Six Rounds of Karma: A Tartaglia x Fem Reader Lemon (read disclaimer)
WARNING! THIS FIC IS UNFINISHED! I'm publishing anyway, because after 2 years of leaving this fic on the backburner people still ask about the part 2, and this is what I have. 2 of six rounds. That's all. Thinking I'd pick this back up is a pipedream. Sorry folks. It's also two years old, and I haven't proofread.
Part two of Returning the Favor
Summary: A failed mission and a looming IOU. The 11th Fatui Harbinger has an alternate proposition to pay your dues.
Characters: Tartaglia x Sub Fem Reader
TW's: Themes of blackmail. Includes slight groping, edging (I think???), choking, brat taming, dumbification, fingering, oral (reader receives), both reader and Childe are quite competitive. NSFW Minors Get The Fuck Out.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight, princess, you’ll be begging to see me again."
Those words echoed through you like a broken record on repeat, sending cool chills scuttling down your neck and spine. Tartaglia was pressed up against your back, your whole body molding into his as he coaxed you with gentle hands that slid across your stomach and danced dangerously close to the waistline of your pants. His breath hit against the skin of your neck with the slightest heat as he hovered over you, his ginger locks bristling across the back of your head. He could feel every twitch and quiver of your body, the way it replied to his advances nervously, and yet you only welcomed them by further melting into his frame with every tantalizing movement. You were completely intoxicated by him, mind growing fuzzy as his fingers trickled up and down your abdomen.
"You okay there? You still haven't answered the question, you know," Childe teased, his lips just barely grazing past your ear.
He was toying with you, and you knew it. If you had any intention of stopping him you would've done so long ago. You wouldn't have entertained the idea for even a second if you weren't at least considering it, but he wanted- he needed you to say it. The thrill of knowing that despite all the times you claimed to hate him, how you tried desperately to escape him and even told him you'd kill him if you got the chance, that you'd let all those vicious thoughts slip and allow yourself to be shamelessly ravaged by him... that was the grand prize he was after.
"You don't have to be afraid," The harbinger cooed as his hands rested on your hips. "There's no shame in admitting you want to be my cum slut for the night. Come on... you know you want me to fuck you, make you my personal sex doll. All you gotta do is say it."
The way his whiny voice talked down on you so condescendingly was sending you to another dimension. Your mind was somewhere in the stars, yet Tartaglia's cocky know-it-all self was making this so much harder than it needed to be. How does someone shamelessly let a guy like Childe win? He drove you insane constantly. You desperately wanted to punch him, and yet in the moment you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you so bad you felt stupid. How do you let a guy like that have his way without wanting to punch yourself a hundred times after? But how do you deny yourself a whole world of mindless pleasure that's just waiting for you to partake? How do you deny the rapid beating of your heart in anticipation, the heat that nestled between your legs as you pressed your thighs together in shame and suppression?
"You win, Childe," you mumbled in shame.
Childe laughed boisterously at the halfhearted response, his dominant hand traveling to your chin and turning your gaze toward his. "Oh, honey, you don't need to be so coy with me," he demanded. "I know you want this more than you're trying to show... certainly enough to where you could at least say please!"
There he went again, pushing your buttons and making your whole body seethe in frustration, and yet it also burned intensely with anticipation. It was cruel and mortifying how he was forcing you to expose yourself to him emotionally before he'd do the same with you physically. This was the most demeaning part.
"Childe... please," you whimpered, the words sticking to your throat as you shamefully forced them out with a croak.
You could feel the devious smirk grow across his face, his insidious eyes burning the skin on the back of your neck. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific."
You practically convulsed in anger, teeth clenched and body and mind impatient from the merciless teasing, and he was thriving in your struggle. You could feel it. You could feel it in the way he was leaning his body tighter into yours, fingers gliding across your waist in delicate figure-eights, and how he was intentionally rolling his strained cock in that perfect spot between your legs that grazed right on top of your aching hole. There was nothing you could do to stifle the moan that escaped your lips at the sensation. All you could do is contain yourself to an enervated mewl and let Tartaglia bask in your teetering.
