some harbingers and how they prefer to share their bed with you (fluff, comfort)
ft. arlecchino, dottore, pantalone, sandrone
ARLECCHINO
Definitely a big spoon. She doesn't hold you close to her chest, but she does keep her arms around you in a way that feels secure. She never asks to cuddle in the first place, usually one to slot into bed after hours of work and simply pull you to her. If she had a stressful day, or a day that left her annoyed and irritated, she might gently caress your arms with her nails; simple reminders of you physically in her arms do wonders at relaxing her in the late night. On rare occasion she'll talk low, asking about your day in whispers that leave you warmer than intended.
DOTTORE [OMEGA]
He has a very specific way of sharing bed with you. He starts his wind-down with reports in bed, often demanding you lay by his side and rest your head on his chest. He keeps an arm firm around you as he reads, sometimes aloud if he wants to either hear himself talk or hear what you have to say in response. Once he's either bored or finished reading, he'll pull you a little closer, just enough where you can hear his heart beat and feel the rumbles of his voice from his chest.
PANTALONE
Loves having you close in any capacity. His bed is huge, silk sheets and the softest pillows you could imagine, and he loves having you with him. Often times he'll read aloud to you from whatever novel he's currently on, engaging with you in commentary on aspects of the story, leaned into your space while you curl into him. Sometimes he'll shuffle into bed and say nothing but pull you against his chest, hands resting right above your beating heart, and other times he'll simply flip you over and tuck your head under his chin.
SANDRONE
While she doesn't really need sleep, she does enjoy being the little spoon. Often times she complains in your arms about the day she's had, going on about this and that while keeping herself close to you. If you shift or move away, she'll stop herself and go "where are you going?" Very demanding of the shared time in bed with you. Sometimes she sleeps on top of you just because she's heavier than she seems, and it acts both as a way to keep you with her for the night, and to keep your arms around her.
He asks you something and you struggle to answer? He's leaning all up in your face and waiting, even if its only making you struggle more. working on something? He's leaning over your shoulder and talking in your ear and yes hes definitely doing that on purpose and honestly if he presses up against you and digs his chin into your shoulder any harder you'd think he's trying to be your own shoulder bird mantle cape thing whatever
He keeps a very respectful workplace distance of an inch between you two when you're talking to someone else. he starts fiddling with your clothes if the conversation isn't very engaging. pinch him at your own discretion.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
Just imagine accidentally walking into the room at the wrong time, knowing Dottore will be in his rare leisure hour for the day that he already rarely gives himself. You can smell the tea he likes to brew to unwind after a long day through the door.
And when you open it, there they are. Zandik has Feofan’s legs braced in either hand as he pummels straight into him, over and over. The Regrator’s leaking, neglected dick bobs in the air with every thrust as his head falls back onto the table that’s contents have been scattered about the floor in a rush.
Their moans are so pretty together. Feofan whimpers and breathes hard as his ass gets filled by Zandik’s cock, while the latter grunts and groans and says all of the filthiest things to his colleague.
“You love being treated like a slut, don’t you, Feofan? Taking my cock like this after reinstating our contract. Is this my true payment to you?”
And Pantalone is just losing his mind, drying cum coating his lower stomach as his next load prepares to splatter in the same place. And he’s right there, his moans picking up in volume and his toes curling and the feeling settling deep in his stomach and-
Zandik stops.
Feofan whines in protest.
“When did you arrive?”
Uh oh.
The two men stare at you, look back at each other, look back at you again, and their dicks throb even harder.
And poor you, Dottore’s little infatuation, accidentally walked in on their noisy, improper fucking. Neither man scowled nor chastised, nor did they rush to cover themselves up. Instead, they regarded you almost quizzically, as if formulating plans in their heads left unspoken to your ears.
“Come” demanded Dottore in a soft but stern tone.
You walked to his side immediately, unsure of, really, what else to do. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His mask wasn’t on at this time.
As he looked down at you, you noticed that Pantalone’s moans begun to come back in soft, short bursts. Zandik was moving his hips again, slowly, tantalizingly.
“Now, what I’ll do with you,” The Doctor began,
Dottore grabbed the base of the other man’s cock, lowering you down to take him all in one go. Pantalone almost screamed.
He made short work of your clothes, planting his hands firmly at your waist as he continued to fuck into Feofan still, your feet lifting off the ground as you were placed atop him, hovering just above his needy, weeping cock.
“…is make you useful.”
“Do a good job and I’ll forget this little disturbance ever happened.”
The bastard was having far too much.
The feeling of Feofan’s cock having filled you completely almost felt too much, and you begun to ride him in hopes of relieving the pressure. The two of you cried and whined and whimpered all to the pleasure of Zandik’s ears as he plowed his ass, keeping one hand on your hip to guide you up and down on his cock at the same time.
Feofan came hard inside of you at the same time that Dottore came into him, sending you over the edge in a blissful crescendo.
Dottore pulled back, admiring the two of you still on one another.
“Right, then. Both of you, collect yourselves and see yourselves out.”
Dottore becomes infatuated with you hard and fast, while Pantalone is slow and steady.
That isn't to say that Dottore falls in love immediately. He is not that type of man; but he watches you for the telltale signs that you are a kindred spirit. That you have been rejected by the norms of society, that you are lonesome, that you too are looking for someone like him. He asks the questions meant to dig and find out those answers, and each time you respond in the affirmative - You've been so lonely since coming to the Fatui, you've always been a bit of an outsider, you wish you had someone you could be yourself around - the Doctor’s chest grows tighter with his fondness for you. He seeks excuses to have you in his lab to pepper you with questions, seeking your approval; he wants your focus on him entirely, never mind the other Fatui or, Archons forbid, the other segments. And when you, too, start to feel the budding blossoms of a crush building within you...well, by that point, he is all too happy to make you his as soon as possible, slow and steady "courting" be damned.
Pantalone is, in a sense, the opposite; he is immediately attracted to the way someone carries themself, how they speak, whether their words have any value at all... If you have what catches his eye, he does not go all in, all at once, however - he takes his time. Not savouring it so much as making sure his instinct was right (it is) and then, finding the best ways to approach you. What smooth and sultry words have you squirming and flustered, what offers of outings - a walk through Snezhnograd, a fine meal at a local restaurant - have your eyes glistening in anticipation? It's curation and calculation, surely, but...it's also caution. He has been hurt from mistrust before - those who offered to help him only to harm him, those who sold him out after luring him in, and the pain (physical and emotional) that followed thereafter. He doesn't want a repeat of it, even as he convinces himself he is strong enough to withstand it today (he isn't). So he eyes you purposefully for months, letting the anticipation in your belly grow, until at last he takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a chivalrous kiss and says, "My dear, after all this time beating around the bush, would you do me the honours of accompanying me to next week's Fatui banquet?"
Zandik's hands weren't what they used to be. You find a different way to comfort him.
Established OldZandik/reader. Reader wears dresses. Inspired by a post on twitter from psychxbby about nail painting and old Zandik wanting to be useful again.
On AO3 here.
It was almost done. Weeks of studies, months of pain.
His joints never cooperated anymore.
Trembling, he inhaled and exhaled slow as a single grain of sand through an hourglass before gliding the thin brush over the canvas. The brush jittered, as it always did, and he cursed in old Sumerian as he tried to scrap off the excess with his knife, leaving a scar on your dress.
The lighting that day had been perfect. Deep red satin shining in the afternoon. A perfect, shining gem coveted for its luster and cut.
His days were numbered. So many patients said they felt their body failing them. Feofan had confessed as such over the decades.
His hands had always been so steady, so capable. Surgery was nothing more than child’s play. Fine motor work that was second nature, honed and refined in long hours few ever bothered with. Painting was your forte, your second love, but you’d taught him with patience that almost outpaced his own.
How did someone barely in their third decade be so willing to wait? At that age, he was only patient when it mattered, but you?
You felt at ease in this world. He didn’t so much envy you as he did long to capture it, understand it, so he too could feel it, one day.
Zandik stepped back from the canvas, brow furrowed as he forced his bad eye to focus. Depth perception was difficult and his heart sank.
Nothing but a shadow. Colors stood too sharp against one another, his fingers having been too sore for longer blending periods. It was obvious he’d had more energy for your face, the finest part of the entire masterpiece. Ten years ago, this would have been so easy.
Useless.
Old.
Decrepit.
Why did you bother with him, he wondered. This was meant to be your birthday present, the way he saw you and what you meant to him.
Would you feel compelled to fix it? Straighten the lines, smooth the colors, make quick work of his shaky splatters?
He couldn’t hold a wrench anymore, nor were his eyes good for small mechanisms. With all of the major projects outsourced to the better and more capable parts of himself, this was all he had left. How else did one capture their world visually?
He sat down, palette knife in hand, contemplating just slashing the thing to pieces.
“Zandik?”
Your voice, a melody.
One he didn’t deserve, not right now. The sentiment must have shown or you would not have hesitated as you said, “I can come back.”
He held out a hand, dropping the knife and beckoning you. You took it upon reaching him, fingers finding the sore joints you always worked. So warm, like morning sun on dewed grass.
Your appraising silence was a strange comfort to the voice in his head.
“You are unhappy with it, I take it?” you asked, nestling onto his leg, skirts rustling as you pulled the palette knife from his other hand.
“I can’t do anything anymore,” Zandik whispered. “What good am I, when parts of me are so much more efficient, quicker witted, not prone to failure? What do you see in me?”
You pressed a hand to his cheek and he turned to look at you, still barely halfway through life and full of vigor. Eyes that spoke far beyond their years. Those were always his favorite part of you, so expressive, vibrant.
“I see a man determined,” you started. “Who sacrifices himself in hopes of breaking a wheel he may not be around to see shatter.”
You picked up a brush and without breaking your thought, mixed colors nearby.
“Who looks at the world and understands he still has much to learn, even now.”
Skilled hands filled in the space above your shoulder, painting hands, a jacket, red eyes.
