, fertile swell of your tits. You look unexpectedly luscious even from your own perspective, and you send a shy glance towards Zandik to gauge what he thinks.
The plainly stricken look on his wizened face speaks for itself and a warm tremor works through you in response. He’s no longer stroking himself but still holding the outline of it through his pants while he drinks in the sight of you sitting on 65’s cock. He likes this. He likes it a lot.
“M - Master …”
Slowly blinking at the warbling sound of your voice, he rather pointedly tips his head at you. “What’s wrong, girl? Aren’t you enjoying that cock you’ve been all but begging me for this entire time?”
You nod your head with a softly hissed seethe, shuddering and squirming where you’re sat while 65 carefully closes his hands around your heaving ribcage. “Yes, Master. I - I am, but … what about you?”
Zandik clicks his tongue at that, his expression turning rather fond as 65 chuckles at your back, giving your sides a brief squeeze.
“That’s a very good girl to worry about your master's pleasure in a situation like this. You trained her well, Zandik.”
“No training needed.” The old man murmurs. “She came to me like that.”
You can’t seem to suppress the way you beam, all but preening at the tender praise even as 65 proceeds to pull you back against his chest again. The shift in position makes the angle at which he’s wedged inside you change oncemore, making him feel even bigger, thicker, and your tittering smile is quickly replaced by a wounded little ‘o’ as your already soaked cunt floods around him anew.
Once he’s got you laid out on top of him, much like before, he reaches back down to grab under both of your knees so he can pull them up and out to the sides in a wide, lurid stretch. A small squeak of surprise slips out of you as you're pulled, rather effortlessly, into position with your feet somewhere above your head and your stuffed cunt on full display — but even when you know you probably should feel much more ashamed about this than you do, you just can’t seem to find any of your common sense in this situation.
It feels too good, too validating, to have both of them focusing all of their attention on you like this, even when your inner sleeve gives a muted throb at the pressure, the girth it’s been made to fit around. Your master had been right about that, after all. You were starting to creep, finally, into overstimulation, overuse, and you aren’t sure how much more your pussy could conceivably take.
But it is clearly of no concern to 65 who proceeds to flex his hips, angling down at first to slide his cock partially out before then thrusting upward with the force of his pelvis to send himself diving back up into your squelching cunt. That demanding, uncompromising stroke has you wheezing a distraught sound as you toss your head back, blindly clutching at his coat, his arms, whatever you can grab ahold of. All he’s concerned about, though, is that you are taking him, and quite nicely at that, grunting a rumbling sound just next to your ear when he falls into a steadily paced rhythm of up, down, up and back down again to lightly bounce you in his lap. Contenting himself for the time being with merely testing the give of your pussy, encouraging it to open more for him and take him in even deeper.
“Mmmnghnn. That’s a good little cunt. Yes, I’d say you were made just for this purpose, doll. Arch your back for me. There. That’s it. Let Zandik watch those beautiful tits bounce.”
You groan a disoriented sound in response, stiffly juddering through the next handful of long, drawn out thrusts that leave you feeling like you’re drowning in quicksand. It’s slow paced enough to give you time to acclimate, to familiarize yourself with being taken this way, in that position. But at the same time it drags at your insides and gives you a chance to process every single inch of him that takes up space within you.
And all you can do is desperately hold on when he gradually starts to speed up over the next some odd minutes, working into a faster, snappier rhythm. The mess coming out of you is so excessive your cunt slurps at him and clicks with every single push and pull of his length, coating both of you in it and wetting everything it touches. You can hear the dull, fleshy impact of his pelvis meeting your ass, too, but you’re a little too overwhelmed to fully process the discomfort on recently bruised skin. All you really know with any certainty is that this cock was going to break you.
If not physically than certainly mentally. The way it spears up into your guts is more intense than you could have ever imagined it to be, and some small part of you even starts to wonder if perhaps you just didn’t like being on top. It was too much pressure on your organs, your womb, your pussy, to have so much of your weight settled squarely on top of a pistoning cock like this. It gives you no way to escape it or to ease up, no option to take away some of the strain on your most delicate body parts.
And your poor cunt lips take the brunt of the punishment in this position without even the buffer of your thighs to help soften the blow. Jabbing up at you from below, and with your legs held up in a shameless spread, 65 has what is essentially a straight shot access to your sore pussy. It takes a much harder pounding now than it did earlier in the library as a result, and the tingling, buzzing, spreading warmth quickly starts up again.
That your arousal can still somehow spike and swell after everything you’ve already been put through is, in a way, astounding.
You might have even laughed at yourself for it, if you’d had the extra oxygen to do so.
But you’re having a hard enough time trying to get any air at all to give it more than a passing thought.
“O - ohhn! Please! Nghn! Sir - ahhhn!”
“Oh, but don’t run away from it.” 65 chuckles in that good natured, almost grandfatherly way he does, jostling you right back into place with a nudge under your knees. “You want to be a good little girl for me, don’t you?”
“B - but! It’s — it’s too — ooughh! Too much, sir!”
“Is it now?” He says, sounding amused. “We’ll have to work on your stamina then, if you want to please us. Good dolls learn how to take what they’re given, hm?”
“It’s not that.” Zandik says, suddenly much closer than he was the last time he’d spoken, and you snap your head up with a jolt to find the old man standing over you. You have no idea when he got up from his chair and shuffled over to the sofa, but he’s leaning on his cane with one hand while the other rests inside his coat pocket. Perfectly casual, had it not been for the very obvious tent in his pants.
Ignoring your needy little whine for the moment, he speaks to 65 even as his pale eyes linger on the heavy bounce of your tits. “She was still a virgin this morning. Strictly speaking, of course. I only deflowered her just today.”
“Oh?” A notable tinge of interest colors that one word as the masked man underneath you finally slows the snap of his hips to an almost thoughtfully slow grind that has him exerting far too much pressure on your innards.
“Yes. I imagine she might be a bit sore right now. Especially since she begged me so prettily to play with her cunt afterward.” His gaze sliding up to your face, Zandik pins you with a rogushily cocked smirk as he pulls the hand from his pocket, reaching out with it to lightly brush fingertips over one of your stiff nipples. “Isn’t that right, girl? Never satisfied, are we? I just bet you wish you’d left well enough alone in the library.”
You whimper at his touch, basking in it even as you shake your head. “N - not if it’s … you, Master Zandik. I — I want to be good for y - you …”
65 rumbles a quiet sound of approval at that, halting the motion of his hips entirely now as he gently lowers your legs to rest atop his thighs. “You really are such a splendid little thing. Then, in that case we should give you the opportunity to do just that, shouldn’t we?”
You noise a small sound of confusion when he nudges you forward, indicating he wants you to sit up, which you gingerly do with no shortage of effort on your part. Your overtaxed body almost refuses to cooperate but you at last manage to settle on top of him again. And you’re once more struck by how very deep he feels inside you with all of your weight centered on his cock.
Panting softly, you bring your eyes up to look at Zandik where he stands well within arms reach as you palm at 65’s thighs to steady yourself. Although you hadn’t expected the two of them to turn the tables on you quite like this, there were certainly a few things you could think of that you’d like to do with the old man standing in front of you. Even if you were already sore and tender, impaled on another cock, and you eagerly squeeze your thighs together at the prospect.
“May I … Master?”
For a stretch of a single heartbeat he doesn’t move to speak. He just peers down at you with that perpetually grumpy furrow in his brow, the half cocked tug of his mouth. Even now you can’t quite seem to get over how very handsome he is, and it just makes you wish even more to see what was under 65’s mask as a result. You’re sure he was devastatingly handsome, too.
Then, at length, he breathes out a tense breath through his nose. “What do you want, girl? Tell me.”
“Mm … come closer? Please?”
Stepping forward with the help of his cane, Zandik shuffles into the wide spread of his marginally younger counterparts' legs to stand right over you. The gloved hands anchored around your waist stop you from getting up off the cock you’re currently being made to warm, but you carefully swing your legs down and get the toes of your shoes braced on the floor so you can lean forward.
And Zandik silently watches you, neither reaching for you or uttering so much as a single word on the matter as you grab at his belt with both hands. Your fingers seem to tremble as you work to get it unfastened, some small part of you wondering why you were doing this — as if you didn’t already have your hands full, so to speak — but you perfectly knew why. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel left out or like his waning physical condition meant he had no place taking part in these kinds of games with you.
Evidently pleased, 65 rewards you for it with an approving squeeze around your middle but says nothing while you fumble to get the button and zipper opened. You can tell that Zandik’s breathing has deepened slightly in the way his soft stomach expands slowly, freezes for a few seconds and then gradually deflates. You can even see his cock give an interested twitch behind his pants when the fabric loosens around his hips, giving you the freedom to tug the front down into a slouch of material.
You quickly find the top edge of his underwear then, inching them down just enough to free his length which slowly unfurls, bobbing in the air as it rises in front of your face. Just the sight of it alone is enough to have you squirming on top of 65, your pussy clamping down around him in a sensitive squeeze as you gently take Zandik in your fist to point him at you.
He’s hard enough that the foreskin is already partially peeled back, revealing the ruddy pink glans within which seems to wink at you when you give him a purposeful upward tug to make the fleshy hood gather over the tip. You earn yourself a wet little click for your troubles, the sound of his pre cum smearing and slicking inside that protective sheath which you carefully ease further back to expose more of the sensitive flesh. But, still, you hesitate at the last moment before going any further than that.
“Don’t be scared, girl.” He murmurs at you, not unkindly. “You can do it. Go on.”
You shoot him a quick look from under your lashes, squirming again to feel the cock wedged inside your guts. “I don’t want to — accidentally hurt you, Master.”
Zandik snorts a brief laugh at that. “You won’t. Silly thing.”
The hand that had retreated back into his pocket now slips out again and he reaches around to carefully cover your gentle fist in his palm, tightening your grip on him just ever so slightly before guiding your knuckles down the shaft. Under his watchful eye, you successfully pull the foreskin back to tuck behind the ridged glans, delighting you to no end. Seamless and as smooth as butter. It was the first time you’d gotten to do that and somehow it felt just as satisfying as it looked.
Smiling eagerly now, emboldened, you lean in close to give the flushed head a sweet, shy little kitten lick to get a taste of him, and he exhales a tight, anticipatory breath in response. It seems much less intimidating this time when you don’t have someone standing over you, forcing your head down, and you take a moment to just mouth at him and press kisses into his skin. Rattling a faltering groan, Zandik lets his hand hover for an uncertain pause before he ever so gently places it atop your head. But he neither pushes or shoves at you, nor does he get huffy with impatience, letting you go at your own pace this time.
And you’re immensely glad for that, happy to reacquaint yourself with the cock you’d given up your innocence to. Even if you had been tainted in other ways leading into that decision, there’s something incredibly intimate about holding him in your hand now, pressing your lips to him, while knowing this same galvanized length had been deep inside your guts only hours before.
Much like the one currently sitting hot and heavy inside of you — the same cock, the same shape and size, just slightly more steeled, stronger — a constant presence that twitches faintly when you pulse around it, your insides throbbing to the tune of your own heartbeat. You feel full and dizzyingly warm, drunk on something far more potent than any wine or spirits could ever hope to compete with. Irrevocably trapped between them and yet so completely, utterly at peace with your fate. Your — destiny if what 65 had said was indeed true and not just more teasing.
If your future dalliances were more like this and less like the horrors you’ve encountered in the cellar, then things weren’t looking too bad.
You feel almost giddy, in fact, as you finally open your mouth to take the exposed glans past your lips where you allow yourself an indulgent moment of just suckling at him, running your tongue over that velvety soft flesh. Zandik rattles a quiet sound of pleasure above you while his hand gently curls against your skull, deft thumb brushing a feather light stroke over your hair. He murmurs a very soft ‘good girl’ that has your toes curling and, as if to reward you in your master’s stead, 65 reaches up to fondle your tits for you.
Petting, kneading, squeezing to make the nipples swell up from your body, encouraging them into tight little points that he can then pluck and pinch, and tweak for you. Groaning a heady, muffled sound, you take Zandik a little further, mouthing at the shaft now, even as you simultaneously swivel your hips in a stiff half circle to grind on the cock that spears you straight up the middle. You’d never experienced anything quite like this in your entire life.
“Heh. I take it you’re starting to feel good again, eh?” The sixty-five year old segment croons behind you while he lifts your breasts in the palms of his hands to make them squish together in a hot press.
The tightness of your nipples coupled with everything else, every other rush of sensation, has your head spinning as if you were caught up in some unimaginable fever. To be presented with two cocks like this, two sets of hands, two doting, rumbling voices that softly praise you and tease you even as they take their pleasure from you … it’s something you never could have imagined prior to this. Even knowing it should be considered shameful for you to act this way, you just can’t seem to stop yourself.
Wriggling your hips again, delighting in the pressure of 65 taking up so much space within your cunt, you hold Zandik around the base of his shaft to keep him steady when you start to bob your head. The motion is tentative and not quite as smooth as it had looked when Pantalone was the one doing it, but it still earns you a stilted hiss from the old man, whose fingers tighten slightly on your skull. Still not pushing, still not grabbing you in earnest. Just holding on. Cradling you to his pelvis.
“Mmnnghn. You remembered what Feofan taught you, I see.” Zandik murmurs, leaning a bit more of his weight into the cane to steady his balance and give himself the leverage with which to subtly nudge his pelvis into the wet warmth of your mouth. “That’s a good girl, sweetness. You really are a remarkably adept student, you know that?”
Noising a pleased sound at his praise, you start to lean into it a little more, gradually finding your confidence. It certainly helps that he feels so good against your tongue and you have full control over the pace and the depth now to truly appreciate that, to bask in the sensation as much as the knowledge that this was the cock that took you. Deflowered you. That it was his seed coating your inner sleeve, and you’d already felt him flexing deep inside your body as he shot off a searingly hot load into you.
It’s an unexpectedly potent aphrodisiac and your fidgeting in 65’s lap quickly starts to intensify. You just can’t seem to sit still, using your feet braced on the floor between the wide spread of the masked man’s dress shoes to grind yourself on him while you serve your master with your mouth. And it doesn’t take 65 long to notice what you’re doing — in all likelihood unable to miss it even if he’d wanted to pretend he was unaware.
“Yessss. That’s a good little cock doll, indeed. You’re so eager to please us, aren’t you?” Drawling that low, rumbling laugh again, he drags his hands down off your tits, over the swelling contraction of your ribs, past your stuttering stomach and he latches onto the curve of your hips again. Giving you a tight, pinching squeeze, he guides your pelvis forward and then back to pull you into a somewhat more concentrated rhythm on top of him. “It takes a very special girl to please two old men at once. I’d say you’ve more than earned your reward.”
Zandik hums a low sound of agreement as he pets over your hair again. So soft and so doting in the way he touches you. “How’s that sound, pretty girl? Do you think you’d like that if both of us filled up your sweet little holes for you?”
You nod your head, groaning around him as you desperately clutch at 65’s pant leg with the other hand. The not so distant memory of your master squirting hot, salty discharge down your throat, the way you’d briefly gagged, right inside this very room in fact, is almost enough to make you pause and reconsider it. But you’re a little too caught up in the moment to think about much of anything other than how much you wanted them to keep praising you. To that end you probably would have been willing to do anything at all, especially if it earned you Zandik’s approval over anything else, and you make no protests when 65 presses on you with his hands, encouraging you to lean forward a bit more.
“Look at me, girl. Let me see that lovely face.”
A warm tremor works down your spine at Zandik’s hushed urging, and you shyly lift your eyes to peer up at him from beneath the fall of your lashes while you continue to drag your mouth over him. He looks unfairly good from this angle, with his chin tucked down and all of his attention focused solely on you, a simmering gleam in his eyes that makes his features look at once tender and intrinsically masculine at the same time. Yes, yes, you would have been willing to sink to any low as long as he kept looking at you like that.
And you whimper, eyelids fluttering, when you feel 65 flex his hips underneath you, sedately dragging at your pulsating guts again when he angles his cock down. There’s not much room for fully executed thrusts though and he just barely moves inside you before gliding back up, up, up, until it feels like he’s pressing right in on your womb. You squeak a harried little sound at that but he’s already repeating the motion again, nudging back only enough to give himself the space to spear up through the choking grip of your cunt.
Even as you sway unsteadily where you’re perched, almost immediately inching towards overstimulation again, you force your gaze to stay on Zandik as you subconsciously start to fall into the rhythm set by 65. When his cock pulls back, you also draw your mouth to the tip of Zandik’s cock. And when he shoves up inside you, you take your master down as far as you can go, using the transfer of momentum to propel you forward. And it occurs to you quickly enough that this is a rather easy way for three people to enjoy each other. The way 65 fucks into you is almost lazy, in fact, and much more indulgent than the punishing pace he’d initially set that had left your cunt lips feeling sore and abused.
Now it is so sedate that you can take it much better this time, giving you ample opportunity to truly appreciate the slide of Zandik in your mouth. It’s strangely harmonic in its own uniquely curious way, euphonious how one body seems to bleed into another between cock and cunt, and hands, and tongue, making it all the more easy for you to move together.
Even Zandik who, by simple nature of his declining strength, can really only stand there while he hisses softly at the sensation of your mouth on him, actively feeds into the static moment that seems to zap around you with his hushed words of encouragement and tender petting. You can see his bony knuckles turning white from the fervent grip he has on his cane, keeping him upright when he lightly sways in front of you. Assuring you he feels good, that you’re doing a good job, that you look good like that, being passed to and fro between their two cocks. You think you could probably stay like that forever and never wish it to end.
But you twitch rather suddenly when, dragging one of his hands down off your waist, 65 grabs a palmful of your left ass cheek to spread it out from the other. At first you think he merely wants to get a good look at the way your pussy is wedged open around him, to watch the stilted glide of his length where it works at your guts, and then you feel it. A pointed, deliberate swipe of his gloved thumb over your puckering hole.
You squeak a tiny sound at the touch but it does nothing to deter him from rubbing over it with a deliberate brush, back and forth, to and fro, just for a moment. Then he pulls it back, shifting under you, and for a prolonged beat you have no idea what’s coming next.
Then, surprising you a fair amount, his thumb returns coated in cool, sticky residue to push in on that center wrinkle again and you realize, distantly, that he must have popped it into his own mouth to lather the digit in saliva. You shudder mindlessly on his cock, gripping Zandik’s harder in anxious anticipation of what was surely to come.
And when you feel that blocky thumb start to dip inside your ass, the loosened ring of muscle already stretched enough to facilitate a relatively easy insertion, you tremble even more fiercely in response. The added pressure makes your cunt clamp down on him harder, tighter, and it makes him feel that much bigger inside you as a result.
You woundedly lurch, eyes vibrating in their sockets, at the same time that Zandik rumbles a thready sounding groan over your head.
“Gods, girl. Look at you, taking both of us so well.”
“He’s right, you know. You’re proving my point beautifully.” 65 adds behind you, giving his seeking thumb an attention grabbing wriggle. “You really were made just for this purpose, little one.”
Eyes starting to roll back in your head, you give another muffled sound of delight, feeling your cunt give a sharp, fluttery throb around the cock leisurely fucking up into you. Between the sensation of being thoroughly impaled on that galvanized length and the constant stream of praise, having your ass and your mouth wedged open at the same time, your head begins to swim in earnest. Your pussy demands more from you though and you hesitantly use your braced feet to lift your weight slightly before rearing back to meet 65’s next stilted thrust. The tiny little plap of skin meeting skin sounds unbearably loud in the still room, but it also sends a sharp rush of ecstasy shooting through your system. So you do it again, nudging up only enough to bounce on it, luxuriating in the way your twitching holes seem to squeeze around the various intrusions with that shift.
Gods, you really might cum again.
“That’s it. Good. Ride my cock like a good little girl, now. Lift your hips for me.”
“Does that feel nice, sweetness? You like when we use your little holes like this?”
“She must. She just keeps getting tighter and tighter around me.”
Zandik hums a quiet sound of acknowledgment, shifting his hand down from the top of your head to cup the side of your face instead. “And you look so lovely stretched between us like this. Mmnnghn. Are you going to take his load in that hungry cunt of yours too? Add it to mine?”
You deliriously bob your head, loosening your mouth around his cock so you can groan a heady, faltering sound. Thin and raspy, tinged in pure wanting, and so terribly thick you almost choke on it.
But you can feel yourself growing uncomfortably close to the edge again, and the way they talk to you certainly isn’t helping to stave it off. It almost hurts, in fact, the way your insides begin to tense up and lock the muscles in your body like an overly taut bowstring. And your mouth, your ass, your pussy are too stuffed, too stretched, too full for you to do anything to stop it.
Your only choice is to ride that slowly cresting wave between them, treading the surface over the next some odd minutes until it’s hard just to breathe, impossible to think, getting harder and harder to keep moving with them when your legs start to quake at the onset of your release. It’s sharp and debilitating, bringing a flood of prickly tears to your eyes, and you almost don’t even want to cum again. You nearly fear it, what it will do to you. How terribly it’s going to wrack through your body.
And yet you let it take you anyway, breathing deep, labored sighs that send tingles racing down to your toes. Your slicking pussy clings to 65’s shaft, your mouth and lips, and tongue clinging to Zandik’s. You seem to slip into a trance then, rocking between them, as if you were hypnotized by the push and pull of it all until you just can’t quite stop yourself from tipping over the edge.
When you cum this time it is shockingly gentle, gradual even, and not quite what you’d expected. It’s as if the spasms had been coaxed out of you through sheer persuasion and nothing more. Mewling a helpless little sound when the shuddering convulsions wash over you, making you pulse from the inside out, you merely screw your eyes shut and tremble through it. Subdued and nearly hollowed out from how slowly, how deeply your quaking guts contract, it is by far the most mind numbing orgasm you’ve had yet. And it seems to stretch on forever, milked down to the very last drop of possible pleasure thanks in part to the dual penetration in both your cunt and your ass. One slow motion pulse begets another, creating a cycle of near constant euphoria as every single one of your sensitive nerve endings vibrates like a lit firecracker.
You’re still subtly trembling when you catch the sound of 65 groaning a heated rumble as he carefully starts to pull his wedged thumb out. You whimper and whine at the loss, shaking anew when you feel the puffy pucker of your hole reluctantly release him to give another muted throb at the absence. He doesn’t give you a chance to truly lament how empty your back end feels, though, reaching up with both hands now to grab your arms, gently pulling.
It takes you a moment to realize you have to release Zandik and you do so with no shortage of reluctance, letting 65 guide your hands back behind you. Still reeling, still tripping through the hazy, rose colored delirium of your release, you have no concept of what he’s doing until he has both wrists captured and trapped at such an angle that you’re forced to arch your spine to accommodate the stretch. A vague, distant thought trips through your cotton stuffed mind and then —
65 snaps his pelvis up into your squelching cunt, jostling you, and you squeak a dire sound. It’s too late to protest or try to scramble away when he’s already got you locked in place, and you can do nothing at all to stop it when he eases himself into an energetic rhythm to fuck into you. And the sound of flesh smacking against flesh is suddenly all you can make out — plap! plap! plap! plap! — vigorous enough to make your ass bounce at the force.
Your tits, too, are free to shudder and jolt without the use of your arms to keep them from bouncing, and it almost hurts how heavy they feel on your chest like this. But your mouth is still full of Zandik’s cock and you can’t even ask 65 to slow down like this. All you can do is noise a muffled squeal as you’re pounded back and forth, from one cock to the other. Forced to take your master deep on one end and forced to take the masked segment of him just as deep on the other.
They really were using you like a toy now, a fuck doll for their pleasure, and yet you’re surprised at how much you actually seem to be enjoying this treatment. Even when you’re quite certain you won’t be able to cum again, not for a good while, there's something strangely peaceful about being able to put your own carnal urges aside for once and just focus on theirs. It was the first time you’d felt this glorious, bone deep satiation even in spite of the aches and painful twinges in your body, despite how overused you felt. Like this really was what you’d been made for, and there was only deeply felt gratification to be found in the use of your holes by these two men.
Zandik is the next to cum, which hardly surprises you even given your earlier dalliance with him to consider. His stamina was limited anyway, and it was obvious that he enjoyed watching you get split in half by his slightly younger counterpart. Likely imagining it was him slamming his hips up into you from below, feeling your cunt slick and squeeze around his cock. And you know when he’s about to shoot off because his wavering hand stiffly slides back to cup the nape of your neck, gripping you tight with cool digits so he can clutch your face to himself. His breathing deepens, turning shallow and uneven, rattling tremulously now, and you dazedly peer up the length of his body to take in his face.
That you find him wheezing softly, eyes closed and brows drawn in on a deep furrow, sends your heart skipping inside your chest. You make a conscious effort to keep your jaw wide and loose, bracing for the rush of hot, salty release that was about to flood your mouth.
But nothing can quite seem to prepare you for when it happens, the old man groaning a harsh sound as he twitches, cock flexing eagerly while he shoots off at the back of your throat. You give a startled jolt much like the first time you’d put your mouth on him like this, but rather than Pantalone it is Zandik’s hand that holds you in place this time. Even when you know you could probably wrench free if you really wanted to, you regard his grip on you as an absolute iron that you have no interest in testing. So you force yourself to stay right where you are, grimacing slightly at the salty burst of flavor along your palate while you work to swallow it all down.
