Wassabi

But even though the tone of voice still remained as pleasant as ever, you couldn’t quite shake the sense that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have you standing before him like this. Not that you could really blame him. The wealthy so rarely had any reason to cohort directly with the poor, after all. You were as good as a stray mongrel that had wandered in off the streets without first having been invited to do so. An unwanted and unnecessary guest that he would sooner be rid of than anything else. 

You didn’t have much left in the way of options, however, and you bravely gather your resolve as you lift your head just a fraction of an inch to steal a quick, split second peek at him. Handsome, but decidedly dangerous. Very much so. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could have realized that much at just a glance. 

“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like I was.”

Drawing a slow, calculated breath that makes his narrow shoulders subtly rise and then fall, Regrator pins you in place with a pityingly sardonic smile. “Well, I suppose I do have to give you credit for one thing. Your manners are quite agreeable, aren’t they? That is not always the case with someone who is so very … lowborn. And you even had the courage to come here just to entreat me directly. That makes two things, then.”

You stamp down the urge to squirm in place, trying very hard not to think about how inconsequential you felt standing there in front of the Lord Harbinger like that. It wasn’t just the expensive room with its expensive furniture, excess and frivolity unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, shoved into every corner and on every shelf. It’s the way he watches you like a bug through a microscope. 

Something to observe, not something to touch or make nice with, and certainly not something to invite to have a seat in one of the finely upholstered chairs that stand guard in front of his stately mahogany desk. There was no telling what you might have dragged in with you, what unsightly stains you might leave behind. So you continue to stand, and you don’t even dare to ask for anything more than that.  

“With that being said,” he goes on; slow, thoughtful. Considering. “I have to admit I’m not exactly sure what you expect me to do with you. If it is a paycheck you need, then you should seek out one of the recruitment centers or intake officers, not me. Her Majesty is always happy to welcome young, plucky soldiers to her army’s ranks though. I’m sure you’d find much warmer reception there.”

As opposed to his frozen cold, bitter reception? 

“My lord, I’ve already tried that. Many times, in fact. But they always tell me I’m not fit for service before they send me on my way again. The last man I spoke to said I wouldn’t even make good cannon fodder. Just a … another mouth for them to feed.”

“The medical division, then. Nurses are needed just as much as soldiers are.”

The sting of unshed tears creeps into your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You’d already humiliated yourself enough just by marching into the Northland Bank and demanding an audience with its owner, you really didn’t want to add dramatics on top of that. It’s hard though, so hard. 

“I - I’m terrified of blood, sir. I can’t stand the sight of it. Honest. I’m lucky if I don’t pass out on the spot but then I run the risk of spitting up my lunch. I’m no good as a medic either.”

Softly clicking his tongue, Regrator tips his head ever so slightly to one side and vaguely purses his lips at you. “In that case, allow me to ask you again: what am I supposed to do with you when you have no talent, no strengths to offer? I’d like to remind you that nothing is free in this world and I cannot simply give you a salary for no services rendered. So, tell me. What are you going to give me in exchange?” 

“… I’m not sure, my lord. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you think that’s something you should have considered before you came calling on me in my office?” 

You flush hot at that, embarrassed by your tragic lack of foresight. But it was already much too late to remedy any of it, neither your uselessness nor the impulsive decision to come here, and you grope for an appropriate answer to the question. There had to be something. 

“Forgive me, but … could you be in need of a maid, my lord? Someone to clean and tidy up for you, or - or perhaps to take care of other mundane tasks that are far beneath someone of your — impressive and noble bearing?” 

That manages to earn you a scoff of a laugh as Regrator slowly shakes his head, looking almost rueful now. 

“So you’re also well versed in the art of brown nosing too, I see.” 

You’re almost startled to hear such crass language come out of his mouth, sounding all the more wrong in that dulcet, well cultured drawl of his. 

But before either of you can make another move — you, to decide how you should respond to that unexpected drop of the mask and him, to dismiss you from his sight — the door to the office abruptly swings open with a sudden wrench. 

“Pantalone!” The new man, this one utterly unknown to you, barks as he sweeps into the room, a whirlwind of dark, lifeless feathers that shudder at the slightest movement. “Did you approve my request for the research funding as I asked you to? I need to get started on the next phase soon. This is a highly time sensitive matter, you know.”

The door bangs shut behind him and, letting out a slow exhale through his nose, Regrator sedately leans back in his comfortable chair to glance up at the newcomer. Completely disengaging himself from the fact that you were still standing there, waiting for an answer, you can’t help but notice. Talk about awkward. 

“Yes, I saw it. And I’m well aware just how impatient you are, Doctor. That really is a bad habit of yours, if you ask me. I always approve your projects before anyone else’s, don’t I?” 

Grumbling a low sound, the man in the vaguely bird-like mask steps up next to you and then bypasses you completely, not even sparing you so much as a glance when he goes by. Much more interested in his bespectacled colleague sitting on the other side of the desk than he was in you, evidently. 

And you got the sense that this was likely for the best. 

“Then where is my mora, Pantalone? When might I expect it to reach my hand, hm? Today? In the next hour?” 

“Relax. I’ve already got someone downstairs divvying up what you asked me for. Such large amounts can take time to procure and verify, as I’m sure you’re well aware. But really now, what’s got you in such a deplorable mood today? I very much doubt it has only to do with the funding.” 

“No.” He bites out, through gnashing teeth by the sounds of it. Even you, someone who was not at all familiar with this person, could tell just from looking at his stiff back that he was indeed upset about something. 

But somehow Regrator’s placcid guise remains steadily in place even when his acquaintance begins to slowly pace, back and forth, in front of the desk. Not at all unlike a caged animal. 

“It’s that damn Columbina. Again! She’s been avoiding me lately, I’m sure of it. And we’d been having such a splendid time in each other's company too. I was even on my best behavior, if you can believe it.”

“I can’t.” Regrator helpfully supplies, even though he sounded to you just as unaffected by this information as he was by everything else. Amused, even. 

Snorting a derisive laugh, the man starts to broaden the circumference of his pacing, refusing to stay confined to the area in front of the desk any longer. As if he simply couldn’t stand to remain in one spot while he relayed the full scope of his frustrations to the other man. 

Rather surreptitiously, you start to back up and inch your way towards the door with every intention of making a silent, sneaky escape from the room. 

“I really don’t get it, you know. One moment I’m giving her the tour of my lab and the next, poof. She’s disappeared. Spirited away, never to be seen again, except in fleeting glances while she haunts the corridors of the palace like a singing wraith. That seems to be all she ever does, don’t you think?”

At Regrator’s vague lilt of a hum, the man in the bird mask makes a sharp about-face and starts to retrace the wide half moon arc he’d already stomped. 

“It really is ridiculous. I do nothing short of welcoming her in with open arms and this is the thanks I get.” He shakes his head, snorting a humorless laugh under his breath. “And don’t even get me started on that old, dying coot.”

“Now, Dottore,” the banker lightly admonishes. “That’s hardly a nice thing to say, is it?” 

“Pah! Who cares for niceties when the topic is but a plain and simple truth? Death comes for every mortal, eventually, and that ancient relic is no exception. It is the one great equalizer in this world, after all. Ah, but I suppose not all of us have to worry about that, do we?”   

You’re almost to the door now, your fingers itching with the overpowering urge to reach out and snatch the handle. It is only your curiosity at what was being discussed that makes you hesitate to take the chance while you have it, but you quickly come to regret that decision when this so-called Doctor aggressively turns on his heel again. 

And this time he comes up short when he finds himself standing face to face with you. The noticeable jump of tension in his posture tells you he really hadn’t noticed you earlier, and your presence there in the office comes as something of a shock to him. Oh, you really should have gotten out of there instead of being nosy. 

“And who is this?” He sharply emphasizes each individual word, punching the syllables out one by one as if they’ve personally wronged him. 

“Mm? You’re still here? My dear, I thought you’d already left some time ago.” 

You don’t think you believe that but you still find yourself growing uncomfortably warm under the Regrator’s archly inflected drawl. How embarrassing. 

“I’m so sorry, my … my lords.” You stammer in a rush. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just trying to excuse myself without interrupting your conversation.”

As if to prove that, you snatch your arm out to grab blindly at the door handle. It swings open with your jerky tug and you move to step out into the lobby, but Dottore is quicker than you expect. His gloved hand flies up to smack against the finely crafted wood, slamming it shut again, and you give a startled yelp of surprise when you snag your fingers back as if you’d been scalded. 

“Oh, but let’s not be so hasty,” he croons at you, all solicitation now. In the blink of an eye every bit of that simmering, bubbling temper from a moment ago is completely gone, as if a switch in him had been flipped, and your bone dry throat works a nervous swallow as you watch him politely fold his arms behind the small of his back. “Stay and chat for a moment, won’t you? And what is your name, little mouse?” 

You tell him with no shortage of apprehension or difficulty when your vocal chords almost refuse to cooperate. 

“I see. How interesting. I didn’t even notice you standing there. Has anyone ever told you that you are very good at going unnoticed and hiding in plain sight?” 

“Uh - uhm …”

“Our dear guest was just on her way.” Pantalone cuts in then. And although his tone of voice still remains as pleasantly accommodating as ever, there is now the prick of a pointed barb somewhere just underneath the surface to put you on even higher alert. Was he displeased with you? 

“Is that so?” His mouth tugging into a rather bemused smirk, the Doctor tips his head to one side, studying you from a slightly different angle. He does not look at all unlike a curious carrion bird in the execution of that gesture. 

“Oh, but what a pity that is. We could have had coffee brought in. I must admit, I’m quite curious to know what brought you before my esteemed colleague today. Judging by your attire, I’d say … you must be a commoner, is that right? And not a very well off one, if I had to guess. Then what business could you possibly have with the owner of the Northland Bank, hm?” 

“Dottore.” 

Wide eyes flickering in Regrator’s direction, you expect to see a disapproving frown upon his face or a bothered crease between his brows. Instead, you find him still smiling from his spot behind the desk, looking only mildly uncertain of his friend’s game. How curious. 

How frightening. 

You snap your gaze back up at the Doctor. “It — it was nothing, really. Just … wishful thinking, is all. I only wanted to try my luck here but I guess that was silly of me.” 

“With what?” 

“Oh. Um, a job. Work that I might be able to do for the Lord Harbinger in exchange for a few mora. I thought maybe he’d need extra hands here at the bank, or … or something.” 

“Or something.” The Doctor echoes you, sounding hardly impressed and yet not exactly disinterested in your pathetic little sob story either, prompting Regrator to quietly clear his throat. 

“Seeing as the bank is currently fully staffed and I have no need at the present time for any sort of housekeeping personnel, I’m afraid I’ve had to decline her well intentioned offer. While it does pain me to say it, I have a feeling that our little guest doesn’t have much to offer from an employer's perspective.” 

Your cheeks positively blaze, hot enough to fry an egg on. Of course you’d known coming here was likely the most foolish thing you could possibly do, well aware of your own shortcomings as you were, but to hear him say it out loud and in so many words? It feels like you could just whither away and die on the spot. 

“I - I’m so — s - so sorry, my lord. Please forgive me for my impudence today. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll just - -“ 

You’re already halfway through the motion of reaching for the door again when the masked man standing next to you abruptly grabs at your elbow, pinching and squeezing to once again halt your escape. Jumping at the contact, you jerk your head down to disbelievingly take in his gloved hand on your person. You’re so perplexed by this confounding turn of events that you don’t even think to pull away when he starts to nudge you in the direction of the two chairs situated in front of the desk. 

“Come, come. There’s no need for that now, is there? We are all adults, after all.” The Doctor cooes saccharinely. It was obvious he found something funny here but you couldn’t even begin to guess at what that might be or what it had to do with you as you stiffly let him pull you where he wants. It’s not as if you had much of a choice in the matter. “Surely something can be arranged if we just put our heads together and think. Three minds are always more effective than one when it comes to problem solving, wouldn’t you agree?”  

“I suppose so - -“

“Sit.” He commands, giving you a pointed shove in the direction of the nearest chair. The gravelly resonance in that one single word does more to convince you that it would be in your best interests to obey him than the insistence of his hands on you does, and you quickly drop into the indicated seat. 

You’re admittedly glad for it, too, because you feel dangerously close to fainting dead away from fright as you nervously peer up at the Doctor. What did he want with you to make you stay like this? And were you even allowed to be sitting on any of the furniture in the first place? Something in the way Regrator not so idly taps his fingers against the mahogany grain of his desk leads you to believe that you were not. 

How humiliating! You felt like a dog that was only being permitted to continue breaking the rules because there was company over, but that leniency would quickly disappear once you were alone with your master again. 

“There. That’s much better, isn’t it? Try not to look so nervous though. I merely want to talk.” Looking really quite pleased with himself, the Doctor eases his body into the chair next to yours where he proceeds to get comfortable, crossing his legs and then resting his neatly folded hands atop the bend of his knee. “Well then, little mouse. Tell me. How old are you?” 

You answer him truthfully, unsure why he would want to know, but it earns you a brief nod of approval all the same. 

“Well, that’s not too bad, is it? In fact, I might dare to say that you’re in the prime of your life and you don’t even realize it. Have you any family?” 

Something about that particular question strikes you as truly odd, and you shoot a helpless look at Regrator behind his desk. He is of absolutely no help to you though. 

Evidently perfectly content to simply watch the scene unfold before him, he just sits there, smiling, alternating between rapping at the wood and fiddling with one of the rings on his right hand. He neither rushes to your rescue nor does he join in on his friend’s impromptu interrogation of you. An utterly neutral party, if you didn’t have your creeping suspicion to the contrary. 

Turning back to the Doctor again, you sheepishly nod your head. “A mother and a father, but he’s … he hasn’t been home in nearly ten years. He was deployed with a regiment of Her Majesty’s forces to a foreign land when I was younger.”

Your answer seems to rouse Pantalone from his role of simple spectator, peering over at you now through the delicate lenses of his eyeglasses. “Deceased, then? Or …” 

“Not to our knowledge. Not officially, anyway.”

“There’s no one else?” Dottore tacks on this time. 

“No, my lord. It’s just us.” 

“Then is a soldier's salary not enough to see two people sufficiently fed and clothed? If that is the case then we shall have to direct any further queries on this matter to Pantalone instead.” He says, grinning over at the man in question, who gives no indication of having even heard him, other than the faintest tightening of the muscles around his mouth. 

It’s not hard to see that something about this situation is irritating him quite a bit. Whether that was you or his friend’s overly chatty persistence, you couldn’t be sure; but you self consciously rush to absolve him of any mistaken culpability before his mood can sour any further. 

“No, t - that isn’t quite it. Truth be told, the payments we receive from the palace used to be more than enough to cover our living expenses but … recently my mother has taken ill and she can no longer do odd jobs here or there to supplement our income. Our savings lasted for a little while, and then all of the medicine and doctors visits quickly depleted whatever we had. That’s why I thought …”

“You thought?” The masked man presses when you hesitate to go on. 

“Well, I — I guess my assumption was that working under one of Her Majesty’s Harbinger’s would earn me enough money to take care of her in her old age. Even if she doesn’t get better, I’d at least like her to be comfortable in her remaining time here. I need a reliable income for that, and plenty of it.” 

The Doctor huffs an amused laugh under his breath, not even bothering to try and conceal it. “That’s very noble of you, isn’t it? The perfect, martyred daughter playing her role right to the last. They have a word for that, you know.” 

You lift your head, curiosity once again getting the better of you. “They do?” 

“Oh, yes. It’s called being a fool.” 

Regrator heaves a quiet exhale at your startled jolt of surprise, giving his head a solemn shake now. “Dottore, that is no way to incline someone to your side when you plan on asking them for a fair exchange of services. I can guess at what you’re thinking, but … are you quite certain that it’s a good idea?” 

“I don’t see why not. It sounds to me like she already has experience in caring for the sick and the elderly. It will just be replacing one with another. That seems like a reasonable trade off for a plenty sizable check, if you ask me.” 

Slowly blinking away the sting of tears that have risen in the backs of your eyes, unbidden, you glance between the two of them with ever growing uncertainty. “What do you mean? Are you asking me to …” 

Eagerly, the Doctor unfolds his legs and sits forward in his chair, leaning across to invade your space. You shirk back, frightened by his close proximity as much as the leering smirk you can see under the hooked beak of his featureless mask. But even then, even in the face of your skittish, nervous reaction, he remains ever undaunted in pursuit of his goal. 

“That’s right. It might not be Pantalone pulling your purse strings, but if any old Harbinger would do then why not come work for me instead? I’ll certainly make it worth your while, little mouse. You see, I have an invalid of my own that needs tending to and I’m afraid I just don’t have the time or the patience to deal with it myself. In exchange, I will be happy to supply you with room and board, three meals a day and, of course, a hefty sum of mora to send back home to your mother. Doesn’t that sound perfectly agreeable to you? Hm?” 

Sitting there in the exquisitely made wing backed chair that was singularly nicer than anything you’d ever owned in your life, you can hardly believe what it is you’re being offered. Surely your ears must have been playing tricks on you. It was too good to be true, and more than you had even dared to hope for when you’d set off on this ill begotten expedition to the Northland Bank. There had to be a catch though. Something he wasn’t telling you. Fortuitous luck like this didn’t come without its pitfalls, you knew that only all too well. 

Your tongue darts out to nervously wet your lips as you search his blank mask for any signs that might point you in the right direction, to help you decide whether or not this was an insidious trap of some sort. It definitely felt like it was. 

“That … is a very generous offer, my lord. Thank you. I’m not sure I deserve your kindness, but — may I ask a question first?” 

He inclines his head rather graciously. “Go on.” 

You steal another brief glance at Regrator, but it’s clear he still has no intention of bailing you out, leaving you to sink or to swim, so you press on. “I’d like to know a bit more about the job I would be doing, if I accepted your proposal. What would you expect of me? Is it … a parent of yours that needs taking care of?” 

“Something like that.” Grumbling under his breath, the Doctor stands from his chair to resume his earlier pacing, but slower this time. An almost thoughtful gait to his step now. “Where to start? The, let’s say, patient in question is an eighty-four year old man with all of the usual problems one would expect at that age. Arthritic to the point of being half lame, he occasionally uses a wheelchair to get around although he isn’t quite to the point of being bed bound yet. Frankly, I hope it doesn’t ever come to that. He’s already cantankerous enough at the best of times.”

His boots thunking softly on the floorboards, he moves behind you and out of sight. 

“And yet he expects us to see to his care just by virtue of our proximity to him. But as I’ve already said, I have other, far more important things to be doing with my time. Research to conduct, experiments to oversee. His soon to be palliative care is the least of my concern, yet he refuses to stop harping on and on about needing this or that at all hours of the day. If you should choose to accept this position then I would expect you to keep him preoccupied and out of our hair indefinitely. That means, little mouse, that you would have to be present and alert at a moment's notice. Any slacking off in these duties would result in very unfortunate consequences for you, indeed.” 

You shudder faintly in your chair, effectively chilled to the bone by the total lack of regard or affection in which he speaks about this individual. He’d said it was something like a parent though, so you could only assume that they did not have a very good relationship. In truth, you almost felt bad for the old man without having even met him yet. 

But then it hits you. The catch. 

That sudden realization makes your stomach twist itself into a tight ball of knots as you spin around to peer back at the masked man, just as he comes up along the other side of you. It was hard to believe he’d ask something like this after you’d already told him about your own situation, your own circumstances. 

“I’m sorry, my lord, but … I can’t leave my mother alone like that. I’m all she has. If I’m not there to take care of her no one else will and I’ll have done all this for nothing.”

“Oh?” He cocks his head to the side, looking for all the world like a raven inspecting a fresh corpse on the side of the road for signs of life. “And whatever is stopping you from hiring someone to see to her in your stead, silly girl?” 

“I - I can’t afford that …” 

“Ah, I see. You doubt the depths of my coffers, then, I take it?” 

“Ahem.” Regrator cuts in at that moment, delicately clearing his throat of some imagined obstruction. “I believe that would be my coffers, Dottore, and you know full well that I at least like to be asked before you start making promises with my mora.”

The Doctor chuckles a faint sound of amusement in response. “Oh, don’t be like that, Pantalone. Can’t you see the poor thing is down on her luck and in need of our charitable assistance?” 

“Yes, well,” the bespectacled man murmurs, shifting his attention to you now. “What my colleague is trying to say is that the question of whether or not something is affordable won’t be of any concern to you if you ultimately decide to work for him. You will be making more than enough to pay for a live-in nurse to move in at your home or to even relocate your mother into a permanent residence at one of the clinics if you would so wish it. To that end I have no problem giving you an advance payment so that you are able to make all the necessary arrangements prior to starting your work, if that is something you need to consider.” 

“… really?” 

“Yes, dear. Really.” Regrator says, holding back a laugh. 

You just stare at him in utter disbelief for a painfully drawn out stretch of seconds before slowly glancing up at the Doctor again. It is not lost on you that something seems to have shifted between them inside this room. But he, too, appears to be completely serious and sincere. And try as you might to wrap your head around it you just don’t understand. Did this even really make any sense when you got right down to it? 

“But — but why me? Why couldn’t you just as easily hire someone more qualified than I am to take care of your fath - -“ 

“That is not what he is.” Dottore cuts across you forcefully enough to make you snap your mouth shut. Then, more quietly, he says, “Not exactly, anyway.”

Breathing out a rather curt exhale, the Doctor moves to step around the back of your chair again, slowly dragging his gloved hand across the top of it this time as he goes by. “I do not expect you to truly get anything out of this explanation, but the fact of the matter is that the situation calls for the utmost discretion and secrecy. Although I cannot tell you the exact details of it right now, what I can say is that this matter concerns a Fatui Harbinger and is, therefore, a delicate topic indeed. We cannot have word of the comings and goings of Her Majesty’s forces leaking to the public.”

“It’s a point of security, my dear.” Regrator helpfully adds on. “You understand.” 

You’re not so sure you do, but then the Doctor plops down in his abandoned seat and leans forward to brace his elbows upon his knees, clasped hands meeting between them. He looks … weary, you think. Like he’d already puzzled out every other possible avenue to resolve this issue as cleanly and neatly as possible only to come up regretfully short, time and time again. It makes you wonder, not for the first, what his relation could possibly be with this mysterious old man then, if he wouldn’t simply wipe his hands of it like he seemed to want. 

“The problem, you see, is that hired nurses generally expect to go home at the end of the day,” he goes on. “Or eventually, at the very least. And they take information with them, intentionally or not. They talk and they gossip, letting things slip. But we can’t just sequester someone like that away from the rest of the world, because they would invariably have people looking for them. Either family or employers, coworkers. Someone who might start asking questions. If the tracks then lead any subsequent investigations directly to the doorstep of a Harbinger …” 

The Doctor solemnly shakes his head, and you finally start to understand. 

“So you figured I was your best bet because the only one who might question my whereabouts is my mother, and she’s …” You’re reluctant to say it, but he nods his agreement all the same. “I see. But it sounds like I won’t have much freedom of movement, if you’re that worried about possible leaks getting out. I am sorry, my lord, but I still don’t think I can take on this responsibility.”

“Not even if it could potentially save your mother’s life?” 

You snap your head around to look over at Regrator who pins you in place with a not unkind smile. 

“What?” 

“Forgive me for butting in, it’s just … with the amount of mora you would be making from this position you could easily afford to hire the best physicians Snezhnaya has to offer. Sure, you might lose out on a couple of months with your mother, or even a year or two, depending on how the hands of fate choose to fall. But if she could be cured in that time then you would be free to enjoy each other's company in relative comfort once the job is completed.” 

Your mind positively reels at this information. Was that truly possible? An equivalent trade of some of your time for more of hers? Did you even dare to believe it? 

“I guess I didn’t really think of it like that, but … is the situation really that imperative, my lord? I - I mean, not to be rude, but is your fa - - your patient that much on borrowed time?” 

The Doctor tilts his face towards you, sending you a look that is no less scathing despite the barrier of his mask standing in the way. “He will be eighty-five years old soon. What do you think? I can’t imagine he has all that many more years in him, although I suppose we would only be so lucky if he doesn’t stubbornly cling to life with everything he’s got.” 

You’re more than a little aghast at how he speaks of this man, but even that is not enough to douse the flickering, hopeful flame that ignites in your heart. It wasn’t what you had set out to do, far from it, and yet you couldn’t conceive of a better outcome, especially when Regrator had been so quick to dismiss your entreaty of him. 

It was, of course, hard to believe that this prickly individual in the bird mask would be your savior over the arguably polite, handsome banker, and yet that seems to be exactly how things have turned out for you. Even if it was only a slim chance at extending your mothers life, perhaps just long enough for you to find some closure for her regarding the disappearance of your father, you knew that this was an opportunity you couldn’t afford to pass up. And besides that, if the Doctor was half as unsympathetic towards the old man as he was when talking about him in front of a complete stranger, then you could only surmise that your presence might be the single source of kindness allotted to him in his final days. You weren’t making this decision because of that, but it is something you take into consideration. 

“Alright, then,” you say at last, shocked at yourself for even considering going through with it. “I’m listening. How much are you going to pay me, so that I know what sort of arrangements to make for my mother? And when would you like me to start?” 

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

Dear mama,

Today, I met old man Zandik for the first time. He is quite the interesting character! I cannot tell you much of my current situation or my employer, of course, and I’m sure this and any future letters to you will be thoroughly inspected before delivery to ensure that nothing of import slips through. I don’t think this much should hurt anything though, or at least I hope it doesn’t. 

But I don’t want you to worry about me or wonder how I’m doing, so I’ve decided it would be in both our best interests to send you periodic updates addressed to your room at the hospital while I’m away. I pray that this, the first of what is sure to be many letters, finds you well. Tell me, are the nurses being kind to you? Has there been any change at all in your health? I know you don’t like to be fussed over but please try not to give the staff there a hard time. They’re only trying to help you, just as I am doing my best to help you in whatever way that I can. 

Once I am finished with this job I promise I’ll come get you and we’ll go on a nice, long trip together!  

Oh, but let me tell you a little about old man Zandik. I suppose I should start calling him ‘Master’ now?

He turned out to be just as advanced in his later years as his associate claimed him to be and, strangely enough, this set any of my lingering doubts regarding his story to rest. I call the man I met at the Northland Bank an associate because … well, it’s a little hard to explain. Actually, I’m not quite sure I even understand it myself. This place is rather disconcerting in that regard, and sometimes it can be exceedingly difficult to make sense of the things I hear or see. 

Luckily, though, Master Zandik is a very grounding presence in his own strange way. To some extent he feels more real than the one in the mask, despite the fact that he did not seem particularly happy to see me standing there with his associate. He even tried to send me away at first, which I am sure you can imagine came as quite the shock! I thought I might pass out right then and there from embarrassment, thinking that there had been some sort of mistake. But the other man insisted that everything was already in order for me to begin my duties and after stressing to him that the advanced payment had already been delivered (and spent!) Zandik reluctantly gave in. I’m not entirely sure what their relation is to cause so much tension between them, but we occupied the rest of the afternoon with him showing me around his laboratory and telling me all about the things inside it. 