"Archons, don't make me say it," you pleaded, the abasement weighing down on you like heavy stones.
"Oh, by all means, say what you want to say. I know you really... really want to," he devilishly allured, leaning into your ear and sending low vibrations coursing through your nerves.
Your teeth vexatiously punctured your lower lip, the muscles in your neck and joints tightening and clenching in your boiling-over irritation. "Tartaglia," you resentfully grumbled.
"Yes..." he obnoxiously cooed back in anticipation.
"I... hate you so much," you vehemently fumed, a single hand trailing up Tartaglia's upper body and wrapping and twisting around his collar. You pulled his lanky frame down to your level, eye to eye, your gazes met. You body shuttered begrudgingly. Your face burning red in disgrace and trepidation, you resentfully continued. "But if you do not fuck me right now... I'll kick your ass."
The harbinger face lit up in an astonished grin, is eyes growing bright and full of accomplishment. He let off a slight chuckle. “That wasn't quite the response I was hoping for, but… that works,” he answered back with a satisfied grin.
Tartaglia wasted no time whisking you away in his arms bridal style and carrying you all the way to the hotel room, making a real spectacle of you in the process, showboating and earning whistles from men who passed by. You could only bury yourself into the harbinger's shoulder to hide the rose tones that speckled across your cheeks as he did. It felt way too long before the two of you reached his door and he dropped you back down on your feet, fidgeting with the key before finally shoving it in correctly and swinging it open. You entered the room first, lazily slumping down on the bed, and Tartaglia quickly followed, locking and deadbolting the door behind him. He was already undressing you with his eyes, looking you up and down with an intent gaze. He walked toward you, slowly and heavy-footed, until his whole body was hunched over yours, hands resting possessively on your shoulders.
"Now... what am I gonna do with you?" he deviously asked himself before dipping you onto the bed, your legs dangling at both sides of his body. He slid his eager hands up your body, carefully unbuttoning your blouse one by one until intricate fingers parted the fabric to reveal the smooth and untouched skin underneath. Tracing outlines onto all your dips and curves, Tartaglia was dedicated to committing your whole body to memory. His smooth, cold touch sent shivers down your body as his thumbs pressed into the plush of your hips. Such painstakingly slow and delicate movements were leaving you impatient and desperate for something more significant as the harbinger's lean but muscular frame stood hunched over you, his hips hovering mockingly close to yours.
"Archons, Tartaglia. Take a picture. It'll last longer," You groaned impatiently.
He chuckled lightly before his eyes retained the dark, focused demeanor they had while his hands glided carefully across your skin. "This isn't for me, sweetheart. I already know your body," he said straightly. "I've felt you under me many times before. You know, all those times I caught you sneaking around the fatui. I basically had no choice but to familiarize myself with every inch of you. So ya, this isn't so I'll remember. It's so you won't possibly be able to forget me, so just relax."
With that, you let down your guard. It was so easy for Tartaglia to slip your garments off your body and toss them aside, and he tore his shirt off as well. The pants and gloves remained. He wanted to at least leave something to the imagination for now. You'd become so suddenly docile and obedient for him, so unlike you, but he'd be sure to reward you well soon.
Fingers that once traced your body were now replaced with a pair of brazen lips caressing your forms, littering kisses and hickeys all over your upper body as Tartaglia took note of just what made you shudder. They moved their way up your frame and pressed into your lips, his tongue slipping in your mouth and dancing around yours as his bare chest pressed up against you. You could feel the perfectly carved details of his muscles as his sturdy hands against your hips kept your frame right up against his, hips grinding into your undergarments tauntingly. The rubbing of fabrics against one another caused such indulgent friction that it made your mind spin with pleasured thoughts and neediness, and just as you felt yourself slip and fall victim to the mind-numbing passion and warmth, he pulled away from you.
"Tell me something, y/n. Do you remember how many times I've caught you but graciously let you go?" He questioned you, his tone shifting into that familiar teasing mockery.
"I- uhh- try not to dwell on my failures."