“Mmmnghnn! Yes. That’s it. Good girl. Take it all, now. Don’t spill a drop.” 65 hisses softly behind you, no doubt feeling your guts tighten around him when you try not to choke.
“Burn it all!” Zandik adds, swaying rather unsteadily. “You really are going to be the death of me at this rate. Ooughn …”
Evidently unable to take the sensation of your mouth on him anymore, he carefully shuffles back a step to free himself and you watch, dazed and bouncing on the other’s lap, as his glistening, spit lathered cock quickly starts to deflate. Fully spent, by the looks of it. But you would have been lying through your teeth if you’d tried to say looking at it like that didn’t make you hunger for him all over again. There really must have been something wrong with you. Even when you were sore and achy, already tasting the lingering bitterness of cum on your tongue, you still somehow find the energy and the enthusiasm to respond to him.
“M - Master …!”
Blinking out of his post orgasm daze at that whimpering plea, Zandik lifts his attention to regard you and he promptly barks a thoroughly drained laugh. “Don’t even think about it, girl. I’m quite sure I couldn’t go another round even if I’d wanted to. You won’t be getting your way with me this time.”
You can’t help the way you pout at that — or try to, anyway, and would have if only you weren’t being pounded within an inch of your life. That’s how it feels, at least. Your legs are tired and your body is coated in a perspiring sheen of sweat from exertion, and all you can do is mewl a sad little sound of wanting while you watch Zandik tiredly angle himself towards the empty spot on the sofa where he takes a much needed seat. Directly next to where you were being yanked and shoved, struggling to brace against the deep, deep plunge of 65’s rigid length.
But Zandik clearly has no issues observing your unseemly state with another man, even if it was technically himself, and you can feel his eyes on you while he watches you shudder the same way some people might watch the ballet. You have his full attention and that seems to warm you from the inside out. Bolsters your courage, makes you want to do a good job for him, to look nice for your master even when you’re quite sure you look anything but that right now.
The relentless, constant, gliding pressure on your guts has surely turned you into a veritable mess, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to better arch your back for him. With your arms pulled behind you there’s no way to even reach for him like this yet you still wanted him to enjoy the view. For him to see how heavy, how full your breasts are, and how they bounce in their fertility. The way your stomach creases and jiggles, the recoil of your ass slamming down to meet the next upward plunge. It was for him, all him.
And 65 seems to notice that extra bit of effort, of course, breathing out a faltering laugh that is thick with unmistakable carnal tension. “Are you certain you haven’t received any proper training? You’re still showing off for your master even with another cock already in your pretty cunt. That’s something that usually requires some work to achieve.”
You noise a wordless, mindless animal sound in response, much too strung out and stretched thin to formulate a better response.
But Zandik has had a moment to recover by now, and he chuckles a rumbling sound of amusement even as he shifts beside you, finishing tucking himself back into his pants. “She’s a rare find, isn’t she? I’d say I don’t know how Omega managed to hit the jackpot on the first try, but. Well. I was already familiar with what I liked back then, wasn’t I? It’s probably not so surprising that he’d recognize it immediately.”
65 grunts a low hum of agreement, almost more of a groan than anything else. He seems to be much too fixated on chasing his pleasure now to verbally respond, which suits you just fine. You were truly starting to creep towards your limit now.
It was simply just too much all at once for your until-quite-recently-virginal-body to handle, and when you finally feel the gloved hands around your wrists begin tightening you can’t help but send a silent prayer out to the blessed mother.
As if in direct answer to that plea, his flexing hips start to grow stiff and lose their rhythm, only mildly at first, but it rapidly becomes more noticeable until he can’t seem to keep up the effort any longer. Shuddering stiffly, 65 slams up into you one final time where he stays wedged, releasing your arms so he can grab you around the waist to tug you into a swiveling grind on top of him. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you even as you mewl at the abrupt change in the pressure, the new angles from which he presses in on your walls.
And when he eventually tips over the edge another moment later, 65 cums so deep inside your throbbing body you’re sure you can feel his spend pooling in your lungs. This part, at least, is not so different from when Zandik filled you up, and you tremble helplessly there while he empties his balls.
It nearly startles you to realize he hadn’t even asked first but, given the apparent blanket permissions, you supposed he didn’t really need to.
“Mmnnghnn! Burn everything, girl … Zandik was right. This tight little pussy could send an old man straight to his grave.” Still working to catch his breath, 65 gingerly reclines underneath you with a thoroughly satisfied huff to show for it, leaving you to sway unsteadily on his lap.
You’re not sure what you would have decided to do beyond that point – to get up and awkwardly get dressed or to seek out the same cuddles Zandik had given you earlier, but luckily you don’t have to choose. Surprisingly gentle, the bird masked segment carefully eases you back to lay against him, which you almost don’t comply with. But you quickly realize how little energy or even desire you have to actually put up a struggle, and with very little fuss he’s able to lay you out on top of him where you can try to recover a bit. It was a lost cause though. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d been so tired, and it was hardly any wonder given how little sleep you’d gotten the last two nights. It felt like you could curl right up and take a nap.
But his gloved hands are distracting where they caress over your sluggishly overheated body, the way he palms around your ribcage to give you a reassuring squeeze. And if that alone wasn’t enough to keep you regretfully tethered to reality and alert, the sensation of another hand that is bare and gouged with wrinkles sliding over the meat of your thigh to give it a warm caress certainly brings your nodding attention back into focus.
Turning your head where it rests along 65’s shoulder, you peer over at Zandik to find him fondly observing you. Simply taking in the way you lean back into the body underneath you with little regard for your nudity, the sweat on your skin, the dreamy look on your face. Pleased with the fact that you’d just been pulled ragged between the two men. Two versions of the same man. Gods, at what point was this not going to seem so very difficult to reconcile in your mind.
“Well, aren’t you just glowing.” He murmurs, giving your leg a rather amicable pat. “That’s the look of a greedy girl who’s gotten more cock than she can stand. I must confess, I quite like how that expression looks on you. It suits you, if you want my opinion. And how does it feel, sweetness? Are you finally satisfied?”
You slowly blink at that. Was he suggesting —
“Y - … yes, sir. I duh - don’t think I could take any more … even if I’d wanted to.”
“I see. And do you wish you could?”
A tentative shake of your head. “No. I’ve had … plenty for one day. But, Master, is t - that why you encouraged me to …”
65 offers your love handles a faint pinch to draw your attention back to him.
“Don’t be shy, dear girl. Say it.” He encourages you as he turns his head just enough to lightly brush the curved beak of his mask against your cheek. “You want to know if he encouraged you to take another old man’s cock just so you could get your fill, don’t you?”
You’re not entirely sure how it’s possible after all of that but your face indeed grows warm in response. “I was satisfied with you, Master! I didn’t - -“
“Oh, there, there. I know you were.” Zandik lightly coos, reaching up now to chidingly pinch the other hot cheek. “But this way we know what your upper limit is. Currently, at least. I gave you three orgasms in the library. Greedy little thing. And here you’ve just had two. So unless anyone else has been playing with that hungry cunt today, it looks like five is about what you need to tire yourself out. That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”
Shame cuts through you like a knife and you haltingly try to squirm away from their dual attacks on your person but it’s impossible to escape from 65’s lap when he’s holding onto your waist. You can only wriggle in place for a moment while both of them quietly croon and fuss over you the way only elderly men seemed capable of. You’d certainly not been subjected to this sort of treatment from any of the other segments.
And you almost hate how tight it makes your chest feel with a strangely fluttery, helium sensation, how your skin prickles and tingles in response to their hushed words nearly as much as the touching of their hands. While 65 carefully tugs on you to adjust the way you’re sat atop him, coming very close to cradling you in the bend of his arm, Zandik ever so gently brushes some of the hair back from your sweaty face. Almost like you were a messy, fussy toddler being handed off between two grandparents.
It is an extremely infantilizing way to be treated, especially right after taking both of them at the same time, but you just can’t seem to find the strength of mind to protest against it.
Particularly not when Zandik, in all his learned wisdom, leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead as if to soothe and calm the rioting conflict of emotions within you.
“It’s alright, silly girl. I know perfectly well what it’s like to be young and have all the stamina in the world. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Just as I will not.” 65 adds in agreement, giving you a light, rocking jostle in his arms.
Even if you did technically dislike being treated this way, there is simply no denying the incredibly soft response it triggers within you. It almost seems to make everything else about this situation that is so comparatively awful and heartbreaking seem worth it, and you find yourself gratefully leaning into Zandik’s hand when he softly pets over your head again. You felt like a fool for it, but there was no denying you felt a positive response despite the apprehension in your higher functioning mind.
“T - thank you, Master …”
“Of course. But not another word of that, now. You look like you could use a nap, hm?”
He’s right, of course, but you force your drooping eyelids to flutter open at the mention of it. “I can’t sleep yet. It is only the middle of the afternoon. Your dinner - -“
“Can wait.” He assures you, putting on that customarily firm tone of voice that brokered no room for argument. At least not from you, anyway. “You’ve had to put up with an awful lot today, haven’t you? Besides, I can’t say I’m feeling particularly hungry right at the moment either way. Get some rest first and then you can worry about dinner.”
You take a purposeful breath with every intention of insisting you’re fine to keep working, but 65 ever so gently nudges you before you can speak.
“He’s right, you know. All the food in the kitchen will still be waiting for you later, even if you don’t rush off to start cooking right away. I’ll even give you my coat so you can curl up with it and doze in my lap for a while. So get some sleep, little one. I’d say you’ve earned it.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Your uneventful nap bleeds into an uneventful evening in which you share an agreeably pleasant meal with Zandik and, inexplicably, 65 who proves himself every bit the mirrored reflection of your master that he was meant to be.
It probably shouldn’t but it does manage to surprise you how easily the two of them are able to casually converse about a myriad of complicated topics that seem to fly right over your head while you listen to them talk. But even when they don’t quite seem to see eye to eye on a particular detail their demeanor never truly changes to the same barely concealed contempt you’d often observed in the Doctor, which certainly came as a relief. By all accounts, they seem to get along just fine. A privilege granted by their closeness in age, if you had to guess. And when dinner is finished, you find yourself more convinced than ever that the older Zandik got the more reasonable he’d become, although you still did not know what the catalyst for that might have been. Was it simply accumulated maturity or something else?
Shortly thereafter, when you’re serving the evening coffee, 25 drops in to give you a small package of ground up powder which he instructs you to sprinkle into your tea as regularly as needed, depending on how often you have sex. That certainly embarrassed you plenty but even that couldn’t quite compare to how very hot your face became when he fixed you with a pointed look and offhandedly mentioned that you’d seemed rather busy the first time he’d ventured up to the main floor so he’d decided to come back later. His expression remains unreadable though and you can’t get a good read on what he might think of it.
But neither of you seemed to want to say anything else on the matter so he’d directed his attention towards Zandik instead, explaining that, in exchange for the contraceptive, you were going to be assisting him with an experiment the following day. Looking understandably doubtful, the old man sent you a questioning look and you had to admit that you’d in fact agreed to the surgeon's terms, although you don’t mention he’d hardly left you with any choice. Especially after being filled up again by 65, you indeed saw the wisdom in your master’s call to put a stopgap on any potential pregnancies before it was too late. You couldn’t very well continue to do your job if you were uncomfortably round and cumbersome, and things would likely only get more risky from here.
Slowly, everyone filed out of the dining room after that — 25 first, citing that he needed to get back to the lab before 8 and 22 could blow each other up, and then 65 who grumbled something about wanting to spend his evening in the library upstairs.
And somehow you couldn’t quite seem to hide the relief on your face when Zandik soon announced that he’d like to turn in early tonight as well. You knew he was likely only doing so for your sake, no doubt seeing how little the nap had helped restore your energy, but sadly you were just too tired by that point to truly argue against it. In all honesty, you’d felt glad to help him up the staircase.
His bath was a quick and straight to the point affair, as were the rest of the nightly bedtime rituals you usually helped him with. In record time you had him tucked into bed, sluggishly moving around the room to turn down the gas lamps and descend everything into darkness so you can shuffle to the next room over. Wishing him a final sleepy goodnight, you’d shut the door behind you and dragged your feet the few steps to yours.
You’d similarly gone through the motions of your own routine on autopilot, letting habit guide you more than conscious thought. A quick, much needed bath for yourself, your teeth brushed, hair combed out and tucked safely under your night cap and then finally, finally you’d been able to crawl into bed where you fell straight into slumber almost the second your head hit the pillow.
And it was easily some of the best sleep you’ve ever had. The ever revolving stage of alternating horrors and pleasures was taking its toll on you, both physically and mentally, but there is a certain kind of solace to be found in unconsciousness where nothing else truly mattered. You’re so exhausted, in fact, that you don’t even have the energy to dream that night.
When morning comes around and you start to stir towards wakefulness again, you realize quite immediately just how bad you’d needed that full night's rest. You feel much better and more rejuvenated than you have the last two days, and you almost find yourself reluctant to leave that comforting purgatory between the waking world and sleep. Even as your mind reluctantly creeps towards awareness, you decide to keep your eyes closed for just another moment longer. Five more minutes, and then you would get up.
But then you hear it.
A strange noise that registers no immediate explanation or reasoning in the back of your mind, the cause of it as much an unknown as the source. It almost sounds like something sliding, back and forth, back and forth, creating friction. Drag.
Groaning softly, you have to force your uncooperative eyelids to open and you blearily try to take stock of your bedroom. But your vision doesn’t want to focus at first – not until you catch a softly exhaled, shuddering sigh and then you’re suddenly wide awake and alert, snapping your attention up with a startled jolt.
Only to be greeted by the sight of 22 hunching over you, one hand braced along the wooden headboard above your pillow while the other furiously fists at his straining cock. He’s got his head bowed, fluffy blue waves hanging over his brow while he groans and quietly heaves over your prone form. Your mouth opens in surprise but for a painfully long stretch of seconds all you can seem to do is stare up at him in complete and utter disbelief. Some foolish little part of you almost wants to believe there’s been some kind of mistake. That he’s not actually doing what you can plainly see he’s doing.
And when your struggling brain finally recovers from the unexpected shock of it, you simply blurt the first words that form on your tongue.
“Stop that, you damned jerk!”
You’re not sure why you would say this over any number of other, more fitting insults you could have chosen instead. But it’s enough to get his attention and 22 gives a faint, jumpy start as he snaps his head up to look into your face.
“Well, good morning to you too, princess! Did you sleep well?”
“What,” you intone, shaking in barely contained rage as you slowly push up onto your hands to level him with an incredulous look. “Are you doing in my room?”
He clicks his tongue at that. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting in my time with you while I still can before anyone else claims you for themselves.”
“Get. Out. Now.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” Crooning in condescension, 22 tauntingly wags his cock at you with a meaty little flick. “Why don’t you give me a hand first, and then - -“
Your pillow slams into his face with a thick whap! to cut him off.
“No! I said get out, you - you fiend!” You shriek as you shoot up to stand atop your bed, giving you the advantage of towering over him. “I will find you and tend to you later, but get out of my room! I’m serious!”
Aggressively throwing the hurled pillow onto the floor, he tips his head back to narrow his eyes up at you through the holes in his mask, lips pulling in a sneer to show off those inexplicably sharp teeth. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that? I’d like to see you behave this way towards Omega or - -“
“Out!”
22 stubbornly opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else that's just going to make you even angrier, but you impulsively twist around and grab the heavy, full sized lamp up from the bedside table. Wielding it like a bludgeon, you turn back to him and heft it over your shoulder with as much menace as you can muster.
Luckily that seems to get through to him and he ducks his head to avoid the threatened blow, shoving himself back into his pants as he turns to scamper away. “Okay, okay! Fuck! You’d better keep your word though, or this won’t be the last you hear from me!”
With that final warning, the door slams behind him hard enough to make the frame shudder and your room once again descends into stillness. Peaceful, quiet stillness.
Panting heavily in the aftermath of that rude wake up call, you slowly lower the lamp to hold it against your front. Damn him! You didn’t want to start barricading your door at night but it didn’t look like he was going to leave you much of a choice.
You’re halfway through the motion of putting the lamp back down where it belonged, still faintly shuddering from the adrenaline rush, when a rather polite knock sounds from out in the hall. It rouses your suspicions a great deal though when you have no idea who would possibly bother to announce themselves in this mad house.
“What is it?”
At your grumpy bark the knob gives a faint rattle as it’s turned and to your great surprise it is the little face of 8 that appears in your doorway. Impassive and unimpressed as ever, but the curious glint in his eyes belies his curiosity at the state of agitation he’s found you in.
“Is this a bad time?”
“Oh. No. No, it’s — it’s alright. I’m fine.” You rush to say, rather self consciously setting the lamp down so you can step off of the bed. Turning towards him, you awkwardly smooth your hands over your flowing nightgown to make sure you’re at least decent. Presentable was asking for a bit too much from yourself right now. “Sorry about that. I thought I saw a - a mouse, that’s all. Was there … something you needed?”
“I heard yelling so I decided to investigate. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course. Don’t even give it another thought.”
But despite your reassurances he just continues to stand there, haunting the doorway like a tiny little ghost. As the seconds creep by it slowly occurs to you that he wants to come in. For some reason.
Well, at least he’d waited long enough to get permission.
“Why don’t you come sit with me for a moment?” You say, holding out your hand to him. “I could brush your hair for you, if you’d like.”
Looking neither pleased nor annoyed by the offer of such childish coddling, 8 slips through the crack and shuts the door behind himself before wandering over. His slippers are nearly silent on the floor as he comes to stand in front of you, although the bulk of his attention is on peering around at the room.
And it dawns on you that this might be the first time he’s ever stood inside a woman’s space like this before. Although the Doctor hadn’t gone into overly great detail, and you were a little too scared of what the truth might reveal to ask Zandik directly, it had sounded like even his parents might have rejected him too. The thought alone is nearly enough to break your heart.
For better or worse, though, you’re still hot with your earlier anger at 22’s nonsense and the tears don’t even get the chance to sting your eyes. Without really even giving it much thought, you reach down and decisively pluck 8 up under his arms so you can set him on the edge of your bed.
“There. Let me grab my hairbrush, okay?” Pretending like you don’t notice the vaguely startled look on his face, you turn to retrieve the item from your tiny attached washroom. You were a bit surprised at yourself too, but in truth you hadn’t even stopped long enough to consider how he might perceive that gesture from you. It was easy to forget that he was not actually an eight year old child sometimes and you find yourself wondering how long it’s been since he was … created. Born didn’t seem like the right term, and yet you didn’t know what else to call it.
Making your way back over to the bed, you perch next to him and gently nudge his shoulders to indicate that you want him to face the other way, which he hesitantly does. Given his back now, you reach up to lightly run your fingers through a section of those baby soft, downy, half formed curls, coming back almost a little envious. His hair was so thick and full, but somehow not overly coarse. How lucky.
Settling in behind him, you bring the brush up to gently pull it through those pale blue waves, starting at the base of his neck and working your way up.
“Thank you for checking on me by the way. That was very sweet of you.”
“You’re welcome.” A pause, and then, “I can brush my hair myself, you know.”
You can’t quite hold back your laughter at that. “Don’t worry, I know. But I usually take care of Master Zandik’s hair for him too, so I guess it’s becoming something of a habit for me now. Do you dislike it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Another giggle.
Another pause.
And when 8 speaks next, it is with a mildly curious inflection in his voice. “Did you really see a mouse? When you screamed?”
Heat stabs at your cheeks with that reminder, but you quickly sweep it into the back of your mind. You could be embarrassed about what you’d woken up to and how you’d reacted to it later. “Honestly? No. It was that gods forsaken 22. That one does not seem to understand the concept of personal space.”
8 hums a rather noncommittal sound while you steadily work your way up the back of his head, letting silence descend over the room for a little while before he eventually deigns to speak again. “If he’s bothering you I can tell 35. I don’t know if there’s anything he can do about it though. No one really likes that guy. Other than maybe Zandik.”
You can’t help the way you hesitate at that. “What do you mean no one likes him? Don’t you think that’s an odd thing to say when you’re all technically the same person?”
“In name only.” 8 huffs as if that should have been obvious right from the start. And on some level you guessed it kind of was. “We might share the same origin but we’re all as unique as any other individual. When you think about one of your past selves, don’t you regard them as different people too?”
Okay, he sort of had you there. It was indeed hard to reconcile yourself at eleven or twelve with the person you currently were today, even if you did logically know that they were still you. Just a different version of you, each with their own unique thought processes considering how little you understood some of their actions now. Even without being segmented into pieces, the past you’s may as well have led completely separate lives. And that sense of disconnect was probably far greater for Zandik considering he’d given his different perspectives their own flesh and blood bodies that he’d then had to look at, day in and day out, for who knows how long now. Forever reminded of his own lost youth, his lost vigor. His hubris and his mistakes.
“I see your point,” you murmur softly, resuming your brushing to watch his loose curls shimmer in the light streaming in from the window behind you. “But why doesn’t anyone like 22?”
8 gives the kind of listless shrug to that which only children were proficient at executing. “He’s different from the rest of us. He … he was Zandik when he first came to Snezhnaya with old man Pierro. I heard Om — 35 say he’d gotten his first taste of power at that age and it went to his head for a time. The younger segments don’t like him because he’s the exact opposite of us and the older ones don’t like him because they’re embarrassed they ever acted that way.”
You momentarily think back to your last trip down into the cellar and what 22 had said about all the others being boring, too serious to have a real sense of humor. So the feeling was mutual between them, at least, but you hadn’t expected him to be regarded as the black sheep of this dysfunctional family unit. No wonder you’d had such a hard time trying to make any sense of him when he was so far removed from the Zandik you were accustomed to.
And your heart gives a faintly sympathetic tug for him which you try your best to rebuke in the same breath. No way were you going to start feeling sorry for 22 after the way he’s treated you, but … perhaps the next time you had to deal with him you could make an attempt to reframe the way you approached one another into something that was a bit less frustrating. If what 8 said was true and he was simply on a power trip then maybe you could try to take some of that power away and claim it for yourself. It was worth a shot, at least.
For now, though, you decide to change the subject.
“That makes sense. Am I allowed to ask who Pierro is?”
8 clicks his little tongue at that, making you think it must have been a habit Zandik always had. “Don’t you know anything at all? He’s the director of the Fatui Harbingers.”
“Hey, I told you I was in a little over my head here, didn’t I? But does that mean … he was personally handpicked for the role of The Doctor?”
“Mm. Something like that, I guess.”
Finishing the last section of his hair now, you set the brush aside and use your fingers to lightly tousle those enviably soft locks to arrange it the way he seemed to prefer. How curious to think that Zandik had been rejected by his own homeland but intentionally sought out by another nation. You can’t help but wonder if it had been at the behest of the Tsaritsa or if this Pierro had made the decision on his own.
You got the sense that 8 wasn’t going to divulge much more than that though, either because he wouldn’t or because he simply didn’t know much else about it, and you finally retract your hands upon deeming him ready for the day ahead. Which was certainly more than could be said for you. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to just stay in your room.
But Zandik would need attending soon and you also had that appointment with 25 to keep. You were almost starting to miss how very quiet and uneventful things used to be around here, before you’d uncovered the secret in the basement. It was your own fault, of course.
“Well, that should about do it, little man. I’d better start getting myself ready now. You’re welcome to sit here while I get dressed though.”
“Wait.” He blurts, turning back around to peer up at you. “What about … your lessons?”
You slowly blink at him. Was that why he’d wanted to come into your room? “You want to do it right now?”
At his tentatively hopeful nod, you have to remind yourself to keep all of your other obligations in mind instead of immediately folding to his whims on the spot. It’s hard though, so very hard when he looks at you like that.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the time for that right now.” You tell him gently. “Besides, I just woke up, didn’t I? I’d say that hardly makes for the best time to start learning mathematics. But how about I come find you this afternoon and we’ll sit down together somewhere, hm?”
8’s expression remains largely impassive, however, neither showing disappointment or eagerness at the acquiescence as he gives his chin a curt nod. “Okay. I’ll prepare some worksheets for you in the meantime.”
You aren’t sure if you should laugh or cry about that. Maybe even some confounding amalgamation of the two. He was taking this so seriously, and it's perfectly clear to you that he was looking forward to having the chance to educate and guide someone. You didn’t imagine he had many same age friends to play with instead. And while it was certainly sweet of him, it also reminded you of a passing thought you’d had about Zandik before. He really would have made an excellent professor.
What must he have done for the Nation of Wisdom of all places to exile him?
“Alright. You have yourself a deal.” You say, reaching out to give his little head an affectionate ruffle. “Would you like to join us for breakfast this morning?”
At his murmur of agreement, you tell him to wait for you there and hop up off the bed. Brush still in hand, you take the few steps across the small room and step into the even smaller attached washroom, shutting the door behind you. A quick wash, your teeth brushed, hair combed out and styled simply, you go about your usual morning routine feeling strangely … at peace. Even in spite of 22’s nonsense you just can’t seem to shake the warm flutters in your chest. 8 was making you wish for something you knew you couldn’t have, not with the way things currently were. The situation was too precarious, too impermanent. Temporary.
But did it really need to be? You recall what 22 said yesterday about the Doctor working on an immortality elixir. For Pantalone. Did that really even make any sense? Why not Zandik? You were well aware how rocky the dynamic between the two of them was, but would Dottore really withhold something like that from his original self? If the old man could extend his life somehow then maybe this didn’t have to be so fleetingly brief.