“Who looks at me as if I am a marvel despite having experienced every cruelty this world has to offer. Who has let me chip away at the rational transitional walls that stood between us for many years and given me a treasure unimaginable.”
His eyes stung but through a fog, he saw a soft expression, watched as you turned your pose from a stoic mirror into a dynamic, private moment. Your pose originally involved looking off to the side, away from the viewer, but now you looked at the new figure.
Him.
Two styles, not quite clashing but not blending together, either. Faces the only parts in focus.
“I see a man who loves me, Zandik. And that has always been enough.”
He pulled you closer once you put the tools aside, burrowing his head against you. Other parts might say he grew sentimental in his old age despite ripping apart his soul. Perhaps he had. What else was there for the world to teach him?
It was a lesson he was grateful to have finally learned.
The departure of Zandik has left you in turmoil and deep depression. Unfortunately the Segment 35 does not understand grief.
The latest part of this series.
Nights have become nightmarish.
When the sun was up, it was eat and sleep. The naps produced endless tossing and turning, not many dreams.
Yet lately, your dreams when the moon was up have been tormenting you in a way you couldn't even begin to explain.
Many were unlikely things you wouldn't expect of yourself. Moments of tenderness you never got to share. Placing gentle kisses of Zandik’s cheeks and knuckles, so he knows he’s loved.
Praying that these small acts of affection could force into his perception the unwavering love you had for him. His hands, older and more frail than yours, held firmly in your palms. His face, which you had lost the details of, cradled in your fingers as you tell him, report to him, that he was the best thing in your life.
Emotions would pass on his face, but you were so lost you could not understand them.
Other sequences forced you to recoil. Lying atop him and getting the sense he was thinking, his brilliant mind turning the cogs. Intimate, more than friends, just less than lovers, you rest on his chest; A comfort you couldn't imagine.
In a horrifying grasp, the pleasant thought delves until you are paralyzed. Slowly, you begin to feel, as though a sixth sense, that Zandik’s thought was waning. His mind coming to failure as his chest began to cave, as though he was decaying. Frozen, you can’t even clutch him, try to prevent his departure.
Insects passed you by as they fled with the remnants of Zandik and, sickeningly, you begged them to hide within you. Infest you as they would the dead, so you could hold him longer, keep him within.
But they did not hear you.
Swarming away and leaving you with just his bones, your head no longer upon the warm chest of your dearest one, but in the cold rib cage of your dearest lost. Shrunken, trapped. Holding the bars, standing where the heart of Zandik should be.
In a way, the two kinds of dreams were the same to you. The mere absence, and what could have been. Your Zandik has left a wound that refuses to close.
What hurt more? That you could have done things differently, shown Zandik more love, or that, because life was out of your control, Zandik was always going to die this way?
Never in a million lifetimes was his death going to be avoided. How useless must you be, you wonder.
As you awoke wailing, pulling at your hair and finding your cries were so thick they caught in your throat, crackling, you felt no different than in that dream.
Caged with your dead. An apt description. In the rare moment between your grief, you berated yourself with the belief that this was not normal.
No normal person grieved like this.
Normal life was devastated by Zandik. Your misery was stuck between screams of agony and your sentences could only form apology for what surely must have been your lack of effort.
Pathetic, useless, better than this. You would shove cruelty toward yourself down your own throat. The insults would hit your ear before your brain registered what it said.
Moments would pass before you caved in once more. How could you possibly be better than this? How could Zandik deserve any less?
Did Zandik not deserve a million days of loving grief to make up for the million days of no love at all?
Effort was no issue, for the tears you shed came as easily as the drinking the water it took to make them.
Oh, but what use are sobs to the dead?
And so the cycle repeats.
Had the day started earlier, would you have been there to help Zandik? He was human, after all, and would have never turned you down.
Should you have chosen to neglect your Fatui jobs and ran to his side, would his fall have been just a tiny bump in a Happy Birthday?
Could you at least tell Zandik you loved him?
Mourning though you were, the man that had died also seemed to haunt you.
Imagine the horror. Knowing the only part of the man you loved that exist are the worst parts of him.
Segments.
They sent their youngest first. You thought, surely this one would be fine to entertain. Acquiring knowledge of your beloved’s childhood could be nice.
Tiny and terrible, the 8-year-old was bull-headed in his beliefs and ended up saying cruel things to your regarding your sorrows. You had no choice but to kick him out and got nothing from the experience.
Blatant disregard for their creator, they all display.
Eight came first, then 18, than 65, and so forth.
Only once did your door open again after 8, for 18, but this proved fruitless as well.
Eighteen was a defensive man and he kindly offered his regards before flipping a switch when you said you didn't want visitors right now.
From flowers and fervent falacies, a blushing try-hard boy, to a worthless worn egotistical waste of your time.
Despite the door being slammed, he didn't stop screaming.
Hence, you stopped opening the door.
Shut in, you begun keeping your records on your desk. The Dottore’s came roughly once a week, so you had some time.
Crippling as your depression was, you piled all your research together to rid yourself of the pain.
Life elixer was a complicated recipe you once tried to replicate in hopes of praise, but the result was not quite satisfactory. Yours was effectively a stabilizer, slowing decay and repairing skin deep injuries. You used it to keep fresh specimens, like an acquaintance’s pet who’d needed some serious work done, alive when between surgeries.
For yourself, it’d be just fine.
Details were of little consequence, as your ideas were little more than pipe dreams, as lacking in resources as you were. As you gathered the papers into a file, you pondered whether you could do such a thing…
An upside to never opening the door was that you saw Zandik’s face less.
Misery struck you everytime you were made to look at the Segments. Your dearest one… had his face plastered on his most impressive accomplishments.
Accomplishments that loomed like hands of death over your life. There weren't enough words to describe the fear you felt of them.
Violence was nothing all that new, especially in the Fatui, but everyone kept their hands off you in fear of Zandik’s wrath.
For once, though, Zandik could not protect you.
And he certainly couldn't protect you from himself.
Pounding that shook the bells on your door, like that which you'd hear at a funeral, ripped you from thoughts and plunged you into quaking fear.
You could dismiss 8, 18, and 25.
45 and 65 were but brief visitors.
But 35 would tear your entrance from its hinges to avoid hearing your refusal.
Painfully annunciated, your name fell from 35’s velvet lips, “Miss, you’ve sulked long enough. Allow me in, we’ll have a talk.”
Like hell you’ll just talk… 35 is going to drag you out of this house, you feel it like your bone marrow was warning you.
Leave, you demanded. Leave you and tell all your sub-human Segments the same. You had nothing to say to the ghosts of a dead man.
“I thought you might say as much, so I took the liberty of requesting something of a warrant. You did, after all, steal a few things from the lab.”
Shit! 35 had keys to your house, you heard him shake the metal pieces. The cabin was given to you by the Fatui, you should have assumed that, regardless of if he was the true Harbinger, a Harbinger could gain entry.
Frightened like a pitiful mouse, you climbed your loft and pulled the curtain. You wished you could run… Archons, you need to run!
Blame what you will, the lack of decent sleep, the minimal water, the bare bones amount of food, but you were petrified.
Clicks sounded the opening of your door and for a moment, the cold entered. The cold could honestly be the wind, or 35 himself.
“It’s childish to hide from me. What is that you’ll think I’ll do? Have I ever given reason to be afraid?”
Of course, you responded. By being an incomplete freak of nature alone, you found reason to avoid him.
Nothing here belongs to the Segments, you rebutted. Including yourself. You aren't sure why they've become so persistent, but you absolutely despise it.
Segment 35 spotted you behind the curtain and took some steps toward the loft, so his torso and head appeared in your like of sight.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You yourself belonged to Zandik. It’s only fitting you are redistributed to the rest of us. No need for selfishness.”
Selfish?! You couldn’t help but yell at him, you’d think he knew what selfishness truly was, given is complete shit track record! Not wanting to work alongside your dearest person’s ghosts wasn't selfishness, you’d argue you were preserving your sanity!
“Ghosts? Do I looked like a ghost to you miss?”
Teasing, 35 gave you a poke. He hardly saw your angry words as threat or insult.
He looks like someone better off dead, you spat. He wears the face of Zandik, but the two are nothing alike. 35 thinks he's so special, but he’s just a gross imitation, something incomplete that can’t ever-!!!
Clasping around your throat, like a viper, in an instant, 35 had taken your neck into his fingers.
While you had seen it on his face, his patience thinning and dwindling, you hadn't foreseen it snapping so suddenly. You expected warning signs or words of caution.
Tightening, 35 dragged your body closer to his as you fawned and stayed low to the ground. He wasn't predictable anymore. He had left your predictions completely.
Knees came onto the loft as 35 drug your cowarding body beneath him, your head, laid to its side, between his crouched legs.
“I hadn’t taken you for a fool. You’d say such cruel things to even I?”
Wide eyes were pinned to 35’s face as you stayed limp on the floor before him. You found it horribly pathetic, but it was out of your control.
The very love of your life, his face, has grabbed you by the throat and dragged you across the floor in anger.
To some degree, to perhaps a large degree, the idea that Zandik would have ever done such a thing hurt. Would your love have hurt you in this way?
Time seemed to be going backwards thanks to these ugly Segments. The real, original, Zandik was so very human and ever-changing. He valued your companionship and was so gentle with you.
Yet now you were faced with the very same face, strangling you on the floor of your own home.
You knew it wasn't truly him, but how do you tell that to your brain?
Thus, you were making yourself small and physically submitting in a way that made your stomach sink. Your body was treating this scenario as though it was Zandik doing this.
Pain from your loved one… you hadn't thought yourself the type to except it so readily.
“It seems your body at least knows who it should be listening to.”
Gripping tighter, 35 taunted you.
“Zandik may have let you off the hook at every turn, but I will not. You are under my care now, you have no choice.
I take it the Tsaritsa isn't yet aware you opted out of employment. She doesn't have to know. But if you don’t actually start working… I may have a slip of tongue.
