Archive of Our Own ^beta

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✦ Chapter 1: Index

✦ Chapter 2: MHIN x Reader (2nd Person POV)

Kink(s):  Overstimulation + a little brat taming (as a treat) + coming multiple times & just from penetration. 

Anatomy of both parties remains unspecified.  Reader/POV character is the receiving party.


 

✦ Chapter 3: LEANDER x Reader (3rd Person POV, "They" pronouns used)

Kink(s):  Mirror Sex. Edging/Orgasm Denial + Light Degradation & Name calling (MC refers to Leander as a dog but I promise he’s really into it) + Power Exchange & Sub/Dom Dynamics

Leander has a dick, anatomy of Reader/POV character remains unspecified.

 

✦ Chapter 4: VERE x AIS x Reader (2nd Person POV)

Kink(s):  Dacryphilia (Tears) + Cockwarming + Size Difference + Consensual Voyeurism + Power Play.  (Some monsterfucking spice sprinkled lightly on top.)

Ais has a dick, anatomy of Reader/POV character (and also Vere) remains unspecified.  Sparrow nickname used.

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“This is what you needed the whole time, huh?” You can't find your voice well enough to answer. Not that they're expecting you to; you haven't said anything intelligible for the past twenty minutes.

“Acting like a brat all week. But you start behaving once you get some dick in you. Not sure why I wasted my time ‘lecturing’ you when you just needed a good fuck.” You moan out a mindless sound of agreement, arching your back into their thrusts. You’ll agree to whatever degradation they'd like so long as they don't stop.

Mhin fucks like they hunt.

Lithe and powerful, every movement precise. Each effortless, wet slide is an equal measure of exquisite and purposeful. They grind into you, rutting against your sweet spot relentlessly until you can't see straight.

You cum again, whimpering disjointed praise into the musky sheets.

They grant you mercy for a beat. Long enough for you to catch your breath, for legs to stop shaking and the aftershocks to begin to abate. You can feel their keen eyes sweeping over your form, performing a mental check in.

Deciding if you can take more or if they're satisfied with the mess they've made of you, lube and saliva and cum dripping down your thighs.

Then they're fucking into you again, brutally gratifying and searingly, overwhelmingly good. You try to squirm away, overstimulated, but their hands grip both of your thighs, yanking you back harshly, keeping you speared open for them. Their chest pushes into your back as they force you into the mattress, using their body weight to gain leverage, fuck you deeper, their hips pressed firmly into your ass.

“You're not going anywhere until I've fucked the reckless behavior out of you.”

You thrash on instinct, the pleasure sharp like a knife edge, too hot and insistent and all consuming to be bearable. It feels–too good, too much–you can't tolerate it–you can't force yourself to stay still and accept the onslaught even though you want to.

When Mhin fucks you like this, it’s a punishing grind–they’re not thrusting so much as they are abusing the place inside of you that makes you see stars, sets off a chain reaction of pleasure in your core that you can feel throbbing at the apex of your thighs.

Your world threatens to narrow down to just this sensation, the push and pull of ecstasy that Mhin is giving you. You want to allow it to happen; let your mind empty, let your bitterness and your fight fall away. You both know you need that, and you both know you can't get there without Mhin holding you down.

Mhin wrenches the next orgasm out of you, the pleasure stretching out for long, slow seconds as you lose track of time, lose track of the absolutely lurid noises you're making. It's a release beyond just the physical. A head rush you can't quite explain. Liquid reverie flowing through your veins.

Mhin's touch is comforting as you come down. Gentle, strong hands helping you shuffle out of the wet patch below you, laying you on your back. Their hands wander, pressing firmly into your strained muscles and mapping your body like you're their new favorite anatomical diagram, idly tracing the unique features of your skin usually hidden by clothes.

You lean into their touch, humming contently.

“You're so sweet like this,” Mhin murmurs, falling lax against you. They weigh more than you'd expect based off of their slim frame, but it's a comforting weight. You feel soft and pliant with their eyelashes brushing against your cheeks. They move in to press their lips to yours, coaxing your mouth open for several deep, molasses kisses.

“...Makes me want a taste.”

Their mouth travels down, pausing at the places they know are the most sensitive before hovering above your sex.

You dig your fingers into the sheets with shaking arms and hold on tight.

Chapter Text

Leander has the straight backed posture of a man who was given etiquette lessons.  His mannerisms speak of wealth and class, yet they can’t help but observe that he looks completely comfortable while down on his knees.

His back muscles flex as he works himself, sweat slipping down his spine, pooling in the dimples just above his ass.  He’s strung tight, the veins in his arms straining as he strokes a quick, even rhythm.  His dick is flushed a painful red, copious amounts of pre-cum dripping down his wrist and splattering onto his thick thighs, some of it even dirtying the floor below when his strokes become too enthusiastic.

(They wonder how best to make him clean it later–he does so love to be ordered to lick up his own mess–but this floor is probably just as filthy as anywhere else in the Wick, despite appearances–and they don’t think they can find it in themself to make use of his mouth again after watching that.)

The full length mirror hanging in front of Leander is a new addition to the room. Something they’d wheedled out of him with nothing but an easy promise, whispered into his ear down at the bar.  It was theirs not a full day later: a polished brass antique with a priceless clear finish.

His back is to them, but they can see everything they need to by gazing at his reflection.

His strokes stutter, faltering, and they watch as his abdominals jump rapidly. His hand makes a few more shaky attempts before he stops himself with a shudder, breathing hard and squeezing his cock at the base to cut off his own orgasm. They give a little hum of approval, waiting.

“Count.”  They prompt, when he fails to remember on his own.  

