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iidylllic · 2 years

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A Beautiful Alliance 💠

Dark!Il Dottore x Reader | 18+ | 5.7k words

Description: After you catch the eyes of Il Dottore outside of a Fatui facility, he decides that he’s finally found what he’s looking for: an assistant.

Reader specifications: AFAB, gendered terms used (“girl”), somewhat pushover reader, dottore picks up reader at one point

Character specifications: look i tried my best to keep him in character so that is uh, a maniac. dottore can take his mask off and it is not “hiding” anything

Tags: sft: [assistant au, dottore has feelings sometimes, favouritism, murder, violation of scientific ethics, sleeping together, childe lol] nsft: [public vibrator, PiV sex, sex is consensual but perhaps not sane?, breeding, dumbification, reader gets condescended to]

Notes: Dottore fuckers come get your food . Dottore fuckers unite .

title from this song

I am 18+, aware of the tags and consent to seeing what is in this fic [yes ⬇️] [no ↩️]

A shiver runs down your spine. It’s cold, as expected. You wouldn’t expect any less from the heart of Snezhnaya. Everyone else rustles around you but unfortunately, you’re not standing close enough to anyone to be able to feel their warmth. You’re all new recruits, and yet it seems like everyone except you brought a friend. So you stand, alone in the crowd, eyes flickering up to the balcony of the Fatui facility where you expect your superior to appear and start to shuttle you off to different training grounds.

Things should’ve been different, you think, staring down at your frost-coated boots. Things should’ve been better.

Soon you will either be halfway across the continent- trying to act innocent as your organisation ruthlessly infiltrates whatever land you’re in- or perhaps your body will be weaponised to the point where there is nothing left of you that can be deemed dead or alive.

A movement draws your attention back to the balcony and two red eyes meet your gaze, which you immediately avert. A man with a peculiar mask, with his eyes were set straight on you. “Probably just imagining things anyway” you think as panic starts to set in. You glimpse up again and he’s gone as quickly as he came.

“Il Dottore,” your new comrades whisper, having picked up on the presence as well. “I heard he…”

No. No, no, no. The one that performs all those experiments? Your blood runs cold. Harbingers take their status very seriously, don’t they? Are you even supposed to look one in the eyes? Surely this didn’t count as some form of transgression?

You shuffle your feet as things go quiet, and a voice splits through the crowd- no speeches, no preparation. Merely a simple announcement that they’re going to start organising groups. People start to get pulled aside by different Fatui instructors, all of which wear masks. The tallest amongst you clearly fit some sort of niche, as they’re directed to their group first. You start feeling exposed after a couple of minutes, anxiously looking around to see if one of the various instructors is going to set their sight on you next. Questions are being asked all around you, their answers determining fates. Left, right, still moving around, nobody looking at you.

But then you look straight ahead and are greeted with those red eyes staring at you again, expressionlessly. Your first instinct is to look down again, and you catch a glimpse of his hand beckoning you forward.

You double take and he makes the gesture again, though this time more exaggerated.

And with your stomach sinking, you move forward, the rest of the Fatui recruits still being directed around you. There are eyes on you, you can feel the others staring into your back.

Yet somehow, when Il Dottore grabs your wrist and walks you briskly into the building, it feels like you slip away seamlessly.

———

“I’m glad you can follow a command,” He tells you as he drags you through the corridors, eventually taking his hand off your wrist when he has to undo some locks on a door. Still, you keep following. “We’re off to a good start.”

You nod, because you’re not sure what else to do. Even if he can’t see it, it seems like your only logical option.

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Il Dottore, though I’m sure you already knew that. You are..?”

You tell him your name and he gives an affirmative hum. You’re still walking, descending into the building at his heel.

You hope he gives you anaesthesia for whatever he’s going to do to you.

“They would have eaten you alive back there. I can tell.” Dottore says, pressing a code into a keypad. This level of technology is something you barely see outside the Fatui.

“O-Oh, really?” You say, hating yourself for not being able to sound more confident.

Dottore barks out a laugh, both genuinely humorous and mocking.

“Of course. Your first mistake was not chatting to anyone. An easy victim to pick on, if you don’t have anyone on your side,” He says, opening the door. It’s dark inside, but it feels positively massive. You can just barely catch the glints of metal around the room. “They would’ve used you to harden up the new recruits, asked the softer amongst your squadron to beat you up so they could prove their loyalty. And then, who knows? The runt usually doesn’t make it to the end of training.”

Before you can even think to respond, he drags you inside what you can only guess is his lab, using a free hand to turn on the light. Once the electricity flickers to life, you can make out more of the room- it’s even bigger than you initially thought.

“But I don’t need a punching bag. I need someone capable of following simple commands. And you seem like you could do that. And if you can’t, you’d better learn to. Or I’ll make you into something that will.”

He turns to you.

“Yes, sir.”

You’re shaking. You see his eyes go wide. Your body jolts suddenly, remembering something.

“Oh- yes, my l-“

“Don’t worry about it,” He grimaces. “I’ll show you around and then you can start working.”

———

So he didn’t plan to turn you into anything (yet?), which is a relief. Your job seems rather simple. All you really have to do is get him things he needs within the lab, reorganise the things that he leaves messy at the end of the day (you’re not allowed to follow him around and clean up after him during the day, he emphasised), file his papers away, get food and make coffee. Your work day begins when his does, and ends when his does, with him filing a report as you tidy everything up. And you’re to stay quiet when he’s in the middle of experimenting but since he doesn’t want you staring at him whilst he does, he’s directed you to a bookshelf in the corner of the lab that mostly seems to have textbooks. Better than nothing, you suppose.

As a whole, it also seems better than the Fatui training. Your main occupational hazard here is Dottore himself but, “as long as you do your job, we won’t have any problems”. He’d said that with a wolfish grin, making direct eye contact with you. You knew you’d do well to understand that.

———

Dottore seems to praise you a lot for completing the simplest of tasks. It’s both reassuring and highly condescending.

“Good girl,” He coos, taking the spanner from your hand as he tousles your hair with the other. “I’ll need the bolts from the bottom shelf, too.”

And you fetch them. It’s been a week now, so you know exactly what he’s talking about. You lay them on the worktop, eyes looking over the ruin machine currently slouched on top of it.

He’s quiet now, so you know that you have to be quiet. You retreat towards the back of the lab to read one of the three fiction books you could manage to find.

There’s a knock at the door. You peek up to see if he’d rather have you answer it, but he’s already striding across the lab, fists clenched.

When the door opens, Dottore is clearly in a bad mood (it really is amazing how quickly it can change), whilst the poor Fatui underling on the other side is shaking in his boots as he says something you can’t even make out. Threats are whispered. The door is slammed. Dottore pauses, setting his eyes on you. Putting your book down, you stand up, asking if you can help with anything.

