Caos

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ mumbles his order, rubbing his temple from an oncoming headache as he reaches into his bag to pull out his card in between his pointer and middle finger, pays for his items, and heads toward a table located in the corner of the cafe.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who scrolls through his phone mindlessly, the tapping of his acrylics being the only thing heard in the quiet space. you, on the other hand, made his drink with ease, walking back and forth behind the counter to make sure his order was properly made.

walking over to his table, you set down the drink first, to which he began to sip on, and then placed a white porcelain plate with a blueberry muffin right in front of him.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who raises a perfectly trimmed brow and points at the dessert. "I didn't order this." to which you shake your head. "I know! You just seemed a bit stressed so I uh, thought you might need something sweet to brighten your day."

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who's heart skips a beat at your kind words. his cheeks turning red as he stutters out a 'thank you' and nibbles on the sweet treat. you smile and walk back to your station, not knowing the green eyes lingering on your figure.

and that's how ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ made it his mission to visit the cafe pretty much every day in order to get to know you better. not to mention, he leaves a huge tip just for you. bro wants to give you his tip

the more he visits, the more he falls in love with you and your kind personality. eventually, he was able to snag your phone number and texts you every day.

'heya [name]! how r u?' 'are u busy? wanna call later?' 'maybe we could hang out later if ur free??'

after pressing send, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ clenches his phone to his chest, rolling back and forth on his bed as he let out giddy giggles, feet slamming against his mattress.

but it's not enough.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who watches you walk to your car from an alley after a tough day at work and in the early hours of the morning, he calls a tow truck to tow away your car while you were sleeping.

you end up calling him in a panic, practically begging him if he could drop you off at work. he giggles, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, and goes to grab his keys.

"sure! I'll drop you off," ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ turns his car on and begins driving as you gave him your address.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who parks in front of your workplace, you gather your stuff and turned to thank him, only to find his lip gloss covered lips plant themselves on your cheek, leaving a pink mark behind.

you freeze, cheeks warming at his actions. he giggles, leaning over once more to plant another kiss on your other cheek. "have a good day, cupcake!" and drives off, leaving you stunned on the sidewalk.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who then starts getting more confident in his affection.

from simple brushing against your hands to him planting goodbye kisses before dropping you off to work. it always leaves you flustered, but you don't say anything.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who brings you back to his apartment after a stressful day of work; customers shouting at you to hurry up with their order, some even throwing their drinks at you. you were on the verge of crying before ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ came to scoop you in a warm embrace, cooing words of comfort in your ears.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who encourages you to take a relaxing bath using his bath salts and bath bombs.

"i'll give you a back massage while you bathe." he coos, slipping your shirt down your shoulders, kissing at the exposed skin. you shudder at the feeling. "won't it be relaxing? you could have a sleepover here."

so here you are in the bath... with ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he snuggled his face in the crook of your neck. when you asked about why he was in the bath with you, he just shrugged you off, mumbling how “we’re both best friends and this is what best friends do."

normally friends don't do this but... you thought, shutting your eyes as ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ scrubbed your body with body wash. it does feel nice.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who immediately notices your relaxed expression, smiles and brushes his hand against your inner thigh. you jump at the feeling, turning your head to the side to stare at him.

"relax~" he laughs, the tips of his fingers teasing your folds. "I'm just washing your body."

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who teases you a bit more before removing his fingers, leaning over to pull out the drain. "time to get out, darling!" he stands up and you immediately look away from his crotch.

jesus fucking christ.

turning your head slightly, you try and get another look before flushing and shaking your head, going back to stare at the water draining. how the hell does he hide that... that weapon on him??

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ notices your staring, hoping out the tub with a towel in hand, not even bothering to hide his cock from your sight. the bastard is practically flaunting it.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who begs you to allow him to wrap you up with a smaller towel, to which you do, but man was it tight on you. pushing your breasts together and barely covering you.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who shrugs at your persistence for another towel. "it's the only clean one I have." he said like a liar, subtly eyeing the hallway closet that had towels that would completely cover you.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who gives you his clothes to wear, ignore how he picks up familiar piece of clothing, briefly bringing it to his nose for a deep sniff before shoving it under his bed for later use.

"i'll change in here with you if you don't mind!~" ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ declared, dropping his towel to slip into his sleepwear. which was an off the shoulder sweatshirt and some booty shorts that BARELY hid his bulge.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who later puts on a movie for you both to watch, sitting his plump ass on you, wrapping his arms around your neck, and giving your neck a quick peck.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who gets bored fast and decides to tease you. subtly grinding his crotch against yours, claiming that he 'was trying to get comfy,' and peppering your neck in kisses. your grip on his waist tightens at his administrations, letting out a small whine as he sucks on your skin slightly.

he soon stops his movements and continues to watch the movie like nothing happened. you pout at him, cheeks hot as you shake your head before watching the movie.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who tucks you into his bed, kissing your forehead like a loving partner before whispering he'll join you soon. you nod, turning to your side and slipping into sleep.

waking up from a loud shout with a startle, you glance at the glowing clock. it was 2 AM. ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ hadn't joined you yet so you slip out of bed and left the room in search of him.

wandering down the hallway of his apartment, another loud shout startles you. glancing around, you spot a closed room with light peeking underneath it. curiosity getting the best of you, you tip toe closer and gently cracked open the door to peek inside.

there on the bed layed ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ, in one of his hands was a clear dildo shoved in and out of his tight ass and the other was tugging at his pink puffy nipples.

in front of him was a camera. the blinking light signaling that it was recording ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ and his self-pleasuring. in his mouth, that barely did anything to cover up his loud moans, were your panties he had stolen earlier.

covering your mouth in shock, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. watching him pleasure himself was hot. ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ was hot. you can't deny that.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who begins to get louder, his hands on the dildo and his nipple went faster and faster. with an arched back, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he came. his sticky white mess landing on his chest and all over his hands, hips jerking his cock into the air, like he was imagining he was fucking into your tight cunt.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who slumps in his bed after weakly reaching over to turn off the recording, spitting out the saliva covered panties next to him and removing the dildo from his ass.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who finally catches his breath, snags a rag from the bedside table and begins to clean himself up happily. "I'll edit and post the video later but for now... it's time to sleep next to [name]!" he cheers, tossing the dirty cum filled rag into the laundry basket and changed back into his sleepwear.

realizing he was heading back to his room, you quickly head back, slipping under the sheets and closing your eyes just in time for his arrival.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who sneaks inside the room, gently shutting the door and pulling back the sheets to slide in next to you. "goodnight [name]~" he whispered lovingly, pecking your cheek and spooning you from behind, practically purring from your warmth.

the next morning, you couldn't look at ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ in the eyes, too ashamed from peeking in at his private activities. he notices your behavior and saunters over to your side of the table. "something on your mind, [name]?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side. "you look like you've seen something... naughty~"

you jump, slamming your knees against the table. "n-no! I haven't seen anything, I, uh, just had a weird dream last n-night! haha!"

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ rests his chin on the palm of his hand, a smug look plastered on his face. "you sure?~" he teased. you shout 'yes!'.

later in the day, long after you went back home, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ decides to edit the video he took a few hours ago. staring at the paused screen, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ palms himself through his shorts at the sight of your flustered face watching him please himself.

"you're sooo cute, [name]." he moans, biting his lip. "I can't wait to make you mine."

You woke up one day as one of the hundreds of maids and servants employed by the Kingdom of Thralkeld. Originally, you were just a regular waitress and college student, barely scraping by through a system of rarely paid rent and skipped meals. 

Being a broke student was fine, for a while. You found respite through a silly otome game; Sinner's Escape. A dark romance where the MC is a runaway princess from a savage kingdom who seeks refuge in Thralkeld. Your, or rather her, love interests included a poor baker, a knight, the king, and the king's butler. Ultimately, she would end up with the King on most routes, though you personally liked the butler for his calm and responsible demeanor. He held a sinister way of disposing of rivals that was calculated and silent. 

The others were far too messy. Especially the king, Alric, who was an obsessive man, constantly fawning over the MC with lavish gifts and a falsely immature personality. You hated how fake he was. How could a player possibly love a character that makes the MC fall for a fallacy? 

Behind all the cutesy acting and baby talking was a cunning and violent man. 

You lived your life as a maid rather conservatively, however; doing your chores, following orders, and then locking yourself in your shabby room until your shift would begin once again. 

You weren't quite sure when King Alric took notice of you. 

Perhaps it was when you were forced to bring him breakfast in bed when he was 'sick.' A ploy he mustered up to make the MC dote on him. She was here, staying in one of the rooms as an honorary guest - or rather as a very pretty stray he picked up. 

She sat atop his bed, playing with his blonde hair with a sweet smile on her face. His head in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist and piercing blue eyes holding a deceitfully pitiful look. 

"I've brought the master's breakfast, my lady." 

She thanked you politely, and you bowed, glaring at him in passing. 

Had he noticed? Probably. You hoped not. 

At another point, you had gotten in an argument with the infamous butler. 

"You can't just leave all your trash for us to pick up! It isn't fair." You shouted. 

The butler was rather spoiled, something you hadn't caught onto when playing the game. He was just leaving his garbage everywhere! And none of the maids could say anything for fear of retaliation. 

"Your tongue should match your status." 

"Your tongue should match your face. If you were handsome maybe I'd let you scold me, but you're ugly and mean and gross and totally uncool!" You were certain you'd get called a witch for your odd language and uncharacteristic yelling. Maybe even stoned, or at least fired. 

What you hadn't expected was a laugh to sound from behind you. 

The king, with all of his pearly white teeth, was actually laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. When had you been employed into his staff? What a hilarious woman! 

Suddenly, you began noticing the king's presence every time you would utter a grievance (or a cruel opinion). Subconsciously, Alric found himself seeking out your theatrics. Passing by the kitchen, the maid's chambers, or even the back corner of the garden where the laundry is tended to became a habit whenever he needed a good laugh. 

You are rather honest about everything; something he is simply no good at. 

