Work Text:
“Well done, my prince. You are quite the prize.”
“Ah-ah-ah, my little angel—first things first…”
“Shh, don't worry about any of that, doll. Just focus on me.”
“Don't I get a reward for bringing you home safe and sound, my little sunshine?”
“Be glad that isn’t you, boy. It could have been, without me.”
Avery pours freshly brewed coffee—directly imported, expensive, and, most importantly, fashionable—forcing his brain into a state of cogitation despite the present lack of caffeine. It's early in the morning, not quite 7 A.M., and as he prepares his coffee the way he likes it (black, with enough sugar to banish the bitterness), he begins in earnest the cost-benefit analysis of his most recent gamble: his connexion with you.
Under normal circumstances, Avery likes gambling. It’s quite enjoyable to take a risk in a game, even more satisfying when it pays out. Yes, one cannot win every time, but those failures make the victories all the sweeter. Especially when it launches one into greater prominence.
However, as a rule, Avery hates gambling and overt risk-taking when in the context of the grand scheme of his life. There are too many variables that cannot be accounted for, which can lead to any number of undesired outcomes, especially where things like hope and desire are concerned. If one takes a leap of faith on hope alone, one is destined to be disappointed when the factor of reality comes in. If one pursues one’s desires for the thrill of it, one is destined to be burned by it eventually. (A certain headmaster comes to mind.)
It’s been over twenty years since he was burned by the pursuit of his own desires. The most infuriating part of it all was that it hadn’t even been worth it at the time, let alone all the disastrous consequences that followed. Perhaps Avery should have learned his lesson any number of ways before that fateful day his parents kicked him to the curb to save their own skins, but he was a stupid kid back then.
Too many years too late, but Avery has, in fact, learned to calculate risk properly. He picks his prey with much more care, nowadays. Ones that who couldn’t do any real damage. Ones that no one would particularly miss.
And what a coincidence indeed that, in the pursuit of his grand ambition, Avery found himself in need of someone no one would miss.
Because Remy, damn the man, had something Avery needs in particular. Something more than just money (that he doesn’t need) or mundane connections (he has plenty among high society already) or run-of-the-mill illicit goods (he doesn’t need to go to the moors for those). The only method to earn the honor, however, was through participating in one of those ghastly parties of his. The major snag had been that they were couples only parties—and not, he was subtly informed, with an irreplaceable sort of partner (not that he had someone irreplaceable in the first place). What a shame his most recent replaceable creature had made too much of a nuisance of himself, then.
But then he ran into you.
A bright young man working on a silly little science project. A gorgeous one, too, and Avery found he couldn’t resist you. He invited you to a cup of coffee, his usual first step of risk assessment. He asked little questions, simple things like your family situation (you were an orphan; Avery had to resist the grimace that almost pulled over his face at the thought of having to make a deal with Bailey over you) and your preferences.
Unfortunately, he’s pulled away by work in the middle of asking how school was treating you, but he’d had a good feeling about you, despite the short conversation. Some might call it a fateful meeting, or perhaps serendipity. Avery, meanwhile, doesn't waste his time considering whether or not his fate is predetermined, not when he's worked too hard to let ultimately pointless philosophical quandaries such as fatalism weigh him down. All he’d cared about was getting his hands on you and gettin back at everyone that had looked down on him and cast him aside.
Fast forward a few months later, and Avery is sitting on quite the unexpected little pile of prestige alongside that special gift he’d gotten from Remy, inches away from earning his way into one of the most exclusive groups in town, and he’s beginning to wonder how much continuing his affair with you would continue to cost him, and if it may be worth investing just a little more.
Does he want you around? Yes, he does, undeniably. It took some rather hands-on training at first, of course, given how virginal you’d been at the start. You’d never even been kissed, and how delightful had that been to steal away something so innocent and precious from so adorable a boy? Sometimes he imagined seeing a halo over your head with how angelic you’d been…
And still are, even, despite how thoroughly and frequently he’s fucked you and how delirious with pleasure you’ve been, begging for nothing less than more. After all, your comportment on the outings he's taken you on have now been perfected to an art form, and your dancing skill matches his to perfection. You impress and delight all the right people in all the right ways, and help elevate Avery's own status like any supportive companion ought.
