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magicalbats · 1 year ago

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Flesh-Devouring Part 2

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 20,217

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, thigh grinding, mutual masturbation, belt spanking, some very mild violence (reader is mostly a helpless bystander nvxcnvde), a pinch of angst for spice

A/N: okay, I promise I’ll work on the next kinktober prompt now 🙈 and also we're just gonna' pretend Wriothesley has an actual belt somewhere on his person, I eyeballed the hell out of his official art and started to doubt myself buuuuuut I was already fully committed to the bit so dvdknvgkdngg

⭐

“Good morning, your grace!”

Looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, Wriothesley swivels his head around to watch you disembark from the elevator with a noticeably eager skip in your step. He quirks a brow at it and fully turns to greet you at your approach. “Good morning, little miss. You certainly seem to be in a good mood today.”

You can’t quite keep the smile off your face as you come to a stop in front of him, practically vibrating in your excitement. “Of course I am! Todays the day I finally get to meet with some of the inmates and get started on our new program, what else would I be?”

He smiles at that. “While your enthusiasm is quite commendable, I must remind you not to get your hopes up too much. The group that volunteered for this is a — mixed crowd, so to speak. I’m not exactly sure what sort of reaction you’re going to get.”

Drawing a stilted breath, you square your shoulders and give him a brief nod of understanding. You knew he was just being practical and realistic as always, but you felt good about this. Optimistic. You were positive your efforts would soon pay off in a very real, very tangible way, and at last justify all the grief you’d suffered at his hands just to get here. For weeks now you’d been meeting with him, discussing, planning, organizing and fine tuning a plan of implementation, all while wrestling with your own self control where the duke was concerned. There wasn’t any use denying that you liked kissing him a great deal. In fact, it seemed to be your new favorite activity, amongst other, less wholesome things …

Even now you could feel the urge to go up on your tiptoes so you could tug him down to your level threatening to overpower your common sense, but there were much more important matters at hand. You’d told yourself this over and over again, repeating it like a mantra to steel your resolve and keep your mind focused on matters of business instead of giving in, and it was going to pay off. Today. Here and now. You could feel it.

“I understand, your grace. I will make sure to keep my expectations appropriately tempered.”

Wriothesley looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he relents without further pressing you on it. His boots sound impossibly heavy on the steel plated flooring as he half turns, motioning you ahead. “Let’s be off then. Did you bring everything you need?”

“Yes, your grace.” Clutching your worn leather carry case in hand, you fall into step beside him as he leads you down the long winding corridor.

The Fortress of Meropide is somehow both stuffy and chilly at the same, the air thick but infused with the cool temperature bleeding in off the water that surrounds it. You’d learned your lesson the first time you came here (in more ways than one) and had opted for a light jumper over your blouse to stave off the ever present note of cold which you could take off if you got too warm. That seemed like a not far off possibility when you were internally quaking with nerves, both eager and anxious, but for now at least you just keep your attention on him while he gives you a brief rundown of who was supposedly going to show up for this little meeting he’d arranged for you.

Sixteen inmates had signed up. Not even half of that number were finished with their sentences, the vast majority still actively serving time, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed about that. You’d of course hoped to give those who had made the conscious decision to stay at Meropide a chance to reconsider integrating back into overworld society but you try to remind yourself that this was only the first preliminary phase of a much greater project. If things went well today, there would be plenty of time to work with the others.

“Ah, and before I forget.” He says, sending you a meaningful look. “Someone by the name of George should be in attendance, if he bothers to show up. He’s a little rough around the edges but don’t let what he says get under your skin. He’s had his sentence extended twice now and as I’m sure you can imagine he’s a bit grumpy about that.”

“Understood.” You give the clutch of your bag a fierce squeeze. “May I ask why?”

Wriothesley thinks that over for a beat. “The first time was due to excessive fighting outside of the regulated channels. We have a three strikes policy here, as I’ve mentioned before. I suspect he was trying to assert himself as the top dog in his block but he ran into a bit more opposition than he was expecting, so he had to start using his fists instead.”

“And the other?”

“He tried to take one of the sponsor representatives hostage and use her as a bargaining chip.”

Your eyes go big. “Oh.”

Smiling one of those rare but incredibly flattering genuine smiles, he reaches out to lightly nudge your elbow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time to keep everything under control and make sure nobody gets out of hand but the ball will be in your court, little miss. I’m just your guard dog today.”

You hate the way fluster slowly creeps up your neck but you valiantly stamp it back down as you shyly avert your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you, your grace. I … I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“I know you do. But don’t thank me just yet. Wait until after we see what kind of response you get.”

That gentle warning niggles at the back of your mind like the tickling whisper of sharp claws brushing your skin, and your stomach gives a little flip. You were nervous to meet with them face to face despite being excited to get started. Working in the public affairs office and spending most of your time at a desk didn’t exactly prepare you for hands-on encounters such as this, but between your unfaltering conviction and Wriothesley’s ever present cool demeanor at your side you keep your head held high.

Up a short flight of metal steps and down another steel plated hall, you find yourself stepping into a small room that, based on the rickety old tables tightly packed into the cramped space, looked like it was perhaps largely used as a card room. You can’t help but feel a dull rush of relief at finding it yet unoccupied by anyone. Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reach out to snag Wriothesley’s sleeve and he sedately turns to look down at you.

Shuffling closer until you were practically pressed right up against him, you offer him an imploring look as you go up on your toes. “Your grace …?”

Something distantly sparks in his eyes and, humming softly, he carefully bends down to press his mouth to yours in an altogether chaste kiss. But even for as innocent as it is — not nearly as heated as some of the kisses you’d exchanged with him in recent memory — it still inspires a flood of warmth in you that races down your body. Sighing softly, you lean further into him and give yourself over to the stilted, hard press of his lips on yours.

It lasts for only a brief moment though, and your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Don’t be scared.” He tells you quietly, so gently it makes your heart wrench.

“I’m not scared, just … nervous, is all. I think.”

Humming quietly, he gives you another quick, lingering kiss that makes your bottom lip warble against your will. “You’ll do great. I know you will, but even if you should happen to fall I’ll be right there to catch you. Just like always, right?”

Your face was quickly starting to become unbearably hot. Oh, how you wanted him so badly, even if he was the most confounding, frustrating man you’d ever met. “Will — will you have me later? When we’re done …?”

Wriothesley goes still, just looking at you for a drawn out moment, but you’re a little too embarrassed to be saying something so shameful out loud to meet his gaze anymore. Flutteringly, your hand comes up to anxiously tug at the fur collar of his coat under the guise of straightening it for him, even though you really wanted to use it to tug him in against you.

Finally, at length, he draws a carefully tempered breath. “How do you want me to have you, little miss?”

The violent shudder that abruptly tears through you almost has you going cross eyed. “I - I’m not sure, I just … I feel like such a mess inside and everything is confusing, and I don’t know what it is exactly but I want you to — to - -“

“Oh, sweet girl,” He exhales slowly, and you jolt when one of his hands finds your hip. Giving it a tight, possessive squeeze to make you tremble, he drags that oppressive palm further back and around to grab a pinching handful of your ass. “Do you need me to ground you in place? Is that what you’re asking me for? Huh?”

You sway unsteadily, feeling terribly faint when it seemed as if you were being smothered under his weighty presence. The heavy, rough calloused hand gripping your backside through the seat of your pants, the body heat bleeding off of him in waves to settle into you; the smell of him swarming your senses to settle on the back of your tongue and leave the masculine taste you’d come to recognize solely as the duke’s cloying in your throat. It was all too much.

Much, much too much.

Whimpering softly, you force your attention up to look in his face, still hovering mere millimeters from yours even when doing so proves to be quite the struggle. “Yes.” It’s little more than a faint whisper. “I want … I need you to reorient me. It feels like I’m — lost out at sea. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

With a barely audible, rumbling growl, Wriothesley closes his fingers around the meat of your ass hard enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. “You need your head cleared so you can focus all that energy you have where it belongs. I’ll give you that outlet, as much as you require it. I have no problem giving you a guiding hand, little miss. You know that.”

Your mouth warbles in a jittery smile, unable to keep it at a bay even when you try very hard to stop it from spreading across your face. You didn’t fully understand it yourself, what you were asking for or what you needed. All you’d seemed to grasp over the short time you’d known him was that Wriothesley made you feel good. Almost inexplicably so. Even when he was being infuriating and condescending towards you, even when he’d give your poor bottom a handful of stinging swats at the first sign of attitude to remind you to behave yourself, it still didn’t detract from this flutter low in your gut. There was something deeply gratifying about being with him like this, in this particular dynamic, and for as little as you know what to make of any of it, he seems to know exactly what it is you instinctively crave from him. Why you keep seeking him out this way.

The sapphires in his eyes shutter with what you’re starting to recognize as desire in his otherwise implacable facade and he leans in again, issuing an anticipatory breath into the scant space separating you. His mouth finds yours, as sure as any compass points north, drawing a threadbare moan from the depths of your shuddering gut. You lean into him, lips carefully parting to kiss him back, and — the shuffling sound of heavy approaching footsteps echoing off the metal walls has you wrenching back from him so fast your head spins.

Eyes going impossibly wide, you quickly slap him away in your fluster and rush to extricate yourself from his person. Chuckling softly, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about being caught in such a compromising situation, Wriothesley lets you go, but not without a playful swat to your ass when you move to brush past him. You yelp at the mild sting but keep your attention ahead as you hurry over to deposit your bag on one of the tables so you can dig in it and give your racing heart a chance to calm down. Even now you somehow manage to be surprised at how utterly unapologetic he was about everything!

Forcing your lungs to expand on a deep, steadying breath, you listen to the approaching shuffle behind you until an unmistakable shift of occupancy in the cramped room indicated that you were no longer alone with the duke. You keep your head down just a moment longer, both to ensure you had your expression under control and to also listen to the way Wriothesley amicably greets the inmates. You’d never gotten to see him interact with them before and, rather than coming off like the strict, hardass warden you’d had a first impression of, he almost seems to talk to them like they were … friends? Or at least on friendly terms with each other.

Could it really be that you were the only one unlucky (or lucky, depending on how you looked at it) enough to bring out that side of him? But why would that be …?

Slowly, more people start to drift in and you have to make a concerted effort to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind so you can stay focused on what really matters. You take your time neatly organizing your stacks of papers, the forms you’d carefully composed on the typewriter in the affairs office, and make a concerted effort to greet everyone with a smile when they move away from the duke to find their seats. Some of them are rather friendly when they respond, but others simply look at you without a single word and not so much as a backwards glance. No matter, though. You didn’t exactly come here to make friends.

All in all, only seven inmates show up. A pair of shady looking brothers, one woman and the rest are men who just disinterestedly eye you up and down with varying levels of annoyance reflecting in their eyes. You can’t quite shake the feeling that they’d expected someone a bit more impressive than the slight, eager-faced woman wearing a jumper and slacks standing before them now, and it probably didn’t help that you looked downright diminutive standing next to Wriothesley either. Oh, well. You were just going to have to try and make the best of it.

“Hello, everyone,” You chirp, a little higher in pitch than you’d intended thanks to your jittery nerves. “It looks like we won’t be getting anyone else today, so let’s get started. I’m very excited to be working with all of you.”

Resounding, echoing silence and a wall of blank stares.

You waver slightly, but recover admirably. “I’m from the office of public affairs, and recently I’ve been working with his grace here to come up with programs for the prison that can help or otherwise enrich the lives of the inmates here. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come see me, and I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to speak freely. This preliminary meeting is first and foremost going to function as a feeler so we can get an idea of what sort of activities you'd like to see offered at the prison in the future.”

More silence. More staring.

You can feel your face starting to grow warm even though you’ve also broken out into a cold sweat, and you flounder for something else to say. Far be it that you’d expected them to jump for joy and lift you in the air over their heads in celebration or anything as preposterous as that, but you had anticipated at least some kind of response. What were you supposed to do when they wouldn’t even speak so much as a single word to you? It’s not like you could get anything of worth out of this if you were the only one talking.

Suddenly, Wriothesley shifts beside you and the soft creak of his boots makes your pulse nervously jump. “I expect all of you to show our guest some respect today. I'm not sure why you would sign up for this if you had no intention of participating, so let’s get it in gear. If you have something to say, now is your chance to say it.”

The brothers sitting nearest to you bend their heads close and exchange a quick, muffled conversation between themselves, but you’re a little too rattled by the tone of Wriothesley’s voice to make out what they’re saying. Ah, so it wasn’t just you then. Good to know.

“What sort of activities are we talking here?” One of the men in the rear suddenly speaks up, snapping your attention back into the present.

“O - oh, yes. We were thinking things like trade skills and daily lifestyle necessities that could give you a better sense of independence while you’re here. Things like sewing or cooking, or - -“

“Why would we need any of that?” The only other woman in the room chimes in. “Meropide works just fine as is and the system already in place provides us with all of that.”

“Well, yes, but - -“

“Yeah, what do I need to know sewing for when I could just as easily pass it off to someone who already knows how to do it?” One of the brothers, the larger and seemingly more cantankerous of the two, adds on, making you pull your mouth into a firm line.

“That’s exactly why.” You assert in an equally firm voice. “The prison’s internal functionality works like a well oiled machine, doesn’t it? Why want for anything else when everything is already right where it needs to be. Just like cogs, everyone fits into their role and they fit it well. You all keep Meropide running as it should, there’s no doubt about that. But each and every one of you has a life beyond the role you take on here. You aren’t just cogs, and you aren’t just part of the greater machine. I want to give you a chance to be independent of that clockwork, even if it’s only for an hour or two each day, and remind you that there’s still something beyond these tin walls.”

You draw a steadying breath, carefully taking in the faces sitting before you. It looked like a few of them were starting to come around, or were at least curious enough to actually hear you out now, and that bolsters your courage by some margin. You could do this. You would.

“I know how easy it is to get comfortable with the lifestyle here. His grace has taken the time to explain to me in great detail the ins and outs of the prison, how everyone lives on a schedule, what freedoms you’re allotted and what has restricted access. I’m aware that there is a great deal of self governing here in the fortress, which is precisely why I want to give you all an opportunity to deviate from that routine. It might be fun, right? Having a little bit of your old life back?”

A few looks are exchanged between some of the inmates, a soft murmur rising up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. Next to you, Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh before moving back to lean against the wall, leaving you feeling strangely alone and exposed standing there by yourself. You shoot him a quick, harried glance over your shoulder but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his chin at the small congregation. When you turn back around, you’re more than a little surprised to find the other woman leaning towards you in obvious interest.

“I always wanted to be a seamstress some day.” She abruptly announces, startling you slightly. “My mother taught me when I was younger, but I never got a chance to really hone the skill. Is that really something you could arrange?”

You swallow your nerves, hearing Wriothesley’s reminder not to get your hopes up in the back of your mind, but it was so hard not to when she was looking at you like that. You wanted to help her. More than anything else, you just wanted to give them something more to live for.

“I believe we can. His grace and I have already reached out to a few businesses, and a few of them have expressed willingness to volunteer their services to the prison. I’m sure if everything goes well and word of mouth starts to spread, we could convince others to do the same as well.”

“I did always want to be a chef.” The larger brother admits somewhat sheepishly, and you smile. You couldn’t help it.

This was really working.

It doesn’t take long to have a full dialogue going after that. Even with the one or two stragglers still wary and uncertain about introducing any real changes to the system the overall reception seems to be resoundingly positive. You talk with them, discussing what they’d like to do, what they’d like to potentially see implemented, and through it all Wriothesley just hangs back against the wall, watching over everything like a silent sentry just at your back. He even stays true to his word and lets you be in charge even when tempers seem to flare up in disagreement every so often instead of snatching the reins from you at the first sign of trouble. All it takes is a sharp look from him or a low word of warning, and everyone grudgingly settles back down, which was not something you’d expected to relate so much with them about but you do. It almost feels like a strange sense of solidarity in a way, and you were immensely glad to have him on your side like this.