“Coffee.”

And you nod, retreating to a small room off to the side so you can make it.

“I just wish,” He hisses, watching as you place the mug beside him. “People would stop feeling so entitled to barge in here as they please.”

A slight exaggeration.

You open your mouth and close it, words not managing to spill past your lips.

“Spit it out.”

You hope today isn’t the day he turns you into a monstrosity, you really do.

“Maybe you could try a do-not-disturb sign?”

His eyes are blank again. He has these moments of processing sometimes, where he suddenly becomes expressionless as he thinks something over.

“Or- Or maybe just get them to all say what they want in a certain period of the day, l-like office hours-“ You backtrack, fearing the initial suggestion was too silly.

He laughs. You never know what to think when you hear him laugh, because it’s something he does to himself over his experiments, and also something he does after delivering a brutal threat to a subordinate.

“No need for that, dear. Just make the sign for me. There- a little arts and crafts project to keep you occupied, hm?”

You nod, nickname barely registering in your mind. You feel like you need your own moment of processing at this point.

He nods back, briefly directing you to some scrap pieces of wood which you could “decorate however you please”. Still feeling slightly like he’s going to turn on you any minute and chastise you for a stupid suggestion, you pick up a small slab of wood and examine it, deciding that you would burn the letters into the grain. You’d picked up a few basic carpentry skills from the odd jobs you used to do, so it wasn’t going to be too difficult.

Dottore had settled back into his work, and you eventually settled into yours.

———

Dottore ends up being rather fond of his new sign, the only problem being that he never seems to turn it around to the opposite side.

So now, instead, you receive all the messages.

Whenever you run up to collect food for Dottore, there’s always someone looking to catch you and ask you to pass something on to your master. Often, it’s written down in advance for you. It makes you wonder if a mailbox may have been a better idea.

On the bright side, Dottore is a lot happier receiving messages this way than he was when people came to his door and “needlessly disturbed” him.

Two months into this and he’s still utterly terrifying but perhaps he… has a soft spot for you. Is that really so foolish to think? It’s the way that he tells you to stand back from his more dangerous projects. It’s the way he holds your wrist tightly and drags you into himself if you’re too far away from him when you’re upstairs- he doesn’t like the other recruits looking at you, apparently. Your role in relation to him was once scoffed at by the other Fatui members you encountered on a daily basis but now they keep their eyes down when you’re around, almost granting you the same respect they grant him.

Professional “Keep Il Dottore Calm”-er.

Now, he even eats with you. It used to be that he would eat as he worked but one day, he insisted on sitting beside you as you both ate.

It was the same day that you made your first mistake working under him.

You’d presented him with the box that you thought was correct but-

“The other screws, darling. The longer ones.”

You apologised and went to get the aforementioned screws. He really didn’t seem too bothered, having barely glanced at your mistake.

“Are you tired?”

You paused, turning to look at him. “I guess I am. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Go lie down on the bench for a while. I’ll wake you up for dinner. It’s dangerous to continue work if you’re unable to think clearly.”

It was a little harsh, but honest.

“Thank you, sir.”

It had slipped out before you could stop it. He had told you to call him whatever you wanted, within reason, and that in front of the other Fatui members you would use the proper harbinger title. Outside of that, you had free reign. But he always seemed to tense up slightly whenever you used “sir”. Perhaps it brought back some form of bad memories.

(It was the same tensing up you witnessed when another Fatuus referred to him as your “master”. And how he got closer to you at that moment, and how he pressed his hand firmly on your shoulder. He had promptly told them to stop talking directly to you and start talking about some blueprints gathered from a foreign source. You thought it was his characteristic impatience but the more you thought about it, the more you indulged the idea that it could’ve been possessiveness.)

That time, when he heard the title you had used, he smiled at you. It was as maniacal as ever (half of his charm) and shook you to your core.

“Rest up.”

You did.

That evening, he brought dinner to the bench and sat next to you, picking at his own food and ranting to you about something in his recent experiment.

As odd as it was, you liked hearing him talk. You liked being able to talk back with more confidence than you usually had.

He took the mask off when he actually started eating and something flashed across your mind about him being handsome. You were quick to repress it, still nodding along to his not-so-fun facts.

———

It’s easy to forget who you’re really dealing with when you’re with Dottore every day and getting to see a side of him that nobody else gets to see.

This morning, a new Fatui recruit is on his workbench. Not as a patient, but as a project. You recognise him as one that touched you, grabbed your arm as you walked away from receiving a message. Dottore had seen the incident. And now, two days later, you’ve walked in and seen him strapped down, sweating, gagged.

Your eyes fall on Dottore.

“I have a little task for you to do instead of your usual work in the lab” He begins, looking more unhinged than usual. His hair is also wilder, as if he’s been raking a hand through it. You involuntarily shrink away from him in fear. “You can go up to my room and get me some files from the metal cabinet. I have a list of what I need here.”

Dottore steps forward and you’re frozen in place as he holds out the list. When you finally reach out, he gently presses it into your hand.

He talks again in a lower voice. “After you’ve retrieved the files, put them on my desk and take some time to yourself. I’ll come get you so we can eat together, alright? So just be in your room around midday.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the Fatui recruit.

“Or if you’re not squeamish, you can stay and watch.”

That snaps you out of it.

“No thank you- I’ll- I’ll go.”

“What I thought you’d say. See you soon, doll.”

“Bye.”

When you close the door to the lab behind you, it feels like you’ve just delivered the recruit a death sentence. Perhaps you have.

You don’t see him again, and you don’t want to know. You make an effort to repress it, not even pondering who’s fault it is for whatever happened to him. It’s for the best, you decide.

———

A few days later, you receive your very own name tag.

The peculiar thing about it is that it doesn’t show your name as the most obvious wording. It shows “Il Dottore- Personal Assistant” before it shows your own name in smaller lettering below. It’s almost like… a collar. Something that makes it clear that you’re owned, rather than a statement about your identity as a person.

But Dottore gifts it to you like it’s a necklace studded with treasured diamonds, sitting neatly in a velvety box. You do suppose that gold and enamel is a little excessive for a name tag. Still, you thank him nicely and resolve to wear it immediately. He insists on putting it on for you, to get the positioning right. There’s something alluring about his hands hovering over your breast as he pins it onto your own lab coat.

You feel like property on some level. On another, you feel cherished.

———

“Stupid heating’s not working again,” Dottore grumbles, shivering beside you with a mug of coffee in his hands. It’s more to warm up his fingers so he can finish up his project rather than to drink. “One of the biggest facilities in Snezhnaya and they can’t even get the fucking heating to work.”

It had started to feel a lot colder in the building about an hour ago. Dottore is pressed up against you, shoulder to shoulder.

“This has happened before?”

“Couple times. It always takes them another day to actually fix it.”