King Alric began requesting your presence for afternoon tea. Your speech and unfiltered conversations were a relief to him, who was so used to pleasantries. He could speak as degenerately as he wished to, and you would simply respond as normal without judgement, unless you wanted to be judgmental. 

Ahh, how wonderful it is to speak with someone who doesn't fear my status. 

"You hate that butler of mine, don't you?" He chuckled, offering you a cup.

You shook your head and politely declined the cup. "I don't hate him. He's just a jerk." 

"Yes, sometimes I wish I could just snap his neck." King Alric closed his eyes, as if truly pondering the scenario. "He speaks far too plainly with my possessions." 

You raised a brow, but spoke anyway. "I wouldn't snap his neck, personally. But one good punch to his face would def set that guy straight." 

"Def," he smiled, "You have such an interesting manner of speaking." 

The MC was gone soon after. You weren't quite sure where she had gone. You were certain she would have followed the king's route, though you supposed she may have been mingling with the others and finally made a different choice. 

Another argument had ensued between the butler and you, this time sparked up by him. 

"You are seducing the king, you filthy rat." He accused, a pointed finger hitting your chest. 

You could only stare in confusion, smacking at his hand and stepping back. 

"The fuck are you talking about?" 

"How could he have possibly fallen for such a foul-mouthed cretin, when that beauty was right at his fingertips." He muttered the last part, almost inaudibly, though you caught it. 

Before you could respond, King Alric's arm slunk around your waist, pulling you into his chest in a warm embrace. You noticed a light smell of vanilla. 

"Are you bothering my favorite maid?" 

You couldn't see his expression, but judging by the one on the butler's, you were certain it couldn't have been good. 

And that was when it hit you; if the MC was no longer his love interest, did that mean he could choose someone else? Was it possible? 

You shuffled out of his arms, a nervous smile painting your lips. "Haha... I'm just gonna... Get back to work." 

The next time you saw him was only a week later, the king's boisterous voice booming as he entered the crowded kitchen. You were boiling ginger when he pulled you against his chest once again, barking at the other maids and cooks to leave. 

The smell of vanilla was gone and replaced with something more metallic, but you couldn't exactly prove it. 

"I have good news, little princess."

You gasped, turning around and pushing him away - which was futile. "Princess? That could get me executed!" 

He sighed. "Since when did you care about how we talk?"

"Since you started giving me nicknames like little princess." 

King Alric dropped his head atop your shoulder. "Well, I have good news, little princess." You grumbled, but let him speak anyway. "It seems my butler has resigned. And I'd like to give his position to you, as my personal maid." You could feel his smile against your ear.

"What? Your personal maid?" You shook involuntarily, gripping at his shirt. Butler positions are for life, no intelligent man would resign such a permanent and high-class job. In the game, the butler was so loyal, he was willing to share the MC with the King if it meant staying under his employment. 

A particular route suddenly came to mind. It was one of the rarer endings, a bad one where the king goes berserk and kills quite literally everyone. 

That was the one and only game ending in which the butler was no longer at Alric's side. 

"He's dead," you whispered, eyes widening with realization.

You hadn't meant to speak your thoughts aloud, truly you hadn't. But the moment came so suddenly. 

Sure, you hated the butler as you had grown to know him, but ultimately, he was your favorite character. He was a pious little shit whose arguing became a steady comfort within the chaos of a new life. 

Before you knew it, tears were brimming against your face, trailing down and wetting his shirt as you clung to him. 

"Shhh." King Alric whispered, holding you tighter. "How'd you know I killed him?" He slowly began trailing kisses against your neck, ending at your jaw with a wet tongue snaking its way across. "You always suspected me, huh? I noticed it. When we first locked eyes."

You mustered a little huh.

"You looked at me with such reverence. As if you knew I was faking for her affection." 

A large hand clasped at your chin, forcing you to look up at King Alric with big, worried eyes. "What happened to her?"

His eyes darkened, his lids lowering as if entranced by your beauty despite his sinister anger. His thumb and pointer finger squeezed harder at your cheek. 

"She and my butler are spending time together. Peacefully." 

Ducking down, King Alric connected your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and exploring the wetness. He lowered his hand to your neck, never squeezing, only resting. If you resisted, you wondered if he would do it. 

You didn't want to find out. 

The plushness of your skin against his fingertips sent Alric reeling, a dizzying hotness spreading to his groin and flaring his skin with goosebumps. 

"You're the only one," he muttered in between breaths. "The only one who accepts me - the real me." 

"H-Hold on, Alric. You can't just-" 

The words were shaken out of you when two large hands pushed you back. King Alric was in a frenzy, and the tight squeeze on your shoulders forced a yelp to escape your lips. 

He was shocked.

"My name." Alric's voice was barely above a whisper. 

Despite the absurd situation, you found yourself laughing, an exasperation present that worked up your confidence. "Yeah, your name." 

There was a silence, and all you could do was scrutinize his now unrefined attire until your eyes landed on the growing tent in his pants. It looked almost painful, and a strange pooling in your stomach brought you back to reality. 

"You're not real," you mustered out. "This is a game. It's all pixels. You don't exist, the butler isn't dead, and I'm definitely not about to..." 

Your voice trailed off, the king's head cocking to the side in confusion. 

"I'm not real?" 

"You're not."

"Have you gone mad?" 

"Maybe." 

Alric smirked, encasing your hand beneath his, fingers guiding yours to the swell of his trousers. The softness of the fabric and stiffened bulge a clear indication of his desperate need. 

"Is this not real?" You almost heard a whine in his voice when he asked this of you. 

Your silence was deafening, and as the spoiled brat he is; took it as a confirmation to continue. 

"Turn around." His voice was commanding, authoritative in the way you would expect of a true king. Alric spun you on your heels, pushing your maid's skirt up to situate himself behind you. His hand rubbed smooth circles against your ass cheeks and love handles. "Why don't you feel how real I am?" He whispered into your ear, nibbling at the tip before biting down. 

Alric fumbled with releasing his dick, the appendage slapping at your thigh and the precum dribbling down your leg. 

When you felt the tip go near the crevice of your thighs, you squealed but protested. "Not inside! Anything but inside." 

Alric used his free hand to turn your face to look back at him, a thumb pressed into your bottom lip and cooing. "Anything for my little princess." 

Your maniacal king honored his word, shoving his length between your legs instead of inside your aching pussy. 

Slowly, he moved forward and backward, simply relishing in the feeling of your plush thighs rubbing against his dick oh so perfectly. 

"God, you're amazing."

"You're doing so good for me." 

"Juuust like that, princess." 

The feeling of your clit rubbing against his shaft was nothing short of euphoric, sweet moans the only audible sound from you as you gorged yourself on the king's cock. 

You hiked the front of your skirt over your forearms, a nimble hand reaching for Alric's tip and rubbing small circles. 

Alric's head fell back, his grip on you tightening. "If you do that, I'll..." Your body began moving in sync with his, allowing yourself the stimulation he provided. 

His speed increased; what was once long, dragged out movements became desperate bucks, short and quick and ever so pleasurable. 

"I'm cumming, princess." Alric pressed his front into your backside, his large chest engulfing your frame as he chased his high, you not far behind him. 

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck..."

The milky white substance leaked from his tip, covering your hands and the inside of your maid's skirt. He continued, however, allowing you to feel the building pressure and release. The sounds of your perfect moans swallowed him whole. 

And you were worried; because the feeling of his warm cum coating your hands and legs made you want to know what it would feel like inside of you. 

"Hey, Lokk, wake up," you whispered, rubbing at his shoulder with a gentle grip. 

It was the middle of the night, the sky a clouded darkness covered by a vast expanse of trees and branches. You could barely see in front of yourself, your humanly vision much weaker even after adjusting. The orc groaned quietly, huffing before opening his eyes to look at your scared ones. You rather reminded Lokk of a lamb; similar to the ones he would often care for during his childhood. Jumpy, polite, yet carrying a confident edge about yourself that bordered on naive. 

You shuffled the book out of your backpack, your hands still stained with his, and your own, blood. The pages turned listlessly, odd symbols that held no importance to you decorating them as you attempted to find something, anything, that would help Lokk heal. 

A particular page caught your attention, if only for a moment. A tusk, broken in half, was drawn near the bottom, circles surrounding matching symbols and lettering for a language unknown to you. The germanic language was written above. This either meant it is a spell of destruction, or healing.

"Can you read this?" You questioned, "I don't have my phone to translate." 

Lokk wasn't quite sure what a cone (?) is, but he would oblige, piercing blue eyes squinting to read over the orcish text of symbols. 

"Thrakar." 

"Huh?"

"To mend." The words came out warm and rugged, like the feeling of hot sand beneath your feet on a particularly sunny summer day. You'd have liked to listen to him speak longer, to serenade you with simple stories and pleasant conversation. 

As if already entranced, Lokk's hands removed the book from your grasp as you instinctively released your hold - you are far too trusting, he realized. You could only watch as he bit into his palm, the blue blood falling in droplets over the tawny cover. I guess I'm too trusting as well, he thought, the throbbing in his hand doing little to distract him from the pain of his ankle. For an orc to willingly draw blood for a magic spell - even if self serving - is unheard of. 

"Those mauk-raks called you human, yes?" His chest heaved upward as he inhaled, steadying his aching body before returning the book to you. You nodded, receiving it gratefully. "Then you'll need to draw it. Only sorcerers can enchant using words." Lokk explained, pointing a large finger at the broken tusk. 

In this strange world, sorcerers fall into their own race. Human-like in appearance, with their only distinction the violet eyes they bore into their victims. You peered back at the sleeping form of the group's sorcerer, his body curled underneath his cloak, likely chasing some kind of warmth in the chilly night. 

Sorcerers can cast spells, but only with the blood of a barbarian class. You wondered why this world held such a cruel magic system. 

"That explains so much," you stated matter-of-factly. You can't speak in the sorcerer's tongue, but as long as one has a bit of orc blood and the 'magic symbol manual', as you called it once in passing, you would be able to practice magic to some extent. Unlike Terin, who could whisper a few incantations and have you swinging in the air at his mere whim, you would have to do everything in your power to protect your book. 