Yes, you read that right. A laboratory, mama! I’ve been employed in the service of a real scientist who works for Her Majesty, and who has accomplished quite a lot according to him. It is just as I told you, then, when I had to leave you at the hospital. So you see, there is nothing at all for you to fret about. 

But back to Master Zandik. Although he certainly wasn’t happy with me in the beginning he warmed up quickly enough. Honestly, I think he was just happy to be shown an interest in his work and to spend time around someone other than himself. In another life he might even have been a teacher, a celebrated professor at an equally venerated university. He seemed to rather enjoy explaining things to me despite the fact that I could hardly keep up with much of what he said. 

I suppose that, in a way, this was likely what the man in the mask meant when he said that he didn’t have time to take care of Master Zandik himself. The old man is sharp for his age and far more intelligent than I would have thought it possible for any one person to be, but he also seems a bit lonely. Restless in his advancing age. I’m not sure if my presence here or any amount of interest in his work will be enough to ward off the causal effects of his twilight years, but I’m certainly going to do my best. For your sake as much as his. 

He isn’t nearly as sweet or kindhearted as you are, mama, but I think the two of you would get along splendidly. Something about him almost reminds me of papa. It would have been nice if I’d been able to take care of him in his old age, too. Perhaps, then, Master Zandik will be my temporary substitute in the meantime. I’ll get some good practice in, at least! 

Oh, but I do miss you so. I hope you’ll write me back soon. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it’s a little unnerving being away from home like this. Sometimes I hear strange sounds off in the distance and Master Zandik does not like to let me far out of his sight, so I cannot even investigate the source to put my mind at ease. Her Majesty willing, it is nothing to worry about though. 

Until next time,

With love 

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

It is undoubtedly something to worry about, you decide with no shortage of fast mounting apprehension. 

In fact, there were a great many things you should be worried about and right at the top of that list was the identity of the mysterious masked person who seemed to come and go with all of the pomp and circumstance of a wandering specter. That strange noise you kept hearing didn’t even crack the top five. 

It was alarming though, causing your blood pressure spike and your heart to race every time you caught it coming from somewhere not that far off in the distance. But you never seemed to get any closer to it no matter where you happened to be standing, nor could you pinpoint which direction it was coming from. And worst of all, Zandik did not seem to even notice it. If anything, your startled reactions appeared to bother him far more than anything else did. 

“And what’s got you so spooked this time?” He grumbles, carefully setting his coffee cup down on its matching saucer with a faint clink from the delicate glass. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghoul passing by, if you ask me.” 

You’re not so sure that’s an entirely inaccurate statement, all things considered, and you nervously turn away from your dusting to face him. “Do you really not hear it? What is that?” 

“Hm?” Tilting his head slightly, Zandik carefully listens for a long moment. The two of you are in his library, perfectly still and silent save for the far off noise that has plagued you since you first arrived here. 

It always sounded off at random intervals throughout the day with no rhyme or reason that you could discern, ensuring it always caught you unawares and ill prepared. Just yesterday you’d nearly dumped boiling water all down your front from jumping so hard at the unexpected shrill. 

At length, he finally gives his head a shake. “I don’t hear anything. You’re imagining it.” 

“I really don’t think I am.” You insist, but it’s weak and unsure. Not exactly convinced of your own convictions when this place was starting to make you feel crazy. 

You’d been here for about a month now and for the most part the work wasn’t anything terrible. You liked Zandik well enough, even if he was occasionally short with you and not quite as easy to please as the letter you’d sent to your mother had implied. Sure, it was wrong to fib or stretch the truth, but you hadn’t wanted her to worry about you when she should have been worrying about herself. 

For the most part you just kept the old man company. Waking him every morning, helping him get dressed and then handing him his cane, when he felt up for it, so you could accompany him down to the lab he so enjoyed dawdling in or, like today, the library. You take your meals together, sit and read together, when time permits, and enjoy the peaceful stillness of the eerily quiet, sprawling mansion together. Sometimes he snaps at you, pinches your thigh to get your attention or chides you for imagined slights against his person, but that was usually the worst of it. 

The one in the bird mask was decidedly much worse and he often appeared without warning, materializing out of some dark nook or cranny to scare you half to death. Even if he were not inclined to such sneaking around, though, you were still likely to have found his presence there with you and the old man disconcerting. 

Because you’d realized quite immediately upon being introduced to Zandik that something was not right here. They were very much alike, those two, with the same hair (although the older’s had started to thin and to dull in color) and their voices were very much the same as well (although the younger’s was more crisp and clear) but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what was off between them. At first you’d thought the masked one had simply lied to you, and they were in fact father and son despite what he’d said to the contrary. And yet …

Watching them interact gave you the impression that this wasn’t likely to be the correct answer either. They were almost like mirror images of one another, in a way, and Zandik was only marginally easier to deal with by simple virtue of the fact that he was reliant on you to take care of many everyday, mundane tasks for him. If he had been even half as spry and independent as his younger counterpart, you were sure you would have been in a world of trouble. 

Anxiously twisting the feather duster in your hands now, you stand there and listen to the distant grating, gnashing, grinding sound that seems as if it is coming from everywhere and somehow nowhere all at once. It gave you the impression of metal biting into metal, tearing and ripping. Crushing. You couldn’t believe he didn’t hear that. 

Eventually lifting his head again, Zandik now peers over at you with a scowl deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. “Is your imagination really that distracting? Those bookshelves aren’t going to dust themselves, you know.” 

“It is not my imagination.” You argue, earning yourself a humorless scoff from him. 

“Then what else could it be? My hearing hasn’t gotten that bad yet. If I can make out the scurrying of rats down in the cellar — and trust me, I most assuredly can — then surely I would also hear this mysterious noise you speak of.”

Grumbling something unkind under his breath, Zandik settles deeper into his chair before going on. “I don’t know where he found you at – some barren street corner, I would imagine. But I feel the need to once again voice my doubts concerning this arrangement. An empty headed, flighty little girl does not seem the best candidate for watching after an old man, if you want my opinion.” 

“I am not a little girl.” You huff, taking great offense to that. 

“Well, you certainly look like one to me.” 

Cheeks growing warm, you have to bite your tongue to stop the impulse to argue any further with him. He was your employer, after all, and he also wasn’t necessarily wrong. To an eighty-four year old you probably did seem not much unlike a child to him. But that didn’t mean you appreciated being talked to like one, and for an uncomfortably long moment terse silence claims the room with only that horrible sound to fill the empty space. 

And then, it stops. 

As suddenly as it started, it recedes back into the void of nothingness and you slowly exhale your great relief. Watching you carefully, Zandik observes the way your shoulders gradually relax and how the tension drains out of your body before he similarly sighs a heavy, world weary breath out through his nose. 

“Come here, silly girl. Let me see you. Don’t be frightened.” 

Still clutching the feather duster, you heed his summons and obediently, albeit anxiously, step across the room to come up beside him. 

He’d felt well enough today to forgo the wheelchair he sometimes needed to get around with when his arthritis was bothering him, relying on only his cane to help him shuffle down to the library with you in tow. As such, he is sitting in a comfortably cushioned, high backed chair in front of a cluttered desk littered with books and papers, a seemingly random pair of forceps and an empty beaker, an assortment of pens and inkwells scattered about the surface. You weren’t sure what he was working on, if he was working on anything at all and not simply wiling away the time. You probably wouldn’t have understood much of it even if you’d asked him, though. Zandik’s mind was something far beyond your scope of comprehension even in his old age. 

Halting a respectful distance from the arm of his chair, you neatly fold your hands in front of you over the white apron that trails down your front. “Yes, Master?” 

Saying nothing, Zandik reaches out to firmly grab hold of your fingers with his mouth pressed in a tight line. You give a small jolt, flushing rather profusely as he tugs, nudging you to step closer to him. The gesture isn’t exactly gentle but it’s not aggressive, either. Just — demanding. And maybe a bit condescending, the way he steers you into place as if you should have innately understood where he wanted you to be. 

Evidently satisfied only when you can feel the bulk of the skirt pushing in on his chair, he releases you and lets his hand drop to the arm rest. Then he turns his attention towards the dusty old book spread open before him, disregarding you completely, and still without uttering so much as a single word in your direction.  

To your surprise it looks like he’s going to ignore you now that you’re standing beside him, his attention fixed on the hefty tome. He neither says or indicates anything to signal what he wants, so you simply stand there, waiting and at attention. 

Then you feel it. 

That same hand almost inconspicuously touches the back of your knee, tickling you ever so faintly when he traces your stockings upward to then slip underneath the hem of your skirt. You go ramrod stiff, shuddering and breaking out into gooseflesh as you stamp down the urge to pull away from him. This was not a unique instance of him putting his hands on you, but you were no more used to it now than the first time it happened. 

“W - what are you doing? Sir?” 

Zandik clicks his tongue, still not even bothering to look up when he responds. “What does it look like I’m doing? Don’t be daft, girl.”

Pursing your lips, you stand there stiff as a board while he slowly works his way higher and higher up the back of your thigh. So grumpy. 

You’d nearly whirled around and slapped him across the face the first time he’d done something like this, mere days after being introduced. At the onset you’d thought he was merely trying to scare you away, hoping to send you packing with complaints of harassment and unfavorable work conditions, but you’d assured yourself that you were made of tougher stuff than that. 

He’d persisted though, even after a few weeks had gone by, and now you weren’t so sure that he wasn’t just taking advantage of his age and his position of authority to feel you up whenever the mood struck him. 

Sometimes it was like this; touching your exposed legs where the housekeeping uniform given to you by the man in the mask didn’t reach down far enough to protect you from his wandering fingers. Other times he’d wait until you were close enough, leaning forward to set his coffee in front of him or picking up a book he’d asked to have taken away, to reach up and innocuously brush his knuckles across your chest. You didn’t like it one bit, but you always thought of your mother in these situations to remind yourself what was at stake here. For her sake, you would put up with just about anything. 

But this time Zandik’s searching fingers are bolder than usual, evidently no longer content with simply touching the parts of you that could be misconstrued as innocent or accidental, if you chose to interpret them that way. This time, he brushes right over the top edge of your stockings, taking a moment to inspect the little metal clasps holding them in place before reaching higher still. 

Your throat suddenly seems to be obstructed with something that feels very much like a boulder, lodged and unbudging, as he now feels along bare skin. His fingers are cold and bony, trembling ever so slightly from the effects of aging, not nerves. He’s perfectly confident, in fact, when he unhesitatingly finds the seam of your panties a moment later and proceeds to almost possessively curl those long, dexterous digits around the pudge of your quim to make you give a great jolt of surprise. 

“M - master Zandik! What - -!” 

“Oh, just hush, you idiot. I’m not hurting you, am I? Eh? No, I didn’t think so. Now stop looking at me like that and focus on this instead of those phantom noises you think you hear.” 

“But … but …” 

Swaying somewhat unsteadily there on your feet, you screw your eyes shut with a low whimper. You’d never had someone touch you like this before and you aren’t sure what to make of any of it. 

On one hand, you try to reason with yourself, he was right in that he wasn’t causing you any harm. It didn’t hurt, at the very least. But on the other it was undoubtedly wrong for him to be helping himself to your body like this. Not only because you were employer and employee, master and servant, and this broke the unspoken understanding between those respective roles, your stations in life. But also because of the great difference in age. 

He was old enough to be your grandfather, for crying out loud! 

You feel more than a smidge bitter about that, and you silently curse him in your head while he nudges the hand between your legs with a deliberate motion that makes his fingers press up into you. The sensation of fleshy lips shifting under the pressure, forced to part for him, quickly has you sucking in a ragged breath that painfully rakes on the way down. 

“W - what do you mean to do, sir?” You warble out, starting to squirm on your feet beside him. Impulsively, you reach behind you with one hand to try and shove the back of your dress down but it is simply no use. His arm remains as uncompromising as ever. “Is this really necessary? I’m s - sorry if I … displeased you.”

“Nonsense. You did nothing of the sort.” He grumbles, the brunt of his focus remaining on the book laid out on the desk while the gesture of his hand seems akin to a mere afterthought. 

“Then why - -“

“Gods, girl. Do you ever stop asking questions? Ever since you came here you’ve been wound tighter than a jack spring, always jumping and scaring at the slightest noise. I’ll have you know that this is precisely why I tried to tell that bastard fool you weren’t needed here.” Snorting a derisive sound, Zandik reaches for the pen sitting next to the book with his right hand. 

Leaving the other to busy between your legs, he jots down some notation or another that you can’t quite decipher when the insistent rubbing of his fingers was beginning to make you feel so very warm. Stuffy, and increasingly stifled. 

“What’s done is already done though, and I suppose you’re here to stay.” He goes on, softening the tone of his voice by only some small margin. “The least you could do is let me tend to you a little bit without all this fuss. If it helps, you can try to think of it as being in exchange for always taking decent enough care of me. You do make a rather agreeable pot of coffee, I have to admit.” 

Blinking back the sting of unshed tears from your eyes, you peer down at him in question but, still, he won’t look up at you. 

Was this supposed to be some sort of reward then? His way of praising you for a month’s worth of hard work rendered, or perhaps as a misguided way of soothing your jittery nerves. That seemed rather backwards to you and you weren’t sure how that could possibly make any sense in his mind, but … 

The growing warmth that slowly settles and spreads across your pussy is frustratingly persuasive. It fogs your brain, making it more and more difficult to think straight even as you somewhat awkwardly shift around on your heels, torn between skittering away from his attentions or nudging into it. In truth you hadn’t given much thought at all to the ways in which a man might someday touch you but this was far too wrong for you to reconcile any of it in your mind. He shouldn’t have been doing this to you. 

And you certainly should not have been enjoying it. Not even a little bit. 

And yet as the seconds continue to tick by, dutifully counted off by the stoic facade of the grandfather clock against the adjacent wall, that’s exactly how your body appears to be responding to him as well as his ministrations. With pleasure, and the eager, excessive slick of your youth. You can feel it gathering along the crease, steadily building up in abundance until it feels like it’s oozing out of you to stick to the cotton of your panties. Dampening, clinging, smearing wetly with every pass of his twitching fingers. Your cunt had never felt as terribly hot as it does now. 

The sensation is overpowering and potent enough that when he finally gives his hand a deliberate twist, locating the outer edge of the gusset and rudely shoving the thin material aside, it very nearly comes as a relief. You can’t help but shudder though, whimpering at the cool brush of wafting air that caresses over your thoroughly swollen sex to make your posture waver. 

Almost unconsciously you find yourself tipping forward, the weight of your upper body too much for your legs to support when your lower half was buzzing, tingling. Turning into molten honey that threatens to drip out onto the floor underneath you. 

Without warning, Zandik’s wizened fingertips slip inside the tight space between flesh and cotton, where he proceeds to drag a harsh line through your weeping slit. You involuntarily jolt at the feeling, and when he chuckles a brief sound in the same heartbeat you can’t be sure if it’s in response to your reaction or the state of arousal he’s found you in. Perhaps it was even both. 

“Interesting. Looks to me like you’re much more eager than you want to let on. Not exactly the pure, innocent maiden you’d have me believe you are, hm?” 

You have a strong mind to correct him on that. To insist that it is only the precise expertise of his fingers and the keen application he applies to your cunt that has made such a mess of you, and not any fault of your own. But you can’t seem to manage it, having neither the oxygen nor the remaining mental capacity to follow through on the impulse. All you can do is stand there, softly panting, while his digits spear through delicate creases and satin inner folds in search of the hidden pearl at the apex of your slit. 

And you know the exact moment he finds it just as well as he does, because you violently twitch so hard your legs almost give out on the spot. One of your hands blindly flies out to slam against the top of the desk in an attempt to restore your balance but it’s no use. Especially not when Zandik sets in to rub over that sensitive spot, drawing tight circles into the pulsing, pinprick nerve cluster. The motion of his hand was at once tender and demanding at the same time. 

Entirely against your will, you let loose a low, faltering sound of rapidly budding ecstasy, unable to hold it back even if you’d tried. The fingers on your pussy give an excited little jump in response to the sound before attacking you with even greater fervor than before. That delicate button, swollen and tender, grinds under the pressure of his attention, dragging against the worn pads of his digits. 

You felt like you were drunkenly spinning through a kaleidoscopic rush of sensation unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Inebriated and loopy, soaring higher and higher towards the culminative end of your own consciousness. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You felt like you were going to cry; great big, gasping sobs that would wrack you straight down to the bone. You were going to die here in this library. You were going to — 

“Aah - aaugghhn! M - master Zandik!” 

A harsh, ragged intake of air is all you manage after that rattling plea, feeling as if you were about to tip right over the precipice into some great, gaping maw of absolution. 

But you don’t quite make it that far, hovering poised and shaking for the pin to drop when the door on the opposite side of the room abruptly wrenches open. 

You hear an unwelcomingly familiar voice call out, “is this where you are?” and you wrench yourself upright so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. 

Zandik, too, reacts with a startled little jerk, quickly withdrawing his hand from the inside of your panties just in time for the man in the bird mask to appear in the doorway. One or both of you must look guilty as hell, though, because he pauses there to consideringly observe the scene he’s just walked in on. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He drawls at length, quiet and pointed with barbed wire. 

“N - no, my lord. I was just — checking if master Zandik needed a refill on his coffee. That’s all.”

Heaving another terse exhale, the old man lifts his hand — the one that had just been between your legs, you realize with a great deal of mortified horror — to idly gesture the other inside. “A top off sounds just fine. What do you want? I hope you’re not bringing me another caretaker I didn’t want or ask for.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that.” The Doctor croons, the switch in him flipping just like that. 

You find this aspect of him perhaps most disconcerting of all, and you gratefully turn away to retrieve the silver carafe you’d left sitting by the window when he moves to step through the door. 

“Just because you haven’t realized it yet, that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone around who can fully devote all of their attention to your long list of needs. You are, after all, getting older with each and every passing day, Zandik. The aches and ailments are only going to continue to accumulate with time. I think you know that just as well as I do.” 

“You have a working pair of hands, don’t you? Or is that mouth of yours the only thing that works?” 

“It’s not my responsibility.” He volleys back, keeping his tone light and airy. Playful, almost, or so you might think if you didn’t already know him better than that. 

Keeping your head down so as not to draw any unwanted attention to yourself, you cautiously make your way back over to Zandik’s side where you lean across his shoulder to refill the cup on the table. He’s back to ignoring your presence though, which is just fine with you, and you quickly skitter away when the Doctor steps up to the other side of the desk without giving you so much as a second glance. And thank Her Majesty for that small mercy! 

Retreating back some distance to one of the tall bookshelves, you settle in to resume your earlier dusting. Or pretend to, anyway.  

You’d picked up very early on that it was best to keep yourself busy and preoccupied while they had their discussions, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to stay well within earshot to listen. It was one of the good things about being able to make yourself so small and unobtrusive that you just sort of blended right in with the scenery, and likely why the Doctor had set his machinations on you that day in the bank. You were easy to overlook when he had far more important things to be dealing with. 

“You say it’s not your responsibility.” Zandik finally grumbles, sounding as if he was still turning that statement over in his head. “As if you should even have the luxury of choice in the matter.” 

“It’s not. It really isn’t.” The Doctor insists. “But let’s put that aside for now. I have some interesting news to share with you, if you’d like to know what that most impulsive segment of yours has been up to recently.” 

Ever so slowly, you turn your head to better angle your ear towards the desk. Segments. You’d heard that word a few times now over the course of your stay here, but you had no idea what it meant or what it might refer to. You were curious though, and as always that curiosity of yours tended to get you into trouble. This was clearly not a conversation you should have been privy to, and yet here you were. 

Perhaps thinking the exact same thing, Zandik uneasily shifts in his chair. “And what might that be? I trust it must be good if you went to the trouble of tracking me down.” 

The Doctor says something about Sumeru, then, something that makes absolutely no sense to you. There’s an eager lilt in his voice when he talks about it though, calling it lost technology and forbidden research, unexpected breakthroughs. You find that a little odd, admittedly, because you were very much under the impression that he worked directly under the Tsaritsa. Why would she forbid something that one of her loyal subjects was working on? 

Unless … it was not she who had forbidden it? 

It’s hard to imagine that anyone or anything’s authority would trump that of Her Majesty’s. Even the other gods in neighboring nations seemed pale in comparison to her splendor, her heavy handed rule of law, but that seemed to be exactly what they were talking about. 

Unfortunately the subject is changed too quickly for you to glean much of anything from it, moving away from those far more interesting tidbits to focus instead on minute details and data, probability statistics of success or failure, resource management and funding arrangements. It’s all very vague in your mind. Amorphous and shapeless without any basis of understanding to contextualize any of it. They may as well have been speaking a different language and it doesn’t take long for you to mentally tune them out in favor of revisiting that bizarre exchange with Zandik. 

It was strange, wasn’t it, for him to overstep like that? Even by his own standards, that had been a bit much. And your pussy was still soaking wet with the evidence of his ambitious intents upon you, reminding you just how sticky and uncomfortably slick you were with every little shift of your body. Against your better judgments, you find that you ache terribly for the unfulfilled thrill of culmination that had been mercilessly ripped from you even as you silently rebuke it in the same breath. 

You felt sick and slimy just thinking about him touching you as he had, angry at your own helplessness to do anything to stop it from happening. But you also couldn’t ignore the tight, wanting knot in your loins, the powerfully compelling urge to offer your cunt up to the perusal of his hands again. It had felt nice, you’re beyond ashamed to realize. Good, in a way that felt like it could all too easily become addicting if you weren’t careful.

Had Zandik been even just thirty years younger you probably would have been wrestling with quite the moral conundrum right now. He is not, though, and so your decision was an easy one to make. You just couldn’t afford to get involved with someone that many decades your senior and whose position in the social hierarchy far outclassed yours. Simply entertaining the notion was in itself craven and perverted. 

But if he were to be the one who initiated it again … it’s not as if you could really tell your employer ‘no’, could you? 

These contradictory and confusing thoughts whirl about inside your head over the next half hour or so while the two of them go back and forth over this or that and the other. They aren’t exactly on friendly terms, given the sharp barbs they regularly exchange between them, apparently unable to stop themselves from taking jabs at pride and ego. They were barely even cordial, in fact. 

But whatever is bubbling beneath the surface does not reach its boiling point today, and your ears prick back into focus when you hear the Doctor start to make the usual indications that he was to take his leave. 

You’re not sure if you should be happy about that or not, hand tightening on the useless feather duster you’d all but forgotten you were holding. You certainly had not used it for its intended purpose at any time since Zandik first called you to his side. 

But between your nosy interest in their discussion and the dripping wet cunt between your legs, you’d been quite distracted from your duties. Now, however, you jump to get back to your dusting while you listen to heavy boots moving across the floor. A shuffling turn, a redistribution of weight, the purposeful thunk of a heel landing squarely on old wood with an accompanying low creak. 

And then gloved hands are looping around you from behind, very nearly making you jump out of your skin when they anchor around your waist without warning. Heart lodging in your throat, you whip your head around to look back at the featureless mask hovering just over your shoulder. 

“M - m - my lord?” You squeak in fright. 

“How adorable. But don’t pretend to be surprised now, little mouse. I know full well that you were listening to our conversation with nothing short of rapt fascination, weren’t you?” The Doctor croons, clearly amused by that simple audacity rather than enraged by it like you otherwise might have thought him to be. 

“You … you knew? But you kept talking anyway?” 

“Why, of course. It’s not as if there’s anything you can do with this information, is there? The strict stipulations of our arrangement were made for a very good reason, you know. And besides … you’ve been standing in this exact spot the entire time, not doing much of anything that I would even begin to call productive. You weren’t exactly trying to hide it.” 

You flinch at his pointed accusation, cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat. The Doctor merely chuckles a faint sound at your reaction though, neither chiding you for your indiscretions or punishing you for them. He really couldn’t care about you eavesdropping, then. Clearly quite confident that you would find no easy way to leak what you’ve heard to the outside world for as long as you were trapped here inside this sprawling, resoundingly empty manor home. 

Regrettably for you, he was likely correct about that. 

“I’ll try to be sneakier about it next time.” You promise him, earning another quiet snort of amusement. “In the meantime, was there anything I could help you with, sir? Your hands …” 

He gives your waist a tight squeeze at the reminder, blocky fingers digging deep into lovehandles for a brief moment to make you squirm. You couldn’t figure out what their fascination was with touching you so indecorously like this, and you whimper softly at the sharp little jabs of discomfort that spark through you. 

The Doctor doesn’t release his hold though, not even when you nervously rock forward as if to slip out of his grasp and flee. His fingers are like iron manacles where they hold you to the spot, demanding compliance and promising to take it by force should you get any bright ideas about fighting him. Those hands were not unlike Zandik’s in that sense, but somehow even more ruthless. Unsympathetic. 

“Ooh, don’t be like that. I just thought to check in on you, that’s all.” He coos when he leans closer, hunching over you now as if to swallow you up in a final, damning rustle of black bird feathers. “It’s just as I thought, though. You’ve taken to this assignment exceptionally well by the looks of things. I guess you really were the best candidate for the job after all.” 

“T - … thank you for the compliment, my lord.” 

“Think nothing of it. And there will be plenty more where that came from if you continue to meet my expectations of you.” Dropping his voice to a whisper, somehow sultry as the night and menacing as a bared-fang hiss at the same time, he goes on. “You’ve been taking awfully good care of that decrepit old wretch, haven’t you? And you have my immense thanks for that, of course. I do wonder though how I should show my appreciation for all of your hard work so far …”

With that vaguely ominous murmur, his hands slide low to deliberately smooth over your hips and across your thighs in a sudden rush of contact that makes you gasp. But there’s no time to stop it when everything happens much too fast for you to even comprehend that it’s happening at all. 

One moment he’s taking big, wrenching handfuls of the skirt, gathering it in his fists, and the next he’s got the bulk of the material hiked up around your stomach. You jolt at the abrupt exposure of your lower half, head snapping down to watch the Doctor snake one arm around you and trap the material in place. This allows him to reach back down with the other where he’s now free to palm at your underwear in a too tight squeeze that has you twisting in his hold, biting your tongue to stop the yelp that tries to force its way out. 

You couldn’t believe he would do this when Zandik was still sitting just behind the two of you at the desk. Was he insane? 

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting discovery. Your panties are damp, little mouse. I wonder what could possibly be the cause of that.”

Turning your face away from him to fix upon the opposite wall instead, you blindly reach down and clamp your fingers around the wrist between your legs. But it’s no use. He’s as unbudging as a brick wall against you. Even trying to squeeze him out with your thighs doesn’t do you any good. 

“S - stop that! Let go of me!” You hiss viciously under your breath, practically spitting at him like a viper. 

“What, you’re not interested?” He laughs against your temple to send hot breath dancing across your skin, and you respond by trembling fiercely in his hold. “Well, that seems a little backwards if you ask me. Do you really think that old fool can give you something I can’t? Frankly, my dear, I’m not even sure if he can still get it up.”