You nod. He lets out a sigh, clearly irritated before getting up and dumping his coffee down the sink.

“It’s getting far too late. There’s no way I’ll be able to finish this tonight.”

“I’ll tidy things up-“

You’re interrupted when he says your name, shaking his head.

“No you won’t. Leave everything out. Go to your room, grab what you need to stay overnight, some coats and the covers on your bed. Then come to my room.”

When you show up to Dottore’s quarters, he’s standing and waiting for you, tension easing in his body as soon as he has you in his bedroom. You lay your covers on his bed, along with your two warmest coats and look for his approval. He nods, hand gripping his mask and setting it on his bedside. Dottore signals to his ensuite and you go in and get yourself ready for bed. When you emerge, Dottore shamelessly looks you up and down, smile growing on his face as he takes in the sight of your bare skin. You had forgotten to bring anything to wear over your nightie.

There’s something intense about having him look at you without his mask on. He doesn’t say anything as he gets up and strides into the ensuite, but begins to whistle as he closes the door.

You crawl under covers and sit up, waiting for him to join you.

You’re almost nodding off by the time he walks into the room, switching off the light and accompanying you in bed. He wraps his entire body around yours and buries his face into your neck before muttering out a goodnight. Of course, you say it back.

———

You realise that you’ve managed to stay cosy when you wake up. A coat has fallen off the bed, you can see it on the floor, but Dottore’s warm body is pressed firmly against your back. His breathing is a little too light for him to be asleep, and the clock on his wall says it’s ten in the morning. It’s alright, because you can’t technically oversleep if Dottore is still in the bed with you.

“Finally awake, darling?”

“Yeah,” you respond, rubbing your eyes. “When did you wake up?”

“A little under an hour ago.”

His hand is resting on your bare thigh. He gives it a squeeze before detaching himself from you and rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I doubt they’ll have the heating fixed yet. It’ll take a few more hours.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Get dressed and wrap up warm. I haven’t been taking you outside enough.”

Within the hour you’re accompanying him for a walk around the grounds, chatting idly about the weather. He tells you about Sumeru (more about the climate, and not much to do with his experiences there) before suddenly interjecting with something.

“You’re coming with me to Liyue. I need to revisit an old lab of mines and… Tartaglia.”

He says that name like it’s a curse, and you choose not to inquire about the hostility to the eleventh harbinger. Instead, you ask him if you can try Liyue cuisine whilst you’re there. He slides his hand into your and tells you yes, and that you’ll probably be eating out for the short duration of your trip.

It’ll be nice to get out of the lab for a while. A change of scenery is something you’ve been needing lately.

———

Dottore seems a little too enthusiastic when he hands you your outfit for the night. There’s underwear included with it, and the very act of being gifted lingerie by him has your cheeks reddening by the second.

Liyue is hotter than Snezhnaya, so the blouse he provideds you with is thin, but still rather pretty. The skirt that goes with it is short, but of high quality material. It is, overall, a nice outfit and you can’t help but think that the “doll” nickname is starting to make more sense now.

Still, you do worry about his reaction to any attention drawn to you by clothes like these.

———

Tartaglia- or “Childe” as he asks to be called- is a concerning character. With Dottore, maniacal intent is worn plainly on his face. With Childe, it’s hidden beneath a few layers of friendliness. Maybe all this time with Dottore alone has had a noticeable effect on you, because his very demeanour makes you want to shy away and turn to Dottore for guidance.

You sit across from Childe at Xinyue Kiosk, observing how he observes you. And Dottore observes him, as he observes you.

“Something interesting?” He asks, stabbing into his dish. The way he cuts it up has been especially violent tonight, and he’s refused to take off his mask to eat. It likely has something to do with the attention that Childe has shown you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Childe laughs. “I just never imagined you’d take on an assistant.”

“I needed someone by my side who was both competent and who didn’t annoy me. That’s all.”

Childe nods, taking a sip of his drink before manoeuvring the conversation away from you. You consider that a small blessing. The conversation is a little awkward, but still much better than talking about you. Dottore despises when other people turn their attention on you.

His hand is under the table, wandering up your thigh. You wonder if Childe, as perceptive as he seems, is able to tell.

It goes further up- to right between your legs. With a small motion of his fingers wedged between them your thighs, you’re spreading yourself apart for him, trying to regulate your breathing as a slender finger runs up and down your cunt.

He pulls away.

You glance over at him, noticing how he rummages in his pocket.

Something vibrates right against your clit. Something hidden within the fabric of your underwear. Your first question is “what?” then “how?” and is then resolved by the fact that Dottore truly is a genius. You hadn’t even realised.

Childe, thank the archons, has just gotten up to ask for more water for the table.

Another rummage has something vibrating over your nipples- just lightly, but enough to have you rigid. You stare straight ahead for a good few seconds, processing the sensations on your body.

“Careful, darling.” Dottore whispers into your ear.

Your eyes roll to the ceiling before you’re able to look over at Dottore again, giving your best pleading expression in return to his mocking grin.

You wouldn’t able to beg your way out of this one.

To your surprise, he does turn it off again as Childe rejoins you at the table, making idle chatter as you start on the main course.

“So, why did you choose to be Dottore’s assistant?”

Oh, that’s a question for you.

“Well, I-“

Pleasure pulses through your clit, vibrations stronger than the previous ones. It was clear that those were just a taster.

You cough. “Sorry, just choked a little on my water. I actually didn’t have much of a choice, but I truly do enjoy working under him. Nowadays, if you did give me a choice, I would pick this over the other roles.”

At your answer, your breasts start to become targeted by the stimulation again.

Dottore smiles, bringing both of his elbows to rest on the table. Oh, archons. It’s still running. You don’t want to cum in front of this man you just met. You don’t want to start moaning like a whore in public. Dottore, please, have mercy.

“That’s right, I picked her out personally. Really, she didn’t look she would survive training.”

At this, Childe scans you over, seeming to agree. You feel pathetic in that moment, but comforted. Simply looking lost and incapable landed you here, in front of two of your superiors, sitting pretty and trying your hardest not to cum. A fitting role for you, yes. No other Fatui recruit would’ve put up with this. They would rather die than disgrace the Tsaritsa by humiliating themselves like this. But you see, you don’t have to worry about any of that under Dottore’s care. You’re his pet, his doll, his eager assistant. If having you gripping the edges of your skirt with clenched teeth, watering eyes and a pulsing pussy entertains him, then so be it. You would humiliate yourself again and again if it made him happy. It’s your purpose and natural place in the world, the place he personally carved out for you.

Childe is talking again, eyes fixed on you. Does he know? Does he?

You think he asks you something, but Dottore answers in your stead. That’s kind of him, to leave you to your pleasure as he handles all the hard stuff. You glance over at your master as he slowly removes an arm from the table, reaching into his pocket. You almost moan in despair, but know that you have to be good if you want anything out of this. Dottore, after all, favours obedience.