As far as services rendered goes, you have certainly earned what he’s been paying you. You’d surely make an adorable little husband for someone someday… Avery frowns with displeasure at the thought of having to share you at some point, and continues on with his assessment.
Can he continue to afford you? Yes, of course he can. The money he drops on you weekly isn't nothing. It's one thing to offer over £2,000 simply for the pleasure of your company, but that doesn't factor in all the other costs: the dinners, the hotel rooms, the treats, the gifts, frivolous helicopter rides, the time and energy he could have spent on working instead. These costs, the ones on paper, are not negligible. However, they are easily affordable, and Avery isn’t hurting for money in the same way that you are.
Does Avery actually enjoy your presence? He takes a sip of his coffee, grunting softly at the remaining trace of acidity, and adds a couple more cubes of sugar. He decides that he does, yes; inasmuch as he can afford to care about anyone other than himself beyond what they can do for him. When he thinks about you—your earnestness, your loyalty, your obedience, your intelligence, your skill—he can't help but smile a little and feel warm with satisfaction. A bright young man indeed. Reliable and flawless and consistently energizing, like coffee. He takes another sip and nods to himself.
And, most importantly, you’re a gorgeous boy who knows how to dress for success. Avery has working eyes and an active libido—of course he wants you around, and with all your focus set solely on him. Always looking to him for the last say, always putting your strings in his capable hands, always smiling at him and listening so attentively, even though he’s beginning to suspect you don’t always understand what he’s talking about. He thinks about the way you sometimes chase after him and take his hand when he least expects it, and the bashfulness you show when he pushes you out of your comfort zone, even as you follow his every order (orders wrapped in suggestion and implication, but they’re orders nonetheless). Your soothing touches, your dancer's physique, your sweet moans, the way you cry out his name so desperately and wantonly whenever he—
Heat has pooled in Avery's abdomen as he’s been reminiscing. He even feels himself start to firm up in his trousers, to his great mortification. He bites down a curse when he, whilst pouring the rest of the pot of coffee into his travel thermos, accidentally splashes some coffee down the side of it in his brief distraction.
That's something else to consider, he concludes as he wipes up the mess. You're starting to have a larger impact on his state of mind outside of your direct interactions than he’s starting to deem acceptable.
There's the positives: when he finds himself motivated enough to finish work faster than usual so that he has the time to come to pick you up after school. When the thoughts and memories of you help him make it through droning meetings, infuriating co-workers and subordinates, or far too much paperwork. When he meets a colleague in the office for whom you did stellar temp work for recently, and, upon learning of your association, is willing to assist Avery without having to directly request it from them. (He’s considered reaching out to the Temp Office’s manager to see about you working for him from time to time…) When you inspire enough confidence in him that he wins near every hand during game nights at Bailey's. He’s starting to believe you’re a good luck charm—insofar as one believes in luck, anyway.
But there’s also the undeniable negatives to consider.
He thinks about all the times he's seen you with others around town as he drives from one location to the next. That delinquent-looking blond that he's seen grabbing at you or pushing you against the wall with a heated kiss. (If only traffic would budge just a bit faster, Avery could get to you before that boy could. At least he could content himself knowing he’d been your first.) The bespectacled boy he once saw you leaving the temple with, hand in hand, the boy staring at you with such potent love in his eyes that even Avery could see it for what it was. And not to mention that orphan you're always walking to and from school with.
(It was the first—and so far only—instance you'd ever said no to him. And to a selfless offer made at no cost to you and no real benefit to Avery, at that.
“No, it's okay. We can walk the rest of the way. We're so close to school already, you know?” You smiled brightly at him, like you've done on countless dates. “We appreciate the offer, though, Avery.” Your orphan friend cowered behind you, and Avery couldn't help but notice the way his fingers were entangled with your own.