You give him a sharp, incredulous look, nearly taking your own eye out on the pointy beak of his mask, but all he does is laugh in response. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re welcome to do whatever you want, within reason. I’m certainly not going to stop you, and far be it that I would try to prohibit the pursuit of scientific discovery if you’d like to find out for yourself. I’m just saying that the statistical odds aren’t exactly stacked in your favor. But on the off chance that he isn’t completely impotent … I can still promise you that I would take much better care of you than he ever could.” 

As if in proof of that decree, the Doctor gives his probing hand a purposeful twist, snagging the edge of the fabric with the crook of his fingers. Without a single ounce of regard for how you might feel about it, he peels your underwear aside to once again expose your weeping slit to the cool air in the library. It makes you realize anew just how swollen and slick your pussy is, shaking with a plaintive arch of your spine as you seethe through your teeth. 

Ever unconcerned with silly notions such as time or place, even potential audiences, Dottore delves two of those gloved digits inside the pudgy grip of your labia. He is nothing like Zandik in the way he paws at you now, ignoring your tingling clitoris entirely in favor of locating your dripping opening instead. And when he finds it easily enough by following the source of all that slippery discharge to its wellspring, he doesn’t even hesitate to thrust his fingers inside. 

The sudden breach of your body, this unexpected penetration, has you frantically rising up on your tip toes in a desperate bid to escape it. You’re trapped in his arms though, with nowhere to run, and you frantically drop the feather duster to the sound of a dull clatter against the floor so you can slap that hand over your mouth instead. It takes everything you have not to shriek in distress and rising panic, the sting of fresh, salty tears making your vision blur. 

It wasn’t just the stretch to your hitherto untested passage, the deep ache that it leaves in you. These things alone would have been more than enough to have you sobbing, lamenting your own ruin in this drafty place. But what truly makes your throat cinch shut, making it impossible to breathe, for your stomach to wrench so violently you think you might really faint dead away, is how readily your cunt accepts the violation.  

You’re too wet, too puffy and swollen to keep him out, and the Doctor is able to freely impale you on those long, searching digits straight up to the second joint with hardly any effort at all to show for it. Zandik’s patient, coaxing caresses over that long stretch of minutes had done its job and done it exceptionally well. You sway in the Doctor’s hold, dizzy and reeling, as you throb around the intrusion, wheezing nauseatingly into your palm. 

“Oh? What’s this now?” 

Drawling a slow, reverberating chuckle, he starts to worm deeper into you, forcing your tight inner sleeve to accommodate his presence within. It’s an uncomfortably vice-like fit, to be sure, when your constricting passage squeezes around his fingers as if to strangle them. And yet that does absolutely nothing to daunt his tireless pursuit of reaching as far into your person as he can go, singlemindedly bullying your tender pussy open one malicious inch at a time. 

Finally, he slides the rest of the way home with one last, insidious wriggle of those astute digits, a messy click sounding from your cunt when his knuckles press into you hard. The foreign sensation of being stuffed full like this nearly has your eyes rolling back in their sockets even as you awkwardly shift to lessen some of the pressure. It’s a futile endeavor, though. There’s no escaping his clutches like this, no way to lift yourself off of his hand when he has you stuck in place by your pussy. All you can manage is to stiffly writhe against him, the heels of your little buckled shoes shuffling a disoriented tempo against the floor in your desperate search for balance atop the spear of his fingers. 

“You took that surprisingly well,” he murmurs, directly into your ear, so close that you can feel his coarse lips brushing the outer shell. It comes as a small, distant relief that he sounds so pleased with you, evidently satisfied by the reluctant acquiescence of your body. You could only hope that this meant he wouldn’t try to force you to bend any further than he already had. 

“And you didn’t even scream either. Not that it would have done you any good though. I’m sure you understand perfectly well by now that no one will be coming to your rescue here, hm? But that’s just as well, darling mouse. I do so detest the sound of wailing.” 

The Doctor’s sturdy frame shudders against yours when he issues another low, grinding laugh, chuckling into the side of your head. You blearily come out of your stupor now that what you think must be the worst of it has passed, alertness slowly returning to you as you stir within the confines of his arms. But the one around your waist merely tightens, keeping you securely fastened to him, while the other flexes with the tensing of musculature and chorded sinew. 

In torturous slow motion, the fingers inside your trembling quim begin to retreat. Sliding out from the clinging grip of you one mind numbing fraction at a time until only the first joint remains wedged. Then he pushes back in, at that same staggered pace, gliding through the sticky mess along your guts until you’ve taken both of his first two fingers in their entirety again. The same wet, sloppy squelch as before punctuates the air, sounding unbearably loud in the otherwise still and silent library. 

You almost curse yourself for even considering it right now, given your own predicament, and yet you can’t help but wonder what Zandik must be thinking. Listening to his younger counterpart — because that’s all you can think of him as — patiently working you open with his hand, the muffled gasps and whines that slip out from behind your cupped palm. The bow legged shuffle of your awkwardly splayed feet, its cause unmistakable. The tall tell sound of a drenched, terribly stuffed pussy being worked over, manipulated, and plucked to vibrating fever pitch. 

Was he possibly even watching, having turned around in his chair to observe the spectacle that unfolds before him? 

It was not so different from what he himself had already done to you, in truth, but the Doctor takes a much different approach in his defilement of your body. He is not nearly as doting in his methodology of playing with your cunt as the old man was, nor particularly gentle about the way he crooks his thrusting fingers and jabs at your upper wall, as if to reach all the way through you to come out at your bellybutton. He’s demanding and forceful, merciless. And you positively flood around his thrusting digits, quite against your will. 

The same nearly suffocating pressure from before rapidly swells throughout your loins to leave them knotted and twisted, turning molten within the protective cradle of your internal organs. It feels like your cunt is melting all over again. Liquifying into a mess of warm, sticky mead. It leaves you soaring and panicked, drunk on the potent rush of endorphins that crashes over you and drowns you all at once. This time you really were going to — 

“That’s it, little mouse. Ride my hand. Yesss, just like that. Chase your pleasure for me. There, there. That’s a good girl. Are you going to cum for me? Go on. Don’t be scared. You’ve already ruined my glove with the proof of your innocence, haven’t you? What harm could a bit more do?”

You struggle to make any sense at all of what it is he’s saying, whining a frantic sound in the back of your throat even as your hips pitifully jump in his palm. It’s impossible to think straight, just as it is impossible to breathe like this, but you still find yourself bobbing your head in agreement all the same. Whatever it was that awaited you on the other side, you knew you wanted it. Needed it. Craved it more than anything else right now when he had you wound so terribly tight. 

But that suffocating blanket of relief was not meant to be yours, clearly, because the Doctor waits until you’re teetering right on the edge again before he cruelly rips his fingers away. Wailing behind your hand at the sudden loss, you twist and pathetically buck in his hold while your pussy sadly clenches around nothing. The empty void he’s left in you just makes you want it even more, practically out of your mind with a hitherto unknown ecstasy of the flesh. 

He just doesn’t care though, merely laughing at your flagrant animal display as he carefully moves to withdraw his hand from your underwear. Realizing that he truly intends to leave you like this, worked up and wanting, has you gasping like a beached fish when you tilt your face down to look between your legs in shellshocked disbelief. 

And the shimmering thread of gossamer slick that you find stretching between the rumpled edge of your panties and his glistening fingers promptly sends a fresh thrill of mortification though your system. 

You really were melting. 

“Ah, there’s a good pet.” He purrs, quite pleased with the show you’ve unintentionally put on for him. The bastard. “I think I rather like the face you make when you’re trying not to cry. It’s very becoming on you, if I do say so myself.” 

The Doctor lifts his hand towards you then, aiming on a clear and steady trajectory right for the fingers you have clasped over your mouth. But you screw your eyes shut and try to turn your head away from him, squirming in an attempt to free yourself. 

It does you no good, not any more than it did all the other times you’ve tried to reject what he’s doing to you, and after only a brief struggle of clashing wills he finally manages to yank your scrabbling palm away. 

“Here you are. Open up, little mouse.” Murmuring soft condescensions at you, he nudges his sticky fingers at your mouth and persistently follows after you with them each time you try to twist away. “Don’t fuss now. Take your medicine like a big girl. It's doctor's orders. You understand.” 

“Mmmn! N - no - -!” 

You don’t get the chance to say anything more on the matter when the Doctor rudely shoves his digits past your lips, stuffing your mouth full and silencing any other protests you might have had. The taste of leather and oil, and your own cunt floods your tastebuds in an instant, and you squeal a harried sound around the intrusion but it’s already too late. His long fingers settle across your tongue, keeping your jaw wedged open around them to leave you with no other choice than to grudgingly suck him clean. 

It’s hard not to feel humiliatingly infantile in that moment while you work your mouth around the intrusion, especially when your compliance earns you a masculine hum of approval from your assailant. But you don’t like it, not one bit, grimacing at the bitter taste of salt and other secretions even as you dutifully swallow it down. It’s not as if you could do much of anything else in this situation. Not when he has you clasped to the front of him with the reinforced steel of his forearm. 

“There. Isn’t that better? Don’t you feel appropriately coddled now, dear? Certainly much better than whatever that old fossil did for you, I trust.” 

You shoot him a sharp, grumpy scowl from the corner of your eye but the Doctor only snorts a bemused sound, finally pulling his fingers from your mouth once he’s deemed them to be thoroughly serviced. 

“My, that’s quite the look, isn’t it? Although I suppose I can’t blame you for being a bit fussy with me, I feel I must warn you to make sure you’ve appropriately fixed your face by the time Pantalone stops by to pay you a visit. We wouldn’t want to rouse his concerns regarding your treatment here, now would we?” 

Somehow that manages to pierce through the inebriated fog hanging over your head and, still harshly panting in the aftermath of your ordeal, you turn your face towards him in question. “Lord Regrator? He … he’s coming here?”

“Why, of course. This is one of his properties, after all.” 

The unexpected bombshell of this information leaves you thoroughly floored, so much so that you don’t even think to yank yourself free when the Doctor loosens his hold on you. With an amicable pat to your hip, he finally lets you down to stand on your own two feet again before he pulls away, disengaging from your person. But not without a belittling smack to your ass that makes your cheeks blaze anew. 

You’d simply assumed that this manor house belonged to Zandik or perhaps the Lord Harbinger himself. Both of them, even. The notion that this was in fact Regrator’s home hadn’t even crossed your mind. He’d said it was only one of them, though, so perhaps he didn’t frequent it all that often? That would at least explain why you hadn’t seen him even once over the last month. 

Feeling a bit cowed now, you give a prim little sniff and set about smoothing your uniform out to the best of your ability. That bird-faced menace had wrinkled the dark skirt beyond repair, damn him. 

But still, he lingers just over your shoulder even when you try very hard to ignore him, chuckling another low sound when you refuse to give him anymore of your attention. 

“Don’t pout. That was only a simple demonstration, darling mouse, but I promise to play with you much more thoroughly next time. I’ll make sure to set aside enough time, just for you. Let's call it … a bonus, shall we? But do remember what I said, won’t you? Whatever that old coot can do for you, I can do so much better.” 

Unable to help yourself, you snap another sharp look at him in warning, embarrassed and humiliated in equal measure. That it only earns you another sharp laugh for your trouble frustrates you a great deal, and you stand there stewing in your anger when he at last turns to leave with one last bark of amusement. The sound of his boots moving across the floor precedes the click of the door, the groan of old hinges and then the slam of it shutting behind him. 

And finally you are enveloped in still, peaceful silence again. 

Or would have been, had your stomach not been twisting itself into a thrumming ball of knots. 

Cautiously slow, you peer over your shoulder to look back at the desk. 

Sure enough you find Zandik’s hunched frame sitting right where you’d left him. He’d heard every last bit of it, then. Even if his hearing was not quite as keen as he’d claimed it to be, he was still sitting in much too close proximity to have missed any of it. Double damn that masked fiend! And you were quite certain he’d intentionally put on that little display just for Zandik’s benefit. You couldn’t even begin to guess at why he would do something like that, but it was becoming increasingly more obvious to you that the Doctor was nothing more than a selfish bully. It probably pleased him to no end to swoop in and steal something that he likely already suspected the old man wanted for himself. 

And yet you still hesitate there in front of the crammed bookshelves for a long moment, wrestling with your indecision when you were so unsure how to proceed from here. A very real part of you wants to flee from this room, this house, the sprawling grounds outside and disappear into the snowy mountains, never to be seen again. Not once have you ever been so terribly stricken with shame in all of your life. 

But the logical, rational part of your brain knew you couldn’t do that. Your mother needed the money and Zandik, too, needed your company. You couldn’t just leave him to the care of that horrible man even if you did wish that a hole would open up in the floor and swallow you into the bowels of the earth so you wouldn’t have to deal with this mess. 

Desperately fumbling for your resolve, you finally make up your mind and start to inch your way over to Zandik’s chair. His attention remains steadfastly fixed upon the book in front of him, however, and as you get closer you can tell this is very much intentional on his part. He doesn’t want to look at you. Oh, how in the world were you possibly going to navigate this precarious situation now? 

“M - Master Zandik?” You tentatively hedge, coming up alongside him on a nervous shuffle. “Is there anything I can get for you? Is your coffee still warm?” 

He doesn’t respond beyond a mute shake of his head, looking so utterly crestfallen and dejected in his high backed chair that it tugs at your heartstrings something fierce. It was like the air had been let out of a balloon and he now sat, deflated, stewing in his own melancholy. 

You feel immediately and irrevocably terrible, even though you had no idea why he would behave like this. Anger would have been understandable, perhaps even preferable. You could probably understand it a lot more than his currently despondent mood, anyway. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t thought he cared all that much for you to begin with, the way he always treated you like nothing more than a proper nuisance. But you’d have to puzzle that out another day. 

Scrambling for something appropriate to say in the present, you hear yourself impulsively blurt, “I’m sorry you had to listen to that. It was not my intention to …” 

To, what? Be assaulted against your will? No, that wasn’t it. But what did you call it then? Was it disrespectful to him, that you’d been accosted by his associate without putting up more of a fight? Was that what he was upset about?

Or had it been a blow to his ego for him to sit there, listening, while the Doctor gleaned such explosive results from a similar perusal of your cunt? Dripping just as wet as before, and sore now, soaking into your panties with the proof of what the other man had done to you while you stood there next to Zandik begging for his acknowledgement. 

You have absolutely no idea what to say or how to fix this, if it even could be fixed. 

But, at length, he finally exhales a weary breath, inspiring a low flutter of hope in your guts as you watch him slowly sit up in his chair, the gesture stiff. Halting. 

“It’s nothing for you to apologize for, stupid girl.” He grumbles, obviously unhappy. “This is just how things are, isn’t that right? The strong rule over the weak, and the young replace the old. I knew that, of course. But …” 

The creased wrinkles along his brow deepen slightly when he frowns as if in thought. It’s not hard to see he’s pondering over some troublesome aspect of this situation, either his own feelings on the matter or the circumstances that had led to this end result, and you patiently wait there at his elbow for a conclusion to be reached. 

You can’t even begin to guess at what he’ll say next, but somehow or another the very last thing you expect is, “It’s surprisingly frustrating, though. I wouldn’t have thought I’d still care about these things at this age.” 

Your stomach pulls with a faint tug of uncertainty. “Sir?” 

Giving his head another brief shake, Zandik allows himself to recline back against the cushioned support behind him where he finally sends you a sidelong glance. 

“The feeling of being one upped. Bested. And by myself, no less. It seems that no matter how old I get or how much I think I’ve matured over time, a man’s pride remains a delicate thing. Even when I know I simply can’t compete on the same physical level anymore, it still manages to wound almost as much as admitting this to you does.” 

You slowly blink at that. So that’s what this was about. And worse, it made a certain amount of sense that he should feel this way. You’d been given to him, promised to be his servant, only for that masked man to turn around and lay claim on you himself. Even if the logic was a bit backwards, seeing as you’d never agreed to your body being a part of the deal, you did understand it on some level. 

“I see.” You say at last. “That way of thinking isn’t unfounded, I suppose. But … Master Zandik, please forgive me for speaking out of turn, it’s just. I really don’t think that this is something you should be concerned about.”

A mirthless laugh punches out of him, laced with the startings of his ire. “And why is that? Don’t try to coddle me, girl. I don’t need your sympathy or my ego fluffed. It is simply the way of the world.” 

Flinching slightly, you almost find yourself backing down. He was getting short with you now, and you so hated to agitate him, but you foolishly decide to stand your ground on this. You had to. 

“Master, that is just not true. Of course you’re not wrong to say that he is on a different level than you physically, but that’s not all there is to it. There are — other factors at play here. Things that you aren’t considering.” 

Zandik scoffs an impatient sound. “Such as? Go on then. Tell me all about it, if you know so much.”

You quickly draw a purposeful breath to do just that, but the words immediately get stuck in your throat. Panic starts to set in. How were you possibly supposed to explain to him that he was the more agreeable choice — even despite his age and physical condition, even if he thought those things made him inferior to the Doctor — and you liked him better by simple virtue of the fact that he had not terrorized you as the masked man had?

Your cunt still throbbed with the lingering evidence of that, sore and achy in the aftermath of his rough treatment whereas Zandik’s almost affectionate petting had only left you craving more. If you were going to have your innocence stripped by anyone then you would have preferred it to be him. 

But you couldn’t just say that! What would you look like, inviting an old man to touch you in that manner? And that was to say nothing of the fact that he was clearly just waiting to write off whatever you had to say as mere lip service? Something to mend his bruised pride and make him feel marginally better about himself, candy for a scraped knee. But unless you could actually figure out how to convince him of your sincerity it would never amount to anything of worth in his mind. Just pretty, placating words. The sympathy he already told you he didn’t want. 

So, what was the solution? 

The two of you stay like that for an uncomfortably long stretch of minutes, just looking at one another, while you frantically scramble for the answer to that exceedingly difficult question. Seeing the flustered uncertainty on your face, however, he eventually turns away with a gravelly sound of annoyance. 

“As I thought. That will be all for now. Leave me to my work.” 

Your knotted stomach plummets into the ground at your feet. “But, sir - -“

“I said leave me to it!” 

Jolting at the harsh reprimand in his voice, you take a frightened little step back from him. He’d never hit you before, not in earnest anyway. You didn’t count the quick swats he’d sometimes give your hands if you were reaching for something you shouldn’t have been in the lab when you accompanied him down there. But seeing the old man this outraged, you aren’t so sure he won’t start. 

And yet, in spite of it all, Zandik instead just shuts you out completely. With a singleminded focus, he sits up in his chair and leans over his book again, taking up his pen in the right hand. Ignoring you completely, as if you didn’t even exist anymore within the narrow stretch of his world. Just like it was when you’d first arrived here. 

To say you’d simply stretched the truth in your letter would have been an understatement. It had taken you almost an entire week to get him to speak to you at all, and another after that before he would engage in anything even remotely resembling a friendly conversation. This was all wrong. You couldn’t go back to walking on eggshells after all that hard work you’d put in just to earn even a tiny sliver of his trust. That damned Doctor had thrown everything into disarray simply because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You had to think fast and you had to think smart. 

There was only one thing that came to mind which might remedy this situation though, and you weren’t so sure it would work. You also weren’t convinced you had the stomach for it, especially after everything else your poor cunt had already endured today, but you at least had to try. You needed to show him you weren’t just saying things to protect his pride but that you really, truly meant it. 

Your heartbeat slams a violent, pounding rhythm against your ribcage as you make your decision on a spur of the moment whim and slowly reach down to grab at the bulk of your housekeeping uniform, lifting the skirt up around your hips. Just that simple act makes your skin crawl, having never exposed yourself to anyone like this before. Not of your own volition, anyway, and you pointedly keep your chin tucked so you won’t have to look at him as you shuffle right back up into the space you just vacated a moment ago. Silent and hopeful as you present your cunt to him in offering. 

At first he just continues to ignore you, the whole of his attention fixed on the birdlike scrawl he scratches out on the sheet of notes. Not for the first time you wonder what he’s working on but say nothing for fear that it would just come out a jumbled mess and further embarrass you when you were already internally withering. 

All you can do now is wait for him to decide whether or not to acknowledge you, whether he would keep you or send you away. But you intrinsically understood that the only way you were going to get through to him was by showing Zandik that you weren’t simply coddling him with empty words. 

And finally, after what feels like many lifetimes has crept by at a glacial pace, he finally brings his attention up with a particularly bothered sigh. Turning towards you at last, he impassively takes in the sight of you standing there with your panties flashed at him, the deeply frazzled look on your face and the death grip you’ve got on the hiked up skirt. 

You’re not sure how you must look to him in that moment — like some tawdry trollop, if you had to take a guess — but he doesn’t move or say anything at all until, eventually, you start to self-consciously squirm under his piercing gaze. 

“And what’s this, now?” He says in a clipped tone of voice, dropping his pen to the desk with a noisy clatter. His eyes remain locked on you, however, not dissimilar to those of a predator staring down a helpless prey animal, and you hope that this is a good sign. Maybe that meant he would actually listen to you now. 

Yet you still can’t quite seem to find your voice, completely choked up by your own self conscious embarrassment, so you make do with simply nudging your pelvis forward to indicate what you want from him. But Zandik just narrows his eyes, glowering at you from behind the single lens of his monocle, as if he expected this to be some cruel, insidious trap. 

“You want me to touch you, is that it? Well? Speak, girl, before I decide to put your mouth to better use than all that inane prattling you’re so prone to. You won’t shut up when I want you to but then you’re as silent as a crypt when I ask you a simple question.” He scoffs a rough sound and then, more gently, adds, “I would have thought you’ve had enough of other people’s hands on you for one day.” 

Nervously biting your lip, you offer up a slow shake of your head. “I - it’s not that, Master Zandik. I just … it felt — better when you did it. So I thought you might want to … finish what you started earlier. That’s all.”

As far as appeals to pride and ego are concerned, it’s not a particularly clever one.   

But something still shifts behind his eyes, something you have no name for and which you were very much unaccustomed to having directed at you. It looked like something akin to a distant flicker of heat though, the curlings of genuine interest making the dulled irises subtly light up from within. 

Is this what it was like to have a man look at you with plainly unbridled lust, you wonder, even as he slowly reaches out for you with a silent gesture. 

Your breath starts to come short again when his bony fingers slip into the space between your thighs, finding the gusset of your panties once more and pressing up into them. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat at the unmistakably dampened quality of the material while you tremble weakly at the contact. 

For a tortuously long moment, Zandik just takes his time petting over you through that thin, flimsy barrier, coaxing your pussy into buzzing for him again. Testing if you were really telling the truth. And you were. His touch was so much more intentional, less impatient, than the Doctor’s, and it nearly bowls you over how quickly your arousal skyrockets back to full force under his watchful eye. 

That probably wasn’t too terribly surprising though, you supposed, given that you’d already been denied the relief of absolution twice now. And yet that was precisely why you were so eager to reposition yourself back into his good graces again. You could have lied to yourself, convinced your heavy conscience that you were only doing this for his sake, to ensure melancholia didn’t take hold of an already sensitive constitution. But that would have been a boldfaced lie. 

In truth it was your cunt urging you on, dictating your choices, and you rattle out a threadbare little moan when he eventually turns in his chair to better face you. 

Using both hands now, Zandik pinches at the corners of your underwear and ever so gently tugs them down your thighs. One inch at a time they drag lower and lower, until the rumpled cotton finally meets the tops of your stockings. They can’t go any further than that with the garterbelt clasps in the way, but that is all he needs. 

Shivering at the molten rush that sweeps over you, pussy hot and swollen, bared fully out in the open like this, you sway almost dizzily there on your feet. “Nngh, Master Zandik … please. Please touch me. J - just like you did before. Please?” 

He faintly clicks his tongue even though he’s already half way through the motion of reaching up between your legs again. But this time his cool digits touch skin and slick pubic hair, applying just a small amount of pressure on your slit to make it part for him. 

Only to immediately draw a sharp little breath. “No wonder your panties felt so wet. You’re positively soaked. I’m sure a nice, hard cock would just slip right in there, wouldn’t it? Is that what you want?  Are you secretly hoping I’ll fuck you here and now, you stupid little girl?” 

Equally aghast at his crass language and running hotter than ever before at the deeply felt response it inspires within your body, you tip your head back to groan up at the ceiling. “Oough. Don’t say that. Please. Don’t even think about it. That’s so … it’s …”

Zandik rumbles a low chuckle at that, more and more of his usual self assured confidence returning to him now as he nudges further up into the fleshy grip of your labia. “What else am I supposed to think about when I’ve got such a fresh, lovely young thing offering herself up to me like this? Even an old man’s cock still works, you know.” 

You can’t help the way you whimper at the thought of it, positively gushing against his worn fingertips when they locate your clit and set in to rub. The glide is perfectly smooth and lubricated, and that delicate pearl simply pulses under his steady attention.  

Your hands shake as you hike your skirt up a bit higher, jutting your pelvis further into that mind numbing source of pressure. It really does feel good, so much better than whatever that selfish Doctor had forced you to endure. This was something else entirely, and it has your vision blurring around the edges while you try to find your bearings and orient yourself again, bracing squarely on your heels. 

It’s an effort in futility though. Just like before, the surging tide of pleasure rushes up to swallow you and it sweeps you off your feet, pulling you under the current. Your head swims and your chest tightens. Knees wobbling faintly in their locked positions. It’s too much and, somehow, not enough at the same time. You could almost sob from how intensely your pussy thrums with the static electricity of your oncoming release, every single nerve ending in you vibrating at a hitherto unheard of frequency. 

And to think, it was all because of a man who was old enough to be your grandfather. 

“Zuh - Zandik! Master, I … ooughh, I’m so — so …!” 

“Then let it go. You’ve already got my fingers soaked, a bit more won’t hurt anything. Don’t over think it. Yes, that’s right. Just keep pressing that sweet little cunt into my hand, now. Just like that.” 

You can do nothing else, in fact, eagerly rolling your hips into the motion now. The building tension within you abruptly doubles, then triples, and you screw your eyes shut when pulsing starbursts flash across your vision to effectively blind you. Letting out a faltering mewl of pleasure, you readily give yourself over fully to that hot, throbbing warmth that emanates out from your core. You can feel everything. The nudge of your pudgy labia moving with his hand. The excess slick that oozes and drips out of you. The fleshy, swollen bud of your clit rolling, rolling, rolling under his fingertips. 

And you finally cum, the thread snapping so suddenly, almost violently, that you jerk in place. A strange keening noise rattles out of you as you shake into your orgasm, pelvis stuttering while he continues to rub, rub, rub. You have no choice but to ride it to completion and you weakly shudder through the spasms, struggling to remain upright and erect. That’s an exceedingly difficult task, however, when it felt like the whole world was being flipped upside down on its head around you. 

Finally wheezing a haggard, utterly spent moan into the static charged air of the quiet library, you abruptly slam back into your own body a small eternity later. The unexpectedness of it staggers you, damn near knocks you on your ass, and you stumble back half a step as if in shock. 

The new distance separates Zandik’s hand from your still squeezing cunt, and he consideringly peers up at you while you try to catch your breath. You couldn’t believe that had just happened. Not that you’d allowed it or that the sensation had left you soaring somewhere far outside your own mind high above the stratosphere. It was, in many ways, inconceivable. 