You’re well aware how dangerous it is to entertain such thoughts though, and you sullenly kick them to the back of your mind as you finish getting dressed. It wouldn’t do to dwell on what could be when you were still living in the present of right now. Giving yourself one last look in the tall, claw footed mirror standing next to the wash basin, you take a short moment to run your hands over your uniform. It was starting to feel like an extension of yourself from how often you wore the thing, part of your personality now even though you’d never thought you were much the domestic type. And what 65 said in the drawing room about being a homemaker … would you really make a good wife? A good — mother?
A look of alarm passes over your face at that unexpected notion, reflected back at you in the surface of the mirror, and you quickly turn away from it. What an embarrassing thing to get flustered over.
Quickly stepping back out into the room so don’t accidentally catch another glimpse of yourself, you find 8 laying out on top of your bed right where you’d left him. Schooling a pleasant smile into place, you offer your hand out to him and you’re admittedly quite pleased when he slides down off the sheets to come right over to you.
Hand in hand, the two of you step out into the hall together and you pull him over to Zandik’s door where you issue a gentle knock before easing it open. And as you step inside with 8 in tow, you’re greeted by the sight of the old man already awake and sitting up in his bed, withered hands clasped in his lap.
“Oh. You’re already up, Master?”
He cocks a grumpy brow at that even as he sends his youngest counterpart a curious glance, like he isn’t entirely sure what to make of his presence there with you.
“It’s a little hard to sleep with all the shouting going on in this place. It used to be quiet around here, you know. I don’t know what happened to my peaceful retirement home. You’re not bothering her are you, boy?”
“No. I heard the yelling too so I came to check.”
Your face immediately grows hot enough to spark. “D - did that wake you, Master? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to - -“
“Yes, yes. It’s alright.” He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No harm done. I’m just glad to see you’re alright. When I didn’t hear any more carrying on, I figured you were likely fine. What had you so excited first thing in the morning?”
You internally cringe at that even as you share a quick look with 8 who, despite his placid expression, seems to be silently telling you he’ll answer if you don’t.
“Well,” you murmur, stepping up next to the bed. “It was — 22, sir. He decided to pay me an unexpected visit, that’s all. But I took care of it already.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Zandik asks, keeping his attention on you even when 8 slips out of your hand to climb up and lay out over his legs.
“No … he just wanted some time with me. I think.”
The old man scoffs a sharp sound of derision. “I can’t say I blame him for that. It seems like everyone around here wants you all to themselves. I consider myself lucky to have the privilege of monopolizing most of your attention though. Come here for a moment, girl. Let me see you.”
Zandik holds his arm out to open up the space beside him, indicating where he wanted you to position yourself. Your heart gives a little thump, thump inside your chest but you still heed the summons, carefully getting yourself turned and situated to perch on the edge of the mattress beside him.
Evidently that’s not enough to satisfy him though, and you squeak a tiny sound when he curls that arm around you and tugs you right up against him, giving you no choice but to lean into his slight frame. You shoot 8 a wide eyed look of self conscious alarm but Zandik does not seem to have any concern for what the boy might think as he dips his face close to press a hard kiss to your forehead.
And you’re unequivocally struck by how familial and homey this scene actually feels. You earlier thoughts come bubbling right back up to the surface with a vengeance, making you crave it all over again. To have this with him, to share the sort of intimacy with someone that would potentially result in the byproduct of it sitting at your feet with a decidedly unimpressed expression on his face, watching …
“M - Master?”
“Hush. I just want to enjoy your company for a little while before the rest of the day takes you away from me.” Zandik mutters into your hair, exhaling a soft sigh. “I’m still surprised you agreed to 25’s terms. I should have known he’d try to barter with you though.”
“It’s alright.” You say as you try to calm your pounding heartbeat. “I don’t mind, and it’s probably best if I … get to know him a little better. How to handle his eccentricities.”
“That’s a good mindset to have, girl. But don’t let any of them bully you just because they’re bigger than you. I can promise I wasn’t nearly as difficult to deal with as it might seem.”
“They try to push me around sometimes too.” 8 adds from his spot further down on the bed where he’s got his chin resting atop his folded arms. Just observing. “You could try stepping on their foot if they make you mad. That’s what I do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” You giggle, wondering if you actually had the courage to do something like that.
The three of you sit together like that for what seems like its own blissful eternity, exchanging snippets of conversation and enjoying each other’s presence. You’re especially grateful for the chance to just breathe in the smell of Zandik, the permeating warmth that bleeds off of him and into you. It would have been nice if it never had to end.
But, eventually, it does come to a close, and at your master’s nudge you climb up to start getting him ready for the day while 8 lounges about on the bed. It almost hurts how peaceful and domesticated that morning feels, and you think you’ll cherish it for a long time to come as the three of you start to make your way down to the library together.
Likely having some idea what 25 has planned for you, Zandik tells the boy he can stay with him until you return from your appointment down in the cellar and that he can help him with his research. Leaving them to it, the last thing you hear on your way back out into the hall are the two of them discussing something about theorems and chemical bonding that makes absolutely no sense to you.
It’s so odd to think that, despite being forever stuck in the body of a child, 8 really was capable of understanding such complicated concepts and advanced terminology. He really was Zandik, just in another form, and you can’t help wondering if a true son or daughter sired from the old man would likewise inherit any of that staggering intellect.
This particular thought occupies your mind while you go about preparing breakfast for them, portioning out a plate for yourself as you go. You make an attempt to replicate the sandwich you’d made for 8 the day before but it’s obvious you’re missing some key ingredients and know-how to truly make a decent Sumerian dish. You’ll likely just have to wait until the next shipment arrives before you can do anything truly worthwhile. Zandik said over dinner last night that he would relay the request to the Doctor who, he’d assured you, wouldn’t possibly deny such a request coming from you. You’re not so sure of that, especially if he ever found out about that impulsive letter you’d sent with the Fatuus yesterday, but you’d wisely kept that thought to yourself.
Once everything’s ready, you take the food upstairs and serve them at the desk. Zandik gets his piping hot black coffee and 8 is given a glass of orange juice which he seems pleased to accept. He truly appears to have no interest in Snezhnayan foods though, and you notice he makes a conscious decision to stick to only what was at least marginally familiar to him from the perspective of a child. Eggs and potatoes are fine, but the buckwheat kasha is summarily ignored and avoided. You make a mental note of that.
After ensuring they have everything and they’re both comfortably settled in, you leave them to it so you can catch up on some of your neglected chores for the rest of the morning. A certain sense of apprehension comes over you every time you think about meeting with 25 later on, so you do your best to keep busy and preoccupied, hoping your nerves won’t get the better of you.
That doesn’t quite work, though, and by the time afternoon finally rolls around you’re feeling increasingly more anxious by the minute.
Before you head down, you prepare a hearty lunch for them and take it up to the library where you’re mildly surprised to find 8 standing on top of the desk when you open the door. It looks like he’s helping to assemble some sort of contraption with moving bits and babbles, given the gears on the apparatus, and a drip that would feed into a flask at the bottom.
Understandably bewildered, you hesitantly make your way over to them. “And what’s all this?”
Dropping his chin from where he’d been looking up at the boy, no doubt directing him from his chair, Zandik pins you with a roguishly half cocked smirk. “Do you think you’d understand if I told you?”
“Point taken.” You murmur, carefully balancing the tray as you come to a stop next to the corner, head tipping back to peer up at 8. “Please be careful. I don’t want you to fall.”
“Oh, relax. You’re starting to sound like a mother hen.” Zandik comments offhandedly, making your stomach churn with some confusing mix of guilty shame and eager little flutters.
If only he knew the half of it.
“I’m almost done anyway.” 8 adds, as unconcerned as the old man is, while he fiddles with a final screw in the confusing tool. It looked like something out of a whacky science fiction novel.
“Is this … some sort of chemistry set up or something?”
Ever so slowly tipping his head to one side, Zandik sends you an unreadable look. “Indeed it is. You’ve seen similar tools in my personal lab downstairs but I’m still surprised you could correlate the two to draw a successful conclusion. As always, your cleverness does nothing but charm me.”
8 makes an odd sound at that but with his face tipped up you can’t tell whether or not he’s rolling his eyes from this angle. The little brat.
“And as always, your ability to keep finding new things to research continues to astound me. Now,” you intone, moving behind the desk to start placing the offering of plates and fresh glasses down. “The two of you had better eat the lunch I prepared before you start getting lost in your experiments. I worked hard on this meal and I don’t want you to go hungry.”
Zandik snorts a plainly amused laugh at that, tracking you with his sharp eyes while you unload your tray. “Yes, dear. The boy and I will make sure to clean our plates if it will make you happy.”
You can’t help the way you smile at that, realizing it would please you a great deal to know they’d enjoyed the food you’d cooked for them enough to eat it all. Was this the same reason you used to sometimes catch your mother smiling to herself while you and your father sat at the table in your small kitchen together? That was a very long time ago though. You’d almost forgotten about it.
But when you set down the last bowl of chopped fruit and start to pull away, Zandik reaches up to snag your wrist before you can make it very far. He gives you a gentle yet insistent tug and, helpless to do anything else but oblige when he asks it of you, you lean down to accept the chaste kiss he presses to your mouth.
He’s been so affectionate with you the last few days. As much as you enjoyed it, happily preening under his attention every time he graced you with it, some tiny part of you almost fears what it might mean for you in the long run.
“Are you headed off to the cellar now?”
“Yes.” You grumble, not even trying to hide the fact you weren’t exactly thrilled about it, but Zandik merely chuckles another low laugh at your response.
“Don’t sound so excited.” He murmurs, lightly brushing the bony jut of your wrist with his wrinkled thumb. “I’m sure 25 will take good care of you. After going two rounds with you yesterday, I think I’m going to need more time to recuperate so you may as well enjoy yourself elsewhere for right now.”
“Master!”
Your eyes grow big as saucers as you shoot a surreptitious glance at 8 but, by some small stroke of luck, he seems to be more focused on climbing down off of the desk than in paying attention to what the sickeningly lovey dovey adults were whispering about. Probably tired of watching these nauseatingly mushy scenes by now, if you had to guess.
“Forgive me.” He laughs, clearly not the least bit sorry about it. “I’m so used to it being just you and I that it seems I forget myself. But don’t fret over it, lovely girl. I don’t think he cares very much.”
“Even so!” You hiss, withering from the inside out. As if being on the receiving end of such sweet gestures wasn’t already embarrassing enough.
But, still, you only see Zandik’s usual mean-streaked humor reflected in his face, and you haplessly allow him pull you back down into another lingering kiss. This time, however, he lets his mouth mould to the shape of yours, coaxing you into reluctant compliance as you slowly kiss him back.
“There. That’s a much better look for you than that sulky pout.” He announces, smirking, when he finally leans back to take in your expression again. “You’d better run along now, hm? Wouldn’t want to keep that bastard 25 waiting too long. Just do keep in mind what I said, girl. It’s alright if you enjoy your time with someone else in this household, even if I am not there to personally watch over the proceedings. Try not to seem so put out, alright?”
“… yes, Master.”
“Good girl. Off with you then. I’ll see you for dinner, alright?”
Unable to keep the warbling grin held at bay any longer, you lean back down again to press one final peck to the corner of his wrinkled mouth. “Alright. Have fun with your little experiments.”
You straighten up and pull away, plopping a hand down on 8’s head to ruffle his fluffy hair as you walk by. Just as Zandik said, though, he couldn’t seem to care less about the rosy atmosphere between the two of you as he proceeds to stretch for a piece of watermelon plucked from the bowl without a second thought given to the matter.
The innocence of children really was something else, even when the individual in question was only a child by design.
It almost pains you to leave them, but you were a bit too aware of the fact that 25 would simply come looking for you if you weren’t punctual enough to suit his liking so you grudgingly make your way to the first floor and then the kitchen where you switch out your silver tray for the kerosene lamp. Then it’s back down the hall, through the landing, the careful descent into the dark staircase and, finally, into the subterranean lab.
You pause in the doorway, however, warily glancing around in search of 22. After the stunt he pulled yesterday coupled with the stunt from this morning, you half expect to see him lurking about, lying in wait for you to make his next move. But just as every other time, you see no one at all. Not even 65 putzing about somewhere in his dramatic bird mask.
Realizing you haven’t seen him all day, you wonder where he might have holed himself up at as you set your extinguished lamp next to the exit and start to make your way down the center aisle. Your skin prickles from the chill of the basement as much as at the apprehension of possibly being accosted again, and yet nothing comes of it. You successfully navigate back to the operating theater again where, to your mild surprise, you find 25 already waiting for you.
He's got his attention fixed on the clipboard in his hand though, evidently reading over something, and you can’t help but be reminded of that first fateful encounter when you’d unexpectedly run into him as you shuffle over to stand at attention. Silently waiting for him to acknowledge you.
A few minutes go by in this still manner before he finally lifts his head to regard you with that customary bland look of his. “Assistant.”
“Sir.”
The corners of his eyes crease slightly with what you think might be a smile as he shifts in place to set the clipboard on the desk behind him. “You’re looking well. I take it you were able to get plenty of rest after your busy day yesterday?”
You try very hard not to flush at that only to fail miserably on all accounts. “I did. I’m — sorry you had to make two trips upstairs because of me.”
“Think nothing of it. I admit, I was a bit surprised when I realized you were entertaining both of them inside the drawing room but if anything I find it remarkable how quickly you’ve made yourself at home here. Of the very few people who know of Zandik’s hubristic folly, most are … understandably hesitant to trust his segments at face value.”
You slowly blink at that. Somehow you hadn’t expected him to be in such a talkative mood today. “I can’t say I don’t understand why, but … do you think that makes me a fool?”
“On the contrary, I think it makes you an interesting wealth of potential. Hence why so many of us are fascinated by you. It’s not every day that someone new is brought into the fold who then acclimates to such admittedly bizarre circumstances with hardly any trouble at all.”
It's suddenly difficult to process what he’s saying. What he was suggesting. “Does that mean I … I have your approval because I – accept what you are?”
The surgeon gives a subdued shrug of one shoulder. “Something like that. More to the point, though, I think it’s that you approach us as individuals rather than disposable redundancies. It seems to me like you caught on rather quickly that each of us has his own unique perspectives, likes and dislikes, different interests, despite originating from the same man.”
“I see. Was it … the same for Lord Regrator, too?”
25 offers a rather gracious incline of his head. “Indeed. Feofan shows each of us a slightly different face. All of us segments have a unique relationship with the banker, our own personalized dynamics with him. Much like we’re starting to develop with you. I suppose I could say that you feel similarly promising in that sense.”
You can’t help feeling a bit pleased by that, if they really regarded you with the same potential for meaningful exchange that Pantalone had with them, and you find yourself straightening your back slightly. “Does that mean you’ll start being a bit nicer to me?”
“We’ll see. Are you ready to begin?”
At your stilted nod, 25 rises from his confident slouch leaned up against the desk and reaches out to place a gloved hand behind your back, steering you past the steel table in favor of angling towards the dark curtain instead. Your skin nervously prickles at the reminder of what you’d endured back there the last time, but you remind yourself it’s under much different circumstances now. You wouldn’t need saving today. Probably.
And when he flicks the barrier aside, you’re greeted by the sight of that awful chair he’d previously strapped you to. The metal stirrups are folded back and away, tucked into the sides of the base where you wouldn’t have even noticed them if you didn’t already know they were there, while the backrest is reclined at a ninety degree angle that would no doubt let you rest somewhat comfortably against it. Your heart still leaps into your throat, threatening to choke you, but you bravely stand your ground when he slides his hand away to send you a mild glance, turning to face you now.
“Get undressed and have a seat, please. And before you ask, yes. Even your shoes. I don’t want to have to stop just to fiddle with a troublesome button or buckle.”
With that command issued, he moves from you over to the rows of cabinets and drawers along the wall, beginning to pull things out so he can line them up in a neat line atop the work space. Confident that you would do as you were told without needing to be coerced, evidently.
Undeniably a bit nervous, you take a moment to simply breathe in and then out on a slow, calming exhale that only marginally settles your nerves. You know it’s much too late for second thoughts though, and you reach back to untie your apron which you deposit onto a low table just behind you. Your housekeeping dress soon joins it, as does your slip, your stockings and the garterbelt, while your shoes are tucked in front of the shelf on the floor. The chill of the basement is suddenly unbearable, or something close to it, and you valiantly fight back the shudder that tries to sweep over you as you hurry over to the examination chair so you can get your feet up off the icy flagstones.
You keep your arms folded over your chest while you get settled in, both to protect them from the cold and to preserve some small modicum of your dignity. By chance, you happen to glance up and notice a small mirror situated more or less directly in front of you that shows you your own plainly flustered expression as well as the fertile swell of your naked body. Cheeks growing even warmer, you turn away from it to look over your shoulder so you can watch what 25 is doing instead. From your vantage point you can’t be entirely sure what exactly he’s taking out over there but of all the possibilities running through your mind, the very last thing you expect him to turn towards you with is a length of rope.
“Be a dear and lie back for me, hm?”
And it almost startles you, how archaic it actually looks against the backdrop of surgical equipment and tools, the far more advanced technology you would have expected from him.
“W - what are you going to do with that …” You dare to ask, shooting the rope a deeply suspicious look, but the bespectacled man merely cocks a droll brow at you in response. It’s obvious enough in the way he looks at you as much as his body language that he has no intention of forcing you into submission this time, or at least not yet, and you huff a resigned breath.
Somewhat grudgingly easing yourself down to settle against the backrest, you can’t help noticing that he looks rather pleased by your compliance now as he steps close to stand by your feet.
“This is just to keep you in position while I’m working.” He says, unraveling the coil with slow, evenly measured tugs of his hands. “I thought you might appreciate having some amount of freedom instead of being strapped in place, but I still need you to be at least relatively still for me. We don’t want you trying to scuttle away, do we? Oh, but don’t look so nervous, my sweet assistant. Do you recall what I said about a safe word?”
You slowly nod your head. “Yes. I remember.”
“Good. It’s padisarah, by the way. If you start to feel like what I’m doing is toeing a dangerous line for you then just say that one little word and I’ll make everything stop. That only seems fair, doesn’t it?”
His condescending crooning coupled with that pitying look on his face makes a fresh flood of heat rush into your cheeks, but you give him another nod of understanding all the same. “Padisarah. What is that?”
“There are plenty of books in the library that will give you the answer. The only hint I’ll give you beyond that is you’ll want to locate a botanical encyclopedia. Lift this leg for me?”
You fix him with a wry look even as you do as he’d asked of you, curling your foot up into the air. It must not be enough for his liking though, because he pushes under the bend of your knee to fold it further back towards your chest.
“Excellent. Now, bring the same hand down and grab your ankle.”
A cold note of uncertainty creeps through you along with a vague curling of understanding. You could probably guess what he was going to do from there and you weren’t so sure you appreciated it much, but you reluctantly oblige him this too.
Abandoning your chest, you reach down to wrap your fingers around the base of your leg, earning a rather warm hum of approval from him. You have the brief thought that you like how that sounds coming from him but it’s quickly chased away by a spike of anxiety when he proceeds to wind the rope around your two limbs, securing them together. The twine is scratchy and abrasive, and yet you say nothing in protest while he gets it knotted off with quick and simple efficiency.
Then he shifts to the other side where he pulls a second coil of rope from a pocket in his white coat, indicating for you to do the same thing as before. You don’t exactly like the thought of being bound and helpless, but the safe word he’d given you works as an effective balm to alleviate some of your greater fears as sullenly you do as asked.
In very short order you find yourself stuck in that awkwardly curled position with both of your wrists fastened to your ankles. It forces you to keep your legs up and spread or risk yanking on your shoulders, and you nervously squirm in place. You're completely at the mercy of the chill like this too, and you whimper a soft sound at how very tight your nipples harden into finely puckered points.
Looking really quite pleased with you, 25 murmurs a soft sound of approval as he slides one of his hands forward to lightly brush the thumb over your vulnerable slit. Truth be told you’re still a bit sore from yesterday and you instinctively try to shy away from that touch but it’s no use, of course. You’re completely defenseless in this restrained position, which was exactly how he’d wanted you no doubt.
“Are you tender here?” He gently asks you, although he does not retract his fingers or stop touching you. Just poking and prodding at the fleshy press of your labia for a moment, the gesture almost thoughtful in its execution.
“A - a little …”
Noising a soft sound of consideration, 25 bends down to get a better look at your cunt. You give a small squeak when he presses his middle and pointer fingers into your labia, spreading the fleshy lips apart so he can study every last, velvety soft inch of you. The angle of the chair allows you to more or less see what he’s doing, and you watch with bated breath as he inspects you for a prolonged moment.
You’re not sure what, exactly, he sees, but rather than pulling away he instead brings both hands together to crowd in close, hooking his thumbs into the meaty slit so he can hold you open to his scrutiny. Stomach roiling with uncertainty and embarrassment at being looked at so very closely, you wait for him to say something. Anything.
“Hmm. You are indeed looking a bit irritated in a few spots. I take it you had a good time, then?”
Your face grows so hot you start to feel dizzy, but he doesn’t wait for an answer and he doesn’t seem to expect one either. Instead, 25 adjusts the position of his hands so he can hold your cunt lips open with just one while the other reaches a finger inside to lightly feel along your tender opening, making you suck in a sharp breath.
“Does it hurt?”
“I — I don’t know if I’d call it painful, exactly. Just sore. It was my … first time taking a cock like … that.”
“I figured as much. Even though it doesn’t seem like much of a difference on paper, a sixty-five year old man and an eighty-four year old are still at vastly different life stages, aren’t they? Naturally I would have expected one cock to work better than the other.” Slowly letting up his hold on your labia, 25 straightens up to send you a decidedly mocking look over the perfectly white edge of his surgical mask. “Although if you want my opinion on the matter, I must admit to a certain amount of surprise that Zandik can get it up at all at his age. However, I’m sure we can attribute that to this exceptionally tempting body of yours. Certainly even someone with one foot already in the grave will find a way to partake in the pleasures of this inviting little cunt of yours. Lucky for you, though, I’d already intended to focus on other areas of inquiry today.”
“Wh - … which is?”
Slowly dragging his attention down to fix on the spot between your legs again, he reaches out to just brush the tips of his fingers over your puckered back entrance and you outright jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Admittedly you probably should have seen that coming but even so, you can’t quite seem to catch the sensitive shudder that tears through your stiffly held body.
You’re not completely opposed to it though, you realize with not nearly as much apprehension as you probably should. After 65’s patient stretching of your hole yesterday you find that you’re rather amenable to the idea, in fact. Or at the very least it strikes you as being preferable to having your cunt invaded and claimed again so soon after the last pounding it took.
And when you neither protest or try to shirk away from his teasing digits, only trembling through another halting shudder in response, 25 scoffs a quiet sound of amusement. He draws his hand back and moves to step behind you, momentarily leaving you to your own devices while he presumably retrieves something along the opposite wall. Even in spite of your lingering soreness and the overstimulation of yesterday, you still find your cunt growing vaguely wet while you sit there, listening to him putz around out of sight. You refused to look up at the mirror you’d spotted earlier and risk seeing yourself naked and spread out like a holiday roast.
The sound of squeaky wheels and a soft metal clamor soon rises up though, and you glance to the side to see him wheeling a small tray over to the exam chair. Your eyes widen slightly at the strange implements and tools you see laid out on top of it, much like the items he’d neatly arranged on the other counter which he soon goes to fetch, leaving the cart down by the corner at your feet. A litany of questions pop into your head as you curiously study the items he’d evidently prepared for you in advance but you have no idea what half of them could possibly be for. Your one and only consolation is that you do not see that horrid metal contraption he’d used to pry your cunt open last time.
Coming back to set the additional things down with the rest, 25 then retrieves a small black stool from next to the curtain which he unceremoniously plops directly in front of you before taking a seat. Unable to do much of anything else at the moment, you nervously flex your toes where they’re stuck up in the air.
“Has anyone else played with your ass besides me?” He asks, abruptly falling into that strict, clinical tone of authority again. The same one he’d used while torturing you the first time.
You have to forcefully swallow down your fluttering nerves before you can manage to speak. “65 did. In the drawing room.”
“How?”
“His … his fingers.”
He sends you a slow look under the delicately thin lenses of his glasses. “And did you enjoy it?”
You hesitate briefly at that before answering.
“Yes. I did. It felt — unexpectedly good. Even when I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying it.”
Chuckling a low sound of mirth, 25 glances down at where you’re spread open so very shamelessly on the adjustable chair. “Why shouldn’t you enjoy something that is only a natural part of your basic biology? Guilt is but a human construct, dear assistant, whereas pleasure is an organic function that stimulates dopamine which is then fed into the reward circuit of your brain. Think of it like … a closed loop, if you would. When something feels good it lights up those neural pathways, rewarding you by releasing a potent cocktail of chemicals to keep you going back for more. The cycle feeds into itself and you’re hardwired to seek out things that trigger this response. So, I’ll ask again. Why do you think you shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy such pleasures of the flesh?”
“W - well … it's shameful, isn’t it? To be taken like — that.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Mm. Like … an animal. Or something.”