Tartaglia let out an almost boyish chuckle. “Well, you should know I myself make a point to keep count of the favors I’m owed,” he explained. “And if my memory serves me right, you owe me for six incidents.”
“S-six?” You muttered, the words bellowing in your head and bouncing around mockingly.
Tartaglia answered you by nodding condescendingly, his smoldering eyes looking down on you in a taunting gaze.
Six times, you thought to yourself in shame. After all that big talk about how you were only doing this so you could never have to see him again, you owed him six favors. It was a larger debt than you'd expected, one that could keep you in Tartaglia's grasp for quite awhile. Regardless of whether or not you wanted to see him again, you still desperately wanted to shake the part of you that was obligated to see him. The fatui were not the kind of people to just kind let go of an IOU.
You sighed. "What do you want from me, Childe?"
"Glad you asked," he beamed, "One orgasm for each favor," He leaned down toward you close enough for his lips to gently graze your ear. "I'm gonna make you cum for me six times tonight. Sound good?"
You bit into the inside of your lip in an attempt to quell the desperation building inside of you. "If it's what I have to do to-"
"That's not what I want you to tell me, sweetheart-"
"Not this again," you growled in frustration.
Tartaglia took his dominant hand away from your waist and pressed the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of your lower chin, pulling your wandering gaze back up toward him. "Alright, you listen because I'm not gonna repeat myself again. Either you tell me you want this and mean it, or we can wrap up here and I can figure out a more pragmatic way for you to pay me back. I promise you, I could make you feel things you didn't think were possible, or I could put you to work some other day, but that's boring so try and make the mutually beneficial choice. What's it gonna be?"
From the darkened look in Tartaglia's eyes, you knew he wasn't messing around. It was pride out the window or the walk of shame for nothing, and he knew no matter what he did after that, you'd come to regret walking out.
"T-tartaglia?" you stiffly hesitated.
"Yes?" he answered in a saccharine tone.
You felt that familiar tinge of aversion to the harbinger's belittling, that anger that kept your mind spinning around the thought of whether you wanted Tartaglia to have to swallow his words or if the teasing and taunting was something you were starting to enjoy. Nevertheless, you buried that feeling and sucked it up, because as much as it sucked to admit, he was so undeniably attractive, and yeah you wanted him, you just didn't wanna say it aloud. Against all instinct, you buried that feeling deep down. “Please, Childe,” you whimpered out, pained by your bodies deception of your mind. “Please fuck me. Do whatever you want with me, please, just touch me.”
You could see in Childe’s eyes how he relished the moment. Fierce little Y/N, all shy and submissive, pinned under his body, writhing in embarrassment and desperation to the point where you might nearly cry. “Good girl,” he told you, his once harshly gripping hand now resting gently on your cheek while the other slid encouragingly against your inner thigh, parting the two appendages with ease.
Tartaglia's fingers slid their way to your clit, still clothed but doing nothing to hide the slick arousal. He made delicate circles around the area, applying a gentle but firm pressure that only left you aching for something further. The way his eyes refused to leave you did a good enough job of getting under your skin to where he didn't need to say anything at all. Those eyes did all the talking he needed as rough finger pads pressed into your sensitive clit, but you were hesitant to give him the reaction he oh so wanted out of you. Withholding your responses to his touch was far easier said than done, though. His two fingers rubbed at your sweet spot until you could feel it pulsate like your heart that was trying to beat out of your chest. You felt yourself shrivel under his consistent gaze, bringing your hands up to hide your flushed red cheeks and muffle the timid moans trying to escape your lips, but Childe wrapped his free hand around both your wrists with such ease. He was able to freely restrain and pin your comparatively small hands above your head. It required him to lean closer into you, which only gave him the opportunity to get a clearer look at your face, a prime opportunity to relish the way you squirmed to avoid his burning gaze. His eyes were so seductive, so easy to get lost in, but they mocked you and judged you harshly for being such an easy and willing victim for them.
"No need to be so shy," Tartaglia insisted in sing-songy tones. "I want to see and hear all of you. Besides, you look so cute like this."
