Side-Story 1. The Witch and The Brute (I)

A/N: Content warning! NSFW and Sexual Manipulation. These chapters are tonally pretty different from standard Speedrunning fare; covers Eudora & Feiyan'gs relationship. Can be skipped if you're uncomfortable with toxic relationships.

Also: chapter has been edited significantly as of 3/28, 1:30 PM EST!

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As Eudora snuck out of her chambers that night, she was more pent-up than she’d been in months. She was still smarting over that damned Io’s snubbing. Then she’d had to attend the dreadful Zhang Family ball. As she nodded and pretended to listen to some self-important failson spouting off over Spirit Wine, she imagined her Fei-Fei brooding, prowling like a caged beast in heat as he awaited her. No-one fucked like her Fei-Fei. She imagined him, great brute of a man with his great big manhood, ramming her so hard she couldn’t think, dissolved into a puddle of pleasure. She imagined him making her his; she was flaming with lust, tingling all over. It was unbearable.

She could hardly think straight by the time she arrived at his chambers, the penthouse of a stone skyscraper which looked like a massive finger accusing the sky. The cool night air kissed her skin, a delicious contrast to the hotness throbbing through her. She slipped in like an evening breeze through his windows and landed in a catlike crouch. Tonight she wore a skin-tight black dress which hugged her every curve, buffing out her busty chest, wrapping tight around her waist, leaving not an inch of her legs to the imagination. It’d been a hell of an annoyance to yank on—but imagining the look in her Fei-Fei’s eyes when he saw her like this got her hot all over again. Tonight she was the sexiest girl in the Oasis, and she damned well knew it. He’d be all over her the instant she saw her. She licked her lips. She was dying for him to put those big, strong hands on her.

“Fei-Fei? I’m here,” she said, licking her lips.

The only light in the room was moonlight, unveiling half of the room; the rest lay in darkness. A thick fur carpet adorned the floor and sofas of various beast-skins lay tastefully arrayed.

“…’Dora?” his gruff, gravelly voice was soft. He was a thickset mound of darkness, hunched over himself, draped in shadows on the huge bed. Just her name spoken in that husky voice was enough to drive her half-mad.

“Who else?” she breathed, strutting slowly up to the bed. “Miss me, darling?”

“Of course,” he whispered hoarsely.

There was her man. A seven-foot slab of hard, cut meat, half-naked, a great beast rippling with muscle, but not encumbered by it. This was no unwieldy golem; this was a lean, slick, well-built man, every muscle strung together in perfect harmony. He had thick, fetching curls of black hair. The thin white scars on his face only added to his manly aura. It was only fitting, she thought smugly, that her man was as beautiful as she.

Then there was his face, that gorgeous fucking face, a face she had to sit on. She needed to drown him in her. All of a sudden her clothes felt like a straight-jacket; they offended her. Why wasn’t she on top of him? She frowned. Why wasn’t he on top of her? She’d expected to be pinned to the floor by now.

But her Fei-Fei hadn’t moved an inch. He was sat up on the bed, head down. It was like he’d hardly registered her presence.

A flicker of annoyance. “Fei-Fei,” she purred, sidling up to the bed. “Look at me, darling. Look how bad I want you.”

“Not tonight,” he said. He sounded weary. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for it.”

Annoyance surged through her. Not in the mood for it? She felt like she’d been crawling through the desert, dying of thirst for a month, only to see that the Sinkhole she’d crawled to was a mirage. She was so thirsty she could die. Not in the gods-damned mood?! She wrestled back her annoyance.

“Aww. Is my Fei-Fei upset?”

She plopped up to the bed, crawled up to him. He tried to fend her off. “No, ‘Dora. Please. I’m serious…“

Then he looked up at her at last, and she made damned sure he got a good eyeful of her.

The first thing she noticed up-close were his eyes—red-rimmed, puffy. Had he been crying?   He stilled as he took her in. His gaze was tender. Admiring her.

It irked her. He looked at her like she was a painting of a lovely flower-vase rather than sex distilled in soft skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the way an apostle might worship his goddess.

Now she was frowning in earnest. She didn’t need worship. She needed him to fuck her stupid. What the hells was wrong with this boy?

“What bothers you?” she breathed, crawling up to him on all fours, tracing a finger down his jawline. “Talk to me, darling. But first let me get out of this dress… it’s so tight…”

If this doesn’t work, he’s not a man. She stood up on the bed and slowly, sensually, started to undress. She started at the neck, pulling the fabric down the V of her chest where it bunched against her breasts, struggling to climb over them, stretching with tension. Then she dragged it down, releasing it all at once, letting her twins spring free, pert and shapely in the dim light. The fabric dipped lower, curling around slim waist, around her swaying, womanly hips, down to her thighs… he hadn’t moved an inch. Not even when the dress drooped to her ankles; not even when she stepped out, fully bare in front of him. Eager and waiting. A body which was the subject of countless depraved male fantasies was his to claim.

Still he did nothing. She gritted her teeth. She could scarcely believe it.

“‘Dora,” he said in a strangled gasp. “Please. Not now. Not tonight. I mean it.”