Caught off guard by the sheer unexpectedness of your rejection, a dark look overtook his face, a display of uncharacteristic naked emotion. Avery didn't remember the boy's name and probably never will—he always stayed out of your conversations, so what did he matter, anyway?—but he had very quickly and very suddenly made himself to be quite the noticeable thorn in Avery's side.
What did that boy do for you that Avery apparently could not? Surely he wasn't the reason you refused Avery just now? He was just some other orphan, and a scrawny, stupid, and pathetic one at that. But it had to be out of some asinine obligation to the boy, because, otherwise, you were attempting to push Avery away altogether. And he could not, and would not, accept that as the truth.
“I see,” he said coolly, forcing himself to relax. “Suit yourself, then.”
It was all he could do to smile, disingenuous as it was, and speed off. He got caught up in traffic again on his way to the office, and the rest of that day was spent far less productive than usual, he had noted by the end of it with no small amount of frustration.)
Avery feels no embarrassment about his age. He's only partway through his forties, his hairline has yet to start shifting, and his graying gives him a dignified air rather than an aged one. He's in fair health (especially compared to his university days), he's more successful now than he's ever been, and his ambitions are closer to hand than ever. Why long for the struggles and angst and scandals of youth? He's long been out of schooling and he’ll never want to go back again.
But he also can't stop wondering what you're doing at school where he can't watch over you, and what he would see if he did. If you're pleasuring that delinquent to keep him from hurting you, or fucking the bespectacled boy in the library for a steam pressure release. He wonders if you take abuse for the sake of your fellow orphan, and if he gets to hold you in his arms every night at the orphanage like Avery only can in a hotel room once a week. And not even every week. (Last week, he brought you out to dinner (another large expense), and unfortunately didn’t have the time for a fuck afterwards. So he just told you to strip and took you in. Mostly just to see you squirm under his intense, undivided attention, but partially just to have a sight to keep him company for the coming days until he could have you again.)
This is where the true costs lie when it comes to you. If it were only money, it would be an easy transaction. One must spend money to make money, as they say. If it were only the public opinion of the difference in your ages, even that would be a tolerable hit so long as you continued to play your part to perfection as you always have.
But…some things can be neither bought nor replaced with money. He’s beginning to worry that if he stopped seeing you, if he were to pick up some other stray instead, they would be too poor a substitute. They would be unable to soothe the boiling rage that drips down his spine and pulses through his face and hands at the thought of your strings slipping free from his fingers forever. Far worse, of allowing anyone the chance to snatch you up, have their fun with you, and leave you irreparably broken because you lacked Avery’s careful oversight.
No, he finally decides. As far as you’re concerned, the tangible costs are meaningless. Perhaps he’s fallen victim to the sunk cost fallacy, his need for nothing less than perfection, and his reckless desires, but he’s put far too much into you to drop you now. Besides, why cast aside this perfect doll that pleases him so, and plays the part of accessory like you were born to the task? It would be a tragic and unconscionable waste of your beauty, talent, and bearing.
Avery takes another drink of his coffee, and wonders what you're doing right now as he stares out the window that overlooks his expansive front yard and Danube Street beyond it. Are you still asleep? Waking up early like he is to work, to earn the money to pay off your debt and support Bailey's racketeering? Are you by yourself, or with someone else? Are you safe and secure, or held as someone's captive entertainment while Avery sits in silent comfort, pining after you like some jealous spouse? His brows twitch inward a little as he sits at his breakfast table to drink his coffee alone in the quiet.
He wants to see you—and for longer than an hour or two. He’s grown quite tired of these long days of waiting and wondering.
Brandy and port are all well and good, but Avery is partial to whisky when it comes to expensive liquors. And it's with the heat of Bailey’s high quality bourbon flowing through him—of the relief of victory after having to sit in his impotent fury seeing Leighton unapologetically leer at you and Quinn touching what’s his—that Avery decides, as he collects his winnings (including you), he doesn't want to spend the night wondering where you are and who you're with.
He takes you home, instead. His home, not the orphanage.