I will see you, on time, tomorrow for your shift. Do not be late.”
Briefly, 35 pushed your neck into the ground, like telling you to stay, before departing.
Slamming shut, the second your door was closed, you burst into tears once more.
Life cannot truly be this for you, you were miserable. You can’t take this…
You won’t take this!
Jumping from the loft and almost eating the floor, you began packing your things…
Sorry this one took so long and is so short. I have two different illnesses and they make me sleepy. I sleep an average of 11 hours at a time and I still have to go to work. Wish I could make money from writing or art. But alas, both very hard to get into professions.
paring: Feofan (Pantalone) x bookkeeper!reader.
words: 854
warnings: smoking, gn!reader
summary: reader is Feofan's book-keeper, watching over his transactions and earnings when he can't. After a meeting they both run into eachother on a balcony, for the same reason: A crisp ciggarette as the cold bites on their cheeks.
a/n: again with a very short one! i don't know what is up w me recently. I get these flash ideas for scenarios more than long fics. BUT i hope you enjoy it regardless.
Snow falls on the Zapolyarny Palace’s dome in small clutters as the evening rolls in. The dark clouds are being painted by the sunset as it struggles to shine behind them.
The echoing voices of the Harbinger’s in the grand-room below you subside as you rise from your desk. Your hands are stained with void-black ink and traces of red. You have been stamping, signing, sealing documents and shipments permits for all kinds of cargo.
Different cups were piled up at the edge of the desk, one was fancy. A couple were chipped and worn and the last one was plucked directly from your employer’s collection, with permission of course.
You stretch your arms over your head and crack your knuckles as you reach for your coat, throwing it on haphazardly. A well earned cigarette was what you needed at the moment.
You had been smoking while filing through the papers. The ashtray was overflowing with crooked buds and ash, but you wanted to feel the rush of the cold wash over you.
You grab your cigarette holder. A sleek silver box with your name engraved in an elegant coursive, it was a gift from Feofan’s of course, he had gifted it to you a year into working with him, after he discovered your shared vice.
A soft smile pulls from your lips as you step out into the balcony, opening the box to pluck a thick brow cigarette.
As you lean against the railing, the door open behind you. The ninth harbinger walks in, dressed in and elegant suit, topped with a pair of gloves. He delicately strides over to the balcony entrance.
“Sir.” The title leaves your lips with decision. “I have reviewed all the lesser shipments and records. I left the classified enveloped for you.”
He nods and takes out his own pack, but stops before grabbing one. It was empty. The plastic-like paper crinkle as he clenches his fist around it. “Ah, i believe i am out of sticks.” He says in a flat tone, closed eyes not openig yet.
You straighten up, and reach to urge one of your own cigarettes to him. “Here, Sir.”
He tilts his head towards you, smile pulling at his lips. “Right. Thank you, my dear.” He slides it between his lips and lights it. The flame reflects against his thin glasses. The cinnamon mixed with Sumerian tabacco hits his lungs as he exhales. “It's always this sweet scent with your cigarettes, Isn’t it?”
You light your own. “I suppose. They feel light but still give me the satisfaction, sir.”
He smiles and walks back inside, grazing his hand against the desk. He picks up an empty cup, the one from his collection. The stong, black coffee had dried around the bottom. He brings it up to his nose and takes a small wiff. “Excellent blend.” Feofan settles the mug back on the wooden desk.
You take a drag of your cigarette. “Only the best.” Your lips pull over your teeth in a sheepish grin.
He walks around, taking in your office. The scattered papers, the dog-eared books, the half-melted candles sitting on the shelves. “Do you enjoy your office?” He turns to you.
You flick the ash away. “It has a nice view.” You lean further on the railing, looking down at the snowy landscape. “And it’s big.”
Silence stretches between you two. The wind howls across the window’s frame. He brings a finger up and taps the frame of his glasses. “How would the idea of getting a new office make you feel?”
You tilt your head. “A new one? Where? Moving me up a floor?” You point up.
“And you are so amazingly good at it, dear.” He shakes your face a little bit, finger digging in your skin in an affectionate way.
He sways his hand in an indecisive motion. “Not exactly what i had in mind.” He finally takes another drag and walks back into the balcony. “I was thinking.” Feofan leans against the railing. “You are such a good assistan. Always keeping up with whatever work i assing you.” His fingers softly grip your chin, moving it closer to his face.
“Well, it is my job sir-”
Pink speads across your cheeks as he releases you. “Sir- I am in no need of a new office.”
“Oh i know.” He replies in a high-pitched tone. “But i want to treat you. Reward you.” He clasps his hands together. “And i want you close to me.”
You put out the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the railing. “Have i made a mistake somewhere? Missed a stamp on a shipment order?” You straighten your back.
He clicks his tongue. “No, no, no my dear. Your have worked flawlessly. This is just me showing my appreciation. Do you not get compliments very often.” His eyes open just a fraction.
“Not really.” You grind your heel against the tiles.
“I will change that then. You will be moved in my office, at the top floor. You will get a desk across from mine, so i can stare at that pretty face you make when focused.”
Desperately clinging to your fics for comfort at this point LOL
✦ Ageless Metamorphosis
OG Zandik x immortal Reader witnessing him in different stages of life with segments. Reader is gn. Warning: Longer fic idk why I wrote this
When Zandik was scarcely 18, he sat across from you as a junior Trainee Dastur.
Tepid sunlight cascaded over an endless sea of book spines, towering rows undulating like hypnotic waves. If the sound of your quill scribbling across the parchment paper were akin to the sound of splashing waves, then Zandik would wish to stay on this shore. You amended his notes, and the junior sat silently, nervously adjusting the golden trims of his emerald uniform when usually vanity meant little to him. However, with you, things were different.
“I see now why you wanted me to read it,” – you told him. “I believe this outline holds merit. I corrected some basic equations you wrote down, but I can say you're on the right track.”
His hands clench into fists in his lap, knuckles whitening with suppressed excitement. Was it foolish hope, or had you truly begun to believe his work on longevity might stand in defiance of Eleazar itself? Even so, you cautioned him gently, reminding him that the Akademiya’s six cardinal sins were not transgressions his supervisors would overlook:
“You should've been my supervisor,” – he quickly interjected, arms crossed. “At least, a senior co-author. Are you truly certain you intend to leave after graduation?”
Alas, your wistful smile confirmed you had already made that decision.
Though Zandik inclined his head with due respect, the cast of his lowered gaze betrayed how bitterly he cursed fate once more. Had he only belonged to the same academic year as you, he might have shared so much more with you: his scholarly frustrations, sleepless research, the burdens of looming deadlines, and endless debate during field trips amongst the dunes of Deshret’s old kingdom. Lamentably, a young heretic like him could only covet an equal like you.
You are far more intimidating than he expected. You sat there so calmly, pen moving across parchment like this is just another Tuesday. Yet when you stand back up, offering a gentle tap on his shoulder, Zandik’s face broke into an unfiltered smile he rarely wore in his scholarly career. It transforms his usually intense ruby eyes, rendering him to look exactly what he is – a mere young boy.
“I'll take your words of encouragement at face value. Otherwise, I hope not all long-lived individuals such as yourself dispense polite encouragement to humor naive mortals?”
“Maybe when I reach several centuries of age, Zandik. I am not that ancient yet.”
When Zandik was 25, you watched him work tirelessly in Dar Al-Shifa’.
With a notebook in hand and chalk in the other, he scribbled tirelessly on the board in front of him. A crease formed on the bridge of his nose, right underneath his glasses. A white medical lab coat has replaced his once-pristine Akademiya uniform.
"If I adjust the plasma conductivity here... no, this won’t do," – He mutters to himself as he scribbles furiously. Realizing he was far from alone in this room, he felt self-conscious of you watching him after hours again. A habit of yours lately, one he proudly memorized, even when your footsteps were soundless and your breathing undetected. "Oh! You're still here. Great, I will wrap it up to show you my progress."
You watch him fuss and mutter over cellular samples of the recent Eleazar patient. Simply resting your head on your palms, you remained seated by a medical table behind him. Any attempts to convince him that he was way overqualified for this run-down hospital remained futile.
"If it keeps me afloat, then so be it. And it’s not like I can scavenge better opportunities elsewhere after my expulsion," – Zandik's shoulders tensed slightly, chalk dusting the fingertips of his gloves. "They're building a new wing for experimental treatments. More patients with Eleazar are coming in… This would be the perfect opportunity to experiment on the condition. What do you think?”
You paid little heed to his pleas. Instead, you busied yourself checking the formulas written on the board here and there. Then, without warning, you turned to stare at him with such profound astonishment:
“... You wear glasses now.”
Zandik blinked at you. An embarrassing exhale escaped him, a sound halfway between frustration and affection. He abandoned the chalkboard entirely now, walking over to where you sit – "You're avoiding the topic again, aren’t you? I do not ask you out of whimsy, dear. I want to hear your opinion first and foremost. Always have."
But both you and Zandik could already guess what you would utter. You knew these parts of rural desert villages. People here do not look kindly upon those who meddle with Eleazar, nor upon anyone who tampers with the ancient Khaenri’ahn machinery buried beneath the sands. To do so was akin to cursed omens. You shook your head: “Do something reckless, and they will exile you like Sumeru city did.”
The young man crossed his arms – “And is concealing your true age and origins from the villagers not equally reckless of you?”
Your eyes widened before your gaze drifted away in solemn silence. Indeed, neither of you was innocent, and the doctor sighed before leaning closer towards you.
For seven years, since that golden afternoon at the Akademiya, through his exile, to your frequent visits to this remote hospital, the young doctor would gaze at you with an encumbered yearning. His desolation from Sumeru city was his burden alone, yet somehow, you’d return after him to ensure his well-being. Perhaps the shared disdain for the Akademiya’s taboos was what brought you to him as a senior, but to the young man, you were an image of everything he’d hoped to achieve. Was it immortality or change? His brilliant mind couldn’t grasp for an answer.