“Oh … oh, blessed mother.” You finally croak, once you’ve managed to find some semblance of your voice again. “That was — interesting, wasn’t it?” 

Zandik barks a sharp, not entirely humorless laugh. “Is that what you call it then? Just interesting?”

Wheezing out a long, grounding exhale, you shoot him a somewhat surreptitious look as you tiredly drop your arms, allowing your skirt to fall back into place. “Were you expecting something else?” 

“Perhaps. I might have liked to hear how utterly amazing it was, or how skillful my technique is.” 

“You just wanted to be praised, didn’t you?” 

“Every man wants to be praised, girl. It would do you well to remember that in the future.” 

You realize then, glancing down at him sitting there, looking like he was quite pleased with himself, that he was having a bit of fun with it. Teasing you in a way you’d never experienced before. Not from him, at any rate, and you allow yourself a soft, thoroughly satiated laugh as you tiredly reach to tug your panties back up. 

“I’ll admit, it was awfully nice. I didn’t know my body could feel like that, especially after … w - well, that’s not really important.” 

“It’s alright.” Zandik tells you, surprisingly soft. “I cannot take back what he did to you while I was incapable of doing anything to stop it, but I can try to make it a little better for you. That was your first orgasm, wasn’t it?” 

The shock of that question must be written across your face in broad sweeping brush strokes, because he gives his head a slow, almost disappointed shake.

“It didn’t occur to me at first that that might be the case. But I figured it out shortly after you held up your dress for me. It just didn’t make sense for anyone who is at all familiar with the erogenous functions of their body to behave the way that you were. As if you wanted it but didn’t know how to ask for it, or even what you should be asking for.” 

Putting his head to one side — one of a few different gestures he seemed to share with the Doctor — Zandik studies you from that new angle for a drawn out moment. 

“Come here, girl. And no tricks this time, I give you my word.” 

Hesitantly heeding his summons, you step up next to his chair again on wobbly legs. A distant note of surprise quickly washes over you when he reaches up to slide his hand along the curve of your waist, pulling you in against him until you realize what he’s doing. You put up a cursory amount of resistance then, insisting again and again that you were too big, too grown, to sit on his lap when he tries to tug you down. But in the end Zandik wins out, his stubbornness exceeding even yours, and you finally let him drag you onto his thigh. 

Your reluctant compliance does absolutely nothing to steady your nerves, though, and you squeak a tiny sound as you come to settle in place against him. “M - Master Zandik? Surely I am much too heavy to be on top of you like this! What will I do if I accidentally hurt you?” 

“Nonsense. You’re much too self conscious for my liking. We’ll have to work on that. But for now,” sighing rather softly, contently, almost, he leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes. Looking for all the world like he was settling in for a much needed nap. Honestly, you could have used one of those yourself. 

“Just sit and enjoy the quiet for a moment, won’t you? Do some self reflecting on how you feel or meditate, or do nothing at all. I don’t really care either way. Just … be silent with me.” 

You would have jumped at the chance in almost any other situation, under any other circumstances, but a doubtful niggling at the back of your mind makes that nearly impossible. Even in the hazy warmth of afterglow you’re almost too antsy to sit still. Because even despite having never taken part in such activities before, at least not until today, you’d certainly heard whisperings about it. You were not that naive as to have completely missed out on the way both women and men alike often talked about sex. 

It was usually the other way around, wasn’t it? Or at least that had been your impression up til’ now. That men tended to lean towards being selfish and they rarely concerned themselves with the pleasure of their partners. That they were demanding and only sought their own release before rolling over and going to sleep without a second thought to anything else. It was in part why you’d avoided being courted by anyone, for fear of being on the receiving end of such impartial advances. 

And while Zandik certainly looked as if he was starting to doze off, it seemed that this was a bit out of order from how you’d been told it would be. 

Unable to keep your concerns at bay any longer, you give in to the urge and ever so carefully fidget atop his lap. “But, Master … what about you? Should I not be seeing to your needs as well?” 

His eyes do not open but the pale line of his brow does draw in, knitting and deepening the wrinkles on his forehead slightly. “No need for that. Not at the moment, at any rate.” 

You sneak a quick peak down at the front of his pants to briefly study the weakening tent there. It looked like he’d been right, and even an old man’s cock still worked under the right conditions, and the Doctor had been wrong. If you were only brave enough — or stupid enough — you might have liked to rub that in his stupid, smug face. 

“Is this really okay though? Are you sure?” 

“Gods, girl! You don’t know how to just let things rest, do you?” Zandik snaps alert again to turn a narrow eyed scowl your way. Back to his usual grumpy self, it seemed. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were fishing for it. Is that it? Do you actually want me to fuck you sensless, right here and now?” 

He barks a mirthless snort at your startled expression of plain faced shock. 

“As I thought. Then unless you want me to change my mind I’d suggest you learn to let sleeping dogs lie.” Exhaling a deeply ruffled breath, he tips his head back to regard the ceiling as if in deep contemplation. “You’ve already made it clear you have no desire to go that far with me, and I can hardly say I blame you for that. I’m also not physically equipped to make you do something you don’t want to. Not with this old body, at any rate. So I won’t even try.”

“But,” you stubbornly take another jab at it, feeling that you would be remiss if you didn’t at least make an effort to better understand him. It was odd for him to seek out this sort of prolonged physical contact with you anyway, and yet he didn’t want anything from you in return while doing it? That just doesn’t make any sense. “You could just order me to do whatever you want. Why won’t you?” 

Zandik huffs a quiet laugh. “And what would the fun be in that, huh?” 

A strange little flutter starts up in your chest but you’re quick to suppress it, shoving it back down into some vault in the back of your head where you can lock it up and throw away the key. That was a dangerous possibility threatening to open up before you. It wouldn’t do to let this situation spiral any further out of control, if you could help it, especially when you were already toeing the line of indecency like this. 

No. No, you’d have to remain steadfast for as long as you were in the thick of it dealing with this situation. 

As if it had been cued to do so, the grandfather clock along the opposite wall abruptly chimes then, disrupting the resounding quiet with such an earth shattering explosion that you jolt right up out of his lap. 

“Oh!” You blurt, flushing hotly when Zandik sends you a flat look as if to say ‘see? always so damn jumpy’. Like you hadn’t already embarrassed yourself enough for one day. “I - it’s lunchtime already? How time flies! I didn’t even … didn’t even notice how late it was getting. I’ll go start on something right away!” 

Ignoring his very unimpressed frown, you pivot on your heel and hurry over to the window side to grab up the coffee carafe on your way out. You knew he would want a fresh pot to go with whatever luncheon sandwich or savory soup you prepared for him that day, and you were admittedly quite glad for the chance to beat a hasty retreat from this room. It was inexplicably stuffy and fogged with something unspeakable. Something you didn’t even dare to dwell on. 

Stepping up to the little table at the corner of the windowsill, your hand reaches out to loop around the silver handle and you start to turn away. But a suggestion of movement at the edge of your peripheral makes you hesitate, head turning, as you glance out the window and down at the yard below. 

Where you proceed to watch someone unknown to you — a young man, by the looks of it— as he walks away from the side of the house to step around a snow covered bush before he disappears from sight. 

Your hand immediately starts to shake with the terrified tremor that works up your arm, vibrating so badly you almost drop the carafe to an ear splitting crash against the floor. 

He’d had his back to you so you hadn’t gotten a good look at the face, but the hair … 

It had been the exact same, wispy shade of pale blue that Zandik’s and the Doctor’s was.

⭐

It had already been a few months since the baby arrived, and it had been smooth sailing for you.

Is what you'd say if you were lying.

Pushing out a whole-ass baby was not on your bucket list when you got together with Zandik. In fact, both of you were dedicated researchers in your own field.

Researching with Zandik, especially with so many versions of him, was certainly fun. Every segment has its own view, which you recognized as the original Zandik in that particular age.

They were also, just as sexually frustrated as the original him in that age.

This was bound to happen one day or another, though not unwelcome. You only wished someone had warned you about the amount of peace you'd lose by having a child.

"This book says the baby will start walking when it's 9-12 months, and start speaking around the same time," Segment 8 says, reading out from a child development book he'd taken an interest to recently.

Segment 8 had taken upon himself to 'monitor the condition of the newborn'. Although you were rather reserved towards the idea of letting an 8-year-old take care of a baby, you realized that maybe Segment 8 would benefit from being an older brother/a younger uncle towards the infant.

And seeing how interested he was in keeping you company while you were taking care of it, you were right. Segment 8 never did the tasks that the other adult segments did (feeding, changing, putting the baby to sleep); he simply lingered in the corner, waiting for his turn to be the one being pampered by you (he was your first baby after all).

"I see. Anything else, Little Doctor?" you ask, as you put the baby down in the bassinet for a nap.

Little Doctor, now internally overjoyed that you had decided to give your sparse attention to him, flipped the pages to tell you more facts on child development (Segment 45 got it for him, thinking that it would help Segment 8 understand that the baby needed more care than him).

"And it will be able to use tools around 13-18 months old. We can get crayons so it can draw what it sees."

"That's amazing! Would you please draw with the baby then?? It would love to see your aranara drawings too."

"Mhm. Sure." He nods, now taking a seat in the corner of the nursery.

You sigh as you run your fingers through your hair. Taking care of a baby was...challenging. The adult Segments always made sure to be present and 'take shifts' to help you out, but there's only so much they can do. The baby required your constant attention, which was something neither you nor Zandik could help.

"Maybe I should take a shower. Little doctor, could you keep an eye on the baby for a few minutes while I fetch an older segment? I'd like to wash up, so it's better that one of them is here to keep a watch over the baby."

The younger Segment nods as he carefully scooches his chair near the bassinet. You'd rather not leave him with the baby alone, not out of distrust but rather due to how young he was himself. Which makes you wonder.

Where in the world were the other Segments?

Meanwhile, on the other side of Il Dottore's laboratory.

"I object!" Segment 18 protests, slamming his hands down on the table.

"What makes you state that your sperm count is higher than mine? You're older than me! Everyone knows 18-30 is the best range for a man to be fertile. I can excuse Omega, but you, YOU!! I'm not taking any lip from you, 45."

Segment 45 sneered at the younger Segment's outrage, offended by his comment, "Okay, first of all, rude," he remarks, "Second of all, the tests speak for themself. I'm not the one who's wrong when you're the one who's blind. Perhaps you should've controlled your baklava intake before bringing up an objection."

"But he's fundamentally not wrong, though," continues Segment 25, "Omega and I have the highest sperm count as well as motility rate. If it comes down to any of us, it's probably him and me."

"That's not counting the day of conception itself?" 65, who had chosen to stay silent for most of the discussion, spoke up, "Both of you have proven that you have the highest factor in getting her pregnant. However, I was the one who engaged in intimacy during her fertile window. A woman's ability to receive sperm during that period is not to be underestimated. Especially a strong and healthy woman such as my wife."

"Well, we cannot deny that either," ponders Segment 45, "She was violently ill in her first trimester and towards the end of the final one. It may be you in a way."

Segment 25 raises a hand to object, the one who was most medically aligned compared to all the Segments present, "Actually, it would be too late instead. Sperm can stay alive in the uterus for up to 5 days. Though losing some of its potency, any man trying to conceive at that point is probably useless. The one who got to the womb first matters."

"Give up. You can never beat the amount of energy I have," Segment 18 smirks as he sits back down in his seat, too smug in his youth.

"Actually, we make sure to thoroughly 'wash out' before engaging in intimacy ourselves," Segment 45 said, ruffling in his overcoat slightly.

"What do you mean?" asks Segment 18, a tad nervous.

"I mean, I don't want another man's semen on my private parts. The thought makes me shudder," explained the older Segment.

"You-I-What-"

"18, don't tell me you've been.......going at it without giving it a thought..." Segment 25 made a face, disgusted at his own younger self.

Segment 18, enraged and perhaps slightly humiliated, went off, "I-DOES IT EVEN MATTER-"

"It's hygiene-"

"WE'RE THE SAME PERSON ANYWAY-" he argues.

"That does not mean I'm having my penis covered in your semen. You cause enough trouble for my wife as it is with your premature ejaculations."

"I LAST LONGER MIND YOU-"

Segment 25 rolls his eyes at Segment 18's display, "Sure. And you definitely do not use your own hand on the days you cannot access her."

Segment 18, now thoroughly humbled and chastised, dropped in his seat and slouched further in it.

Segment 35, or Omega, saw that the younger Segment was out of any justification, stood up to the board to present his research and arguements.

"Well, coming back to the point," he says, clearing his throat, "Sure, you may have engaged in intimacy with her during her most fertile window, but that does not mean it would take you a single try to conceive. The possibility does exist. However, they're quite low given your age."

"Who said I was giving it just a single try?" rebuts Segment 65.

The entire conference room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Out of all the Segments present, Segment 65 scientifically had the least chances of conception.

That is, unless he was going at it with you like rabbits in heat.

Pantalone, who'd chosen to remain silent during the whole ordeal, mostly out of neutrality, spoke up, visibly impressed by the oldest Segment, "My, I didn't know you had such vigor within you in your old age, Zandik? Pray tell, how do you even keep up with the missus?"

"You flatter me, old friend. I'd be lying if I said I did it all. Both my wife and I switch sides on who serves. Turns out she quite enjoys my company in more than one way," Segment 65 explains, humbly nodding.

Although he was the most mild-mannered Segment of Zandik, mostly due to his age, it was clear he was not to be taken lightly, and wouldn't back down without a fight.

"No wonder she's all tired after she's done with you. This bastard's the one who's making her do all the work!!" accused the youngest adult Segment in the room.

"I will certainly not take any criticism from you, young one," Segment 65 denounces, laying his criticism on thick this time, "Perhaps the reason you're the one doing all the 'work' is simply because you do not understand the importance of inviting the woman to have her own way and have her own rhythm instead of swinging your hips with no finesse."

Segment 18, now completely and utterly defeated, simply stared at the oldest Segment as he was left with his jaw on the floor and nothing but a humiliating silence emitting from it.

Segment 25 snickered at the sight of the younger Segment being put in his place, "Well, the possibility of the baby being yours just rose up by 1.24 per cent. Congratulations."

"However, I, 25, and 45 are still in the lead. Although we did not ejaculate inside of her as much as you two have-"

"That's because you like to see her swallow it instead, don't you," Segment 45 interrupts Omega, who was stating his offence.

"-shush I'm not done. The three of us are in the lead for the most likely paternity. Which means the real father of the baby is-"

Before Omega could declare the real father of the baby (according to him), a polite knock interrupts the conference room, all the attendees now turned towards the source.

"Zandik?" you call out as you pry the door to the conference room open and walk in, "Hey, ummm, I was wondering if one of you could watch the baby for me while I wash up. They're with Little Doctor right now, don't worry. My hair's getting greasy and-"

You halt as you notice not only every single Segment, but also The Regrator in flesh, attending what looked like a project proposal.

"Oh, greetings, Lord Harbinger," you address him, "I must apologize for my unkempt appearance. I wasn't aware we were receiving such an important guest today."

Pantalone stands up and offers a polite bow, "There's no need to apologize, Missus. It is I who is intruding today."

"I see, I'll take my leave then-"

Before you could excuse yourself from the premises, you accidentally took one look at the board behind Omega, and the title projected onto it. Reading them, you felt as if you'd been left out in the bitter, icy cold of the Snezhnayan Tundra.

'Probability of Paternity'

"What-" you utter, betrayal lacing your tone.

Segment 45 immediately gets up, heeding to the distress in your voice, "Love I-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" you ask, your voice quivering.

"Let us explain-" he continues.

You step away from Segment 45, choosing to corner yourself against the door instead, "You know if you wanted to go this far, you might as well slap me on the face-"

"It's not what you think-" Segment 25, who's gotten ahold of the situation, tries to de-escalate.

You simply shook your head, "Oh, it is exactly what I think. Better yet, why don't you just kill me and use me for one of your experiments-"

"Honey, that's not what we're-" Segment 65 explains before getting cut off.

"Why else would you think I cheated on you and had someone else's child?" you sob out.

For the second time during this whole seminar, the entire room is engulfed in total silence. All the attendees now paying you their utmost attention.

Well, except one.

Pantalone, who had attended the 'Paternity debate' out of sheer boredom, was enthralled by the way the events had unfolded so far. He knew the animosity Zandik's segments held towards each other, but was deeply captivated by the way they all seemed to share one thing, or person.

You.

And you interrupting the oh-so-comical seminar of determining the baby's 'real' father was truly the cherry on the cake. Or rather, the straw that broke the camel's back.

The camel being Pantalone's restraint from laughing at this entire charade.

While the Segments all stood looking at you, you instead chose to direct your irritated gaze towards the Ninth Harbinger, who was now cackling like a madman in his own seat, clutching his sides and wheezing not unlike a broken old kettle.

"Hahaha haha! Oh dear, I haven't had a laugh this good in decades. The last time I laughed this good was the time I saw Pulcinella with his tongue stuck to an icicle."

"Pantalone, not helping," Omega seethes through his teeth.

"Pardon me for my rude behavior right now, Missus," Pantalone, now calmed from his earlier outburst, takes off his glasses to wipe the lenses with a silk handkerchief.

"You simply misunderstand," he continues, "They're not discussing whether or not you've been faithful."

"Then what is it, Regrador? Because that's exactly what it looks like to me," you assert, clearly upset at his earlier outburst.

He puts on his polished glasses as he turns towards you with the most polite, diplomatic smile he could conjure at that moment, "Ah, I believe I may not be the person to explain that to you. Zandik, if you-or shall I say-all of you would do the honors?"

You turn towards all the Segments now instead. They all looked like they were caught doing something they had not, similarly to how Segment 18 looked whenever you caught him throwing away the youngest Segment's notes, so you were positive it was what you had assumed.

'Still,' you thought, 'I suppose I could give them a chance to explain themselves. Worst case, I'd simply go to the Tsaritsa to seek protection along with Little Doctor and the baby.'

"Go on."

"We were….determining the paternity of the child through means besides the DNA," Segment 18 speaks out first.

"Uh huh. And what compelled you to do so?" you question, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Segment 25 takes over, continuing, "……we were making sure whose baby it was."

"And? Whose baby is it, Zandik?" you push, regretting your decision to give them a chance to explain themselves.

"One of us five's," Segment 45 states plainly.

"That's it, I'm leaving-"

"But we don't know which of us five yet," Omega calls out behind you, stopping you in your tracks.

You pause, hand already on the door handle, and slowly turn around, a befuddled expression painting your face.

"Huh?"

"Here, take a look," Segment 18 steps forward, pushing a tall pile of papers towards you.

You step closer to the conference table as you take a look at the paper on top with the title 'Probability of Paternity ~ Segment 18'. As you flip through the papers, you see papers written by the other four segments as well. The contents being graphs based on Sperm motility, time of conception, ovulation time frame, and so on.

Segment 18 takes it upon himself to start briefing you on the contents, "25, 35, and 45 have the highest possibility. I am the one next, then 65, due to 'techniques' and age. But 65 just defended his case right now and sits above me apparently-"

"Correction: his fertility is still lower than yours. It is a matter of correct timing-" Segment 65 interrupts.

Omega breaks him off on that, "Which is where I and 45 come in. We were both with you as well as Segment 65, but looking at the statistics, it should be me-"

"Get off your high horse for once," Segment 18 butts in, "What makes you say your sperm quality's better than mine?"

To which Segment 25 makes a face as he chimes in, "We must take hygiene into consideration as well. Unlike Segment 18 here-"

"So…" you ponder, making them all put away their differences for a moment, "…you all were holding an investigation here to…determine which one of you is the real father?"

"Yes," they all reply in unison.

"But……the DNA matches all of you. All of you are the real father. So, shouldn't there be no argument for that?" You try to reason with them.

"Well, that's quite silly, isn't it?" Segment 45 smiles at your statement, finding it quite illogical.

"If DNA was the only thing that tied us to the child as a paternal figure, you could call Segment 8, who's clearly a child and a minor incapable of handling a baby, the child's father purely based on DNA," he explains.

"Well, I don't think like that obviously, he's a brother, or a young uncle to the baby at best-" you went off.

"Let me put this bluntly for you. We're determining which one of us impregnated you first." Omega interrupts your process of thought, laying the facts bare for you.

For the third time today, the room was encompassed in dead silence before uncontrollable laughter broks it.

Although this time, it wasn't Pantalone.

You laughed so violently that you almost doubled over and fell on the floor. A Segment (you have no recollection who) caught you before you could kiss the floor and steered you to a chair. Though you were saved from sniffing the dust, you weren't spared from doubling down so hard that you slammed your head on the table (almost there was a stack of papers to cushion you from the pain of cold metal digging into your forehead).

Pantalone was soon to follow you, laughing to the point that his long-term smoker lungs wheezed in between.

The Segments simply stood there, looking between you and Pantalone, wondering what exactly it was that you two had found so amusing that you'd lose your wits.

Well, at least you weren't mad at them anymore.

After what had felt like an eternity, Pantalone is the one to calm down first. Well, as calm as he could be with the lingering effects of the best laugh he's had in his life so far.

"Oh dear, looks like I need a smoke or two after this. This has been the most worthwhile venture ever," he speaks out, wheezing slightly as he does so.

"Absolutely no smoking in my premises!" Omega denies, "Or that of my wife's!"

"Pass me one, too! Never in my living days had I ever thought the fathers of my child would actually argue amongst themselves!" You say to Pantalone, fighting down your own giggles as you ignore the Segment.

"No smoking for you either! Ever! I already deal with one chain-smoker who thinks my medical services are effortless. I don't need another one on my hands." Segment 25 shuts you down.

Before you could utter another cheeky remark that was sure to get on all the Zandik's nerves, the communication terminal buzzed, beeping twice before you heard the perturbed voice of the youngest Zandik in your ear.

"Hey, the baby is whining. I don't know what to do. Are you coming back soon, or should I call the standby nanny instead?" He asks, poor thing, being the only one left with an infant.

"Oh, Little Doctor! I'm so sorry for leaving you alone for so long. I was just caught up here with something. I'll be right back with Zandik, don't worry," you comfort, assuring that you'll be back soon.

"Okay. I'll keep an eye on them," he sighs and cuts the line.

You get up from the chair, smoothing out your dress, blood rushing to your ears as you remember what went down in front of two (or more like Segments of one and another) Harbingers. You looked up at all the Segments with a teasing smile.

"Well, so who's coming along with me? Or are we still going to fight amongst ourselves over who's the real father instead of focusing on the bigger picture?" You playfully chide them all.

"I shall accompany you this time," Segment 65 steps forward, awkwardly rubbing the beak of his mask, "It has been a while since I've held my child."

You nod to him as you turn to Pantalone, "Okay, please excuse my leave, Lord Harbinger. I apologize for my outburst earlier as well-"

He waves his hand at you, dismissing your worries, "Please, Pantalone will do, Missus. I wish you and your family good health. Next time we meet, let us discuss this little 'meeting' over a cup of tea as friends, shall we?"

"Of course, much obliged."

Segment 65 steps between you, wrapping his hand around your lower back to escort you out, "Let us take our leave now, Dear."

You smile up at him, then at the others as you wave at them all, promising to see them soon.

"Silly men," you murmur under your breath, "Just like him years ago. You say you're all different, but deep down, you're all made of the same soul."

"What was that, Dearest?" Segment 65 asks, closing the door behind him.

"Nothing," you smile cheerfully, wrapping your arms around his, "Let's hurry, our little hatchling is waiting for us."

Behind the door, the remaining Segments watch it as it closes on itself, leaving them and their company suspended in an unpleasant silence.

"So...was this all useless?" Segment 18 breaks the quiet.

Segment 25 simply fell back in his seat, sighing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Well, clearly we need to wait a little longer, at least until the child is able to be partially independent so as to not require constant surveillance," he says in his tiresome voice.

"That'd take months, if not years," states Segment 45.

Segment 25 raises a brow, "You have a better idea?"

"I see it as more time, we could contribute more factors to the authenticity of our claims, and present them once we agree on a time," says Omega.

"Didn't you just hear what Wifey had to say dipshit," Segment 18 swears, "she didn't want us fighting over paternity, did she?"

"Ah, ah, there's where you're wrong," he smirks, "her exact words were, and I quote, 'are we still going to fight amongst ourselves over who's the real father instead of focusing on the bigger picture.' Clearly, the bigger picture here is to focus on making the child partially independent."

"You read that so wrong," Segment 45 disagrees, making a face.

Omega simply shrugs, turning around to wipe down the blackboard, "See it as you will, but I never leave my research incomplete."

He turns around and smirks at the others.

"Besides, I'd love to see the look on all of 'my' faces when I declare the child as mine scientifically."

Segment 25 scoffs, "Good luck with that."

"Not before I will, you old tosser," says Segment 18.

"You mean you'd love the look on 'your' face when I declare the child as mine?" snickers Segment 45.

Pantalone wonders if Sandrone's tea parties are even this entertaining.

'Actually,' he smirks to himself, sneakily taking out a cigar, 'they never will be, and never shall be. They lack a 'Zandik' after all.'

Too bad his cigar was slapped out of his hands by Segment 18 before he could light it up.

a/n: HAAAAAAAAAHHHH I FINALLY FINISHED IT ♡〜٩( ˃▿˂ )۶〜♡!!!! Sorry about taking so long with the update teehee I was like deathly sick (I had pneumonia) also I burned my thumb on hot caramel so I couldn't type without screaming in pain for a while (ꈍω⁠ꈍ)

Anyway, I was wondering what gender to give the baby, but I am not good with like parental/child fics lmao so I just left the baby as "da baby" so just insert whatever you want lmao (๑>؂•̀๑)

Taglist: @alephless @mooncheri @mrs-luuk88 @turningmad @akaeyamain @0sweetpink0 @ciaratomioka1432 @sheiokha96 hope y'all enjoy ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ

So now you’re hiding. Because you’re next. You have to be next.

His footsteps crunch over the gravel, slow and bouncy like he’s having the time of his life. Then the laughter starts again — loud, wild, completely deranged.

“Hmmm~ Where’s my favorite person?” Childe sings, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I saved the best part just for you, babe!” Another burst of manic giggling echoes through the alley. 

Fuck he’s getting closer way too fucking close.

Your whole body is shaking so hard that the crate behind you is rattling. Tears won’t stop pouring down your face. 

Shit shit shit! He’s going to kill you. He snapped. He’s completely lost it, and now he’s going to— 

“BOO!” 

A bloody hand slams down on the crate right above your head. “AH THE FUCK-” You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth

Ajax drops down into a crouch in front of you, blue eyes wide and sparkling with pure insanity. His ginger hair is soaked red.

Blood smeared across his freckles like war paint. He’s grinning so wide it looks like his face might split.

“You really thought you could hide from me?” he laughs, loud and bright. “After I just put on a whole show for you? That’s so mean!” 

He swiftly grabs your ankle and yanks you out from between the crates in one smooth motion.

THUD!

Hissing in pain as you hit the ground hard, but he’s already on top of you, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

His face is inches from yours his mouth panting. You can smell the blood, see the lovesick glee in his eyes.