“Make yourself comfortable, doll,” he says warmly as you enter his mansion. You look around with wide, curious eyes, and the smile that comes unbidden to his face is quite genuine for once. He feels loose and satisfied and victorious, and it’s thanks in part to you. So why not allow you the reward of seeing his home?
As Avery shows you around the mansion—the parlor, the dining room, the sitting rooms, the card room, the guest rooms, even his office for a brief moment (though the rest of that wing is off limits for obvious reasons)—he notices you growing more and more perplexed. Knowing how well he’s trained you, he understands why you refrain from asking whatever it is that’s on your mind. He’s in a charitable mood, though, so he decides he’ll allow you to ask him once he’s finished with the tour.
Who knows, maybe he’d even give an actual answer? That would have to depend on the question.
The tour ends in Avery’s bedroom suite. It feels like a suitable finish; where better to have a happy ending for the night? He gestures for you to sit on the loveseat in front of the electric fireplace while he switches it on. Once lit, he joins you, pulling you into his lap. Your folded legs frame his thighs while your arms wrap around his neck instinctively. The heat from the fire doesn't stop either of you from cuddling closer for each other's warmth.
“You’ve had something on your mind, haven’t you?” he asks, smoothing his hands up and down your waist and lower back. “Feel free to ask me if you have a question.”
Your brows furrow with concern a little before you gather your courage and speak. “Well, it’s just… Your house is very…empty, despite being so big. It’s like no one actually lives here…”
Avery’s expression stutters and freezes, as do his hands. Your face falls and you tense up on his lap, afraid you’ve offended and too afraid to move or speak, like a prey animal. Registering this, Avery forces himself to relax, resuming his movements, hoping to soothe the mood.
“Is that so?” His smile turns a bit wry. “Well, being one man in a mansion this size would lend to that, I’d think. I spend quite a lot of time at work, too, as you know, and the only part of the house that I spend much time in beside my bedroom is my office.” Out of all the rooms of the house, the most “lived in” looking one would be his office. (Not that he doesn’t keep it organized, mind.)
The tension eases in your frame. “…Why do you live somewhere so big if it’s just you?”
Because the alternative isn't an option; anyone with my status and level of income has one, and I won’t allow anyone to doubt my success by being the odd one out. Because it’s always better to have too much than not enough. Because I have many spinning plates to manage, and a home this size serves to support many of them in more ways than the obvious.
“To keep up with my peers, to put it simply.”
You nod to yourself at that answer (though Avery can tell you aren’t entirely satisfied with it), then you smile again. “Well, if you ever want company, I could come visit? Then we don’t have to see each other only once a week, other than you giving me rides…”
That sentiment is an echo of his thoughts in a way that makes him wonder if you might also miss him when he’s not around. Avery is not an insecure man, not by any means, but he’d always been very realistic about your pecuniary motivations for this relationship. And perhaps this is part of that, too, but he allows himself to bask for a moment in what it might be like if you wanted more the same way he does.
He also allows himself a brief fantasy of buying you out from Bailey entirely. He knows Bailey would never sell you to him—especially since he gets more money out of Avery by way of your connexion—but he lets himself imagine what it might be like to have you around him every day. You would be the perfect little trophy husband, he imagines, cooking meals and cleaning the manor for him, and allowing him to put all his focus into work. He would get to have you there, ready and waiting, whenever he needs to blow off steam, or when he's done working for the day. No more waiting and wondering and, worst of all, sharing you. To his immense disappointment, he enjoys it all a little too much, and, as he stares into your expressive eyes, he’s quite bothered when he comes back to reality and remembers he can’t have it.
(…Can't he? Perhaps it’s his leftover buzz, but he can think of ways that he could get what he wants. It'd be another gamble, with the stakes higher than ever where you're concerned, but if he just…)
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Avery smiles widely at you and laughs indulgently. “I would like to see you more frequently myself, my little cherub.” He gives you a quick pinch to your backside, and giggles when you jump at it. Not a yes, not a no, and it’s certainly not over-involved.
Your smile turns a little trembly, a little bashful, and you look away like you’re trying to hide your happiness at his response. It’s adorable. It’s refreshing. It’s inviting. Avery suddenly deeply feels the two weeks since he last had you on his cock.