Everything goes so well, in fact, that by the time a real problem raises its head, you almost overlook it completely. The man in the far back corner hadn’t said much at all over the course of the last hour and some change, but you’d felt his burning gaze on you the whole time. He appeared to be the most opposed to the program you’d presented to the group, but you hadn’t been able to squeeze the reason out of him yet which is why you eventually defer to your hand typed forms. You’d thought it would be a good idea to have them put their thoughts down in writing in case they felt too shy to say it out loud, and you hoped your careful planning would pay off in this.

You’re in the process of handing out the papers to everyone along with the pencils you’d brought along, slowly making your way over to him last, and he tips his head back as if in challenge at your approach. You had a sneaking suspicion who he was, of course, but you still offer him a cheerful smile as you move closer.

“I know you haven’t said much today, but I hope you’ll share any thoughts you have on the form. It’s really helpful to have different perspectives on things like this.” You tell him, holding out the sheet.

“Can’t write.” He rumbles, making your hand falter.

“Oh.” You hadn’t even considered that being a possibility. “I - I’m sorry. Maybe we could see about starting up classes so you can - -“

“Don’t want em’”

You blink at him owlishly, trying to make sense of his surly attitude, but Wriothesley calls over from the other side of the room before you can think of something to say. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not going to give you another warning.”

Ah. So your suspicions were correct.

You start to pull back, decidedly unnerved by the way he clearly wants nothing at all to do with you, but then you see the look that flashes across his eyes. Like a street hardened dog that was ready to bite in retaliation. You almost hate yourself for it, but your heart irreparably softens and you turn your head to send Wriothesley a reassuring look. “It’s alright, your grace. I don’t mind.”

He begins to open his mouth to say something but you whip your head back around, speaking before he can further insert himself into the conversation.

“Please don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know not all of us have been given the same kind of opportunities in life. Where are you from, George?”

The grizzled man sends you a slow look, the muscles in his jaw working with what you think is probably irritation, but you refuse to back down or give up on him. He was still a person deserving of respect and dignity no matter how much he might hate you.

“Fleuve Cendre.” He says at length, and you feel a distant twang of understanding in the back of your mind. The underground sewer systems in the Court of Fontaine were not always the best place to grow up so it made sense, in a way.

“I see. Well, if you’re at all interested I can make every effort to arrange for someone to come teach you how to write, or maybe I could even do it myself. Does that sound like a good idea?”

He suddenly leans forward in his chair, getting right in your face, and it takes everything you have not to go scuttling back though you do give a startled jerk in surprise. “Not a chance! I don’t want your stinking charity, lady!” He practically spits at you, vitriolic and full of malice.

“Charity?” You incredulously echo him, but he reaches out to viciously grab your wrist before you can think of anything else to say.

“That’s right! You think I need you looking down on me or something? How about I tell you exactly where you can shove it instead!”

You open your mouth to say — what, you don’t know, but a shift of motion in your peripheral stops you in your tracks. Snapping your head up, you’re not the least bit surprised to find Wriothesley quickly closing the distance with long, purposeful strides, but it still horrifies you and your heart promptly jackhammers straight up into your throat.

“Wait!” You shriek, holding your uncaptured arm out as if to stop him. Like you even could. He’s like a solid wall moving towards you and you could already see how this was going to play out, your eyes going round as saucers seconds before a violent wrench on your arm takes you right off your feet.

In a sudden rush of movement that you can’t even begin to process or comprehend, you abruptly find yourself pinned to the front of George who’s shot up out of his seat. Wriothesley comes to an immediate halt, just short of being within arms reach, and you stare up at him in unseeing disbelief as George shuffles back to press himself into the corner, using you like a shield. You’re distantly aware of an eruption of chaos in the rest of the room, likely a result of everyone rushing to get out of the way, chairs loudly scraping and clattering against the floor, but you feel strangely numb to it all.

The only thing you can manage to think at that moment is that you were going to be in so much trouble once everything was said and done.

“Don’t touch me, you bastard aristocrat!”

“Wha — h - hold on a minute!” You squawk, feet kicking uselessly at the floor in a blind attempt to find some traction. It’s no use though, and your shoes just slip and slide against the papers you’d dropped in the shuffle.

“I thought we already went over this, George. You know taking hostages isn’t going to get you anywhere except straight into solitary.” Wriothesley intones, and the surprisingly calm, leveled quality of his voice surprises you slightly, prompting you to bring your head back up. But the look you find in his face, the icy heat curling in his eyes, is anything but tranquil, and your stomach twists in dread.

You’d never seen him look like that before … like he could really kill someone.

“I don’t want to hear it!” George snaps, nervously clutching you against him — as if you were going to stop anything! “I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of all of you! Always looking down on me like I’m less than dirt!”

“No one is looking down on you.” Wriothesley says, clearly trying to reason with him. “Just calm down and let her go. I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, and I’m sure having your sentence extended didn’t help with that, but this is only going to make things worse for you in the long run. You can’t bargain your way out of this.”

“Maybe so, but I could kill her!”

“You what!” You shriek, nails sinking into the arm pinned across your front, but they both summarily ignore you.

“That’d show you not to mess with me!” George continues on. “I’m serious, you know! I’ll do it!”

“And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” Wriothesley shoots right back. “If you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life in Meropide you don’t have to do this to accomplish that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Dammit, I want out of here! I can’t stand this place! No sun, no fresh air, no sky! It feels like I’m going crazy down here!”

“Then let her go. You still have a chance to return to the surface someday and you’ll get to see the sky as much as you want then, but that’s not going to happen if you keep this up. If you extend your sentence much further, you’re just going to seal your own fate. Permanently.”

That actually seems to give him pause, and you hold your breath in anticipation of the pin dropping even when your chest strains and aches in protest. You almost didn’t dare to hope that he would actually listen to reason when you were viscerally aware of all the impotent rage and unrealized frustration coursing through his body, making him shake against you. It didn’t appear to be a bluff, at least not where you were standing. You think he really could kill you if pushed far enough, but … slowly, his hold on you eventually starts to relax.

“I don’t want to be trapped under the ocean for the rest of my life …” He murmurs, a brief glimpse of cognizance returning to him after that manic flash.

“Then hand the young lady over to me and let’s be done with it. I think this has gone on long enough, George.”

Carefully reaching out for you, Wriothesley takes a step forward. His ability to stay cool and collected even in a situation like this surprises you a great deal, of course, but you find some amount of comfort in his unflappable demeanor. It helps you stay calm, in as much as you’re able to at least, and a dull wave of relief washes over you when George reluctantly pushes you away from himself, shoving you straight into Wriothesley’s waiting arm.

You almost don’t believe it as his hand grabs around your waist and tightly gathers you up against him, angling you further from the inmate. It felt like you were dreaming. Numb to everything that had happened over the last few inexplicably short moments, you turn in his hold just in time to watch Wriothesley snag George’s wrist before he can pull it back all the way.

And just like that, he snaps the bone with one solid twist.

The sickening crack! that rings out makes your stomach lurch up into your throat.

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

Slamming Wriothesley’s office door open hard enough to make it bang against the interior wall, you storm inside so mad you could just scream!

He comes in behind you at a leisurely pace just a moment later, taking his time to close and lock it, but you’re a little too caught up in the absolutely blinding surge of anger you’re trying to wrestle with to question it. Seething viciously, you start to pace the perimeter of the room. It’s all you can think to do. You wanted to scream at him, kick him, slap him, spit at him! What was wrong with this man that he would ever think that kind of violence was okay?

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks you, just standing there in the doorway watching you stomp around his office as if it were a perfectly normal sight to see. That evenly tempered, almost blase tone of his voice just makes you see red though, and you finally round on him with a wordless shriek.

“Why did you do that to him?”

“He was dangerous.” Wriothesley says it like it should have been obvious. “I think he made that quite clear, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter! He’d already let me go, you didn’t need to hurt him like that! It was just excessive at that point, you damn brute!”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn't still hurt you. You’re not stupid, little miss. I know you’re aware of just how differently that could have played out if he hadn’t listened to me, and I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind and having the means to lash out. You’re acting like I killed the poor guy.”

You couldn’t seem to process his logic and, with no other choice, you return to your fitful pacing. “I don’t understand you. It doesn’t even make any sense. You say you care about your inmates but then you turn around and do something like that?”

“I care about you too.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slowly turn to look back at him again. The chill that creeps over you is suffocating, threatening to choke you up on the spot. “No. Do not do that. Not right now!”

“But it’s true.”

“I don’t care if it’s true!” You shout, impulsively closing the distance so you can jab your finger into the center of his chest. “You broke that man’s wrist, your grace! That was uncalled for! If you cared about him, or the others, or me you wouldn’t have done something so — so unnecessarily violent! He was just … he was just scared, is all. I think.”

Wriothesley reaches up to carefully take your hand off him and you flinch at the contact but still let him do it because … because you don’t know why. You’re well aware you should be yanking out of his hold like he’d scalded you, skin crawling at just the touch of those rough worn fingers, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do that right now. Not when it felt like you were moments away from shattering to pieces right there in his office.

“You think?”

“I don’t know. Not really, but … he could have hurt me if he wanted to, right? But he didn’t. He only used me like a shield because you were coming, and he panicked. I can’t really blame him for that. I’d be scared too.”

“I bet.” He murmurs, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the backs of your loosely curled knuckles. Grimacing at the gesture, unable to reconcile it in your mind — this soft version of the duke and the brutal prison warden — and you quickly look away. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how I handled the situation. I probably did frighten you, and you have my sincerest apologies for that as well, little miss. But you have to understand that I was protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” You seethe. “Least of all like that!”

“Be that as it may, I still did what needed to be done. I already told you once, didn’t I? I’m your guard dog. You were in danger and I acted accordingly. It’s not fair of you to be so upset with me when I was only doing my job.”

“But there must have been another way - -“

“There wasn’t. Believing any different is just naive and childish. You need to let go of this little fantasy you have that everything can be solved peacefully if you’re just nice enough. That’s not how the real world works.”

You jerk your attention up with a low snarl, but he just looks at you with the same unreadable expression as always. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, nor did he feel any real regret for what he’d done. Not only that but he would have done it again without a second's hesitation. You could see it in his face, clear as day. He may as well have been saying it out loud for as little he tries to hide it.

“It doesn’t work with violence either.” You finally rattle out, shaking in his hold.

“I’d say my methods are a bit more effective than yours. You’re safe, aren’t you? If anything, you should be thanking me.”

Your pulse spikes as you wrench your hand free and slap him as hard as you can, popping him right across the mouth. Wriothesley doesn’t even flinch and that just makes you angrier. Going up on the tips of your toes to get as close to him as you’re able to, you hiss at him with every bit of vitriol you can muster. “Is that thanks enough for you, your grace?”

Terse silence descends over the room, interspersed only by your heavy breathing. At length, he finally draws a short, clipped breath.

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to apologize for doing that. I do hope you make the right decision.”

Veins turning icy, you bring your hands up to shove at his chest and push yourself away. “You wouldn’t dare. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at you I could just - -“

He’s on you in an instant.

For someone so big he certainly moves quick, and you barely have enough time to suck in a ragged, gasping breath of air as he roughly grabs under your arms and hauls you right up off your feet. The sudden rush of movement makes you nauseous, your stomach flipping end over end. Throwing your head back, you suck in a mouthful of air to scream.

Wriothesley abruptly drops you back down to the floor before you can follow through and the sudden impact makes sharp, splintering pain race up your legs. That split second hesitation on your part is all he needs to get a hand over your mouth and your eyes go big in wild terror as he all but drags you by the back of your jumper towards the chaise lounge against the far wall. You wrench against his hold like a trapped animal, desperate and mindless as you shriek behind his palm, but the sound comes out muffled. Distant. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop it as he pulls you over and plops down on the cushions before yanking you down to kneel between his feet.

You wince at the way your knees slam against the unforgiving ground but you don’t get a chance to fully process the hurt. He bends over you and reaches back to grab the back of your pants, using them to yank you up and brace you over his thigh. His hand stays locked around your mouth though, making it hard to breathe when you were sucking in quick, panicked gasps, one right after another as you frantically try to shove at him.

His hand abruptly cracks across your ass with enough force to leave you seeing stars, and you wordlessly shriek into his palm. Winded and lurching, you instinctively try to angle away from him but the way he’s got you trapped between his legs makes it impossible to get very far. He hits you again, right on the mark, and hot tears immediately rush up to flood your eyes. Wailing in pain and impotent frustration now, you blindly reach up to shove at his arm.

Wriothesley’s fingers just tighten around the lower half of your face though, securing his hold on you, while the other hand continues to rain down on your bottom in quick, blistering succession. Even through your pants it makes your toes curl achingly tight as you writhe there on the floor, rocking against his leg with each punishing blow.

You couldn’t believe him, doing this to you in a situation like this! It was one thing when you were being bratty or stubborn, or hardheaded, and you’d even come to rather enjoy those intimate sessions with him in which he’d gradually break you down piece by piece before building you back up into a whole, complete person again. It was strangely relaxing, comforting even. Therapeutic. But this was something else entirely. You were mad for a good reason. You’d hit him for a good reason! It wasn’t fair that he could spank your ass red and raw, but you couldn’t even slap him once without incurring his wrath.

So caught up in the tumultuous surge of emotions assaulting you all at once, you almost don’t realize when the tears start tracking down your face. They burn against your heated skin and pool in the seam where his hand is sealed over your face from the nose down, gathering there before eventually dribbling over his blunt knuckles. He has to feel it, has to know you’re crying, practically sobbing, but still he doesn’t stop. He just keeps spanking you, again and again, again, until the throbbing pain scorching across your defenseless backside seems to reach incomprehensible levels that have you struggling just to think through it.

And you try to, desperate to cling to your anger and your fear, the betrayal you’d felt when he broke that poor man’s wrist right in front of your very eyes with hardly any effort at all to show for it. You hadn’t thought him capable. Even now when he was lighting your ass up it seemed like an entirely inconceivable notion for him to be capable of that level of cruelty. But it’s next to impossible to hold onto any of those thoughts or feelings when you were so swept up in the pulsing thrum of hurt he’s inflicting on you and slowly, ever so slowly, your mind starts to go blank.

Evidently feeling you go lax against his knee in acceptance, Wriothesley’s voice starts to drift over you and it seamlessly penetrates the fog hanging over your head to dig straight into your brain. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “But I have to say,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “I’m actually rather impressed you had the guts to do that,” whap, whap, whap, whap “I suppose that’s why I like you so much though,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “You're so damn bullheaded you just don’t know when to quit.”

Groaning deliriously into the meat of his hand, you mechanically bring your hand down to clutch his pant leg in a death grip while the other blindly stretches back as if to protect yourself from his strikes. He pauses above you as your trembling fingers creep across your bottom, drawing a clipped, mildly annoyed breath.

“Move your hand.”

You wail something that might have been a ‘no!’, incomprehensibly muffled, and he clicks his tongue at the petulance.

“Don’t test my patience with you any further, little girl. You have no idea just how much I can really make it hurt if you want to be cute.”

Noising a sound of surprised confusion, you hastily retract your hand in favor of shoving it up against his stomach and pushing at him with renewed determination, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Leaning forward, he reaches down the front of your body to fumble with the buttons on your pants. You squeal a muffled protest and try to angle away again to no avail. It takes him a prolonged moment to get them with the use of only one hand, but eventually he has your slacks undone and he starts to roughly shove them down your quaking thighs.

“You know,” He says almost conversationally, as calm as ever while your internal panic was just ratcheting higher and higher. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, so let me explain something to you. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and somehow you always seem to consistently pick the wrong choice. I don’t mind so much that you’re upset with me. I still don’t think that was very fair of you, but you’re entitled to your own opinion. I’m certainly not trying to take that away from you.”

He’s finally got your pants bunched around your knees but, rather than spanking you over your panties next, he instead starts to yank those down too. A violent shudder tears through you at the implication, the suggestion, your blood running so hot for him it has you swaying there on the floor even as you give your head a weak shake. If he was skipping the usual buildup then he must have been rather upset with you indeed.

“But as always you get too carried away. You won’t stop until you push me enough to end up over my knee, getting your butt spanked like a child.” He swats your bare ass for emphasis, making you shriek and sob at the pulsing sting as much as the resulting jiggle it causes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Huh?”