“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost affectionate. “Saw me tear him apart... laughing while he cried like a little bitch. And then you ran away from me like I was gonna do the same to you.”

He drones off on that last part, Childe tilts his head, still smiling that terrifyingly happy smile. 

“Wait...You thought I was coming to kill you next, huh? Pffttt!-” He bursts out laughing again — loud, unhinged, shoulders shaking as he presses his bloody forehead against yours. “That’s so fucking cute.~” 

His cock is already hard, grinding against your stomach through blood-soaked fabric. You feel it twitch when you whimper.

His free hand slides down your side, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe,” he purrs, voice dropping into something much darker. 

“I killed him because he touched you. Because he thought he could have you. I did it all for us.”

He leans in and licks a tear off your cheek, blue eyes half-lidded with delight.

“Baby, stop crying and tell me how much you loved the show… or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”

He says that last part with a proud little grin, an attempt to reassure you he’s stable. 

You stare up at him, chest heaving.

“…Ajax is you on drugs right now?” you choke out.

He blinked once, then twice before laughing; his pupils literally dilated into tiny hearts as he pants above you, chest heaving, that manic smile never fading.

“Completely sober, babe. Promise.” He nipped your ear playfully. “Did it all on no drugs~,” he sing-songed.

“You’re fucking insane!” you scream, thrashing underneath him.

The insult lights him up like fireworks.

He moans openly, hips rolling slow and filthy, pressing the thick line of his cock against your cunt.

“Fuck— say it again. Louder.” Childe’s voice cracks with glee. “Call me a lunatic, baby. Please.”

You spit in his face. “Get the hell off me, you psychotic ginger bast—”

“Hah— you’re so h-hot when you’re mad at me,” he cuts you off delighted.

“You made me so sad when you decided to cheat on me, baby…” he coos.

“What???” This made you freeze. “We broke up months ago, you fucking psycho— get off—”

“No.”

The word drops flat. Instant. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes.

“No. No no no no no.” He’s giggling now, shoulders shaking as he pins your wrists deeper into the gravel. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. We didn’t break up. I didn’t agree to that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“Ajax…we broke up. Months ago. I left. You can’t just-”

“No.”

His fingers dig bruises into your ass. Cock twitches hard against your belly, leaking through his pants as he fishes it out one-handed. Thick. Angry. 

Drooling precum in fat sticky ropes that splatter hot against your clit.

“Shhh gonna split you open, bunny,” voice still sickeningly sweet. Hips rocking forward as the fat head kisses your entrance—hot, demanding, wider than you remember. "Just relax… let me fill you up…"

“Wait!- hngh!-”

Plunging in deep you cried out nails scraping the gravel, walls fluttering uselessly around the sheer girth, trying to push him out even while more slick gushes out to betray you.

“F-ffuck! Didn’t you hear me??”

He sinks deep, deep, deep, blue eyes half-lidded in bliss while that smile never falters.

“Don’t say that again.” One blood-stained hand cups your cheek, thumb smearing red across your skin like he’s petting a scared kitten. 

“C’mon, babe. We both know how this ends. Seems you forgot who you belong to. That’s okay though.”

With a broken moan his forehead dropped to yours pausing briefly.

“I’ll remind you.”

He starts moving.

Slow at first—wet, filthy drags that grind his cock against every raw nerve inside you.

Then harder. Meaner.

Each thrust timed with that same cheerful, hollow voice.

“Ya f-feel that, babe? That’s me. That’s us. No break-up. No ex. Just t-this pretty pussy squeezing me so tight like it missed its owner!”

You gritted your teeth and tried to twist away.

He’s too heavy. Too deep. Too gone.

“Ajax, ngh! puhleeasee! This isn’t!-”

“NO-“ plap! “NO-“ plap! “NO NO NO- don’t do that! Don’t say that!” 

Every “no” lands with a vicious snap of his hips. 

Cockhead battering your womb like he’s trying to fuck the memory of leaving him out of your body.

“-We’re on a nice date right now, babe! Can’t you hah…haha…see? I took you out, I got all dressed up for you, I’m being so good for you tonight!”

He’s screaming between giggles. 

Tears pouring. Smile never drops. Just keeps stretching wider and wider like his face is about to split. 

The wet pap-pap-pap of skin on skin echoes loud between you, slick and cum all mixing together. 

You sob harder. “W-what are you ah!- talkin’ bout?!? I said we broke up! T-this isn’t a date!”

“NO!”

Another scream tears from his throat. Raw. Unhinged. Sinking deeper. Inch after thick inch.

“Don’t say that again. Don’t say that, don’t say that don’t say that - we’re on a date! This is our date!”

Laughing and crying and babbling all at once while heart-shaped pupils spin wildly.

As he fucks you in earnest—wet, filthy schlick-schlick-schlick echoing off the crates in the alley.

His leaking precum making an obscene mess between your thighs.

He’s laughing and crying and babbling all at once, that empty cheerful mask splintering wider and wider.

“You always come back to me eventually.” His voice fractures sweeter, darker. “This cunt is squeezing me so tight! Baby!— fuck, you missed me, didn’t you? Haha…”

You sob, hands gripping his shoulders tight so hard you made indents from your nails.

He only groans louder, pace turning relentless, hips grinding deep on every thrust like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and stay there forever.

In his shattered mind, this is a date.

The only one that matters.

And he’s never letting it end.

🔪 DOTTORE — Exhibit A

“You brought this on yourself, you know.” 

The words hum down the long, sterile hallway, lazy, almost affectionate.

As if he’s scolding a pet who keeps making the same mistake.

You’re running as fast as your legs will carry you, feet slapping hard against the cold tile while your lungs burn and your heart hammers so violently you can hear it thundering in your ears. 

Sweat pours down your spine, and your thighs feel way too slick, way too hot, and none of it makes any sense because you’re running for your life.

You’re sure you’re going to die, so why the fuck is your pussy throbbing and dripping down your own legs like this?

Your mind is spinning so fast it hurts.

You’d only come back to Snezhnaya because your ex said he needed to talk, and then you heard the screaming and the wet, horrible sounds, and then nothing at all. 

Of course, you didn’t witness what happened, but you’re starting to piece together what unfolded now with every heavy footstep echoing behind you. 

He killed him. 

He actually killed your boyfriend, then he injected you with something, and now he’s hunting you through his own lab, part of whatever sick experiment he’s running, wanting you terrified and soaking wet at the same time. 

Your head is pounding, your skin feels clammy and burning hot all at once, your heart is beating so fast it’s making you dizzy.

Yet still your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs with every desperate step. 

The ache between your legs is getting worse. 

Throbbing hot and embarrassing, how are you running for your life, and your pussy is acting like this is foreplay?

“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?” Dottore chuckled, his humming getting louder, his steps steady. “Running only makes the poison work faster, love~.”

His voice is so much closer now, curling up your spine, breathing down your neck, and you don’t dare look back. 

You just keep running, gasping, crying, thighs trembling and slippery while that awful heat keeps spreading through your body, and you're so sure that whatever he gave you isn’t poison at all.

And then it hits.

It crashes through your veins like liquid fire, so sudden and violent that your legs give out instantly. You fall hard, knees slamming into the cold tile as a broken sob rips from your throat. 

A puddle of slick immediately spreads beneath you, warm and humiliating, because you’re gushing so much it’s pooling on the floor. 

Fuck

Your cunt won’t stop spasming, clenching, and fluttering around nothing while wave after wave of pure, pent-up arousal drowns you.

All you feel is white-hot need flooding every inch of you, so violent it rips a broken moan straight from your throat. 

Attempting to get up, but you only twitch and writhe your limbs, feeling like static jello.

You look like you’re in the throes of a fever — flushed all the way down to the roots of your sweat-drenched hair, eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, lips parted as you pant like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Treachorous pussy won’t stop twitching against its will. Fresh slick gushes out of you in waves, so much that you can hear the wet sound of it dripping. 

You can’t think...you can’t even remember why you were running. 

All you know is that you’re burning, aching, dripping, and the man who just killed your boyfriend is standing right behind you. 

“There we go…” he purrs, slow footsteps finally stopping beside you. “That’s what I wanted to see. Fascinating.”

His red eyes pierced through your trembling form like twin scalpels, cutting straight through whatever was left of your dignity. 

You’re on the floor in a puddle of your own slick, thighs shaking violently, chest heaving as another wave of that cursed heat slams into you. 

Shame burns hotter than the aphrodisiac. 

Shame on you.

Shame on you for even considering giving him another chance.

That stupid letter he sent you had sounded so sweet, so almost-human.

You’d actually let yourself believe he might’ve changed. 

What a fuckin' joke. 

You left him for a reason.

No matter how tenderly he touched you, you could never tell if he was holding you because he missed you or because he was quietly counting your pulse for some new “stress test.” 

Every damn time he looked at you, it felt like he was staring at a particularly interesting petri dish.

Those segments gave you the worst hive-mind uncanny valley feeling, like you were dating twenty versions of the same man who all saw you as data.

You were so fucking sure that Dottore didn’t actually love you. 

That you were just his favorite little experiment. 

And yet here you are. 

Dripping all over his floor. Whimpering like a bitch in heat while he stands over you, looking as smug as always.

“Pathetic,” voice low and clinical, but there’s something darker threaded underneath it.

He crouches slowly beside you, gloved fingers tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet those crimson eyes. “Look at you. Running from me only to end up like this.” 

You try to snarl at him, but it comes out as a broken moan instead.

Hips twitch uselessly against the cold tile, cunt clenching hard around nothing as another gush of slick leaks out of you. The shame is suffocating. 

“I left you-” you gasp, voice cracking, “-because you don’t even love me. You look at me like I’m just another specimen. Those Segments… It’s like dating twenty of you, and none of them actually want me; they just want the data-” 

Your words cut off into a sharp cry as he drags two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading you open without warning. 

“Such a dramatic little thing,” Dottore coos, mocking. “All that fire with your pussy drooling all over my fingers the second I touch it. You really think I don’t love you?” 

He laughs softly, dark and cruel. “If I didn’t, would I have gone through the trouble of killing that worthless fling of yours? Would I have spent weeks perfecting this particular strain of aphrodisiac simply so I could watch you fall apart so beautifully?” 

Your ex smiled eerily and slowly took off his glove. “Did you have your fun? Did you get it all out?--” He pressed two thick fingers inside you without mercy, curling them viciously against that spot that makes your vision spark white. “-It’s time to come back to me.” 

You sob, hips jerking, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. “Zandik- hah- please” 

“Please, what?” Twisting his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit with slow, teasing strokes. “Use your words, darling. You were so eloquent a moment ago about how I don’t love you. Tell me exactly what you need from the man who supposedly feels nothing for you.” 

Your pride is crumbling fast.

The heat is unbearable now, every inch of you burning, pulsing, begging. You’re so pent up it hurts.

“I— I can’t— fuck— Zandik, please, I need—”

He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine pathetically at the loss, hips chasing his hand like a desperate whore. 

“Beg properly,” he says coldly, eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Beg the man you claim doesn’t love you to fuck the need out of your pitiful, dripping cunt. Or perhaps I should just leave you here like this?... Let you writhe on the floor until the aphrodisiac drives you truly insane? Hm?~” 

Damn him

You break. Tears streaming, voice shaking, pussy throbbing so hard it’s painful, you sob out the words he wants to hear.

“Please… please, Zandik, I need your cock— I need you to fuck me, please— I can’t take it anymore—” 

Dottore's mouth curls, slow and terrifyingly satisfied. “Good girl.”

Two thick fingers push back inside you without warning, curling viciously against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.

You sob, hips jerking hard as another gush of slick floods out around his hand, pooling on the cold tile beneath you.

The pleasure is too much. Too fast. Your cunt keeps spasming and fluttering uselessly, greedy and desperate even as shame burns through you.

You try to close your legs. Try to bite back the whimpers.

Smack!

It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Dottore’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt. 

Right above your ravaged clit. “Ngh- Z-Zandik!” 

“Z-Zandik!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, whore?”

He grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more, more, more-

“How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?”

You fixed your quivering lips to say anything, but he did something unexpected-

He leans in and kisses you like he actually missed you.

Soft at first. Almost sweet.

His moves against yours with surprising tenderness while two thick fingers sink back into your dripping cunt, curling lovingly against that spot that makes your brain melt.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and warm against your lips. “I’ve always loved you. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve invested in you?”

At the same time, his fingers pinch your swollen clit hard, rolling the poor bud between his thumb and forefinger with mean, precise pressure.

You jolt and whimper into Dottore's mouth. “Mmnph!- no, you-”

He just kisses you deeper, swallowing every sound, murmuring sweet filth against your tongue.

“My perfect little whore,” he coos lovingly, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your tear-stained cheek, the corner of your eye. “Look at you. Such a pathetic, dripping mess on my floor. Crying and gushing like you were made for this.”

Another deep, affectionate kiss as he pinches your clit even harder, tugging on it while his fingers fuck into you with wet, filthy sounds.

“I love you so much,” he breathes tenderly, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. “I’ve discarded less valuable things for far smaller reasons.”

You’re shaking, overwhelmed and confused at the constant contrast between his soft kisses, gentle confessions, and the ruthless way he’s abusing your clit is driving you insane.

He kisses you again — slow, deep, devoted — right as he gives your clit one last vicious pinch.

That’s what breaks you.

Your orgasm hits like lightning. You scream into his mouth as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, gushing everywhere in messy, humiliating waves.

Dottore keeps kissing you through it. Sweet. Loving. Like he’s proud of you.

Only when your body finally goes limp does he pull back, red eyes glowing with satisfaction.

Then his smile turns sharper.

“That aphrodisiac I gave you?” he says calmly, still stroking your hair like a lover. “It was always a hybrid. The paralyzing agent activates right after orgasm.”

You try to move your legs.

Nothing.

From the waist down… you’re completely paralyzed.

“Fascinating…” Zandik leans down and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and affectionate.

“You won’t need legs anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on.”

🔪 RERIR — Fuck Your New Guy

He’s going to kill him. Right now.

That’s what the eye contact is for. You understand that now, tied to the headboard, gag wet from crying, that the man you’ve been seeing for three months is going to die in front of you.

Watching Rerir’s hand coil around your man’s throat, slowly wanting you to see all of it.

Your fling is begging. Grabbing at his wrist with both hands, saying things — please and wait and something pathetic about not even knowing you that well — and your true lover doesn’t even flinch. 

Pink eyes bore holes through you, and somehow, you knew exactly what they were silently communicating at this moment.

You ran, his eyes say. 

Across a continent, across a whole ass ocean. Inazuma. You made it to Inazuma and stood in your new home, and almost convinced yourself it was over.

His grip tightens slow n’ deliberate…You feel it in your stomach even from across the room, this horrible, telegraphed knowing, and you’re pulling at the rope again without deciding to, wrists burning, throat working around nothing-

CRACK!

The sound was loud. Wrong in a way that lives in your body now, permanent, a sound you will never un-hear for the rest of your life.

You closed your eyes tight as if that would make this go away. Flinching when you heard the deep thud of your ex's body dropping to the floor.

Still not opening your eyes. Just squeezed them shut harder, biting your lip behind the gag so the sob stays where it is.

How did this happen?

Why you?

Why not some other girl - there’s no way he’s this obsessed, right?!

It’s ok, it’s all a dream once you open your eyes; this’ll all be some sick nightmare that you can laugh about—

He’s right in front of you. 

“EEP!-” You jerked back hard, skull connecting with the headboard, stars exploding across your vision.

Rerir’s hand shoots out, gripping your face hard. Cheeks squishing between his long, sharp claws, blood forming at the ends of his talons, forcing your teary eyes to meet his. 

When he tore the gag off, you didn’t even breathe first. "I'm sorry!-"

Already. Before you can even think.

"I'm so sorry, okay, I know I left, but I just needed — it wasn't about you; he didn't even mean anything, I swear, I wasn't thinking. Please, I'll fix it, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-"

Rerir stares at you, eyes narrowed in genuine confusion.

He killed for you. Crossed an ocean for you. And here you are looking at him like he’s something you have to survive.

It should bother him.

…it doesn’t.

He tunes most of it out. 

The rambling. 

The apologies.

The way your voice keeps cracking. 

He just watches your face, searching for the girl who used to call him "Riri".

“—I can make it up to you.”

Oh

There she is.

“Make it up to me.” He drawls, repeating.

You gulp but nod frantically. “Yes. Anything! I swear! I’ll do anything.” 

His eyes drop for a second, then back up to yours. “Even that?”

You know exactly what he means. 

The thing you always shied away from, always found some excuse for — you’re too big, we can’t, I can’t— and he was patient. 

He was. 

But patience has a limit, and you just handed him an open invitation.

His giant cock visibly throbs in his pants, a wet spot spreading from the tip as he leans in close, long sharp claws trailing down your stomach.

Rerir brings two blood-stained fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow drag of his tongue, pink eyes never leaving yours.

“You said I was too big.” His voice drops low. Husky. “Said you couldn’t take it.”

Clawed hand sliding lower until he’s cupping your soaked cunt possessively. “And now you’re tied to the bed, telling me you’ll do anything.”

“Ok wait- Rerir— I didn’t mean—”

“Fuckkk, I need ya.” He crashes his mouth into yours like a starving animal.

He doesn’t give you time to breathe.

One clawed hand tilts your head aside while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth attacks your neck — licking, sucking, biting marks into every inch the other man never touched.

“I need ya so badly,” he groans against your skin, “Been dreaming about this tight little virgin pussy the entire time I crossed that fucking ocean for you.”

You whimper as he frees his cock.

It’s monstrous.

Thick, veined, heavy enough that it slaps against your stomach with a wet thwack. The tip is already drooling thick ropes of precum.

“Rerir it’s— it’s way too big— I can’t— we shouldn’t—”

“Fuck no.”

He cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips, notching that fat cockhead right against your entrance. Pink eyes gleaming with something feral.

He pushes forward with just a tip. The bigggg stretch is immediate, stinging, and impossible.

Your back arches clean off the bed, a broken cry ripping from your throat.

“You got very far. Fuck, I’ll give you that.”

He’s panting against your ear, claws digging into your thighs as he forces you open wider. “Tied up. Begging to make it up to me. This pussy’s already creamin’ all over me, and I’m barely inside.”

SCHLCK!

Another thick inch sinks in. Your walls flutter desperately around the invasion, trying and failing to adjust. “Rerir!!— ngh!—”

Rerir’s claws dig harder into your thighs as he forces another thick inch inside you.

Your pussy has never taken anything close to his size before, and it’s fighting him, walls clamping down so tight it almost hurts him too.

“NGGH-” A broken whine rips from your throat. “-IT HURTS!” Your back bows clean off the bed.

“Just relax,” he hisses against your neck, “Hah, you’re already this tight?”

He rolls his hips again. 

Slow and greedy. 

Another inch sinks in. The fat head of his cock pushes so deep that the bulge in your stomach becomes obvious, moving with every shallow breath you take.

You’re crying now. Legs shaking uselessly in the air while the ropes bite into your wrists.

“I can’t— I’ve never—”

“You will.”

Your pussy flutters desperately around the invasion, creaming and dripping down his length even as you sob. Rerir groans. Low. Filthy. His claws flex on your hips, yanking you down to meet the next heavy push.

“This is what you owe me.”

He starts fucking you for real then — long, sloooooppy strokes that drag every veined inch through your walls, forcing them to stretch around him whether they want to or not. 

The first real thrust tears a sharp sting through you.

Blood.

A thin trail of red mixes with your slick, smearing down his thick cock as he forces your virgin cunt open for the first time.

The sight makes Rerir shudder so hard you feel it in your bones.

“Fuck…” he groans, voice cracking with something close to reverence. “First time.”

Each pull back has your cunt clinging to him desperately, gushing and creaming down his length like it’s trying to keep him inside.

Every brutal push forward forces another wet schlck out of you, the obscene sound mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood in the air.

You can’t think. 

Can’t even speak. 

Just broken little cries and whimpers every time that fat, roverin’ reddened cockhead plunges between your pussylips and hits dead-set on the back of your cunt — splattering slick, cum, and blood upwards.

Bandaged torso presses flush against you, chest heaving as he drinks in every twitch, every sob, every tear.

“C-can’t wait til ya cum f’me, my girl. First time taking all of me — I want to feel it.”

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, fangs grazing your lip as he feels your body start to seize again.

He drags his swollen cock all the way back until only the fat tip is teasing your puffy folds, letting you feel every single throb… then slams back in with a wet SCHLORP, bottoming out so deep the bulge in your stomach is obscene.

You bit your lip so hard it bled, tears falling freely from your eyes.

Laughing low and mean, another thrust, even harder, mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - your sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there. 

“Who the fuck leaves a cock this big for some pathetic little fling?” he taunts, voice dripping smug cruelty. “Do you have any idea how many sluts would kill to get split open on something this thick? And you ran far n’ wide just to let some tiny-dicked nobody be your first?”

He punctuates it with a particularly brutal ram that made your cunt gush out more fluids.

Your only coherent thought, floating somewhere above the pain and mind-melting pleasure, is:

He’s really talking shit about my ex… right now? While he’s literally taking my virginity?

Rerir seems to read it on your face, grinning genuinely for the first time in the night. 

“What? Were you actually gonna let that loser pop ya cherry?-” He laughs darkly, hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. “-Cute. Stupid. But don’t worry, baby… I ngh, made the decision for you.”

His hands angled your hips to hit right in that spongy spot inside you, pain and pleasure blurred together as you hiccup and gasp.

“F-FFUCK! RIRI!”

The nickname slips out before you can stop it… Moaning mindlessly, too cockdrunk to realize what you had said, wrists burning from your frantic moving around.

Rerir goes completely still for half a second. 

Then something in his face does something complicated — jaw tight, pink eyes flickering, like you just reached into his chest and squeezed.

His next thrust comes slower. 

Deeper n’ more deliberate.

"T-that’s it." Rough. Barely above a whisper. “Let go f’me.”

Toes curling until it hurts — you cum so hard your vision whites out, mouth in a wide 'o' shape.

Rerir's grinding down your g-spot perfectly, making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice — right before you're bursting into your very first orgasm.

He doesn’t pull away even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.

Just keeps grinding that fat cockhead against your cervix like he’s never letting you go again.

Silky ropes of cum pour deep into the back of your pussy — thick, goopy, and endless.

Splashing around every time he fucks his groin inside, collecting right where he keeps pressing like a button he has no intention of releasing.

Being fucked through peak after peak.

Thrust after thrust all targeting that same ruined spot.

When you finally come down, those same pink predatory eyes are staring into your star-struck ones.

And you know with terrifying clarity, that he’s not chasing you a second time.

🔪 VARKA — “Too Much?” 

I’m so mature. 

Varka keeps telling himself that, knuckles white around the rag as he wrings it out over the bucket. 

Pink. Then red. Then clear again.

Methodical. Steady. Same hands that carved through warzones without flinching. Same hands that just turned her little side-piece into red paste across the cabin walls. 

Heh. Mature.

The rag rips clean down the middle.

He stares at the torn halves for half a second, lips twitching. Tosses them aside and grabs a fresh one.

I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so fucking mature.

Three weeks of that bullshit looping in his skull. 

Ever since Kaeya dropped it so casually — she’s seeing someone now. Varka had just nodded, smiled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, ‘Good for her,’ with the straightest face in all of Mondstadt.

Then went home and split a training dummy clean in half.

Now the cabin reeks of iron.

Blood on the walls, floorboards, and blood drying in his blond hair and streaked across his scars. 

And he’s still cleaning...calm as you please.

Because he’s the Grand Master, he doesn’t get jealous.

He's mature.

Footsteps hit the porch — right on time, like clockwork. 

That familiar little rhythm that used to make his chest warm. Now it makes his cock twitch against his thigh like a goddamn animal.

Wringing the new rag, slower now. Blood drips plip… plip… plip into the bucket while his blue eyes flick toward the door.

Frozen in the doorway. Eyes wide. Pretty little mouth falling open at the massacre he made of her ex.

3...2…1

“VARKA WHAT THE HELL!”

Flashing her that same easy, sheepish grin he always gives when he comes home late from a mission.

“Princess-” he drawls “-it’s not what it looks like.”

You’re frozen in the doorway.

The entire cabin is covered in blood. It’s everywhere — walls, floor, even the ceiling.

The smell is so thick it makes your throat close up. 

And there’s Varka. 

On his knees in the middle of it all. Blond hair matted with red. Scars stood out sharply against all the blood. Blue eyes looking up at you with that same easy, friendly expression he always wears. 

He’s casually wiping down his claymore with a rag like he’s cleaning dirt off it after training. 

Your man... or what’s left of him is lying in a heap a few feet away.

He gives you a bashful little smile. “Alright, okay, I know how this looks,” his voice warm and almost playful as he wrings the bloody rag out between his huge hands.

“Things got a little out of hand. I really did try to talk to him first, doll. Swear on my honor. But the guy just wouldn’t listen. Kept going on and on about how he was in love with you and wouldn't leave you…” He lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.

“I just didn’t like how obsessed he was getting with you. So… I handled it.”

Why and how the fuck is he so nochalant? Well, of course, violence wasn't new for him since he is the grandmaster...but this was insane!

This psycho literally killed your boyfriend, and for what?!-

Your eyes darted from him to the mangled corpse a few feet away then back at Varka, him catching your stare and chuckling at your expression.

That was until your knees started to buckle, and the world began to blur as the familiar feelings of danger banged in your head.

This is exactly why you left him.

The man can stand in a room full of someone else’s blood and talk to you like he just spilled juice on the carpet.

You thought if you left, he would've gotten better- you were so wrong.

You stumbled a bit, the faint deja vu of stress reeling in.

Varka notices immediately. His blue eyes widen. “Ah, doll—wait, don’t!—”

Your vision goes black before you even hit the floor.

.

.

🔪

SCHLCK! SCHLORP! SCHLCK!

He’s got you folded in half before you even wake up.

Strong forearms hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!

Your back plastered to his sweat-slick chest, pussy spread obscenely wide and already drooling all over his thick cock.

The moment he spears back in — SCHLCK! — your eyes snap open on a broken wail.

“NGHH… FUH—?!”

Varka groans low against your ear, chin digging into the crook of your neck so he can watch the way your poor cunt stretches around him. 

Every brutal upward thrust makes your tits bounce, makes more of that gooey white cum he already pumped into you earlier splatter out in messy little bursts.

“Fuuuull fuckin’ Nelson,” he pants, hoarse and delighted. “There she is. There’s my good girl.”

He rocks you on his cock like you weigh nothing.

Huge hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look down at the obscene sight your puffy folds split wide, his fat, veiny length disappearing into you over and over, creamy ring of cum and slick coating his base.

Your walls flutter desperately around his girth, clenching, milking, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once.

Legs tremble uselessly in the air. You can’t kick or twist. Can’t do anything but take it.

“V-Varka— what?—are you AH! doing?!!”

He chuckles warmly and unhinged. Another mean thrust, cockhead bullying straight into your cervix. 

“You passed out on me, princess. Looked so fuckin’ distressed. Figured this woulda helped wake n’ cheer ya up.”

SCHLORP! 