It’s about time to fix that.
He doesn’t always manage to make you cry when he fucks you, but he knows he’s done particularly well when your eyes start welling up. So overwhelmed with pleasure and sensation, you grasp desperately at the sheets and at Avery as tears fall down your face. And to think, he’s only barely started fucking you.
Well, in fairness to you, he’d spent longer preparing you than necessary, and he’d been littering kisses and bites all over you in the meanwhile. He particularly enjoyed the shuddering and gasping he received when teasing your nipples with his teeth. It's something he's been noticing more frequently of late, and he’s starting to suspect you’re something of a masochist.
That theory is finally proven when he moves to your neck and bites down hard. Not enough to draw blood, but it will certainly leave a long lasting mark. You don’t quite scream, but the sound that leaves you is far more lewd than it is pained. To his pleasant surprise, your hands fly up to his hair and you attempt to pull him in closer, as if it would intensify the sensation. He obliges you by shifting a little farther down onto the meat of your shoulder and biting you again, receiving an encore of that erotic cry.
Oh, how perfect you are. You already deliver in so many arenas, and deliver quite strong. But on top of everything, you know how to take pain so well, too… Who could have imagined you would be so compatible with him in every way he could have ever expected?
Avery wants to take it farther, see how far you could go, how much you could take. But first, he wants to play a little game.
He backs off from your shoulder, laughing a little when you whine at the departure, and he grasps your wrists. Placing them above your head, against the bars of his hand-carved bed frame, he orders, somewhat breathlessly, “Hold on to these and don’t let go without my permission.” You grab onto the hardwood. “Good boy… I don’t want to have to punish you, so hold on tightly, all right?” He purrs the threat like a cat purrs whilst toying with its prey.
“I will, I will,” you promise, nodding frantically. “I’ll be good…”
Once he releases your wrists, his hands move, one to your hip and one to the underside of your thigh, which he pushes up for easier access. He starts thrusting into you a bit faster, and you moan sweetly at the pace change; he smirks at just how easy an instrument you are to play. Especially once he finds the perfect angle to hit your prostate more often than not. Soon enough, your erection is weeping with pre-cum, and it splatters on your abdomen as it bobs with each of his thrusts.
He keeps your leg folded up, but releases your hip to grasp your balls. You nearly choke on a gasp when he squeezes, toeing the line of almost too much. Amused, he rolls them with that tight grip, and you let out a guttural groan in response. And another when he pulls on them. Avery laughs when you whine once he lets go.
Any disappointment is wiped from you when he bends down over you again to start sucking and biting at your neck, shoulders, and as far down as your chest. He maneuvers your legs to wrap around his waist securely, so that he has both of his hands free to run over your body. He rakes his well-manicured nails all over your back, waist, and thighs, and you jerk and lean into the painful scratches as though they were caresses.
Avery loves it. He’s not sure he’ll ever have enough of it.
“Nnh, please, daddy—ah…!” You writhe and arch under his assault, squeezing down tight on Avery's cock, which pulses hard with want when he hears you call him daddy.
His hands drag over to your hips, where he clamps down tight as he slams into you and stops.
Blearily, you open your eyes, eyelashes dewy with your tears. “A-Avery…? Did I do something wrong…?” you ask, breathless and confused.
Avery laughs, low and rich in his throat. He nuzzles against your cheek, and moves his head to the side of yours so you're temple to temple with him. “You called me something else just now,” he purrs into your ear. “I'd like to hear it again.”
He lifts his head just enough to see your face. Wonderful timing, too, because he gets to see your face turn even more flushed.
You open your mouth to do as asked, but it takes a few attempts, and you don't look at him when you finally push it out, “Da-daddy…”
Avery grins with satisfaction, and reaches between the two of you for your cock. The touch immediately makes you groan and arch into his grip.
“Good boy,” he croons, starting to stroke you, teasingly and far too lightly. “Now tell me what you want from daddy and he just might give it to you…” The command (lightly said, but a command nonetheless) makes you turn your head to hide in between your arm and the pillow under your head. Avery decides to allow it, for now.