Scrambling to your feet, you made your way to the lower half of his body, your voice quiet as to not awaken your traveling companions. "Where do I draw it?" 

"On me." Lokk's body shifted slightly, the movement causing you to worry he may harm himself by mistake.

You contemplated how best to go about this. You have a Sharpie in your bag, but Lokk's skin is essentially just an open wound; where would you even draw it? 

"Can I draw on a paper and put it on you?" 

You were going completely based off of anime logic here, but hey, doesn't hurt to try. 

He chuckled dryly. "Where is a human going to get paper?" You weren't quite sure how insulted you should feel. "It works, but there're no merchants and paper is a luxury. Even for nobles." 

You huffed at the orc, rummaging through your bag to flaunt your notebook. "Well lucky for you, I have plenty!" 

Lokk eyed you suspiciously. Despite the less than ideal way you met, he had growing suspicions about you and your party. A sadistic little sorcerer, a blood-thirsty elf, and a sarcastic bard that seemed more like baggage than anything else - and then there was you. From what he could gather, the three found you and offered you rescue to Thralkeld, where you would likely be traded for a reward by the king. 

So, where did you come from? Why would a human girl be parading around Ironforge, of all places. Any humans that refused to enter King Davros's rule were killed off, and their women taken. Funny how we get blamed for doing that, Lokk bitterly mused to himself. 

Your clothes, despite soiled in begrime and blood, were clearly not of any material he was familiar with. Human women typically wore long dresses, with fabrics covering their legs as much as possible. Modesty, or whatever, seems important to your race. Yet you have your legs bared for all to see. Not to mention you owning a substantial amount of paper, and a spell book.

Perhaps you are of a human noble house? A runaway?

But then, you would have known of King Davros, you would have been running away from Thralkeld, not towards. 

Lokk sighed. He didn't care. You clearly hold some ignorant affections towards him at least, perhaps even pity. He simply needed to exploit that in order to gain his freedom. 

Whatever will happen to you in Thralkeld is none of his business. It's your race causing him all these violent issues in the first place. 

The warmth of the sheet of paper, that was once tucked away in your backpack, laid flat against his ankle, the corners crinkling as blood seeped into the sides. The symbol glowed a luminous blue, the light reflecting off your face and forcing you to squint. Once the blue color waned, Lokk swiped the paper away, letting it fall into the mud beside himself. 

"Now we wait." He allowed his head to rest back against the grass. 

You quickly crammed the paper into your pocket after noticing Kosris stirring in his sleep. Quietly, carefully, you crawled towards Lokk's face, a sparkle in your eyes from your excitement that your spell casting worked. 

You simply stared at the orc lying in front of you. The way his darkened curls fall across his face, the curvature of his lips as they encircle his sharpened tusks, the green tint of his skin, flushed and red from all the physical exertion he's had to endure. Your eyes trailed down to his neck, then his chest. A vein, blue and purple, trailed alongside his adam's apple, just beneath his jaw. 

"What?" He uttered, gaze catching yours. 

You leaned back, apologizing quickly before offering a sheepish smile. "You're so cool." 

Lokk didn't respond, he couldn't. What kind of human compliments their enemy? 

In turn, he admired your features, mirroring that curious stare you sported. Humans reminded him of beasts. A race that looked almost like sorcerers, or perhaps elves, yet so much more rugged. A short, hairy being with scratches and sweat and dirt adorning your soft features. 

And your eyes; the color significantly more warm, more welcoming compared to anything he had ever seen. 

He scrutinized further down. Your sweater hung low, your neck and collarbones exposed to the cold air of the forest. Your injured hand shook at your side, likely too numb to rest comfortably. You had spent hours tending to him, fretting over every small detail to ensure his survival. 

"Heal it." Lokk commanded, motioning towards the gash with a pointed nose. 

You quickly shook your head. "Oh no, don't worry." You placed your hand behind yourself, out of sight out of mind, right? "I don't want you to think I'm using you for your blood or anything." 

It was an honest answer; you pride yourself in being direct. Sometimes. 

Although you felt the elf, tiefling, and sorcerer held good intentions, you couldn't help but disagree with their treatment of the orcs. In truth, you wanted Lokk to like you, or at least tolerate you. You were human, yes, but not of this world. You had no part in the mass killings of his people; a week ago you were just a college girl struggling through calculus!

"You not letting them kill me earlier is proof enough." Lokk arches a brow, recalling your bold attempt at directing Sylven's bloodthirsty attack away from him. At your silence, he shuts his eyes, musing, "Heal or don't. Your choice, sma gâzhin." 

"Smaa gaezeen," you repeated, letting the strange nick name - or you assumed it to be one, at least - roll off your tongue hesitantly. 

The orc tiredly chuckled; inaudibly, as though making too much noise would scare you off. Orcish tongue is considered cursed, deemed a benevolent language only used by savage killers. 

Yet here you are, repeating words in such a way that you would think you're actually interested in learning. 

"Will it actually heal you?" You whispered, receiving a tired glare from Lokk. He followed your gaze to his ankle, then forced himself to raise his head once again. 

"It might. If you stitched me well enough," he begrudgingly shifted his position to lay on his opposite side, the burning sensation in his ankle increasing. 

You could take a hint - sometimes - and decided to let Lokk sleep the rest of the night. 

And regardless, you had another, more strenuous matter, to attend to. The blood Lokk placed into the book would be enough for one more spell. That sometimes part of your directness is being put into practice now; you needed to save that last spell to test whether you could go home. Your knees dug into the earthy ground beneath you, impatience causing goosebumps to litter your skin. You needed this to work. 

Taking a shaky breath in, you decided to stand from your space next to the orc, confirming with quiet whispers of his name to ensure his sleeping. You took a quick, protective, glance back at the three stooges before walking deeper into the forest, careful as to not step on twigs or leaves. You figured they were heavy sleepers, what with your incessant conversations and spell casting with the orc only moments ago. 

When you felt you were at a far enough distance, you crouched down to begin drawing in your notebook. 

You made it about halfway through the drawing before halting suddenly, realizing a crucial detail. 

"This is way too small." You placed your head in your hands, sighing out before trying to think further. 

Notebook's too small, trees are too thin, the ground is...

"Wait." You took a long stride back, examining the dirt in front of you. "Would that...?" 

You weren't sure if using a branch to mark the spell into the dirt would work, but you figured it would be your best attempt for now. 

You stretched yourself as far as you could reach to pull at a lowered branch, the sharpened edge a hopefully convenient tool for etching the symbols. 

"What are you doing?" 

Your body fell backwards, a yelp escaping your lips at the sudden voice cutting through the forest's thick silence. You looked back, catching sight of Kosris, your favorite bard and tiefling. Your book lay against a nearby tree, concealed by the darkness, much to your luck. 

After gathering your bearings and facing Kosris, you strutted past him. "Sorry! Was using the lady's room and thought I saw a bird."

"A bird?" He folded his arms, suspicion lacing his features. 

"I'm hungry." 

Kosris eyed you up and down, scrutinizing your frame before shaking his head. "For such a small human, you eat far too much." 

You barked out a laugh. "You're supposed to have three meals a day to stay healthy," you recalled from all your old health ed classes. 

"Out here, you're lucky if you even get one." Kosris sported a solemn countenance. "Are you a noble in your world?" 

"Uhh, no." You offered the bard a small smile, patting his shoulder. "Food's a little easier to get where I'm from."

He nodded, a bit jealous of your situation. Kosris couldn't remember the last time he was able to sit down and eat a proper warm meal. When choosing music, he also chose a life of destitution; to constantly have to fend for himself through hunting, bartering, and stealing. Yet you, a human from some far off world only accessible through magic, are so used to having a full belly that all you can do is hunger for more. 

"Hey, maybe after King Davros helps me, he'll let you visit me!"

You felt the bard stiffen beneath your hand, a reaction he intended to distract you from. "Oh! I think I see that bird you mentioned-" Kosris slapped your hand away - rather harshly you might add - and scurried deeper into the forest. He suggested you return to the camp and sleep, which you obliged, if only hesitantly.

"He's so nervy," you mumbled, grabbing your book. "I'll try tomorrow, I guess." 

-

"Police are still on the lookout for the missing college girl. She was last seen through security footage, walking around the campus before..." 

The professor's numbing thoughts were interrupted by the sirens emitting from the small television in his apartment. The bold, white words flashed across the screen, soon disappearing to give way for the picture of the missing girl - you, his student. He had been the last person to speak with you. Or at least, that was what he was told by the investigators. From what they could gather, he was the only possible suspect despite his alibi clearing him almost immediately. 

You had disappeared as if out of thin air. The building's security footage displayed your entrance into the study room, yet you never walked out. The specific room you had rented didn't sport any windows and nobody was seen entering after you, besides the administrator that had arrived to kick you out for overstaying. 

It has been exactly one week since your disappearance; and he wonders if they'll rule you a runaway. 

A college girl that got too high on life and went AWOL. 

The professor knew better though. You hadn't necessarily agreed to the job opportunity, but you were contemplating it. Weighing your options as though you knew you needed the job. If you were planning on leaving, you would have said no outright.

That is simply the kind of person you are.

He's learned at least that much through his time teaching you. 

The professor wasn't sure if it was the you, or maybe the dejection it made him feel knowing something has happened to you, or even just the boredom his apartment wallowed in, but he stood up. He slipped out the room and locked the door, treading towards his car. He needed to do something. 

To say it was late would be an understatement, the streets were quiet with the few blares of cars and angry drivers. Streetlights dimmed compared to the crescent moon that poked through the nightly clouds.

He arrived at the school in a hurry, his ID causing the little machine against the door to flash green and unlock. Walking down the hall, he counted the many wooden doors before reaching what he believed to be your study room. They were planning on opening it for students again, after the investigators are satisfied with their search and collected evidence - not that there was much evidence to collect aside from your phone. 

Slowly, the professor examined everything. The whiteboard had been moved, and markers were scattered across the floor, though the eraser was confiscated and bagged for forensics. The room was a picture perfect, mysterious, crime scene. Obvious signs of struggle with the chair and table moved erratically, yet no blood, no scratches, no DNA that could be linked to the possibility of a violent crime. 