Your cunt squelches obscenely with every slam. Slick sprays. His balls slap wet against your ass.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

He’s huffing against your temple now, hips never slowing. 

You sputtered, “FUH- hah! please- this is- ngh- too much!”

“Too much?” His forearms flex harder beneath your knees, yanking you down another inch so his cock grinds mean against your cervix. “Princess, I just redecorated the whole damn cabin for ya and yer tellin’ me this is too much?”

You sob again, voice hoarse, head lolling against his sweat-slick shoulder, trying to calm him down like you used to do before.

“Y-You killed him- we can’t just! fuck— okay, o-okay, slow down, talk to me— we can fix t-this!—”

The word “fix” makes something in him snap clean in half.

He groans way more animalistic than before.

Teeth sinking into the side of your neck as he grinds his cock in deep, swollen tip kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock it open.

“Fix?” His voice is hoarse now. Shaky. That warm Grand Master tone is completely gone. “There’s nothing to fix. Yer mine, always have been. That pathetic fuck thought he could have ya, and I handled it.”

“I’m bein’ so mature about this,” Varka grits out, teeth clenched so hard you hear them click.

One brutal thrust punches the air out of you.

“So fuckin’ mature. Could’ve killed ya too the second you ran off with that nobody. Could’ve snapped yer pretty neck and kept ya here forever.”

That made you whimper, realizing he still could do it with the way he gripped your head.

His hips are pistoning harder, cock buried deep in your stomach battering it over, and over and over-

“But I didn’t. I was good. I waited. I cleaned up my mess like a big boy and now yer cryin’ and beggin’ me to slow down?”

Every word gets more feral.

Every time you try to talk Varka down, he fucks you harder, like he’s punishing you for even suggesting he’s out of control.

You whimper, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry— please just talk to me; we don’t have to—”

He cuts you off with a broken moan that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob. 

“Talk?” The word comes out shaky n’ unstable. “Ya really want me to talk while this pussy’s squeezin’ me so good? While you’re still drippin’ down my balls after I killed for you?”

His thrusts turn punishing. Short, deep, cervix-kissing jabs that make your vision spark white.

“I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so— fuckin’ mature—”

The mantra is falling apart. His voice is cracking. That easy smile you loved is gone, replaced by something wild and teeth-bared and terrifyingly fond.

You try one last time, voice small and trembling between moans.

“Ok look Varka… you’re scaring me—”

He buries his face in your neck, blond hair tickling your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a grin against your pulse.

“Good.”

Because he is scaring you.

And that fact alone has his cock throbbing so hard inside you it hurts.

You left him weeks ago.

Packed a bag in the middle of the night while he was out on some Grand Master bullshit. 

Left nothing but a note that said you couldn’t do it anymore; the hovering, overprotectiveness, it all felt suffocating. 

You ran.

He let you.

Told himself he was being mature. That if you needed space, he’d give it. 

That the Grand Master of Mondstadt doesn’t chase. Doesn’t obsess. Doesn’t break.

Cause’ he’s handling it well!

Now here you are.

Folded in half in his arms like a fucking rag doll. Pussy gushing and fluttering and creaming all over the cock that just painted your ex across every surface of this cabin.

And you’re still trying to talk him down.

“You left me a note, princess. A fucking note. While I was out keeping Mondstadt safe. And the whole time I was tellin’ myself I was bein’ so goddamn mature.”

He shifted justttt enough to look at your face — eyes wild, pupils blown wide with obsession.

“Look at me. Being reasonable.”

His next thrust is so deep you completely went limp. "OHHH SHIT!-" Your eyes crossed, mouth slack.

SCHLORP—!

Thick ropes of fresh cum flood your insides without warning.

Hot. Endless. He doesn’t stop moving.

Just keeps grinding through his orgasm, fucking every last drop deeper while your own high crashes into you like a freight train.

You sob his name, orgasm crashing through, thighs violently shaking in the air.

Cunt clenching and gushing around him as he fills you past the point of overflowing, dripping down his cock to his balls.

Varka just holds you there. Folded. Full. His.

Pressing a slow, almost tender kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, blood from his face smearing against your skin.

“So glad I didn’t hafta kill ya princess,” he nuzzles into your neck chuckling lowly.

“Cause if I can’t have ya no one will.”

a/n: im glad they didn’t overreact 😌

♡ 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ♡

Segment 8 was the first who sought you out. A little boy with striking eyes, always glancing around like he expected danger to emerge from the shadows. Knowing his later selves perhaps that idea wasn't too far-fetched. Hands that were far too small to bear the weight of future deeds had reached for the blue vial hanging from his ear.

"Tongue out," he'd said while you stared with wide eyes. The top of the vial had been popped off.

You'd always figured the earrings were an aesthetic choice. You should've known better.

The youngest segment had tugged on your hand insistently (the touch itself surprising) while hurriedly urging you to kneel down. You'd smacked at his hand while he tried to pry your lips apart, any frustration with him gone the moment you saw the petulant pout on his lips when you didn't oblige.

"It's good for humans. Just a few drops so no one notices.." You'd seen the hesitation in his eyes before he softly added 'do it for me?'

It swiftly became routine. Every few weeks, the little 'boy' would bring appear out of thin air and clasp your hand tightly, dragging you into a corner of the laboratory where he'd feed you a little bit of what you came to learn was an elixir of immortality.

Segment 25 was the second to offer you this boon of their research. Perhaps you shouldn't have been as surprised as you'd been, 25 had always been the most forward.

He'd cornered you one day just before you'd retired for the night, exhausted after a long day of maintaining equipment and preparing various experiments for them.

Gloved fingers had squished your cheeks together before you could do as much as ask what he wanted. That usual feral grin on his lips bared the sharp teeth of a predator.

When you hadn't tried to fight him, he'd cooed and praised you although surprise had been clear.

"You really trust me this much? I'm flattered." You'd been released with a pat on your cheek before he put the earring back on. "Consider this a little gift, one the others don't want you to have. It will keep you young, and you will keep me company."

There'd been no uncertainty within him, only pure confidence that he knew what you wanted. Or knew that you would be too afraid to argue with a harbinger.

It only took a week or so before segment 18 appeared uninvited in the doorway to your private chamber. He'd refused to look at you while expaning the purpose of his visit, the contents of the vial they all carried, and what he expected in return for this favor.

For all the severity in his crimson eyes, the 'demands' were so tame you'd almost laughed. An attentive listener when he rambled on about his ideas. The so called privilege of resting his head atop your thighs and having you comb your fingers through his hair.

18 looked like he wanted to slip through the cracks of the floor while he listed what he wanted in exchange for 'wasting resources keeping you alive' as he'd put it. There'd been particular emphasis on how the rest of the segments did not want the precious drops wasted on some lowly assistant like you. It had taken all your composure not to chuckle at that.

45 and 65 had appeared together. The older looming as 45 explained their awareness of what 'the youngsters' had been doing. They both found it quite amusing how the three had been trying to cover their tracks. Elixir disappearing (to refill what they gave you from their vials). Their sneaking around. The furious and harebrained arguments they'd make when questioned.

But, as 45 had said, what the three had been independently giving you was only enough to stagnate the aging process, not halt it completely.

While your attention had been focused on 45, the older one had moved, making his presence known with the touch of his beaked mask nuzzling against your cheek from behind.

"Which is why 45 and I decided to step in. You see, we have grown quite fond of you as well."

"Of course," 45 had chimed in, "we expect a little more in return than innocent pecks on our cheeks and hugs. We're certain you understand."

Omega had, unsurprisingly, been the last to approach you.

"You've not aged a day in decades. I've been willing to turn a blind eye since you're useful. Don't you think that deserves special thanks?"

Masterlist

Despite being incredible controlling and with less patience, he would always take care of mundane things, such as: doing the laundry, cooking, cleaning. Often letting his lover rest while he takes care of everything.

Loves to talk about his research and new inventions, talking for hours non-stop, but will get pissed off when you ask him about anything if he doesn't bring it first. Very contradicting.

When his partner gets sick, he refuses to let anyone else check on them, taking care of everything with his huge knowledge on medical herbs and treatments, followed by muttered scolding and half bothered complaints. "You should have listened to me when I said cutting the moldy part doesn't make something edible."

Dislikes cuddling before sleep but craves closeness before waking up completely, arms wrapping around you and holding you close.

Very attractive young man, and knows it, as a matter of fact. Yet instead of using that at his advantage when given the chance, he often replies to every person the same: "Unfortunately for you I have a very possessive partner, and believe it or not, I'm actually a married man." Not giving them the chance to flirt.

Out of all the stages in his life, he was the most romantic and the most reckless during this time, making out sessions in the library halls, small walks around Sumeru City that ended on him spending some of his savings (which for a student, isn't a big amount of money) and buying goods for her, from seasonings and spices to notebooks and pencils.

Zandik refuses to take her in any degrading way, refusing to do it in a position where he isn't able to stare at her expressions. "I'm not an animal, neither you a rag doll. Let me see your face."

Always decides what is best for you, and when you complain about it he will always say: "I'm just practicing how to be a father if that possibility happens." How can you possible reply to that?

He does not only want to be the best, he wants YOU to be at the same level, he will help until dawn in every research or experiment you are working on, perfection should be with perfection.

35/45

mindblowing orgasms duo. forget astral projection, these guys will have you transcending the universe and becoming a separate entity.

unlike their younger counterparts, these two liked to take things slow. breaking your mind and body was a much greater satisfaction than pure physical release. they were both quite meticulous and cunning in their approach, cornering you in the lab, making you feel trapped and anxious.

45's method of getting you needy and pliable was simple. a few drops of his newest creation right into your tea, and in an hour or so, you'd be knocking at their door, suffering from a huge headache and a mess between your legs.

35 inspected every inch of you, berating you for your stupidity. it's your fault for not paying attention to your drink. he'd undress you slowly, as 45 came to hold you in place, his fingers exploring the parts of you that ached the most.

they sat you on the table afterwards, naked and flushed, circling you as you begged them to do something. 45 caressed your hair, whispering how you had to prove how much you needed this. your hands couldn't provide you with much relief, causing them both to chuckle at your whining. 35 urged you to go faster, calling it a pathetic display.

by the time they started their own clothes off, you'd already be a quivering mess, your mind and body thoroughly exhausted from the various 'tests' they have conducted.

65/og zandik

the grandpas sure had a way with words. getting them both in the mood was quite rare, but the act itself felt more rewarding than anything else.

zandik liked to watch how 65 touched you. the way he stripped your clothes, bent you over and took you right before his very eyes. if the segment was being too rough, the man had no issue with using his cane to slow him down. he wanted to enjoy himself for as long as possible.

his hand naturally headed straight to loosen his pants, pumping himself to match 65's thrusts. his free hand wiped the drool from your chin, licking his fingers clean as he savored your taste. hearing his name fall from your lips, even when 65 was pounding into you, was enough to make both his heart and cock throb.

once zandik was sufficiently prepared, you climbed on top of him, while 65 held you by the hips, making you ride the old man. he liked watching the original lose himself in you, especially now that he was the one setting the pace for both of you.

zandik always grew more vocal when he was about to cum, which was the perfect time for 65 to push you even harder down onto him, wanting to see you milk the old man until he was begging you to stop.

the thought of you getting pregnant aroused 65 immensely. he respected the original far more than the others did, and the thought of either of them knocking you up made him want to breed you until you were leaking with his seed.

45/65

both of them are incredibly patient, planning out your encounters to the very last detail. they had specific tastes and desires only you could satisfy. ropes, wax, whips, gags, anything was on the table. literally. they wanted to feel you from the inside out, and they had the tools necessary to drive you mad.

45 took his time tying you up, 65 helping him tighten up any loose knots. shibari was a guilty pleasure of theirs, seeing you hanging from the rope, tied up and helpless, made them feel like you only existed for their pleasure, wanting to make this moment last forever.

one of them trailed a feather over your skin while the other placed a cloth over your eyes, making every sensation feel ten times stronger. they played around, making you guess which one of them was touching you. if you guessed right, you'd earn a reward. but, if you didn't...

with a quick flick of the wrist, 45 hit you with the crop, causing a stinging sensation to spread all over your body. the more mistakes you made, the harsher he'd become. his ego sometimes got the best of him, so 65 had to step in until the other calmed down.

sessions with them lasted for hours, you could easily lose yourself if they weren't careful enough. you begged them to let you free for a few minutes, needing to use the bathroom. they pretended not to hear you, even as tears started to form in your eyes from the embarrassment.

warm fluid spilled over your legs, dripping down on the ground as they both laughed. 65 came closer, patting your face mockingly. how pitiful you were, staining yourself and the floor. 45 perhaps took a sample for the sake of research, but it was better if you did not ask about it later.

18/35

yeah, good fucking luck. this might be the worst combination you could've picked. 18 didn't get along with the others that well, but his relationship with 35 was probably the worst one.

35 overheard that you had plans with 18 later, and he just so happened to have something important for you to help him with, which ended up with you sitting in his lap, warming his cock as he finished up on paperwork.

18 came barging in, demanding to know why you didn't show up, only to see 35 smugly pressing his hand on your stomach, keeping you from moving. the younger segment was pissed, but he couldn't do anything about it. 35 had authority over him, and getting him mad usually didn't end well.

you couldn't stand staying still any longer, trying to seek even a little bit of relief. 35 wasn't happy with that, pushing you from his lap directly onto the floor. he nudged you with his boot, a cruel grin on his face. you needed to be reminded of your place, and for 18 to see what he'll never get to do.

your mouth trailed up 35's boot, licking and sucking on the leather. 18 hated how hard he was getting from looking at you being on your knees for another man. he finally spoke up, demanding to join in on the fun.

the sex had no emotion in it. it was a power play, with 35 making sure both of you knew that he was the one in charge. if he told you to stop, not orgasm, or quit moving altogether, he expected immediate compliance.

og zandik/25

an unusual duo, but it happens more often than you might expect. 25 was more daring and energetic than the other segments, and he had plenty of ideas in that wicked brain of his.

you shared a room with zandik, the two of you sleeping peacefully, getting some well earned rest. neither of you heard the lock getting picked, footsteps slowly coming up towards the bed.

25 climbed in quietly, pulling the blanket away from your legs, making sure neither you or the old man woke up immediately. he was craving your body, missing the taste of your fluids on his tongue.

he gently removed any bottoms you were wearing, taking a deep breath as he savored his favorite scent. his mouth worked you enthusiastically, not caring if you woke up at this point.

your squirming and the wet noises coming from the foot of the bed ended up waking zandik, as he glared at 25 for disturbing his rest. but as you already know, the old man did enjoy watching his segments fuck you.

He’s just about to slide in, his tip twitching excitedly at your wet hole, when it comes to a head. Grinning almost manically, he murmurs darkly, “H-hah…y’ready, you fuckin’ whore?”

Despite his excitement, he notices the slight tension in your grip on his shoulders immediately, and it doesn’t feel like anticipation or anything good. Red eyes shoot up to yours, curious and intent on finding out the problem, but widening for a split second with panic when he finds you crying.

You’re not sobbing or anything, but you’re clearly upset, watery eyes and fat tears rolling down your cheeks while you stifle little sniffles.

Tomura is horrified. Did he hurt you somehow without noticing? Do you not wanna do this anymore? Did he do something wrong?

He freezes for a second before reeling back, letting go of you and pulling far away. If any of those are true then he should stop touching you, right? Right? Fuck, he doesn’t even know.

“What’s- what’s wrong?” Tomura rasps, and it’s so rare for him to stutter like that.

You sniffle lightly, your bottom lip trembling in a way that makes his heart ache as you blink at him with those dewy, almost heartbroken eyes. “W-why’re you being so…mean to me?”

Tomura could just about die right there.

‘Mean’? You think he’s being mean? But you didn’t say anything- and you let him keep going this far- and this is what those guys did in those fucking videos he watched to prepare for this- and-

“I-…” He starts gruffly, staring down at you with a sort of helpless, irritated confusion. “‘Mean’? I thought…girls liked that…”

Honestly, it would be adorable if you weren’t a bit upset. You’ve never seen Tomura this genuine before. His walls are down right now, of course, given how vulnerable you need to be to have sex in the first place. But he’s seriously bewildered, as if the thought of his words or actions hurting you never even crossed his mind.

You reach up to wipe your tears with your fingertips, glancing away in slight embarrassment at your own emotions. “Not every girl…”

Tomura grits his teeth- not in anger, no, in something far less familiar to him…guilt. He glances aside, hands clenched into fists in his lap. His mind is racing with solutions and paths forward. How to fix this- how to make sure you don’t break up with him or something.

But most of all, he’s thinking about what he’s done to you already- the bruises already blooming on your skin, the words he’s whispered in your ear. And you let him, even though you didn’t-…

“You should’ve…” He starts gruffly, irritated with himself but also a little with you. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

Swallowing lightly, you glance down. He’s right. It’s his first time, after all. You can’t expect him to know everything yet, to be able to tell the little micro-differences between something you like and something you don’t. He’s probably depending on a bit of guidance from you, even if he thinks he’s ‘prepared’.

The silence stretches for a beat or two. Awkward. Vulnerable.

Then, you finally push yourself to sit up, facing him directly now. Your tears have stopped, thankfully, leaving only a slight redness around your eyes but more of a calm in your demeanor. Reaching out, you grab one of his hands and gently unfurl it from its fist.

Running your fingers over his palm, you start softly. “I should’ve spoken up…I’m sor-“

“Don’t be.” Tomura interrupts.

He grabs your hand, carefully, of course, meeting your gaze without shame or guilt this time. Now, he’s focused again- analyzing every little thing that happened and planning accordingly.

“I just need to learn.”

He makes it sound so simple, really- absolving you both of your guilt. And, again, he’s right. Your heart swells in your chest, your hand squeezing his softly.

Tomura’s shoulders relax subtly, an almost silent sigh of relief leaving him at the fact you don’t seem to hate him. His free hand reaches up, hesitating an inch away before cupping your face carefully.

“So, what…You want me to be…” He hesitates for a second, as if the word is unnatural to him. “…gentle…?”

He relaxes more as you finally smile at his question, fully reassured you’re alright now. You lean into his touch, leaning in a bit closer.

“I mean…” You pause, your cheeks heating up as you glance aside again. “Gentler than that, I guess? I don’t mind most of it, just…the name-calling and stuff.”

Tomura nods, silently berating himself for being such an idiot before, calling you a whore. You. A whore. Fucking moron…

“I can do that…” He agrees quietly, tipping your head back up to meet his gaze.

You meet his gaze again and scoot a bit closer, meanwhile he preens on this inside at the fact he’s doing it right now, getting you comfortable again.

“Well what about me?” You ask softly, reaching up with your free hand to play with the tips of his hair. “D’you want me to do anything different?”

The thought is almost laughable. Tomura looks at you with a flat expression, as if you just asked if the sky is blue. He looks at you as if you could literally clock him in the face right now and he’d still be into it.

“‘Course not.” He scoffs, letting go of your hand to grab your waist instead, gently guiding you closer. “You’re…perfect.”

Your eyes widen at the compliment, but before you can acknowledge it he’s pressing his lips to yours again.

There’s a significant contrast this time in the way he holds you and kisses you. His hands are light, caressing with appreciation instead of groping with possession. His kiss is slow and intimate instead of rough and biting.

Gladly, you kiss him back and crawl into his lap to straddle his hips. He went soft sometime between you crying and him fixing it, but he’s quickly getting harder again with the feeling of your weight on him and your soft lips sliding against his.

Gently, oh so gently, Tomura guides you back down towards the bed, supporting your head to keep your lips against his until you’re under him again. He only pulls away to trail his lips down the side of your neck, kissing and biting softer than before, and he revels in the sweet little whimpers it draws from your lips.

“Can I try again?” He murmurs, biting just enough to leave a little red mark in the soft skin under your ear.

You shiver softly and nod, feeling him hard and heavy against your thigh already again. Tomura swallows audibly, his breath catching softly in excitement before he sits up a bit. You run your hand through his hair to keep it out of his face while he looks down to see what he’s doing, lining himself up with your entrance again.

Thighs splayed wide, you watch and wait in anticipation for just a moment before he’s guiding his tip in. You clench instinctively, and Tomura nearly feels his head explode, a harsh breath leaving him before he can stop it.

“O-oh, shit…” He pants out, pausing for a second before pushing in ever so slowly.

Sharp teeth bite into his rough bottom lip as he holds himself back from going faster, so used to just taking whatever he wants. But the thought of hurting you, of making you cry again, holds him firmly at bay. His eyes flicker up to your face a couple times a second then back down to where he’s slowly disappearing inside you, focus forcing his brows to furrow, but you just look so goddamn…beautiful.

Your chest heaves with soft pants, eyes fluttering shut like you have to focus yourself, your face heating up so prettily it makes his heart ache. Tomura can’t stop himself from reaching up, cupping your cheek delicately and running his thumb over your parted lips, feeling the slight vibrations of your little whimpers.

“Are- hah-…are you okay?”

It comes out so breathless Tomura barely recognizes his own voice, but you open your eyes and look at him like you’ve never loved him more.

“M-mhm…” You hum softly, reaching up to pull him down closer until you can feel his breath on your face. “You’re doing- mm- s-so good, Tomura…”

Tomura nearly whimpers at the praise, his hips jerking forward on accident and bottoming out without warning. The moan you let out has him reeling, a rough groan leaving his lips as he drops his head to bury his face in your shoulder.

It’s so much better like this. So much fucking better. He liked being rough with you earlier, but this is a whole other level of heaven. You’re so soft and sweet beneath him, so beautiful and tender and vulnerable. He feels so fucking amazing inside you, so warm and welcoming and throbbing with bliss. And, fuck, the way you’re saying his name again, the way you’re holding onto him…onto him-…Tomura’s head is spinning as he holds back from cumming immediately.

Meanwhile, you’re already dazed from pleasure under him. He’s so deep, effortlessly pressing in just the right spot as he rests hilted inside you. Your fingers comb through his hair gently, pushing it back while he pants into your shoulder. Your heart swells at how he’s pressed against you, trembling lightly like he can barely handle it, and you don’t think he’s even noticed the way his arms have completely circled around you.

“Tomu’…” You murmur softly, getting his attention and watching him lift his dazed face from your skin. “Mm-…m-move, please…”

He nods a little, his arms tightening around you as he lifts himself off you just a bit. You both gasp as he sloooowly pulls halfway out before sliding back in. Your breath catches while he whines in the back of his throat.

“Oh, shit…” He pants again, starting to repeat the motion slowly. “Like- ngh- like th-that?”

You moan lightly with every slow, unsteady pump of his hips, feeling him twitching and throbbing like crazy inside you. “Mhm- ngh-…just like that- that’s good-.”

Tomura moves one his arms from around you now, gripping at the sheets with four fingers instead. He looks so pretty like this, his lips parted and his eyes shut like this is the first time pleasure has overcome everything else in his life. You use it to your advantage, cupping his face between your hands and pulling him down into a kiss.

He responds immediately, almost whimpering against your lips as he rolls his hips with a needy unsteadiness. It’s more endearing than anything, the way he’s trembling and can barely focus on kissing you, his lips all messy against yours as his tip leaks all over your insides. You moan softly, caressing his face and wrapping your legs up around his waist to pull him in deeper.

“Ah- f-fuck-.” He gasps, pulling away and burying his hot face against your neck again like it’s driving him crazy. “K-killin’ me- ngh-!”

His hips jerk all of a sudden, much harder than before, knocking a loud whimper from your lips. Tomura stops immediately, ripping his face away from your neck to look down at you. He’s worried now, even though his face is red and his cock is throbbing from the way you clamped down.

“I-I’m fine.” You assure before he can ask, your breathing a little uneven from how he accidentally nailed right into your sweet spot. “That was- that was really g-good, actually- mm-.”

Tomura blinks once or twice before swallowing thickly, a shaky smirk that’s a shadow of his usual cockiness spreading on his face. “R-really? I thought you wanted it…soft.”

Your face flushes a bit as you glance away. He’s right, but…maybe it’d be better if you just showed him what you mean.

You slide a hand down his abdomen and lightly push on his lower stomach, motioning for him to pull out. Before he can ask or complain, you speak up, “Just lay down, I’ll…show you.”

Eyes widening a bit, Tomura hesitates before slowly pulling out with a reluctant little hiss. You watch as he lays down on his back, his eyes widening even more as you sit up and swing a leg over his lap, fully straddling his hips now. Redness creeps up his chest, up his neck, and finally to his face as he admires you on top of him, all breathless and flustered and needy, his cock twitching where it rests on the inside of your thigh.

“Ready?” You ask softly, reaching down to gently guide his tip to your hole.

Tomura nods quickly, his hands coming up to grab at your waist in preparation. You nod back, keeping eye contact with him as you start lowering your hips. You both gasp this time, his hands tightening on your waist while yours brace on his chest. He only breaks eye contact as his roll back a little, his lips parting on quick little gasps as you take him deeper and deeper with agonizing gentleness.

“F-fuck- oh my god-.” He gasps as you finally take all of him in, his hips unconsciously rolling up a bit.

You whimper softly, panting a bit yourself as you keep steady on him. He’s throbbing and leaking so much, the poor thing, his hips twitching and jumping under you as he tries to hold back. It only makes you clench around him tighter, which makes him do it even more.

“Tomura…” You breathe out affectionately, still a bit surprised by just how good he feels already. “You feel so good inside me…”

Tomura’s eyes widen just a bit at the praise, his heart stuttering behind his ribs, before he’s going stiff and quickly pulling you off his cock. You squeak in surprise at the sudden movement, nearly losing your balance and instead catching yourself on your hands on either side of his head. Staring down in confusion, you watch his face turn pink as he holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Don’t-…don’t d-do that- oh my fuck-.” He grits out, although his voice isn’t nearly as authoritative as he wants it to be.

Your lips part in confusion before you glance down between your bodies, seeing his hand on his cock and his thumb roughly pressing over his tip…

Ohhh.

Grinning affectionately, you look back up and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. “…Sorry, Tomu’…”

He frowns at the slight tease in your voice, huffing and gritting his teeth as he seems to calm his dick down again. “Shut up…Just…hurry up and do it.”

You giggle a little but nod in agreement, sitting back up and bracing your hands on his chest again. This time, you’re seriously just going to get to it, since you both clearly need it.

He grabs your waist again, already urging you down faster this time and bottoming out in half the time it took before. You steady yourself, giving a testing little roll of your hips, before getting to work.

Tomura tries to hold back a moan the first time you lift your hips and slide back down…but the second time you do it, he’s completely gone. Shaky moans and whines leave his lips as you absolutely bless him, bouncing up and down on his cock just slightly faster than he was starting to fuck you before, but much smoother.

“Fuck- fuck- hah-!” He moans, his eyes squeezing shut as his hands clamp around your waist.

You admire him closely, watching the way he twitches and arches and shudders with each movement of your hips. And he feels so fucking good too, still effortlessly reaching every little sweet spot you have inside. You swerve your hips, guiding his tip to knock at your cervix every time you drop down, your own moans getting a bit louder and looser.

“Y-you- ngh!- like it?” You ask, genuinely wanting to know, but also just wanting to hear him say it.