You nod your head frantically, noising behind his hand, and Wriothesley gives your face a dull squeeze of warning.

“I’m going to take my hand away but I promise if you scream you’re going to find yourself getting hit with something much worse than a hairbrush, do you understand me?”

Another nod, even more wild than the last.

Slowly, his fingers loosen and then tentatively fall away, leaving you to gasp wretchedly at the flood of fresh air. You slump against him and try to catch your breath, wet little hiccups making your back bow. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have hit you!”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Forcibly pulling yourself up even though it hurts to do so, you twist on your knees to peer up at him. Your lower lip promptly wobbles when you see the hard way he’s looking at you but you just sniffle and reach up to wipe at your tear stained face. “You made me so mad! And you never take me seriously! I tell you something and it seems like you always just brush me off!”

Wriothesley watches you shake and heave for a drawn out moment before sedately slouching down, elbows shifting forward to brace against his knees so he can lean over you. The gesture makes you feel so incredibly small and insignificant, a borderline hysterical sob bursting out of your mouth which you quickly cover with your hand. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but he just hovers over you like that in complete and utter silence until the shudders wracking through you get too uncontrollable and you start to sway dizzily on the floor.

His nearest hand finds your back and smooths over it in comforting circles, wrinkling your jumper in the process. Sucking in a thin, gasping breath, you instinctively rock forward as if to heave but all you do is cough like some sad, pathetic broken little thing.

“Calm down,” He murmurs, giving your trembling shoulders a firm pat. “You’re going to make yourself sick carrying on like that. Will you listen to me?”

Sniveling, you blink through the thick sheen of tears making your vision swim and nod your head with a faint whimper. His hand stills on your back, keeping you in place as he leans further down to your level and tips his head so he can see your face.

“I wasn’t brushing you off. I understand why that upset you and I’m nothing if not sympathetic. Really, I am. If you want the honest truth of it, I regretted it almost as soon as I did it. I’ll have to apologize to George later and have a real long talk with him about what happened, but I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’re under my charge regardless of if we’re in the city or your house, but especially when you’re here. If something happened to you on my watch, that would be a resounding failure on my part. Can you understand that much, at least?”

You hesitate and then nod your head again, not quite trusting yourself enough to speak yet. Wriothesley gives you an approving squeeze and another idle pat that makes you whimper softly. His hand was so big it felt like it was taking up almost the whole of your back …

“I didn’t mean to scare you … you know that, right?”

“Y - yes …”

“Good. Because that I will apologize for. It was unnecessary. I should have completely removed you from the situation first before acting but he just had me so mad, I wasn’t thinking straight, and … honestly, I probably owe you an apology for that too I had some reservations about letting him come to the meeting of course, given his track record, but I thought maybe it would help him adjust a little better if he had something from the overworld to keep him busy. Preoccupied.”

Gingerly, you shift on your knees so you’re knelt directly under him rather than braced up against his leg, and you lift your hands to hesitantly slide them across his strong jawline. Wriothesley let’s you do it, much to your thrumming relief, and you carefully tip his face towards you until just a scant breath separates his nose from yours.

“What’s going to happen to him now?”

He just looks at you, and your face slowly starts to crumple.

“Please don’t let him get into trouble.” You plead, unable to bear the thought of his sentence being extended because of you. “It was just a mistake and I wasn’t hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong, your grace! Not really. Please, please don’t punish him.”

Stiffly, he sighs out through his nose. “And there you go being naive again. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to protect him at this point. He’s sealed his own fate.”

“But that’s … that’s terrible! If I hadn’t been there — if you hadn’t let me come here that never would have even happened! I’m the one at fault here, aren’t I? I’ll take the punishment in his stead! That would be fine, right?”

“Lovely girl - -“

Wriothesley reaches out with his other hand to cup your face and you try to pull away, a fresh wave of tears springing up in your eyes, but he holds you fast. Tipping his head, he seals his mouth over yours and swallows down the muffled wail you let out. Even when the rolling beads of moisture start to track down your damp face, he just kisses you and kisses you until you finally start to stir underneath him some indeterminable amount of time later.

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there on the floor but your legs are numb and prickly when you finally move, shifting forward to lean into him. Your breaths are still a little ragged through your nose but you start to kiss him back, tentatively slow at first and then with growing confidence. Growing hunger. The emptiness inside you is quickly filling up with a white hot, molten need, and you groan thickly into his mouth when you feel your pussy give a muted throb of interest. It matches the ever present sting across your ass, in a way, and you feel both in stunning high definition as you carefully raise up to meet him.

Gradually easing back when you find your balance and sit up straight, Wriothesley brings his hands around to cup your ribcage. He squeezes, rucking up your jumper and blouse in the process but, as always, he doesn’t try to relieve you of it. That he was still willing to go about this on your terms, at your pace, fills your chest with a strange helium feeling, and you try to follow after him when he eventually pulls back all the way, whining low in your throat at the loss.

“Come here, pretty girl.” He murmurs, tugging you up to stand and you do so with a great deal of haste even when your sore legs threaten to give out under you. Bracing a hand on his broad shoulder to steady yourself, you carefully step out of your sagging pants and underwear when he stoops down to pull them over your feet.

Carelessly tossing your clothes aside, he grabs around your middle again and easily tugs you into his lap. Your heart pounds a wild beat inside your chest when you realize he’s centering you over his leg, and you quickly scramble to get into position. There’s no denying the excitement you feel searing your veins now, the speed at which you’d come to love this particular activity surprising even you. It felt like you were irreversibly addicted to it, and you moan very softly when your bare cunt presses down into his thigh. Pelvis tipping upward, you steal a quick glance down at yourself, still amazed at how broad and thick his leg looks under you. It’s not exactly hard to imagine something else forcing your thighs into a wide spread around him but that still scares a little more than you were willing to admit.

Gently pulling you forward so that your cunt rocks down to settle squarely against his pant leg, Wriothesley gathers you right up against his chest and bends his head to yours again. You moan into the searing hot kiss and bring your hands up to clutch at him, the toes of your shoes bracing on the floor to give yourself leverage as you settle into a slow, mind numbing pace with him.

It truly feels like your brain is melting when the stilted friction on your pussy soon makes you tremble and shake for him, panting heavily into his mouth. You’re distantly aware of the stiff tension in his body but Wriothesley just lets you find your pleasure on him without trying to take advantage of your muddied, intoxicated state. His hands roam over your body in a continuous caress, pinching, squeezing, kneading with rough calloused fingers, but he doesn’t wander to your chest or between your legs. He’d only touched you there once, back in that cramped little alley, but thinking back on it when you were moving with him like this … maybe you should invite him to touch you there again? It would probably feel good, and grinding yourself on his leg was such a slow, tortuous process.

Or maybe you could try touching him?

Turning your head to suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, you take a moment to steady your nerves. You’d never crossed this line before, never been brave enough to take the plunge but, oh, you were so curious and your pussy positively clenches at the thought of feeling him under your palm. You wanted to touch him. You needed to.

“Y - your grace …”

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” He breathes into the scant pace separating you from him, head tipped back to look at your from this slightly elevated position.

An intense shudder works through you at the thought of actually doing it, of actually saying the words, and you loose a keening mewl as you stubbornly turn your head to look elsewhere. You couldn’t look at him and say it, you just couldn’t!

“Can … ahhn, would it be permissible for me to, um — t - touch you as well?”

His thick fingers give a muted little jolt of surprise where they’re squeezing around your waist, and you tightly screw your eyes shut when he leans in to kiss the side of your neck. “Oh, little miss. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me as much as you want.”

Trembling there on his lap, you hesitate to do it but finally gather enough courage to drag your hand down off his shoulder. Shyly watching the slow descent of it down his broad barrel chest, over his stomach, all the way down to the center of his lap. You give a tiny little jerk when you see the stiff outline pressing up against the interior, the motion of your hips inelegantly stuttering as you take in the shape of it, the size. It was indeed quite large, your heart nearly giving out entirely in your overwhelmed horror, but … but like this it wasn’t quite so bad. Not as scary as if you were perhaps looking at it straight on.

Timidly cautious, you press your fingers over the outline and Wriothesley breathes out a thick, heavy sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. It seems to vibrate through you, pulling a quiet whimper out of your throat, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your curiosity was a little too compelling to get sidetracked now, and even your mindless rutting against him slows to a complete standstill while you feel along the length of him, just familiarizing yourself with the press of it against your hand. Even through his slacks it seems heavy and it’s so incredibly warm that you feel a dull, sympathetic tremor deep inside your cunt.

Evidently realizing just how distracted you were, Wriothesley pulls back from your neck enough to look down at himself as well. “Is it so fascinating?”

“A little bit …”

He laughs, sounding mildly strained. “If you’re curious I’ll teach you about it, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. In this, at least, I’ll play by your rules.”

And he’d done such a good job respecting your boundaries thus far … perhaps it was alright to test the waters some. To give in to this primal urge coursing through your system, making you feel indescribably hot and mindless.

“Would it really fit inside me?”

The hushed noise he makes sounds so wounded it actually startles your attention up, and you take in his pained expression with great big eyes.

“W - what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Please don’t start getting defensive, now of all times.” Grunting, Wriothesley grabs under your arms as he shifts back further against the lounge so he can rather gingerly recline back, pulling you right along with him. The careful motion stretches you out across his body to rest against his chest, prompting you to readjust the way you're straddling his thigh to keep your thrumming cunt pressed up tight against it. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he shifts underneath you just so before tipping his face down again. “If you say things like that you’re going to make this go crazy, and I’m not so sure you’re ready for that yet. Try rubbing it, like this.”

You can’t quite stop the squeak of surprise that bursts out of you when he reaches over to grab your stilled hand. Redirecting you to the center of the bulge, he manually squeezes your trembling fingers around him and your skin positively crawls with an eruption of goosebumps when you feel it pulse against your palm. Wide eyed and quaking, you slowly bring your gaze back down to watch him guide your hand up along the rigid length and then back down again. You’d never before seen anything quite like it, but there was a very real, very primitive part of your brain that abruptly clicks on at the sight of it.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” He grunts, still dragging your hand up and down, up and down the length of him. “It feels good. Like when you rub that cute pussy all over my leg. You can squeeze it, if you want.”

Experimentally, you do just that and the responding twitch of Wriothesley’s cock has your cunt repeatedly clamping down on nothing, a harried, deeply frazzled whine rising in you. It was like you were cumming, but not really. You felt close, though. As if just touching him like this, feeling the hot, pulsing need of him in the palm of your hand was stoking your own fire. Building your own pleasure up into something that was very nearly palpable.

More confident this time, you give him another squeeze, and he makes a rumbling, needy sound in the back of his throat. Consumed with your own wanton need, you turn your head to look at him again and a distant thrill of surprise rushes through you when you find those deep sapphires watching you. Not your hand on him, but you.

“Am I really making you feel good, your grace?”

“Very much so.”

Smiling, you lean up to press your mouth to his. He watches you do it, accepts your kiss, and a stilted puff of air rattles out of him to dance over your lips. You’ve never seen him hold himself quite so stiffly before but he starts to kiss you back just a heartbeat later, slowly at first and then with more demanding force behind the motion. Just like every other time he pulls you into his pace with ease, soon dominating the exchange while his hand continues to stroke yours over his trapped cock. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling impatient like this, indescribably needy, and you wriggle yourself down on his leg in search of more friction. Wriothesley gladly obliges you, curling his leg up a little higher to press more firmly into your cunt to make you keen at the sensation.

As you start to ride him again, the hand that had remained carefully on your back this entire time starts to drag lower, tracing the curve of your waist and further still to smooth over your reddened bottom. You suck in a sharp breath at the sting but it just seems to make your pussy clench and drool even more obscenely. Rearing back against his hand, you give his length another tight squeeze to pull a low groan out of him.

“You are a real menace, pretty girl.” He softly chides you, pulling back just enough to look in your face. “For as prim and proper as you like to act, you’re certainly an insatiable little thing.”

You start to apologize for it, but then think better of it. “Do you like it, your grace?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

Your breath catches at that and you lurch on top of him when a warning tremor tears through your shuddering body. “Will … will you bounce your leg against me?”

“Of course.” Eyelids drooping to attractive halfmast, Wriothesley presses his forehead against yours and tenderly nudges at your nose. “Shall I spank you while I do it? Something tells me you’d like that an awful lot.”

“Ooh … yes, your grace, please spank me.”

Another rumbling groan rises in him, eyes drifting shut as if in great pleasure. You don’t get a chance to linger on how positively devastating he looks like that because he presses his thigh up into you, sending you lurching with a faltering, deeply wounded sound. The motion of his leg jostles you slightly, prompting you to clutch at him all the more fervently — one latched around his cock and the other clinging to his neck — and you toss your head back with a high pitched squeal when he suddenly swats your ass without warning. You waver, hesitate for only a blink of the eye, and then you’re driving your cunt down to meet him with fast mounting urgency.

“Oohh, gods —“

Swat! Across the other cheek to make the meaty swell bounce.

A deeply flustered sound punches its way out of your mouth, hips swiveling desperately. “Ahhn, ahh! Y - your grace! Nggnh!”

Swat! The first cheek again, this time with a possessive squeeze afterward that makes your toes curl.

“I’d say I could never get tired of watching you bounce that pretty pussy on my leg, but I’d hate to discourage you from wanting to try anything else.”

Your tense fingers impulsively squeeze down on his cock, making his chest hitch, and you seethe through your teeth at the quickly cresting waves of ecstasy washing over you. You were close, so close.

“Please —“ Swat! Swat! First one cheek and then the next, in rapid succession. “Ooh! God! I - I want it, your grace! I want it!”

Swat!

“What do you want, lovely girl?” Wriothesley grunts, his own voice faltering now.

“I - I want this!” You give his length a desperate squeeze, so lightheaded and dizzy you barely even know what you’re saying anymore.

Swat!

“It’s already yours, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready for it, you’ll have it.”

The thought alone of taking him deep inside your body makes every single muscle in your shuddering frame lock up, and you lurch to a sudden standstill on top of him. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out when he just keeps bouncing his leg on your drooling cunt, quicker now. A little harder. You sway unsteadily as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably around him, chest heaving with the gasps you frantically try to suck in but you can’t quite seem to get enough air. It felt like you were smothering under the intense pressure, hanging right on the precipice.

Swat!

“Cum for me, cum all over my leg and let me see that pretty face you make.” He practically growls, grabbing a tight, pinching handful of your ass to really drive the sting home.

It’s that sharp, toe curling throb of pain that tips you over, and you cum with a gutted lurch. Wheezing, you arch against him so hard your spine aches in protest but you can’t stop it. Your hips judder wildly and your knees nearly give out from how hard it slams into you all at once, but he clutches you tight in his arms while you spasm and writhe, squealing in mindless delight. It’s all you can do just to keep your voice down, painfully aware that the two of you were not in the privacy of your flat, but you manage, somehow, to get through it without shrieking at the top of your lungs.

You’re so exhausted and drained by the time the tremors finally ebb and fade that you collapse on top of him with a deeply frazzled groan. Giving your bottom one final, lingering squeeze, Wriothesley drags his hand back up to rub across your back and a faint shudder ripples through you when you feel him bend close to place a brief kiss to the top of your head.

It was … really nice, actually, sharing such a quiet, intimate moment with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to it. In fact, you dully realize, you kind of already were.

“You’re such a good girl for me sometimes.” He murmurs into your hair, his voice warm with praise and affection alike. “It just makes me wonder why you can’t be so good all the time.”

“That would get boring.” You dazedly slur, making him chuckle.

“That’s true. There’s no fun in it without a little power struggle first.”

You hum a noncommittal sound, already half dozed off where you’re spread out on top of him when a muted twitch under your loosely curled palm makes you jolt. Blearily lifting your head from his chest, you glance down to find him still rock hard in his pants and your brows quickly draw together in confusion.

“You didn’t - -“

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away.”

“But - -“

“Hush. Just do as I say for once and let it go.” Reaching up to palm the back of your head, he forces your cheek back down to his chest and holds you there even when you weakly try to struggle out from under it. “You really aren’t making this easy on me, you know that? Saying all that nonsense and now this. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, little miss. Not yet.”