The professor sat in the chair, hands rubbing at his face and combing through his greyed hair. 

"I don't know why, but I feel so guilty." 

He needed to find you, somehow. 

You woke up one day as one of the hundreds of maids and servants employed by the Kingdom of Thralkeld. Originally, you were just a regular waitress and college student, barely scraping by through a system of rarely paid rent and skipped meals. 

Being a broke student was fine, for a while. You found respite through a silly otome game; Sinner's Escape. A dark romance where the MC is a runaway princess from a savage kingdom who seeks refuge in Thralkeld. Your, or rather her, love interests included a poor baker, a knight, the king, and the king's butler. Ultimately, she would end up with the King on most routes, though you personally liked the butler for his calm and responsible demeanor. He held a sinister way of disposing of rivals that was calculated and silent. 

The others were far too messy. Especially the king, Alric, who was an obsessive man, constantly fawning over the MC with lavish gifts and a falsely immature personality. You hated how fake he was. How could a player possibly love a character that makes the MC fall for a fallacy? 

Behind all the cutesy acting and baby talking was a cunning and violent man. 

You lived your life as a maid rather conservatively, however; doing your chores, following orders, and then locking yourself in your shabby room until your shift would begin once again. 

You weren't quite sure when King Alric took notice of you. 

Perhaps it was when you were forced to bring him breakfast in bed when he was 'sick.' A ploy he mustered up to make the MC dote on him. She was here, staying in one of the rooms as an honorary guest - or rather as a very pretty stray he picked up. 

She sat atop his bed, playing with his blonde hair with a sweet smile on her face. His head in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist and piercing blue eyes holding a deceitfully pitiful look. 

"I've brought the master's breakfast, my lady." 

She thanked you politely, and you bowed, glaring at him in passing. 

Had he noticed? Probably. You hoped not. 

At another point, you had gotten in an argument with the infamous butler. 

"You can't just leave all your trash for us to pick up! It isn't fair." You shouted. 

The butler was rather spoiled, something you hadn't caught onto when playing the game. He was just leaving his garbage everywhere! And none of the maids could say anything for fear of retaliation. 

"Your tongue should match your status." 

"Your tongue should match your face. If you were handsome maybe I'd let you scold me, but you're ugly and mean and gross and totally uncool!" You were certain you'd get called a witch for your odd language and uncharacteristic yelling. Maybe even stoned, or at least fired. 

What you hadn't expected was a laugh to sound from behind you. 

The king, with all of his pearly white teeth, was actually laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. When had you been employed into his staff? What a hilarious woman! 

Suddenly, you began noticing the king's presence every time you would utter a grievance (or a cruel opinion). Subconsciously, Alric found himself seeking out your theatrics. Passing by the kitchen, the maid's chambers, or even the back corner of the garden where the laundry is tended to became a habit whenever he needed a good laugh. 

You are rather honest about everything; something he is simply no good at. 

King Alric began requesting your presence for afternoon tea. Your speech and unfiltered conversations were a relief to him, who was so used to pleasantries. He could speak as degenerately as he wished to, and you would simply respond as normal without judgement, unless you wanted to be judgmental. 

Ahh, how wonderful it is to speak with someone who doesn't fear my status. 

"You hate that butler of mine, don't you?" He chuckled, offering you a cup.

You shook your head and politely declined the cup. "I don't hate him. He's just a jerk." 

"Yes, sometimes I wish I could just snap his neck." King Alric closed his eyes, as if truly pondering the scenario. "He speaks far too plainly with my possessions." 

You raised a brow, but spoke anyway. "I wouldn't snap his neck, personally. But one good punch to his face would def set that guy straight." 

"Def," he smiled, "You have such an interesting manner of speaking." 

The MC was gone soon after. You weren't quite sure where she had gone. You were certain she would have followed the king's route, though you supposed she may have been mingling with the others and finally made a different choice. 

Another argument had ensued between the butler and you, this time sparked up by him. 

"You are seducing the king, you filthy rat." He accused, a pointed finger hitting your chest. 

You could only stare in confusion, smacking at his hand and stepping back. 

"The fuck are you talking about?" 

"How could he have possibly fallen for such a foul-mouthed cretin, when that beauty was right at his fingertips." He muttered the last part, almost inaudibly, though you caught it. 

Before you could respond, King Alric's arm slunk around your waist, pulling you into his chest in a warm embrace. You noticed a light smell of vanilla. 

"Are you bothering my favorite maid?" 

You couldn't see his expression, but judging by the one on the butler's, you were certain it couldn't have been good. 

And that was when it hit you; if the MC was no longer his love interest, did that mean he could choose someone else? Was it possible? 

You shuffled out of his arms, a nervous smile painting your lips. "Haha... I'm just gonna... Get back to work." 

The next time you saw him was only a week later, the king's boisterous voice booming as he entered the crowded kitchen. You were boiling ginger when he pulled you against his chest once again, barking at the other maids and cooks to leave. 

The smell of vanilla was gone and replaced with something more metallic, but you couldn't exactly prove it. 

"I have good news, little princess."

You gasped, turning around and pushing him away - which was futile. "Princess? That could get me executed!" 

He sighed. "Since when did you care about how we talk?"

"Since you started giving me nicknames like little princess." 

King Alric dropped his head atop your shoulder. "Well, I have good news, little princess." You grumbled, but let him speak anyway. "It seems my butler has resigned. And I'd like to give his position to you, as my personal maid." You could feel his smile against your ear.

"What? Your personal maid?" You shook involuntarily, gripping at his shirt. Butler positions are for life, no intelligent man would resign such a permanent and high-class job. In the game, the butler was so loyal, he was willing to share the MC with the King if it meant staying under his employment. 

A particular route suddenly came to mind. It was one of the rarer endings, a bad one where the king goes berserk and kills quite literally everyone. 

That was the one and only game ending in which the butler was no longer at Alric's side. 

"He's dead," you whispered, eyes widening with realization.

You hadn't meant to speak your thoughts aloud, truly you hadn't. But the moment came so suddenly. 

Sure, you hated the butler as you had grown to know him, but ultimately, he was your favorite character. He was a pious little shit whose arguing became a steady comfort within the chaos of a new life. 

Before you knew it, tears were brimming against your face, trailing down and wetting his shirt as you clung to him. 

"Shhh." King Alric whispered, holding you tighter. "How'd you know I killed him?" He slowly began trailing kisses against your neck, ending at your jaw with a wet tongue snaking its way across. "You always suspected me, huh? I noticed it. When we first locked eyes."

You mustered a little huh.

"You looked at me with such reverence. As if you knew I was faking for her affection." 

A large hand clasped at your chin, forcing you to look up at King Alric with big, worried eyes. "What happened to her?"

His eyes darkened, his lids lowering as if entranced by your beauty despite his sinister anger. His thumb and pointer finger squeezed harder at your cheek. 

"She and my butler are spending time together. Peacefully." 

Ducking down, King Alric connected your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and exploring the wetness. He lowered his hand to your neck, never squeezing, only resting. If you resisted, you wondered if he would do it. 

You didn't want to find out. 

The plushness of your skin against his fingertips sent Alric reeling, a dizzying hotness spreading to his groin and flaring his skin with goosebumps. 

"You're the only one," he muttered in between breaths. "The only one who accepts me - the real me." 

"H-Hold on, Alric. You can't just-" 

The words were shaken out of you when two large hands pushed you back. King Alric was in a frenzy, and the tight squeeze on your shoulders forced a yelp to escape your lips. 

He was shocked.

"My name." Alric's voice was barely above a whisper. 

Despite the absurd situation, you found yourself laughing, an exasperation present that worked up your confidence. "Yeah, your name." 

There was a silence, and all you could do was scrutinize his now unrefined attire until your eyes landed on the growing tent in his pants. It looked almost painful, and a strange pooling in your stomach brought you back to reality. 

"You're not real," you mustered out. "This is a game. It's all pixels. You don't exist, the butler isn't dead, and I'm definitely not about to..." 

Your voice trailed off, the king's head cocking to the side in confusion. 

"I'm not real?" 

"You're not."

"Have you gone mad?" 

"Maybe." 

Alric smirked, encasing your hand beneath his, fingers guiding yours to the swell of his trousers. The softness of the fabric and stiffened bulge a clear indication of his desperate need. 

"Is this not real?" You almost heard a whine in his voice when he asked this of you. 

Your silence was deafening, and as the spoiled brat he is; took it as a confirmation to continue. 

"Turn around." His voice was commanding, authoritative in the way you would expect of a true king. Alric spun you on your heels, pushing your maid's skirt up to situate himself behind you. His hand rubbed smooth circles against your ass cheeks and love handles. "Why don't you feel how real I am?" He whispered into your ear, nibbling at the tip before biting down. 

Alric fumbled with releasing his dick, the appendage slapping at your thigh and the precum dribbling down your leg. 

When you felt the tip go near the crevice of your thighs, you squealed but protested. "Not inside! Anything but inside." 

Alric used his free hand to turn your face to look back at him, a thumb pressed into your bottom lip and cooing. "Anything for my little princess." 

Your maniacal king honored his word, shoving his length between your legs instead of inside your aching pussy. 

Slowly, he moved forward and backward, simply relishing in the feeling of your plush thighs rubbing against his dick oh so perfectly. 

"God, you're amazing."

"You're doing so good for me." 

"Juuust like that, princess." 

The feeling of your clit rubbing against his shaft was nothing short of euphoric, sweet moans the only audible sound from you as you gorged yourself on the king's cock. 

You hiked the front of your skirt over your forearms, a nimble hand reaching for Alric's tip and rubbing small circles. 

Alric's head fell back, his grip on you tightening. "If you do that, I'll..." Your body began moving in sync with his, allowing yourself the stimulation he provided. 

His speed increased; what was once long, dragged out movements became desperate bucks, short and quick and ever so pleasurable. 

"I'm cumming, princess." Alric pressed his front into your backside, his large chest engulfing your frame as he chased his high, you not far behind him. 