“Or something.” He echoes you, sounding a bit too much like the Doctor in the way he says it, the inflection of his voice, for your liking. “And what’s wrong with that? Are you aware, dear assistant, that humans are a kind of animal too?”
25 turns from you then to fiddle with something on the tray at his elbow while you try to labor through that thought process. It’s getting increasingly harder to think straight the longer you sit there like that though. As naked as ever with your legs forced into a wide, awkwardly bent splay without even being touched at all.
“I think I’ve … heard that before. Or maybe I read it in a book. But my mother always said I should act with self respect and decorum. That means I shouldn’t … behave like an animal, right? Even if I am — technically one.”
“Oh, there’s nothing technical about it, my dear. You are. But let's put aside what your mother has said for a moment,” turning forward again, 25 brings one of his hands close to softly drag sticky fingertips over your tight back hole, making it twitch under the caress. You realize, belatedly, that he’d squirted out a healthy dollop of lubricant onto a square piece of gauze on the table for easy access that you can now glimpse without his arm in the way to block it.
“Did it make you feel good when he played with your ass? A simple yes or no will suffice.”
You hesitate only briefly, distracted by the sensation of him touching you like that as much as by the way your puckering rim seems to readily soften under his ministrations. “Yes.”
“Would you like to feel it again?”
“Y - yes, sir. I liked it.” No caveat this time. You don’t have the extra oxygen for it when he’s carefully poking at the center wrinkle to taunt you with the promise of penetration. Gods, you really did want it.
“And what about when I was the one doing it? Did you enjoy it then?”
“… yes.”
A small sound of approval slips out of him and 25 rewards you with a single finger pressed slowly up into your ass. It catches you wholly off guard how easily he breaches your body and you know quite immediately that it must be the lubricant. It’s much more effective than spit, as it turns out, in that it allows him to slip and slide along your passage with hardly any resistance at all to show for it.
But that doesn’t even begin to lessen how deeply you feel it in your guts, making you shake uncontrollably for a drawn out moment while he reaches in you straight down to the knuckle. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust though and you whine a thready sound when he drags it right back out again to escape the clinging grip of you with a tiny little pop from your pucker. Groaning a mildly delirious sound, you helplessly rock in your awkward position, pulling first on your arms when you try to straighten out your legs and then the opposite when you have to force your knees back up.
“You’re a very good girl, aren’t you? As for the matter of today’s business,” 25 intones with a scholarly inflection coloring his voice now. “What I would like to test is how receptive your ass really is. I noticed the last time that you seemed to respond to this particular stimuli with overwhelmingly positive results but I am curious to see how far that actually goes. Oftentimes this sort of thing is more of an … acquired taste than it is anything else. And yet you took right to it with little need for persuasion on my part. I find that very interesting, you know.”
His fingertip is suddenly pressing in on your puffy little hole again, without any warning or buildup to help you brace against it, and you hiss a wounded sound when he slides back up into you again. It really does seem to drive you crazy how seamless the penetration is, how sinfully, buttery smooth it somehow manages to be even though your rear end was very close to being untested yet. Maybe it was the repeated violations of the last few days, or perhaps the lubricant really was just that effective. But either way you find yourself throbbing around the intrusion.
Once more, he doesn’t give you a chance to truly enjoy the searing hot sensation of having his finger wedged inside your ass and 25 quickly pulls back out to another wet little pop. You barely have enough time to twitch at the unseemly sound before he’s pressing in again to the click of a tiny slurp, letting your ass swallow him straight down to the base. And you realize then, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, that he’s pushing the lube inside to thoroughly coat your inner sleeve with it.
“First,” he goes on, repeating the process yet again. In up to the knuckle. Straight back out to make your slackening hole squelch. “I’d like to see if you can cum just from anal penetration. Something tells me you can, but I don’t like to operate on assumptions. You understand.”
Groaning a low sound at what he’s telling you, understanding the unspoken implication that he had no intention of touching you anywhere else, not even your stiffly coiled nipples, you wonder if you can actually do it. 65 had given in easily enough to your pitiful pleas and dotingly obliged you instead of forcing you to cum with your nipples or not at all. Something told you 25 would not be half as open to persuasion though, and that doesn’t exactly bode well for how this experiment would pan out. Especially after you came so many times just yesterday and your body felt like it was still recovering from that …
You were willing to try though, closing your eyes so you can focus only on the feeling of him inside you, the soft noises when he pulls out or pushes in. Your ass feels hot and gummy where 25 has it wedged open, and you’re aware of a vague reflection of that mirrored in your slowly slicking pussy, but you’re not sure if it’s enough. The slippery smooth glide of him is undeniably arousing, however, encouraging you to lean into it and let it sweep you up, which you gladly do.
“How is it?” He asks at length, when your puffy rim is so soft and slack in the middle that it now readily welcomes him back in every time.
“Mmnh. Feels good …”
His finger drags out of you, slow and stilted, to another faint pop.
“And this?”
He’s suddenly sliding into you with two fingers this time and you tremble so hard the chair seems to rattle underneath you, eyes rolling back in budding ecstasy. Even more than the glide itself, it seems to be the stretch to your guts that really stokes your arousal, turning your insides to molten gold. Maybe if he stuffed you full enough you really could cum like this.
“Ooughn. Better. M - more?”
25 noises a quiet sound of consideration, drawing his hand back to remove both digits from your weakly clenching grip. As foolish and naive it might be, your hole feels so loosened now that you’re fairly sure you could take almost anything he tried to feed into you.
But he seems to have other plans in mind as he takes a moment to slather his gloved fingers in more lubricant before coming back up to squeeze into you once more, making you choke on your budding delight.
“Rather than more,” he says, perfectly calm and casual about it as he sets in to pump those spearing digits deep into your innards at a moderately tempoed pace. “Let’s try faster first. Then we can try harder. If you still cannot cum by then, I will add another finger at that point.”
A needy mewl tumbles out of your mouth at that proclamation, knowing with certainty now that he was willing to keep at it for as long as it took until he saw the results he wanted. The only good thing is you’re fairly certain your ass can take it, much more than your pussy could right now, at least, but … what if you never found your release? Would he really keep you tied up down here for the foreseeable future?
Squirming in place now, you stiffly flex your legs up as much as you can, absolutely hating the position he’s got you stuck in. It makes your limbs feel numb and heavy, and all you can really do like this is uselessly clench your fingers into tight fists where they’re trapped over your ankles, rocking into the stilted motion of his hand. Your pussy was starting to drool in earnest, and you can feel it growing damp along the seam. His lack of interest in touching you there almost seems to make you want it more than you otherwise would have, craving it more than nearly anything else in that moment.
You dazedly think this must be some strange form of reverse psychology, squeezing down on his fingers to better feel the way they press in on you from the inside and how they stretch your inner sleeve. The fleshy grip of your raised entrance clings to him each time he pulls half of the way out just to plunge back in, dragging against the latex of his glove. It feels good, yes, but was it enough?
“O - oohnn … faster. Please. Nghn! Do it faster, sir.”
Scoffing, 25 lifts his attention to peer up at you. “Are you presuming to give me orders now, assistant?”
An unsteady shake of your head. “N - no. Just … a request, sir. I’d like to — mmngh! To cum for you …”
“Well, that’s certainly a pretty answer, isn’t it? I suppose I could permit you that much.” Pausing, he gives his wrist a particularly insidious twist that has him jabbing up at an angle that instantly makes your toes curl, groaning another wounded sound when he picks up the pace. In and out, in and out, a continuous back and forth motion that somehow bleeds into a constant, aching burn that lights your guts up.
“Is that more to your liking? Do you think you might cum?”
“Oh! Gods! M - maybe … nnghnn! It feels … tight. And hot.”
An interested hum is the only response you get and the sound of his fingers delving up into your ass quickly dominates the small space, interspersed only by your breathless moans. The pressure in you rapidly swells, becoming almost mind numbingly unbearable, especially when your wedged open sphincter hollowly contracts around the intrusion. It feels like your body is instinctively trying to milk his fingers of something they simply don’t have to give, the thought of taking his cock like this making you seethe. You’re sure he’d really stretch you out then.
But you have to make do with this for now, focusing all of your attention on the continuous attack of his hand which, to his credit, does not seem to tire while you stiffly balance there on the precipice. It’s like you’re hot enough to catch fire but you just can’t seem to tip over the edge even when you’re close enough to taste it on the back of your tongue.
And then your innards suddenly give another sharp, hollowed out contraction that leaves you reeling, seeing stars dance in front of your eyes. Lurching in place, you focus everything on that pinprick pulse deep inside your ass while you gasp and heave, whining a desperate sound. Your cunt floods in its neglect now, excited and eager for attention too, but it is only your back end that 25 graces with his touch. In all of your sexual encounters thus far, both the good and the bad, you’d never had one of them ignore your pussy quite so proficiently. Even the way 22 had toyed with you by using only your thighs to get off hadn’t been as frustrating as this.
“You look like you’re getting close, dear assistant. I take it that must mean you’re enjoying having me in your ass like this?”
You heave some terribly gutted sound, practically suffocating on it, as you bob your head in near frantic agreement. If he stopped now you were sure it would drive you mad. Well and truly. You just needed him to keep fucking you with his fingers for another moment longer and then —
Your inner sleeve gives an abrupt, pulsing squeeze around him, contracting again, but this time it stays like that as if the internal muscle was locking up. It fully steals your breath away and you outright sob, shuddering hard at that bone deep, brain melting throb. Instinctively flexing your legs further up, you dizzyingly bear down on the demanding glide of his fingers, in and out, in and out, in and out.
And just like that, the vibrating thread of tension snaps.
This is unlike any other orgasm you’ve had before though, and your entire body seems to spasm around your stuffed ass. Your pussy sympathetically flutters in response, weeping more sticky arousal, but the epicenter of it is firmly rooted in your back end. That tight inner passage squeezes down hard enough to strangle as you wail a terribly stricken sound, gasping for air while you plaintively tremble through it.
On one hand it seems to be done much sooner than you’re accustomed to, but on the other … goodness, the way it feels like it drains you of every last bit of energy you have! The satiation is so deep, so all encompassing that you can’t even see straight for a good long minute, and when you finally start to come back into your body some moments later you can only wheeze up at the ceiling. Yes, yes, you’re quite sure you’d enjoyed it. Even in its stark difference from the orgasms you were used to, there’s something undeniably exciting about cumming this way.
“I guess that settles that.” 25 murmurs, more to himself than to you, it seems, as he slowly pulls his hand back to slip out of you again. “By the way, has anyone ever told you that when you cum you make the most adorable scrunched up face?”
Trying and failing to blink out of your daze, you glance down at him in confusion, still trying to catch your breath. “N - no … but — thank you?”
Nodding once in acknowledgment, he turns to look over his tray of goodies. “For the next phase - -“
“There’s more?”
“I think I’d like to test what sort of shapes and textures you respond best to. You seem to like my fingers well enough, so … hm. Let’s see how you feel about this.”
Picking up something from the cart, 25 holds up a small, decidedly phallic shaped object with a narrow tip that flares out into a wider base on the bottom. You have no idea what to make of it at first, having never seen anything like this before, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to ask questions before he decisively angles his hand towards you.
You snap your head down when he reaches out, watching from your vantage point as he finds your sticky ass with the petite end of the toy. Only a small bit of pressure is needed for it to sink into the center of that puffy wrinkle and you stare, slackjawed, as it gradually disappears inside of you. Not only do you take the whole thing with relative ease, your insides so comfortably stretched and coated in lube, but your ass even seems to welcome it in for how little resistance it actually puts up. It’s too soon after your first orgasm though, and it almost seems to burn as the internal sleeve sensitively twitches around it.
“Oh - oooohhhnn.”
“And how does that feel?”
“It feels … strange. I - I think I like your fingers better.”
“Strange how?”
Seething softly, you give your legs another useless flex in an attempt to lessen some of the strain. “I don’t know! Unghn! It’s just … not the same. Cool instead of warm. Too small. I think it — it needs to be bigger.”
Tipping his face up again, 25 sends you a plainly amused look. “Don’t tell me you’re turning into a size queen. This little ass of yours can only handle so much at a time, you know. But if it’s bigger you want …”
He gently eases the offering out to the sound of another sticky slurp before setting it aside and then consulting the tray again. To your surprise he picks up a string of beads that start small on one end and then gradually work up to rather large on the other. Your ass weakly flexes at the sight of it but you make no attempt to protest as he brings the most petite bead close to your waiting hole.
At the faintest bit of pressure the first one seems to pop right past the raised pucker to wedge inside you, startling you slightly. You’d expected to feel at least some resistance while your body naturally tried to reject the foreign object but that had not been the case. The center of your wrinkled entrance is too slack, too loosened to reject something so small, and you quietly hiss when he feeds the second size up into you almost just as easily.
The third bead, however, actually puts a certain amount of strain on your poor little sphincter as it passes through. Still not enough for your body to truly fight it but you can tell the next one is going to be more of a challenge.
Sure enough the fourth ball can’t quite make it past your puckering entrance on the first try and 25 has to patiently press down, gradually forcing you to open up to the intrusion. Which your ass does, with no shortage of reluctance, but you do indeed take it, whimpering when it finally sinks inside you to disappear.
You can feel your rim trying to close behind it but the muscle just can’t seem to manage it. A little too stretched. A bit too sticky. Seething in earnest now, you tip your chin down to look at the remainder of the string you have yet to take and a cold note of uncertainty curls through you when you realize there are still two more to go. You don’t know if you can take them.
“W - wait - -“
“But you asked for bigger, my dear assistant. And I’m giving it to you, aren’t I?”
You suck in a sharp breath to protest, or at least to ask for a moment to get yourself situated, but he doesn’t stop long enough for you to get the words out. Using his thumb, he guides the next ball right up to your entrance where he presses firmly into the center. In truth, you might have expected that the ring has been so stretched out by now that you could take just about anything with ease. But the reality is a bit different and your ass tries very hard to reject it, refusing to relent under the pressure he exerts.
“Relax into it. You’re clenching.”
“It’s a l - little hard not to …”
But you still try to do as he’d said, first and foremost because you knew he was right. You feel so stuffed now that your body instinctively tries to keep anything else out, tensing against the next ball even when you will it not to.
Drawing a deep breath, you give a stilted little push with the muscles in your pelvic floor only to give a full bodied twitch when the firm sphere starts to sink in. The stretch is suddenly intense now and you blubber a breathless, disoriented sound even as 25 softly coos at you, talking you through another push that soon has you accepting another millimeter of the ball.
And with your ass finally widened around the thickest part of it, all he has to do now is guide it the rest of the way in with a simple push. You’re so full now it almost makes it difficult to breathe, shuddering helplessly from the top of your head straight down to your stiffly flexing toes.
“How cute. Your little hole can’t even close now. I can still see the bead where it’s sitting just inside of you.” Chuckling a low sound, 25 leans back as if to admire you, scoffing another quiet laugh while he does it. “And you had the audacity to ask me for bigger. My dear assistant, I don’t think you’re ready for bigger yet.”
You’d probably agree with that but you can’t seem to find the oxygen to speak. It really is too much. Your ass feels like it’s splitting open and the muscle is so terribly loosened now you can’t even seem to keep the largest ball held in place.
Slowly but surely it starts to slip out, pressing back on the interior of your rim as it’s forced out by your quivering guts. But, cruel bastard that he is, 25 merely reaches up to push it in again where he keeps his hand poised for a prolonged moment while you struggle with it. And by far the worst of it is how sadly your forgotten cunt weeps in sympathy.
A fact that does not escape his notice in the slightest, and you judder when he huffs another rumbling sound of amusement. “You really are a fascinating specimen. Even when you look like you’re about to cry, your pussy just keeps leaking. Shall I give it some of the attention it seems to want so much?”
You blithely nod your head, latching onto that immediately even when your ass gives a dull throb at the prospect. “Please, sir. Please. Ohnn! Touch my cunt.”
“And you are so proficient at begging. Do you think that will make you feel better?”
“Y - yes. It will. Please.”
Drawing a stilted breath, 25 abandons your stretched back end in favor of reaching up to lightly thumb over your slit. From the bottom straight up to the top, he merely smears the excess of honeyed arousal with his glove to make you seethe before at last focusing in on the dimpled apex a long moment later.
Pressing down, his thumb sinks between the fleshy clutch of your labia where he finds your clit quite immediately, setting in to caress over it. You shudder fiercely in response, surprising yourself at how readily your cunt responds despite the work out it got just the day before. And when your muscles slacken at the immediate rush of blissful sensation, the ball in your ass starts to slide out in earnest now.
It shocks a gasp out of you as you quickly try to reinforce the clench of your sphincter again but it’s already too late. The bead pops out with a sticky squelch, leaving you to woundedly groan in the aftermath. And worse still, the stretched wide gape of your ass hole that it leaves behind allows the next sphere to chase after it, the smaller size barely even catching at your entrance. The rest quickly follow, expelled from your guts in a rush of hot, goopy lube while you sob a hysterical wail at the sudden emptiness.
“Oh. That is quite intriguing, isn’t it? I can feel your pussy flexing under my hand. You must like how that feels too.”
“N - nooooo …”
Giving his head a slow shake, 25 graces your tingling clit another few passes of his thumb before sedately pulling away, leaving you to seethe a broken sound of despair. He’s as implacable as ever though as he turns to the tray again where he drops the sticky string of beads which you could only assume he must have caught in his other hand. Blinking through the hazy delirium, you watch him pick up a long syringe that he uncaps, revealing not a needle but a narrow, open ended applicator. A certain amount of confusion marches through your cotton stuffed head but it’s quickly replaced by alarm when he directs the tip of it towards your twitching ass hole.
“Wait!” You squawk, going ramrod stiff with a little jerk.
It’s too late, though, and the loosened center of the puffed up, fleshy rim puts up no resistance whatsoever when he eases the petite end of it straight through to wedge just inside you. With practiced efficiency, 25 thumbs the plunger to make it gradually descend, cooing soft nothings at you while he does it, and you go immediately still at the sensation of — something filling you up.
Cool and almost unbearably goopy, it takes you a very long moment to connect the pieces together and realize its lube. He’s depositing it directly into your ass just the same as a cock might shoot off its sticky load, and the thought alone is enough to have you blubbering almost hysterically. Your cunt throbs and squeezes around nothing in response, mirroring the undeniable excitement in your body twice over as you wildly shudder in place.
And 25 seems to be picking up on your sickeningly intense arousal too, for he breathes a stuttering groan while he finishes injecting the staggering excess of lubricant up into your guts, squeezing out every last drop until there’s nothing left in the syringe. Carefully easing it back to slip free of your meaty pucker, he quickly sets the tool aside as his other hand replaces it to brush over your twitching entrance where it struggles to keep the gooey offering inside.
“Look at you, my dear assistant. You’re taking this so very well. If we keep at it much longer, your ass is going to resemble a second cunt soon.”
You hiss a wounded sound at that, screwing your eyes shut as you turn your head against the backrest. “D - don’t say that!”
“But it’s true,” he gently insists, directing his finger tips to attack the fleshy dip in your body with deliberate precision. Taunting you with the suggestion of being penetrated again. “It will be the same ease with which I can slide into your cunt if we stretch it out enough. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having two holes for us to play with. You could even take multiple cocks at the same time if you wanted.”
A shrill, rattling wail slips out of you when he proceeds to follow through on the threat, decisively sliding his first two fingers past the ring of muscle to wedge deep inside your ass again. That he’s able to do so with next to no resistance, your back end simply taking him just as readily as your pussy accepted fingers and cocks, and just as dripping with slick too, strikes a particular chord in you that makes you feel truly mindless.
Even in your lolling stupor, while he takes a moment to sedately fuck up into you again, pushing the lube deeper to ensure your guts are saturated in the clinging mess, you wonder if that’s really possible. Could you truly take two of them at once? One segment drilling deep into your ass while the other pounded your cunt.
At that unexpectedly arousing thought you feel a zap of static shoot down your spine, trembling when it settles deep inside your loins to make you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. It causes your inner sleeve to clench and squeeze around the intrusion but you’re so sticky, so loosened, that his fingers just keep pumping even in spite of it.
“Ooh, you like that, do you? Something told me you would. It seems to me, dear assistant, that you have a particular talent for such endeavors. I believe the common rabble would likely refer to you as being something of a ‘slut’’. And I can’t say I’d feel inclined to disagree with that estimation.”
Feeling the stab of that word deep inside your chest, you mewl a tender little sound of budding distress. “I’m not … a - a slut.”
“Hm. I think anyone with a working pair of eyes who saw you like this would beg to differ. After all, you’ve got your legs up in the air for me while I stretch out this cute little hole of yours. I’d say the title fits. And that’s not even mentioning the fact you allowed two old men to have their way with you just yesterday. What does that sound like to you, my sweet assistant?”
You make every attempt not to pay any attention to 25’s soft, coaxing murmurs while he tries to get you to say it, encouraging you with words as much as the continuous glide of his thrusting fingers where they spear up into your ass. Again and again, and again, slipping and sliding, jabbing at your guts in a way that makes you feel unbearably tight inside. Gods, were you going to empty your bladder everywhere or cum again?
“It’s —“ you sniffle, sounding rather sad even to your own ears as you valiantly try to reject his entreaty of you, futilely squirming now. “It’s not like that!”
“Then what is it like? Tell me.”
Biting down on your lip in an attempt to keep it held back, you fitfully shake your head against the backrest of the chair. You wouldn’t say it. You couldn’t. Even if some tiny part of you, deep down inside, knew it was true and most people would accurately label you a slut for how you’ve behaved here, speaking it aloud felt like it would be the final nail in your coffin. Haven’t you already been debased and belittled enough for one lifetime?
But then, startling a surprised squawk out of you, 25 reaches up with his unoccupied hand to press his thumb into your slit, setting in to rub over that delicate pearl nestled inside again. You can’t help the way you violently jolt in response, limbs yanking on limbs when you try to twist away from him but there’s nowhere for you to go like this. All you can do is sit there and take it while he tortures you from both ends.
“Say it.”
“Suh - uggghhhn! Ooughn … s - slut! I’m a slut, sir! Please!”
“Please what? Use your words.”
You practically choke on it, so overwhelmed by the dual sensations in your cunt and your ass that your vision seems to white out for a prolonged stretch of seconds. It’s too much. Like he’s forcing it out of you, giving your body no choice but to surrender to his ministrations with little to no conscious input from your brain. You really were going to cum again, gods!
“Aghhn! Ahh! P - please … ohhh, please keep playing with my sluh - slutty pussy, sir!”
“Mmmm. That’s a very good girl, dear assistant.”
And he obliges you. Quite enthusiastically, in fact.
While he continues to thumb over your clit, batting the poor little bud back and forth, back and forth, up and down, the fingers in your ass piston even harder, faster. That mind melting burn in your guts doubles and triples, the tension swelling to a truly sickening degree. You can feel yourself balancing right on the edge, teetering over the now familiar maw of oblivion as you wail your pleasure without shame.
That dire tinged sound of delight quickly morphs into one of despair, however, when he abruptly slides his fingers completely out to another wet slurp from your hole, leaving the abused ring of muscle to sadly clench in the aftermath. For a harrowing moment it feels like he’s mercilessly ripped that blissful pinprick of euphoria away from you. But then, just as suddenly, 25 comes right back up, bullying his way into your ass again with three long digits this time, and the added stretch sends you careening right over the edge before you can even comprehend its happening.
Bucking atop the chair, you wildly spasm through the onslaught of your release, eyes rolling back into your head now. You hiss and groan, sobbing frantically as your pussy achingly contracts around nothing so tight it almost hurts. That same hollow pulse in your ass as before milks at his fingers with that deep, drawn out squeezing but, still, they have nothing to give you. All you can do is quake through it with no end in sight, no reprieve waiting for you on the other side. It's like some insidious, never ending cycle of pleasure and pain, euphoria bleeding into torture and right back into the soaring heights of ecstasy again.
And you’re still dizzily reeling when, at length, you feel him remove his hands from your person, coming back into your own head enough to realize the orgasm has run its course without you even realizing it. Wondering if you’d actually blacked out for a second there, you weakly tilt your face to watch him reach for something on the tray.
“No.” You blubber sadly when you see him pick up the string of beads again. “No more. Too soon.”
“Oh? But I’m curious if you can take the whole thing now that I’ve loosened you up even more. Just be good for me, assistant. I’m already quite pleased with these results, so don’t go ruining it now.”
Struggling to get enough oxygen when every breath seems to catch in your throat, you forlornly track the motion of 25’s hands when he guides the smallest bead to your protruding pucker. He takes a moment to trace the little ball over the raised rim of your entrance, taunting you with the glide of it through the sticky, excessive mess of lubricant that leaks out of you. Then, without even warning you first, he presses it right in on the center wrinkle where it pops past the weakened barrier, just as easily as before.
You take the second, the third and, to your mild pang of surprise, even the fourth ball with the same relative lack of resistance. The fifth was the one you’d struggled so much to accommodate the first time but it only registers as a slightly fuller feeling now as it forces your ass wide to accept its girth. Between the sensation as much as the underlying truth that your body was being invariably altered to suit their needs, you almost feel a tiny part of your start to psyche crack. What were they doing to you? This wasn’t natural. You weren’t supposed to have something that big inserted in your rectum.