"You think I care about exile?" he asked, voice low but intense. "They cast me out once already for pursuing forbidden knowledge. I was hoping that maybe after seven years, you'd see me as more than a puny junior. We can go together, it doesn’t matter where, even in the worst possible outcome.
Silence followed.
“... Eh? It's been seven years already?! Since when?!”
You were helpless despite your seniority, Zandik concluded.
When Zandik was 35, he proudly bore the title of the 2nd Fatui Harbinger before you.
The luxurious Fatui facilities dwarfed the desert hospital; his excitement is ever maddening despite the decades. You, however, remained ageless and unchanged beside him.
"You're looking at phase one of an artificial electrolyte solution," he said eagerly, gesturing to glowing vials on a lab table while you two toured his new laboratory. "Based on Khaenri'ahn bio-tech but adapted for human physiology. This allows for a better preservation of the segments I told you about."
He presented his first progress with confidence. Imitating ancient Khaenriahn alchemy as a framework for creating clones resembling him was a new idea, finally entering experimental phases rather than remaining theoretical. You, in the meantime, wandered the polished floors of his lab, a heavy Fatui coat draped over your shoulders as you read his notes on transferring embodied experiences and memories.
“Mortality is nothing but a shackle, and for a segment it would be no burden,” – you remember he said.
“Why would it be a shackle, Zandik? Immortality is more cursed when a person acquires it. After all, a human mind cannot comprehend so many centuries without any side effects.”
“And would you consider your longevity a curse, then?” – He dared you, but you fell silent.
He leans back against the lab counter, arms crossed as he studies your unchanged face. An eternity of familiarity in this world that keeps moving without you, while everyone you’d know and love would pass and fade away.
"The segments would gather information from different times and different perspectives. Yet here I am at my height as a Harbinger, feeling more contempt than ever. None of it bears meaning if you're just going to outlive me by centuries."
Once more, you offered him that easy, distant smile: “You have much more to achieve than pursue me throughout centuries. You are a scholar after all, so I can only advise you so much as a senior. Besides, you now look more mature than I am. Had we remained at the Akademiya, most would mistake you for my senior instead.”
Naturally, a scoff escaped him. Lately, you’ve been using quips about him looking older than you. He hovers close, hand cradles your jaw with careful, gloved hands as if cautious you’d vanish like a mirage in the desert he once fled from.
“If I'm to tear down and spite this decaying world,” – He whispered. “...I can't imagine wanting eternity with anyone but you. Be it through my own flesh or through my segments."
“What if multiple clones of you existed, which one of them would be the closest to the real Zandik?”
He takes another step closer, close enough now that if either of you breathed deeply, your chests might brush: "Does it matter?”
Burdened with decades of unspoken admiration, the Harbinger leaned in to seal his lips with yours. And tragically for you two, you leaned in.
Every time that young junior presented his work, he hoped for your approval. Every coffee break, he sat by your side but never touched. That night at the desert hospital, when it hit him that you'd never age like ordinary people, and never see him as an equal in mortal life, it became a condemnation to yearn for you more. It was his unspoken ‘I've loved you since forever’ – except for a mortal, his forever was merely decades, a minuscule blink of an eye for an immortal like you.
Still here you were, hands clutching at his coat as you kissed him back. The Harbinger only pushed on with hunger to pour all his unspoken words against your lips, grasping your body flush against him even when pulled away in search of air.
“We shouldn’t, you know why,”
He knew. But his gaze hardened with pain of the expected rejection: “Do you regard me as a small blink in your life? Do not pity now, you of all people…”
“No, no,” – you shook your head, forehead pressing against his chest as your shoulder shook. “Don’t act as if I am an untouchable being incapable of understanding love. You know we shouldn’t because I-”
“Because you will outlive me, and it will break us both?”
Your eyes glistened at the thought. The Doctor only drew you closer, his head pressing to the crown of your hair.
“Or… you wish not to meddle with a heretic and let him grow old on his own?”
Thinking about it now, you should've smacked Zandik on the head more often for such words. Instead, you yielded, if only this once, to the desire between you, letting him lift you onto the table as he devoured your breath with a hunger shaped by years of discretion. Just this once, even if it meant your refusal would fracture yet another part of him.
When Zandik was 80, you watched him create segments from various stages of his life.
The lab grows ever more fervent with work and experiments. The various fragments of his own becoming have now meticulously embodied his personality and ticks from different thresholds of his life. Through it all, Zandik himself grew older. He may not have achieved immortality to stand beside you as an equal, but you chose to remain as an enduring friend. The day when he was 35, a Harbinger in his prime, you refused him. Not out of antipathy, it was a mutual decision you both agreed to. Would a heretic allow himself to wallow in his own longing till his elderly years? Each Dottore segment will give you a different answer.
Today, a familiar chorus of boisterous chatter spills into his lab. You had arrived for a visit. The youngest of the segments, the 8-year-old little Zandik, runs quickest to cling to your legs. The 18-year-old follows suit, already eager to show you his recent essay and research notes. Perhaps some things never change.
“Easy, easy there! One at a time!” – you laugh, holding packed baklava confectionery away from 8’s grabby hands as you greet everyone with little treats from your travels. Even the 65-year-old segment cannot help but play the old charmer when greeting you with a bow of his masked head.
Old man Zandik will have to reprimand his segments to respect your personal space. What a bunch of flocking children.
“You spoil the youngest too much,” – His voice rasped as he set a cup of coffee for you. Taking his seat opposite, he kept his cane in his grasp. “But I see you are eager to correct 18’s research notes. He says if he can’t get others to advise him, he’ll have you as his supervisor instead.”
You chuckled, a cup in hand.
“Ah, doesn’t it remind you of someone when they were a Trainee Dastur?”
Old man Zandik scoffed. Of course, they inherited his bodily experiences, perhaps even their adoration is part of him. Notably, you no longer looked as intimidating as you had when he remembered you from his youth. Poised as always, you sat ever the same, physically unchanged in posture and youth. Meanwhile, Zandik aged; his hair grew longer, and his skin wasn’t spotless. It’s basic biology; his reflection did not offend him.
“You know, I think you have changed,” – The Harbinger noted.
“...Me? Do we have matching wrinkles at last?!”
“Do not mock me now,” – he shook his begrudgingly, until his weary gaze settled deep into your eyes. “You look different. Your eyes look ever more distant. I assumed it was fatigue in your eyes at first, but you are not one to skip leisurely repose.”
You said nothing. Your gaze was indeed distant, despite the ever-gentle smile.
“Maybe you should get back to wearing glasses, then, because nothing in me has changed. Which, by the way, they looked good on you when you wore them at 25.”
“Hmph, my eyesight is perfect. At least you remember the years now. It’s unlike you.”
The bickering between the senior and their junior resumed back and forth. Except that by this coffee table, it looked like an old man scolding an ignorant juvenile for being absentminded, while you chuckled and humored him over coffee.
“Then in that regard, you haven't changed at all despite your years.” – your youthful hand came cradling his wrinkled one. “It's like I'm looking at the same 18-year-old I first met who sat across from me in the Akademiya library.”
The contrast was clear in your shared touch; his skin was now papery with prominent veins against your ageless one. Alas, you refuse to concede that your accumulation of decades had numbed you with inferential grief. He turned his palm upward to intertwine fingers with yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“We didn’t meet at the Akademiya first.”
You blinked in confusion, “Eh? Yes, we did. You shared your outline papers and whatnot. That’s the first time I met you.”
The old man regarded you with a wistful smile, “Hm, are you certain? I recall it differently.”
“Hey now, don’t pull my leg. We were both Akademiya students, though I was about to graduate when you were still a junior. I know that much for certain!”
“Ah, you are right, you are right. Never mind, perhaps my mind was just wandering.” – Zandik didn’t insist on the topic, softly deriving a different question quickly, "Will I see you tomorrow? The younger clones always ask when their senior advisor is coming by."
“Same time, as usual,” – You stood up. “I need to check on Feofan again since his corneal repair surgery. He seems to be faring well so far. But I will see you tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself.”
With a quick peck to his temple, you scurried off without further words. His cup of coffee remained untouched till it cooled, while Zandik watched you silently depart. Once again, the heretic would rather let decades go by instead of confessing the unstated. He did not lie - he actually knew you before the Akademiya.
When Zandik was 8, you stumbled upon him as he ran away from a swarm of kids hurling rocks at him. You, of course, don’t remember it, for you never asked for his name then.
Tears blurred his vision when he ran. Scratches stung skin until little Zandik collided with your legs by accident. Fallen backward, he remembers lying there sniffling. With a stern bark, you reprimanded the street children and shooed them off. And why would you remember a fleeting encounter where you kneeled by a small kid, checking his scratches and mending him? The little child only stared at you with big ruby eyes that day, shakily explaining what happened.
When Zandik died on his 85th birthday, you didn’t come to visit.
Tumblr can have a snipped of this chapter here hehe
ׂ╰┈➤ Tags: Dottore x F!Reader, Murder Mystery, Reader is in her 40s.
“Doctor,” you greeted. His expression did nothing to you, didn’t even make you flinch as he scoffed. “How have you been?”
“Get lost.”
The rough words didn’t do anything to you. Perhaps Eliasz might’ve been intimidated by the harbinger’s most dishevelled or unhinged segment, but not you. Alpha was the first, you had heard, the first to be created and therefore the most faulty one. At least that’s what Omega had said.
“Why are you sitting on the ground?” You asked him gently, frowning. “And why are you out during the day? Don’t your eyes hurt?”
He stared straight at you. You could see the shake in them. All of the segments shared the albinism that Zandik possessed, even though he had once vaguely mentioned it as one of the reasons he had been treated “differently” in the first place. You weren’t sure why. Sometimes, it seemed like he preferred to bear the title of a heretic like a badge, stone and burn himself before anyone else could, because what Zandik disliked the most was letting someone else wound him first.