Your mouth pulls in a pout even though he can’t see it. “Will you teach me more later?” It’s little more than a mouse squeak when you were so tired, so exhausted after everything that had transpired today.

Wriothesley seems to think on that for a moment before softly pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll teach you everything in due time. You just need to be patient. I don’t want you to get so caught up in the moment that you rush into something only to regret it later. As I said before, I’m a guarddog. I'm not interested in biting the hand holding my leash.”

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

You aren’t sure when, exactly, you fell asleep, but you wake up on the lounge some time later, finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling of his office in a bit of a daze. You’re a little disoriented at first and then you remember where you were. Everything that had happened. The meeting with the inmates. That horrible incident with George. The sound slap you’d given Wriothesley right across his stupid smug mouth. The way you’d crawled into his lap and …

You bolt upright with a soul sucking gasp. Your instinctive panic is immediately interrupted, however, when you realize his coat is now pooled in your lap, and you blink down at it with owlish surprise. He’d given you his jacket while you slept?

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was wondering how long you’d be out for.”

Startling, you twist around on the lounge to look over at the desk where you find Wriothesley reading over a small stack of paperwork in his hand while the other lifts a steaming cup of tea up to his mouth. You could smell it from where you were sitting, the rich aroma drawing you a little further out of your half asleep stupor and a bit more into reality. Archons, you felt like you were dying of thirst.

“You wouldn't happen to have an extra cup for me, would you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” Setting his own back down after taking a sip, he sedately glances over at you from across the room. “I even grabbed some sandwiches and cookies for you from the cafeteria. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

You immediately realize that that was an understatement. You weren’t just hungry, you were famished!

But when you move to get up, pulling his coat off your lap, you abruptly come to a screeching halt. Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you stare down at your bare legs in abject disbelief. “Where are my pants?”

“Don’t sound so alarmed. I put them somewhere safe.”

“Well, I’d like to have them back!” You snap, shooting daggers over at him.

Humming as if in thought, Wriothesley drops the paperwork on top of the desk and reclines back into his chair. “I don’t think so. Not just yet anyway. I’m not quite through with you yet.”

A shudder races up your stiffening spine, and you nervously gather his heavy jacket close to your chest, clutching at it. “W - what does that mean? I thought you said you’d let me decide when I was ready?”

He barks a quick laugh. “I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your punishment from earlier. We got a little sidetracked, didn’t we?”

“Oh.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, you roll your eyes and move to stand up. Keeping his coat held to your front, you slowly shuffle over to the desk to stand in front of it. “Is that really necessary? I understand why you had to do it, even if I don’t agree with your methods.”

Idly tapping his finger on the sturdy wood, he just silently studies you for a long moment. “It’s not exactly about agreeing with me.” He says at length. “I’m still waiting on an apology, for starters.”

You promptly shrink in on yourself. “You hit me all the time …”

“No, what I do is spank your bratty little bottom to sort you out. I don’t hit you across the face, and I never would unless you asked me to.”

“Why would I - -“

“Do not try to change the subject. I told you once before that I’m not so easily distracted, didn’t I?”

He tips his head to one side as if to further drive his point home, and you feel your cheeks start to warm. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“Ah, so you have been paying attention then. Good. I know firsthand just how smart you really are so I do expect you to start figuring things out, the more time we spend together. And I do hope that you’ll continue to share more with me.”

You hesitate at the first inkling that something was not quite right here. He was talking about more than just the slap, wasn’t he? But what else could there be that he wanted to talk about?

“I do enjoy spending time with his grace,” You say slowly, warily. “Even if he does make me feel uniquely harassed half of the time. And I’m sorry for hitting you. You’re right that there’s a difference between the two. I tried to hurt you out of anger, while you do it to —“

Wriothesley chuckles when you search for the word only to come up empty handed, the smile tugging at his mouth equally roguish and charming. “To correct you. I can’t deny that you can be a little frustrating sometimes, but I’m sure the same can be said of me. In fact, I know it can. But I don’t hit you in anger. Not when I’m nearly double your size and weight. To allow my self control to slip even slightly would be … reckless indeed, because I could seriously hurt you. I’m always careful to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m doing and how hard I’m doing it before I ever put my hands on you, little miss. I hope you know that.”

Your back straightens when it suddenly hits you. That’s what he was worried about?

“Are you afraid I won’t want to see you anymore after the way you … broke George’s wrist earlier?”

A long stretch of quiet settles over the office, perfectly still and perfectly quiet.

“A little.” He says at last. “I couldn’t exactly blame you if that was the decision you came to, but I’d still be a bit — disappointed to lose you. A lot, actually. I enjoy our time together too.”

You swallow. Hard. “Your grace, I … I won’t deny that you scared me earlier, but it’s not like it was the first time. You’ve made me nervous and frightened, and happy, and sad, and so incredibly confused I could just tear my own hair out sometimes, but — I was more frightened for George than myself, if I’m being honest. I was scared you were going to hurt him.”

“And then I did.” He says simply, and you nod.

“Yes. Frankly, I was horrified. That’s why I got so mad at you. I never thought you’d actually be capable of something like that, and I guess I didn’t really know how to react. But you’ve never made me feel like I was truly in danger. I’ve never worried about you breaking my arm, or snapping me in half even though I’m sure you easily could. I’m not scared of you, your grace. I just … I don’t want to see you hurt anyone else, least of all because of me.”

He lets that settle for a drawn out beat, clearly turning everything over in his head, before decisively leaning forward to grab up the teapot sitting on a tray at the corner of the desk. “Well, I can’t exactly promise you that. Should the need ever arise again, I won’t hesitate to protect you. Especially if it’s one of my inmates trying to cause you harm. But with that being said,” He starts to pour out a second cup, also taken off the tray. Your eyes voraciously wander over to the little plate covered with a tin lid, knowing there were promised sandwiches and cookies hiding underneath, and your stomach churns in hunger. “I solemnly swear that from here on out I will do everything in my power to avoid it ever coming to that. If we can stop it from reaching that point then surely both of us will be satisfied. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise to you?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Excellent. Then come sit on my lap and help yourself to some food and tea. I’m sure you’re starving.”

For once you only feel slightly hesitant to heed his command without needing to be told twice, and you eagerly shuffle around the desk to join him. You’re able to hide the nudity of your lower half behind his coat which you keep tucked around your waist even as you get settled on his legs. It was a seat you were quickly (perhaps even embarrassingly so) getting used to, and the thick arm that snakes around your middle to secure you in place was likewise becoming something comfortably familiar as well.

The first thing you reach for is the plate, stretching across the desk to pull it closer so you can peel away the lid and find out what’s inside. A handful of neatly sliced sandwiches of a few different varieties greets you, as well as a small pile of assorted biscuits. You don’t hesitate to snag one up and pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the taste. Chuckling softly, Wriothesley gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as his other hand slides over to pick up the abandoned stack of papers again.

“Are you aware just how adorable you can be at times?”

Humming in agreement, you covetously go for a sandwich next. “His grace flatters me.”

“Brat.” Giving your tummy an affectionate pinch, he turns his attention to the papers. “Another question, if you would be kind enough to humor me. Are you aware that you’ve earned yourself a few fans here in the prison?”

You freeze in place with the dainty little triangle lifted half of the way to your waiting mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“Belle, the woman at the meeting earlier, slipped this note into my mailbox some time ago. She apologizes for what happened with George, and she wishes you a speedy recovery with hopes that you’ll return soon to start your sewing classes. You’re welcome to read it for yourself if you’d like.”

Slowly, you lower the sandwich and reach out for the paper. You’re more than a little surprised to find it says exactly what he’s relayed to you. “Wha — but I don’t understand?” Dropping the sandwich altogether now, you numbly flip to the next page only to find a second letter written in two different but equally terrible sets of handwriting. Those brothers.

“Don’t pay them much mind.” He murmurs as you scan over the, frankly, perplexing note. “They’re trouble, but mostly harmless. I won’t go so far as to say they mean well, but …”

Thoroughly perplexed, you flip to the final page. This one is rather neat and tidy, and relievingly concise, but you can’t quite place who it would have come from. All it says is that they hoped you wouldn’t be scared off by what happened, and that they looked forward to the program being a resounding success. It was of course very flattering but rather unexpected. A bit confounding, if you were being honest.

“Who wrote this one?”

“His name is Gaspard. You probably didn’t notice, but he was making puppy dog eyes at you the whole time.”

Flustered heat promptly crawls up your neck to settle deep in your cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, your grace?”

“Oh, I’m actually being quite serious. I thought for sure if I was going to have to pry someone off you it was going to be him.”

Another teasing pinch at your waist accompanies that and you sigh out through your nose, trying very hard not to let his foolishness distract you. “May I ask what he’s serving time for? This handwriting looks very well practiced, and his spelling is perfect.”

With a quiet hum, Wriothesley leans to the side to brace his chin in the palm of his hand. “He’s in for embezzlement.”

“Embezzlement!” You squawk, beyond horrified. “B - b - but if it’s the man I’m thinking of, he was so polite and quiet! I thought he was just shy so I didn’t want to draw too much attention to him!”

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for the most.” He laughs. “You’ll learn that in due time. The ones like George are mostly all bark and no bite, unless you back them into a corner. Gaspard’s type is way more dangerous because you can never be quite sure what they’re thinking.”

More than just a bit ruffled, you defensively clutch the small stack of letters to your chest. “So then I suppose that would put you in the latter category?”

“Hm … I suppose it would.”

With a click of your tongue, you set the papers aside and primly return to your sandwich. “Regardless, I think it’s clear how we should proceed. We need to get a seamstress out to the prison as soon as possible for Belle, and I’m sure we can find a willing chef for those two troublemakers as well.” You pause with the little triangle almost up to your mouth again, hesitating a moment before slowly lowering it once more. “That is — if you’d still like to work with me going forward. I’m sure you probably have some reservations after what happened today, but I promise I’ll be more cautious next time and - -“

“Hush. I’m not going to take it away from you like a toy you’re not allowed to play with anymore. You’ll still have your little program and I’ll still work with you to help you implement it. You’ll just have to be a bit more closely supervised with it going forward.”

“… you are truly detestable sometimes.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Wriothesley thankfully lets you eat in peace after that, and your stomach is quite glad for it. You happily scarf down two sandwiches and another cookie to go with your cup of tea, but you quickly begin to feel full. Eventually, you find yourself leaning back against his chest with your head resting along his shoulder, and you just quietly watch him work through a different stack of papers, this one much more formidable than your measly pile. You were going to cherish them forever though, even had half a mind to go out and have them framed immediately, but that seemed a little excessive, even for you.

The intimate atmosphere and the close proximity with him almost has you dozing again, but the large hand idly rubbing over your tummy keeps you more or less grounded in reality, you sigh, very softly, when he eventually gives you an attention grabbing pinch some indeterminable amount of time later.

“You’re not falling asleep on me again, are you?”

“No, your grace. I am only resting.”

“Good.” He says rather amicably, setting the sheet in his hand down. “Because there’s still the matter of your punishment to go over.”

Groaning, you let your head loll back against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “You really never let anything go, do you?”

“It would be remiss of me if I did. More importantly though, I wanted to show you something. Do you remember what I said earlier, about getting spanked with something much worse than a hairbrush?”

You immediately lurch on top of him, skin crawling at just the thought as you try to jump up off his lap and escape, but Wriothesley just tightens his arm around you to keep you pinned even when you inelegantly flail. “Wait — that’s not fair, your grace, I — ow!”

The hard slam of your knee against his desk has you whimpering in pain, and he quickly takes advantage of that stunned moment to haul you back and secure you more firmly in place. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions. Let that be a lesson to you.” Sighing, he presses his mouth to the top of your head in a lingering kiss while you try to shake out the hurt from your leg. “Troublesome girl.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you right now!” You snip, still rubbing at your bruised knee. “And what were you even talking about? I don’t think I deserve to be struck with a stick or a measuring rod, or — or - -“

“You don’t, you’re right about that. But I want to show you what comes after the hairbrush, if you’ll let me. I’d like to think having that knowledge in the back of your mind might give you enough incentive to make better decisions in the future, but given how hard headed you are … maybe it won’t.”

Huffing, you petulantly cross your arms. “You only want to show me?” You didn’t trust it at all. Not one bit.

“I planned to actually strike you with it, of course. Otherwise it would just be an empty threat and you’d have no baseline to gauge how far you’re willing to go just to throw a fit over something. But how about this? I’ll make you a deal. You like when I do that, don’t you?”

You were loath to admit it out loud but you did indeed, and your pussy slowly clenches with interest. Damn him straight to the abyss and back. “I’m listening.”

“Good girl. I figured you would be.” Another kiss pressed to the top of your head, his breath displacing some of the flyaways there. “You get to choose then. Would you like me to round off your punishment with my hand and twenty strokes of the hairbrush, or would you prefer to take six from the mystery implement?”

Twisting around in his hold, you look up at him in abject shock. “Only six?”

“Only six.” He confirms.

“And you won’t tell me what it is first? Is it really that bad?”

“No, and no. It’s just a different kind of pain, is all. Something you aren’t used to. I strongly suspect if I told you beforehand, you’d be too frightened to take it on and would instead gladly subject your poor bottom to a much worse fate than it needs to suffer.” Drawing a stilted breath, Wriothesley slips one of his hands under the jacket to caress along your bare thigh, warming the skin under his palm. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been appropriately corrected. There’s no need to actually take you over my knee unless you leave me with no other choice. The second option is preferable for both of us, first and foremost because I intend for it to be a warning more than anything. The choice is yours though, little miss. I am but at your beck and call.”

You snort at that and pin him with a wry look. “Sure. I might believe that when pigs fly.” With a shake of your head, you turn back around so you can slump against him, listlessly picking at the fur trim on his jacket in your lap while you think it over. One was obviously the better sounding choice but … didn’t that mean it was a trap?

Big, burly arms squeezing around you, Wriothesley bends close to kiss your temple, your cheek, down to your neck. They’re soft and fleeting, decidedly, chaste, and yet they still make your pulse start to thrum a little faster. You really were regrettably weak for him. It just wasn’t fair.

“May I add an extra term onto our deal?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“If I choose the second option, will … will you play with me afterward?”

He seems to hesitate against you, no doubt catching onto your meaning. “I was planning on doing that anyway. I always make sure you get rewarded at the end, don’t I?” A lingering kiss pressed into your temple.

You were really starting to become hot and flustered again, and it shows in the way your voice strains slightly. “I don’t mean like that. I — I think I want you to touch me, your grace.”

This time he really does go still. A long beat of quiet punctuates the moment, and then he shifts against you, speaking across the side of your face. “Where do you want me to touch you, pretty girl? Between your legs?”

Just hearing him say it makes you shudder from your head straight down to your toes, and you fitfully twist on his lap so you can tip your head back to look at him. “Everywhere, sir. Between my legs and — my chest too. If you want.”

“Of course I want to, silly thing.” Breathing out a rather terse exhale, he tips his head to kiss your mouth but it is regretfully short lived, and you whine softly when he retreats again. “I need you to clarify something for me first though, so I know exactly what it is you’re comfortable with. Do you want to get completely undressed for me or would you rather I touch you through your shirt?”

“O - oh.” You hadn’t thought about it that far, and you shyly avert your gaze. Although you did want to feel his hands on your breasts, the thought of being completely nude with him was a daunting one indeed. It was silly, of course, but that seemed like something of a big step and a potentially awkward one at that. “I … I don’t know if I’m ready to get naked yet so — through my shirt?”

“Through your shirt it is.” He agrees, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a hard, reassuring kiss. It makes you squirm, just a little bit, how willing he is to humor you in this way, but you think that it probably means more to you than you even fully realize. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I know that’s not always easy for you to do.”

“Enough already.” You huff in embarrassed fluster, making him chuckle.

“Don’t start getting cranky. I don’t want to have to really spank you if I don’t have to.” Finally, he pulls all the way back to give you some space, patting your leg under the jacket. “Alright. Stand up and put your hands on the desk for me. We’ll do this standing up.”