“Please—please fuck me, daddy, I need you,” you beg. “Please fuck me hard and fill me up…!” As expected, the words send an exhilarating thrill through Avery, and he releases your drooling erection, moving his hand back to your hip.
“As you wish, my little princess,” he says, voice rich with smugness. With that, he readjusts his position, and starts fucking you hard like you asked for.
You're positively soaked by now; with overwhelmed tears, with sweat, with copious pre-cum (both his and yours), with lube, with saliva that dribbles out of the corners of your mouth, slack with endless sounds of pleasure that Avery rips out of you. Each thrust of his hips leads to a loud, wet slap, and every now and then, his grip on your hips starts to budge. So he just squeezes you tighter. With all the hickies, scratches, and love bites Avery's littered on your body, what's a few more bruises? It satisfies a primal part of him to have marked his territory so thoroughly. Even more satisfying that you wriggle about with pleasure with each one.
Every now and then, just to make you start begging again, Avery grinds to a stop inside you. Every time, he waits until you've sufficiently begged for him to continue. Eventually, somewhere in that fuck-drunk head of yours, you put together that if you just don't stop begging and thanking him, Avery won't stop fucking you in the first place. When he notes that you’ve learned that lesson, he laughs.
“Such a clever boy,” he croons, interrupting your babbling, reaching up to grab you by the jaw. He jerks your head to make sure you're paying attention to him. “Now you know what you have to do to get what you want…” Avery grunts as you sporadically tighten around him. You must be close. “You see? All you have to do is ask, and I will provide. Won’t I?” He moves your head up and down in the parody of a nod. “That’s right, that’s right… All you have to do in return is follow my—”
He’s interrupted by you throwing your head back, wrenching out of his grip, on a hoarse cry of his name as you’re hit by your orgasm. You writhe as though struck by the sweetest pain, and Avery just laughs to himself and braces himself on the bed to fuck you even harder and faster through it. Even after you’ve finished ejaculating, every dead-on strike of your prostate causes an extra shot of semen to pulse out, like he’s fucking it out of you.
Avery doesn’t last that much longer after that. When you regain control of yourself, you simper at him, looking so delicate and fragile, but manage to squeeze your fucked loose hole as much as you can (weak though it is). Just that little effort you put in is enough to knock him over the edge. With a loud moan, he judders to a stop, finally slamming into one last time and climaxing hard.
“Ye-e-es,” you mumble, sounding intoxicated. You let go of the bed frame and your arms encircle his neck, while your legs tighten around Avery’s waist. “Thank you, I love it when daddy fills me with his cum…” Your words slur together, your embarrassment long gone in the face of post-coital exhaustion. It sends additional waves of euphoria throughout Avery’s body, gooseflesh spreading up and down his arms, and he groans and grinds harder against you as though he could somehow go deeper.
When Avery’s emptied himself into your bowels and his shudders come to a stop, he takes a few deep breaths. He smiles down at you sweetly, which you do your best to return. Then he releases your hip to bring his hand down hard against your flank with another wet slap. He laughs condescendingly when you moan at the treatment.
“You let go without my permission, boy,” he chides, voice husky with use. He spanks you again, this time on your ass, and your hands fly back up to the bars above you, though it’s a bit too late for that. “I did tell you that I’d have to punish you…” Another spank, and another moan.
“I-I’m sorry, daddy,” you gasp, sounding more aroused than contrite. With each strike, he notices your spent cock twitch. “Ngh—I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry…!”
After a few more spanks, Avery stops and chuckles. “All right, you’re forgiven. You may let go now.” Though he would like to take it farther, perhaps even into a second round, it's starting to get late, and there’s a few things he’d like to do before sleeping.
He pushes himself up to sit straight as you lower your arms again, and they fall all askew as you lack the strength to arrange yourself more artfully. Only now does he pull out, eliciting a soft sound from you, and he takes a few moments to admire the way his semen starts to spill out of your fluttering hole. Then he takes in the full picture; how wrecked and fucked out you look, how flushed you are, the ruddy lines that criss-cross over your body and the bruises that are just starting to bloom, how you’re still panting and twitching and letting out little whimpers in between panting breaths.