The vibrations have stopped but you’re not sure if he should’ve kept them going. You’re so close to your orgasm. It takes everything you have to not start rutting up against the stool you’re on.

Dottore leaves everything off for a while, only giving you some light stimulation towards the end of the meal- not enough to bring you anywhere near to orgasm. You want more. You find yourself staring at him, at his jawline, the side of his face, wanting nothing more than his hands on you. You barely summon the willpower to turn back to his colleague and try your best to keep up the conversation until you finish eating. That’s when Dottore turns everything off again, leaving your heart to beat with want as every part of you demands closer contact with him.

“I would advise you return to Snezhnaya in the near future, Tartaglia,” Dottore says as he takes your hand, helping you up from your chair. “Everyone’s asking for you.”

The last part is hissed at him, and Childe merely laughs and takes a step back. “Ah, give it a month or two, okay? Have a good night, you two.”

Dottore leaves without saying goodbye, and you just give him a nod and a smile as you follow after your master. The street is enticing, all lit up, but Dottore is walking fast through it. You don’t want to admire it either- you need to admire something else entirely.

You soon make it to your housing for the trip, courtesy of Northland bank. Whenever you go anywhere with Dottore, it becomes clear that Fatui power and influence can work wonders.

The door closes behind you, and Dottore’s hand is firm as he locks it. You take off your shoes at the door, setting them down on a rack and watch to see what Dottore will do next.

He finally turns to you, taking off his mask for the first time all day and setting it on a shelf with rigid caution. There’s a pause, tension strung high in the air between you.

His lips are on yours before you even know what’s happening, bare hands gripping the sides of your head.

You kiss back.

Dottore pulls back by just an inch, hot breath fanning across your mouth. “I hated the way he ogled you.”

He goes back in, and you’re just able to take a deep breath before he returns to kiss you breathless once more.

“So long,” He mutters. “I’ve waited so long, doll. Did you appreciate my little present for you?”

You nod eagerly, body igniting with lust once again. Despite the stimulation at Xinyue Kiosk, you still haven’t came yet.

Dottore pulls away to lift you up- it always surprises you how strong he is, even though he’s able to do all the heavy lifting in his lab and still has to hone his skills as a harbinger most mornings.

You’re tossed over his shoulder and the world blurs as you’re just as quickly tossed onto the bed. Though you didn’t drink a lot, it’s still enough for a slight buzz. Dottore climbs on top of you, straddling your body, and begins to undress you, one hand undoing the buttons on your blouse with an impressive speed as the other brazenly slips under your skirt and starts to rub at your clit.

Moaning quietly, but not wanting to feel like you’re not doing your part, your fingers work at his tie and start to undo the knot.

He’s moving with the same passion that he has whenever he becomes struck with an idea that he just has to play around with, and his eyes carry the same passion. You, now his most engaging experiment set on a worktop composed of silk sheets. Your hands feel gently at his waist as he begins to unbutton his own shirt, only stopping to leverage yourself off the bed so you can fully remove your blouse and bra.

He’s quick to get up to remove the rest of his clothes, and from the bed you do the same.

The last item of your clothing to go is your panties, which are more soaked than you imagined them to be. Ah, your inconspicuous panties that have been the bane (and peak) of your existence this evening.

“Tell me, dear,” Dottore croons, beginning to straddle you again. You catch an eyeful of his cock as he does. It’s fully hard, decently sized, and all you can think about is how badly you need it inside your aching cunt. “If I had left you alone with Tartaglia, would you have begged him to fuck you? Whored yourself out for a little release?”

“No,” You breathe out, Dottore’s hands groping your breasts. “I would- I would wait for you, or I would go w-without.”

He takes one of your nipples and pinches it roughly, giving it a twist. You gasp in response.

“Mm? Why?”

“Because I love you, because I- I want it to be with you.”

And now, above you, completely naked, he’s processing again. But then his signature smile spreads across his face, revealing his pearly teeth. It feels almost predatory to you, the rabbit caught between the jaws of the wolf. “I love you too, darling. You’re always going to be mine.”

He gives his cock a few pumps before spreading your folds with two fingers and aligning himself, repositioning as he does so that he’s truly on top of you. He sinks in slowly, methodically. You squeeze around him, eager to milk him for all he’s got.

“Perfect, so compatible,” He whispers. “Like an induced fit. Your pussy was made for me, doll.”

When he’s finally at the hilt, he draws out slightly, slamming his hips into yours. You feel his balls slap against your skin as your eyes roll back, seeing white. Sharp teeth gnaw at your neck, giving you the first of many marks to come.

He drags himself out again, lifting himself off you. “I bet it was hard, trying to keep everything in at the restaurant. How close did you come?”

He lets you answer before he resumes movement.

“Too close.” You say.

Dottore laughs airily, then pistons in again. His earring dangles above you, somehow mesmerising to watch as it sways with his tempo. You grab a fistful of his hair, to which he responds with moving to bite down on your neck, taking a moment to lick at your wound before speaking.

“Maybe next time you should sit on my lap. Would you like that? Having to resist the urge to rut yourself to completion on me like the little slut you are?”

Dottore starts to move faster, and you can barely respond with a breathy, “I don’t th-think Chi-Childe-“

“Maybe I should make more, even more of that underwear,” Dottore says, cutting you off at the mention of Childe’s name with a few harsh thrusts. “Have you wear it every day and risk cumming in your panties in front of every useless underling you come across as you moan my name. It might get a little embarrassing, but I think it would be worth it, no?”

“Dottore!” You squeal, feeling his cock hit a new angle inside you as it drags back and forth against your walls. His shaft is thick, and you can’t seem to stop clenching around it, desperate to create even more friction.

“Silly girl, that’s not an answer. Didn’t I train you better than that?”

Your eyes have went blank, and drool is pooling at your mouth.

All you can focus on is Dottore, and most notably the sensation in your core that he’s intensifying with every movement. It feels ridiculously hot inside of you, insides alight as you unconsciously buck into him.

“You’ve become so stupid on my cock that you can’t even answer a yes or no question,” He laughs. “Aren’t you going to thank your master for making you feel so good?”

“Thank-you, S-ir…” you whine out, noting how one of his hands is fondling your breast again. Your own hands move to his back, gripping down on him like you never want him to leave. Something tightens further inside of you. At this point, he’s moving rapidly, having found his rhythm. A true scientist, he’s watching your face for changes in your expression as he hits different parts of your insides with his cock, seeing what works and what doesn’t. When he finds the perfect angle, he stops drawing out so much and settles for shorter thrusts, watching eagerly as your eyes squeeze shut and listening as your moans grow louder.

“I’m going to breed you.” He hisses.

“Please,” You cry. “Please, please.”