“Stop asking so many useless questions,” Alpha snapped. Then you noticed his arm, which he had been holding to his chest. “And stop looking.”
“You’re at my door, sweetheart,” you pointed out. “It’s quite hard not to. If you came here, it must’ve been for a reason.”
It seemed that he wasn’t particularly willing to answer this. He only huffed a little, letting white steam fall from between his lips as he somehow curled up a little more, defensively. Like he was a stray dog, expecting to get kicked for latching onto a bone.
“Not willing to talk? Alright then.” You grabbed your keys, letting them ring in the silence was you opened the door. “The least you could do is walk in so I can check that arm of yours.”
You didn’t help him up, nor did you watch if he followed—you knew he would. After draping your coat over the nearest chair and freeing yourself out of your outer layers, you heard the door click shut behind him.
Alpha eyed your place. He had been here many times before, probably more than he admitted to the others. You kept his secret.
He shed his cloak, putting it on the hanger, keeping his arm to his chest at all times. You really did wonder how far the others could’ve gone this time. It wasn’t unusual for Alpha to come back bearing a few bruises, but a potential broken arm? Were his other versions really capable of such cruelty, even towards himself?
“Come here, darling.”
Alpha sent you a look that was annoyed at best, but then his feet led him to where you stood, by the heater that was near the couch. You had a fireplace in your bedroom upstairs, but it was a pain and a cost to use it.
“Sit.”
He did. His blue hair was usually mussed, and he was the segment that wore Howie coats the most. You couldn’t discern his exact age—he seemed older than both Gamma and Beta but younger than Theta—but the various scars and cuts he had made him look older, more rugged. When you took his wrist and pushed his sleeve up, you could see said scars on the pale skin of his forearms. He said they had been from work.
pantalone/gn!merchant!reader, pining, he is down bad, jealous jealous banker, commentary from tartaglia
minors / ageless do not follow
He's been staring for the last five minutes.
You were outside your store, talking with a customer, arms crossed and a smile on your face. Despite the chill in the air, you seemed unbothered, breath fogged and curling like dancing currents as snow starts to gather on your hair.
"You know, most people find it rude to stare," an annoying voice calls out from behind Pantalone. The cigarette in his mouth feels like it sours with Tartaglia's arrival, the carriage tilting as he climbs in. "But knowing who you're staring at, I'm sure they'd be flattered if they were aware."
"I thought your mother raised you to keep to yourself," Pantalone mutters, blowing smoke into Tartaglia's face. He smirks as the younger man coughs and waves it away, but the amusement is short lived as your laugh echoes out. His attention snaps back to you, across the snowy road, and something dark and sickly tightens around his heart and in his stomach. He could get you to laugh like that- he's done it countless times, you're not difficult to amuse, so why is he feeling this way?
"Who's that customer?" Pantalone asks himself, wondering about the dynamic between you and him. He's not your type, presumably, short and lithe like an underfed hare. How is this ... common man making you smile like that, making you laugh like that? The emotions are bubbling and festering inside his ribcage as he watches you both join for a hug. "Childe. Do you have a clue as to who that customer is?"
Pantalone regrets asking, as glancing over to the young man shows amusement and a wide, toothy grin. "Well well," he starts, arms crossed as he settles into the carriage. "I guess I should have assumed you'd be the jealous type."
"What- jealous? Me?" Pantalone laughs, ashing his cigarette with a roll of his eyes. "Never in my four hundred years of living have I been jealous. Do I look like a child?"
"I don't know, comrade, you were looking a little lovesick," Tartaglia sings, leaning over to glance out the frosted window. "Ooh, now they're exchanging letters. You may have a competitor!"
"What," he hisses, shoving the other out of the way and crowding the glass. Embarrassment crawls up his neck immediately, realizing that he fell for the bait laid out: you and the customer were simply exchanging packages. Of course. A simple business transaction, even if seeing your hands touch the stranger's makes his blood boil. Hands he's only gotten to brush in passing, and a stranger is allowed to have a full clasp of palm-to-palm with you? No, absolutely not. "You're an immature brat," he reprimands, smacking the back of Tartaglia's head.
Across the road, you and a customer named Jack gaze at the ornate carriage. "Harbinger business?" He asks, crossing his arms and giving you a knowing look. "Or is this personal business?"
"I'll have you know it's a simple delivery pick-up," You chastise, heart fluttering in your chest. "Absolutely nothing is going on between the Regrator and I."
"I never said there was," Jack sings, grinning wide. "Here, let's see if he's a jealous one or not. I'm going to dust off some snow from your sweater, and you'll tell me if he's pissy when he enters your store. Hm?"
"You want to the ire of a harbinger aimed at you? Be my guest," you huff, but the idea of the Regrator fawning and getting jealous over you... there's a certain feeling at the back of your head that itches for it.
He's still laughing, the imbecile. But his attention is now back to you, snow sticking to your wool sweater (the one you refuse to part from, the one he's offered to replace time and time again). You and this stranger are in deep conversation, and when his hand rises to dust snow off your shoulder, there's a moment where he swears his teeth might shatter from tension. Pantalone gazes from the carriage as you (finally) wave the customer away, waiting around until you deem it time to return to your post behind the counter of your store.
"So are we going into the store or are we done here?" Tartaglia asks, interrupting his moment of peace.
"You are staying here while I go in and retrieve my order of goods," Pantalone scolds, wrapping his coat around his shoulders. "The last thing I need is for you to bumble around and break something. Oh, Celestia, the thought of being in the same space publicly with you is nauseating."
"I'm not that bad! I'll have you know I'm quite the charmer; maybe if I went in with you-"
"Perish the thought," he interrupts, opening the carriage door. He knows there is truth to the Eleventh's statement-- it's not uncommon for letters, gifts, and suitors to appear at the Palace in hopes of his hand or a night on the town. But to be ... wing-manned by him is an entirely different scenario, one he'd appreciate not happening to him. "Now excuse me, I have to figure out who that customer was."
"Jealousy isn't pretty on you, Pantalone!" Is the last thing he hears before the carriage door shuts close.
Pantalone is the kinda man who enjoys big romantic gestures, not just receiving, but also giving.
After all, what else is a man to do with so much money but to spend it?
Essentially, how does this simp spoil his partner?
💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
The planning, preparing, and of course signing of the checks to put the plan into motion are aome of the highlights of his day. It gives him a sense of pride knowing that, with a swipe of his hand -and credit cards- he can make your wildest dreams come true!
Bookstore trip? He bought the damm store. Go nuts!
Mall spending spree? His fatui grunts will be carrying your bags back to your home. They're very confused, but receive a hefty bonus to keep quiet and let you have fun.
Date night? You'll be spending the weekend in Fontaine. Visiting the opera house and dining at the best restaurants.
Holidays? Booked months in advance! He has plans for Christmas in the countryside, assuming he can complete his work on time.
Nothing is too much when it comes to you, you're his precious gem! Just hit 'add to cart' and let him handle the rest!
He even remembers the little things you stare at for a bit too long, a necklace or an outfit you want but can't bring yourself to ask for? He makes a mental note, and returns back to your outings. Pantalone gets so little time off from work, he simply must make the most of it!
He does have a little habit of buying you jewlery and assceories only in purple and black. His signature colors. His little way of reminding his coworkers that you are taken and well cared for.
Pantalone believes in investing well, both with his time and money, but especially when it comes to his partner. He remembers every little detail about you, ensuring that not a second of your time together is wasted. He is a busy man with not much free time, so won't you let him spoil you just a bit to make up for it?
When you two are fighting and decide to take some time to cool off, he leaves little snacks and trinkets by your office so you know he's not that angry. ( most certainly not because he's trying to get you to come see him. Totally not that.)
But...if you wanted to stop by and see your busy partner and end the silent treatment eating away at him...he ain't gonna stop you.
In return, he really just wants a quiet home to return to after a long day dealing with unruly grunts and whatever spending spree tartaglia is on this week. A nice warm meal and someone to lean on as the snow falls outside.
Synopsis: neighbour dottore x newly moved in resident who's pinning for him a little bit too obviously.
Tags : Age gap. Dottore is in his forties. Boot riding. Wine spitting. Blowjob. Edging. Degrading.
The build up is pretty long cause I couldn't stop myself from building tension.. Enjoy :)
“Careful! Put the box inside!”
These were the words dottore endlessly heard until the sun dipped into the sky, and that's when the commotion finally settled.
The house beside his was unoccupied for years, so naturally Dottore kept looking out the window to get a peek at whoever the new resident was. seemingly someone in their twenties or so.
He returned to his armchair by the window, a hot cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, and quietly continued reading, but it didn't pass a few minutes until his eyes flickered toward a figure stepping inside his garden.
Dottore's eyes narrow slightly as you head towards the door.
He had no plans on introducing himself to you, so why in the world are you approaching him now?
Dottore lowers his book, his fingers tightening slightly around its spine as he fixates his gaze on the door when the bell rings then with a sigh he stands up and opens the door, only allowing you to see his head.
“Hi, I just moved in, so—" The hand you held out for a handshake after introducing yourself fell to your side. "Sorry for bothering you, but I really need a favour.” You hesitate. He's clearly unamused but nods, urging you to talk. “Could I borrow a screwdriver?” you ask in your nicest tone.
Dottore stays silent for a moment, his expression oscillating between perplexity and a sense of resignation. He doesn't really have a reason to reject you, nor does he currently need his screwdriver. “The Phillips or the flathead?”
“Oh! Uh, Philips…?” you nervously swallow, unsure of your own answer.
He exhales and walks toward his toolbox, out of your sight for a minute, allowing your head to peek closer. You're noisy enough to also want a look around his home.
Once he got the screwdriver, he returned, thrusting it toward your hand. “There.” You instantly grab the handle, but he still holds on to it. “Return it as soon as you are done.”
You nod your head. “Yes, I will! Sorry for the bother, mister…” You take it once he lets go and immediately run back to your house as he watches, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.