He also notes how drowsy you look. He rather overworked you tonight, didn’t he? Well, perhaps it’s for the better, he thinks as he leans down and kisses your forehead. “Rest up, my angel. Just leave everything to me,” he says softly.
You murmur what sounds like acknowledgement, and you very quickly fall into slumber. With only one more minute of admiring what he’s done to you, he stands, cleans you up as best he can, carries you to the loveseat, changes the sheets, and replaces you in bed, tucking you in.
And then he starts the preparations for his next big gamble. Only an hour and a couple quick online purchases and same-day deliveries later, he smiles to himself and considers the job done: his home is all set up for his new guest.
In the morning, you wake up alone in Avery’s bed. You feel mostly fresh and clean; Avery must have been wiped you down after you had passed out last night.
Upon getting up, you find that your clothes are missing. All that’s available is a maid's uniform on a hanger hung on the doorknob. With no other options to cover yourself with, you decide it’s better than nothing.
While getting dressed, you glance at a clock and realize it’s an hour past the time you usually pay Bailey—he’s probably out looking for you.
Avery let you sleep in! | Stress
(1) Leave
Once you’re dressed, you leave the bedroom and search the cold, empty manor for Avery. It appears even more barren and sterile in the light of day than it did last night.
Every now and then, you think you see pale movement in the corner of your eye, but whenever you turn your head to look, there's nothing there. | Stress
(1) Next
You find Avery as he leaves the kitchen, approaching a small breakfast table nearby. He has a plated croque monsieur in his hands, which he sets atop a place setting. He smiles warmly at you, and you notice it widening a little as his eyes rake over you in the maid uniform.
“Good morning,” he greets. He approaches you and takes you by the waist, leading you over to the table and shepherding you into the seat. “Eat up.”
The food looks delicious.
(1) Eat (00:30) | Arousal | Love | Endearment | Avery’s Dominance
(2) Tell him you have to leave | - Love | - Endearment
“I’m sorry, but I can’t—“
“Ah, ah,” Avery tuts. His smile has a slight edge to it now. “Be a good boy and do as I say. I prepared it for you myself. Are you really going to let all my hard work go to waste?”
(1) Eat (00:30) | Arousal | Endearment | Avery’s Dominance
You sit down and eat. It tastes a little strange. It’s hot and fresh, but it tastes slightly…off. Undercooked, maybe. Though it makes you feel quite warm and tingly inside in a way that seems unrelated to its temperature. | Drugged | Arousal
“That’s better.” He looks pleased by your compliance.
He sits opposite you and watches you closely as you eat, as if he’s observing your reaction to his cooking. You don’t know if he wants you to be honest, or to compliment his cooking, but the poor quality of the meal is more and more apparent as time goes on, and all you can really manage is a smile. | Pain
You think you understand why he didn’t prepare any food for himself.
(1) Push the food around the plate and pretend to eat | Skulduggery: Challenging
(2) Finish the meal | Willpower: Very Hard
You manage to continue eating while also keeping the food from coming back up. | Pain
Eventually, he starts talking. You find out he usually doesn’t eat breakfast, or even lunch, but if he absolutely must eat, he never cooks his own food. A bigger picture begins to form in your head, and you wonder, between the maid uniform and this topic of conversation, if he’s trying to suggest something to you.
It’s difficult to ponder any further on the topic, however, the more you eat. Despite looking good and the initial flavor generally tasting all right, the texture turns strange as you chew, and the way it’s churning in your stomach is deeply unpleasant. | Pain | Stress
Avery turns the topic from meal preparation to his favorite foods. You try to take note, but eventually, it’s between maintaining your composure and paying attention, and you decide to focus on the former.