Suddenly confused, you hesitate just a moment before rocking forward with no shortage of hesitation. He didn’t often strike you while standing. Usually only when he was made to grab you to stop you from scuttling away and a chair or other wasn’t readily available …

You try not to think about that too hard though as you find your feet with his coat somewhat awkwardly clutched to your front still. He reaches around to take it from you and you reluctantly let it go, shivering when it falls away to leave you bared from the waist down. Shuffling forward a step, you then reach out and slowly place your hands palm down on the desk while he stands up behind you, pushing the chair further back to allow for some space.

Wriothesley presses up close behind you then, making a fresh shudder work down your spine as he leans over you to gently reposition your palms a little further apart. He reaches down to take your waist next so he can carefully bend you forward with your legs squared, nice and firmly rooted. You aren’t quite sure what to make of it all but his hands feel decidedly nice on you, and you just sigh very softly when he moves back. The following moment or two of rustling further leaves you stumped, especially when you catch a soft metallic click on the air, and you have to try very hard not to turn around and look. He seemed quite sure whatever it was would startle you a great deal but …

When he eventually comes up beside you again, you turn your head to look at the hand he holds out towards you. Your brows make a prompt, very expeditious trip up to your hairline.

“Wha — y - your belt, sir?” You warble out on a squeak, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation.

He chuckles faintly, snapping your wide eyed attention up at him so fast it nearly makes your head spin. “That look on your face is exactly why I didn’t tell you outright but it sounds worse than it actually is. At least the way I’m going to do it is.”

“W - which would be?” You ask, nervously glancing at the folded over strip of leather with a great deal of fast mounting horror.

“We’ll start off slow and work our way up in intensity, but even by the end I won’t be using too much force. My goal isn’t to actually hurt you, just teach you. See, the thing about this is it covers a wider area. I can strike you across both cheeks in one swing, and the relative flexibility of the leather means it carries a sharper sting with it as well. I don’t think it’ll take much to have you dancing on your toes, so I probably won’t even end up using a fraction of my strength when all is said and done. Does all of that sound agreeable to you, little miss?”

You work to swallow down your nerves and almost choke on it. “I … I suppose so. But — if I really can’t take it, will you stop?”

“Of course I will. I have no interest in brutalizing you or anything of the sort. That being said though I’m confident that you’ll do just fine. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

A wholly mirthless laugh punches out of your throat. “I’m really not sure about that, your grace.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Transfixed, you follow the motion of the folded over belt when he lifts it in one hand and then slaps it down into the waiting palm of the other. You startle at the loud, meaty whap! and suddenly your blood turns to ice. You can feel yourself slipping under alarmingly fast, whatever the incomprehensible shroud was that blanketed your mind every time you ended up in these situations with him, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to do much to shield you from the full brunt of it in this particular instance.

Trying very hard not to shake when he steps behind you, you tip your face down to stare blankly down at the desk. The tension thrumming through your body is thick enough to suffocate and nauseatingly cloying. Just thinking about him hitting you with that was enough to make you sick …

“Oh, and just a word of advice.” He tacks on, standing about a step behind you by the sound of it. “Try to breathe through it as much as you can. That will help more than anything else.”

“… yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

His fingertips brush across your ass then, and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the floor. Wriothesley just takes a moment to coo at you though, chiding you softly for being so jumpy, but it was a little hard not to be! You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of existence, and the heavy weight of nervous anticipation was not making it any better. You’re such a mess of nerves and sharp adrenaline that you barely even notice the way your skin prickles under his hand, still hot to the touch and tender from your earlier spanking, and you wince slightly as he rubs over your bottom. It seems like a cruel thing to do, getting you sensitized and warmed up for his belt like this.

“I’m going to start.” He finally warns you as his hand retreats, and you immediately brace for the deafening crack and the splintering pain to go with it.

To your flinching surprise, however, the belt just lightly swats across your bottom with a soft little pap! and you absolutely hate the way you still violently lurch, having expected much worse. Your cheeks immediately flood with heat as he laughs softly behind you at the big reaction.

“I told you we’d work our way up. That’s one. Count for me, pretty girl.”

You obediently open your mouth but you only make it so far as drawing a breath to respond when the belt slaps across your ass, a little harder this time. You notice the sting he’d mentioned immediately, as well as the insidious reach it has across the swell of both cheeks, but all it does is make you rock forward on your toes a bit. You’d never admit it out loud to him, but he was right. This wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be.

And that was precisely why you didn’t trust it.

“… two, sir.”

“Good girl. Your bottom looks mighty cute like this, by the way. I think I could get used to seeing you bent over my desk.”

You clench your teeth, half in annoyance and half to brace for the next hit. If they kept steadily increasing like that …

Whap!

This one subtly jerks you forward with the impact and you wheeze over the desk, trying and failing to process just how sharp the sting really is. It leaves you dizzy, a bit stunned in the aftermath as prickling fire welts up over the swell of your bottom. It has your toes curling in their shoes, skin crawling with needle pinpricks as you work to steady yourself. Okay, that was marginally worse than his hand but still not quite as bad as the hairbrush.

“Ooh … three, sir …”

“You’re doing very well so far. What do you think of it?”

You weren’t entirely sure you were properly equipped to answer that question at the moment, but after a short beat of consideration you finally say, “I see what you meant. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s not terrible.”

“It could be.”

You snort. “I bet it could.”

Wriothesley shifts behind you making you instinctively brace for the next hit, but it never comes. Instead, he speaks again after a drawn out pause. “Do you really trust me not to get carried with it, and to know your pain threshold better than you do?”

That seemed like an odd question to ask after all this time, but you decide you can humor it as you readjust your feet with a quick shuffle. “I do, your grace. You push me sometimes but you’ve never actually crossed that line. Until you do, I trust you.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He murmurs, a note of humor in his voice now. “Incidentally, I think you should know that I trust you as well. I suppose that makes us even.”

A dull trickle of surprise washes over you, but before you can fully process what he’d said the next strike comes with a considerably louder crack and it startles an ‘oh!’ out of you. Rocking forward on your toes, seething, you gingerly shift your weight from one side to the other but it does absolutely nothing to dispel the throbbing strip across your backside. It really was insidious how it could catch the meatiest parts of your ass in a single blow, and you carefully try to stretch it out with a dramatic curve of your spine.

“That’s quite a show you're putting on for me right now, pretty girl.” Wriothesley drawls in a low tone that sounds like silk in your pounding ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off? I’m already seeing quite a lot …”

Whimpering faintly, you shyly squeeze your thighs together and straighten slightly. “Don’t be a pig …”

“My apologies. It’s so easy to forget my manners when you’re presenting such a cute pussy to me like that. I’ll be sure to mind myself.”

“Ooh … will you touch it, your grace?”

“Yes. Gladly. But only after we’re done.” He says. Then, much more softly, “It will be a reward for the both of us.”

You draw a steadying breath and force your constricting lungs to expand with it as you carefully resume the position he’d put you in, or something close to it. “Four, sir.”

“Good girl.”

This time you know the swing is coming because you can hear the displacement in the air, and it seems to catch you in a particularly vulnerable spot, because you dance up on your toes with a frazzled yelp. The sting of unshed tears in your eyes quickly joins the splintering sensation across your decidedly sore bottom, and you sniffle rather sadly at the hurt. You understood now why he’d set the count to six, and you were immensely glad for it.

“F - five, sir …”

Wriothesley’s hand abruptly finds your shuddering back and you jolt before stiffly relaxing into his touch. Gently, reassuringly, he drags that massive palm across you in slow, coaxing circles. “There, you’re almost done. I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the last stroke.”

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, but you take a moment to collect yourself, just taking slow, deep breaths, just like he’d said to. It does help, a little bit, but the searing line across your ass is very hard to ignore. You were undoubtedly scared of what was coming and, yet, his steady presence at your side was a comforting one. You could do this. You knew you could. Not for him, but because of him.

Gingerly easing your body out of its defensive hunch, you carefully move back into position again. “I’m ready, sir.”

Your first sign that this was going to be awful is the fact that Wriothesley keeps his hand braced against your middle back and just shifts to the side. Your second is the sharp sound of it cutting through the air.

Whap!

Pain explodes across your entire body unlike ever before. You lurch with a wounded, faltering animal sound, unable to even scream, it was that bad! Your knees instantly turn knobbly and you practically collapse with a strained, gasping sob, but he’s right there to catch you. So lost in the swimming daze of blind agony, you barely register him holding you around the waist to keep you upright and somewhat steady, but the soft press of his mouth against your shoulder somehow still manages to catch your attention. It pulls you back into the physical world, bit by bit, at a sluggish pace, and the sound of his crooning voice soon penetrates the numbing fog to mist over you.

“— such a good girl, I’m so proud of you for taking that so well. You didn’t even scream, and I thought for sure you would on the last one. Do you have any idea how much strength that took? You’re such a precious thing.”

Groaning dizzily, you slowly start to straighten up under his helpful guidance, and you don’t protest when he gently steers you back towards the chair with a hiccuping mewl. You’re glad for it, in fact. You just wanted to crawl into his lap and cling to him for the rest of the day. Night? You weren’t even sure what time it was. How long had you fallen asleep for?

You feel well and truly delirious as he sits down and gets situated behind you before reaching back up to tug you into his lap, and you viciously seethe the moment your throbbing ass brushes his pants. Making a valiant effort to arch up off him and escape the pressure, you openly sob when he just pulls you right down. You writhe at the pain, twisting in his arms but then — you abruptly realize where his hands are headed.

Choking on a stuttering gasp, you tip your tear stained face down with a confused little whimper to watch his palms drag up the front of your body, further rucking and irreparably wrinkling your jumper in the process. They smooth over the curve of your breasts and then pause to give them a savory squeeze, and you shudder intensely at the sensation. You’d never been touched like this before. Not by anyone, and it surprises you how sensitive your chest is under the weight of his hands. Your nipples immediately spring up even under your clothes, and you fitfully turn your head to rest across his shoulder with a half strangled wail.

“These feel so good in my hands, pretty girl. Is this what you wanted me to do? Hm?”

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of so many sensations all at once — the pain and the pleasure so horribly intermingled that you could hardly tell them apart anymore — you offer a quick, jerky nod. “Mhm!”

Wriothesley breathes out a terse sigh against the side of your head and nuzzles further into you while his hands keep fondling your breasts. “Good. They seem sensitive. There are a lot of fun things we could do with that information, you know. I have a few — toys you might be interested in later. Do you like having your pretty tits played with? You certainly look like you do …”

Whining low in your throat, you shudderingly arch to shove your chest further out, and he takes advantage of that to squish them up and together. A deeply frazzled moan rattles out of you when he jostles them for a brief moment before letting them go so that they bounce back into place. He groans, very softly, as he quickly cups around the swell of them again, just holding them in his palms for a moment while he bends close to kiss you.

You’re sinking alarmingly fast, much too fast to make any sense of it, and you clutch at his shirt in a fitful, twisting death grip. He doesn’t even seem to notice, just hungrily kissing you for a tortuously long stretch before eventually pulling back with a stilted exhale. Meaningfully, he sends his gaze lower and you follow his lead, slowly looking down at yourself just to find your tits straining up even through two shirts and a brassier. You issue a low, wounded sound, watching through the impossibly heavy fall of your lashes as he brings his hands up to delicately pluck at the stiffened buds. That alone is almost too much, both the sensation and the visual, but he really starts to tug on them.

“You like that, do you?” He chuckles at all your sensitive quivering. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m more of an ass man myself, but these are nice too. Very nice, indeed. They fit so nicely in my hands, almost like they were made for them. And your nipples … oh, sweet girl, are you going to cum just from having me play with them?”

That didn’t seem to be as much of a preposterous suggestion as you would have otherwise thought when you were currently wrestling with the thrumming tension that spikes through your body. You’d never felt quite so hot or overly sensitive, and you keen at the growing need threatening to swallow you whole.

Evidently catching on, Wriothesley drags one of his hands down across your front, over your belly and straight down to dip between your trembling thighs. You feel him experimentally touch over your slit for a brief moment, familiarizing himself with it, before pressing his fingers into meaty lips to spread them. You rock violently in his hold and instinctively curl your legs out wide even when they weakly twitch in the air, keeping them spread for him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in your punch drunk state of mind, but it shocks a flustered yelp out of you when he slips in to tease over your clit. It has you twitching, twisting and writhing against him for everything you’re worth. The calloused pad on the tip seems to catch at soft flesh even with the excessive slick coating you and he tauntingly nudges at the delicate little pleasure button, just drawing it back and forth, up and down for a moment, before starting to press down more firmly. You promptly go cross eyed, lurching in his lap with a gutted moan.

The direct contact felt so good … so good you could hardly even stand it, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes. You liked rubbing yourself on his thighs. Thought you’d liked that the most and that you couldn’t like anything else better — but this was overwhelming your already cotton stuffed head alarmingly quick, and the way he continues to pluck at one of your nipples did not seem to be helping you in the slightest. You were going to vibrate right off him if he kept that up!

“Y - your grace! Ooohhnnggh!”

“Do you enjoy that, little miss? Hm?” He nuzzles against the side of your head, pressing idle kisses to your temple again.

“Ahhnn … yes! I do, your grace! I - I feel like I’m gonna’ — oohh!”

With a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against your back, Wriothesley reaches across to the other breast to give it a savory, pinching knead. Fitful and needy, you impulsively reach down with trembling hands to grab the hem of your jumper so you can yank it up to bunch under your chin. He obliges you by grabbing at your tit again, through just the thin layer of your blouse now, and you somehow manage to shake even harder when he digs his fingers in to tug at the brassier underneath. It’s hard to do indirectly like this and he jostles you slightly with the effort, but you still feel the exact moment your stiff teat slips out of the top of the cup and you just shake even harder.

“I bet you do. Such a sensitive little girl you are …” Pulling in a carefully tempered breath, he abandons that tit much to your blubbering disappointment and reaches over to do the same to the other. Pinching through fabric to grab at the lacy material underneath and nudge it down enough to leave both nipples cutting up directly into the fabric of your shirt. You writhe on top of him with a back bowing shudder and blindly grab at him, his arms, his shirt, the now rumpled collar of his button up, whining a low plea. “Hush. I’ve got you. Bring your hands up for me and wrap them around my neck. Think you can do that for me?”

Offering a stilted nod, you do as he’d asked without question or even much thought to the matter. Later you might wonder why you’re so obedient and pliable with him like this, but in the heat of the moment you find nothing but pleasure, and deep satisfaction at the rumbling noise of approval he gives you when your arms stretch up to curl over his shoulders in a loose hold. The position proves a bit awkward when you can’t get a very good grip on him, but the reason for it quickly makes itself known. Your tits lift under your shirt with the upward motion to jut further out, and his blocky hand quickly descends upon one, pinching the tightly coiled teat to leave you moaning in equal parts distress and delight.

“Ooh, isn’t that a lovely sound? You really are going to be the death of me … let me show you something nice now. You’ll like it, I promise.”

The blocky fingers on your clit slowly retreat and you hiss at the loss only to choke on it a heartbeat later when he firmly presses them over your slit. He gives them a sedate rub and your pelvis involuntarily jumps, pressing up into them with a juddering twitch, eager for more. Desperate for it.

“There, now move with me, pretty girl. Just like you do when you’re grinding this sweet pussy on my leg … that’s it, move your hips. Back and forth. Just follow the motion of my hand — see, you’ve got it. Keep going and don’t stop until you’re shaking for me.”

You suck in a thick, heavy gasp as you bring your swimming attention back down to look at the way you’re spread open on top of him. The wide stretch of your legs is shameful and a little embarrassing even now, but your cunt looks so small and dainty rubbing against his big hand while your thighs quack around it and you can’t quite bring yourself to care about it right now. Wheezing, you rock your pelvis up to follow the friction of his rough fingers before swiveling back and — you outright choke when your sore ass grinds down on him in the process. The faintly raised welts seem to crawl and sting with renewed fervor at the brush of his pants, the hard press of his cock digging up into you in search of the hot, wet warmth between your legs. Your pussy squeezes wildly at the sharp pain, drools yet more sticky slick to coat you in an obscene amount of liquid arousal, and you quickly do it again. Up against the firm pressure of his hand and then back again to rub your sore bottom on him.