You felt that familiar feeling of repulsion you'd been coming back to all night at the word cute, but it quickly dissipated as Tartaglia's leather-wrapped fingers tugged at the fabric of your panties and pushed them aside. The cold leather smoothed into the tender bundle of nerves he'd been teasing, and a high-pitched gasp left your lips. His movements were no longer slow and withholding. He was massaging you with quick and precise maneuvers, and your breath hitched and mouth gaped open in pleasure. Sweet little moans had no choice but to leave your lips, and Tartaglia reveled in the sound and watched your eyes dart back and forth around the room and back to him in embarrassment with such an adoring gaze. He was enthralled by the way you continued to try to deny him despite your state, how you kept cycling through stages of submission and defiance. You were a challenge, and a mystery he was so close to cracking wide open, but alas, he removed his dominant hand from your slit, the other still wrapped around your wrists.
"What are you-"
Tartaglia took one of his fingers and placed the tip in his mouth, gripping the leather fabric between his teeth and pulling it off his slender digits. He placed his two middle fingers and slid them up and down your slit, spreading the wet slick across your folds, seemingly taunting you with your own weeping arousal. The pads of his fingers rest for a moment at your entrance before pressing into you slowly, Tartaglia watching the two appendages disappear into you with ease. There was a feeling of sweet relief that overcame you as your gummy walls finally found something to pulsate around. Tartaglia didn't hesitate to pump his fingers in and out of your willing body, encouraged by your wetness and the way your walls tried to suck him in. The sweet friction, combined with Tartaglia's palm slapping against your clit every time he reentered your insides, sent you to the moon. Your mouth gaped open in pleasure, arrays of whimpering sounds leaving you and assuring the harbinger that it all just felt so so good. He too had to suppress a moan every time your insides would convulse around his fingers, how his cock was already straining through his pants just inches from your entrance.
"Mm, Childe..." you called out to him, breathy moans surrounding the name in sultry low tones.
"Yes, baby. That's right," he cooed, eyes deeply focused on yours, staring into your soul. "Say my name. I wanna hear you say it at least a hundred times tonight! Can you do that for me, baby?"
Childe then pressed his thumb into your clit and circled around the nub, fingers still diving into you as he added the extra pleasure on.
"Y-yes, Childe," you shakily whimpered. "I- I'm close."
That sly smile crawled across his face for the hundredth time that night, adoration riddled in his eyes. "You wanna cum on my fingers?" he asked tauntingly and proudly.
You nodded profusely, words escaping you.
Tartaglia let out a low and devious chuckle. "Come on, now. Use your words, loud and clear for me."
You could hardly put out an audible word, but you'd reached this standstill before, so you whimpered out to him. "Please, Childe... let- let me cum."
He took his other hand from around your wrists and placed it on your chin lovingly. "As you wish, gorgeous," he answered you, his low hand reentering you at an accelerated pace and pounding into you lovingly.
Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and sweet, senseless moans evaded you. Every cry of ecstasy from you was answered by him with more ecstasy being pumped into you. When Tartaglia truly reached a rhythm and was able to perfectly read your needy whimpers, he knew he was hitting the sweet spot and only mercilessly attacked that spot further, jutting his slender fingers into you again and again until you snap, spurting and creaming onto his hand in an opalescent fluid. He left his hand at your entrance to become drenched in your sweetness, watching the viscous liquid drip from his fingers as your legs twitch and convulse and your head threw back to release heaving and tired breaths.
"You did amazing," he told you, his words coaxing you as he lifted his fingers from your hole and placed his saturated fingers into his mouth, lapping up the juices and savoring each taste. The movements of his tongue were seductive and entrancing, and when he saw the droopy, exhausted stare you were giving him, he said with a sly smile, "Would you like a taste?"