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck..."

The milky white substance leaked from his tip, covering your hands and the inside of your maid's skirt. He continued, however, allowing you to feel the building pressure and release. The sounds of your perfect moans swallowed him whole. 

And you were worried; because the feeling of his warm cum coating your hands and legs made you want to know what it would feel like inside of you. 

You started your journey, keeping close to the trail you were familiar with. You started East since that's where the sun rises, praying that they would be there. You weren't sure how long you walking for until you finally found a piece of ape hair. You gasp excitedly and bent down to grab it, you were getting close.

You wiped the sweat from your forearms and continued forward with new resolution. You were going to find the nest and since it's still early afternoon, you might even be able to see-

"Ahh!" you screamed. Something tightened around your foot and you went up in the air upside, hitting your head on the ground in the process. A pained groan left your lips as you opened your eyes. You were hanging upside down by one of your ankles.

"Aw shit..." you cursed, looking up to see your foot tangled in...vine? Your eyebrows furrowed, wouldn't it have been better to use rope? Maybe your team put this here as a trap, or maybe it was the locals to catch some animals. You felt stupid as you reached upwards to grab your foot and get yourself loose.

Which was much harder than you initially thought. It was too far for you too reach and when you did manage to grasp your ankle, pain would surge from your lower back to your neck as you continued to awkwardly bend your body. Your head was pounding, blood drumming your ears before you finally gave up. They'll find you, you just have to be patient.

"HELP!" You yelled, voice echoing in the trees. You started calling your team by names, then last names. You felt your eyes water in frustration, thinking about how stupid you were to travel alone.

Granted you couldn't be that far from the trail, maybe 6 miles. But you don't know how much longer you could stand being upside down. Then it hit you, your knife! A sound of relief escaped you as your reached behind your back to grab your knife. Only your bag wasn't there. It must've flown off when you were thrusted into the air because it was 20 feet away from you on the ground.

Now you were going to really cry. No, that won't help, you think, I just need to keep yelling, but should you? Here you are alone in the jungle, making all these noises. What if you attract a predator. The thought makes you stop.

You take deep breaths as a way to keep your cool. You'll be fine, they'll find you, you just need to wa- a crunch distracts your thoughts. Your eyes try to find from where the sound came from, turning your head frantically around.

"Hello?" You call, gentle. You're not sure if it's your people, but from the lack of response you doubt it is. The crunching gets faster and louder, you hold your breath in and prepare for an animals to jump our and devour you.

Instead, a man emerges from bushes, a naked man. Almost naked, save for the piece of cloth that wraps around his waist. You narrow your eyes, unable to comprehend what you're seeing. He doesn't look like he natives that live here. The main thing to give it away is the way he walks, or more like knuckle-walking. He scoots closer to your, eyes intensely staring at you. He quadrupedaly walks to you, and you scream.

He wildly moves back, hooting as a response. You thrash around, fear bubbling in your stomach. "No! Fuck off! Go away!"

He knuckle-walks around you, inspecting to see if you're an actual threat. You're not of course, you're tied and on the verge of fainting from being upside for so long. It doesn't take long for the ape-man to realize it and come within 3 inches of your face. You stop moving and stare into his eyes. He's actually... beautiful. Looking past the dirt on his body and his tangled hair, he had a strong jaw and a large nose with a bump at the bridge. He had high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and deep eyes. Not to mention he was staring at you in the same way, only 100x more intense. He was looking at you like you're the only woman he's ever seen, maybe the only person he's ever seen period.

His hand reaches to touch your face, his fingers gently play with your features. Starting with the nose, eyes, eyelashes, ears, then your lips. He touches his own afterwards as if comparing them. He grunts to himself as if he's talking outloud.

His hands get more explosive, moving to your neck. His hands keep traveling until they feel your breasts, he stops. He feels his own chest and a look of confusion crosses his face. When he goes back to feel your body, you thrash.

"No!"

Your stern voice makes him take a step back, but he knows you're not a real threat. He moves back to his original place and touches your top, playing with the buttons. Sweat starts to drips off your neck to the ground, you don't know how much longer you can stand this position.

His hands discover that you can unbutton these little circles, and that's exactly was he does. He doesn't even notice the bra that holds your tits, his focus completely on the shirt. When he does, his hands take no shame in touching some more.

His touch is so gentle that you instinctively puff your chest closer to him. His fingertips travel from one breast to the other, not knowing your bra can also come off.

Wait, why are you thinking about him taking off your bra? You don't know this man, if he even is a man. But the way he touches you is addicting. You love the softness of it, how he touches you as if you're the most fragile thing on this Earth.

You gently use your hands to grasp his, he jumps at the contact and look back at your eyes. You guide him to the inside of your bra, having your tits spill out. His eyes widen is surprise, as if he's never seen such a complicated contraption. He looks at his chest quickly and back at yours. He starts grabbing them and kneading them, enjoying the softness you have.

He grunts in what seems like approval. He sees you nipples harden from his touches and he pinches them. You moan in response, though you think you're just groaning from pain. You're going to blame your behavior on the lack of blood supply in your brain, but right now the dampness in your underwear is more important.

You use your hands to take off the rest of your shirt and bra, completely topless to him. This man was so entranced by your body that you have to use your hands to make him look at your face. You point to the vine that has you hostage.

"Help me down, and I'll help you," you don't even know if he can understand you, but he must because he climbs a nearby tree and loosens the knot. You fall with a thud and groan, finally feeling the extra blood leave your head.

The man climbs on top of you and looks into your eyes as if he's asking something. You nod, already knowing what he wants. You guide the back of his head back to your tits and he gratefully pops a nipple in his mouth. His hands are on either side of you, possessively keeping you under him. Your hands tangle in his hair and he continues to suck.

You hum and squeeze your legs together, wetness gathering between your legs. He releases your boob with the small pop! and goes to the other side, letting his tongue roll over your nipple. You use your hand to grab his, placing it on your other boob. He gets the message and starts massaging your boob while keeping the other in his mouth.

You moan and grind your body against his, trying to get some friction. The need in your pussy is almost unbearable, you want it to to touched, paid attention to, but you hold back. You don't want to make a decision you would regret, but you're not sure if anything you're doing is helping with that.

He suddenly stops, a whine leaving your lips when he does. He closes his eyes and inhales, looking all over your body. His smells different parts of your body, shoving his nose between your breasts.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious. The beast of a man travels down you stomach, down your navel, occasionally sticking his tongue out to taste you. Then he stops at your shorts, eyes looking into yours.

He puts his attention back onto your clothes, attempting to take them off himself. He sees the familiar button on the top of your shorts and decides he should start there. You're amazed at his intelligence. He may not be verbal, but he has amazing innovative and cognitive ability.

Your thoughts are pulled away as he manages to do the same to your shorts. He tugs them all the way down to you ankles and stares at the spot he's been aching to devour. You know you must not have the best taste considering how much you were sweating but 30 minutes prior, but this man couldn't care less. He leaned down to your core and took a deep breath, groaning as he did. His hands gripped your thighs and he squeezed them. You whimpered at his touch, opening your legs to give him better access to your pussy.

You were soaking, you could feel you essence dripping down to your body and the way you're underwear felt cold against the wind. The ape-man went it, licking your wetness and widening your legs even more. He bent your legs forwards, folding your back so you knees were almost touching your face.

You squealed at the movement never being in this position. It was pretty uncomfortable, but the way his hands held your legs by your under thighs made your stomach coil in anticipation. He used his tongue more than anything, not knowing that he could so much more.

He used his muscle to collect the remaining drool your pussy produced, trying to find the source. He was beginning to get irritated, but little did he know that your underwear was covering his desire. A part of you loved watching him struggle, but the need for him directly on you was stronger. You reached your arms around your hips and moved your underwear to the side, using your thumb to rub yourself in circles.

You tapped your pussy, making sure it made wet noises to get his attention. "Here, do it here."

The man stopped for a second, bewitched by the sight of your dripping folds and pulsing pussy. He had never seen anything like it, like a rare cuisine he was lucky enough to stumble upon. He experimentally stuck his tongue out to taste you. You hummed in satisfaction and used your fingers to spread yourself. He let your taste settle on his tastebuds, licking his lips hungrily as he decided that this was the best meal he was ever going to have.

He pushed your legs further back and buried his face into you. You moaned as his tongue shot out all over your pussy, smearing both of you juices all around. The ape man moved his face up and down against you, his large nose occasionally touching the bud of your clit.

You squirmed when he did and he noticed your behavior. He moved his tongue up to flick your bundle of nerves and you jolted. An intrigued smile found his lips as he continued his movements. It was too much, you were too sensitive and you instinctively yanked on his hair to pull him away.

You moaned in relief, but the man above you was anything but. He grabbed your hands held them down to your sides, using his chest and face to keep you in your bent position. As if to show you that he wasn't happy with your action, he ate you out brutally. He used his teeth to gently scape against your clitoris, a move he shortly found out gave him the best response.

"No no it's too much! Stop im sorry im sorry!" You cry. You pleas fell on deaf ears. He sucked hard on your bud, stretching it as he pulled away. A loud cry left out lips and he finally stopped to look at you. Your legs were shaking, sweat all over your body, back aching, and tears falling.

He gently let your legs fall so you were flat on the ground. A small sob and thank you left you as your legs closed together. The man closely looked at your face and licked your tears away, an apology. His hands soothingly went through your hair with a look of slight worry on his face.

He had such an intense gaze, you thought he would kiss you if he knew how. You sat up and put your hands on his chest, having him lay on the ground this time. Your eyes found the tent that formed in his patch of cloth. You smiled and had your hands explore his chest. He eyes you warily, not used to being under anyone or anything.

A devious smile played on your lips as you leaned down and kissed his ear, "My turn."

You sat back up and scooted down so you could place yourself between his legs, eagerly lifting off his little wrap so you could see his glory. Your eyes widened at his cock. He was so thick, veins wrapping around his length. The tip was a pretty pink, a sharp contrast to his tanned dick. You felt you mouth salivate at him and you leaned down to place a kiss on his tip.