But even when you sob a broken little sound, helplessly rocking in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable, 25 merely murmurs soft reassurances at you as he presses the sixth and final ball to your throbbing hole.
“Please, please, don’t! I - I can’t! I can’t take it, please, oh gods, please - -“
“Hush, dear assistant. Hush. I think you can … in fact, I’m quite sure of it.”
Watching his svelte frame brace to act, you blubber a mindless sound as terror gallops through your empty head. But then you remember it. So suddenly it almost catches you off guard. Your safeword.
You suck in a sharply raking breath. “Padi - - “
“Don’t,” he cuts across you, snapping that crimson attention up at your pinched face. “Waste it on this. I can assure you, you’re fine. See? It's already starting to slide in. You just need to relax.”
Feverishly whimpering, you hesitantly close your mouth and drop your gaze to glance between your legs again.
And 25, seeing your compliance, pushes on it with his fingers to apply just enough pressure to make your loose entrance start to give. It’s too wide though, too thick, and you desperately force yourself to bear down, trying to make the ring of muscle wide enough to accept the intrusion. It doesn’t work though. The bead is simply too large for your ass to adequately stretch around it and as a result you spend the next mind numbing stretch of moments with your back end nauseatingly wedged open, seething a vicious sound.
“Nnghnnnn! Pluh - please!”
“That’s it, darling. Take a deep breath for me, now.”
Your lungs almost don’t want to cooperate, so tight and stretched thin, almost as much as your ass is, but you reluctantly suck in a hitching gasp.
He gives the ball a firm push in the same moment, and that hard won breath you’d struggled to pull in bursts out of you on a wounded, lurching groan when the thickest part sinks inside you.
With your chin tucked down like that, you watch, wide eyed and mouth agape, as his gloved hand steadily eases that fat bead the rest of the way past your swollen rim. The sensation of your ass slowly closing around it, accepting it deeper, comes very close to destroying you. You couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t even begin to rationalize it in your spinning head.
But 25 follows right after it with his fingers, feeding them into your body as he forces the string of beads even further into you to truly plug you up. And when he finally retracts his hand, a fresh wave of shock gradually washes over you when you feel your twitching hole slowly start to close around the remaining bit of hard rubber that still sticks out. Sealing around the intrusion to, from your perspective at least, lock it in place within you. Holding the beads deep inside your guts.
And somehow that triggers your panic response, thinking — perhaps illogically — that he wasn’t going to be able to get them out. That you were stuck like this, stuffed so uncomfortably full and cramping from the intense pressure that pushes in on your organs. You start to hyperventilate, gasping and choking for air that suddenly seems to be in alarmingly short supply as you writhe in as much as you can in this awkwardly bound position.
Flicking his eyes back up at the panicked sounds, 25 softly clicks his tongue at you as he reaches out to consolingly pet over your drenched cunt. “There, there. Calm down. There isn’t anything to get so upset about. These beads are on a string for a reason, you know.”
You numbly shake your head, even though you’re not entirely what you’re saying ‘no’ to. It’s just too much. Your ass is far too stretched, too full, too stuffed to bursting, and it drives you out of your mind to even think that he wouldn’t be able to easily remove them when they seem so invariably wedged inside your shuddering body. Even his reasonable tone isn’t enough to get through to your overstimulated brain.
Rather passively, 25 quietly watches you for the single span of another heartbeat and then he rises up to stand over you, briskly turning away to step from the chair. You’re distantly aware of him opening a drawer along the wall but you’re a little too caught up in this unexpected surge of emotion to pay him much mind. All you really know in that moment is how overwhelmed you are.
But he soon shuffles back to where you’re seated, moving to stand by your shoulder now, and you squeak a frightened sound when he reaches for your face. You have no idea what he’s doing or what to expect, and then — your vision suddenly goes dark when he presses something over your eyes.
“Wh - what - -“
“Just relax.” He tells you, unexpectedly gentle in the way he coos at you. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing, aren’t you? Let’s take away your sight for a moment until you can calm down.”
You might have barked a humorless laugh at that, if you’d had the extra oxygen for it, but you settle instead on a faint whimper while he carefully winds that cool material around your head. It occurs to you, somewhat belatedly, that he was wrapping a strip of bandaging over your face to block out any input from your eyes, and you somewhat listlessly wonder what he thought that was going to accomplish.
To your slow dawning surprise, though, the inability to see anything does indeed force your panicky mind to slow down a little bit. It’s not an immediate fix, or even a very quick one, but … gradually, your brain starts to relax into the comforting darkness. Even when you’re still hyper aware of your nudity, the tight ache of your nipples brought about the cold air, every little ache and twinge in your body, the uncomfortably full sensation in your ass — you don’t feel quite so overwhelmed anymore. Almost as if it’s forced your psyche to recompartmentalize what it’s processing. And in that restructuring, you’re able to fully comprehend what he’d said to you a moment ago.
It was on a string for a reason. The beads weren’t going to get lost within you. He just needed to pull them out. A relief, even if you dreaded that coming to pass almost as much as the alternative. Was your ass ever going to recover from this?
“There. That’s much better, isn’t it? Poor thing.” Clicking his tongue again, 25 gives the bandages over your eyes an almost condescending nudge to ensure they’re firmly in place. His hand falls away from your face then and you strain your ears to follow the movement, unable to tell what he’s doing now.
Only to feel his gloved fingers descend upon one of your tightly coiled nipples to give it a casual tweak.
“O - oh!”
“Heh. As expected … even now, you’re still so terribly receptive to my slightest touch. I don’t even have to put a single finger on your pretty little pussy to know it’s soaking wet, darling. I can see it glistening from right here. Now that you’re returning to your senses, how does it feel to have those beads in your ass?”
You swallow hard and open your mouth to respond, but nothing immediately comes out. You’re a bit too distracted by the way he pinches at your teat to lightly tug on it, plucking the straining bud with idle thought. And the responding twitch in your throbbing rear end … may the Cryo Archon help you.
“It’s — a lot. Too big.”
“Does it hurt?”
You have to think about that for a moment. “N - no. Just … heavy. I feel a lot of pressure in my middle. Like I might — burst.”
Humming a noncommittal sound, 25 abandons your tit in favor of sliding his searching fingers down your stomach, over the band of pudge where your curled legs makes your tummy crease, to dip between your legs. He quickly locates your clit and you hiss a sensitive sound, juddering for him, when he traces lazy circles over the swollen pearl.
“I’m sure you could cum again,” he remarks offhandedly, an almost thoughtful inflection in his voice now. “And even if you didn’t want to, I’m sure I could coax it out of you. I know all the right buttons to push, after all. But I think it’s my turn to finish what I started to do the last time we were together like this. Don’t you?”
Trembling anew at the borderline sultry tone in that whispered question, you mewl a soft sound at the loss of his hand on your cunt when he pulls away. You can hear him shuffling about there next to you, doing something, fiddling with something.
In truth you half expect him to move back down to the foot of the chair and position himself between your legs. To take his cock out and slide it into you in a single, gliding plunge that would see you truly stretched to your limit.
But, at length, he seems to turn towards your face again.
“Open your mouth, darling.”
You blink behind the makeshift blindfold. He’d rather have you suck him off? Even though your cunt was right there, ready and waiting, and so very, very drenched in slick arousal that you were sure he’d be able to fit inside without any trouble at all in spite of how tender you still felt from your last pounding.
And you briefly hesitate at that notion, because … you’d never put your mouth on anyone other than Zandik. You’d also never seen 25’s before. Was it as aggressively excitable as 22’s? Even though they were all technically derivatives of the same original, their varying ages seemed to make all the difference in the world.
Yet you’re hardly in any position right now to barter your way out of this, awkwardly bound and with your ass stuffed full of beads, and you knew that. Your only option was to go along with whatever he wanted while you hoped, prayed, that he was more tempered when it came to his amorous advances than that knuckleheaded 22.
So you slowly open your mouth for him, hinging your jaw wide to accept the offering on your tongue. You earn yourself a murmur of praise for it, pleasing you a fair amount even as you brace for what was coming, fully expecting to feel a fleshy glans slide between your lips.
But what you feel instead is something — two something’s on either side of your mouth passing between your top and bottom teeth to hook in the meat of your cheeks. Cool to the touch and unrelentingly solid, you realize quite immediately that it’s steel. Metal. Titanium or alloy, or — or something that stops you from closing your jaw when you instinctively try to rear back from it. A startled, highly confused noise bursts out of you but 25 seems to pay it little mind as he reaches behind your head, feeding the connecting strap around your skull, so he can fasten it into place.
You almost start to panic again. Between being unable to see and now not even having use of your mouth, effectively rendering the safe word he’d given you useless, you feel your heartrate slam into a violent staccato. But when you try again to bring your teeth together only for them to clack against the metal keeping your lips wedged open, you force yourself to suck in a faltering breath through your nose. It was clearly too late for protests.
“My,” he croons, finally taking half a step back to admire his handiwork as you helplessly mewl a sad little sound that seems to reverberate around you. “Don’t you just paint the loveliest picture? You’ll have to forgive me for not giving you some warning though. I was worried you might start gasping again if you knew what was coming.”
Reaching out again, 25 rather tenderly brushes his fingers over your temple to sweep some of the hair back from your face. You feel like a blithe idiot for it but you reluctantly lean into that unexpectedly gentle touch, seeking its comforts. The worst part was you couldn’t even fault him for his reasoning. Just thinking about how you must look in that moment is nearly enough to send you spiraling.
And he rumbles a low sound of approval at the gesture, clearly pleased with you. He’s quick to withdraw his hand though, leaving you with no choice but to sit there with your mouth wide open while he fumbles with what you think must be his clothes. The ensuing shuffle seems unmistakably that and you whine another threadbare sound as you try to figure out what he plans to do next. It was astounding how vulnerable you felt without the use of your eyes.
You get your answer soon enough, however, when he steps back up into your space again. A heavy gloved hand finds the top of your head and manually adjusts it at a particular angle, holding you there. And then something thick and decidedly fleshy slips into the space between your teeth in a slow moving glide that drags over your tongue.
The bitter taste of salt sparks immediate recognition and you sputteringly choke on it but there’s nothing you can do to stop it like this. His cock just keeps feeding into your mouth even when you tense and try to turn away, the fingers on your skull tightening slightly. Straight to the back of your throat where you briefly gag on it before it starts to gradually retreat at that same, savory pace.
A soft, faltering groan of masculine satisfaction filters out above you as 25 pulls his length out until only the tip remains. With a stilted little push he starts to push back in, the metal contraption hooked in your cheeks giving you no choice but to take whatever he decides to give you at any given time. You’re completely at his mercy like that.
“Mmmnghn. Yes, that’s quite good, isn’t it? Your mouth feels delightful, my dear. Have you taken many cocks this way yet?”
A muffled sound of protest slips out around him as you shake your head as much as you can, which only amounts to the slightest nudge of your neck. His hold on you was as good as the steel keeping your jaw wedged open.
“I figured as much. Your pussy seems to be the more popular choice, and rightfully so. But I have to admit to having a certain affinity for these kinds of bondage games. You look breathtaking all tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Oh, and we can’t forget your stuffed ass, too.”
He issues a low, vibrating chuckle that makes you uncontrollably shake, nosing a huffy sound when he slowly pushes in on the back of your throat again. You can feel excess saliva starting to pool around the base of your tongue and as he proceeds to draw himself out, the drag of his length smearing the mess around inside your mouth. Gradually drawing it up towards your teeth and your lips.
You make a valiant attempt to swallow it down but it’s a nearly impossible, awkward task when you can’t close your jaw. All you can do is try not to choke on it while he fucks into you at that tortuously slow, steady pace. In. And out. In and back out again, until you can feel the drool starting to escape to run down your chin in sticky rivulets. It almost makes you glad for the blindfold, thankful you don’t have to watch what’s going on around you. This way you can just focus on your breathing, on not choking, while your ass sadly clenches around the beads plugging it up. And your poor cunt …
So neglected now, it can only sadly weep while 25 gradually works his way up to a slightly quicker tempo. He doesn’t quite put the same amount of force into it that 65 had while drilling up into your body, but it’s enough to have you gurgling and making unseemly sounds that seem to fill up the space around you more than they should.
He doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s enjoying this, grunting softly while he alternates between gripping your head tightly and caressing over it in encouraging pets. You almost find yourself slipping into a trance as you’re nudged back and forth, stiffly rocking into the motion while he uses your mouth for his pleasure. Hot and thick between your lips, it’s not exactly hard to imagine that same cock churning up your guts in a similar fashion. You’re certain this strictly tempered pace would have you unraveling in humiliatingly short order, if he’d just stick it in where you really wanted it.
But he clearly has no intention of doing that, evidently content with letting your tongue bathe the underside of his rigid length in copious sheets of spit that then bubble out around him. Even when he reaches down with one hand to idly tweak one of your nipples, making you squeak a harried sound, it seems to be more for his benefit than yours.
“You do like to have these played with, don’t you?” He drawls, amusement lacing his thickened voice. “Honestly, if it were just me, I think I could keep you caged up down here indefinitely. You have no idea what else I could introduce you to, if I had the time and the freedom to move independently. Just helping myself to your body whenever the mood struck. Mmmnghnn. Unfortunately, the restrictions in place are absolute. I have to be mindful of what I do to you, lest I invoke a certain someone’s ire.”
You can’t help but squeak a half choked sound at that. Was this really his idea of being mindful with you?
“Oh, don’t be like that, dear. You know how it is. By the way, you still have those lovely beads in your ass if I’m not mistaken. You haven’t lost them, have you?”
Twitching at the question, you give your head a hesitant shake.
“Good. I want you to bear down on them while you’re servicing my cock. Go on. Try to push them out.”
A squawk of real affront rattles around inside your chest. You’re appalled at what he’s suggesting, what he’s asking of you, but when you try to turn your head again he just jerks you right back into place with his hand.
Pushing down a little harder, 25 starts to snap his hips with greater fervor to have his cock jabbing at the back of your mouth. You cough and sputter, almost wretching on it, but the awful gurgling sounds coming out of you don’t even give him a moment's pause. And it occurs to you, belatedly, that he was punishing you for not doing as he’d said. For trying to think for yourself instead of letting him make all of your decisions for you.
The warm sting of tears prickle your eyes while you heave on his cock, struggling to keep the contents of your stomach down. But between the added tension in your body, the lurching, choking sobs, the pressure in your guts seems to only intensify and you can feel the last bead starting to push down on your sphincter. Your puffed up rim doesn’t want to relent though, not after it’s been so stretched and forced open today. It’s tender and a little sore, weakened in the aftermath of everything it’s already been through.
You know 25 won’t give up easily though, and you pull a shuddering breath in through your nose before reluctantly bearing down as he’d instructed. The ball barely moves at all, however, only applying more pressure to the sticky clench of your hole, making you wail a muffled cry of frustration.
“Oouughn. That’s it. Push again, darling. Let me watch you struggle to get it out.”
For a brief moment you feel nothing but confusion, wondering how he could possibly see what was happening between your legs from that angle, but then you remember the mirror. He must have been watching you in its reflection, so he could enjoy both ends of you at once. How deviously cruel.
Sniveling rather sadly, you do what he’s asked of you and stiffly work your muscles to inch the wide girth further down until the ruined ring of muscle has no choice but to split apart again. You can feel it starting to breach your body, just barely, and you hang there in some horrible balancing act for a long stretch of seconds while he continues to fuck into you mouth.
At length, once you’ve managed to find some semblance of your bearings again, you give another weak flex of the muscle. The bead nudges forward, just barely, only to sink back in when your hole simply won’t open wide enough. You give a tiny little shriek, earning another shuddering moan from 25, his fingers digging into your scalp to indicate his growing excitement. So he liked watching you struggle like this. The bastard.
You almost catch yourself starting to panic again, thinking the beads were really stuck after all. But some potent combination of adrenaline and blind desperation urges you on. Compelling you to try again.
When you push this time, you put everything you have into it even when your body twinges in protest. You ignore it, though, pushing, pushing, pushing, and a violent jolt tears through you when the rubber ball finally slips out to the widest point in its circumference. It hovers there for a long, breath stealing moment that seems to stretch on forever and then, with one last weakening flex of the muscle, it slowly pinches the rest of the way loose until gravity takes over and drops it to dangle heavily from your abused hole.
25 grunts a terribly heated sound at the sight of it, shuddering faintly above you, while your eyes roll back in your head beneath the blindfold.
“Ooughn. Fuck! You really should see yourself right now. That tight little hole of yours is starting to gape. I bet you’ll be perfectly ready for a cock by the time we’re through. Would you like that, my darling assistant? Want me to fuck your ass next? Huh?”
He gives the side of your face a sharp pat, pat, pat with his slapping fingers to pull your attention back to him, making you seethe. But when you still don’t give him the answer he wants, 25 uses his pinching hold on your head to pull you into a nodding motion that makes you take him straight to the back of your throat, battering your tonsils.
“Mmnnghnn! Yessss. That’s it. Keep pushing, dear. Can you get the next one out? That should be easier than the first.”
Stiffly lurching on his cock, you screw your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the rough treatment while you weakly bear down again. At first the muscles in your pelvic floor don’t want to cooperate, so overused and sore they just stay in half locked suspension for a horrifying beat of stillness.
Then you feel the second biggest bead start to move with the loosening of your sphincter, perhaps pulled by the one hanging outside of you. It drops right down to your entrance which instinctively clenches at the pressure, briefly holding it in place, before you can manage to relax the tension in your shuddering frame. It slowly starts to breach, one agonizing inch at a time, only to almost suck back in when your poor ass twitches under the force it exerts.
You frantically rally your resolve, clenching down so hard the bead abruptly pops right out with a messy slurp.
That’s not all that comes out though.
In a sudden rush of excessive, sticky slick, the mess of lubricant he’d injected into your guts splurts out too, as do the rest of the beads when your loosened ass doesn’t have the strength to grip them anymore. One right after another in descending sizes until the last one finally comes loose to drop to the floor underneath you.
And you give a horrified, full bodied jerk when, in bearing down so forcefully, your bladder gives way too. You’re just suddenly pissing all over yourself, unable to stop it when there was simply too much pressure on your guts. It warmly squirts out of you and dribbles down your pulsing cunt to coat you as well as the chair in it.
You’re so caught up in your own anguished blubbering that you almost miss the way 25 hisses a truly bestial sound until his cock eagerly flexes inside your mouth, signaling his fast approaching end. You have only a split second to feel the shock of it wash over you, startled that it would be the sight of you wetting yourself that sent him over the edge, and then your throat is suddenly being flooded with hot, salty spend.
Immediately choking on it, you try to yank your head back but he holds you right where you are, gloved fingers lightly twitching in your hair while he groans his pleasure. You have no choice but to accept it all, squirming in place as you try in vain to swallow it down, but it seems a man in his youth has a lot to give. And you don’t doubt for one second it’s potently virile too.
“Good girl!” He seethes at last, sounding almost vicious in the way he all but snarls it at you. It’s the first time you’ve heard him come even close to losing his cool, the first time he’s ever emoted anything other than reasonable, levelheaded calm around you, and you’re quite certain you can hear a hint of 22 in that aggressively growled praise.
Feeling faint and lightheaded, you suck in a raggedly thick mouthful of air when he suddenly yanks his cock back, leaving you to obscenely gape around the lingering semen in your mouth. You start to turn your head away, mewling sadly in the back of your throat, but both of his hands slide over your cheeks to tilt your face back up.
You’re aware of him leaning in close then but with the bandages in the way you have no way of knowing what he’ll do next, so it comes as something of a shock when you feel coarse lips press a hard, lingering kiss into your forehead.
Lips.
Not the surgical mask.
He’d pulled it down?
It lasts for only a fleetingly brief moment though before he nudges you back, presumably to peer down into your ruined face. You feel the urge to cringe away from him, knowing you probably look a frightful mess after all of that especially when your mouth is still wedged wide open, but the palms on either cheek keep you firmly in place.
“That’s a very good girl, you know that?” 25 growls, giving you a rough, jostling shake before pressing his forehead tight to yours, as evidenced by the softly curling hair you suddenly find clinging to your skin. “You never disappoint, do you? I really could just keep you all to myself if given half a chance. What do you say? Do you want to come stay with me when that old fool dies? I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart. I promise I will.”
The three times you’re set aside by your crushes and the one time they spend their life all fighting for you.
<prev> Chapter 2 <next>
Ft. (Reverse-Harem) Gojo Satoru x Reader, Nanami Kento x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader.
Abstract: You’re the twin sister to one Geto Aimi and the younger sister to Geto Suguru. It doesn’t get any worse than being the middle child, but you’re also in the shadow of your twin. You’re constantly outshined by her genius talent and ability to charm anyone she comes across. There’s little effort in the way she attracts romantic, platonic and even familial love. In comparison, you’re plain, too awkward, and too introverted.
Content: Extreme groveling, jealousy, envy, regret, unrequited love/crush, avoidant attachment style, Suguru is lowkey a bad brother, the other three get their fair share of being the worst, requited love/crush but only when it’s lowkey too late, yearning on another level, the three of them are all down bad, I lowkenuinely think they all deserve a chance.
Smut tags: TBA
wc. 9.5K
A/n: Thank you so much to everyone for waiting! I momentarily was stuck writing this portion of the story but was able to power through it because of everyone’s support for wanting to see this story continued! This is not the end, there will be more! Btw I did not beta read.
You find yourself with Sukuna’s takeout on the table, Nanami’s gift in the shoe area of your duplex, and thankfully nothing of Satoru’s. You were hoping to have a relaxing night for yourself… after the aftermath of the great breakdown of your 21st birthday… whatever.
You can still have a relaxing night, take a shower, maybe even masturbate before then and then feel refreshed right after. Put on a drama you’ve been wanting to start, where the male lead actually pursues and cherishes his female lead. Where she doesn’t have to chase after people who don’t want her.
You very much felt like a male lead.
Always chasing after people who didn’t want you in hopes they would eventually want you. Right. You’re resilient, not delusional.
But why now? You’re retracing your steps, walking through what could have led up to this. The only thing that can be said is when you crashed out at your (and Aimi’s) 21st birthday party.
But let’s take it back to when you first got the duplex. Before you found the three stooges at your doorstep.
You had first gotten the duplex and managed to make it liveable by moving all your current furniture (bedroom stuff only) and settled on making something for lunch.
Your phone screeches in a series of high pitched repeating rings, flinching at the sound. You know that ringtone, set specifically for your parents—both mom and dad so you don’t know which one’s which—you pick up your face down phone immediately, not bothering to check the name of the caller.
50-50, it’s either going to be mom or dad. You’ll take the gamble on it being your dad. At least you hope it’s him.
“Hello?”
“Happy late 21st! Why do I hear that you upset Aimi?”
Dammit it’s mom.
“You’re three months late, and me and Aimi don’t get along anymore.”
“She’s your baby sister.” She continues.
“By 10 minutes.” You groan, moving over to the couch and slouching onto the cushions.
“You both aren’t on speaking terms. Why? Is it because of the gifts we sent? Did we mix up yours and Aimi’s?”
“No, mom. Your gifts for us didn’t arrive yet. They’ll come in next week.”
“A shame. If you don’t talk to your sister by then you both won’t be able to exchange the gifts because I really do think me and your father mixed them up.”
“I’ll live. She can have them both.” You damn near snap to her. But your mom ignores the tone indication for something else.
“And I hear you moved out into a duplex. From the mansion? The mini-mansion’s big enough so that the three of you can go day to day without bumping into each other.” Your mom scoffs, affronted with the stark change in your living standards.
“Being in a different zip code isn’t far enough. If I had the capabilities I would’ve moved to Shanghai, I hear they have nice high rises.” You roll your eyes.
“Honey, we already went to Shanghai. The only thing that’s good there is the fashion and the beauty. Oh they have beautiful men—your father and I just visited last week..” She’s gone onto a long winded ramble about the overseas adventures her and your father have.
“… why aren’t you talking to Suguru either? He’s your big brother. You can’t be left alone for too long, go and be a brat at home. I can’t believe you’d go and buy a duplex, the least you can do is—“ the conversation finally picks up on something you think is worth commenting about.
“No. I used this money out of my allowance and I refuse for any of you to guilt trip me into going back home and feeling bad for using it on real estate!” At this point you’re huffing, catching your breath. “Didn’t you and dad tell us to get started on our investment portfolios?”
“For stocks honey, stocks! Not real estate!”
“Whatever. If Suguru made you call me then tell him he can come see me himself if he gives that much of a damn.”
“Don’t talk—“ You end the call on your mom there, and find the mute button to her icon on the messaging app on your phone. She’s going to lecture you on being more respectful of your brother and stop feeling or being petty to Aimi.
Your phone pings again. You expect it to be your dad messaging you after the argument with your mom but instead find it’s Suguru.
Suguru: How is settling in?
Is that all he has to say?
You moved into the duplex just three months after finalizing everything after your (and Aimi’s) 21st birthdays. You decided on it after… well…
Suguru only started messaging you daily since you moved out. Simple things: How is your day?; did you eat something?; what did you eat today?; how are you holding up? And how are you settling in?
He’s asked that one like 3 different times. You haven’t responded to him, but you do make sure to let him know you’ve read his messages. It honestly makes you uncomfortable; you are hyper aware of how much he’s trying to care for you now. After the birthday incident and all.