It’s unclear whether you pass or fail whatever Avery’s test had been. By the time you finish the meal, you feel like you have an enhanced understanding of suffering. | Pain | Stress | Trauma
(1) Next
When you’re finally finished, you glance at the nearby grandfather clock and remember the time. You hope Bailey won’t be too upset. | Stress
Avery notices your distress, and stands up. “No need to worry, my prince, I assure you.” He comes over to stand behind your seat. You tilt your head up so you can look him in the eye.
He puts one hand on your shoulder and smiles down at you, cocking his head a little. “It’s not as though you’re missing anything, after all. Besides, I’d hoped you’d want to stay longer. You’ve been so curious about me before, and now that you finally have the chance to find out more, you want to leave?” He clicks his tongue, admonishing, and his hand withdraws from your shoulder. “Why don’t you stay a while?”
You sense movement around your shoulders, and then feel something cold and somewhat heavy clasp around your neck with a click and a one-note digital tone.
(1) Next
You immediately reach up to your neck and feel a metal collar with a rectangular protrusion on it. You recognize what this is: it’s a shock collar. It’s used to discipline or knock unconscious the person (or animal) wearing it. | - - - Control | Stress | Trauma | Dominance
“Now, listen carefully,” Avery recalls your attention, tone gentle but brooking no argument, “you have free rein in the manor, so explore it at your leisure. I also expect you to keep the place tidy. In exchange for the hospitality, you understand.” He giggles as if at some inside joke you don't understand, but then he gets serious again. “However, the wing that my office is in is forbidden unless I’m there with you, whether you're exploring or cleaning. Don’t worry about school, or Bailey, or anybody else; I’ll be taking care of all of that for you.
“And don’t try to leave the premises, or else this—” He taps the collar around your neck. “—will activate. I don’t want you hurting yourself if you fall, so be smart about it, all right?”
Having no other options, you just nod.
(1) Next
Satisfied, Avery kisses your forehead and straightens up.
“I have to get to work. I’ve already used up too much of my time on all this as it is.” He starts muttering more to himself than you, “Besides my regular workload, I still need to vet tutors for you, and negotiating with Bailey about transferring you into my care will be quite the undertaking…”
He shakes his head. “In any case, I’ll come find you when it’s time for supper. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime. Remember: all you have to do is ask, and I will provide. Just follow my instructions like the good boy you are, all right?”
He smirks, pats you on the head like one would a dog, and leaves for his office.
(1) Next
You are inside Avery’s mansion on Danube Street. It’s extremely quiet, and the rooms lack any personal touches, as if no one actually lives here.
Avery is working in his office. He seems busy but in a good mood. He might be amenable to having you keep him company.
🗄️ (1) Approach Avery
🚪 (2) Explore the manor (0:20)
🚪 (2) Explore the forbidden wing (0:20) | Skulduggery: Hard
🪛 (3) Remove the proximity shock collar yourself (0:30) | Stress | Trauma | Pain | Rage | Skulduggery: Impossible
You’ll have to look around to find a way to safely remove the collar, whether by force, or with the control device Avery must have for it somewhere. The forbidden wing is your best bet, but Avery won’t be happy if he finds you snooping.
🧹 (4) Clean the manor (1:00) | Fatigue | Housekeeping | Endearment | Stockholm Syndrome | Dominance
The manor isn't filthy, but it could certainly use a thorough dusting, and the kitchen is full of dirty dishes from breakfast. If you leave things like this, Avery will be disappointed with you when he's finished with work.
🧸 (5) Make the manor feel more lived in (1:00) | Fatigue | Tending | Love | - Rage | Trust | Stockholm Syndrome
🛏️ (6) Sleep in Avery’s room | - Fatigue | Endearment | - Rage | Stockholm Syndrome | Dominance
🛏️ (7) Find a guest room to sleep in | - Fatigue | - Endearment | - Stockholm Syndrome | - Dominance
(8) Try to leave the manor | You’re still wearing the proximity shock collar. Leaving now will activate the collar’s shock mechanism and knock you unconscious. | Stress | Trauma | Pain | Rage
…
…
…
It’s not his fault. After all, daddy only wanted what was best for you.
You’ve gained the Stockholm Syndrome: Avery trait.