You seem different from the usual residents around him. A bit naive, perhaps, but not aloof as his neighbours. He shakes his head as he dismisses the thought and closes the door.
Whatever, he shall not be bothered unless you don't understand the concept of being a quiet neighbour.
Just like that, a few days pass as Dottore settles back into his routine. He was quaint. In everything he did, the way he talks, the way he carries himself and his lifestyle. He wakes up early, has his morning tea, and goes for his early-morning stroll, then to his work. He even managed to forget the existence of his neighbour until one evening the shrill ringing of his doorbell interrupted his tranquillity.
Dottore considers, for a brief moment, pretending he's not home. But then the bell rings again, and he storms toward the door with a grimace on his face, rehearsing a reply for whoever is on the other side, but when he yanks the door open, he's met with the sight of you as the faint breeze sways strands of your hair.
His annoyance morphs into mild surprise. "Ah. You again." He tilts his head as he waits for your reason for the disturbance, watching how you fidget with the sleeves of your coat before you offer a hesitant smile.
"Sorry for bothering you again," you begin, the words rushing out. "It's just—I have a bit of a... situation, and I was wondering if you could help me real quick? If you're not busy, of course.” Dottore's eye twitches ever so slightly at the request. He even considers feigning a prior engagement but finds himself too curious to reject you.
"And what sort of 'situation' would that be?" The sternness in his voice softened as his eyebrow arched.
"So...you see...I did something, and now I have a power outage, but here's the thing…" You let out a small sigh, as if you're absolutely defeated. "The cabinet to check it is in the basement, and I'm so terrified of going down there alone... So like... can you help? I swear I'm not trying to bother you or anything. "It's just the neighbour next to me isn't here either..." Dottore stares at you, his usually composed expression shifted to one of amusement. That was not a problem he had anticipated.
"You're a grown woman, are you not? How come you are afraid of basements?" He can't mask the mockery in his voice as he steps out to the street, towering over you for a second before walking past you.
“Yeah! I can't—it's so absurd, I know, but I am terrified!” You animatedly talk with your hands. “I was literally mid-baking cookies too. If you want, you can have them all.” Dottore’s stern facade cracks slightly at the mention of cookies. He doesn't get to experience homemade food often. “Are they at least edible?“
"Yes, I promise they're good." You deny the bad cook allegations as you open the door to your home, lighting up the path ahead with the flashlight of your phone. There's a faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air, evidence of your baking. He could vaguely see various trinkets and artworks lined up on the walls as he walked behind you.
You reach the basement door when he sees the tension in your shoulders. "Alright. Let's get this over with. And try not to cling onto my arm like a frightened child.” He reaches out to the handle as the door creaks slightly when he pushes it open. The darkness stretches before you, making Dottore feel a flicker of unease.
His eyes adjust quickly, however, and he walks down the stairs with steady steps. Each creak of the wooden stairs sent a shiver down your spine.
“Do I have to follow you down... ” You mumble, and he turns to look at you, the flashlight hitting his eyes, making him frown. "Yes, you have the phone's flashlight." You grip the bannister tightly, and Dottore takes in your frightened expression.
"Are you always this skittish? You make it sound like we're descending into the Underworld, not a basement.” Dottore scoffs, and at that you give him an offended look.
"There might be a huge spider somewhere! Ugh, don't ridicule me, please." Dottore only shakes his head. "Is that why you have been hiding behind me?" His tone is light and teasing. An attempt to distract you as his eyes scan the basement floor cautiously for any of these damned creatures.
"Oh, did you just realise that, mister?” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and then less than a minute later, you reach the row of circuit breakers. His eyes dart from switch to switch, quickly identifying the correct one that's flipped.
"Here it is," he remarks, flipping the switch back into place. The lights above flicker on, illuminating the basement's cobweb-filled corners.
“Thank you. Let's get out of—” As you turn around, you find a black spider the size of two fingers or so beneath your feet, and he instantly follows your gaze.
"Ah, your worst nightmare, I presume?” he drawls, a smirk at the corners of his lips from how you completely freeze. “Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.” You repeat in a whispered yell, and Dottore can't help the chuckle that escapes him, his amusement growing with each panicked request from you.
He feigns reluctance. "Oh, but what did it ever do to you?" Despite his teasing, he steps forward and lazily stomps on the spider, crushing it beneath his shoe, and the second he kills it, you bolt up the stairs.
"Dramatic," he mutters to himself, inspecting his shoe before wiping it off on the basement floor with a shake of his head. What would you do if you ever knew he had one as a pet before?
Still, he glances around to confirm there are no further threats before he ascends the stairs, finding you already sitting on your couch.
"Where’s my reward?" His gaze drifts toward the kitchen. “In the oven—oh my god, I can feel that fuckass tingly feeling on my skin." Dottore rolls his eyes at your reaction. "For heaven's sake, it's just a spider. A very dead one, might I add."
You look at him with a maniacal look. “You don't get it? That tingling sensation when you are absolutely disgusted by something?” You stand up, petrified by the mere existence that another spider could be lurking somewhere. Dottore exhales, his hand on his forehead as if trying to physically suppress his disbelief.
"Listen," he says slowly, like he's addressing a dumb student, "that 'tingling sensation' is just your nervous system misfiring. There are no more spiders...probably." He absolutely said that last part just to watch you squirm as you dash to the cleanest place. the kitchen.
He follows, and his gaze drifts toward the oven, the scent of cookies wafting through the air the second you open the oven door, eyeing them with subtle approval as you transfer the cookies to a container. "Okay, since this is clearly transactional... You'll take..." You trail off, murmuring the count of how many cookies he can take. “Eight cookies... Sounds good?” Dottore feigns a contemplative moment, as if considering the offer.
"Eight, you say? Whatever happened to saying I could take them all?" There's a hint of humour in his voice, despite the dry delivery.
“Nine then? I only made 16 in total. What am I going to eat if you take 10...” his smirk widens ever so slightly, enjoying how you tried to gratify him.
"Nine it is, then." he relents, though he makes it sound like he's doing you a favour. You add one more cookie and bring his screwdriver into sight.
"Again, thank you." Dottore hums in acknowledgement as he takes the container of cookies. "And, to prevent you from electrocuting yourself and turning this neighbourhood into a circus, you may ask for help again. The last thing I need is to be interviewed by the cops because of you." You giggle and nod your head.
"Well, mister, what's your name? I never managed to get it…" He was halfway to the door when you ask, making him pause to glance over his shoulder.
"Dottore." He steps out, shutting his door with a click, and strides back to his house.
The rest of the week passes with Dottore stealing glances at you whenever you're in sight. He observes your routines, your habits. The way you decorated your home. His initial irritation seems to have morphed into curiosity the more he saw of your carefree demeanour and the way you dance around the house.
And now you both find yourselves outside. Each of you in your own corner of your little worlds. As you plant new flowers while he is reading another book, with a cup of tea set on the table beside him in the garden. If he wasn't so stuck being lonely, he would've asked you to join him to read a book too.
He tries to ignore you, busying himself with his book, but he couldn't drown out the sound of you humming a soft melody. So despite his best efforts, his gaze is drawn to you in the exact moment you dust your hands off the soil and look at him.
He quickly lifts a brow as if daring you to comment on his spying, as it were, and remains silent, waiting for you to say something, but you smile and turn around, fixing another potted plant.
Dottore's eyebrows crease, an inexplicable feeling flaring up within him before he takes a slow sip of his tea, as if it would wash it down. He tries to refocus on his book, but the words seem to blur, so he glances up again, your back turned as you tend to your plants.
He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. Instead, his eyes linger on your back for a moment before he's back inside the confines of his house once more.
His fingers drum against the desk rhythmically as he tries to focus on mundane tasks. grading papers, organising his lecture notes, anything to keep his mind from wandering back to you, but every so often, his eyes subconsciously drift to the window.
Just as suddenly, Dottore freezes as the sound of the doorbell sends a jolt through him. He considers not answering. Truly, he does, but he finds himself at the door.
His gaze traces your face, searching for whatever excuse you've thought of this time. “I made a little bit too much food.” You start with a smile, holding a container of food, and Dottore looks stunned for a second, staring at your hands.
"...Is this your attempt to bribe me into another favour?" he asks in a softer tone, almost hesitant.
“It's a gesture of goodwill." Dottore chuckles, the sound making your ears flush as he raises an eyebrow.
"Goodwill, hm? How magnanimous of you." His gaze doesn't leave your face, tracking every expression. He can't quite decipher his own conflicting emotions. "Am I to expect more goodwill gestures in the future?" He finally reaches for the container.
“Maybe if you intrude, I'll let you watch me bake something. " You throw a suggestion before turning your back away and walking to your home as Dottore blinks, taken aback for a moment by your response. Were you flirting?
Still, Dottore was never the type to insert himself into people's lives, and so your attempts to get him closer failed.
The next best thing you do is spend all your days outside in your garden. From sunrise, as you watched him leave for work, until he came back around 3pm, Dottore noticed the way you lingered outside and the way you timed your presence to coincide with his routine.
He ignores it, thinking you were only trying to strike up conversations with him, but by the fifth day, his suspicion flares. He stops mid-step into his garden after he has returned from work and looks at you over his glasses.
"Do you ever go inside? Or are you attempting photosynthesis?" As expected, you lighten up when he acknowledges you.
“God forbid I'm sunbathing..." You dust yourself off as you stand up. You have been sitting on the grass all day. “You should do it too; you're pale!” You comment with a sly smile. “Are you a vampire?”
Dottore scoffs, adjusting his glasses as he glares. "I assure you some of us don't need to bake ourselves like pastries in order to function." You grin, shrugging. "And if I were a vampire, you, I'd have drained you dry by now purely out of spite." He says it playfully, but his smirk briefly exposes his sharp teeth, and you instantly notice it.