He nods without hesitation, his eyes opening just a bit to watch you bounce on him. “Fuck, y-yes- ah!- that feels so f-fucking good- ngh-!”

Oh, thank god he opened his eyes, because the way you react to his praise is fucking gorgeous. Your cheeks flush even hotter, a whimper leaving your lips before you’re bouncing on him even harder.

Tomura gasps and groans, but the dots finally connect in his mind. This is what you meant. You like it kinda hard- you like the biting and pulling and rougher sex-…you just want him to be nice and praise you for it. Silly girl…should’ve just said so…

Grinning a little just because he finally understands, Tomura grabs your hips instead and starts guiding you faster, remembering all his ‘study material’ but recalibrating it in his head to fit what you like. “Th-that’s it- hah-…I get it now-.”

You blink in surprise as he suddenly locks in, but you go with it, your voice pitching up a little as he starts figuring out how to pump his hips up with you. Your nails start digging into his skin a bit as he prods around inside you, looking for the spot that makes you squeal- and when he finds it, he’s thumping his tip into it like a homing beacon. Moans and whimpers start falling from you even louder now, and Tomura fully smirks like his confidence meter just hit full.

“Mm- T-There ya go- ngh-…such a good girl-.” He praises, eyes locked on your face.

Your eyes shoot wide open and dart down to his, obviously surprised and flustered. He’s never called you that before- never. “H-huh? Ngh-!”

Tomura snickers as much as he can with you clenching on his dick, his heart skipping just slightly at the cute expression on your face. Without warning, and with far too much confidence for any virgin to have, he grabs you tight and flips you back over. You yelp in surprise, scrabbling for his shoulders as he pins you down again.

“I said…” He begins lowly, mimicking a position he saw online as he puts one of your legs over his shoulder. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You whimper softly and cant your hips up as he shifts inside you, your eyes going all big at the praise. Tomura leans way down, opening you up like he’s done this a million times before while he reels his hips back. He chuckles lightly, eyes flashing with triumph.

''Beta?''you murmur not bothering to look at the door's direction.You can already see the shadowy silhouette of the segment behind you,the flamboyant outline of his suit was unmistakable.It seems the others informed him that Zandik was away and he decided to take it upon himself to pay you a visit.His reply to recognising him,was the sound of the door closing behind him and the quick almost efficient removal of his clothes.The mattress dipping at his weight and before you know it,he spoons you.His arms wrapping around you and your back pressing up against his chest.

''oh~ i see...someone is really needy tonight~''you tease him when you feel his semi hard cock press up against your ass,making it abandondly clear why he came to you in this time of night.He let out a grumpy groan at your teasing,burying his face in your shoulder and whispering ''shut up''.Your laugh turned into a gasp when you feel his sharp teeth dig into your shoulder hard enough to leave the outline.His tongue brushing over to soothen the bite,cleaning the tiny droplets of blood that managed to escape in the process.

His hand started to roam,groping the soft flesh of your thigh,climbing up to your waist and reaching his final destination that was your breast.Taking it into his hands and playing with it more than actually holding it.He captured your nipple between his fore and middle finger,giving it a small pinch.His action sent sparks of pleasure straight to your cunt,your back arching like a bow and resulting to your ass press harder on his hard cock.You made zero effort to stop the segment instead wishing for him to take it even further as you felt equally aroused from all this foreplay.Zandik wasnt going to be back until really late and probably be tired too due to his old age.After all It's not cheating if its a version of your husband in the past,right?

You feel Beta shift behind you,angling his hips in such way where his cock nestled at the crook of your ass.His ruts against you grew increasingly desperate.Burying his face in the crook of your neck,moaning and gasping all while he left more bite marks on your neck.his hand leaves your breast alone moving it down your body.Lifting the thin fabric of the nightgown up to your waist,at least this time he was kind enough not to rip it.By the way he constly fidgeted trying to find the right angle to get himself off.It was becoming more and more apperent that just dry humping you alone,wasnt doing enough for the poor segment.He quickly slipped his boxers down to his ankles and swiftly kicked them off the bed,letting them fall onto the floor.

''ah ah ah...you are not going in there,my dear.You know Zandik will be mad for not respicting his rules''you chuckle as you feel him trying to sneakily enter you as if you wouldnt notice the bulbous head poking you from behind.The teasing words of being reminded the rules he couldnt break made his frustration all the more delicious to hear.

''oh! why does he get to fuck you but i dont! we are the same! damn him...it is not fair!''he sulked or more specificly threw a small tantrum when he got denied what he wanted.Even though he did have a point about the whole ordeal of being the same and all.With an eyeroll he complied anyways for now it seems but you knew this wasnt going to last long with all the teasing,not when his cock still rested painfully on your ass,jolting impatiently and his impulse control being none existent.

''i can only let you use my thighs,for now~''you take a hold of his cock and guide him between your legs.He wasted no time rolling his hips between the plush of your thighs.His arms surrounding you,locking in his embrace and keeping you in place as every one of his thrusts,made your body jolt forwards.He slid his cock against your folds,with the head hitting your clit each time and sending an electric current down your spine.You cant help but copy his movement,throwing back your own hips at him,trying to push yourself to the finish line.Poor Beta is gasping and whining on your shoulder from the overwhelming pleasure.His cock weeped on your thighs,coating them with his pre cum.

He continued to roll his hips against you,your shared moans blending in together in a melody.However you found it strange for someone who was so close to finishing,he gradually slowed down his pace when he was supposed to be going faster.His cock pressed harder on your folds.Grinding his hips once...twice...expecting your thighs to be covered by his seed at any moment now.Instead on the third stroke....

''hehehoho...ah~''he slipped inside you.The segment's laugher turned into a loud moan upon feeling you surround him.That warm feeling of your cunt was enough to make him finish on the spot.The sudden parting of your walls made you cry out in pleasure equally loud and hold onto him,your nails digging into his forearm.He gave you no time to adjust,his body instictively resuming the pace and becoming even more brutal than before,pounding into you with all his might,chasing after his release he was so close to approaching.

''so warm...so tight'' the segment murmured as if he were in a trance,feeling overwhelmed as your walls hugged his cock tightly,never letting him go.He lifted your leg up and hooked his arm under it to keep you wide open for him.In this new angle he was able to plunge deeper inside you by the way the head of his cock brushed against your sweetspot over and over again,making you drool and your toes curl.He buried his face back inside the crook of your neck,trying to hide his embaracing loud moans that only increased in volume,by biting down on your shoulder.

Your own hand snaked down to rub your neglected clit,drawing quick circles that matched his pace,helping yourself to reach your own release you so much needed as the warm feeling in your stomach was ready to pop at any time.The bed creaking violently with each of his thrusts and the loud slapping of skin hitting skin filled the room.His moans competed with yours and from what you felt he was getting pretty close to finishing.

The soft sound of footsteps and the thud of a cane,can be heard approaching from the outside.It was something only Beta picked up since you were too caught up in your own pleasure to notice,your whole mind has ceased to work at this point.It made him groan but not stop,he was determined to finish inside you first,Let the Original hear he thought to himself,it only boosted his ego more.Something that every segment including your husband had upon hearing how good they made you feel.in fact he plowed you even harder on purpose so your moans could grow even louder for Him to hear,becoming unvoidable to miss.Eventually his stamina started to give in and the rolling of his hips became sloppier and uncoordinated before coming to a full stop.The warm seed flooded your womb,triggering your own climax in response.your walls squeezing him by nature trying to milk him for all his worth.Making the poor segment's hips flutter and let out a choked gasp from being overstimulated.

He pulled out of you and lowered your leg while you basked in the afterglow of your shared climax.Beta kept you in his arms not being ready to let you go just yet.He was aware he had to leave eventually,before Zandik came back but he let you pet him like a domesticated cat in the meantime.Your hand playing with his blue messy locks while both of you came down.

This is when the door swang open and there he was,your husband standing with his cane at the door,his monocle glinting dramaticaly as he stared both of you down.He didnt say anything but just watched you with a critical eye.Your mind scrumbling to think of an excuse.Beta on the other hand panicked behind you and fell off the bed,all his bravery disappearing like a gust of wind.He quickly put on his clothes and left the room,bumping on Zandik in the process and fractically returned to the lab.You can see in your husband's eyes the jealousy that made his red eyes shine like flames that you chose one of his younger segments to spend your night especially since he didnt give explicit permission for it either.

''you couldnt wait for me would you?'' he closed the door and moved to the night stand on his side of the bed.Taking out a vial with a strange liquid inside.He popped open the elixir and gulped it down,his thyroid cartilage bopping up and down with each drop he swallowed.

''no..thats not what-i didnt mean-i thought you would-''you stutter over your own words,trying to explain yourself to the old man,that it was just a misunderstanding and that the segment was the one to take it too far but Zandik knew how to see through your lies.The way your eyes were still glossy and the way you pretended to wet your lips as if they were dry,it was clear as day,you wanted more and he was going to take advantage of this,to teach you a very valuable lesson when it came to following his rules.

''I hope you are not tired yet,dearest since i will have to show you.why the original is always better''

He may be grumpy but he did enjoy a tea time every so often. In his mind, he worked so much from his younger years till now, he knew he deserved a break every now and then.

He thought of you as a sweet girl but sometimes he thought you weren’t at your full potential. Unfortunately 65 became one of those older men who thinks that ‘younger people’ are full of themselves — a complete 360 from 45’s attitude who thought of you as extremely intelligent. Therefore, leading him to constantly finding ways to correct you.

“I see what you mean, but to be frank, that is simply incorrect and impossible.” Oh he definitely ticked you off often… but you couldn’t deny the obvious attraction you had to the older man when he would rebuttal your claims.

How you ended in this position after Zandik’s permission was unknown. The older man had you sitting on the chair, legs spread open with your pants pooling around your ankles, one hand in between your legs as your fingers pump in and out of your cunt. You whimper, muttering things under your breath as you feel yourself trembling in pleasure and humiliation. The segment sat in front of you, legs spread open as he eyed you intently through the plague mask, one hand lazily stroking his cock.

“Put another finger in. I know you can handle three.” He demands sharply, hissing when his finger grazes over the sensitive head of his cock, using his pre as lube. You nod quickly and slip another finger inside, mouth parting and your head leaning back at the sensation of being filled. As good as it felt for you, the man was deeply unsatisfied with the way you were pleasing yourself. Snapping out from a mindless state, you gaze up through hooded eyelids when the segment appears standing in front of you. “Some things need to be taught, huh?”

65 takes matters into his own hands, quite literally. Both of his gloved hands are occupied on your body. Three fingers are pumping in and out, the leather texture rubbing against your walls just right and the tips hitting that spot that feels as if you’re melting. His other hand holds your face firmly in his grip, forcing you to stare into the red circles on his mask. If you focused hard enough, you swore you could catch a glimpse of his eyes.

“If you can’t even properly please yourself, what makes you think you’re deserving of me, hm?” He asks, leaning closer to you. The tip of his mask bumps into your forehead presses ever so slightly into your skin that you’re sure a mark will be left in place. Your fingers grip onto his wrist, digging your nails into his clothing. Your chest heaves up and down, your nipples erect and reacting to the cold temperature of the lab and beads of sweat trickle down the valley of your chest. You look so erotic in his chair, pleading him to continue as you’re so close and begging him to show you how it’s done to receive your reward.

Nothing turns the older man on that someone so much younger than him was begging for him to show them how to properly please themselves. His cock aches more at the thought of you pathetically playing with yourself in your bed when Zandik neglected you. Your moans bouncing off your bedroom walls, the smell of sinful acts filling the room as you lay naked in your bed. Would you tease yourself? Drag your fingers slowly up and down your folds and rubbing the smallest circles on your clit? Or would you be desperate and try to finish quick? Would you imagine Zandik? Or perhaps did you imagine someone else?

Zandik

Your beloved Zandik, the creator of all the segments that wander aimlessly around the lab. You were the first tester of the Elixir of Immortality, luckily for you it worked, but unfortunately for both, it did not work for Zandik. Every day was borrowed time and you were grateful for each minute to spend with him.

When Zandik first mentioned the idea of splitting his soul into different parts of his life, you thought he was insane — a madman almost. You never told him in fear of upsetting him, but felt as if he was trying to play god and mess with the order of things. However those thoughts washed away when you first met the segments, who equally represented your love at different points in his life, to which you were used to but some did have different behaviors than what was expected (shout out to 25). They were all Zandik, yet different at the same time.

Zandik was the stereotypical perverted old man. Sometimes when he was working, he would love to have you standing beside him and give your thoughts on his paper. A trait that all the segments unfortunately got was how touchy he was. Pale slender fingers would sometimes drag up your hamstring to the curve of your ass and give a small squeeze, much to your dismay. It was his way of making sure his segments know that you were still his.

Occasionally if you wore something a little less lab appropriate, he would click his tongue in disapproval. “I should kick you out of my lab for that. But, perhaps we can work with this.” Due to his decreased mobility, he used his brown cane to lift up the bottom of your skirt to see what panties you were wearing. “So disappointing. You flaunt yourself but couldn’t bother to wear the ones I like.”

Don’t be fooled. Zandik may be 85 and unable to move as he used to, but his cock was very much still active. You just had to do most of the work.

Zandik loves when you bounce on his cock while he sits in his lab chair. Your sinful moans fill the eerie quiet area and echoed off the walls. His fingers grip the skin of your hips, guiding you up and down his aching cock. He leans forward and lets his lips cover your nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud and occasionally nipping at it.

Zandik is VERY possessive of you. He is well aware of his segments and how fond they are of you. They are him after all. His canines sink into your neck, a grin forming on his lips when you cry out his name and slump into him. “Too much.. its too much..” you whine, wriggling your hips in a weak attempt to pleasure the both of you.

Occasionally , Zandik would get that random burst of energy, thankfully. He would have you bent over his desk, his hips moving as fast as his body would allow him. One hand holds onto your shoulder while the other holds onto the steel desk for stability.

It still feels so good. The tip of his cock continuously bruises your cervix with each rut, your walls tightening around him that causes low moans and groans to spill from his mouth. Soon your moans and his deep breaths are drowned out from the skin slapping produced by the two of you. His body is closely pressed up from behind, his lips hovering behind the shell of your ear. Each breath of his grazes your skin and goosebumps appear on your skin. “I know how much you enjoyed my segments. Admit it. Would you prefer I stop and let them have their way with you again?”

Of course no body was better than the original. You whine in protest, shaking your head and moving your hips backward to meet in time with his thrusts. “N-No Zandik! Only want you!” Your fingers begin to lose circulation from how tightly your fists were balled up. The coil in your stomach was so close to snapping and you desperately needed to finish. With the way he was fucking himself into you, you could say that he was close too.

He starts with the youngest 8. Since that boy is deeply in need of a friend but very antisocial, he creates the 11 year old of you. You told him you were still very playful at that age but already independent in most aspects. So he was certain that it was a good match. He was right. The moment the two met, it instantly clicked. 8 was serious for his age but still needy and somewhat helpless. His nose was always in a book, not paying attention to his surroundings. Before he would walk into things or forget his need to eat or take breaks. That's where 11!reader would come in handy. The taller girl would pull him on his sleeve or hold his hand while walking around. She would make him snack platters and call him for dinner. She was nice to him while he talked about his current interests and urged him to tell her more on the playground outside, which was rarely used before she came. The idea of a playground was the OG!Reader's idea. She hoped 8 would spend more time outside, but without a friend, it never happened. OG!Reader was happy the pair got along so well and was very doting on the two.

Next was 18. Dottore remembered when you told him that at 13, you questioned everything you knew, and by the time you were 16, you were very much radicalized and critical of the world and its systems. Dottore thought 18 and 16!Reader was a good idea. He was wrong. He forgot about his misogynistic ideologies he had in his mind at 18. It was a product of his loneliness and his inability to approach girls. He never acted out on them or openly stated them since he never had one to blame for his issues at that age, someone he deemed lower than him, that is. So when 18 met 16!Reader he thought he found the perfect victim. He was wrong, too. 16!Reader was fierce and violent in her words. She basically would shred him apart verbally with her intellect and wits. She couldn't stand him at all. His ignorance and arrogance made her want to puke, and she made her disdain of him very clear. You could only feel sorry for him, so OG!Reader would pull him aside when she had enough of the fights and occasional screaming fits. OG!Reader and 18 had a long talk, where she figured out his actual issues and worked with 18 through them. He didn't get everything from the get-go but that was okay. He could always seek out OG!Reader or any other older!Reader to ask questions about what he has done wrong this time. The needs for these talks got less and less as time moved on. And you could now see him reading classic feminist and anticapitalistic literature. You could also see small spots on 18 and 16!readers neck, which made you giggle and, of course, made you avoid their rooms when you heard loud music playing. Looks like Dottore didn't get the memo, though. Because you saw him walk into 18!'s room without knocking followed quickly by a "GET OUT MAN" "WTF DUDE". These teenagers would be the death of him surely.

Now to 25. He was a proper young man now, fully focused on his research and other scientific topics. He doesn't have time for romance or friendships and spends his time alone in solitude. He doesn't mind it, and there is no anger like 18 had. He fully made peace with this lifestyle and is very content with it. Dottore asked you what age would fit 25 best. You smiled and said 22 with no further explanation. You were so confident that Dottore immediately got to work with no questions asked. And now that he sees 25 and 22!Reader, he absolutely understands why. 22!Reader was a gentle thing, a bit meek in personality but still bright nonetheless. They fitted perfectly together. 25 saw 22!Reader as a great enrichment in his life. They had pleasant conversations, and while he offered her stability and confidence in compliments, she gave him affection and admiration in return. It didn't take long for them to move out into their own apartment, where 25 would continue to work on his research and support 22!Reader to continue their university education. It turned out, as OG!Reader explained to Dottore, that 22!Reader had been burned out a while ago. The cause was her boyfriend she had at 19, who was no good. He used her in selfish ways. He made her complete his studies and work on projects where he would only write down his own name. He isolated her from friends while he continued to spend time with his and other girls, completely downplaying her concerns and needs and making her look like the crazy one. Dottore wished to build a time machine to kill that fucker himself.

Now to the hardest part. 65. That man was so bitter and grumpy, Dottore wasn't sure that giving him his own reader would even work. But he sat all hope for 50!Reader. Dottore has outdone himself with her. He had to look into the future for 50!Reader and made her how he was sure she would turn into that age. Luckily, 65 was smitten with her. She was still in blossom of life, beautiful and aged like fine wine. She had an amazing, fun-loving personality and humor that melted 65 stoic demeanor. (Think of her like Gloria from modern family or aunt May from TH!Spiderman and him like Jay from Modern Family or grunkle Stan from Gravity Falls). He was so mean before he met her. Always picking on the youngest segments and ruining everyones moods with his negativity and selfishness. That changed when she came around. She always made sure to keep him incheck and would apologize for his harsh behavior that would occasionally still slip out. It wasn't simply for the men in his age who would shoot him envious glares when he would show his younger spouse off, who the years have also treated kindly. It was because he even liked himself more with her (like everyone else did), that he made sure she was always close by. (He would still make people trip over his walking crane, especially 45 who would eye his Reader like a hungry animal).

It seemed like Dottore’s plan worked in the end! Or so he thought. It didn't take long for 50!Reader to fall into the habit of planning dinners and her so-called "family gatherings" which his significant other would force him to participate in. Always with the kids, who still lived at their home. He once suggested that kicking the annoying brats out, but you glared at him and threatened to kick him out if he ever suggested it again. Those were your babies! And you actually loved the idea of having a family like this with him, with something similar to grandparents you could visit with your own bundles of joy and also made sure to invite the two love birds that had their own nest away from home. Since you were so happy and Dottore could never deny you a wish, he played along. And so did his segments to make their own halfs happy.

Eight recognized the creature immediately, and you witnessed more emotion than you had seen before, with his eyes widening and mouth parting. He closed his notebook shut and tentatively reached to brush his small fingers against the drawing, and you pushed it closer to him encouragingly. 

“Have you ever seen one like this? You know, there are the round ones and-”

“The ones that are skinny with long hats.” Before you could finish your sentence, Eight interrupted you. It was like a switch had been turned on.

“And then there are some with flowers on their heads-”

“And the ones with leaves on top.” It looked like he really was an expert on Aranara facts.

“You know a lot, don’t you?” You beamed at him with interest, and suddenly the child felt a bit shy. It was rare anyone took interest in him or anything he liked, but at the same time, knowing a lot had once gotten him in trouble a long time ago.

“I didn’t expect you could… be so detailed,” Eight said, changing the topic as he brought your doodle close to his face, examining the detail as his nose almost brushed it, in true childlike wonder that he always kept hidden.

“Well, in the Akademiya, you’re usually asked to sketch out your observations like wildlife or architecture, even potential machines and inventions, so I know a bit.” He only continued gazing at the messy Aranara. “You can keep it, if you like.” Eight glanced at you, slowly nodding as he finally set the paper down. He looked a bit more relaxed now.

“Now… would you mind if I see your drawings?” You pressed the tips of your fingers together, brightening with hope. Eight already guessed you had been itching to ask him that for a while. At first, he would have rejected you, but now he felt a bit more… comfortable.

The child Segment didn’t need to answer, only opening his notebook to the first page and leaving it there for you. You clasped your hands together with a resonant ‘thank you’ as you pulled a chair to sit next to him at his desk. 

“Some Aranara have hats of different shapes and colors. Some of their hats cover their faces. Others have leaves drooping down instead of hats,” you read aloud from the journal. Each description was accompanied by a drawing. “Some also have bowties or carry around weapons. They’ve also picked up habits from humans, such as cooking or living in houses.”

For someone who didn’t seem to feel much, Eight watched you intently as you examined his notes. Maybe he subconsciously looked for approval. At the very least, you looked to be absorbed in his words, allowing him to feel a bit proud of himself.

“This is some really good research. Thank you for trusting me with it,” you said softly, hand reaching out to hold his, until you stopped midway and drew back. Perhaps it was best not to push things so quickly. “Though… I do think some of these sketches could use some color.”

“I would,” the boy nodded in agreement, “but I don’t have anything to color them with.” A spark of sadness flickered in your heart, knowing that he was chained to the mindset of a child and was not even allowed to indulge in it.

“Well, why don’t I get us some colored pencils and we can fill them in together? Adding a bit of color is sure to add some life, hmm?” 

And so a few days later, you were once again sitting near Eight with his notebook open. You had made sure to order the most high-quality coloring supplies for little Eight. Even he could not hold back his excitement, observing them up close one by one and picking out the ones he’d use for the Aranaras. In all honesty, he was more focused on coloring than you, and seemed very intent on making sure everything was accurate… But you didn’t mind. You only gave some pointers here and there and answered his questions on whether the color he chose was good or not.

“Thank you,” Eight said eventually. He couldn’t remember the last time he expressed gratitude for something, because the only thing other people ever did was hurt him.

“Anything for you, sweet one.” He didn’t respond to the pet name, and you quickly worried you had overstepped, before Eight nodded and went back to coloring.

Perhaps if he had just had someone who supported him when he was young and took interest in him, things could have turned out differently.

—

One day, you had called Eight to the kitchen, and he was immediately greeted with a delicious smell.

“Oh, you’re right on time!” You called for him and ushered him closer. He took in the mess of the kitchen before he noticed what was making his mouth water. A tray of baklava sat there, sliced and ready to be served.

“You all still like to eat, don’t you? I thought I’d make something for all of your hard work.” You were busy cleaning with your back turned. “I invited you to have the first bite. Help yourself.”

He and the other Segments would go to the Fatui’s cafeteria, and although it was nice, it didn’t really have food from Sumeru. They would never bring up their dissatisfaction, however. But now, one of his favorite treats from his homeland sat in front of him. The older Segments might have lingered around you some more, but him? The child couldn’t help but want to dig in as soon as possible.

“Thank you.” Those words were starting to become familiar to him again. Eight’s fingers pinched a piece of the dessert and took a small bite before immediately devouring the whole thing. It was probably the best thing he’d ever tasted. He glanced at you before taking another piece, and another…

“Do you like them?” You finished cleaning the area and washing the tools as you made your way to the table. “It’s been a while since I made any so-” You paused when you noticed at least a third of the tray was gone, and the child had stuffed cheeks.

Eight blinked at you. You blinked back. You were at a loss for words before you burst out laughing at the sight.

“Y-You don’t need to eat that fast, you know. I can always make some more.” You grabbed a tissue and began wiping around his mouth. You remembered Zandik being a fast eater back in the Akademiya, but you didn’t know he could gobble stuff down this quick. Eight stiffened as you tenderly wiped off the crumbs and fussed over him, and though it felt weird, it wasn’t weird enough for him to push you away.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll portion the rest for the others. We can give Eighteen the least for being a big meanie. Hehe, don’t tell the others, alright?” Your little accomplice nodded, chewing the dessert slower, not only savoring the flavor but… your kindness too.

Eight had started to open himself up to you, slowly but surely.

—

Little Eight had begun to seek you out on his own, cling to your side, to grab onto your sleeve and look up at you with expectant eyes. With that, the boy had become oddly observant of you.

“You don’t look well,” he pointed out.

“Hm? Oh. I’m… I’m fine. Just a bit tired but-” Before you could finish, Eight grasped your clothes and led you over to sit down. Of course, you couldn’t refuse him. “Really, I don’t-” Eight pressed his small hand against your forehead.

“Your face is warm, and you’re sweating a bit. You should stay here. I’ll get one of the others and the medical record.” It was almost jarring to see a kid assess the situation with such calmness. Perhaps he already had experience with this from Regrator, though. Or maybe he just had to grow up quicker than other children.

“But… you don’t need to do all this. I can take care of myself…” He should just be allowed to be a child, you wanted to say. He shouldn’t have to be in this dreary lab with experiments of this nature.

“I want to.” Eight was surprised those words left his lips as easily as they did. He had thought he had become numb to the suffering of others. He knew something was wrong with him for that. But when he looked at you, it made him upset that you were in pain.

“… You’re very sweet. Thank you.” The others had told you that the child Segment had already lost his compassion, but every day, you learned that clearly wasn’t true. 

—

The eight-year-old carried around his notebook like it was a lifeline, clutching it to his chest. If he had to put it down, he’d always make sure it was within his line of sight. You knew that his notes were important to him, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was something else to this behavior.

You found out the answer one day, when you were in Eight’s room. He was searching for his notebook in front of you when he opened his drawer to reveal a few copies of the same black notebook, before grabbing one of them.

All of the notebooks looked the same, so you had no idea he had multiple. But it didn’t strike you as unusual at first. You just assumed he had filled up that many notebooks with his ideas, and naturally, you wanted to see.

“Do you mind if I read these?” You pawed at the covers.

“You can, if you want. But you probably already read most of them.” That made you pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Those notebooks all contain the same content. I just wrote most of the important stuff in all of them.” So… he was making duplicates of the same thing? 

“But why?”

“Sometimes I misplace them. And then sometimes one of the others throws it out.”

“Throw… throw them out?” You repeated, as if you were in disbelief, but Eight seemed to be unaffected.