It doesn’t take long for you to start quaking in earnest like this and you cling to him desperately as the tension in your body rapidly swells, threatening to bowl you right over if you weren’t careful. But as always Wriothesley’s hold on you is absolute, and you’re free to shake and twist as wildly as you want without having to worry about falling. The hand on your chest alternates between your breasts, squeezing, pinching, tugging at your nipples, each in turn, to leave them feeling raw and sensitized through your shirt while the other keeps guiding your pelvis through the stuttering motion. Maintaining it becomes more difficult with the steady locking of your muscles as warning tremors wrack through you, but he remains an ever steady presence around you and it’s so easy to get lost and swept up in his pace.

Your cunt tilts up against his hand and then your ass nudges back to make dull throbs of pain erupt across your bottom.

Up against his hand with a sticky glide that does absolutely nothing to stop his rough skin from dragging against petal soft folds, then back to feel the weight of him digging into sore flesh that burns at the friction against his slacks.

Up against his hand, back against his cock.

His hand, his cock.

Wriothesley’s hand and Wriothesley’s cock.

The coil snaps. Just like that.

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you wail through your soul shattering release as quietly as you can manage. You seethe, you hiss, you groan, low and faltering. You squeal and you wheeze, bucking uncontrollably with a frantic desperation that he takes in stride. His hold on you doesn’t falter, and he neither grunts or flinches even when you spasm on top of him without heed. He’s like a solid wall underneath you, and he pets you through it all until you finally, at last, start to come down from it some moments later one jagged piece of you at a time.

Going boneless with a haggard noise of deep sated pleasure, you just lay there for a long while and let him caress over you to leave pleasantly warm tingles in the wake of his hands. It’s comfortable like that, there with him. Sitting in the stillness of his office in the buzzing afterglow of release, simply listening to each other's heartbeats for a long time. He was right to say this was something he could get used to, because you could too.

And strangely enough that thought doesn’t frighten you half as much as it probably would have at one time.

“You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” Wriothesley says at last, finally interrupting the quiet.

Snuggling deeper into his body with a content little sigh, you tip your head back to look up at him from just a scant few millimeters away. “You’re very good to me as well, you’re grace. T - … thank you for that.”

A slow smile tugs at his mouth to accompany the almost wry quirk of his brow. “Oh, am I now? Well, you’re very welcome, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect a different sentiment.”

You frown at that, unable to stop it. “You are easily the most frustrating, blockheaded man I have ever met, and I won’t deny that, but you — you’re kind to me, aren’t you? In your own strange way.”

“I try to be.” He relents, his gaze drifting lower to fix upon your mouth. You can tell he’s thinking about kissing you again by the way his eyelids droop to attractive halfmast, but you reach up to cup the strong ridge of his jaw before he can follow through on it.

“Can I … be kind to you as well, sir?” You give your butt a pointed little wiggle down onto the hard length straining under you, and his brows draw together as if in great discomfort.

“As much as I would like that,” He intones rather thinly. “And for as much as I am tempted, I would rather teach you about that somewhere a bit more appropriate than in my office. At your home. In the comfort of your own bed, if you would permit it, sounds ideal to me.”

You hesitate to respond just a moment too long, still a little overwhelmed at the thought of sharing your bed with him despite the eager thrum you feel at the suggestion, and he takes the chance to gather you against him in a tight squeeze.

“There isn’t any rush, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready, you will have me. I just want to ensure you receive the care and attention you deserve first and foremost, and I also want you to feel safe. Your bedroom will represent that final boundary and when you’re prepared to invite me into your life like that, that is when I will take you. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?”

You want to tell him you are ready, that you want him now, you’re sure of it. Your body and mind alike both seem to crave the intimacy of skin on skin contact with him, while your heart …

Oh, you simply couldn’t think about that right now.

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur instead of any number of other things you could have said to him, wanted to say to him. Needed to say. “That sounds fair.”

“Good.” Wriothesley gives you a reassuring pinch to make you squirm slightly in his arms. “Then I think with that settled it’s about time you and I considered making things somewhat official. Do you think you can stand to be seen with me in public in a non professional capacity for an hour or two?”

Going still against him, you frantically try to parse what he’s asking, what he’s getting at. Make it official? “What do you mean, my lord? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, little miss. On a date.”

Your face instantly lights up like a firework. A date? With the Duke of Meropide himself?

Oh, but you suddenly felt terribly faint.

“I … I think I’d like that, your grace. Thank you.”

“Wonderful. Then that is what we will do.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #self insert bullshit

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karlachismylife · 2 months ago

Text

Worshipping the Sun

Solar eclipse is beautiful, thinks Johnny when he looks at his circular dogtags blocking out the glowing light of Karlach's engine. He wouldn't mind seeing a thousand of those as soon as he gets a chance to make the little steel plates bounce on her chest.

CW: fluffy smut (MDNI), two very desperate for touch golden retrievers having their first kiss and sex simultaneously (finally), p in v, breeding (wrap it, they just don't have condoms in Faerûn), breasts/chest worship, mild possessiveness and hint of jealousy, tiefling anatomy, title from Iron Maiden's "Total Eclipse", my English is lacking, also barely proofread.

A logical continuation to Total Eclipse of the Heart (this one's SFW)

If there was anyone who could match Karlach's eagerness to bolt to Dammon's forge with the last piece of the bloody infernal iron, it was Soap. Everyone could see how antsy he got the second they obtained the metal with an eerie crimson glint to it; he wouldn't let anyone else carry that precious fragment and constantly checked on it, patting the secure pocket he kept it in or even pulling the sharp-edged chip of an unknown heritage to look at its mysterious shine. Karlach saw it too, and his nervousness rubbed off on her, evident in the constant jittering of her knee whenever the party took a short rest and the swishing of a clearly tense tail at each step. She didn't rush anyone, though, sporting the same toothy smile to mask a guilty look of longing in her eyes, unwilling to put her own needs above everyone else's - she's waited for ten years, she could wait just a bit more. Probably. Hardly. At least she could try.

Soap, however, could not.

Not even his own Captain was safe from the snapping of the impatient mutt and had to tell Johnny off twice; in the piercing eyes looking at him from under a well-familiar hat, Soap, ready to butt heads with anyone who would suggest another detour or stall the ordeal with anything of little importance, saw something calming. An understanding and unwavering will, taming his impulsiveness with a rough hand tightly gripping his nape.

"You stay in line and be patient, Sergeant. You're freaking the lass out. Get yourself together and stay put for 'er, a'right? How copy?"

Soap's frown didn't go anywhere, but a loud huff let some of the frustration out, the burning itch where the goddamn iron piece's supernatural warmth seeped into his body reluctantly quieting down.

"Aye, sir. Copy tha''."

"Good. We're not making further stops, everyone get a move on." With a forceful pat on Soap's neck, Price raised his voice, taking on the leadership once again - despite the clear reluctance and annoyed groaning on some party members' parts, they all fell under his command, hurrying up on the way to the Last Light Inn. Ghost gave Soap a reassuring shoulder slap passing him with effortless long strides, leaving the Scotsman to follow along as close to buzzing Karlach as possible. Her excitement radiated off of her in heatwaves, bright yellow glow crowning the dogtags she never took off since the day Johnny gave them to her.

The first time they left her crimson neck was when bright-eyed Dammon, drenched in sweat after working on blazing hot metal, handed her the insulation chamber to install in her exhausted chest. Soap didn't even register that he held his breath watching those untouchable read hands work intricate machinery, strained growling and mechanical clanking of the engine changing its timbre, subsiding.

Calming down.

"So... did it work?" Uncertainty in Karlach's voice barely snapped Soap out of his daze. His hand twitched, ready to reach out, and stopped, when the mesmerizing shimmering in her chest got slowly eclipsed by the tag with his name on it, once again carefully placed there by Karlach herself. She closed her eyes, pressing a big palm over the steel disc and listening in on the engine inside, trying to notice subtle change in the way its scorching heat gnawed on the insides of her ribs. Licking his lips, Johnny finally looked up from Karlach's chest and spat out in unison with the blacksmith: "Only one way to find out."

A quick glance at Dammon made Soap's cheeks heat up, slight flush thakfully masked by the way everyone was blushing in proximity of the powerful forge. That bloke was looking at Karlach, his Karlach, as if she was one of his beautiful creations, perfectly formed and bent by the will of his capable hands and hammer. Like she was the fire in his forge and the sun in his skies.

Nothing Soap could blame Dammon for. Irritating possessiveness stuck in his throat, unable to spill, not when overriden by a whole whirlwind of other emotions; desperation, adoration, happiness, hope - and one clear realisation hitting him at that exact moment. His body finally unfreezing and moving on its own to crash into Karlach's.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. No worrying if the upgrade worked properly.

If this was the day he finally was going to burn because of his carelessness, Johnny would gladly accept that fate.

Karlach found herself wrapped in the tightest hug she's ever recieved, calloused hands gripping her back and trying to squish her into Soap's uncomfortable vest, shove her inside of his opened up chest to keep forever cooled down by the bluest seawaves spilling out of his cerulean eyes. A second of careful hesitation, waiting for a pained scream of a person being burnt alive - and when it never came, she wrapped her arms and tail, finally her tail, around Johnny, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

"Ah'm nae letting ye go, ever." A pointy red ear twitched as the raspy whisper hit it with a wave of warm breath - not the scorched dried air of Hell, not the grueling heat from her engine going into overdrive, not even a homey heatwave of the campfire shared with comrades and friends. The warmth of a living being, a person, pressed up so close that their skin was ready to melt shut together.

Johnny felt the cool sea of his homeland spill into tiniest droplets on his eyelashes when he heard Karlach's voice cracking, muffled with his chest.

"Thank you."

The whole way back to camp they held hands so tightly that their fingers went numb, stupid grins plastered on their faces in spite of the whole world being out to get them. Not even Astarion's snidy remarks could distract them from stealing glimpses at each other, headbutting tenderly every time one of them got caught by another.

Karlach was happy. Soap was going nuts from the nightfall being so goddamn far away.

If it wasn't for remaining respect for his team, he would've knocked every party member out cold with zero hesitation.

Some of their comrades were definitely not asleep yet when he heard familiar heavy footsteps approachng his bedroll, head tilting up immediately to be met with a view of Karlach waving at him shyly. Dropping his journal, Johnny sprung up to meet her halfway, wrapping his strong arms around her formiddable form and spinning her around effortlessly, peaceful scenery dimly lit by several burning fires blurring into an unimportant background. The tiefling held onto his broad shoulders and giggled, leaning her forehead against his with a content smile - a soft, irresistable magnet to his own mouth, aching to finally taste her, swallow every chuckle, gasp and moan. But before Soap could close that barely existing distance between them, he got distracted by a quiet metal clank of his own tags, hitting her chest after being tugged away by the forceful spinning. Karlach caught the direction of his gaze immediately and looked at the plates too, clawed fingers living their own life and tangling themselves in short strands of Johnny's outgrowing mohawk, tugging and twirling, but not pulling him away.

"Doing a damn good job at protecting me so far, soldier," she muttered, watching that dark round shadow laid over her chest, still shining bright, but finally not hurting. Even breathing came easier now that the engine was a bit more stabilized, and Karlach took the opportunity to inhale deeply, lungs filling with the cool night air and Johnny's scent - a bit sweaty, musky with an overtone of the cheap soap the least picky in the party have been sharing. It didn't stick to her crimson skin, overpowered by the spicy burning smell following her everywhere, but the man holding her with little strain in his muscles, and breathing a bit heavily for completely different reasons, clearly took time to scrub himself clean tonight.

The implication of the act - more like an obvious conclusion at this point - made her eyes sparkle and tail swirl around Soap's burly thigh, brushing against his already chubbed up cock accidentally. Well, that was certainly obvious, if nothing else was.

"Fuck if Ah let ye take 'em off now, bonnie," he breathed out loudly and, before Karlach could even reassure him that she wasn't planning on it, finally crashed his lips into hers. Far past the reverent romance of a timid first kiss, Johnny devoured Karlach's mouth like the starved man he was, pushing his tongue into the welcoming heat and moaning when his own mouth filled with excess drool in reaction to her taste. Slurping up leaking saliva, Soap stumbled back to the bedroll, barely allowing Karlach to find her footing before toppling them both over.

They hit the ground with a loud thud and pained grunts, teeth clicking in the process with no avail at stopping the needy snogging. Karlach plopped right onto her ass, accomodating Soap's knee, shoved hastly between her thighs, and grabbing his thick waist after she let go of his mohawk momentarily. Her long claws dug into his meat, making his cock twitch in the tight constraints of his pants - a single thought of those feral nails dragging along his shaft to tease him forced out another moan out of Johnny's throat.

Maybe they should've moved much, much farther away from camp if this was their volume with all layers of clothes on, but who has time to take such precautions when you've already wasted so much of it being forced apart?

"Shit, are you okay, Johnny?" - if he wasn't already head over heels thrice for her, he would've been now, when Karlach found it in herself to be worried about him hitting the ground too harsh while her whole being was focused on getting as close to him as possible, as much skin contact as they physically could have. "Was that your fucking knee cracking?"

"Fuck mah knee, bonnie," growled Soap in response, too busy covering her neck in open-mouthed kisses to register pain from the fall. Next thing he knew, Karlach, still a soldier at heart, did just that, bucking her wide hips and grinding her core against his heavy knee, shaky gasps spilling from her full lips. Even through the stiff leather of her worn pants he could feel pooling heat - not the infernal kind, but a living, throbbing desire, years of pent up yearning, all for him to feast on. Intoxicating, she was, driving him mad with the intensity of each movement, a hot mess, but so far from pliant and soft. "Steamin' hell, lass, ye're gonnae make me spill before we even start."

The only result his panting grumbling gained was a dizzy smile, baring Karlach's canines as she relished in the feeling of being wanted, being touched. Soap's hands slid up her torso, pushing the leather straps out of the way, thumbs pressing under her breasts and eliciting another whine from her throat, stamped with a firm bite at the same time. Her fingers scraped over Johnny's nape, slid down and started tugging on his shirt desperately, fabric nearly ripping before he finally managed to tear himself away from her bare skin and pull it off over his head in one abrupt movement. His eyes emerged from under the discarded clothing with a new vigor burning in them, messy strands falling on his forehead from his ruffled mohawk. Karlach ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it out, then cupped the back of his head and pulled him in for another sloppy kiss, free palm studying the body she knew already so well anew - blindly this time, relying solely on touch, deprived so long that it didn't seem real.

To make sure this wasn't an illusion, she touched every inch several times, brushing over the dark fur coating his chest, pressing her big palms into the impressive muscles covered with a healthy, squishy layer of fat, tracing her calloused fingertips over some old scars. Johnny's tanned skin marked every path of Karlach's touch with trails of goosebumps, every ounce of restraint in his body channeled into letting her explore him and the newly reclaimed ability to touch someone without rushing. He saw it in her awed expression, eyes wide open and a dreamy smile, as if he was some kind of miracle - a whimsical Scottish unicorn trotting around and allowing a little tiefling girl to pet its soft, warm hide.

Soap couldn't take that moment away from her, no matter how stiff his dick was in its prison, so he slowly leaned back, guiding the enamoured tiefling by her ribs, until she firmly straddled his lap. Giving up control, entrusting with his whole being and every single emotion that were out in the open for Karlach to see, hear, smell, touch, touch, touch.

Her palm stopped, lingering over his fluttering heart - an alive, real one, without a trace of metal or a hint of mechanical whirring. Karlach closed her eyes, breath hitching and nails digging into the soft skin of his chest, and Johnny felt his last chance of freedom melt into an alloy, firmer than any metal known to any of their two worlds.

His name dangled right before his eyes, tags hanging from Karlach's neck as she leaned over him, but it wasn't her who belonged to him.

"Take wha' ye want from me. Ah'm yers, sunshine, please, let me gie ye everything-" A wave of heat and a sharp flare hit his face, cutting his smitten ramblings off. Suddenly, Johnny fellt like he drowned, molten ocean filling his chest instead of air.