There’s a tear running down the side of your face as his mouth meets the skin of your neck, sucking harshly. When he bites down, there’s finally the sensation of your cunt suddenly tightening and spasming around his shaft as it continues to pound into you for a good few seconds. He’s meticulous until the end, never growing sloppy even in the midst of his pleasure. When he’s about to cum he slams into you as hard as possible so he can be as deep as he can, and he empties his seed into your pussy with a grunt.

Your breathing starts to steady as you both come down from the high. Dottore stays in you for a while before pulling out, and he crawls over you to get off the bed so you can both go to the bathroom together.

That night, you sleep facing one another. You look at his unmasked face one last time before you drift off, and there’s a softness you’ve never seen before.

#il dottore x reader #yandere il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore #yandere genshin #tw murder #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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knifewieldingenby · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,789 times in 2021

308 posts created (17%)

1481 posts reblogged (83%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.8 posts.

I added 1,289 tags in 2021

#fanart - 326 posts

#nsft - 236 posts

#fanfic - 222 posts

#lex rambles - 151 posts

#geraskier fanfic - 129 posts

#lambden fanfic - 74 posts

#lambden - 56 posts

#aiden - 40 posts

#my writing - 34 posts

#fic ideas - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#but if you’re replying with angry hate-filled replies in posts that aren’t even about her this is the wrong blog for you

My Top Posts in 2021

Consider:

Aiden gently headbumps Lambert to show affection and love. Lambert has no idea why Aiden does it but it gives him butterflies so he just lets it happen and blushes every time. Until they’re at Kaer Morhen and someone else sees and is like “wow Aiden fell hard for you didn’t he?” and Lambert is just like “???!??!!?” *system shutdown noise*

409 notes • Posted 2021-01-13 18:04:53 GMT

(the rest under the cut cuz there are some longish fics)

hello!! I wish you would write the "drunk confession" trope pls. with modern au geraskier, is possible ❤️

Ask and you shall receive! It’s not that great but I tried lol, thanks for sending this in :) no warnings except a completely wasted geralt

“Fuck it all, you’re heavy,” Jaskier spat out. His arm wrapped around his best friend’s back and chest, a sad attempt to drag him up the stairs. Jaskier wasn’t weak by any means; he was more than used to lifting a whole human in the air when he pair-skated, but Geralt wasn’t a person. He was a fucking brick house with near-impenetrable walls, dead weight hanging off Jaskier like he didn’t even realize he was being dragged. Jaskier pulled one hand away carefully and quickly used his spare key to unlock Geralt’s apartment. He pulled the large man inside and just barely made it to the couch before his arms gave out and he dropped Geralt unceremoniously. In a perfect world he would have picked Geralt up bridal style, carried him lovingly to his bed, and tucked him in with a kiss.

This wasn’t a perfect world, though. Even if he could lift Geralt, the other man wouldn’t want him to. Geralt didn’t want him like that, never had, probably never would. It was a fantasy Jaskier would never see come to fruition.

“Do you need anything?” Jaskier asked. Geralt looked at him with glassy eyes half lidded and shook his head. “Bullshit. I’m getting you water.”

In the time it took him to fill a glass with water and get back to the living room, Geralt had tried to rid himself of his shirt and gotten it stuck on his head. Jaskier tsked, put the glass down, and helped unwrap the shirt from around his hair.

“Exactly how much did you have to drink?” Jaskier discarded the shirt and handed Geralt his water. He sniffed it and made a face.

“Thi-this isn’t alcohol.”

“I should hope not. Drink. And don’t dodge my question, mister!”

Geralt took a few sips and put the glass down. Jaskier was quite proud that he only spilled a little on himself in the process.

“I just had a little...bottle…”

“A whole bottle? Of what?”

“That...that apple moonshine?” Geralt was starting to tip over slowly, so Jaskier sat next to him on the couch and propped him up with his body. He was incensed by the fact that someone, one of Geralt’s damn brothers, let him get this drunk off shift when they were supposed to be cutting people off.

“And what possessed you to get this wasted, alone, on a Tuesday, when you have to work at noon tomorrow?”

“S’your fault.”

“My fault? I didn’t hold the bottle to your lips! Explain yourself.” Geralt stared at him with wide eyes now, and if Jaskier didn’t know better he’d say Geralt looked hurt. Emotions weren’t easy for Geralt. It had taken months before he’d even admitted that they were friends, years before he called Jaskier his best friend, and despite once drunkenly confessing to loving them, Geralt still wasn’t open to hugging him very often. It was a testament to the alcohol that Geralt looked him right in the eye and spoke the truth.

“You got engaged.”

Jaskier damn near broke his neck with how fast he whipped around to look at Geralt. “I...what?”

“Saw your post on facebook.” Upon seeing Jaskier’s blank stare Geralt sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “The ring, Jaskier. I saw your ring.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked down to the silver band on the ring finger of his right hand. He supposed, with the small gems embedded in the center, that it did look like it could be an engagement ring, but that still didn’t explain why Geralt was now plastered.

“Geralt, darling, it’s on the wrong hand.”

Geralt looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “But...you always said the gays put it on the right hand?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, some do. And you’re one of ‘the gays’, remember? Would you like your engagement ring on the right hand?”

“You’re not engaged?” Geralt ignored his question, eyes wide and...hopeful? No, now Jaskier was the one being hopeful. It never panned out well for him.

“No darling,” he said softly. “I’m not engaged. I still don’t understand why that would cause you to drink to excess. Were you upset that I wouldn’t tell you first?”

“No,” Geralt whined, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s just- I...I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Jaskier felt like his heart was pounding in his chest. All these years of secretly pining after Geralt, hoping desperately that the man would feel even an ounce of the love that Jaskier felt for him, and he’d completely missed it. Geralt had been pining too.

“We-we should have this discussion tomorrow. You’re drunk.”

“But I mean it,” Geralt said in what he thought was a whisper, but really it was more like a gentle shouting in Jaskier’s face. Jaskier placed his palm on Geralt’s cheek and stroked his thumb up and down. His best friend - his love - leaned into the touch.

“I know, dear heart. And I mean it when I say that tomorrow morning, after you’ve called out of work with a massive hangover, I promise I will tell you just how long and how much I love you.”

See the full post

418 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 14:28:32 GMT

Lambden headbutting/nuzzling, anyone? warning: slight sexual innuendos

Lambert was...confused. It wasn’t an emotion he felt often, and certainly not one he enjoyed feeling, so he tried his best to push it down and act natural. Of course, Aiden was a witcher; if anyone could see right through Lambert’s emotional walls it was him. He was nice though. He gave Lambert a pass, continuing on with the conversation as if Lambert hadn’t just frozen in place, hadn’t turned away to hide his blush.