“It’s mostly Eighteen that does that. But I don’t want to lose my ideas, so I just write them down in multiple places just in case.” Your jaw was left slack as Eight calmly flipped through his current notebook.

“A-And what does he say?”

“That it’s childish. Or a waste of time. Things like that.” He didn’t think about it when you didn’t respond, but before he knew it, you were up and pacing around the room. “What’s wrong?”

“He can’t do that to you!” You had never spoken to him this loudly, which took him off guard, and you recognized that and took a deep breath. “That… is just wrong. I will not let him do it again. I’m- I’m going to speak to him right now!” Eight realized that this was the first time he saw you truly frustrated, and it was on his behalf, too. You almost burst out the door before he called for you.

“Wait,” the child requested. Never one to ignore Eight, you listened. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. If I’m here, no one is doing that to you. Why, I might as well go and throw out his property and see how he likes it!” Eight felt a bit of warmth prick his face at your outspokenness. But he really didn’t want to start a fight with Eighteen, which would probably escalate to the others, with Thirty-Five telling them not to hinder his work, Forty-Five laughing, Sixty-Five being tired, and the original Zandik… what would he do? 

“I’d prefer it if you stayed with me.” You opened your mouth and closed it again, expression softening.

“Well then… I guess me and Forty-Five will do something to get back at him in secret instead then.” You couldn’t help but give in to Eight, especially when he was learning to be so genuine with you. You sat on the edge of the bed with him and rubbed your hand on his back. However, you still looked troubled.

You thought back to the days you spent with the original Zandik back at the Akademiya. Eighteen was the only Segment you had a concrete understanding of, considering he was a replica of the one you knew so deeply when you were young. You had seen his bitterness firsthand, the desire for himself and his ideas to be acknowledged, only for it to never happen, sending him deeper into his resentment for the world. He would grip you, stubborn tears rolling down his face that he silently asked you to ignore. Perhaps if you had remained in the waking world, you could have done something, but…

“You know, um, Eight,” you began, and the Segment gave you his attention. “About Eighteen… I wouldn’t say he hates you. He just…” The child’s eyes bore into you as he watched you fumble for words. “I guess… He might be a little jealous of you.” That seemed to surprise the little boy.

“I don’t understand. There is nothing I have that he doesn’t.” Eight furrowed his brows, carefully thinking, and a part of you was flattered he was taking your opinion so seriously. “Eighteen has his own lab, office, equipment, proposals, funding, experiments… I don’t really have any of that.” Well, there had been proposals he had been drafting for Pantalone, some with your assistance, but he had yet to present any of them… Most of his duties included assisting the others with their tasks instead.

“Well, all of that is true but… Eighteen doesn’t have your mind.” Perhaps deep down, Eighteen wished he too could be a bit “childish.” Although Eight had clearly gone through something rough, he managed to retain something Eighteen could not. Could Eighteen ever find something and pursue it with pure wonder and excitement as a child could? He couldn’t. Instead, the older Segment was only trapped within the harsh reality of this world’s cruel rules and laws. But how could you explain that to a little boy?

“By which I mean, he doesn’t have the proper mind to appreciate your dear Aranara. And it’s a shame, because he wants to, but… can’t.” You tried to word it as best you could. “Of course, what he did is still wrong, but…” You trailed off, really not knowing what to say, but Eight only leaned into your embrace. He could understand that this was your attempt to make him feel better. Honestly, you had already done more than you knew, because Eighteen always seemed to be in a far better mood whenever you were around. And whether he liked it or not, the older Segment still stayed with him for a lot of things.

The original Zandik, the one who was fascinated with you more than any sort of research, had once told him that your warmth could fill an entire room. Obviously, that didn’t make sense in the literal way, so it was metaphorical. But only now did Eight understand what the older man had meant by that. Actually, now he understood why all the other Segments trailed after you, looking for attention.

You were truly a warm person.

His eyes flickered from you to the floor, and back to you again, as if he was making an important choice. Within the span of a few moments, the tiny Segment turned to fully embrace you, arms wrapping around your body, making you softly gasp. Without hesitation, you gently reciprocated and held his smaller body. Eight always did like when you patted the top of his head.

The child really liked you a lot. Maybe you could convince the others to let him take a trip to Sumeru? Or at least get one of his proposals approved? But for some reason, those things didn’t seem as much of a priority now, when compared to spending time with you.

He hoped you’d stay with him forever…

Many were unlikely things you wouldn't expect of yourself. Moments of tenderness you never got to share. Placing gentle kisses of Zandik’s cheeks and knuckles, so he knows he’s loved.

Praying that these small acts of affection could force into his perception the unwavering love you had for him. His hands, older and more frail than yours, held firmly in your palms. His face, which you had lost the details of, cradled in your fingers as you tell him, report to him, that he was the best thing in your life.

Emotions would pass on his face, but you were so lost you could not understand them.

Other sequences forced you to recoil. Lying atop him and getting the sense he was thinking, his brilliant mind turning the cogs. Intimate, more than friends, just less than lovers, you rest on his chest; A comfort you couldn't imagine.

In a horrifying grasp, the pleasant thought delves until you are paralyzed. Slowly, you begin to feel, as though a sixth sense, that Zandik’s thought was waning. His mind coming to failure as his chest began to cave, as though he was decaying. Frozen, you can’t even clutch him, try to prevent his departure.

Insects passed you by as they fled with the remnants of Zandik and, sickeningly, you begged them to hide within you. Infest you as they would the dead, so you could hold him longer, keep him within.

But they did not hear you.

Swarming away and leaving you with just his bones, your head no longer upon the warm chest of your dearest one, but in the cold rib cage of your dearest lost. Shrunken, trapped. Holding the bars, standing where the heart of Zandik should be.

In a way, the two kinds of dreams were the same to you. The mere absence, and what could have been. Your Zandik has left a wound that refuses to close.

What hurt more? That you could have done things differently, shown Zandik more love, or that, because life was out of your control, Zandik was always going to die this way?

Never in a million lifetimes was his death going to be avoided. How useless must you be, you wonder.

As you awoke wailing, pulling at your hair and finding your cries were so thick they caught in your throat, crackling, you felt no different than in that dream.

Caged with your dead. An apt description. In the rare moment between your grief, you berated yourself with the belief that this was not normal.

No normal person grieved like this.

Normal life was devastated by Zandik. Your misery was stuck between screams of agony and your sentences could only form apology for what surely must have been your lack of effort.

Pathetic, useless, better than this. You would shove cruelty toward yourself down your own throat. The insults would hit your ear before your brain registered what it said.

Moments would pass before you caved in once more. How could you possibly be better than this? How could Zandik deserve any less?

Did Zandik not deserve a million days of loving grief to make up for the million days of no love at all?

Effort was no issue, for the tears you shed came as easily as the drinking the water it took to make them.

Oh, but what use are sobs to the dead?

And so the cycle repeats.

Had the day started earlier, would you have been there to help Zandik? He was human, after all, and would have never turned you down.

Should you have chosen to neglect your Fatui jobs and ran to his side, would his fall have been just a tiny bump in a Happy Birthday?

Could you at least tell Zandik you loved him?

Mourning though you were, the man that had died also seemed to haunt you.

Imagine the horror. Knowing the only part of the man you loved that exist are the worst parts of him.

Segments.

They sent their youngest first. You thought, surely this one would be fine to entertain. Acquiring knowledge of your beloved’s childhood could be nice.

Tiny and terrible, the 8-year-old was bull-headed in his beliefs and ended up saying cruel things to your regarding your sorrows. You had no choice but to kick him out and got nothing from the experience.

Blatant disregard for their creator, they all display.

Eight came first, then 18, than 65, and so forth.

Only once did your door open again after 8, for 18, but this proved fruitless as well.

Eighteen was a defensive man and he kindly offered his regards before flipping a switch when you said you didn't want visitors right now.

From flowers and fervent falacies, a blushing try-hard boy, to a worthless worn egotistical waste of your time.

Despite the door being slammed, he didn't stop screaming.

Hence, you stopped opening the door.

Shut in, you begun keeping your records on your desk. The Dottore’s came roughly once a week, so you had some time.

Crippling as your depression was, you piled all your research together to rid yourself of the pain.

Life elixer was a complicated recipe you once tried to replicate in hopes of praise, but the result was not quite satisfactory. Yours was effectively a stabilizer, slowing decay and repairing skin deep injuries. You used it to keep fresh specimens, like an acquaintance’s pet who’d needed some serious work done, alive when between surgeries.

For yourself, it’d be just fine.

Details were of little consequence, as your ideas were little more than pipe dreams, as lacking in resources as you were. As you gathered the papers into a file, you pondered whether you could do such a thing…

An upside to never opening the door was that you saw Zandik’s face less.

Misery struck you everytime you were made to look at the Segments. Your dearest one… had his face plastered on his most impressive accomplishments.

Accomplishments that loomed like hands of death over your life. There weren't enough words to describe the fear you felt of them.

Violence was nothing all that new, especially in the Fatui, but everyone kept their hands off you in fear of Zandik’s wrath.

For once, though, Zandik could not protect you.

And he certainly couldn't protect you from himself.

Pounding that shook the bells on your door, like that which you'd hear at a funeral, ripped you from thoughts and plunged you into quaking fear.

You could dismiss 8, 18, and 25.

45 and 65 were but brief visitors.

But 35 would tear your entrance from its hinges to avoid hearing your refusal.

Painfully annunciated, your name fell from 35’s velvet lips, “Miss, you’ve sulked long enough. Allow me in, we’ll have a talk.”

Like hell you’ll just talk… 35 is going to drag you out of this house, you feel it like your bone marrow was warning you.

Leave, you demanded. Leave you and tell all your sub-human Segments the same. You had nothing to say to the ghosts of a dead man.

“I thought you might say as much, so I took the liberty of requesting something of a warrant. You did, after all, steal a few things from the lab.”

Shit! 35 had keys to your house, you heard him shake the metal pieces. The cabin was given to you by the Fatui, you should have assumed that, regardless of if he was the true Harbinger, a Harbinger could gain entry.

Frightened like a pitiful mouse, you climbed your loft and pulled the curtain. You wished you could run… Archons, you need to run!

Blame what you will, the lack of decent sleep, the minimal water, the bare bones amount of food, but you were petrified.

Clicks sounded the opening of your door and for a moment, the cold entered. The cold could honestly be the wind, or 35 himself.

“It’s childish to hide from me. What is that you’ll think I’ll do? Have I ever given reason to be afraid?”

Of course, you responded. By being an incomplete freak of nature alone, you found reason to avoid him.

Nothing here belongs to the Segments, you rebutted. Including yourself. You aren't sure why they've become so persistent, but you absolutely despise it.

Segment 35 spotted you behind the curtain and took some steps toward the loft, so his torso and head appeared in your like of sight.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You yourself belonged to Zandik. It’s only fitting you are redistributed to the rest of us. No need for selfishness.”

Selfish?! You couldn’t help but yell at him, you’d think he knew what selfishness truly was, given is complete shit track record! Not wanting to work alongside your dearest person’s ghosts wasn't selfishness, you’d argue you were preserving your sanity!

“Ghosts? Do I looked like a ghost to you miss?”

Teasing, 35 gave you a poke. He hardly saw your angry words as threat or insult.

He looks like someone better off dead, you spat. He wears the face of Zandik, but the two are nothing alike. 35 thinks he's so special, but he’s just a gross imitation, something incomplete that can’t ever-!!!

Clasping around your throat, like a viper, in an instant, 35 had taken your neck into his fingers.

While you had seen it on his face, his patience thinning and dwindling, you hadn't foreseen it snapping so suddenly. You expected warning signs or words of caution.

Tightening, 35 dragged your body closer to his as you fawned and stayed low to the ground. He wasn't predictable anymore. He had left your predictions completely.

Knees came onto the loft as 35 drug your cowarding body beneath him, your head, laid to its side, between his crouched legs.

“I hadn’t taken you for a fool. You’d say such cruel things to even I?”

Wide eyes were pinned to 35’s face as you stayed limp on the floor before him. You found it horribly pathetic, but it was out of your control.

The very love of your life, his face, has grabbed you by the throat and dragged you across the floor in anger.

To some degree, to perhaps a large degree, the idea that Zandik would have ever done such a thing hurt. Would your love have hurt you in this way?

Time seemed to be going backwards thanks to these ugly Segments. The real, original, Zandik was so very human and ever-changing. He valued your companionship and was so gentle with you.

Yet now you were faced with the very same face, strangling you on the floor of your own home.

You knew it wasn't truly him, but how do you tell that to your brain?

Thus, you were making yourself small and physically submitting in a way that made your stomach sink. Your body was treating this scenario as though it was Zandik doing this.

Pain from your loved one… you hadn't thought yourself the type to except it so readily.

“It seems your body at least knows who it should be listening to.”

Gripping tighter, 35 taunted you.

“Zandik may have let you off the hook at every turn, but I will not. You are under my care now, you have no choice.

I take it the Tsaritsa isn't yet aware you opted out of employment. She doesn't have to know. But if you don’t actually start working… I may have a slip of tongue.

I will see you, on time, tomorrow for your shift. Do not be late.”

Briefly, 35 pushed your neck into the ground, like telling you to stay, before departing.

Slamming shut, the second your door was closed, you burst into tears once more.

Life cannot truly be this for you, you were miserable. You can’t take this…

You won’t take this!

Jumping from the loft and almost eating the floor, you began packing your things…

When his desires began to grow more, his actions also began to become more perverted. He would press his bulge up against you from behind when trying to reach for something on a higher shelf. Sometimes his hips would grind into the curve of your ass and love the small gasp you’d produce. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his little antics.

Omega seemed to have no shame at all. Unlike 18 and 25, he would jerk off to you while you were sleeping. His hand would pump over the tip of his cock, using his pre-cum as lube to fasten his motions. You usually slept in no shorts, much to his approval. He’d stare between your legs intently, wondering how warm you must’ve felt, how tight you were, how much your pussy could take. All these thoughts and those wandering eyes of his helped push him over the edge and he’d finish on your blanket (he would’ve rather it been your face). In the morning you were curious about a specific stain on your blue blanket, but thought nothing much of it.

When given permission from Zandik (finally), he was quite overjoyed but never showed it and you would never admit it as well.

In the prime stage of his life, everything to Omega felt as if he was on a continuous hunt for a new hypothesis in hopes to gather more data for a new conclusion that was far better than the first. So naturally, he takes this as an opportunity to see how much you could take.

He takes you to a room with a huge mirror in front of the bed. The thought of getting fucked in front of a mirror by one of your beloved’s segments was enough for a small wet spot to appear in your panties.

35 has you on the bed, completely nude with him behind you with your legs spread open. This position causes embarrassment to wash over you, but the way his hand rubs your clit in small circles is enough to forget about your emotional predicament.

He continues to play with you, cooing in your ear about how you’re aiding him so much in his study. He praises you for being his good little subject while three of his fingers are pumping in and out of your aching cunt, but you can’t answer. All you can muster is moans of his names and the occasional whimper and “feels so good..” orgasm after orgasm is drawn out from your tired body and even the smallest flicks of your clit has you wailing to him. Oh you looked so pretty in the mirror he can’t help but grin and imagine how fucked out you’d be on his cock.

He may be selfish and care about his own pleasure, but he was more obsessed with your pleasure and wanting to draw out as much as possible. He takes you from behind, holding your wrists behind your back with one hand and uses you as leverage to fuck himself deeper into you. From this position, he’s able to abuse that spot. Each rut of his hips causes your breast to bounce and he loves it. His other hand rubs fast and sloppy circles on your clit and that’s enough to make you cum for the nth time. If you weren’t focused on the mirror, he’d grab your chin and force you to stare, a mask staring at your reflection. Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were washed with lust, maybe more than yours.

He may be the most selfish and care about his pleasure only, but he definitely cares about your own (in the name of science of course).

45

This segment was on the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to selfishness, which you came to the conclusion that age was a factor in this.

45 is more of a charmer. He’s way more talkative (in a nice way) and is able to hold simple conversations with you. The one thing you love about him is how attentive he is to you. Sometimes if you were in lab with all the segments and you tried voicing something, the segments were too busy arguing with one another to listen, but he would always give you his undivided attention.

If you weren’t in lab, he would greet you with a kiss to your hand. Not often, but it was a sweet gesture on his end. Unlike the younger segments, he never made physical advancements on you, he would however continue to make flirty or… inappropriate comments.

He always gave you compliments. He complimented if you did something new with your hair, or your outfits (which was usually standard lab safety outfits) or whatever stood out to him. However, his favorite thing to compliment was your intelligence. In his eyes, nothing was more outstanding than a beautiful woman who was highly intelligent. And that was dangerous.

When it’s 45’s turn, he’s sure to let you know how overjoyed he was. You knew he was not one for physical advancements, but he surely becomes touchy now. His hands roam all over your body when he has you in his bed. He squeezes at your breasts and swallows your moans when kissing you, moving his hands down the rest of your body to your ass before giving a firm spank.

He has you on your knees, a gloved hand tangled in your hair and moving your head to meet in time with his thrusts. Strings of curses and praises leave his mouth and his words cause your thighs to rub together in anticipation. “Someone so beautiful and intelligent on her knees to suck someone’s cock, you love that, don’t you?” The tip of his head hits the back of your throat and with a whimper, he holds your head with both hands on the side of your face and holds you in place, finishing with a loud groan and head tilted back.

He doesn’t neglect you at all, which was one of his best qualities. His face is deep in between your legs, his nose nuzzled against your clit as he breathes in your scent, moaning about how good you smell. His tongue does wonders from sliding in between your folds, to barely putting the tip in your cunt before moving up to your clit. His motions aren’t rushed like 18, but planned and executed with purpose.

When he was satisfied with how you looked, he helps you get on top of him. Strong arms are wrapped around your back as your breasts are pressed up against his chest, your head falling into the crook of his neck. He thrusts up into you, the head of his cock bumping into your cervix. It’s so much, too good, it doesn’t help the fact he’s whispering in your ear and blowing hot air.

His thrusts are so rough, his balls slap against your skin that leaves stinging sensations. This segment is obsessed with his lips on yours, and probably the only segment that kisses you while fucking. It’s not romantic in the slightest, but your mouths together form a melodic song that turns him on even more if possible.

Touya and Himiko typically hosted hangouts at one of their places or went bar-hopping after convincing Tenko to be dragged out of his cave; however, tonight their hangout happened to land at Tenko's place. They had no idea you were moving about the house, doing your own thing, until you emerged from the hallway, hair done up, a cute set hidden under your light pink robe, with the nicest smile on your face. Hips swaying, your plush stomach and thighs outlined underneath your robe, you looked too good. The warm lighting of the living captured you just right, the soft angle of your chin and where it met your neck, your soft biceps.

An action movie played on the TV, but nobody but your boyfriend was paying attention to it anymore. Himiko had her mouth slack open as she watched you pad around from behind the couch and lean gently against the arm of the couch, hovering by Tenko's side. She exchanged a gagged look with Touya, who looked equally shocked. He cleared his throat awkwardly when Tenko acted like nothing was amiss, his hand coming around to squeeze your thigh absently.

You planted a kiss atop his head and giggled when he mumbled something into your ear. Half watching the movie and half peppering Tenko with affection, you asked, "I didn't mean to linger for too long, honey, sorry. Did you need more snacks or anything?"

"Nah, they don't care. Watch the movie with us if you want." Tenko glanced at the stray snacks and empty cans littering the coffee table, then absently looked at his friends. "You guys want anything else to eat or drink?"

Touya coughed again. "Uh. Beer, thanks."

"Me too," Himiko squeaked.

You nodded, then disappeared into the rest of the house. The moment they thought you were out of earshot, Himiko and Touya exploded.

"Who the hell was that?" Himiko jumped out of the armchair she was in and crawled across the sofa. "Are you keeping a hostage? Is she wearing a shock collar or something?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tenko groaned, shoving her away when her face got in the way of the TV.

Touya, only slightly more chill, laughed. "What do you mean? You have a girlfriend. We didn't know you had a girlfriend. Especially not... her."

At that, Tenko had a cold glare. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean she is way out of your league, man. She is hot. And nice." Anyone could tell Touya and Himiko were fantasizing about you, just moments after they saw you. "Fuck, did you see her ass?"

"Hell yeah I did." Himiko grinned.

"Both of you need to shut the hell up," Tenko snapped. "First of all, she's my girlfriend, and you're in my house. Slobber on your own time. Second, you've met her before."

"We did?"

He groaned. "At the bar that one time?"

Touya blinked. "Shit, that was her, wasn't it? We thought you were shitting us, like you paid some girl to act like your girlfriend because we were teasing you about being a glorified hermit."

"Fuck off."

"You didn't even give us a chance to meet her! How were we supposed to recognize her?" Himiko whined. "You told us her name and then disappeared with her like five minutes later. We didn't see you for the rest of the night!"

"Why does it matter? Both of you went home with a couple of girls an hour later anyway."

"Not the point," said Touya. "Share her."

"What?" Tenko grimaced.

"Share—"

"I'll cut your hand off if you touch her, asshole."

Yes, your relationship with Tenko was at times a spectacle. Nothing alike but totally in love, people wondered what Tenko did that kept you from running away from him at ninety miles an hour...

They didn't know that he molded his life around you after you two met, though. He memorized all your orders, wrote them down in his notes app the moment he had the chance, paid attention to what kind of jewelry and clothes you liked. Sat by your vanity (that he frustratingly built when you ordered it) and watched you do your makeup and hair, was glued to your side when he wasn't working or gaming.

And when you took interest in watching him play League or COD (he gives off that vibe ok), he happily invited you to sit on his lap or let him rest his head between your soft thighs while he lounged with the most ungodly posture for hours on end and rotted his brain out with first-person shooters and horror games.

Of course if you also liked gaming, he got you up with your setup in his office and went along with whatever cozy games you liked. Stardew Valley, Sims 4, Tomadachi Life, Slime Rancher... he just loved seeing you in the zone like him, telling him about what you accomplished in the game with a smile. And if you liked the same games as him, even better.

He definitely got you two matching controllers. And, because he's whipped, he puts his Minecraft bed next to yours.

Evidently, he did get a little too lost in his games sometimes. Being holed up in his office so frequently, you didn't like disturbing him but you knew that Tenko didn't care if you came in and sat with him for whatever reason.

He also didn't care if you came in and used him however you liked. He couldn't bear to neglect you, his perfect girlfriend who worked so hard to look good and make the house cozy and make him happy...

So late at night, clutching a Hello Kitty plushie Tenko once won you at a claw machine, clad in one of your soft pink nighties, feeling too needy to be left alone, you ventured towards his office door. A little anxious, you peeked in. It was hard to see anything—Tenko never turned on any of his lights, and the only thing you could see through the darkness was the light coming off his computer screen. Faintly, you could hear the rhythmic clicking of his controller and noise from the game out of his cat ear headphones (you got those for him).

He didn't hear you slink in, eyes never straying from the rapid flashes of color on screen. Rap music played quietly from his speaker—you were never sure why he played the music and the game when he probably could only hear one over the other.

Creeping in, the door clicked shut behind you, and you stationed yourself behind your boyfriend's chair. It took a few minutes to notice you, but eventually he spotted your figure in his peripherals and smelled your sweet fragrance. Without looking away from his game for too long, he moved one headphone off his ear and said, "Yeah, angel?"

"Um..." You fidgeted, always shy when it came to asking for what you wanted. Toying with the hem of your nightie, listening to the soft clicking of Tenko's controller, you absently watched him play while trying to think of how to word your thoughts.

"Baby?"

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

He had given up on his game momentarily, all of his attention zeroed in on you, which only served to make you squirm more under his gentle gaze. And all you could come up with was asking "Can I watch you play?"

So you ended up in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and your head rested on his shoulder, watching him go through the campaign of a game. The throbbing need between your thighs, that itch for a particular kind of attention, was only worsening the more you watched his slender fingers swirl around those joysticks and the way his chest rose and fell with his deep breaths.

After a while of watching him play, you thought he wouldn't if you just shifted around a bit, dragged your panties over the delicious denim of his jeans so your pussy could have a little relief...

But the moment you pretended to be adjusting yourself, trying to get comfortable, he could just feel your slick leaving a patch on his pants.

One hand going to the base of your stomach, you froze when he touched you. Brows raised, Tenko moved you back a little. "Is this..."

He had a nonchalant look when he noticed the wet spot on his jeans. Quietly, he placed his controller aside and took off his headphones, leaving the game to abandonment.

"Could've just told me. Now I feel like a bad boyfriend."

"Ten—"

His dry lips landed against your sweet, plush ones before you could finish saying his name. Hands on your hips, he pressed your thigh against your crotch, and you couldn't help but whine.

sucking eagerly at the flesh that filled your mouth, you hollowed out your cheeks with teary eyes, gazing up at the seafoam haired woman for any semblance of attention. a glance, a hum — something to acknowledge your existence.

but dottore spared you none of the sort, merely curling her long, manicured fingers inside your fluttering heat with a frightening precision while the pad of her thumb pressed at the spot on your clit that nearly sent you over the edge. “you’re squirming like a needy creature in heat, dear.” she finally said, not once halting the scratch of her pen to the clipboard.

“if you wish to remain iny my lap any longer, still your hips and behave yourself, lest you don’t want to cum when i finish my work.” she was being generous after all, offering her fingers to you when her hand could be used for other things; offering her tits as well for you to drool and suck on like the desperate thing you are.

and here you were — wiggling, whining and crying even after receiving more than enough.

pulling her fingers free from your entrance, the doctor delivered a firm strike to your clit, huffing softly. “have i managed to fuck you beyond the ability to formulate words with my fingers already? or is your mouth just too full for you..” she continued, looking down only when you began to paw shamelessly at her chest, as if to grant you a single mercy of being seen by her.. albeit a rather cold, masked stare.

though she couldn’t lie and say she did not take enjoyment in that pathetic expression of yours. tear-struck, sniffly, drooling, dazed — you wore it so well for her.

her lips curled cruelly, a soft coo leaving her lips. “aww, what’s the matter, my dear? i’m merely remarking what i’ve observed so far.” she purred out, bringing a hand up to pet the back of her head.

and for a handful of seconds you could do nothing more but sob helplessly in return, swirling your tongue around her bud in an attempt to please her. maybe she would grant you release if so.

but dottore was.. unfortunately not won over very easily. in the end, she all but pressed your face into her chest more, chuckling lowly at the way you gagged around her. “next time you’ll consider your actions thoroughly, before depositing yourself onto my lap so unceremoniously.” she reprimanded, brushing her fingers torturously slowly down towards your aching heat. “had you remained still, i’d have been much kinder, but well..” she paused, striking your clit enough for you to arch right back into her with a sharp moan. “greed got the better of you.”

instead of a third strike, the harbinger gave your swollen folds a gentle rub this time — a mercy, listening to your sobs as though they were composed by the most renowned conductor around. she could never tire of your pretty cries, truthfully, and this was no exception.

but that wasn’t going to save you from what she had in store after she finished writing.

notes. i had to briefly step away from the dotto angst i was writing to put this out cuz mmghh dottotiddies<3 need em so bad dawg💔

tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3