He groaned, thrusting his hips up to feel you more. You playfully tsked and shook your head, "So impatient."

You got on all fours to be face-to-face with him, hands playing his thighs. You kissed over his pelvis, his bush, his inner thighs, anywhere besides the one place where he wanted you most. His hands went outwards besides him to grasp onto the ground beneath him. You could tell from the way he was straining and groaning, he was holding back from grasping your head. You blushed at his consideration, he's kind of a gentleman.

You decide to thank him by finally taking him into your mouth, making sure your tongue covers his slit and slowly bobbing your head up and down. He thanks you by whining, a sound that's going to forever imprint in your brain. You use one hand to keep on his stomach and the other to wrap around his shaft. You worked in one fluid motion, tasting his salty pre-cum and feeling you spit dribble out of your mouth onto your hand.

You really wanted to test your limits to see how far you could take him, but know with his girth that would be difficult. You still decided to try anyway, moving your hand to play with his balls and pulling your mouth out. He huffed in protest and looked up at you, eyes hazy.

You made sure to gather enough spit and drool over his cock. You relaxed your jaw and went back in. You took a deep breath through your nose and keep sliding down. You gagged when his tip hit you throat, but he still more than halfway to go. You closed your eyes and willed your head forward, mouth opening almost painfully.

Your pussy throbbed in excitement, imagining that it was getting stretched out instead of your mouth. The man beneath you broke, hands grasping the sides of your head and shoving you down. You violently gagged around him, eyes pooling with tears. Your nose tickled his bushy pelvis. You looked up at him to plead to let you go, but seeing your begging eyes and cock covered mouth did the opposite to him. He used your mouth as a cock sleeve, harshly dragging your lips up and down his length.

Your hands gripped his thighs, he was going so hard and fast you started thinking you were going to throw up. You eyes rolled to the back of your head you felt your pussy drip down your thighs. You've never been used by this, and you never wanted it to stop. You could probably just cum from giving him head, but your need for air was starting to get the better of you.

It took both of your hands to rip away one of his before you finally popped your mouth off his dick, gasping and coughing for air. The ape-man sat up, finally recognizing that you were on the verge of passing out. He brushed the air out your face and cradled your face into his hands. He watched as you steadied your breath, holding you close to him.

Never had a man treated you with such care and such disregard at the same time, it went straight to your aching core. You adjusted so you were straddling his lap, hands gripping his shoulders. He wasn't sure what you were doing, but when he felt your folds grind against his cock he knew what you wanted.

You grabbed the base of cock, moved your underwear to the side, and smeared hit tip over your clit. Both of you hummed in unison, his grip tightening on your hips. You moved your legs so you were in a squatting position, preparing yourself to take him in.

He patiently waited as you dipped the tip of dick cock into your pussy, shivers enveloping your body. His face twisted in unfamiliar pleasure, teeth gritting. You put more of your weight on him, sinking more and more onto his cock before you finally felt him fully in your gut. Your eyes rolled back placed your head in the crook of his neck breathless. Once you adjusted, you softly bounced on him, feeling his teeth and tongue get a feel of you exposed neck and ear. He growled approvingly once you started moving more aggressively.

One of his large hands went into your scalp, yanking your hair back to bare your throat at him. A part of you grew scared, but the way he was drooling out of the corner of his lip made you bounce with more determination. He bit the base of your throat making you cry out, then licked it apologetically. He didn't know that his nips at your neck distracted you, so when you slowed your movements down he grew upset. Taking matter into his own hands, he grabbed your ass and slammed you down hard.

You yelped, picking your head up as you looked into his eyes. He has a certain glaze over his eyes, as if he wasn't really looking at you. You leaned back to show a better view of where your bodies connected, his eyes immediately went there.

This must've been some encouragement for him because he started thrusting upwards too. The pleasure was too much, twisting your gut and providing a fiery sensation in your stomach. You whimpered and wrapped your arms around his neck for better support. You let him abuse your pussy, not caring about how he ripped your underwear off to properly see himself pound into you.

"Fuuuuuck," you moaned, "you feel so good." He had no reaction to your words, but you didn't care. He was going to bruise your hips form how hard he was holding you, but you were so close to finishing that none of that mattered.

You used one of your hands to rub your clit, attempting to finish faster. Your whines got louder and more frequent, he did the same. You tried not being loud, but you almost screamed when you came. He felt the way your walls squeezed around him and how your juices flowed out. He watched as your body nearly went limp, putting all your weight against him.

He took his opportunity to slam his cock all the way down into you until you could feel him kiss your cervix. You don't know if the noises you were making could count as moaning, but he frankly couldn't give less of a shit.

Finally, you felt the sweet warmth of his orgasm filling you up. You squeezed around him again and he moaned, wrapping his arms around your torso to make sure you didn't move from him. He couldn't stop leaking inside you as you felt some of it dribble out and possible drip down his balls.

You could tell he didn't want to pull out, satisfied with letting his cock soften between your legs. The thought to let it happen was tempting, but you already let a strange man fuck and cum inside you. There had to be some morals left.

You lifted your head up from his neck and pushed away from him. He huffed in defiance, content with his current position. You untangled yourself form him and wobbled upwards, standing. He slowly got up and looked around as if he was looking for something. Then he crawled over to your torn underwear, grabbing and putting it up to his face. You laughed as he took a deep breath, inhaling your scent like he couldn't get enough.

Once you had your top on, you walked over to him and stuck your hand out for him to give it back. Rather than obeying he growled, not threateningly, but rather in resistance. You sighed and decided going comando would be your only option.

Then an idea popped into you mind. It would be such a waste to leave a man here who seemed to listen to almost your every word. Who you could mold into the perfect fuck. Plus, you needed to study apes anyway and he seemed like the perfect willing participant.

You squatted down to his level and gently ran your fingers through his long, tangled hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. Oh yeah, you think, a perfect candidate.

You gently tapped the underwear in his hands and his eyes shot back open into yours. "Ya know," you started, "I have more of those back at camp. Wanna see?"

He continued to stand there long past when the moment got awkward. This might not have been the most unusual thing, if it weren't for the fact that your father hadn't spoken to you since 3 months ago, when all you got was the slightest "Hn" as you bumped into him on your way out the door, and if it weren't for the fact that it was 7 in the morning.

On closer inspection - did he look a little pale? And, why were his eyes so wide, fixated on your own.

"Um, Bruce can you like- give me a little room to squeeze by you please and thank you?" Smooth. But it wasn't like he was doing any better, the sound of your voice seemed to shake him out of his stupor and he cleared his throat.

(Name), I- uh, well I wanted to see if you were free today?" He clenched and unclenched his fist rhythmically, as if grasping at nothing.

There was one conclusion: This wasn't Bruce. There was no possible way. Bruce was smart, collected (to an extent), and definitely never forgot that you had school on weekdays.

You needed closer investigation to figure out whatever the hell this was.

"I have school today?" You realized a little too late how snarky your tone was and rushed to add, "But if there's anything you need me to do let me know! I don't think I'm missing anything, I mean I-"

"Why don't you take the day off?" You couldn't help the way your mouth dropped open in shock this time. Take the day off? Fuck closer inspection, you needed to call in the big guns. Now.

Bruce, looking just as lost at what he was saying as you were, continued on, "I just- I realized the other day that we haven't really spent much time together recently, and well, I was hoping to grab some breakfast together in the city? We can do whatever you'd like afterward and I can call you in with the school?"

For a second, you two just stared at each other. Two generations of baffled Waynes. The silence got awkward for the second time in 10 minutes. But Bruce was determined.

"U-uh, I mean, are you sure, I wouldn't want to bother you on a workday-"

"I've got a day off."

"I dunno if I can just skip school y'know, the work just piles up-"

"Your teachers said it would be okay when I emailed them. They'll let you make up the work later.

Now you paused. He emailed the school? You didn't think he even knew who your teachers were. No scratch that, he definitely didn't know who your teachers were. On the first day of school he asked you how Ms. Conroy was, she was your seventh grade homeroom teacher. You were in high school for crying out loud! This obsession with pulling you out for a day was a new development.

Suddenly though, it struck you that this, strangely enough, was inline with Bruce's normal behavior. Covering every base, being persistent, making sure that he left no reason to refuse him, these were all things he did on the daily, only with his other children. Never you.

So why now?

You bite your lip as he keeps staring at you expectingly.

'What if this really is Bruce, and what if the reason why he's trying to get me to follow him into the city is because he's finally gotten tired of me taking up a room in his house'

No, no shot Batman was going to leave you on the street corner or something right?

Right?

Bruce seems to get tired of waiting for a response, because, with the most resolved tone you'd heard from him all morning, he goes to speak again.

"I'll see you downstairs in half an hour, be dressed for the cold."

Well, so much for a normal day.

It's not your dream job — far from it, actually — but the pay is decent, and if you manage to flash a sweet smile convincingly enough to the right clients, the tips can be pretty consistent.

After a relatively long drive from the secluded ranch you managed to buy from a man who didn't ask many questions when you asked to pay upfront with cash, you park your beat-up sedan in front of the diner.

As you walk in you flash a smile to the few regulars you recognize, and you great your coworker behind the counter — a young girl too sweet for her own good.

"Morning!" she replies with a smile of her own, despite the fact that's way to early for someone to look this joyous.

After exchanging a few niceties, you tie your apron and officially begin your shift. It's the same routine as usual: go up to tables, take orders, and refill cups with coffee that you know for sure tastes like shit.

But then, just like clockwork, at exactly the same time as every day you work the morning shift, your favorite costumer walks in.

He's older and unfairly attractive, with his broad shoulders and graying blond hair. Like usual, he sits at a booth far from the windows and he picks up the menu, carefully studying it, despite always ordering the same thing.

"Good morning, Tony! What can I get you today?"

You take out your notepad from the pocket of your apron, and let the pen hover over the blank page, waiting for his answer.

"I'll have a banana milkshake," he replies, looking up at you with a controlled smile, making a shiver run down your spine.

There's nothing unusual about him. He's polite, always thanks you when you get him his order, and tips way too much considering he always gets the same banana milkshake.