The world bathed in a beautiful underwater azure eminating from Karlach's shining form. Blazing hot, she was a vision on top of him, usually warm tiger eyes now a searing propane blue, looking at him with nothing except angelic devotion.

"Say it again, Johnny," not a command, a plea, desperate, filled to the brim with a carnial need, leaving no room for refusal. His heart answered before he even took a breath, speeding up and throwing itself at his ribs' confines, drawn into Karlach's grasp by the gravity field of the Sun stuck in her chest.

"Ah'm yers, Karlach. All yers."

It was the breathy ch on the end of her name that did her in.

The sound of his dogtags clanking, as she hastly discarded what was left of her clothes, was almost deafening, overriding the buckles being undone and leather creaking as it slid off her body. Soap's hands moved automatically, trembling every second they weren't full of Karlach's supple flesh while he shoved his pants and underwear down, propping himself on elbows to kick them off along with his unwilling boots.

The second her wet heat pressed up to his boner, white flashed beneath his eyelids fluttering shut, a loud groan bordering on a whimper leaving his mouth and landing into Karlach's kiss. Framed by her thick thighs, Soap reached out to grip her hips, thumbs brushing over devilish ridges protruding in beautidul arches over her pelvis. He went over them again, sensing the shudder in her form when he increased the pressure, and then slid his palms higher, studying otherwordly beauty on top of him. There was too much to take in at the same time: dark tattoos overwriting big, wide scars and the torment they marked in her life, more ridges decorating firm, sturdy bones of a warrior, metal pieces incorporated in the body of a woman who refused to be reduced to a killing machine.

Glaring beryl sun reliving its total eclipse underneath the dark shadows of her sternum and his dogtags.

An explosive flare shined through when Soap carefully cupped Karlach's breasts, flicking his thumbs over already hardened nipples, an excited grin stretching his lips as he did it agan and got the same result. Playing with flammables was his second nature, fearless curiousity guiding his mouth to wrap around one of the stiff peaks, sucking and circling it with his tongue - no matter how much pure bliss flooded his mind, Johnny kept his eyes wide open, glistening aquamarines reflecting every change in Karlach's responsive flames. Her moans were deep, husky, akin to an unoiled machine learning to produce those sounds anew after so many years of deprivation, her hand, glazed over with that same cobalt glow digging into Soap's mohawk again and locking him in place. She didn't bother to look, the sight of his devoted eyes framed with the prettiest lashes imaginable etched into her mind, stamped into the back of her eyelids even as she let her horned head fall back and arched into the greedy worship of his hands and mouth.

Leaving one nipple alone, his drool evaporating almost immediately and inflicting more longing tension on the aching bud, Johnny moved on to the other one, grazing it with his teeth and running his tongue flat over, lapping up the tangy clove aftertaste of Karlach's skin. The more desperate his caress became, the harder it was for the tiefling stay still, hips grinding into him. Thick, viscous slick covered her burning folds and smeared over Johnny's cock, mixing with the pre-cum drooling from his tip almost as red as Karlach's body. They sticked to each other with obscenely wet sounds, her drooling pussy clenching around nothing each time her clit caught on his hard length. It was insufferable, the need between her thighs, spread wide to fit around Soap's bulky form, grew worse at each squeeze his rough palms gave her smooth tits, each sharp suck and pointed lick, his capable tongue hooking under the firm nipple and flicking up.

If Johnny ached just as much to bury himself in the infernal heat of his devil woman, he worked hard to distract himself with her chest. Letting Karlach catch a breath, he pressed his wet, chapped lips to her collarbone and skimmed along the firm bone - just as sturdy and reliable as the rest of Karlach's build. There was nothing delicate and frail about her, heavy weight pressing down on him, plump ass with a thick, leathery tail beating the ground between his legs like an impatient pup wanting to play.

One huge, feral, deadly pup, digging her claws into his shoulders and smothering him between her breasts when he finally ran his fingertips down her tense abdomen and found one hard, throbbing clit, ready to send shockwaves through the tiefling's body at first touch. Karlach pressed into his fingers hard, demanding more touch immediately, and Johnny obeyed, catching her sensitive bud between two fingers and cupping her mound to increase pressure. His neck was one wrong move away from snapping in Karlach's tight embrace, cheek stuck squeezed into the uncomfortable firmness of his own dogtags, mouth agape in attempts to breathe through the sweaty heat between them.

He barely noticed any resistance when his fingers slipped into her welcoming cunt, that same thick wetness seeping into his palm and gluing digits together with semi-transpatent cream, pooling down at his knuckles as he started thrusting and searching for the right angle. Judging by Karlach's loud and bright - she lit up like a rescue flare each time - reactions, every angle was right. Her snatch accomodated his fingers easily, inner walls swollen and pliant, entrance stretching around an added third just as eagerly.

"Fuck, mate, please, just... I can't wait any longer." She didn't need to ask him, he was there to guess and serve, but the neediness in her pants made his cock twitch once Soap pulled his fingers out and immediately shoved in his mouth, moaning with eyes rolled back at the spicy taste. He returned his wet hand on her hips, guiding her up and positioning above his rigid member, and supported her heavy weight the whole way as he slowly sank down.

"Bloody hell, sunshine, ye're gonnae melt mah dick off," Johnny sounded choked out, Karlach's burly arms squeezing in a nearly-deadly hold around his head and his cock wrapped in the Hell's heat. Her throbbing walls were already milking him, fluttering around the delicious grith and coaxing more leaking wetness out to compensate for the steam that he could've sworn he saw rising from where their bodies connected. When Karlach didn't respond, Soap shifted his head, looking up to see her expression.

She looked peaceful.

Her body was still adorned with the hottest blue flames, lapping at her skin like ocean waves, tense muscles filled with overflowing arousal, heavy, laboured breathing - but her eyes were calmly shut, a tender smile dancing on her lips, bliss and contentment all the way down to her engine.

Her calm, evenly whirring engine under Johnny's cheek.

When Karlach opened her eyes to look down at his face, she lit up once again - azure crown around the metal circle - as she saw his adoring eyes. The sea their shared between wasn't a stormy one, but the serene, eternal deep ocean, mother to all living things, full of love just as it was millions of years before and will be after this pitifully short moment.

"Karlach," her ears perked up in a painfully obvious way at the beloved sound of her name on his lips. "Please, let me love ye properly. Ah swear tae gods, ah'll dae right by ye."

Her tail answered first, lifting from the ground and wrapping itself around Soap's ankle, and then followed the first bounce. His whole core shivered, arms locked in a bear hug around her hips, a loud low moan drowning in her chest as his face slid down her sternum and back up, nudging the dogtags away. Maybe Karlach followed it up with a breathless "yes", but Johnny didn't hear it already, palms sliding down to grab big handfuls of her ass and knead her thighs tensing up and relaxing as he rode him.

He must've left bruises before Karlach finally gave up on staying upright and nudged him to fall back first onto the messy bedroll. Soap caught one of her hands, placed on his torso for support, and guided it away, interlocking their fingers as she leaned forward. Her eyebrows knitted together with another moan, his swollen tip hitting the spongy spot inside and dragging past it at each thrust of his hips meeting the tiefling's efforts halfway.

Raw slaps of their bodies hitting each other mixed with the metal jiggling of those tags, bouncing between Karlach's palm-sized, fucking perfect breasts. Up. Down. Slapping her chest and hitting each other.

Up - the blue sun shined down the deep waters of his gaze.

Down - perfectly round shape of his devotion's evidence overshadowed the celestial body encased in its cage.

Thousands of solar eclipses right before his eyes, each and every one for John MacTavish only. His whole universe in the form of a woman climaxing around his cock with a shuddering growl.

Myriad of blazing hot, white and blue supernovas exploded in his eyes when he felt Karlach squeeze around him, both of them stubbornly fucking through the orgasm even after she collapsed on top of him - a horned head ramming his forehead sent another wave of bright sparks dancing behind his eyelids, his restraint finally snapping. He grabbed Karlach around her waist again, whimperng into her twitching ear, and fucked up into her spasming pussy, their tight closeness overstimulating her with relentless grinding until his pace stuttered, hot wave rushing down his body and spilling inside.

Soap's knuckles popped from the sheer strength of her grip, tightening as his seed painted her insides in thick, messy ropes, a sticky swamp smeared between their crotches, too wet to dry out even under Karlach's relentless heat. He chuckled, wrinkling his nose in the manner he already picked up from her, and pulled his reddened palm from her big paw - only to splay between her shoulder blades and hug her tighter. They stayed entangled for some time, catching their breaths, until finally Karlach moved, lifting up a bit. Johnny's chest immediately raised with a grateful sigh, previously squished by the tiefling's weight, and she shoot him a worried look, but was met with a fucked-out expression of a man that had just experienced heaven.

"Hey, soldier." Karlach cooed softly, nudging his nose with hers. Soap's grin widened, and he finally focused his gaze on her sweet smile. Irresistably kissable. "How'd I do? Spectacular?"

"Hey, sunshine." He mumbled, brushing his thumb over her smiling cheek and pinching gently. "Ye sure ken how tae fuck a lad's brains oot."

His hand travelled lower, hooking a finger under the chain that once decorated his own neck and tugging onto it until it dented Karlach's skin. She leaned back down after a lingering pause, leaving him breathless once again in more ways than one.

A loud, ear-ringing slap landed heavily on her ass, jolting her tail up like a flag and causing her cunt to tighten around his slowly hardening again cock.

"Now tha' we've warmed up, how about Ah show ye how we dae it where Ah'm from?"

#can't lie i'm sad that they're not in a throuple with dammon now #yes soap is down bad for karlach wearing his tags #also ghost wasn't sleeping #don't ask me why i have sea metaphors in every text #karlach x soap #karlach #bg3 karlach #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #cod #call of duty #fluff #fanfic #smut #cod smut #bg3 smut

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norel-ravenclaw · 1 year ago

Text

The Haunted Mansion

Ikepri AU - Part 2

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: All 13 plus allusions to unknown new trio

Genre: Paranormal Tragic Romance

Rating: 14+

Word count: Part 2 - 4760

Description: Ikepri Haunted Mansion AU - The regional princes have had an awful time getting servants to stay at their grand manor. A young woman takes the job and quickly discovers why no one else applied. Despite the strange occurrences, she finds home and even love among them. But tragedy seeks to cut short the possibility of a happy ending. Be warned, this is a story for those who like a twisted sort of satisfaction.

..........................................................

The next morning, she arrived to serve breakfast, and was surprised to see Prince Chevalier joining the others. She went to serve to Prince Jin first, but Mr. Sariel cleared his throat.

"You ought to serve the master first."

Surprised, she looked up. "But he isn't here, is he?"

Mr. Noir furrowed his brow. "Of course he is. Master Chevalier is at the opposite head of the table."

She stared at him for a moment. "But... I thought the man with the eyepatch and cane was the head of the estate? He said he was."

The mild clamour of the men preparing for breakfast suddenly stopped. They all exchanged looks with one another, drawing her attention. Meanwhile, Mr. Noir's expression fell dark as he continued to stare at her.

"What are you talking about?" Yves demanded. "My cousin died years ago. You must have seen his portrait and dreamed the whole thing."

"...Oh."

She stood there still, contemplating the events of the evening before. But just as her mind was about to bend, Clavis cleared his throat.

"Not to worry, chickadee, everyone has hallucinations of ghosts around here. Must be the mold behind the walls," he said cheerfully.

Nokto made a face. "Ugh, don't even joke about such a thing. Don't ruin our appetites."

The ashy haired man beside him grinned. "Oh? Perhaps my cooking would do better at inspiring your hunger. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! Even Chev decided to have it this morning."

A chorus of tired dissent traveled the table before Emma stirred back to motion to deliver the plate to the other end of the table.

"Well, I apologize for the mistake. Your breakfast, Master Chevalier."

He made no effort to acknowledge her, but beside him, the golden eyed menace piped up again. "My my, brother, that is no way to greet the woman you so admire."

All eyes flicked to the end of the table. Clavis smirked as the blond stubbornly tucked into his breakfast.

"After your little display last night, he fell madly in love with you, you know. No one has ever dared to talk back to the Brutal Beast. And certainly no one would have ever survived it. Except for you. You have something awfully special to be able to capture the heart of a heartless automaton~"

Chevalier grunted, unimpressed. "Stop spouting nonsense."

Emma took another plate of food off the trolley, holding it with both hands to hide the slight trembling. She stood behind Leon's chair, and he chuckled.

"Did you really face him?" His eyes were fond as he looked up at her. "I knew there was something special about you. It would take a person with nerves of steel to choose to come to this place to begin with, much less stand up to Chev on your very first night."

His smile eased her nerves slightly, and she returned it shyly. Feeling another gaze on her, she glanced up to catch Chevalier looking away.

Jin chuckled. "Well, if you ever get in trouble again, offer to help him in the library. It's a lot of work trying to preserve all those old books." He winked. "He might be more forgiving towards someone actually willing to help him."

She perked up at the mention of books. "Oh, I haven't seen the library yet."

Mr. Noir cleared his throat, passing her another plate. "Take care not to neglect your other duties with your nose tucked in a musty old book, hm?"

Despite the fact that his words were a warning, she smiled, sensing the kindness underneath. "Yes sir."

And so, Miss Emma took to helping with the library restoration project with Chevalier in the afternoons between lunch and supper. She managed to pull bits of conversation from him, and they discussed books for hours.

Meanwhile, she became accustomed to life at the mansion, growing close to all of the curious beasts that resided there. Slowly but surely, they warmed up to her in turn.

Jin taught her to dance. Clavis tried to catch the annoyingly (impressively and charmingly) astute girl in his traps. Leon took her for horseback rides around the vast property. Yves taught her how to bake. Licht showed her some self defense. Nokto (forced her) to learn the art of negotiation. Luke took her into the gardens to escape the dark labyrinthine halls for naps on clear days. Rio taught her how to be the perfect attendant. And Sariel asked for her help in organizing his office, leading to him teaching her how to take care of the paperwork required for running the place.

Weeks turned to months, and against all odds, the cold and detached Brutal Beast softened towards her.

Their late night reading parties offered time to talk. Approval turned to appreciation, which became affection. Then adoration.

On the morning after the first snowfall, he invited her to the gazebo for tea. There he presented her with a velvet box containing a priceless yellow diamond ring.

With tears and a shout of joy, the brave maiden and the beast became engaged.

Miss Emma was thrilled and anxious to broaden her studies so that she could help govern the people beside her new fiancé. Each of the brothers helped teach her what she needed to know.

She was diligent in her chores through it all. During a particularly long day of dusting, she strayed into a farther hall of the mansion and heard the distant voices of her lover and Clavis.

"...ruined everything I was trying to do!"

"There was only one correct choice... for the whole of the region..."

"Years of work for the refugees, up in smoke! How could you?! There's nothing... without you!"

"Stop complaining. ...your foolish actions."

The sound of their argument died off, and she continued her work with a furrowed brow. She knew the two butted heads often, but they always made things work.

That night after a long day of busywork, she slowly made her way towards her lover's office. An economics book in hand, she paused by the window, seeing the light on in the private library. She smiled, seeing her fiancé's silhouette as he paced with a book in his own hand. The candle light flickered in the window's reflection, the moon bright and the night still.

Sighing contentedly, she closed the book and started towards the opposite wing of the mansion.

As she passed by the row of armour in the hall leading to the side entrance, something captured her attention out of the corner of her eye.

Glancing to her right, a glowing red eye pierced the gloom of the evening.

She screamed, stepping back in alarm, amplified by the murderous expression on his face.

"Gilbert?"

He stood between the softly gleaming metal, his aura dark and brooding.

"What... erm, what's wrong?"

He sighed deeply before putting on a terribly off putting smile. "My friend did something not very nice. He stuck me with the worst company." That awful smile deepened. "I don't think I can forgive him."

Emma faltered, unsure of what she was actually seeing. "...Right, well. I shouldn't keep Chevalier waiting. ...Excuse me."

Hurrying down the corridor, she continued on her way.

Then a strange rhythmic sound started to come into focus. As she drew closer to the mansion entry hall, what greeted her was a scene of chaos.