However, right now you wish to be alone. To spread your wings and pursue your passions and dreams without judgement.
You don’t know what you’re going to do about the second half of the duplex but you plan to rent it out and earn passive income that way (even if you managed to purchase this property in full). You still want to have a safety net.
You also wanted to get away from everyone. Fully disembark from your brother and sister’s social circles to discover yourself.
Yet you found yourself here, with three men at your door and nonetheless not exactly where you started but fearing you’ll be pulled back into the fray.
~*~
4 months ago was when yours and Aimi’s 21st birthday came around. Your parents weren’t going to be there at the time and so it was just you, Suguru, and Aimi… and all of their friends. You effectively had none so nothing for you to worry about.
Because it was your 21st, Aimi wanted a large party thrown. Pink and black themed—she had initially said she was going to be wearing all pink, making you wear all black but you refuted that—the both of you wearing a pink and black themed outfit.
Of course Aimi refuted a bit more after your concerns but she eventually gave in when Suguru came around to appease her. Driving her focus onto the cake you both agreed on would be a raspberry-strawberry mixture with cacao; thankfully that aspect was easily solvable.
But that didn’t stop from more hiccups from darkening your mood—and eventually ruining your 21st—through the process, Sukuna and Satoru were more than willing to help with setting up the party.
“Hell no, balloons should not be the main decoration. Are you two? Is Aimi twelve? The hell.” Sukuna’s snarl could be heard from upstairs. You can just imagine the scowling of his face and the gentle scrunch of those inked out tattoos.
“I’ve known Aimi since she was twelve, mind you. The pink balloons aren’t just any regular balloons.” You can just see it now, Satoru slapping the uninflated balloons at Sukuna’s chest as emphasis. “They’re metallic. Some of them are see-through and have special confetti inside the balloon that’s black. It fits the theme!”
“Balloons are basic as shit!”
“Oh yeah smarty ass pants?” Satoru challenges. “You got anything better? I think your nasty cigarette smoke rotted your brain.”
“I don’t want to hear about my brain being rotted when you consume more sugar than the recommended average.”
“Guys!” Aimi, light of their life. The sun to Suguru’s moon. Ever so shining, breaches their path and rewards them with her presence. “Why are you arguing? I’m trying to figure out how I want to do my hair! And I can't hear Clairo or Laufey over your shouting!”
She’s strutted down the stairs with her hair half up, half down in space buns with the most beautiful curls. You can tell it’s still unfinished with the chunky pins in her hair that are clamping the curls in place but to the two of them, she’s the most exquisite thing to ever walk planet Satoru and planet Sukuna.
“He’s a basic bitch that just wants to put balloons everywhere.” Sukuna points at Satoru.
“He’s a mean little freak that thinks his idea is so much better just because it’s different.”
“No—“
“Okay, show me the balloons.” Aimi takes a manicured finger and curls it her way multiple times while her arms are folded over her chests.
Satoru, in Satoru-fashion, holds the balloon in front of him by its tied tip and rotates it with the twist of his wrist. The other hand embellishes the rotation of the balloon with a curved set of fingers effortlessly showing off the shape and detail of the balloon.
“I like them. Now what about you, Suku?” Her eyes shift towards Sukuna. He teeters slightly on both feet before bringing out a lantern, its paper body a pastel pink with black adorned bows along its structural wires.
“Both. I want both.”
“Both?!” Satoru and Sukuna repeat at the same time.
“Yes.”
“BOAF?” Yuuji.
“BOAF!” Nobara.
From the door, Yuuji and Nobara are the first to embrace Aimi. The both of them overtly pulling their faces away from Aimi’s head so as to not crumple her curls. When Yuuji pulls away first he gives a nod into your direction, then turns to Sukuna to chatter. While Nobara keeps both hands on Aimi’s shoulders, looking down at her with an extreme reverence.
“Happy birthday girl! You look so gorgeous. Wait—you haven’t done your makeup yet.” Nobara leans closer.
From behind Nobara; Maki, Yuta, Toge, and Panda have swarmed around her. Aimi’s smile deepens when she pulls Nobara’s hands off her shoulders to take the others in for a warm hug, shifting her face away to avoid damage to her curls and makeup.
“That’s because I was waiting for you to come, silly! I want your help with my makeup and my gem placement. I’m trying to do my eyeliner and eyeshadow to look like a butterfly but if I want gems then where should I put them?”
Nobara’s eyes glisten with the warmth of the sun while her mouth widens. “Oh my gosh, you have to show me the inspo pics. I can see the vision already. Did you want the liner to be majority black with pink elements or do you think—“
“Hold up, crazy kids.” Suguru intervenes with a clamp onto Aimi’s head, wary of the pins in her hair keeping the curls together. “Don’t mess the place up before we have it finished. Also, don’t let this one go down before we even finish decorating.”
Aimi gives a faux awe and melts into Suguru’s arms with an arm against his waist while she looks up. “But what if I just want a little peek?”
He ‘boops’ her on the nose in return with the tip of his finger. A fond smile taking place. “That would defeat the purpose.”
There’s a subtle ache in your heart that pricks the left side of your jaw when you watch your older brother go through the motions of kissing Aimi on the forehead. Her whines and complaints about him messing up her makeup and hair going to the wind when he lifts and twirls her around.
You decide it’s enough cucking yourself when it comes to family-friends and family. You come down the stairs and ignore the flickering speck of attention you get from everyone else when you make your way to Suguru and Aimi’s side.
“Oh.” Suguru lets out, putting Aimi down and laying his attention onto you. You partly expect him to take you into a warm half hug like with Aimi earlier, maybe a forehead kiss too, or even a simple happy birthday.
Instead, all he does is pat you on the shoulder and pull you into an awkward side hug.
“Go get ready.” The speck of attention you managed to recieve is now spread elsewhere.
“Sukuna and Satoru I’m going to pick up the cake, I don’t want to see the place burnt down if you guys argue.”
“Aye-aye sir.” Satoru’s lips spread into a wide grin when he went into grabbing more uninflated balloons.
Sukuna scowls, following Satoru’s actions. “Hey asshole, she wants both. We need to make it an equal balance.”
The two of them trail off into the party room.
Maki lifts up one of her hands with a larger gift bag and a smaller gift bag. Alongside her, Yuta, Panda, and Toge also have gift bags. “I’ll put these away in the room. We’ll meet you upstairs.”
Nobara is already following Aimi to her room while Yuuji is being pulled away by Sukuna to assist in decoration.
Now it’s just you and Suguru.
“You sure you don’t want to invite any friends?” Suguru turns to you, lips pressed into a tentative grin. No, because you don’t have any.
You smile in the faux way Aimi does, attempting to imitate the playful way she does it. Albeit, the poor man’s version. “No, it’s fine. I have you!”
Since Aimi will be too busy tending to the three million other people she invited, you’ll at least be able to have a speck of Suguru’s attention to yourself.
When you meet Suguru’s gaze, he only gives you a weary smile.
“What?” You try, brazenly throwing him a nod into Aimi’s direction. “You don’t agree? Wouldn’t Aimi be too busy with her friends?”
Suguru only laughs. “I’m sure we’ll have to watch over her in case she gets too drunk.”
“… right.”
“I’m going off to pick up the cake now, when you’re done getting ready, make sure Sukuna and Satoru aren’t fooling around too hard to make sure the decorations get done.”
Huh?
“Wait, but I thought we weren’t supposed to see until they were done.”
Suguru ruffles your hair. “That’s only for Aimi. You’re her older sister so you also have to make sure everything’s in place.”
“… sure, whatever. After you pick up the cake I need you to pick up the flowers I wanted.”
“What are they for again?”
“Me! Duh!” You hope your smile and cheery tone of voice gives off a more joking tone rather than bitchy.
“Okay, tone it down with the attitude, it’s not cute.” Suguru pulls away from you and heads towards the door.
Your heart drops but you fight your microexpressions from showing it. Your cheek muscles stretch in trying to keep up this strained smile when all you want to do is cry.
“Wait, you’ll still grab the flowers will you?”
“I don't know, text me the address you should’ve had them delivered or got them yesterday.”
“I know, I know.” You know you should have, but you didn’t on purpose. “Please Suguru? It’s my birthday, too.”
This will be the last one. The last time.
Suguru huffs, “Okay fine, I’ll grab them.”
“Yay!” You cheer, pulling yourself into Suguru’s side and wrapping your arms around his waist. He pats you on the shoulder and pulls away sooner than what you hoped for.
“Make sure to check on Satoru and Sukuna.”
“Right.”
You’ll do that right now. After you text Suguru the address you walk into the designated party room. It’s barren of everyone except Yuuji, Sukuna, and Satoru.
Satoru spares you a side glance while Sukuna settles on you with a glare that makes its point quite like staring into the pistil of a flower for too long. A particular unsettling sensation comes to you, pricking all over your skull and bringing your elbows closer to your body for warmth.
Before you get to them, Yuuji excuses himself and has enough politeness to give you a small wave before he fully heads out of sight.
They still haven’t looked at you.
“You guys are still deciding on how to decorate the place?”
Now they share a glance at one another. Sukuna wipes the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, and Satoru is fixated at the blank wall.
“… I think the balloons would look good as an accent to the ribbons.”
Satoru hums as an afterthought to you. “It’s not enough.”
You shift your weight onto one foot. “I have flowers coming in, Suguru’s going to pick them up. When he comes you can use those as decoration.”
Sukuna blinks at you. Once, twice. “We won’t have enough time to consider where they would go after.”
“It’s just some flower garlands. It would be easy to—“
“They don’t have thorns do they?” Satoru inquires.
“No, they’re hanging—I also have some fairy lights. They can hang from the ceiling.”
“We won’t have enough time.”
You sigh through your nostrils and take a deep brea to quell the slowly burning flame in your chest. To emphasize the next words you fold your arms over your rib cage.
“The party starts in a few hours, Suguru will be here in an hour. There will be enough time to set up.” What’s there not to understand?
“Decorations aren’t all we have to do.” Sukuna scoffs, partly huffing through his nose and a disgusted sound coming from his throat.
“Until Suguru comes back you guys can be busy doing other things.”
“So you want us to do everything for you?” Satoru takes a good look at you now, unamused and less than happy.
“H-huh?” You’re so taken aback you take a step backwards and tilt your head. “I’m not asking for a lot. I know you guys are basically doing everything by yourself but I could ask the others to help you.”
“They’re busy with Aimi. She should have all her friends with her—in fact, I should be with her right now. She said she needed help with her makeup right? I know a lot about faces—“ Mid sentence Sukuna knocks Satoru on the back of his head. He keeps his head clamped over his hair and forces his head down.
“If Aimi wants flowers and fairy lights we’ll put flowers and fairy lights.” Sukuna clarifies, giving you that same stare.
“But I’m asking for them?”
“And?”
“It’s my birthday, too. You know that right?”
“Right. I forgot.”
“Me and Aimi are twins.”
“Could’ve fooled me, you both are as different as night and day.”
Oh.
That’s stupid. And right.
“How?” You challenge. You hope you don’t come off as bratty or arrogant but… however bratty or arrogant you act will only be a speck of how bad Aimi is at times.
Satoru loops up, nose tipped into the hair as his eyes settle on the crease of where the wall meets the ceiling. “Aimi has a personality more suitable for people…” he looks down at you, meeting eye to eye. “While…”
His gaze sets aside, looking away then fleeting back to you. “You’re okay with being by yourself!”
Satoru says it cheerily although it’s more… insulting than anything.
“He’s saying you’re personality is shit and Aimi’s more fun to be around.” Sukuna scoffs. “Can’t help it that nobody wants to be around you.”
Satoru snorts and huffs while he turns away. “He said it, I didn’t.”
“I can’t believe you’re the one saying that to me.” You frown, turning Sukuna’s way. The back of his head is faced towards you, he’s not even bothering to look you in the eye. “If it weren’t for my sister then nobody would tolerate you.”
You hope you’re masking your disappointment and sadness well enough. Hoping that whatever you say is coming off more logical and reasonable than a desperate whine of your pain.
“She’s right.” Satoru shrugs, now poking Sukuna in the bicep. “Aimi’s just too nice. There’s no way anyone else would want to be with a brute like you.”
Sukuna grits. “We have the same GPA, and you’re a business major.”
“And who helped you with the physics and anatomy assignment last semester? Me.”
“That doesn’t prove anything when all you do is color in the lines of a presentation.”
“That makes NO sense and obviously is a lie they tell you guys to make you feel superior. If I was a biochemistry major I’d be ruling over your—“
“Am I interrupting something?” Nanami’s holding a white gift wrapped box in one arm and his knuckles hover over the door frame. Still wearing those khaki slacks and blue casual collared shirt.
You don’t know what’s worse. The fact that the big three of your crushes are in the same room or that you know more than half of these gifts are for Aimi, and you’re bracing yourself for the worst birthday in your 21 years of life.
“Why are you late? I’m telling Suguru.” Satoru comes around to pull Nanami into the room.
The both of them walk past you, looking ahead at the decorations littering the space and with no acknowledgment to you. Satoru’s explaining the balloons and fairy lights, and in no way is he leaving room for your flower garlands you embarrassingly begged Suguru to pick up.
Now Nanami is here, perhaps he’ll be more responsible. A voice of logic.
You come up beside them, clearing your throat, hoping they’ll notice you. It’s Nanami that gives you a slight glance from the corner of his eye.
“We need to leave room for flower garlands.”
“Is that something Aimi wished for?” Nanami turns to Satoru, then you.
Before Satoru can even speak, you pop up with “it’s something I want.”
A muscle ticks in Nanami’s jaws. It travels to the crease of his temple then to his eyebrow.
“I understand…” is the only thing he says.
Nanami goes his own way after placing the presents down. This is done much to Satoru’s own dismay as he calls out claiming that he had to help; in a comical manner of which Nanami ignores. You’d almost find it fond of you weren’t simmering down the scent of something burning inside your ribcage.
You’d just have to wait it out. When Suguru comes back with the flower garlands they’ll have no choice but to listen to him when you tell them to hang it up
~*~
You swear everything is on fire or would be on fire if it were smeared in oil and Suguru had laser eyes.
When Suguru comes through the door he’s got his arm full of a tall white box with the three tier cake that the two of you wanted… although Aimi had the first pick of the color and the base decorating. You were happy enough to choose the color of the frosting and the decorations.
You expect to see something else, like a bag hooked around his elbow, or anything else.
Suguru doesn’t bother to acknowledge you when he passes through the frame, beelining towards the room and eyes scanning the area with such fervor contrasting from his usual nonchalance.
When he sets the cake down, that's when he turns around, his sights land onto you, face morphing into something that makes your stomach drop. Satoru, Sukuna, and Nanami nowhere in sight.
“Where are Sukuna and Satoru? I thought Nanami was supposed to come in.”
“They went to Aimi’s room.”
“And you let them?!” Suguru’s voice is more charged than you’d ever heard from him before. Not only is he going to be angry at you but you can feel that you’re going to be scolded later for letting three boys interested in Aimi anywhere near her.
“Aimi’s grown up, and she still has Nobara and the others. It’s not like she’s alone.”
Unlike you.
“Why aren’t the decorations done? I trusted you to look after it.”
You nearly wince. “I wanted to wait so we could have room for my flower garlands.” Your eyes wash over his expression before traveling down to the floor.
“Flowers?”
“Yes, the flowers you were supposed to pick up for me.”
It slowly dawns onto him, eyebrows raising and irises gaining more clarity.
“Oh…” he holds a hand over his mouth. “I was in a rush, the cake was late and I…”
You try not to let it show but you can’t help but let your facade falter just slightly. Something Suguru doesn’t bother to address but walks past, he pats you on the shoulder.
“I’ll make it up to you later. I’m going to get those three back down here to finish up the decorations before we begin the cake. Go ahead and finish getting ready.” He doesn’t even wait for your response.
You’re finding your eyes becoming dry, something prickling and then the welling of liquid pooling in the inner and outer corners.
You use the back of your hand to wipe away the wetness staining your eyes. You’re afraid that it’ll wash away the hard work you’ve done for your makeup and that if you let one tear fall… the rest would be like a broken dam.
~*~
You don’t really compute further than that. You actually go upstairs to finish your hair after sitting and staring at the blank wall for ten minutes. Thinking about everything and nothing; Suguru forgot your flowers, Satoru’s mean words, Sukuna’s blatant dismissal, Nanami ignoring you and his lack of gift for you.
You’re bracing for the fact that you might have no gifts at the table at all. Maybe an envelope.
When you step down the stairs everyone is already there, Nobara gushing with Aimi about her dress or the decorations, whatever it is, they’re excited about it. Shoko and Utahime (your older brother and Satoru’s friends) are here, sharing a glass of punch sparked with some alcohol that you know Suguru ordered off hand.
When your feet reach the main floor level, it’s only Utahime and Shoko that come to greet you with warm smiles.
“Happy birthday. You’ve grown up so much from when I last saw you.” Shoko gives her words to you, tipping the glass to you before taking a sip.
Utahime rubs your shoulder before taking her hand away just as quickly as she placed it. “I hope you’re having a good party. It looks amazing, you and Aimi did a good job.”
You return the words with a half hearted smile, you really hope it doesn’t come off uncanny to the both of them, as these two have been the nicest to you of all Suguru’s friends (he only has a couple). But you can’t bring yourself to lie any longer. The point is to get through the night so you can hide and have a mental breakdown later.
“Thanks, Aimi picked them all. I just agreed to whatever she said.” The only thing you wanted were the flower garlands and fairy lights. You have none.
“Really?” Utahime follows your linear line of conversation. “She’s really talented then. I’ve seen some of the videos Suguru’s taken of her ballet.”
Here we go again.
You maintain that smile. “Yeah! She really is.” She can do it all. Play games, dance, write, draw, capture the love and affection of everything around her.
Where were Suguru’s videos for you when you played the piano?
“How are you doing?” It’s Shoko that catches your attention. “Are you looking forward to anything now that you’re 21?”
Are you?
You’re just going to be in Aimi’s shadow.
Maybe it’s time to move on…
“I’d like to keep playing the piano.” It’s the only thing you say. Your piano hasn’t been touched since six months ago or so, and it’s collecting dust in the other room.
“I didn’t know you played the piano.” Utahime mentions, just to say something. She looks a bit in awe, whether in genuine surprise or appreciation.
“It’s fine. Not a lot of people outside the family know about it. If Suguru doesn’t talk about it then how would you know?” You remark as cheerily as possible, tone kept bright, although the smile on your face is becoming awkward it shifts all the more disheartened by the moment.
Of course Utahime would know about Aimi’s ballet dancing but now about your piano hobby.
You notice it despite how Shoko attempts to hide it, but she sends Utahime a particular look, eyes shifting back from her to you.
Utahime only catches it when you’re both now staring at her.
She laughs awkwardly. “I’ll ask Suguru to show me some videos next time. I would love to see you play.”
If Suguru had any videos. He probably only had a couple of when you were 11, but very often your parents made him skip your piano lessons or recitals because they overlapped with Aimi’s. And being good at ballet was much more impressive than being good at piano.
“Everyone listen up!” Satoru’s voice drags the attention of everyone in the room.
“Satoru!” It’s Aimi’s chiding voice, her tiny hands reaching over to tug lightly at his shirt that rests against his well sculpted chests. “Get down!”
“I wanted to show off a little thing I had made for the twins.”
Twins?
As in Aimi AND you? Not just Aimi?
You can’t hide the subtle brightening of your mood. Even if you’re bracing yourself for disappointment of the bare minimum.
What Satoru pulls up is a slideshow of all the heartfelt memories he had captured over the year on his phone/camera. Just as you expected. The majority is memories of Aimi and Suguru together. When they went to Okinawa when they were 18 and Aimi tagged along. When they went to a cat cafe, Aimi held a kitten that had just scratched Satoru. Even one of just the two of them play fighting in the pool.
Oh look, there’s an obligatory photo with you in there and Aimi. It’s not even a photo Satoru took but one you know your parents did a long time ago that Suguru pulled up for the sake of having a photo of you.
This slideshow is a plain humiliation ritual to disclose to everyone about how much of an unloved loser you are to people within your own family.
You’re too ashamed to meet Shoko and Utahime’s eyes. You’re afraid you may find them pitying you beyond what you’re able to handle right now.
The slideshow is just Aimi featuring you. Hell, Suguru and Satoru have more cameos of each other in there than you do. All the photos you’re in just have Aimi in them! The only consistent thing about this slideshow is just Aimi!
A few photos passing by rile up a few people, Nobara, Yuuji, Panda and Inumaki specifically who all jump around Aimi and fool around with her.
It takes Suguru having to drag everyone’s attention away onto the next birthday event of the night. Cake cutting.
Aimi and you stand side by side while Suguru stands on the other side with the cake cutting knife and a few plates. The entire time it’s been covered by the white box.
But the flavor and decorations (the color, and toppings) are what you’ve been preparing and looking forward to the whole night. These are truly one of the only things you had part of in choosing.
You’ve imagined this since last year, a beautifully intricate mainly pink body with black smeared and blended at some points for color variations. Then black frosting borders the cake with pink edible gems lining the sides.
You’ve imagined it in the sketch you sent to the baker and decorator.
Suguru unveils the cake, pulling it off from overhead and it’s completely different from what you and Aimi discussed.
It’s mainly pink, yeah, but the frosting is white and instead of the edible gems it’s white and light blue flowers. The only remnants you’ve added that were kept are the black smears.
The first thing that crosses your mind is ‘Is Aimi sad about this? How can I make it better?’ But when you angle your face to hers, she’s joined her hands together. Her face is scrunched up in absolute glee and from where you’re standing the candles being lit seem to go in slow motion lighting over the corner of her lips crinkling upwards and the apple of her cheeks popping while her eyes glitter at the sight.
Then another thought betrays you, ‘did Aimi plan this?’
Even Suguru stuttered at the stark difference. He was there when you both talked to the caterer, he made sure you both (Aimi really) got what you wanted.
How could she have done this? Not as in how could she think this, or how could she do this behind your back, her very own twin sister. But literally how? You guys put in this order a month ago when there was no more time for changes, how?
And yeah, you guess how could she do this to you is also another big question to ask.
For a moment you debate turning over to her and slapping her, screaming in her face, roving your fingers through her tightly wound updo that no doubt Nobara and Maki worked so hard to get right to her vision.
You do have to stop yourself, not because you care about her and don’t want to (though that’s at least a quarter part of it), but because Suguru’s standing the closest to her. You know if you tried anything physical he’d stop you right away.
Instead, once all the candles are lit and the two of you are pushed closer together with no one else to help Aimi, you grab a handful of the cake between your fingers; not caring if the sweet frosting wedges between your nails. Then you shove it in her face, some pieces of the cake’s interior sliding down your hands before it can reach her.
There’s multiple gasps around you.
Aimi takes a moment to digest it in. Her eyes flickering from the cake, to you, and to the others, right before they set back onto you. Her expression drops and she whines out her name in a way that has your heart clenching in a way almost guilty for her.
Strong, thick, and long fingers grip around your shoulder, finger pads digging into the flesh under your collarbone and tugging you backwards. Within your heels you almost stumble onto your behind but manage to balance yourself on the long table on your right.
You feel someone pushing you on the other side, forcefully jabbing your hip into the table. You almost yell at them but it’s only Nobara rushing to her friend’s aid.
In a glimpse, within space, everyone’s crowding around her. Suguru first, then Sukuna, Nobara, Maki, if there’s space everyone would be crowding around her. Even Satoru has fought his way to her side, Nanami trailing behind him.
“Why would you do that?” Suguru hisses at you, grabbing your hand guilty of the act, smeared in the bitter sweet taste of your raspberry-strawberry chocolate mixture of shame.
You could say it. ‘O-oh, I didn’t mean to—is Aimi okay?’ But you don’t have the energy to muster up a false narrative.
“Who grabbed me.”
“What?” Suguru takes a step back, expression twisted from harsh anger to awe.
“Who grabbed me?!” You whip your head around, looking for a guilty face.
It couldn’t have been Nobara, she pushed you not grabbed. So who grabbed you? You can still feel the stinging below your collarbone.
“So what?” Sukuna’s voice pitches in. Of course it was him. “You don’t do that to your sister, dipshit.”
“Sukuna, shut up.” Suguru exhales, looking away from you to give him a particular expression you can’t bother looking further into. Right before he returns back down to you.
“Why'd you do it? I thought we agreed to not do those things. Aimi said she didn’t want that.” He’s talking to you like a child now.
‘I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to have fun’ All fine things you can say in rebuttal but you’re tired.
“She changed the cake.”
Not even a big change was done. You shouldn’t even be mad…
“Huh?”
“All of this, over a cake?” His expression twists.
… but seeing her so happy, made you bitter.
“Aren’t you older?” He criticizes.
Suguru’s tone softens, the harsh grip he holds around your wrist softens and your arm falls back down to your side in an almost reckless slap. “You need to grow up.”
“It’s always I need to be better. I need to grow up. I'm the older one.” You spat. “I’m only ten minutes older, it’s not like I’m as old as you.”
This party isn’t even for you anymore. No choice in decorations, flowers and fairy lights forgotten, and the one thing you had a part of anymore—just stolen from you without you knowing.