But there's something in the way you feel his eyes following you whenever he's in the diner that makes you feel naked — like he knows what you're so desperately trying to hide.

Still, you keep on the facade you use whenever you're interacting with other people, especially costumers, and leave to make his banana milkshake.

His gaze burns on the back of your head, and your hands tremble slightly as you pour the milk in the blender. You try to sneak a glance in his general direction, but when your eyes land on his figure, he's already looking somewhere else.

After, the routine resumes as usual. He drinks his milkshake, you give him his check, and he leaves a generous tip before walking out of the diner.

In the past, you tried imagining what his life outside might look like. Where does he work? Does he live nearby? Does he have someone waiting for him at home?

Questions like this usually leave you feeling uneasy and unsatisfied when you realize that you'll probably never know the answer.

Later that night, desperately trying to push further away any thoughts about Tony, you decide to call Chris over.

He's a nice guy. Definitely not the love of your life, but a pleasant enough distraction from your previous life.

You met him a few weeks ago at the diner, and when he shyly asked for your number — after pushing the initial instinct to give him the wrong one — you left it written on his check.

After that first encounter, he brought you on many dates, but still, you never got past first base, and he, like a gentleman, never pushed further.

Tonight, though, things are going to change.

At 8 pm sharp, you hear the doorbell ring, and when you open your door, you find him still in uniform, holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

"Sorry, I just got off work. I would have changed, but I didn't want to be late, and-" you press your lips against his, muffling the rest of his apology.

Truth be told, at first the fact that he's a cop made you nervous. You worried he would look into your past and find out what made you run away. Instead, he seemingly believed every word that came out of your mouth when you told him your made-up background story, and it made you more inclined to keep seeing him. At least, until he realizes that everything you told him, even your name, is a lie.

"Don't worry about it," you mumble against his lips. "I'm pretty sure I've got some clothes that could fit you. Now, come in."

You take his free hand in yours and drag him past the threshold, closing the door behind him.

Then, after putting the bouquet in a vase, you walk towards your bedroom, looking at him over your shoulder, silently inviting him to follow you. Like a siren luring in an unfortunate mariner.

He seems to take the bait, and gladly follows you. Men are so predictable.

"Here, let me see if I can find some sweats," you say, looking inside your closet.

In the meantime, Chris stands awkwardly near the door, looking so out of place in your bedroom.

As you rummage through the few clothes that you brought with you, he takes off his holster and places it on your nightstand, making it land on the wooden surface with a loud thud.

The cold night air enters the room through your open window, moving the blinds in an almost hypnotic way, catching Chris' attention.

Then, he freezes.

You turn around in that exact moment, holding a pair of oversized sweats in your hands, and furrow your brown when you see him looking attentively at a distant point outside your window.

"What is it?"

"I think I saw something."

You let out a giggle, taking a step closer to his unmoving body.

"I live near the woods. It was probably just an animal."

You can see it in his eyes that he's not convinced, so you lay the sweats on your bed and place your hands on his chest.

"Come on. Let's get you out of this uniform, officer," you whisper near his ear, before placing a languid kiss on his jaw.

It turns out to be a good enough distraction. His gaze shifts in your direction, and his hands immediately find your hips, pulling you closer to his body.

You push him on the bed, and then straddle him, before moving your hands on his shoulder and leaving a trail of kisses from his jaw down to his neck.

His back is pressed near the window, making it possible for you to see some movement near a couple of trees outside your house.

Before you can think about your next move, a knife slices the air, landing on the opposite wall. You let out a scream, as Chris moves your body and lunges towards the gun on your nightstand. He then fires two shoots in the general direction of the attacker. But it's too late. He's gone.

Your heart is beating so fast in your chest that you're pretty sure Chris can hear it as well. He has something more urgent to think about though.

Blood is running down his left arm, soaking his uniform. The wound is pretty close to the spot where your hand was just a few moments ago, and yet, you're unharmed.

Did the attacker miss, or were you never the target?

"Shit," Chris says, as he tries to apply some pressure on the cut.

"Wait, let me help you."

You raise from the bed and run to your bathroom, where you keep your first aid kit. Once you're back in the bedroom, you help him take off his uniform, and as you begin to disinfect the wound, Chris breaks the silence.

"Who the fuck was that? He had a fucking- A fucking mask, and he-" his tone is understandably panicked, and his mind was clearly running a hundred miles an hour.

"Was that one of your exes?"

The question sounds so absurd you almost laugh, but decide that now is probably not the right moment.

"If that's your ex you should probably own a pistol, you know that?"

You blame his rambling to the adrenaline that's probably running through his veins right now, and keep cleaning him up.

It doesn't take you long to stop the bleeding. The cut is actually not that deep, but it doesn't seem to ease his mind. On the contrary.

As soon as you finish securing the sterile gauze over the wound, he grabs his things and almost runs to the door, mumbling something about calling you tomorrow.

He does offer you to spend the night at his apartment, but when you decline he doesn't try too hard to change your mind, instead getting in his car and driving away as if someone were chasing him.

When you go back to your room, for some reason unknown to you, you don't feel scared or threatened.

Your eyes land on the knife, still plugged in the drywall. You walk closer and pull it out, the weight feeling oddly comforting in your hands.

There's some of Chris' blood on it, so you wipe it on your sleep shorts, before hiding it in your underwear drawer.

And in that moment you think: it was never meant for you. It was meant for him only.

The next morning, when you check your phone, you don't find any missed calls from Chris. You think that what happened last night must have scared him away for good, and, weirdly enough, it gives you a strange sense of relief.

Throughout the rest of the day you keep occasionally checking your phone, mostly because it feels like the right think to do, not because you're actually concerned.

You should be worried. Maybe you should try to reach out. Go to his apartment, even. But you never do.

Instead, you go back to your house and slip in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of fried bacon and burned coffee that always lingers on you after you leave the diner.

Once you're done, you realize you've forgotten your towel, leaving you no option but to walk completely naked to your bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floorboards.

The blinds in your bedroom are open — as they usually are — but now, for the first time since you moved in this house, you feel a pair of eyes on you.

A shiver runs down your spine, but you do nothing to cover yourself or close the curtains, because there's something familiar about this feeling.

You brush it off, instead applying lotion over your damp body, before finally putting on your clean pj's and going to bed.

Next time you're at the diner, something strange happens.

Tony walks in at the same time as usual, he sits at his usual booth, and he orders the same banana milkshake.

Nothing is out of the ordinary. Except this time the way his gaze follows you feels warmer than usual, and just as you're about to pour the drink inside the glass, the realization suddenly dawns on you.

Tony's the one who has been looking at you through your window. And he's probably the one who threw that knife at Chris.

You remain frozen on your spot until another waitress squeezes past you, reminding you that you're still in a public place. And he's in the same room as you.

You swallow hard enough to make noise, before pouring some whipped cream over the milkshake, grabbing a straw and walking up to Tony's table.

"Here you go," you said placing the glass down on the table, praying he didn't notice the way your voice wavered.

"Thank you, ma'am," he replies, reaching for his milkshake and accidentally brushing your fingers with his.

You immediately move your hand as if you got burned, and without saying anything else you walk away, busying yourself with other costumers.

His gaze, though, weights heavier than it ever has today, and you can't breath properly until he leaves.

The drive home after your shift is silent — you don't even turn on the radio — but that's fine, because your thoughts make enough noise on their own.

The road that usually seems never ending, today feels uncharacteristically short. Even after turning off the engine, you remain seated inside your car.

Your skin is prickling with a feeling similar to anxiety, but not quite.

Excitement, that's what it it.

Despite the rational part of your brain telling you that you should feel scared, that you might be in danger, and that Chris' radio silence might have been caused by something quiet dark, you can't help but hope Tony will be outside your window, watching you.

So you walk inside your home.

Everything's silent. The only sound that can be heard is the low buzz of your fridge. Despite that, you have a feeling you're not alone.

"Tony? Is that you?" and after a moment. "Is that even your real name?"

Then, from a dark corner, a broad figure emerges. Despite the tactical gear and the mask covering everything beside his eyes, you know immediately that the figure that has been inhabiting the shadows near you for longer than you might expect is none other than your favorite costumer.

"Hi, Tony," you great him, your voice just above a whisper. "Or you wanna tell me your real name?"

For a moment you're met with silence, so long that you begin to wonder whether you got it all wrong and there's an actual stranger in your house. Your heartbeat begins to raise, until he speak.

"Benjamin."

"Hi, Benjamin."

You stand there, staring at each other, until you take a step forward in his direction.

"So it was you, uh? How long have you been watching me?" you ask, but there's no real malice, or anger in your voice. Just plain curiosity.

"Ever since I first met you."

It's weird, you would have expected him to be unwavering, sure of himself. Terrifying, even.

Instead, he sounds almost ashamed, making it difficult for you to believe that he's the same man that threw a knife at your date the other night.

You take another step forward, never moving your gaze from his masked face.

"Are you going to show me you pretty face or not?"

He lets out a sharp exhale, sounding like he just got punched. Experiencing first hand the power your words have over him makes you feel almost high.

When he doesn't make a move to take off his mask, you raise your hands to his neck and do it yourself.

The moonlight shines over his messy locks, and the scar on his cheek catches the light just right, making you want to lick it.

Instead, you let the mask drop on the floor, and begin lightly scratching his chest over his suit, your touch featherlight, almost imperceptible.

"So, you watched me for weeks. What was I doing?"

The way his expression shifts and the tips of his ears redden slightly make your lips curl into a smug smile.

You can see his gloves hands clenching at his sides, almost like he's making an active effort not to reach out. Like he's waiting for your permission.

"You were reading, mostly. Sometimes you would watch a movie, if you were not too tired. Most of the times you were too exhausted to do anything. Other times-" and he stops, his face burning.

You tilt your head, confused by what he might be referring to, until you realize.

"What? What was I doing?"

Silence.

"Touching yourself."

Your grin widens, and your hands shift from his chest to his hair.

"Hm, and how did that make you feel, uh? Did it turn you on? Did you wish you could replace my fingers with yours?"