Several police automobiles whined outside, blue and red lights flashing through the foyer. All of the brothers were gathered, the servants whispering in the corner. Two officers struggled to pull a man forward, and when she saw him, she gasped.

Clavis screamed, drenched in blood as they pushed him towards the front door. "He deserved it! Justice was finally served for that heartless murderer!"

The gentle hearted lady dropped her book. "Clavis?!"

His rage-filled eyes met hers, and something flickered in them. She ran up to him, ignoring the officers' warnings.

"Clavis, tell me, what happened? What did you do?!"

"Emma." Leon rushed up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She could not see the tear stains on his face.

His brother did not meet his eye, but there was a longing as he met hers. "Emma... Why couldn't you have chosen me? Couldn't I have made you happier than that stuffy old bastard?"

Her whole frame began to tremble. "Tell me you didn't. Clavis tell me you didn't!" she screamed.

He swallowed hard. "He ruined all my work. The people were relying on me..."

Greater horror dawned even as sobs wracked her. "Chevalier had just made an agreement with Tanzanite."

Golden eyes widened as understanding hit. Then he snarled. "Why wouldn't he tell me?! Why didn't he trust me enough-" Biting his lip hard, tears began to fall. "Damn him to hell!!"

"Chevalier..."

As the room full of people sniffled and sobbed, a quiet breeze blew in through the front door.

It almost seemed to Emma like a voice whispered, 'How dare you trap me here with him forever? Join me too, friend.'

Leon gasped and firmly dragged her backward with a shout. "Look out!"

The officers cried out and scrambled back, allowing Clavis the chance to take half a step forward before it happened.

The finest suits of armour flanked the main door. And one of them conveniently dropped the tall axe it held.

Emma saw a point of red light emanating from the helmet before Leon spun her around and crushed her against his chest.

Her pounding heart covered the sound of Clavis' grunt of pain. But not the screams and cries of the brothers.

"Clavis!" Jin screamed.

Leon held her close, keeping her from the ghastly sight of the axe in his brother's back. She clung to him, thinking of the last moment she saw her fiancé in the library, not realizing he had indeed already been dead for many hours.

...

Yves found Emma in her room once again, late for tea.

Again, she sat on the floor with a white gown around her. His reflection in the mirror was the only thing that broke her from her reverie.

"Miss Emma..." he sighed. Setting down a tea tray, he went to kneel beside her. "Come now, it's been a month. You must develop a strategy to get out of this funk."

With an imperious huff, he pulled a kerchief from his coat.

"Yves," she sniffed, "It's just too horrible. How do I move on from all that?"

Looking at her, he straightened up and declared, "Well, you'll never feel better if you don't take care of yourself. Let's get you fixed up."

And so he moved behind her to fix her hair. Then he helped her to her feet and held up the wedding dress to her.

"Emma, you will get to wear this dress someday, I promise. So go and find love and happiness until then."

At last, she could see him clearly between her tears and offered him a smile. "Thank you Evie."

After this, the broken hearted woman became much closer to her masters. Including the capricious cat.

They met every day for tea, secretly of course so that Mr. Noir wouldn't lecture her on taking tea with the people she was meant to serve.

But the healing love of the beasts was not met with approval by all.

The nights in the manor became even louder with shouting and wailing, shattered dishes and a set of scratch marks through the late Lord Chavalier's portrait.

Poor Yves found himself increasingly exposed to such mysterious happenings. Until his brothers began to mock him for his constant ghost stories.

He began to lose sleep, and the late nights started to go to his head. He even turned to alcohol to temper the madness.

But this, sadly, proved to be his undoing.

For one night after a second drink, he was alone in the corridor, shouting and waving off invisible phantoms.

He lost his footing, unaware of the staircase behind him.

Luckily for him, the third tumble proved fatal, breaking his neck.

And thus the third Rhodolite brother died in the ill fated mansion.

Though as the coroner arrived in the morning, Licht chewed his glove in distress. He could have sworn he heard his brother shouting at Clavis in the dead of the night. Something about making Emma happier...

Jin and Leon worked to keep the place lively after the accident, but everyone was feeling down. Miss Emma took it upon herself to use Yves' cookbook to make everyone's favourite sweets.

The strain of everything forced twins closer - an effort from Nokto, who was perhaps the only one who really understood just how much Yves did for Licht.

Miss Emma joined him in this endeavour.

Knocking on his door, she was greeted by a lazy voice inside.

"Come in."

She entered with a tray and found the fox prince lounging in his large bed.

"Care to join me, Em?"

Hardly hesitating, she set down the tea and shook her head. "Once again, the answer is no, sir."

He sighed and sat up. "And why not?"

She put on a polite smile. "Because I don't have feelings for you."

His unreadable smile stayed in place as he got up from the bed. "We both know that's a lie. Why pretend?"

He certainly didn't miss her blink and hesitation.

"...We're friends, aren't we? Can't we just, be that?"

Stopping in front of her, he sighed again. Reaching out to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, she jerked back in reflex.

"You still don't trust me."

Their eyes met with an intensity that lasted far too long before she broke it and headed towards the door. "Your tea will get cold."

After the door shut, he lingered before going to pick up the teacup. "Not colder than you, Em," he sighed, a depth of sadness to his tone that she was not there to see.

But as it happens, his former actions (a fling, to be specific) came back to haunt him.

The brother of an influential businessman stormed the mansion one day, demanding to see Nokto Klein, 'The slimy bastard that broke his little sister's heart.'

The rain had only just begun to let up as the remaining brothers lined up outside a crypt next to a suitably flat area for a duel.

Licht stayed upstairs, and Miss Emma came across Nokto grumbling as he pulled his sword out of the weapon cabinet.

"You shouldn't have to do this," she said.

His ruby gaze met hers. "Won't you give me a kiss for courage?"

Her brow furrowed. "Nokto, listen to me. I know you've hurt people. And I don't agree with any of that. But you shouldn't have to risk your life just because someone with a temper-"

She jumped in surprise as he slammed a hand against the wooden case.

"None of that matters. If I don't stop him now, he'll ruin my business plans for the-"

"None of it matters?! That you manipulate and throw aside girls who just want the same thing you do-"

Suddenly his lips were on hers. Gasping, she pushed against his chest.

"Em, don't you get what it is that I want?"

Again their eyes met, both with fury and pain. She stormed off and left him there, his brother just out of sight, and a sword in his own hand.

As she left the hall, a tapestry fell behind her. The wind from the armory window carried with it a faint shout of anger.

Luke, Jin, and Leon waited for them down in the yard. As Emma approached, Jin held out an arm.

"Hey. I... take it you weren't able to dissuade him?"

Tears stung at her eyes as she set her jaw. "No. I hope he loses."

Jin's brow furrowed as he held her close, Nokto's footsteps announcing the beginning of the duel.

The businessman scowled as the ash-haired man approached. "About time! You coward! Let's do this so I can send your body into this crypt!"

Nokto smirked as he readied his sword. "I'm not afraid. I have my good luck charm." He sent a wink towards Emma, who crossed her arms and practically snarled at him.

His smile and bravado faded, and a strange look crossed his face. A chilled wind blew across the yard, stirring up mist from the rains. A melancholy howl echoed around, sounding strangely like a yowling cat.

"En garde!" the man shouted.

The duel began quickly. Swords clashed and sparked in the heavy air.

No one saw Licht in a high above stairwell grasping the windowsill tightly. He knew something was wrong. He knew Nokto's fighting style. It was the same as his own. But the movements he saw down below resembled... Yves' more.

He saw the final move before the sword struck. The side of Nokto's chest unguarded.

His cry was unheard from that distance.

Tears clouded his vision as Emma ran to his twin. Luke rushed in with the medical kit, but Jin held back. He knew.

The rain picked up twofold, the howling winds amplifying until the storm grew.

And it lasted. For well over a week.

Emma and several men spent dark nights in the Rhodolite family crypt. They would pretend not to see each other when their midnight mourning overlapped.

One night, it was Emma's turn to wander the crypt. Crying at Chevalier's grave, and pondering at the others. She missed Clavis' laughter, Yves' baking, and yes, even Nokto's attempts to cheer her. She wished she'd taken them up on their offers...

Hearing boots crunching on the soft earth outside, she hastily got up and set herself to rights. She looked out the window to see Licht coming.

As he opened the door, it looked like he was in a daze.

"Licht..."

His eyes finally focused on her. "Oh, it's you."

They stayed in silence for a long moment before he spoke, so quietly she could hardly hear him.

"I keep seeing him. Hearing him. In the halls. Outside. He's angry at Yves and I don't know why."

Miss Emma slowly approached him, and was surprised when he collapsed into her arms in a crushing hug.

She held him close for hours that night, murmuring sweet words of support and love. She stroked his hair as they sat on Nokto's grave until the sun breached the horizon.

For the first time since the incident, the rain finally stopped.

The kind woman shared her time with Jin, Leon, Luke, Rio, and Mr. Noir, studying and baking and helping with paperwork of governance for the region. Meanwhile, she learned how to wield a sword from her lone wolf.

In fact they grew quite close. He opened up to her as he had to no other. In the nights when the drafty halls moaned and whispered, they held each other close.

Until one night when the whispers in the halls became more discernable.

As Miss Emma left his room, a quiet, steady sound followed her. At first she thought it was the ticking of the grandfather clock, until she passed it.

Around the corner, she heard the sound growing louder and louder. She waited at the end of the hallway, only for the sound to stop.

Then a voice came from behind her.

"Such a naughty little rabbit."

Gasping and clutching at her chest, she spun around to see Gilbert.

"You again!"

He smiled, but it looked more sinister and, somehow, sad than friendly. "First the nasty old tiger. You became friends with Clavis. Than my disappointing cousin. Don't think I didn't see your lust for the whore." She tried to interrupt with an offended sound, but he just smiled and continued. "And now, you think you can save that broken boy?"

Tears pricked at her eyes at his taunting.

Stepping closer, he ran a gloved fingertip along her cheek. "I wish you'd be my friend. I promise you'd like me very much." The sight of her rebellious look made him smirk. "You don't think so? But you already think of me so often, don't you."

It was a statement, not a question.

He laughed at her reaction of guilt, and the sound multiplied. She spun around, certain she saw Clavis' cloak disappearing around the corner.

She turned back to see if he was still there, but Gilbert was gone as well. Her heart pounding, she decided to go look for him. For signs of him. Books, portraits, anything.

Meanwhile, the vengeful trampling beast went off to keep away other beasts from his little rabbit.

Down in the stables, the tap of a cane made the horses stir. The tiny spark of a nearly dead candle reignited in a lantern.

With a cruel smirk, he lifted his cane and carelessly tipped the lantern off its hook. It clattered to the ground and shattered, igniting the dry floorboards and hay.

As he faded away, the shout went up in the household, and the one who most loved the horses raced in.

Licht. He freed the others one by one, suffering burns as he went. But the final stall, the one with his beloved Marron, was too lost to the blaze.

The inferno still raged into the morning hours.

Emma sat beside Sariel on the back steps, empty bottles around their feet as the firefighters were at last able to quell it.

After a while, Leon joined them. Together they were silent. Emma tiredly stroked Sariel's back, and Leon held her hand.

They sat together for a long time after the smoke settled. Quiet tears falling.

After this next accident, the three remaining brothers were closer than ever. Mr. Noir and Rio joined them often for tea, and of course Miss Emma was constantly by their side.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the world turned to gold and red, Leon and Emma spent many hours in the estate garden. Together they harvested and baked, playing in the leaves and having flour fights in the kitchens.

She read to him late into the night, and before the first snow of the season, she received another ring. A dazzling ruby, bright with her love and hopes for the future.

Not long after they announced their engagement, Jin and Sariel decided to throw them a party. They ventured into the deep dark wine cellar, finding - to their great excitement - exceptionally rare and quality vintages long forgotten.

As they set up for the party in the most cozy dining room, she slipped into the attic to pull out her abandoned wedding gown. Holding it up to herself, tears of joy and grief fell. She missed Chevalier, Yves... the twins, even Clavis.

But even now, after all this tragedy, hatred, and inexplicable incidents, she still had Rio, Sariel, Luke, Jin, and her beloved Leon. Together they could weather anything and care for the townspeople.

But as fate would have it, just as she had dried her tears, a glass shattered downstairs.

She dropped the dress and rushed to see what had happened. Sariel was shouting orders to Rio.

"Leon! What happened!" She gasped at the sight of Jin lying on the ground, a broken bottle of wine beside him.

Stepping over the shards of glass, she clamped a hand over her mouth in horror as the men tried desperately to save Jin.

As he choked and gasped for breath, he managed to look at her. "Take... c-care of... Em."

Sariel cursed and picked up the bottom of the old bottle. His voice shook with rage and hopelessness. "To my Uncle Karl, Goodbye."

Luke sputtered. "W-wait, do you mean... That bottle was poisoned who knows how long ago, and Jin just happened to..."

Leon sighed heavily, setting Jin's hand down. "He's gone."

Rio pulled the dumbstruck lady into his arms, shielding her from the scene.

Luke fled in a storm of emotion, and through the night, one could hear the shattering of countless bottles as Sariel destroyed every one left by other residents of the mansion.

After the funeral, they finally had their engagement party dinner. Though the affair was rather more subdued than they'd planned.

As the days passed by, Emma noticed that Luke was behaving more and more erratically.

One night as she finished work, she found him pacing in an upstairs hall. Muttering to himself, he stopped at the window occasionally before doubling back.

"Luke?"

He spun around at the sound of her voice and rushed over. "Emma! Hurry, you've gotta come see this!" He pulled her to the window and pointed out. "Look! It's Licht!"

This took her a moment to process. "W-what?!"

Looking out the window, all she could see was mist on the hills surrounding.

"He was there! Riding Marron with some other people. It looked like they were going out hunting."

She turned to look at him, his green eyes wide with concern. "Luke..."

"But he's dead. And so is..." He huffed, running his hands roughly through his hair. "NOT NOW!"

Miss Emma jumped back a step at his outburst. An eerie sound drifted down the hall, like distant laughter.

A familiar voice, no less.

"See! You can hear him too!" He grabbed her shoulder. "Em, this place is cursed! I'll protect ya from the spirits, I swear."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "Luke, curses aren't real..."

"Then how the hell do you explain everything that's happened?!"

His wild eyes were suddenly on a dark violet gaze.

"We're all going through hell, Mr. Randolph," Sariel said, looking firm. "But the important thing is that we are together. We will try to keep one another safe and happy. That is all we can do."

Putting his hands on Miss Emma's shoulders, he steered her away from the window - where down below, a hunting party ran across the hills, cloaked in mist.

As they walked down the hall, she could swear that the portrait of Gilbert smiled more broadly at her, his eye crinkling in amusement.

"See you soon, little bunny."

They all hoped that Luke would settle down, but alas, poor Luke became more and more sensitive to the... tragic energy of the manor.

More and more incidents occurred of him shouting at Clavis, sobbing to Jin, complaining about Gilbert, and jumping at the supposed sight of strangers in the halls.

Leon and Sariel especially tried to help calm him, taking him to town and for rides in the country. They tried to get him to help with the ever increasing workload. But he would escape to go nap somewhere, desperate to hide from his living nightmares.

Until one fateful night that would change the destiny of the mansion forever.

Miss Emma was, fortunately, asleep away on the other end of the place. She did not hear the altercation between her fiancé and his youngest brother, who, in his madness, accused him of being a spirit himself.

Vowing to protect Emma from all harm, and with the disorienting whispers of a red eyed man over his shoulder, a shove from the strong bear sent the lord of beasts falling to his death.

Miss Emma was, fortunately, in fitful sleep as the sobbing, raving man stumbled out into the forest, out to the peasant's cemetery. Where, carefully tended of dirt and leaves, a small headstone sat tucked away.

No one saw - and no one would discover the truth until many years later - as the last of the sons of the Lord Rhodolite impaled himself on his own sword.

The morning was met with shattered glass reflecting whirling lights.

As Mr. Noir and Rio each had a hand on her shoulder as her second fiancé was taken away covered in white, she at last gave in to the suspicion that somehow, this place was indeed cursed.

And yet, this grisly reputation was not enough to drive away a new buyer.

To be continued.

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