You'd still exhausted yourself beyond forming audible words, which he was well aware of. He prided himself on it, so instead of forcing you to answer him, he dipped his head down between your legs and dragged his tongue across your folds, his lips finding a resting place to kiss your clit. You shuddered at the sensation, a whiny, high-pitched array of moans telling Tartaglia it was too much, too soon. He lifted his head back up from your entrance, darkened eyes moving closer to you as his lips connected with yours, tongue dipping into your mouth to dance with your own so you could delight in your own unique flavor. "Isn't it nice?" Tartaglia asked between breaths. "You taste so good, princess."
Princess... you'd been so drunk on pleasure you'd stopped reacting to Tartaglia's pet names and praises with the normal disdain you would. You were a mess, melting in his hands through nothing more than his lips and hands. How far you'd fallen already, you thought. You didn't really care much anymore. You'd long thrown away your pride already.
"You ready for round two?" he asked almost tauntingly, pulling away from your lips.
You tried to grapple onto his shoulders and keep him from going exactly where you knew he was headed. Your body was still shaking from the first orgasm. You were struggling to pull yourself together, but of course, Tartaglia was stronger, and he released himself from your weakened grip with ease and slid himself back between your legs, his hot breath against your entrance making you shiver.
Tartaglia framed his lips around your clit, sucking the nub and massaging it with his tongue. Your tense fingers dug into the curly ginger locks of his hair, bracing yourself for the onslaught of pleasure you were sorely unprepared for. He worked his tongue against your sweet spot until tears were prickling at your eyes, because you were already so close again but your body wasn't ready for a second release. His movements gradually became broader as he soaked his tongue in your wetness, coating your folds and entrance in his saliva. You were bordering in overwhelmed and completely numb, thoughtless aside from the recognition of how sensitive your insides were as they contracted around nothing until the moment Tartaglia slipped his tongue down into your silky walls, dipping into the crevice at a steadily increasing pace. He got off so hard to your taste, the way you were tugging at his unkempt hair, those short and unstable breathy moans that you kept giving him. Moans of pleasure from him sent an array of vibrations fanning over you, and Tartaglia gripped at the plush of your inner thighs as you instinctively tried to shut them at the sensation.
There was a visceral response from your body to the tantalizing movements of his tongue as it pushed into you and took its time to explore your insides, all while Tartaglia's fingers grappled onto you, his thumbs painting encouraging figure eights across your skin. His eyes continued to tiredly traveled their gaze back up to you before rolling back at your velvety walls closing in around his eager tongue. The sensations were thoroughly overwhelming. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, but you knew from the devious glint in Tartaglia's eyes every time they met yours that he was just getting started, and that thought was both frightening and exhilarating. There was no denying on your part how mind numbingly good he was making you feel, especially as your hips rolled instinctively against Tartaglia's tongue in response to his ministrations, begging for more as tears of pleasure tore from your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks.
"Tartaglia, I-"
"Don't call me that," he instructed, eyes and lips lifting back up toward you momentarily. "Please, umm... call me Ajax."
There was a brief flicker of curiosity in your eyes at his request. Ajax... Though the name rolled off the tongue easily enough, you'd never heard it before, let alone from this man you'd been calling Tartaglia for so long. "Ajax," you sighed.
"That's right. You sound so pretty when you say my name like that, baby. Don't ever try to hold that back, okay, beautiful?"
"O-okay," you answered with reservation.
The request left you in slight confusion, his consistent pace being interrupted only for a moment before he dipped back down between your plushy thighs and prying them open so he could suck on your clit sweeter and more passionately than before. He must really like being called Ajax, you thought, and you confirmed that thought every time you said it. Each time his name would be ripped from your lips in a breathy moan, his motions became more generous and fluid, massaging his tongue across your folds and plunging back into your entrance in one consistent motion. That perfect rhythm was pure bliss as muscles in your body clenched and tightened in response, and Ajax could tell by the way you'd begun gripping onto his hair that you were there. Your grip on him loosened, as did all the muscles in your body, as you released onto his tongue. You came and kept cumming, and it felt like you were at that high forever and yet not long enough. Tartaglia stayed down there as you wound down, licking up the remnants of your orgasm in satisfied hums, relishing how you'd close your legs around him as you became sensitive and he'd have to pry you back open to finish the job.