It was all Aiden’s fault really. They were sitting in front of a fire, nestled close together with their knees touching ever so slightly, chowing down on cooked rabbit. Aiden had brought a small pouch of mixed spices on the road, something he’d acquired in Toussaint after the winter, and for once their dinner wasn’t bland. Lambert had told something close to a joke, maybe too gruff and sarcastic, but Aiden still laughed hard and then...and then. He leaned over into Lambert’s personal space and nudged him with his head. Maybe nudged was the wrong word. He nuzzled, lingered there for a minute with his forehead against Lambert’s bicep. And then he was gone, offering up a witty retort. And Lambert was left to try to remember how to swallow, lest he choke on rabbit.

It became a thing of theirs. On the road, when they were walking peacefully and Aiden was standing close; as they sat by the fire at night; in their room at the inn, when they laid down for bed. Those were the nights that had Lambert crawling out of his skin, when Aiden would turn to face his back or chest (whatever was right in front of him) and nuzzle his bare skin. It sent prickles down Lambert’s spine. He laid awake longer than normal those nights, listening to the wind against the building mingled with the soft, calming sound of Aiden’s slow heart beat. Trying to figure out what it all meant, or if it meant anything at all. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.

“Come with me,” Lambert whispered one night when Aiden curled up against his chest, half asleep. It probably wasn’t the best time to ask but Lambert was significantly less brave when it came to matters of the heart. Aiden stirred, unusually bright green eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“What was that, pup?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen. Winter with me.”

A lazy but fond smile stretched across his plush lips. “You really mean it? You want to introduce a bastard Cat to your brothers?”

“Fuck ‘em, it’s not about them.” It was mostly true - he couldn’t deny that the idea of his brothers approving of Aiden made his heart swell, but if they didn’t like Aiden, that was their problem. “It’s about...us.”

“Us?” Aiden smirked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Our friendship!” He said quickly. “We always meet up in the spring, and it’d be easier if I didn’t have to search for your sneaky ass.”

“You search for me, do you?” He was definitely fucking with him now, and Lambert shoved him gently.

“Quit dodging the question, kitty cat. Are you coming or not?”

“You tell me,” Aiden purred. He cackled at the blush that crept over Lambert’s cheeks. “Yes, of course I’m coming. About time you asked.”

“Okay. Well, that’s - okay.” Lambert willed his heart to settle down. Aiden silently curled up against him again, conversation over, and Lambert tried not to think much about it. Aiden flirted with everyone. On one memorable occasion he got so drunk he even flirted with a chair. It was just who he was. It meant nothing.

Then Aiden wrapped an arm around his waist and softly nuzzled his cheek back and forth over Lambert’s heart, making soft sighing noises until he slowed and eventually fell asleep.

Lambert didn’t sleep at all that night.

——

As expected, his brothers hadn’t been overly excited about meeting Aiden. They hadn’t been rude, at least, and if they stared at the two with curiosity Lambert chose to ignore it. His growing feelings for Aiden aside, he didn’t want Geralt and Eskel’s assumptions to make his friend uncomfortable.

Vesemir was less pleasant, displaying only as much politeness as was necessary to not piss Lambert off, but even he had a certain look in his eyes when Aiden got too close, too physically affectionate with Lambert. It wasn’t judgemental exactly. It still made him itch. Did he need to wear a sign that read “we’re just friends you fuckers”? He was strongly considering it.

“How do you tolerate the cold?” Aiden said one night after dinner. They sat around the hearth, a warm fire blazing, and even that didn’t seem enough for the Cat. He was used to traveling in warmer areas. Lambert could relate - the keep was often far too cold for his liking.

“At least you’ll be under your furs soon,” Eskel offered. Having bonded over which monsters they’d fucked in the past, they seemed on better terms. Geralt silently passed Aiden a bottle of liquor to warm him up.

“It’s cold there, too. Big empty bed with nobody to keep me warm,” he grumbled, downing a shot and passing the bottle back with a nod of thanks.

“Why don’t you sleep with me?”

Lambert regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. Geralt and Eskel both shot him looks, and even Vesemir, half asleep in a chair, raised his eyes curiously. Lambert could feel his cheeks burning.

Aiden ignored them all. “I’d love to, pup. You’re a furnace.” He stood and stretched, shirt riding up to reveal brown skin and a soft, dark trail of hair that disappeared below his waist line. Lambert pointedly looked away, aware that all eyes were on him. Lambert stood with him.

“Let me go grab my furs and I’ll meet you in your room.” Aiden leaned over and nuzzled him like he always did when they parted, whether for five days or five months. It was his thing. He flashed Lambert a gentle smile and left without another word.

“Well fuck,” Geralt snorted. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lambert snapped.

“Come on Lambert,” Eskel sighed deeply. “You’ve done a good job playing dumb until now, but you can’t hide it any longer. We all know what that head bumping thing means.”

See the full post

471 notes • Posted 2021-01-15 03:26:29 GMT

New picrew tag!

https://picrew.me/image_maker/678422

Tagging: @kueble @officerjennie @stinastar @bastardofmothman @anythinggoesfandoms

Edit: if you weren’t tagged and want to do it, GO FOR IT ILY!!!!

502 notes • Posted 2021-04-04 15:18:36 GMT

awkward encounters

The geraskier “first words your soulmates say to you are tattooed on your arm” trope, but Geralt and Jaskier both have some rather awkward words. warning: suggestively horny toward the end

tagging: @geraskier-trashh @honeysuckletook @kueble

-----

Jaskier was in his element. The room was warm, everyone too drunk to give much notice to their sweaty bodies. Jaskier was only vaguely aware of his own body, more in tune with the alcohol and his dancing partner. Priscilla laughed as she grabbed his hand and spun him around, dipping him dramatically with a wide smile. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling. He was at a club, buzzed and happy with his best friend. What could be better than this?

At one point in the night Priscilla pulled him close, pressed her lips to his ear, and said “that man keeps looking at you.” She pointed behind him and sure enough a man leaning against the bar kept stealing glances, although Jaskier noted that he also seemed to be staring intently at some place beyond Jaskier. He was...well, gorgeous almost didn’t seem like enough. His long white hair was pulled back in a high bun with a few strands falling over his face. He was built like a tank, all hard muscles accentuated by a tight black t-shirt and even tighter pants. Jaskier would blame the alcohol for how hard he ogled the man, but he had to admit that even sober Jaskier would be drooling at the sight of such a beautiful creature.

The man turned to say something to the bartender, an equally built man, and glanced back, though this time he looked irritated and was definitely trying to see around Jaskier. He shrugged and turned back to his best friend. An absolute God he may be, but he didn’t seem interested in Jaskier, and he had no intention of chasing a man tonight.

Drunk on vodka and euphoria, the gravelly voice suddenly loud in his ear made him jump.

“Move, baby slut.”