“How could you have done that without telling or consulting me, Aimi?” You’re being pulled away by Suguru. “It’s MY birthday too!” You’re screaming now, attempting to jump out of your brother's arms.
Aimi doesn’t bother to look at you, she’s too busy wiping away the cake from her face and crying to Nobara about her hair, eyeshadow and foundation.
Suguru practically shoves you into your room, with him standing at the door frame, afraid as if you’ll try to escape. “I’m very disappointed in you… I don’t understand why you’d do something like this.”
“Don’t start acting like my big brother now.”
“What?” This one sounds different, he sounds injured. “You’re just being mean to hurt me. Shit move. You’re staying here until the birthday’s over. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Suguru’s nose scrunches and eyebrows furrow at your choice of words. “Don’t swear—“
“Get them out of here. Go celebrate Aimi somewhere else.”
“This isn’t your house, it’s unfair to say that.”
“When mom and dad are gone, it’s our house, and I say I want everyone gone.”
“You’re just being—“
“Suguru, dude,” Satoru seems to come from the shadows, appearing from nowhere. You almost flinch from the sudden change but find yourself more alerted about what he could think of you now.
You shouldn’t care, you weren’t even in most of those slides. It’s very clear he doesn’t care about you.
“We can have it at my place. Aimi won’t mind, it’s the second place she considered for her birthday.”
HER birthday. You didn’t know about this, and it’s very clear why.
“Right, thanks bro.” Suguru gives Satoru a fist pump before he leaves. You don’t miss the subtle glare Satoru sends toward you.
It pangs your heart, not like it matters anymore.
“Happy now? You’ll be here all alone if we have the party at Satoru’s.”
None of these people care about you, or even know you. They’re all either friends of Aimi; people who were your friends and like Aimi more (only Nanami fits this bill); or people who Suguru are friends with people that favor Aimi.
It won’t matter if you’re alone for this birthday.
It’ll be the same anyway. With or without.
“Now you’re not talking?” Suguru calls your name. Once. Twice. A third. And with the fourth he’s tugging on your shoulder that Sukuna’s gripped at so harshly that you feel the ache and bruises start to form.
You whip around, “Don’t touch me! Just fucking go. Go watch over Aimi. It’s all you’re ever good for.”
Suguru’s brows furrow further, his lips pressing tightly together while you can feel his eyes stare into your back. You’re trying not to shake, to show him the vulnerability you’ve been trying to hide this entire time. The shame of being unwanted and the hurt of being alone.
“We’ll be back tomorrow.”
With that, Suguru slams your door shut on you. This one you do flinch at.
After a few moments of just staring at the carpet, recounting your actions and the words of others. You jump onto the bed and burrow yourself into the pillow. You don’t care if your makeup gets on the fabric, you don’t care if your hair spray messes up the sheets or if your hair wakes up in a bird’s nest tomorrow. You just want to sleep.
You can’t keep doing this.
Your life is in a constant cycle of misery. Watching Aimi receive all the love that you’ve ever wanted and friends that cherish her with three or more guys being at her beck and all. You could care less about Sukuna now but Nanami and Satoru? You were Nanami’s friend first and Satoru at least should have cared for you some bit, being this known since childhood.
But it’s not like you were as important to him as Aimi and Suguru.
You make a choice. You take out your phone from the bedside table and look for new places to live. A quaint spot far away from the mansion and somewhere familiar enough where you can rely on walking for food and entertainment.
Though as you're looking, you can’t help but wonder if you were ever once truly cared for at all. Not by the friends or family-friends of the group, but by your own siblings.
~*~
That still doesn’t explain how you’ve managed to make Satoru, Nanami, and Sukuna change their minds about you… yet it does. Merely since these past three months, Sukuna has come for your help, Nanami has come to apologize, and Satoru has come to annoy you.
You don’t even know where to begin, well, you suppose you can begin with the first person that laid foot on the doorstep of your mansion.
Nanami Kento, your old classmate, now acquaintance. Barely friend… considerably someone you used to admire romantically.
He was the first one to apologize to you. Before your brother, before your sister, and before Satoru and Sukuna. All four who have known you longer.
It happened two weeks after the fiasco, before you moved into your duplex.
You’re standing at the entry of the door frame, Nanami standing awkwardly outside, looking out of place in his slacks and short sleeved ironed shirt. You’re a little embarrassed to be in nothing but shorts and a tank top that frames your shoulders a little too well.
“Aimi’s not here.”
“I am not here for Aimi.”
“Ah, then Suguru’s not home right now either.”
The both of them are bowling with Satoru.
“No, I wished to speak with you.”
You tilt your head. Now why would he do that?
“Why?”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For not realizing…” Nanami stops in his tracks. “I saw the way your brother treated you, the celebratory slideshow Gojo put on, and the cake.”
Your eye twitches, your whole body stamped to the ground to prevent yourself from jumping away at the reminder.
“Nanami—“
“Kento, please refer to me as Kento.”
“Nanami.” You repeat, firmly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but what does this have to do with you? You could recognize these things and leave them alone.”
Leave you alone…
“Because I wish to be on your side.”
Huh?
“It’s not until after your… my refusal on your heartfelt confession that I realized my time with you was priceless.” Nanami runs his hands through his hair. Now that you notice it, it’s more unruly and rustled up. Like he’s been repeatedly brushing his fingers through it. “I wish to rekindle our friendship. If that’s an emotion you share with me.”
“Nanami,” you place a hand forward, hopefully blocking him slightly from you. Be friends? Again?
“Nanami, if this is out of pity, you don’t need to. I’m over it, I’m done.” You shake your head. You can’t believe this is something that’s been happening.
Nanami Kento? The Nanami Kento basically appearing at your doorstep and wishing you well and even wanting to be your friend again?
“You can move on now, too.” It seems like adding that part might’ve been worse because his light colored brows seem to furrow even deeper. The wrinkles in his too young face crease ever more against the backdrop of light emitting behind him. All it does is increase the dark shadows on his face.
“Why do you look like that?” The words fall out faster than you mean them to. It’s unruly, unrefined, and downright rude. It’s something you wouldn’t dare say to Nanami in the past.
You mean it sincerely and genuinely… not in a rude way. Nanami seems to read the panic in your eyes because his lower lip drops and he eases out with a soft swallow, “I’m disappointed that our circumstances have led this way.”
And whose fault is that?
You let out a small sigh, nothing too serious, just relief. “Look Nanami, I'm preoccupied today.” And the next year if it means he’ll leave you alone. “I think you need some time to think about this, I’m appreciative of the thought but I’d like to move.”
“Could I still visit?”
Huh?
“Like old times?” He clarifies.
What part of moving on does he not understand?
Nanami continues, reading the confusion and utterance of borderline rejection on your face. “It would be nothing to burden you, I wish to share recipes of meals with you. I won’t step into your home, I’ll simply leave the food outside and be on my way.”
“Will you be on your way if I say no?”
He hesitates then. His body tilting in adjustments to the weight he pushes on his hips. “I’ll consider an alternative way to—“
“No, this is fine.” Your sigh is heavier, relenting. You pinch your fingers between your nose bridge.
You doubt Nanami will come too often, instead he’ll just drop free food at your doorstep and move on his merry way. Eventually you’ll stop getting free food because he’s moved on and you’ll both be better off.
You finalize it. “You’re fine to send me food here and there if you want to.”
That seems to brighten up Nanami’s day. Seeming as his honeyed eyes look as if they’re glittering and glowing in the halo of the afternoon light shining behind him. Even the wrinkles on his face smoothen out and the dark cast shadows fade away into the ambient lighting.
He smiles, gentle and warm. “This is a chapter of a development of moving into your new home that you can look forward to.”
The words are nice, you nod in his way before you shut the door.
That won’t lead anywhere you’ll be hoping for, so don’t expect anything.
Maybe a month into living there, Suguru drops in mid-morning to afternoon. You’ve just bought a pool for the backyard and are setting it up DIY style, even going as far to integrate wooden poles in the corners of the property to make it as homey as possible. You see the vision now, add fairy lights, and get people to install an above ground patio and it’ll all be perfect… maybe a sunroom too.
You don’t notice him until he’s come to the side of the house and continues to stand there for however long.
“Do you need help with that?” And you nearly jump out of your skin and bones when his voice infiltrates the space. Jumpscare.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m…” he looks around, obviously the wooden pillars need help being erected but also the connecting wood poles that would frame the four corners together. “Here to help.”
Despite how much you don’t want to see him, you admit you do want his help. Even if you can hire people, they won’t get the job done the way you want it. And you don’t want to end up sounding or looking bitchy to anyone.
After Suguru helps you with the most basic aspect of your dream backyard, he steps back besides you to oversee the progress. “It’s looking good.”
“Yes, I’m having a grand piano come in the next few days.” Though you lived in a mini mansion, the grand piano was always loud enough for Aimi to hear it. She said it always bothered her and contributed to her throbbing migraine level headaches.
“That’s nice.” He breathes out. A few beats pass before he adds, “When it comes, can I listen to you play?”
“Why?” You would’ve added something cruel and snide but you’re too tired to really make up something mean.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He tilts his head. “I know we haven’t talked or hung out for a while…”
If awhile means a month or several years for him, it isn’t up to you to decipher that.
“I’m actually busy right now, and will be for the next few…” you slow down on the next words to come.
“I can adjust to your schedule, whenever you’re free is when I’m free.”
“—years. I won’t be available for the next three years.”
Suguru pauses.
“So you’re telling me you have the next three years of your life planned out.”
“Yes.”
“So I won’t be able to hang out with you after you graduate?”
“No.” He would be too busy with Aimi anyway.
“Even if it’s just for an hour.”
“Time is money.”
“Wow, you’re dedicated, you really thought this through. What about relaxing? You ever plan on doing that or what?” Suguru folds his arms over his chest, looking down at you with an arched brow.
“I make sure to fit it into my schedule.” At this point you’re heading back inside through the sliding door, Suguru trailing behind you.
“Well then, don’t you have time for your big brother?”
So now he wants to be your big brother.
“… no, not anymore.”
He calls your name, ginger, something tender almost.
“I don’t know what made you move out, you can still have this place but please come back.” Suguru’s brows furrow deep into the crease of where his forehead meets his eyebrows. His lips sloped downwards in a sense of great discontent. “I won’t be able to be there if you need help.”
“There’s no difference.” You snap, almost instantly. “You were never there for me in the first place.”
Your arms come uncrossed, you throw them in the air for emphasis.
“It’s always Aimi first; Aimi this, Aimi that.”
Suguru’s arms then unfold from over his chest, he takes a step towards you, an arm hesitantly raised above his waist, seemingly reaching towards you. “I—“
“No.” You point a finger in his face. “You‘ve always put Aimi above me. Everyone has. It’s my whole life. This is the one place I’ll make it where she and nobody else associated with her will touch. It’s something for me, and me only.”
Suguru calls your name. “What do you mean? I—“ he stutters over his words. “I care about you, and Aimi does, too. Whatever we did, we’re sorry, we just—“
“Whatever you guys did?!” You balk. “You don’t even know!”
“I only know you started to fall apart because of the cake, but I don’t understand why.” Suguru lets out a short sigh, tipping his head back to rub his palm over his eyes. “I know Aimi changed the cake but…”
“But what? But she’s my little sister?”
“Yes!” He exclaims his response as if it solves everything. He perks back up, meeting your eyes. His are wide and explosive, almost as bright as Satoru’s when he’s made a discovery or exciting play of some sort.
“That’s the whole problem. You never let me have that chance, Aimi’s only 10 minutes younger. I exist, I’m your little sister, too.”
“But there must be…”
“No Suguru. When was the last time you ever let me have something of my own without having to give up something for Aimi?”
“But that’s just part of having siblings—“
“You don’t get it.” You stomp your foot. Your voice breaks and you feel like a child. It’s happening all over again. You try to fight for yourself and when things don’t go your way, you just end up crying. “I’m always the one having to sacrifice something. Aimi’s never had to compromise on something.”
“You forgot my flowers, they’re the only things I wanted for decoration. Nobody else cared about me when it came to something I wanted, or considered me when I asked for something—I never ask for anything!”
Suguru swallows, his eyes now lidded back to the way they usually are except with a different manner laced into the way his irises skitter around the room.
You want to stop, but you end up continuing your rant anyway. “Suguru, you don’t stop Satoru or Sukuna when they treat me like shit when it comes to Aimi. Satoru I understand, he doesn’t care about me, but wasn’t it strange to you how different of a relationship I have with him compared to you and Aimi?l
“Or Sukuna, you were too busy coddling Aimi to realize he pushed me to get to her! I had a bruise the shape of his finger prints from how hard he gripped my shoulder just to push me out of the way.”
“What? Sukuna did that?”
“Yes!”
“And how mom and dad never let you come to my recitals, only Aimi’s because ballet is so much harder than piano. What if I just wanted you to be there for me once?” Your eyes are getting dry.
“I-I get that,” Suguru clarifies, he’s given you your space to rant, and flail your hands and arms. “What did Satoru do?”
This one you’re more embarrassed about, you turn to the side. Finding your newly bought table more interesting and compelling. “It’s not his fault he doesn’t like me, our personalities don’t get along the same way yours and Aimi’s does…” your voice falls off slightly. This is another kind of subject, yeah Sukuna is mean but…
Satoru is no Sukuna, unlike Sukuna Satoru’s just dismissive—sometimes he’s mean—but most of the time he doesn’t really care about you enough to really talk or consider you as a companion or person. Even if you are Suguru and Aimi’s sibling.
“Ugh, but can’t he just be nicer about it?” You huff. “He’s not mean all the time but he’s so… dismissive.”
“Anytime I try to be cordial and or at least polite he’s always so disinterested and—“ it makes you feel unimportant. How stupid. “Didn’t you notice the slide show, Sugu?”
“Of course I did,” Suguru responds so easily, it’s like he doesn’t even realize how much that response would hurt you. He realized and he didn’t say anything?
He continues, “I know there weren’t as many photos of you on there, but… I thought you didn’t care.”
“How could I not? Any of the photos I was in, Aimi was always there. How could you not care? It would make sense if this was an Aimi only payrty but this is a birthday for me, too… it’s so disrespectful.”
Suguru sighs in emphasis, “You know Satoru’s disrespectful sometimes.”
“It doesn’t matter—wait, why are you even defending him?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“Why wouldn’t you think I wouldn’t care?”
“You never came to me or told me about it.”
You’re screaming now. “You never noticed me! You never cared about what I wanted!
“Just,” your brother exhales. “Tell me what Sukuna did.”
“Why should I? Will you care? If Aimi told you he was just misunderstood, would you believe her and then chalk it up to nothing?”
“No. This time I’ll listen.”
You grit your teeth. “He’s just a mean bastard.” You don’t want to elaborate on all the ways he hurt you, and you don’t want to let Suguru know you have a crush on any of them! Especially considering how they’re all sweet on Aimi.
“Mean how?”
“Like you don’t know?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, “of course I know. I’m his friend.” Admittedly, Suguru has never seen Sukuna be mean to Aimi. “I need to know exactly.”
He needs to know exactly what so he can help you.
You stand in silence, eyes raking the hardwood flooring you make a mental note of adding a homey rug on. “He’s…” mean to you, but incredibly considerate to Aimi. He cares about the things she makes and he cares about her as a person. You’ve seen how people awe in how obedient he is with her, but when it comes to you, he considers you a nuisance.
You can’t blame him for favoring Aimi. If you had a person who loved and favored you that much you would fight that hard for them, too.
You can’t blame Sukuna if he doesn’t like you. Maybe you’re just not a lovable person.
“He’s what?” Suguru eggs on, tip toeing closer and angling his face down to catch your expression.
You turn away.
“Just go. I want to be alone.”
Suguru’s mouth gapes as if he wants to say more. He clearly wants to combat your words and concerns but all that goes to waste when he can see the discontent and frustration written in your furrowed brow and deep frown.
“Call me if you need me, really, I’ll be here as soon as possible.”
Suguru goes through the door with a small clasp while it closes shut and leaves you alone once again.
It’s just as you wanted. For you to be away from your brother and your sister, and all their little friends, too. Yet you can’t help but still feel like shit.
synopsis : Gojo Satoru can be called many derogatory words for various reasons : unhinged, insane, selfish, weird. Each one is affirmed by different groups of people. Your answer to these statements would be more personal, intimate, to a point of unsettling proximity that only you share with him in the present, and for years, since the deflecting of Geto Suguru. Through your eyes, that's your demise.
(spoilers)warnings : emotional manipulation, murder, abuse of authority, trauma reflecting, psychological diving, possessive Gojo Satoru, obsessive behavior, stalking, problematic behavior, toxicity, unresolved romantic tension, dubious consent, p in v, no condom, kidnapping, baby trap, miscarriage.
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 - …
Reader avoiding Pantalone and closing off from everyone out of guilt… aughhh… Pantalone being confused and visiting the lab to see reader but Dottore is unwilling to let him visit because he thinks Pantalone is the reason why his darling is so upset recently
(but it’s fine becuz zandik manages to get reader to talk and the three of them resolve all issues and live happily ever after)
(x) It was very obvious when you were acting weird. It was even more obvious when your partner was the Dottore, highly attentive to you, or just quite observant in general, and then your friend was the Pantalone, who had his own scarily good perception of things. There was very little you could hide from them, which certainly made things a bit troublesome when you just wanted to think in peace. But despite his prodding, Dottore could not retrieve anything from your flustered self other than your insistence that everything was fine, and had little choice but to give you space until you could confide in him.
And oh, poor, poor Pantalone. You'd always frequently swing by for visits to his estate, even if it was just to sit in silence with him in his office. Until one day, you simply... don't. The first day was fine, of course. The second day was also normal. On the third, you hadn't even sent him a letter, as you usually did if you weren't feeling well or something else had come up.
On the fourth, his mind was distracted by thoughts of you that not even Pulcinella's nagging could clear. He writes letters to you with ink of your favorite flowers, and gets no response. On the fifth, not only was Pantalone aware of his longing, but now he was actually a bit worried. And lastly, on the sixth, he cleared out his schedule for a bit and set out to Dottore's lab with a box of your favorite sweets to see his precious friend.
"Oh my, what a surprise to see you, Pantalone." Dottore greeted the banker, although judging from his tone of voice, it really wasn't all that surprising.
"Dottore," he acknowledged, "Care for an impromptu chat?" He lifted the box of sweets and tilted his head to the cabinet, where boxes of tea were stored. The scholar stared at him for a few moments before smiling and retrieving it. More importantly, Pantalone eyed your empty seat at the table you three normally sat at.
"Shall I fetch [Name]?" It's more of a statement than a question at this point, and he's already moving before he receives an answer, before Dottore cuts him off.
"You won't find them, Pantalone." He's already setting down two cups instead of three as he speaks. "They're not in their room, or their living room, or mine, or any of the other places you know of."
"Are they alright?" The Ninth can't help but furrow his eyebrows at the other's words until Dottore simply nods and motions for him to take a seat, and they sit in silence for a little while. Pantalone plays with his teacup, the drink swirling around as he gazes at his reflection. The two Harbingers would have so many meetings by themselves, but when you started joining them, your presence was sorely missed when you weren't around.
"What are you thinking about, Dottore?" The scholar seems to study him with interest until Pantalone finally speaks again.
"It seems they're avoiding you, Pantalone," Dottore said bluntly, although he didn't sound upset as he would with the average person who would dare to hurt your feelings. "I hope you didn't say anything to upset them." The Doctor rests his cheek on his hand, staring at him for any clues, or better yet, an answer.
"... I have not, not to my knowledge. They appeared perfectly fine the last time I saw them." The confirmation of his suspicions makes Pantalone pause. The idea that he offended you to the point you didn't want to look at him was... certainly something to deal with. He racks his brain for a possible misstatement. But Dottore only taps his fingers, as if he was expecting that response.
"Do you remember what I told you before, dear friend? They are like us, and yet they are not at the same time. And that is why you will not be able to come up with a conventional explanation. Besides, I caught them smiling at your letters still, so I doubt it is you that they're truly upset at." He smiled at Pantalone like this was a controlled experiment under his thumb. "Give them time, and I'm sure they'll confess their worries to you when they can't keep it in anymore. When I tell them that you came by to see them, it'll quicken the process."
"Hmm..." Pantalone adjusted his glasses and pondered what could possibly have you in such a state...
in which the men turn to the AITA subreddit for opinions on their relationship disputes. the comments aren't always the most...supportive
warnings: just fluff and crack, some cursing, some sexual language, prob not the most accurate depiction of reddit (I am not familiar with the platform so I did my best lol), non curse au mostly, NOT PROOFREAD (this was a pain to edit you don't even know so I don't want to hear it)
featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna
Highly recommended to read my Dottore broke the 4th wall kinda theory/HC link down below! ⬇️
• Yandere Dottore is not your typical obsessive yandere boy with red eyes and a knife in his hands. He is a scientist who has found an amazing object for research and will never let you go.
• For him, you're the only anomaly in the system. When he found out he's nothing but a few lines in a code, you became his anchor that kept his brilliant mind going for a simple reason: break the barrier that kept you apart and observe you in person.
•Of course, Dottore believes that his feelings are mutual and that real you is thrilled about being his. It's just your useless bland avatar who's resisting his gestures of affection.
• If he's a brilliant scholar, it's only fair that his beloved should match his status. When you as a Traveler make dumb decisions in the game Dottore gets disappointed. When you're standingbyour ground, he's fascinated. He's going to test you, to see if you're truly as remarkable as he thinks, if you're truly worthy of his attention.
• Dottore doesn't hate the Traveler. He hates the barrier between you. So he's going to help you and deal with your boring game himself because he's jealous because he doesn't want you to waste time on mindless useless NPCs. By deleting quests altogether.
• "I don't like "whitewashing". Let me rewrite it for you."
• Dottore is going to hack the event system for you to stay with him forever, not to waste your time with "time-linited unscientific garbage".
•If you refuse his help, he will simply delete your character. He's not doing that to spite you. He's doing it to make sure you stay with him. You're his only way to feel "real" in the fiction world. He believes he's doing you a favor by deleting your avatar and freeing you from the script.
• "Every click you're doing is your voice. Click more. I want to hear your voice only."
•He knows Genshin is not the only game you're playing. He doesn't show it but he's extremely jealous he's extremely annoyed at your inefficience. He will try to find a way to block you from ever going to Steam or any other game because he doesn't want you to put your energy in any other being besides him.
• He doesn't say "I love you". He says, "You're the greatest variable I've ever encountered my brilliant mind could never read."
• He won't let you delete the game or switch accounts. In fact, you won't be able to close the game at all. He thinks he's completely entitled to all your free time because you belong to him as the only one who understands him.
• "And here you thought I was just a part of this game. A grand mistake. But you're part of mine. I do not share my precious test subjects."
(psst psst here's my theory/hc about dottore breaking the 4th wall... okay??)
💬 1 🔁 1 ❤️ 26 · HC Dottore broke the 4th wall · I have a hc that our dearest Doctor realized that he's in the game and that's why he's doi
Hiii!! Could I possibly ask a request for Dottore’s segments? I was wondering if you could do cuddling headcannons for each one please and thank you 🥺 you can choose however short or long you want to make it! 💞
Heart's a Trigger
Segment 8:
Unlike the older segments, this version of Zandik was rather quiet and well-behaved.
When you found out from the original what made Segment 8 behave differently from other kids, your heart cried for him.
Unlike with other segments, Segment 8 saw you as just an older sister or a maternal figure.
He was very dodgy in the beginning, but you figured the best way to let him warm up to you was to just let him come to you instead.
Eventually, with time, and a lot of sweets and Aranara books and toys, Segment 8 warmed up to you enough to let you coddle him like a normal child.
Usually, it was you paying attention to him, making sure he didn't sneak off to the older Segment's dangerous experiments or conducting his own.
But sometimes, he'd slowly come to you, crawling on your lap, his wide eyes begging you to pet him.
He'd only do it in front of you or the segments older than 40; the younger/middle-aged ones chided him for it (not that they'd do it in front of you, of course, but you once caught Segment 18 throwing away 8's notebook for 'taking too much of your attention').
If you're busy, he'll do the quiet, lonely kid thing and go to the corner of your room and just play with his Aranara plushes or scribble in his notebooks, which makes him look even more pitiful in your eyes.
If you're working, you'd ask him to wait in a corner until you finish. Otherwise, if you're doing something you can do while sitting (reading, writing reports, etc.), you'd invite him to sit on your lap while you work.
Sometimes, he'd even fall asleep on you while talking about the different types of Aranaras and their habits.
All in all, clingy son. And acts like an only child with working parents and no one to pay attention to him (I'd know lol).
Segment 18:
Someone take his speaking privileges away. I beg of you.
Most opinionated version of Zandik. And the most impulsive of them all.
A headache to deal with, honestly. Other segments were either stubborn (25, Omega), too old to argue (45, 65, original), or just simply baby (Segment 8). But this guy was not only stubborn, but also did not know what he was talking about.
But he's also the most insecure of all.
Thinks he should be as knowledgeable as the older segments, but can't be due to his experience and age.
Is slightly envious of Segment 8, not because he gets your undivided attention, but because everyone can excuse his ignorance because he's a child.
Still doesn't excuse him from being a little cunt.
Warms up to you in a different way compared to Segment 8.