They watch his throat bob with effort as he swallows, his jaw trembling around his answer.  “Five.”

“Good boy,” they say, their voice flat and unrewarding.  Dismissive. " Guess that Hightown education really paid off for you, huh ?" He whines at that, his palms slicking along his thighs, awaiting their instruction.  He glances at them in the mirror, eyes hopeful. “Again,” they prompt, “and keep your eyes on yourself until I tell you .  During, , too . You were closing them a lot . It's just you and the mirror until you've earned otherwise.”

Bites his lip, beginning to stroke himself again.

The next edge comes more quickly.

His eyebrows draw up, mouth falling open, back arching.  His cock jumps and this time he falls back onto his hands to keep from giving into temptation.  His eyes travel the length of the mirror, his neck taught with tension as he pants.  They notice his gaze darting along their form for a moment, greedily stealing along their silhouette in the looking glass. A quick glance of the place where their legs are splayed open as they lounge on the bed behind him, toying with themself idly.

He’s back to form so seamlessly, he probably thinks they didn’t even notice. The next number falls out of his mouth without prompting, as if to cover for his earlier sleight.

"..."

“ Baby ,” he whines, fidgeting without further instruction. His fingers return to his dick when they don't reply, ghosting over his wet, swollen cockhead.  He knows they hate the way that epithet sounds in his voice, the condescending lilt he manages to wrap around the syllables. “Sweetheart. Please, may I–”

“ Bad dog ,” they admonish.  They don't elaborate–let him figure out for himself which breach of protocol they're scolding him for.

“Again. And if you can’t behave, I’ll have to put you outside.”

Chapter Text

“Hmm, hold that pose,” Vere purrs.

Ais huffs a hot breath into your face as he freezes above you.  His brows furrow, mouth twisting into a determined grimace as he grits his teeth.  His forearms tense hard where they are resting on either side of you, fingers flexing against the silken sheets.

You can feel him pulsing inside of you.  A hot, insistent ache.

You try to relax, try to breathe through it but the lack of movement makes you hyper aware of every inch, the raw feeling of him stretching you open, the way your body twitches so sickly-sweet with the effort.  You inhale a slow, shaking breath, chest trembling, and shut your eyes in an attempt to block out some of the sensations—the clawing need gnawing at your core.

“Eyes open, darling,” Vere corrects you, tone somewhere firmly between scolding and teasing.  “And turn your face back towards Ais.  I’m trying to capture the moment .”  Your heart is pounding in your ears but you can hear Vere’s smooth, sly voice with perfect clarity.  Ais is an overwhelming force but Vere is a magnetic presence; no matter how caught up in each other you and Ais can get, Vere will always command attention without effort.

You turn your chin as requested, only to be caught in Ais’ gaze.

(Caught and breathless–the same way you were when he was bullying his thick length into your hole, thrusting sharply and sighing in satisfaction, his fingers still at work massaging and pressing and stroking as he sunk into you inch by inch; he'd prepared you until your entrance was puffy and swollen, sopping with thick, medicinal smelling lube and he still had to take his time.  Fucking you slowly until you could take all of him.  And then, the moment you finally could...)

“Hmm, that's better.  Stay just like that.  Let me see those pretty expressions.”  You hear Vere adjusting his heavy vellum paper.  The glide of quick, clever lines being drawn.

You maintain eye contact with Ais, drunk off his breath, his body, the very essence of him, hovering so close above you, and are utterly unprepared to meet his intensity.  The way he looks at you like he’s seconds from devouring you, barely held in check by the challenge that Vere has laid before him.  Before both of you.

You bite into your lower lip as you shift involuntarily, oversensitive nerves still riding the throbbing of Ais’ dick.  He’s so fucking thick and girthy that he presses at the soft spot inside you without even trying . The angry pulse of him is a gratifying thrum, stoking your aching heat by way of mere burgeoning contact.

His cock gives another strong twitch and your insides clench around him.  He feels so fucking good–you almost think you might be able to come like this, if you can get your body to keep on clenching like that. 

—Almost.

Your next breath comes out as a sob.  There’s a high pitched whine building at the base of your throat and your lashes are wet when you blink.

A monstrous snarl escapes Ais’ lips, one that you can feel even more than you can hear, the vibration of it echoing through your body everywhere you're pressed against him.  The pinnacle between your thighs pulses with it, and your toes curl involuntarily as an errant tear runs down your cheek.  Ais is shaking, sweat dampening his face, his pupils expanding and contracting rapidly, his eyes locked on you as he barely holds himself back.  “Sparrow,” he says, gravel in his tone. 

You say his name in return, your head tipping involuntarily, bearing the softness of your throat, faded marks from both your lovers decorating your skin.  You hear the sheets rip below you, torn into shreds where Ais’ nails have dug into them.

Vere sighs pointedly.  You hear him stop his work, tap his charcoal against the paper as if he’s not entirely satisfied with the scene in front of him.  He pauses for a long time, leaving you both in limbo.

When he moves, it’s to stand.  To saunter over to you both.  You’re pinned beneath Ais, unable to look away, but you can feel Vere’s shadow fall over you just before his hand touches your face, forcing your eyes to his as he catches a crystalline tear with his index finger.

“Shame,” he says, dipping his fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up the taste of your tears, lavishing the digits with his tongue.  You whine out a desperate, quiet note just from watching his tongue at work and he basks knowingly in the attention.  “I really thought I could get you both crying.”  He smiles dangerously once his fingers have left his mouth. 

He uses them to drag a wet path down Ais' spine.  “Oh, but the night is still young.  Perhaps I may still think of something that will do the trick...”