“Well fuck you too!” He shot back, whipping around to face his opponent. Something was nudging at the back of his head, trying to tell him something important, but his head was beginning to spin and his hip...why did his hip feel so hot? The man in question, the super hot man from the bar, let his irritation slip and stared at Jaskier with wide eyes.

“What?” Jaskier demanded.

“I-I need to apprehend someone. Please move. Except don’t - don’t go far. Stay.”

For some unknown reason Jaskier stepped out of the way but still obeyed, staying where he was. The man moved past him and he watched as he approached the sleazy man who’d been slinking around the club all night, leering at random women. The man grabbed him by the arm and wordlessly dragged him away, presumably to throw him out.

“Jaskier. Jaskier!” Priscilla snapped in his face.

“Fuck, I’m listening, what?”

“Your words! That man said your words.” She placed a hand on his right hip for emphasis and Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. That’s why his hip felt like it was burning. It was him.

His soulmate.

He didn’t have much time to process that before he felt a hand gently pat his arm and he spun around to face his soulmate. The man looked sheepish.

“Sorry about...that.”

“Which part?” Jaskier teased. To his great pleasure the man blushed, barely visible in the darkened room.

“Um, both I guess? For my behavior and- um, and the words.”

Jaskier laughed and pulled his shirt up, shorts slightly down, to reveal those words tattooed on his skin. He never minded them. His parents may have hated them but they always made him laugh.

“Oh, I don’t mind them so much! I should be apologizing for mine. That couldn’t have been a fun phrase to carry around with you.”

“It was...something. I kind of thought-” He cut himself off and looked down, embarrassed. He seemed like such a different man now, no longer the slightly intimidating, gruff man who’d watched him from the bar. He looked softer now. “I’m Geralt.”

“Geralt, it’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you. The name’s Jaskier.” On a whim he reached out and took Geralt’s hand. “Now, why don’t you finish that sentence.”

“...Fine. Come with me.” Geralt gripped his hand tighter and pulled him to an isolated part of the bar, close to the door the bartender entered and exited from. Jaskier felt like he probably shouldn’t be standing there but Geralt seemed at ease. “I kind of thought my soulmate would hate me. Because of the words.”

“Oh Geralt,” Without thinking, Jaskier placed his hand softly on Geralt’s cheek. Before he had time to worry that he’d overstepped Geralt was leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering. “I don’t hate you at all. I’m quite happy to have finally found the man who called me baby slut,” he laughed.

Again Geralt blushed, this time much deeper. “Your shorts…”

It was only then that Jaskier remembered the outfit he was wearing. A long-sleeved crop top, fishnet stockings, and tight shorts that read “baby slut” on the ass. They were a gag gift from Priscilla, and although Jaskier thought they were ridiculous he kept wearing them in the hopes that some random person would comment on them. He’d all but given up hope but kept wearing them because they made his ass look great.

“I didn’t realize you were looking,” he purred. Geralt was positively red by now.

See the full post

506 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 14:34:40 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #surprised my autistic geralt post didnt make the cut #this took forever to get cuz apparently chrome didn't want to show the button #firefox my beloved

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shortythescreen · 4 years

Text

Warning(s): NSFT/18+. Vaginal sex, semi exhibitionism? Corny porn plot.

Pairing(s): Crypto/Wattson.

Author’s Note(s): A commission for my lovely @dargonwolfeh! Had so much fun writing this continuation of their fic. My first ever fic with two canon characters together! Someone pinch me lol.

On paper, Crypto and Natalie are not living together.

They could file for it if they chose to. Could go the Apex Execs and tell them they needed one less suite. It might be the smart thing to do, considering Natalie never spends time in her own apartment anymore. Crypto’s hesitant to share his business with others, though. Especially the people he’s hellbent on taking down. Especially since the marketing team would surely publicize them as ‘star crossed lovers’ should they ever be placed on different squads in the arena.

So, they say nothing, even though everyone knows they live together. Everyone knows they’re a couple. Even if they themselves haven’t quite realized just how deep they’ve sunken.

Until now, anyway.

Crypto stares into his medicine cabinet, hand frozen on the little handle attached to the mirror. He’s not very particular about grooming himself. Mila Someone he knew before taught him that he needed to use a different soap for his face than he did his body and that’s… about the extent of his self-maintenance. He’s bought the same shaving cream, the same 2-in-1 hair and body soap, and the same face wash for… years.

Therefore, the bubblegum pink moisturizer tucked neatly against his shaving cream is definitely not his. Neither is the ‘normal to dry’ face wash, or the gummy women’s multivitamins. As a matter of fact, now that he looks at it more closely, a majority of the things in his medicine cabinet don’t belong to him. Awhile ago, he might have been bothered by that, but now…

The front door of his apartment swings open and shut and he doesn’t panic. Doesn’t think it’s the syndicate, come to arrest him because they know who he really is. He knows who just got home, who’s blabbing on the phone.

“Non, Octavio, not like that!” Natalie says. Crypto closes the cabinet, forgetting why he opened it the first place. When he sees his reflection, the dark dusting of stubble beginning on his jaw and his upper lip, he remembers. He decides he’ll say hello to his girlfriend before he takes care of that.

He takes a step away from the bathroom counter, peering out the open door of the bathroom. Natalie is shrugging out of her coat, holding her phone between her shoulder and her ear, the opposite hand cupping it to make sure it doesn’t slide as she strips out of her day clothes. Her sunny hair tumbles out of its hood as she does, the short locks brushing just beneath her ears, and his lips twitch up at the sight of it.

She turns and beams as she sees him. She finishes hanging up her coat, tossing it carelessly over the rack and lifting her head, holding one arm out to him. Shirtless, Crypto exits the bathroom, looping an arm across her shoulder blades to tug her close. He kisses her forehead in greeting.

“Salut, mon amour,” she mouths up at him. The grin fades from her features and her eyes turn towards the chatter coming from her phone. “Okay, well, that means you didn’t plug it in to the right port.”

Crypto loudly snorts, making Natalie press her lips together to hide a laugh. She presses a finger to her lips, silently shushing him. Those pretty blue eyes flicker over his chest, over the dark line of hair on his lower belly. He smirks at her, reaching up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, the rest of it falling over his knuckles.

The tips of his fingers dance down the side of her throat and Natalie shudders. She takes a step away, trying to put some distance between them.

Their match from last week flashes through his mind. She certainly hadn’t backed off him while he was trying to talk to Ajay. They were very lucky that she was distracted by the match – or that she was willing to turn a blind eye to their shenanigans. Though his expression stays neutral, Crypto snatches Natalie’s hips, pulling her close.

“Y-You’re working with an older model, Octavio, it’s not going to go as quickly as the newer one,” says Natalie, the little stutter at the beginning of her sentence making him quietly smirk. He dives down, licking a stripe up the same place his fingers were, and she shivers against him.