“Hot.” You murmur it under your breath, but he hears it as his eyes narrow but he couldn't dignify it with a response as you swiftly pretend you didn't say it. “That's not a bad way to go, I think. " You speak louder, shifting your weight on your right foot. “Anyways, you look tired. Bad day at work?” You try to subtly pry, noticing his tie is undone.
"The usual. My day is filled with incompetent students," he says with a shrug. "It's draining, especially when most of them are more interested in their phones than the material."
Dottore wasn't oblivious to how your head tilted and how your lips were set in a beaming smile. “Poor you, teaching the younger generation must be so exhausting.” There's a hint of playfulness in your tone as he eyes you up and down shamelessly.
"Well, what of you? Sunbathing all day, I assume?" His voice drips with sarcasm.
“Photosynthesis is important. Yep, I can't be seen looking like you.” Dottore rolls his eyes but doesn't deny the exhaustion. “What classes do you teach? Maybe I could attend one.” He pauses. He can't tell if you're serious or just teasing him.
"You want to attend a class? I teach biochemistry." His tone is wary. "Are you sure you'd be able to keep up?"
"I could try..." He crosses his arms. "If you're serious, then by all means. Come to class.” He pulls out a small notebook and a pen, ready to write down the address.
“Teyvat's University, right?” Your tone dropped to a whisper before you bit your lower lip, briefly seeing his raised eyebrows, surprised that you went as far as to know this information. It even pleases him knowing you've done your research. "Yes, I teach at Teyvat University." He subtly smirks before asking. "How'd you know that?"
"Oh, just a lucky guess!” you giggle. “Besides, it's the nearest university. Makes sense. You seem like you're practical.”
"I don't suppose you've also managed to guess what days I teach, have you?" You look at him for a second like you're a deer caught in between a prey's mouth before shaking your head in denial.
"All that effort to intrude into my life, yet you couldn’t be bothered to learn my schedule?" He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment as he shakes his head. It makes you wish the ground would split open and swallow you.
"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. 9 AM sharp." His tone is stern again. He's already imagining you trying and failing to take notes in the back of his lecture hall.
“No wonder you sleep so early. " Dottore's lips stretch into a sly smile as you absentmindedly reveal. "I beg your pardon? "How do you know what time I sleep too?"
“I—I just noticed your lights are closed early...you know?” Dottore's expression shifts to be unreadable because internally, he had already planned your punishment.
"I suppose that's plausible." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry..." you mumble, bowing your head in apology.
"Are photosynthesis and spying on your neighbours hobbies of yours?” He teases you as you yell “No!” so quickly. “I have no interesting hobbies for you to spy on me. It'd be a waste of your time, really.” You keep your mouth zipped from what you have seen.
“Oh. That's sad. You don't get bored?”
"I don't have time to be bored. I'm a university professor, remember?" A wry smile sneaks to the corners of his mouth. "But I have one hobby." He lifts one finger in front of your nose, making your eyes cross. "Care to guess what it is?” Your nose scrunches up as you look at him instead.
"Reading books?” Dottore raises an eyebrow, amused by your guess, then shakes his head. "I happen to enjoy reading, yes. But I wouldn't call it my only or even my favourite hobby." He lets the silence stretch for a moment so you can think.
“What... Are you in favour of berating students for fun?” Dottore can't stifle his chuckle at that. "Oh, I find that part of my job satisfactory," he admits. "But no, you. Think more indulgent."
“I can't guess more.” You sighed dramatically. “Maybe if you let me stalk you, I'll know." At that, Dottore sneers.
"Your stalking privileges are going to remain revoked for the time being." You look even more dejected at his refusal.
"What's that strange hobby of yours, then?”
"I'll tell you, only because you've pestered me so incessantly." Your eyes drop, finding him humourless with how he kept you egged on. "It's wine tasting," he finally reveals. "It's a rather classy hobby, if I do say so myself." He pauses, seeing how you looked at him with an unimpressed gaze. "No, it's not some excuse for me to drink copious amounts of wine.” You manage to stifle your laugh and give him a nod.
“I'd like to try some of your wine then... if you are willing to share, of course." His eyes narrowed as his gaze sharpened, studying your face, the softness in your features, and the youthful brightness in your eyes.
"Are you even old enough? I refuse to be responsible for that. There's enough sober stupidity in the world, after all.”
“Old enough, I promise.” Dottore scrutinizes you for a moment longer, reluctantly deciding to take your word.
"Very well," he relents, adjusting his glasses as if to emphasise his seriousness.
"When can we do this wine tasting then?” Dottore glances down at his watch. "Well, considering it's currently 4PM on a Monday..." He pauses, as if he hadn't already considered his schedule the moment he made you guess his hobby.
"My evening is free. I suppose we could—ah, indulge." He tries to sound like it's a casual offer, but there's a gleam in his eyes that exposes his anticipation. "If you're so eager, come by at 7 PM," he says decisively. "I'll choose something appropriate for a beginner," you hum softly, your eyes matching his gleam. "And don't be late! Good wine waits for no one."
Both of you are taking each other's bait willingly, as at the scheduled time, you ring the door, dressed nicely in a dress and carrying a bag.
Dottore answers the door, still in his reddish-brown vest from work, which makes him pause at the sight of you, eyebrows raising before his eyes drift to the bag in your hands. "You brought complementary snacks?” His tone is one of surprise as he steps back from the door, allowing you inside.
“You kept talking about how refined of a hobby this is; of course I had to show up with good manners. " Dottore takes the bag from you and sets it on the counter-top, peering into it to see chocolate, homemade breadsticks, and cheeses.
He turns back to you, his expression softening, part of him impressed by your thoughtfulness and efforts in dressing up too.
You sit at the bar table, looking around the house. “What will you start with?” you ask, watching his back as he hums thoughtfully, perusing through his rows of wine bottles, his fingers hovering over certain bottles for a moment before picking one.
"Something mild." He places it on the counter-top, then reaches for two glasses from the cupboard. "No need to overwhelm that inexperienced palate of yours with something too complex."
You shook your head, your chin resting on your palm as you set your gaze on his hands. “Oh, no, definitely not yet.” Dottore nods approvingly as he uncorks the bottle.
"Wise choice," he murmurs, pouring the wine before sliding your glass across the counter toward you. “Now, before you recklessly gulp it down." His finger taps against his own glass. "First, observe the colour. Then the scent, then you can taste."
You nod, following his instructions as you gaze down at your glass, taking in the golden hue of the wine. Then, you lift it to your nose, inhaling the fruity scent with a small hum of appreciation. "Now, take a sip."
Dottore found himself strangely riveted, watching you take a small sip before you close your eyes, letting the wine coat your tongue as you savour the flavour.
"Well?" He clears his throat, tearing his gaze away as soon as you open your eyes. "It's good," you say, with a pleased smile adorning your lips. "Sweet, but not too sweet." You drink more, your tongue darting out to catch a drop from your lower lip, a movement Dottore's gaze immediately follows.
You push your empty glass back towards him, taking a bite of your breadstick as you watch him set aside his glass. "Very well, we can move onto the next." He reaches into the cabinet, selecting another bottle. "Let's see how you handle this one.” Dottore pours the wine—a red shade this time as the dark liquid swirls into your glass.
"Now," he warns, setting the bottle down, "this is where beginners usually embarrass themselves." You lean forward, your fingers brushing the stem of the glass, only for Dottore to abruptly tap the back of your hand with two fingers.
"Ah-ah. Sniff first, or are you just here to get drunk, hm?" His chastising tone can't quite mask the thrill of guiding you through this. He's too invested in your reactions as you eye the glass curiously. "Is it way stronger than the last one?" Dottore nods.
"Indeed, this one is stronger." His gaze was intense and almost predatory. He wanted to ravish you, but he had to be patient. It would be far more satisfactory to humiliate you. "So, before you take a big gulp like a fool and end up slurring your words, I suggest you take it slow."
He leaned against the counter as his eyes continued sizing you up. "Can you handle it?" Your lips purse in a playful smile at his challenge before you lift the glass, swirling it gently as he'd done, before bringing it to your nose. You inhale deeply, your eyebrows knitting, and then take a small sip as he watches, unblinking, as your throat moves, swallowing it.
"Bitter!" You cough, your nose scrunching up before shooting him an accusing look. "You—you knew that would happen!" Dottore laughs as he pushes a slice of cheese toward you, and you quickly take a bite.
This might be the most entertaining evening he’s had in years.
His fingers curl around your glass, lifting it to his lips instead of letting you continue. The wine is far too strong for you at this stage, and he knows it. Not that he minds the excuse to taste it himself, especially when your lips had just been there moments ago.
"Onto the third," he declares, setting the empty glass down before reaching for a new bottle—this one has its label in a foreign language. "I was teasing you with that one, but you’re brave for even swallowing it; I’ll give you that," Dottore praises while pouring a generous amount into your glass.
Your hand reaches out, your fingers wrapping around the glass, but Dottore is as fast as you. "Ah, ah, ah! Remember, this isn't some watered-down wine." His fingers close over yours, his grip firm enough to keep your movement still as he lingers for a second before he pulls away.
He watches, lips pressed into a thin line, as you hesitate and then obey, taking a sip. Your expression twists slightly at the flavour, but you don’t cough this time. Instead, you swallow and meet his gaze.
"...Not bad," you admit, your voice softer, a little breathless as you watch him swirling his glass lazily. “This one has flavours of–” you lean forward, listening intently and sipping more as he describes the wine's flavour profile.
"You see, the longer a wine ages, the deeper and more complex its flavours become…” Despite your earlier determination to handle the stronger alcohol, the effects are already beginning to show. Your gaze is hazy as he watches your eyes trail to his lips.
“Uh huh, I can taste that, hehe..." You intensely looked at him, noticing how he maintains eye contact now while you drink the remainder of your glass.
"You're staring..."
“You're just explaining things very well—no wonder you're a professor; I feel so immersed in this...” You trail off, gesturing to him. “Wine tasting lesson..." Dottore's eyes narrow, unable to discern whether your comment is sincere or teasing with that coy smile on your lips.