As you ask him these filthy questions, you tug his hair. Hard.

In response, he lets out a low moan, and his hands fly to your hips, mostly trying to ground himself.

"P-Please..."

The word comes out almost uncertain from his mouth, making your lips curl in amusement.

How the tables have turned. How did he go from being your stalker to begging you to let him touch you?

"Please, what?"

"Let me make you feel good."

His voice is strained, almost as if he were in physical pain.

"You really think you can do that?" you ask mockingly.

He nods, looking so eager to please.

You don't offer him a response. Instead you start walking to your bedroom — the same bedroom he has been spying for weeks — and you don't have to look back to know he's following you.

The mattress sinks under your weight as your sit on it. Benjamin doesn't hesitate before falling on his knees, right in front of you.

He starts soft, gently kissing your knuckles. Then he starts traveling higher, his lips caressing the soft skin of your arms, making your eyes flutter closed.

He then places his hands on either side of your body, steadying himself as he kisses your neck. He keeps getting closer to his final destination, grazing your jaw, your cheeks, and finally your lips.

At first the kiss is soft and tender, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. This seems to be enough of an invitation for him.

The kiss turns hungry, almost desperate. You can feel the weight of his body over yours as he lays you down on the bed. But you don't stay in this position for long.

Taking him by surprise, you flip him over — but you have the suspicion he's right where he wants to be, underneath you.

His hands begin exploring your body, and your own move back to his hair, burying your fingers in his graying locks.

Underneath the layers of his tactical gear, you can feel him getting progressively harder. All it takes is you grinding your hips over his bulge to get another moan out of him.

You keep moving, chasing friction with his clothed cock, trying to ease the heath between your legs.

Surprisingly, he's the first one to break the kiss.

"Please, can I taste you?"

He sounds so desperate you can feel your panties getting even more wet than before.

In response, you take off your pants and your underwear in one go, but when you move to lay on the bed, he stops you. Instead, he moves your hips higher up, near his face.

Without a warning, he pushes you down on his face. Your hands immediately travel back to his hair, tugging them as you let out a high pitched moan.

At first, he drags his tongue from you needy hole to your clit, before laying a kiss on the bundle of nerves.

His movements are unsure at first, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you. Then, when you start grinding on his face, he seems to gain more confidence, and begins to eat you out like a man starved.

Even though you're completely lost in your pleasure, you can feel him moaning and whispering praises into your cunt.

Things like "you taste so good," and, "you're so perfect."

But the closer you get to your release, the darker his words get.

"Ain't no man allowed in your bedroom except for me," or, "he couldn't have made you feel this good," or simply, "you're mine."

The possessiveness in his voice is enough to make you reach your orgasm, holding onto him like an anchor.

The sound of your release paired with the way to keep pulling his hair — hard enough to sting — is enough make him cum untouched in his pants.

After catching your breath, you move from Benjamin's face and roll over, laying by his side.

He moves as well, resting his head in your lap and wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you so tight that you think he might be afraid that you're going to disappear at any moment.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you.

"Benjamin?"

"Mhm?"

"What happened to Chris?"

"I killed him."

A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!

All the love, Anna ♡

*****

Five months ago.

The first time he showed up, you almost didn't let him in.

Blood dripping down his knuckles. He had one arm sliced open, split lip, and shirt soaked with blood. Should’ve gone to the ER, not some new physician!

He slumped into the waiting room chair like he owned the place, not even looking at you.

The first thing he said to you?

"Fix it." He didn’t ask or explain. Leaving you with these two words to work with.

Yep. That's how your first meeting went. A bleeding man ordering you around like he was the boss.

You were new here. Fresh out of residency, eager to prove yourself.

And the bleeding was bad enough you worried he wouldn’t make to ER at this point. So you sighed, snapped on your gloves, and got to work.

He didn't thank you. Didn't even look at you the whole time. Just stared at the wall like he wanted to punch through it.

You figured you'd never see him again.

*****

Second visit.

New injuries. Same attitude.

"Back again?" you asked, already pulling out the antiseptic.

He grunted.

You worked in silence. He flinched once when you hit a deep cut on his ribs, but didn't make a sound otherwise.

"Someone's doing a number on you," you said quietly.

He didn't answer.

*****

Third visit.

Something shifted.

He walked in and his eyes found you immediately. Held for a second longer than before. Like he was checking that you were still there.

"You again," he said. Almost like a greeting.

"Me again," you echoed, already reaching for your kit. "You really need to stop getting into fights."

He didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

You counted that as a win.

*****

Fourth visit.

He spoke first.

"Long day?"

You blinked. "Yeah. Long week, actually."

He nodded without adding anything else.

But when you leaned in to clean a cut on his jaw, he didn't pull away like he used to.

He just... watched you.

"You're staring," you muttered.

"Am I?"

"Stop it."

"Make me."

You pressed the antiseptic harder than necessary. He didn't flinch, just grinned.

Jerk.

*****

Fifth. Sixth. Seventh...

He started coming every week. Sometimes twice.

You told yourself it was just bad luck. Some people are accident-prone. It's not your job to ask questions.

But you noticed things.

The way he relaxed when you touched him. The way his breathing slowed when you leaned close. The way his eyes followed your hands like he was memorizing the movement.

He started talking more. Little things. Compliments buried under sarcasm.

"Your bedside manner's getting softer, doc."

"You look tired. Someone not sleeping?"

"Those are new glasses. Cute."

You rolled your eyes every time, but you didn't tell him to stop. You knew he wouldn’t anyways.

*****

Two months in.

The injuries started getting stranger, you realized.

Not the kind you get from random fights. They were too precise. Too controlled.

A cut here… A bruise there... Nothing life-threatening or deep enough to leave any permanent damage. 

But enough to bleed.

Enough to need you.

*****

Three months in.

A small scene you didn't think much of at the time.

You were at the nurse's station, charting. One of the younger nurses—Lisa, friendly, always smiling—leaned over your shoulder.

"Hey, doc. That guy who's always in here. The one with the sliced arm?"

You smirked at the nickname, it stuck with the staff after his first visit here. 

"What about him?" You glanced up.

Lisa lowered her voice. "He gives me the creeps."

That made you laugh. "He gives everyone the creeps."

"No, I mean..." She hesitated. "He asked about you last week. When you weren't here."

Your pen stopped moving.

"What did he ask?"

"Just... what time you get in. If you work weekends. If anyone walks you to your car." Lisa shivered. "He was smiling the whole time. Like it was a normal conversation."

You didn't know what to say. So you said nothing.

Lisa shrugged it off. "Anyway. Just thought you should know."

She walked away.

You stared at the chart in your hands for a long time.

*****

The next time he came in.

You watched him differently.

The way his eyes followed you across the room. The way he knew where the antiseptic was before you reached for it. The way he'd already rolled up his sleeve before you asked.

"Something wrong, doc?" he asked, catching your stare.

"No."

"You're looking at me funny."

"I always look at you funny. You're always bleeding on my table."

He laughed. That low, warm sound that used to mean nothing and now meant something.

"You're deflecting."

"I'm working."

He let it go, his smile didn't fade.

And when you leaned in to clean a cut near his collarbone, he whispered:

"I like it when you worry about me."

Your hands paused.

"I'm a doctor. I worry about all my patients."

"No, you don't."

He said it so simply. So sure.

You didn't argue.

*****

Present.

You've finally finished cleaning him up. Stitched the deep tissue and bandaged him as well as you could.

You step back a bit to survey your work. Then let out a long sigh.

It hasn't even been a week, yet he’s already back so bloody.

"Alright. I think we're all done... unless there are some other injuries I missed."

He doesn't answer right away.

He's looking at you. Softly. Like you're the only light in a dark room.

Then his hand drifts up to the left side of his chest. Right over his heart.

"Doctor..." He feigns pain, voice dipping low. Less playful now. "I think I'm hurt here."

You frown. "Where? Let me see."

He points. You lean forward, squinting at his chest. Trying to find a wound you must have missed.

"There's nothing—"

"Every time you look at me," he says, "my chest gets tight."

Your hands freeze.

"Every time you touch me, my heart forgets how to beat right."

He's not looking at your hands anymore. He's looking at your eyes.

"You're the only doctor who can fix this."

You swallow. "That's not... that's not a real injury."

"No?"

"No."

He smiles slowly, sweetly. Dangerous.

"Then why does it hurt so much when you're not around?"

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

“Ugh, wait, it’s starting to hurt more!” He suddenly doubles down, hand hovering over his chest again, and face contorting dramatically in pain.

You believe him for a moment—that was your biggest mistake—and go lean closer to his chest, trying to find an invisible injury.

“What? Where exactly I can’t see anything—“ 

And that's when he moves.

He leans over your head, and you feel something soft land on the middle of your eyebrows.

A quick peck, right on your forehead. Over before you can process it.

You jerk back so fast you nearly fall off your stool. Your hand flies to your forehead like you've been burned. 

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again—trying to articulate a sentence. Nothing comes out except a strangled sputter.

He's already off the table, grinning like he just won a prize.

"Thank you for your hard work, doctor~"

You find your voice. "You—you can't just—"

He's backing toward the door. Still smiling. Still watching you with those lovesick eyes.

"Now don't go flirting with any nurses while I'm gone!"

He pauses at the door. Tilts his head.

His smile doesn't change. But his eyes do.

"I don't wanna come back more bloody next time~"

The door swings shut behind him.

You're left standing there. Hand on your forehead. Heart pounding.

He never said he was joking.

Your eyes drift to the empty doorway.

And for some reason, you think of Lisa.

The way she shivered when she talked about him.

The way she doesn't lean over your shoulder anymore.

The way she transferred to the morning shift last week without ever saying goodbye.

You never asked why.

Synopsis: You’re a burnout gap year student who failed to get into med school despite everyone praising you as smart. Your entrance exam tanked, and parents grow more strict. Lots of pressure has you snap, and you download an app called Kindred to vent. The system matches you with six strangers. They’ll either make things better or worse. (Slow burn with lots of family conflict before the romance comes into play.)