Loves, loves, LOVES it when you listen to his thesis (even if they're boring af)
Freezes up whenever he's given any sort of attention. Guys, give him a break. The most female exposure he's had to women of his age back then was with Soreh (doesn't help that he killed her later).
Thinks he's all high and mighty compared to Segment 8, until he's lying on your lap begging to be petted like some feral cat.
Loves cuddling, can't handle his heart.
Bash his head with a hardcover if he spouts nonsense, though, he does that a lot (you can hear Segment 8 giggling behind you).
Segment 25:
Another highly opinionated one, but actually has a developed frontal lobe this time (thank the Archons).
Not a very social one. There was a running joke among the Zandiks that if you ever wanted to look for this particular segment, there's a 99% chance you'll find him in the laboratory.
Doesn't mean you're unwelcome in his lab, you just have to wear a hazmat suit to be in it (tf you doin' in there bro-)
Unlike the younger Segments, he's actually confident in his research and ideals, often presenting them to the older Segments as well. SO he doesn't seek out your validation that often.
Which makes your relationship with him a bit more distant compared to the other Segments.
He's like that one hot doctor you occasionally see a few times a year.
Is very rarely up for cuddles. He has people to dissect.
Because he's so busy, he does get extremely exhausted at times.
This is when he looks for you.
Wouldn't even ask for cuddles, wouldn't even cuddle you back.
He'll just come up to you and flop down next to you, half of his body weighing you down.
Just your everyday overworked salaryman. Give him lots of kisses for his hard work pls :) (even if he didn't ask and will probably never return them himself).
Segment 35:
Stuck-up arsehole (affectionately).
The most possessive Segment out of all, even more than the original Zandik.
Similar to Segment 25 in many ways, except he's a lot more socialable than him.
Which makes you think that that's a good thing, until he uses those social skills of his to manipulate everyone.
Does not, and will not share you with anyone.
With him, it's less 'cuddling' and more 'restraining'. He holds you as if you'd fly away at any moment.
Yaps a lot too. He'd tell you all about his experiments and plans, holding you on his lap, whispering how he'd make you the proudest partner ever.
Hates the older Segments when they show up to steal you away, he knows he can't do much about them. The reason why he often chooses a remote, isolated area to spend time with you.
Is like a mix of Segment 18 and 25, but with the worst of their qualities.
Doesn't like to be spoiled or coddled, prefers to do it himself (it's a control thing idk). If you even try to spoil him, he'll immediately turn it on you for being the needy one
Teases you a lot, almost to the point of bullying you, but is very happy that you come to him when you feel like being spoiled.
Does the crow thing where he brings you shiny things. The shiny things being the crystallized heart of a Khaenri'ahn sinner (where did you even find this- no I DO NOT WANT THIS)
Segment 45:
Ahh, finally. A Segment with working braincells /j
Radiates confidence and charisma, but it wouldn't take you long to look at the bastard under that mask (like why were we flexing the Elixir of Immortality at Signora's funeral Zandik???)
But he's very sweet to people he's genuinely fond of. You, Segment 8, and Pantalone are a few.
Being the Segment tasked with public appearances, he's very suave and almost flirty.
Doesn't seek you out like the younger Segments, nor does he hold you hostage like Omega.
No, this man lures you in.
That fur coat isn't all for show, you know.
Oh nooo you forgot your jacket?? Want my coat you say?? But I was born in the dry heat of Sumeru I'm not used to the biting cold in Snezhnaya. Why don't you come closer so we can share it together.
PDA is a normal occurrence with him, you'd better get used to it.
Speaking of PDA it's not the intimate type either where he's just sucking your face in public. Since he's the most accustomed with social norms, he takes you out on dates and as his plus one to Fatui meetups/balls.
Gives off hot dad energy with his kid at PTA when he's with Segment 8 and you lmao.
Speaking of Segment 8, he's the most tolerant of all Segments towards him, almost like a dad.
Will also take him with you for family dinners :D
Segment 65:
Most chill Segment of Zandik methinks
He's also the most like the original Zandik, hence also closer to him
Wears the crow mask because he thinks his wrinkles make him less attractive than the younger segments (nooooo shy bby c'mere lemme kiss those for you)
Also a yapper, loves to mansplain. But like not a toxic masculine way, in the way your army vet uncle talks about his time in the war.
Casual cuddles with him. Always. He loves you're comfortable enough to just walk up to him and just lean your head on his shoulder.
Isn't as possessive or manipulative towards you compared to the other segments, but he has his fair share of things to say when Omega hogs you all for himself.
Tries to care about your hobbies than yap about his own research, asks whether you ate and what you did. Keyword: tries. He's still a nerd at his core, but it's cute that he cares.
Doesn't have to touch you to spend time with you. You could be reading a book, watching a movie or just sit in silence, and he'd just sit near you doing his own thing.
All in all, the best Segment to go to if you feel overwhelmed/overstimulated from others. He's like a capybara.
Only annoying thing are his old asian man noises.
Yk the ones. Sneezes loud enough to wake up the heavenly principles. Groans loudly as he gets up from his chair. Every moment has to feature a noise from his guts.
But it's okay cuz he hand feeds you Baklava :D
BONUS (short HCs cuz I know y'all hungry):
Webttore:
Never admits he cuddles you. Latches onto you like a baby Koala when you two are alone.
All the Zandiks have sharp teeth, this asshole is the only one to use it.
Gets cuteness aggression towards you, bites you hard. Will also bite your shoulders if they're exposed. He'll also squeeze you very, very hard (you always hear your spine popping whenever he does that)
Hates it when you come up to cuddle him, but will whine like kicked puppy if you decide to turn away and leave.
Tsundere-ttore
Original Zandik:
Poor old man who's just scared of dying and losing everything :( Holds you everyday like it's his last day on Earth.
The wrinklier the wrapper the sweeter the candy- WHATTTT who said that?? Jk he's a very sweet old man at this age.
Realizes from looking at his younger segments with you that he never truly cherished you for being by his side. Makes sure to spend his remaining days making sure you know (however short or long they are he doesn't know how long the elixir can make him live).
Isn't necessarily the smartest or strongest compared to his segments, but they know he has the authority to tell them to back off when they bother you too much.
Make sure to hold him and tell him how much he means to you, at least knowing the fact that he was wanted by the person he loves the most will allow him to pass away in peace during his final moments.
a/n: this one was already 3/4 done, so I decided to finish it and put it out before working on the others ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ). I'm still in a world of pain but I'm feeling much better also my folks took me out for lunch and dad got me a pint of mango ice cream ( ✧Д✧) (shoutout to dad for getting a whole pint instead of a scoop like mom asked him to lmao ily)
@luminarylorecat Do not repost, translate, adapt, feed into AI, or claim this work. Reblogs and links are appreciated; copying and reuploading are not.
idk, if thats a little too much, but dottores segment, 8, probably walks around alone soemtimes, what if reader met him and started to bond with him? Either, trying to bring him back home and meeting dottore, or 8 talking about reader and catching dottores attention. Feel free to ignore this
have a great dayyyy
໒⦂ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘.
notes. hello anon! tysm for the ask, it would be super cute if eight bonded with reader augh.. this is gonna center around them more but there will be some omega at the end dw<3
genre. fluff + hurt / comfort
tw. use of ‘dear’, mentioned / implied bullying
dottore x gn!reader. ( can be read as platonic )
he was just looking to get back to his section of the lab, really. straying off wasn’t intentional or anything like that, he was just.. taking a brief stroll — he did that sometimes, especially whenever his eighteen year old self got a little too handsy with his things.
namely the notebook he should probably glue to himself by this point, but then how would he be able to open and close it?
it was better to just walk away for awhile and find some peace of mind in a corner of the zapolyarny palace that any fellow segments wouldn’t dare venture off into. their business was in the labs, after all, and it wasn’t as if he was often addressed to provide input.
so what good was his presence if not to get his research hidden, sullied, thrown out or outright burned?
that said, he made more progress working in his lonesome. each stage of his life was spent that way, and he knew that well early on.
it wasn’t always desirable, but he learnt to deal with it — to value solitude over company that only wished to hinder and undermine his own choice of niche to study.
but there was a variable he hadn’t accounted for today, and that was you.
a letter was between your fingers, likely addressed to omega, as the original was no more. you appeared lost, slightly out of breath from what he could gauge, yet strangely in awe. perhaps you were still of the few recruits that had not yet learned of the existence of the segments, much less a child like himself.
calmly, he closed the notebook in his hands, holding one out to you. “if that is addressed to dottore, i can take that for you.” he offered before you could quite get a word in, wanting to make the exchange even just slightly easier. “i was just on my way back.”
but you hadn’t moved, merely blinking once and twice before closing your lips and lowering your gaze to the envelope between your gloved digits. “um,” you began, returning your eyes to his patient, ruby ones as you cleared your throat, awkwardly, the feather-light weight in your hands became prominent once more. “don’t even worry about that!” you smiled, getting down on one knee after a dismissive wave to comfortably face him. “more importantly- what’re you doing out here all on your own? you must be shivering without a coat!”
tensing at the accusation, there was little the youngest segment could say before a weight was suddenly settling around his shoulders, followed by the squeeze of hands. if he had to guess, you still hadn’t quite figured out who he was yet, or you must have thought him to be the child of whom the letter was addressed to.
all reasonable assumptions, hardly anything surprising.
“you get used to the temperature over time.” he answered with the fall of his shoulders, gaze drifting from yours to his worn shoes. “an afterthought, if you would.” having spent so long in snezhnaya already, it was something to simply become accustomed to, even if his origins were in the desert.
and if he was the only segment who struggled because of their shared origin, all due to his age, then that would make for more of a reason to be cast out.
at least the two oldest and the original ( back while he was still still running the show ) aren’t as cruel, given their understanding of his situation. but it wasn’t as if they could hover over him the entire time; they had work to do just as the rest of them did, which he had understood well enough.
when the warmth on his shoulders began to squeeze again, his crimson orbs flitted to your stare once more, watching the knot that wedged itself between your brows. did his statement upset you? he was only putting out the explicit truth — why did that bother you?
most didn’t like a liar — he knew he didn’t, especially whenever it was his stuff being hidden and he was only told false sympathies and condolences over the truth. so why were you displeased with his answer? was it better that he lied or said something terrible to shoo you away?
goodness, you were quite the confusing individual. “are my words.. disagreeable with you?”
silence again, but then a flicker in your eyes. as though you had remembered yourself along with where you were, and the point you were about to previously make.
or well, it looked that way, to him.
“i’m sorry, no disrespect to you whatsoever but.. shouldn’t you be, i dunno..”
“playing with toys? coloring? accompanied by my loving caregivers?” he interjected — flatly, but the politeness still yet lingered, even with the rather.. blunt choice of words. though they weren’t intended as sarcasm or as a means of antagonizing you.
again, they were merely guesses — educated ones based off of the now and past experiences.
closing your lips, your hands all but loosened around him as you pulled back just enough to give him space. “uh- well!” you cleared your throat in your fist, mentally cursing the alignment of your exact assumptions with his own. how was this kid picking up everything so easily? he was practically acting like an adult with the way he behaved — it felt.. unnatural.
not in a bad way, as there was such a thing as simply being mature for your age or even an ‘old soul’, as some liked to call it.. but it just felt a little melancholic to see.
and it would be rude to lie, if only to salvage whatever remained of your dignity. “..yes.” you finally decided to say, lowering your other knee to the frigid marble. “as far as i can see, you’re, y’know — a kid.. so forgive me if what i say might offend, but yeah. i would think you should be doing those things or at least be flanked by someone rather than walk alone.”
a brow a couple shades darker than his seafoam locks raised before falling, a low hum slipping from his lips as he brought his arm back to cradle his notebook. “interesting.” he returned, holding your gaze. “is that what you were going to offer? because you believe that i should be accompanied by someone wherever i go?” he then followed up, tilting his head a little with the inquiry.
it made it feel more genuine, scratching off the accusatory impression you almost would have gotten from it. this was, just his way of talking from what you could see so far. which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it was a small thing to take into account as not to respond in the wrong way.
he was just honest with his choice of wording, and not with the intention to offend or irk the other person through his assumptions. it was genuine curiosity that was being brought across.
“would you be fine with me if i did?” you then tried, gesturing behind you. “we’re going to the same place, so we could always, y’know, walk together.”
“who will walk you back after?” he parroted back, and you’ll give it to him — he sure had that tendency children had for asking every question known to mankind.
it was making it progressively harder to continue to meet his every rebuttal, as you were gradually running out of answers.. however you were still in, whatever this was. “we can figure that out when we get there, okay?” you finally said, rising with a quiet noise of strain before holding out your hand to him to take. “for now, we should get going so we’re not loitering the halls for too long.”
peering down at your open palm, he blinked once and then twice before glancing at his shoulder and then back at you. “would you like your coat back?” he spoke up, prepared to shrug off the warmth around his arms, but you were.. suddenly shaking your head. rapidly.
“no, that’s for you to wear — i was just..” you paused, looking down at your hand and then at him before awkwardly returning it to your side. “nevermind — let’s start heading over.” you supplied instead, smiling meekly at the crimson eyed boy.
proposing to hold hands because he was a kid was not something entirely uncommon, but this little guy differed.. fundamentally from most children. he didn’t seem like the type to want to be coddled, so you didn’t want to put that upon him, certainly after just having met him.
it just felt like instinct to extend that comfort, as most kids usually wanted or needed that.. but it was evident that this one didn’t.
so the coat would do — hopefully.
the walk was expectedly silent. neither of you had much to say, but that was okay! he took to letting you accompany him and for you, that was enough. it wasn’t as if the stretch to your destination was all that far, anyway, maybe a couple more minutes at best until you reached.
adjusting the coat around his shoulders somewhere along the way, his eyes drifted to the hand at your side — the one that was held out to him previously.
if it wasn’t held out before to ask for your coat back, then there was another reason.
likely not in request of something, as the only thing he had on him as of this moment was.. well, his notebook — and what good would that do you?
no, you were.. putting something out — your hand.
a beat passed, followed by another and then the rustle of leather against the fabric of his clothing.
then, a coolness wrapped around your fingers.
it made you blink, nearly stumbling in your tracks, but you knew better than to call attention to the action.
and so, you continued as though little had changed, only shifting your hand around his to gently hold it in yours for the remainder of the trek.
before you both knew it, the lab was separating its doors to welcome you both in.
antiseptic was in the air minutes ahead of making it inside, although the scent intensified upon direct exposure to the source from which it came. an after effect from being a sterile environment, you supposed.
the kid to your side didn’t seem all that bothered, however, and took to leading the way deeper into the heart of the laboratory.
if the circumstances were anything but the delivery of a letter, you might have actually been nervous, but everything seemed okay so far.
apart from the assortment of scarlet hues, both visible and hidden, that bore into you as though an out of place variable in their domain. was there a lack of notice?
whatever it was, you stuck to following the kid, ignoring the chills that crept down the expanse of your spine as your eyes drifted from tank to equipment to apparatus. this guy was no joke, neither were his.. whatever they were, but you had to stay strong.
at some point his hand left yours to glide across a numeric keypad like muscle memory, revealing a final room where a tall silhouette of a man older than the figure beside you had stood.
he wore a crow-like mask over his eyes that you had only heard about from rumors when he glanced behind him, lips pursed together in something akin to ire.. but then they were parting, and gradually stretching into a cordial smile.
“ah, there you are, eight. and rather bundled up i see.” the man mused out, putting down whatever he was working with to approach you both. “would this be the owner of the coat around your shoulders?”
stiffening, your eyes lowered to the boy at your side — eight, noting the tiniest shift in posture, although his expression remained unyielding.
guarded.
“they brought a letter for you.” he stated in lieu of answering, shifting his arms around the notebook cradled to his chest — protectively. “from her majesty, i assume.”
the older hummed, turning his attention to you. “is that so?” he spoke up, pale locks spilling with the tilt of his head.
it made your tongue dry out, but you didn’t delay with nodding at his question, swallowing your nerves. “it’s as he says — yes. i was asked to bring this to you, lord harbinger. i hope i’m not interrupting in any way, and that it isn’t of any issue to have been brought here by your- um..” you paused, glancing down at the younger. “eight, right?”
ruby orbs stared back up at you upon being asked about his name, to which he dipped his head once. “correct.”
taking the letter that was then held out to him, dottore placed it on his desk with another noise of consideration, waving you off with the flick of his wrist. “not at all, her majesty’s word is absolute. it would be a great disrespect to not drop everything for her word.” he spoke up, chuckling softly. “but yes, that would be my younger self, eight.”
another lump passed through your throat as you looked between the pair, blinking as you did. “oh — i thought that..”
“that he was my son?” the doctor interjected, leaning against the worn wood of his desk. “a common misconception.” he added curtly, strumming his fingers idly against the envelope.
it made something twist in your gut — at how nonchalant he was acting, but you kept your composure- your professionalism. “apologies, in that case, for assuming.” you returned as measured as you could manage, lowering your head in a bow before turning on your heel. “if that will be all, i’ve done my part, so- if you’ll excuse me..”
a tug to your clothing before a step could quite be taken brought your attention down south — to the kid at your side who was holding out the coat you had previously draped around him.
he didn’t smile, but there was an inkling of sympathy in his eyes. “here, before you forget.” eight spoke up, letting go only when your fingers had grasped the article of clothing.
prepared to quietly thank him, you were startled into silence when he spoke again- bringing up what you had hoped he would have forgotten by now.
“did you figure out who will walk you back yet?”
no, no you did not — and you weren’t planning on it either. but with the way he stared up at you with those flat yet curious rubies, it felt criminal to lie and go back against his word.
a soft sigh left you, lips pulling into a strained smile as you crouched to his height once more. “i haven’t, no.. but maybe i’ll run into someone on the way like i did with you.” unlikely, as no one would dare come this way willingly.
but the answer seemed to suffice, as the younger segment nodded, watching as you straightened your posture shortly after to continue your trek.
and you would have made it out the door, were it not for the rather.. audible ‘ahem’ that halted you in your tracks.
“i don’t believe i dismissed you yet, my dear.. and if my younger self speaks of your requiring an escort of some kind,” dottore spoke up, approaching your side to offer a hand. “then perhaps i might be able to accompany you on your way back. the path can be considerably extensive — confusing, even, for those who don’t walk around these parts as often..” in other words, he proposed that you might get lost somewhere along the way.
which was a possibility, all things considered.. but no less embarrassing to be told.
even still..
allowing your gaze to fall from his masked appearance to the outstretched hand, you stole a glance behind him to eight — as if asking for some semblance of approval, to which he.. well, just shrugged.
whatever that meant.
refusing a harbinger felt like treachery in itself, certainly the second. he was feared- respected for a plethora of reasons, possibly because of that terror he could strike into those around him.. but he was a person, nonetheless, and someone who was extending his company despite claiming to have been busy.
that and, eight had.. obviously wanted for you to be walked as you had walked him.
the decision was easy from there, even if the hairs on your skin were not quite lowering. “if it doesn’t take away from your work.. then it’d be greatly appreciated, lord harbinger.”
smiling at your response, and the hand that had slid into his, he pressed the same keys that his younger self had entered to open the doors, humming softly. “how considerate of you. i’m sure a couple minutes of mine can be spared, eight and the others have managed for longer periods.” dottore reassured, ushering you out of the extensions of the lab you had previously crossed and back into the halls that had brought you here.
truthfully, the atmosphere he had to offer was.. immensely different from the younger. this one had quite a lot to say, and was less reserved, but it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
you were nervous, no doubt about that. but..
his conversation and company weren’t entirely unpleasant.
perhaps if you crossed paths again, it wouldn’t be so horrible to be in his presence once more.
notes. my parting gift before i am silenced for a week about this man and anything to do with him.. hope you guys like black swan from the hit game honkai star rail.. she’s taking the spotlight..
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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You woke up before the sun did. This is a common and daily occurrence for you. Working for Dottore, who has many segments and never seems to rest, the period of time where you rest is most inconvenient to him.
“You’re late.”
His cutting voice is the first thing you heard when you entered his lab. He wasn’t even looking at you, staring at a few vials and writing down whatever information he was getting from it.
“It’s 4:28. I’m two minutes early actually.” You said, settling in, finding your place next to him, taking over the notetaking so he could go do actually start his experiments instead of babysitting the vials.
“Talk back again and I’ll carve your tongue out.”
Sensing his foul mood, you decided not to push. He was always like this for the first hour, but by the time the sun rises, he’ll be more palatable.
Hearing the distinct sound of papers rustling forcefully, you opened your mouth “I went over the last data samples last night before heading to bed and already sent them over to the DH4 lab. They should finish processing at 8:04 if working at max efficiency.”
He was silent but his jaw clenched, clearly still upset. As he exited the lab, you sighed, knowing you needed to follow. So finishing up with the notes, writing a summarising conclusion, you placed the pen down. Going to dispose of the chemicals quickly, you left the notes with a passing segment before leaving to go after him.
Once in the hallway, you couldn’t see him at all, but you already knew where he went. Without the Khaenri'ah data, he couldn’t continue so he was most likely going to containment area G83 for checking out previous experiments to see if anything new developed.
Just as you were about to head in, you were stopped by an agent. “Miss [name], these are for you.” You blinked, as he handed over a few papers. Noting the badge on his chest, he was from Regrator so this must be about the funding request.
Flipping through the pages, you scanned the agreement. Taking out a pen and uncapping it with your mouth, you signed whatever needed signing and marked a few key points before handing it back. “Please inform the Regrator, he’s not entitled to the lab’s results. If he wishes to know, that’s fine, but we won’t be going out of our way to send over the data.”
“Understood.” And with that he left.
But another agent made his way over, “Miss [name], these are the newly trained recruits that have been assigned to Lord Dottore.” he said, handing you more papers.
Your brow furrowed since the list looked longer than usual. Looking through the draft, you noted something strange. “There’s almost double the amount from last time. I thought Dottore was at the bottom of recruitment priority.”
“Yes, that’s correct, but 27 recruits had requested to serve under him.”
You paused, looking up to raise an eyebrow at him, “Really?” letting out a small amused scoff, your eyes went back to the papers, “Do they value their lives? Putting their existence in the hands of that psychopath.”
The agent froze at your words, but you paid him no mind.
“Alright, have them report to me at daybreak in two business days. Not to Dottore himself.”
“Understood—”
He was cut off as the door slammed open. “What do you think you’re doing.” Dottore’s voice was clipped and cold. “You dare keep me waiting.” Everything coming out of his mouth was by definition a question, yet someone like him never questions, he demands.
You waved off the agent, who looked about five seconds from pissing himself, “You’re dismissed.” Turning to him, you looked up since he was close enough that one step would have you two touching, “My apologies. I’ve received news that the funding should be hitting our account today.”
His glare seemed to lessen slightly, “I don’t care for that. Subject F9–I from the slime integration is acting up.”
You bowed, “I’ll retrieve the files.”
□■□■□
Opening your bedroom door, you were expecting to see all 33 new recruits, yet you only came face to face with 12. Your hand went up to pitch the bridge of your nose, “How many of them are sleeping in and how many went directly to Dottore?”
“Uh, my roommate and her friend went to Lord Dottore’s office. I tried to—”
You raised a hand to cut him off, “Okay, good. Anyone else have any information?” Soon they all went around and told you whatever they knew. Seven of them were still in bed, apparently unable to wake up, while 14 of them had gone to Dottore.
“Alright, take this. One for each of you.” You handed them a pile of papers. “What you have is a report format. Head to the Archives, section C3 subsection 9 and compile a report on the listed topics. After that, hand it in to me for review. Take as long as you need. Don’t wander. Don’t talk to Dottore or the segments unless they speak to you first. If they’re telling you to do something, do it. If you don’t know how, don’t show them that and come to me. I’ll tell you. If you have any problems, come to me. If you wish to transfer, come to me with the paperwork already filled out. Dismissed.”
Turning on your heel, you made your way over to Dottore. You weren’t running, but your pace wasn’t leisurely by any means. You spotted a group in front of the office, thankfully not having gone in yet.
They turned to you as you walked closer. “You’re all fired.” Their eyes widened, as they began to protest. You cut them off with a wave of your hand. “You’re unable to follow orders from your superior. No harbinger is in need of subordinates who can’t take orders.”
“We serve Lord Dottore, not you!”
“No. You work in the Second Harbinger’s division. You are fresh recruits, starting from the bottom. Everyone is above you in rank. You see me as one of you because there’s no one else in this division that isn’t me, Dottore, or one of his segments. You have misunderstood your position, place, and authority.”
Walking to the door, you don’t even bother glancing at them, “You’re dismissed. Go and pack your things. Just to be clear, I’m not saying you can’t serve in the division, I’m telling you that your services are no longer needed at the Fatui at all. Seeing as none of you have worked, you will not be compensated."
“On what grounds can you just straight up fire us!” / “That’s not fair!” / “You don’t have the authority to do this!”
Suddenly, the door opened. “What’s with all the ruckus?” Dottore—no. It was one of the segments. His eyes met yours before looking at the recruits. “What’s going on?”
“Lord Dottore! Please, we’re being unjustly fired!”
He raised an eyebrow, “[name] is dismissing you?”
“Yes! And—”
“Then what are you all still doing here? Get out of my sight.” he turned to go back into the office. “Prime is at the lab working on the automatons. You’re already 20 minutes late.”