"I'm simply educating you.”
“Yes, thank you so sincerely.” Your chin rests in your palm, leaning against the counter even more. A piece of cheese in your mouth. Dottore can't tear his gaze from your lips as you chew—not that he tries very hard. He takes another sip of his wine as his eyes glances at your flushed cheeks. “Is the wine getting to you?" You shake your head.
"Liar."
"Well, you look dazed too!" His glare doesn't deter you in the slightest as you giggle. "I have years of tolerance built up, unlike some people."
You mimic the motion of zipping your mouth shut and stand up from your seat, taking a look around the living room.
Dottore's eyes track the slight sway in your movements, and keeps his comment to himself. “Don’t mess up the order.” He warns as you drift toward his bookshelf, but you make a dismissive noise as you examine the organised bookshelf, running your fingers over the spines of the books.
Dottore watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you in his living room. He didn't mind the fact that his house isn't so quiet anymore. "You are handling your alcohol better than I expected.” He tuts as he unwraps a chocolate, breaking it in half and eating it.
His gaze flicks to the way your fingers hover over a rare first edition. You pulled the book from the shelf just to watch his jaw tense as he stood up and walked to you, extending his hand to have the book, but you didn't give it up, holding the book out of his reach. "What's the magic word?"
Dottore's eye twitches. “Please.” Your grin widens as you finally hand it back. He carefully slots the book back into its place on the shelf before turning to get another glass, then sinks into the couch with a sigh.
He sees the way you watch him expectantly, a smirk on his lips as he pats the spot next to him. "Stop standing there like some awkward prude," you grin, taking the spot beside him in a blink of an eye.
He puts down the wine glass on a small table by the couch. “Are you always alone, Dottore?" You ask, your gaze drifting upstairs to where you know his bedroom is. Days of stalking didn't go to waste. “I understand it; I'm still getting used to living alone by myself, so I can only imagine how it must be for you..."
"Well," he begins, staring at the way your dress slit parts to expose more of your thighs. "Now that you've satisfied your wine curiosity for the night..." you raise an eyebrow at the slight hoarseness in his voice while his hands work on rolling up his sleeves. "Can you handle something much stronger than the wine?" You tilt your head, innocently smiling, and nod.
"Good, we need to address your spying problem." You felt a shiver of thrill going through you as you faced each other on the couch. Now his right hand pushes your hair out of your face, slicking it back before his fingers trail down, grazing your jaw.
"And what will you do..." At that, Dottore leans over, bringing himself closer that you gasp at the feel of his lips against your ear.
“You want me, I know you do," he coos, breathing on your cheek now. “So, if you want me to touch you, get on your knees." He demands, watching how your face flushes instantly. "Go on," he coaxes you in the lowest tone he could manage, and it makes your heart skip a beat as you nod your head and shift to your knees on the floor, looking up at him.
Dottore leaned back against the couch. "You're so desperate," his voice was held in a mocking whisper. "So eager, but do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to make you watch me. I know you enjoyed watching me like a freak..." His right hand slithers down his abdomen to fiddle with his belt as your breath hitches when his fingers undo his belt, your eyes catching sight of his cock closer than you ever saw from the windows.
His breath hitches for a second, but that’s all as he wraps his fingers around his length and strokes once. “Eyes up.” You look at him as he strokes again. Long, slow pulls from his base to his tip.
Dottore builds a rhythm as his palm glides faster, his fingers tightening slightly at the top. You watch him without blinking once. “Of course you know how I like it.” He squeezes a little harder, and you watch how his hips twitch forward.
He strokes until his breath falters, until his jaw clenches, until he finally moans, his cock twitching in his hand, hard and aching, dripping at the tip.
You look at him with your lips parted. “Hands behind your back.” You obey. Your body is aching with the need to give. Dottore grips your jaw firmly as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. “Use your mouth.” you lean in and wrap your lips around the head of his cock.
He lets out the weakest breath you have heard from him all night. “Fuck…” Dottore groans, feeling the weight of him settle on your tongue, letting him feel the warmth of it.
His hand finds the back of your head to hold when you start giving him slow sucks. “Mmh, just like that." His grip tightens on your hair as your tongue carefully swirls around him before you take more, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat.
“Stop.” You freeze, his cock twitching on your tongue, and you can’t help but moan again when he shudders, then pulls back. “You’ve earned it~” He smiles. “Beg me.”
“Please, cum in my mouth, please—” He nods once and thrusts his cock back in your mouth, letting you taste him again while he keeps one hand on your jaw and the other in your hair, watching you swallow every drop while tears sting the corners of your eyes.
“Look at you.” He pulls out of your mouth, your chest heaving rapidly as he tucks himself into his trousers. "You can't even think straight.” You shake your head in denial.
"Please... touch me. I want your hands on me..." He gives you a sly smirk, then shakes his head, picking up his wine glass from the small table.
"No, but this will have to do until I decide to touch you." Dottore moves his right foot, his boots still on, as he spreads your thighs apart. You were so sensitive from squeezing them.
"Fuck..." you mumbled, your hips moving against his boot, while Dottore's smirk remained glued on his lips.
"Try not to cum too fast, or I won't reward you." He leaned back again, watching your struggle between obedience and desire as you tried to rub yourself on his boot slowly.
Unfortunately, the second he bounced his foot few times to press more against you, you came.
He saw your mouth open, ready to talk, but silenced you, wrapping a hand around your throat. His eyebrow arches at the way you shiver from doing so. "You came just from that? When I told you to wait?"
You flinched at his tone. Shame seeping into your body. "I'm sorry—" He silenced you again, squeezing your throat tighter. "You're not sorry." He pulled his foot away from your leaking cunt.
"Open your mouth," he commanded and took a gulp of his wine before putting the glass down again.
Without second thoughts, you unhinged your jaw, allowing him to spit the wine into your mouth, little bit of it trickling down your chin before he shut your mouth. "Good girl." He praises as his hand slides into your hair, holding a fistful of it to drag you up as you feel his lips on yours, kissing you sloppily.
He pulls you into his lap by your hair. His tongue darts out, teasing your lower lip as his hand slide lower, tracing the curve of your ass while he guides you forward until you're straddling him. He feels you shudder above him, your breaths coming fast and uneven against his mouth.
Dottore tugs at your hair, tilting your head back before his mouth trails down your jaw to your neck, sucking on your soft skin.
"You don't get the privileges of my bed yet." Dottore lets go of his hold on you as his hand reaches to grab the tie he discarded earlier, then takes your arms and folds them behind your back before tightly tying them with his tie.
You meekly hum, accepting your punishment, as you feel his hand pulling down on the zipper on the front of your dress. an amicable choice after having your hands tied after all.
"Don't speak without permission." Dottore's hand cups your right breast, rubbing his thumb at the underside of it as he looks at you. "You can cry if you want," he said softly. "I won't stop you." Next thing, you feel a rough pinch to your nipple, pain shooting through your body as you bite on your lips.
"How does it feel?" he asked, his fingers kneading your left breast. "Does it hurt?" You nodded instantly, and at that dottore pinched both nipples, pulling on them slightly.
This time, you couldn't bite back the cry that escaped your lips as he chuckled. "You deserve the pain, don't you think?" You nod, and at your obedience, Dottore lifts you off his lap and pulls down his trousers.
He brings your back to his lap, feeling you tense up as he lowers you on top of him, letting you feel his cock nudge your folds, making you whimper softly.
"Shhh," he whispered, his left hand pressing on your back to steady you before easing you down his length as a gasp fell from your lips, your back arching and your fingers twitching, wanting to reach for the tie so you could support yourself on his shoulders.
Dottore's head tilted back against the couch, a breathy moan escaping him as you clench around him. He gives you exactly three seconds before his hands start guiding you. "You took it so well," he murmured, his hand wandering down the curves of your body before holding your waist.
"I—want to come, please," you broke in a soft whisper, and Dottore sternly looked at you before his hips bucked up harshly into yours.
"Ah ah, I didn't say you could speak." he chided softly, his right hand slithering up to your neck, before tightening his grip on your throat. "Not yet." Dottore swiftly pushed you down on the couch, and then drank more of his wine.
You knew what you were supposed to do as you instantly opened your mouth. He smiles and spits the wine into your mouth again, watching it overflow and spill down your chin messily, then he brings your hands to encircle his neck.
He was making your head spin, as his thrusts became brutal, pushing himself deep into you as he groaned into your ears. "I hope you have satisfied your need for intrusion." He rasps before grazing his teeth on your breast, softly taking your flesh into his mouth and then biting you.
You moan, your back arching off the couch, but he pins you down with another thrust, his entire body jerking, and his fingers tighten their grasp on your hair before he spills into you. Just as he had done with the wine, now another warmth fills you to the brim.
He shifts, bringing his lips to your shoulder, and bites down on your flesh harshly, a menacing reminder he could have been a vampire with how sharp his teeth feel.
You gasped loudly, feeling your orgasm roll out of you as your nails clawed at his shoulders, and at that he moaned into your mouth, bruising your lower lip as he bit it roughly.
Dottore kept on lazily thrusting into you, using the opportunity of how dazed you are until he comes again, this time spilling over your stomach, watching the mess of semen and wine on you with a smirk.
He unties your hands and bites on the inside of your wrist. “I knew you'd push my limits eventually," he murmured. "I just didn't know how fast."
You sighed hearing his words. “Have I been too obvious?” He gives you an unimpressed glare.
“You have been anything but discreet." You shiver at the condescension in his voice, biting your lips before a cheeky smile plasters itself on your face. "I better not know you stalked me more after this."
All he gets from you is a head shake. "I saw what you did too. Why do you think I kept my curtains on?" Dottore stills before a grin crosses his lips.
"Ah, so after all it was a game of baits." You tug him on top of you again and wrap your legs around him.
"Yes, now, give me your bed privileges."
Well, now he would have to deal with a bratty neighbour. At the very least, the advantages to this are great.