“If you want it to work, you have to have patience,” she continues as Crypto traces the band of her pants, all the way to the back. The prominent curve of her ass feels perfect in his palms and he squeezes, tugging at the stretch waist she wears.

Natalie always has a problem finding pants that fit. Her ass isn’t proportionate to her waist, sticking out further than any smaller size jeans would allow. She likes the stretchy ones for that reason and he’s grateful for that now, snapping the elastic band against her.

Natalie squeaks and Crypto backs her up, against the couch. Their legs knock as they move but when she finally hits the cushions, she falls into them with a plop. Her dark eyes twist up to him and, oh, for all she seems so sweet, he knows that look.

“Non, mon amie, I’m fine,” Natalie suddenly breathes, remembering Octavio is on the line. Her throat flexes and Crypto smirks, palming the bulge in his sweatpants. Her eyes blink to his crotch then back up to him, like she’s waiting for him to make a move. He has every intention to. “Uh-huh. Okay, well, let’s try this again.”

Crypto reaches down, manhandling her onto her knees. She hangs onto the back of the sofa with one hand, clutching her phone with white knuckles in the other. He grips those stretch pants, pulling them slowly down, and biting his lip at the way they stretch over that juicy round ass of hers. Natalie likes boxer briefs, especially ones with interesting patterns. Today, the underwear has bananas as they design, peeled or otherwise. The innuendo isn’t lost on Crypto and he snorts. Natalie glances over her shoulder with a sneaky grin.

“Cheeky,” he says, tugging those briefs down. Her pussy is perfect, pink and open and waiting for him, surrounded by golden curls, and Crypto’s mouth waters. She shivers as cool air caresses her and he’s right behind it, spitting onto two of his fingers. He holds her open with his opposite hand, fingers sinking into the pillowy flesh of her ass, spit dripping onto the couch as he presses his wet fingers against her.

“T-Then you just-” Natalie begins, and he can’t see her face, but the little hitch of her breath tells him all he needs to know as he pushes his fingers past her outer lips. They clutch her clit on either side, and he sees the muscles in her lower back clench. “Just plugitin.”

She chances a look over her shoulder once again and Crypto smirks. She’s so eager already, so ready to be fucked. He doesn’t have nearly as wild of a sex drive at Natalie – had to remind her during the first few times that foreplay’s important, that having her soaked and wet and trembling made it easier for him to fuck her to pieces. He’s tempted to remind her again, but he can already feel her cunt lubing up his fingers with every stroke of them against her. He should have known she was a little bit of an exhibitionist, sought a little thrill after she sucked the soul out of his dick in the arena.

Crypto pushes one finger up to the knuckle inside her and she squirms, clearly wanting more. He watches her, waiting.

“Oui, you put in the password? And it’s-” Her jaw drops as he slides a second finger in on one of his thrusts, stretching that sweet cunt. It hugs his fingers beautifully and the thought of having it on his dick instead makes Crypto bite his lower lip. Natalie thrusts her ass back into his palm, always greedy, always hungry for more. She’s so used to being on top, to riding him, fucking him open, and he can feel her trying to take control even though she’s the one vulnerable here. “I-It’s still not working?”

Her head drops as he pulls his fingers out, only tugging his sweats down low enough to free his cock. He slides his wet fingers up and down the length of it, before raising the same palm to spit in it once more. Natalie’s been like a bunny recently and Crypto thinks he should have had the foresight to hide some lune underneath the couch.

He didn’t, though, so he pumps himself, biting his lower lip, waiting until he can hear his fist moving along his shaft, until it sounds wet and sticky. He rolls back the foreskin, pressing the blunt head to her weeping hole. Natalie tenses all over and he peers up at the back of her head, waiting. When he doesn’t move, her head snaps towards him, and she gives him a glare that could turn blood cold. He chuckles, obliging her with a slow roll of his hips, seating his cock inside her.

Natalie bites her lower lip, hard, and he knows he’ll be able to see the indentation of her teeth in the pink skin later. He doesn’t care though, pulling her back onto his cock, careful not to clap his hips against her ass, even though he wants to.

“Octavio, listen, I-I just got home.” Lie. Crypto would smirk if he weren’t so entranced by the hot, velvety heat of her. She starts fucking herself onto his cock, hips driving back, and Crypto leans back, watching her work. “I will come and take a look later.”

She rests her forehead against her clenched fist, thighs scooting apart, giving her a wider range of motion. Her cunt makes white, creamy streaks on his dick and Crypto bites his tongue, driving forward. Natalie slams her fist against the back of the couch as he piledrives into her cunt, the blunt tip hitting that spot that he knows makes her see starts. “Oui! Ouiouioui, okay, au revoir!”

She tries to push herself up onto her forearms, tapping desperately at the end button on her phone. When it finally beeps, signifying Octavio can no longer hear her, she groans, low, and loud, and long, and the noise goes straight to Crypto’s dick. He mouths at her shoulder, moaning himself, grinding his cock hard and fast into her cunt.

“Crypto!” She gasps. He hooks an arm around her torso, grappling with one of her breasts through her top. She slips the hand that had been holding her phone down, feeling where they’re connecting. The noise he makes isn’t human, the fat of her ass quivering with every clap of his hips against hers.

She drags those fingers up, toying with her clit as he pinches a nipple through her top, and she moans something like his name. When he glances down, he sees sweat pulling in the small of her back and he sighs, biting her shoulder. He sinks himself down to the base and grinds his cock down, against that spongy spot he found with his fingers earlier. Her voice grows higher in pitch, fingers frantically moving on her clit, and Crypto shudders, closer, close, fuck, he’s so close-

“Crypto!” She yelps and without warning, her cunt constricts around him. His jaw drops, the scorching heat of her closing in. He thrusts his hips forward once, twice, before suddenly pulling out, grabbing his cock – fucking soaked, still attached to her cunt by a sticky trail – and jerks it frantically. He throws his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cums onto the globes of her ass.

They’re both panting, trying to catch their breaths. Her blonde hair somehow looks crazy, even though he hadn’t fucked with it the whole time she was on the phone. She looks over her shoulder at him, beautiful, gorgeous pink lips parted to suck in breaths of air.

“You… are mean,” she groans, flopping onto the couch. Crypto snorts, smirking at her.

“Karma is mean,” he says, nudging her over on the couch with a knee. He knows they’ll regret it later, that his spunk is smearing all over the cushions, but she looks so perfect, so fucked out. He squishes her into the couch, joining her.

“You liked what I did in the ring,” whines Natalie.

“And you didn’t like what I did just now?”

“That’s not what I said, mon amour,” she grumbles, turning to nuzzle into his chest. Crypto kisses the top of her head, looping an arm around her, and reaching up to ignore her phone as it starts to ring again.

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