Usually, one sway of her hips and she had to beat him off with a stick. She knew her Fei-Fei; the boy had such a voracious appetite he’d once almost taken her in the public square, consequences be damned. What changed?

She was almost insulted.

“Very well, then,” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with you?”

A terse, endless silence stretched between them.

When he spoke it was in such a soft tone she felt like she was listening to a little boy—a scared little boy. “Why are you with me, of all men?”

She frowned. “What a bizarre question.”

His head was bowed; he could’ve been carved out of stone. The silence crept back between them.

He’s not letting this go, is he? Her annoyance was reaching a climax. She supposed she’d have to humor him. He got in these moods sometimes, but it’d never been enough to shut him down like this—not when she was throwing herself at him. She couldn’t recall him refusing her advances like this once.

“Hmm…” She sidled up to him. “You’re strong. Handsome. I like how you look naked…” Her hands trailed downward, feeling the hard lines of his chest, his stomach. He’s so damned hot, even when he’s in his funks. That damned jawline, those proud cheekbones. A prime-grade hunk of meat, head-to-toe. She licked her lips.

“I especially like that massive dragon down there…”

Then his hand caught hers at his waist.

“Is that all?” he croaked. “There are plenty of men like that. Why are you with me?”

I’m going to fucking murder this boy. It was like she had the world’s worst itch and his hand stopped hers an inch away from scratching it. She was going mad.

“What the hells is it you wish to hear?” She snapped. She sat back, crossing her arms.

Feiyang’s eyes were shaded in shadow. “I…don’t know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “‘You’re the only one for me?’ Is that it? ‘My soul aches for yours?’”

Feiyang’s eyes sealed shut. “I don’t know… I don’t like it when you fool around with other men.”

“Ugh! Get over yourself”— she shoved him down on the bed—“And fuck me already! You’re such a child sometimes.”

“A child?” He was breathing heavier. Angrier. Good. She could do with some fire in him.

“You’re a boy playing King, throwing fits when you don’t get your way.” She was so horny and frustrated she didn’t know what she was saying. All of a sudden she was straddling his chest, leaning over him. The words poured out. “Stop being so damned emotional! It’s repugnant.”

He flinched as she jabbed a finger at him. “And what if I asked the same of you? Don’t pretend you’re any better than me! Why are you with me?” She threw her silky hair over a shoulder. “Because I’m prettier than all of those sluts you keep around.”

She was hurting him. She knew it; she was the anguish in his face. But it felt good to twist the knife. He deserved it, for sticking her up like this. She needed him so bad—and where was he? Limp as a straw, sipping self-pity like wine.

“No!” He cried, seizing her. His eyes were wide, smoldering. “You musn’t think that! Of course I think you’re pretty, but that isn’t why I’m with you.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You’re sweet, you’re witty, poised, you don’t take to any of my wyrmshit… you’re the most self-assured person I know. You inspire me.” Who was this blubbering, red-eyed creature? Where had her man gone? “I think… I think I love you,” he gasped.

The silence which stretched between them was the heaviest she’d ever felt. She didn’t know what to say. She felt like she’d been slapped in the face.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest; from what, she didn’t know. She burst out laughing. It sounded hollow to her own ears. What else was there to do? “Listen to yourself! ‘I think I love you’? Ha!”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes; she saw his lips trembling. He was blinking fast, as though trying to hold back tears. My gods, is he about to cry? She couldn’t handle this; it was all too much, all at once. She didn’t know what to think. What the hells is he thinking, springing this on me all of a sudden?

She climbed off him. “Alright,” she snapped, yanking on her dress leg by leg. “We’re done here.” She stood, turned, and stalked away from him. She didn’t bother doing any sort of sensual strut for him—Heavens knew he couldn’t get it up anyways. She was still burning a hole in her dress down there, but her right hand would have to do for tonight. A pang of spite shot through her. She left him with one last barb—“If you can’t satisfy me, maybe I’ll pay a visit to our dear friend Io. Maybe he’s man enough for me.”

There was a heartbeat’s pause. Then the roar, so furious, so violent, almost knocked her off her feet. An incredible force crashed into her left side and sent her sprawling into the rug.

Feiyang Shen had come alive at last. His two strong hands pinned her by the wrists; he was panting, his big, firm chest heaving up and down. His eyes were bloodshot—this time from sheer rage. Finally!

“Fine,” he growled. “You want me, you godsdamned whore? You’ll fucking have me!”

She gave an excited squeal, choked off as his hand wrapped around her throat. She tried moving her arms, but found she couldn’t budge him in the slightest. He was dominating her utterly. She gurgled with pleasure. There’s the Fei-Fei I know.

He grabbed at her crotch, tore open the fabric, and was upon her like that; no foreplay, no kissing, no intimacy. Her squeals turned to high-pitched moans.

The suite shook. The floors cracked. Furniture was strewn about, thrown, smashed. He thrust her face up against a wall so hard it cracked the plaster, pounded her like a hammer intent on driving a nail through the sandstone; she loved it. He was hard, thrusting, grunting; she was soft, bouncing about, moaning. They spiraled through armoires, through tables, into bed-posts. They didn’t care. They were animals rutting with reckless, feral abandon.