#dragging myself through each days tasks

[tisziny]

I've been "having a bad day" for so many days now.

[hunny-beann]

The Coming of Spring

Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

Synopsis: It is May Eve on Asgard, a Holiday that exists to celebrate love, fertility, and the coming of Spring…

Though, if your lover, Prince Loki has his say in the matter (and he usually does), Spring will not be the only thing to come, nor will it be the only worshiped aspect of this particular eve.

Note: Welcome to the smut fest! For some reason I've found myself up at six in the morning writing this, so please forgive any mistakes I've made while in my horrendously exhausted state. I hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: Pretty graphic NSFW, vulgarity, somewhat of a breeding kink, and pure unadulterated filth

Word Count: 2,419

There was a rather frantic energy pulsing throughout the room as the palace staff rushed about nervously, not a single set of idle hands to be found in the combined effort to finish the preparations for the afternoon's upcoming festivities in a timely manner.

You blew out a puff of air, already exhausted from the tasks you had completed thus far and silently cursing this day for daring to come at all.

And yet this year, as with every other, the springtime holiday still arrived, the augur of some great change, according to legend, though for you it always meant the same thing:

Waking up at five in the morning to prepare for the upcoming afternoon festival in whatever manner the queen deemed fit for the proper celebration of what had come to be well known Walpurgisnacht, or May Eve, the holiday that brought upon the loud and boisterous worship of love, fertility, and the coming of Spring.

And of course, a day so dedicated to such things was one of pleasant festivities to be certain, and thus you never failed to enjoy it, but even still, your chores weighed heavily upon you as your overworked fingers weaved petals and stems through glistening golden iron.

It had been four hours since you had gotten up to work, and somehow it had felt like an eternity, your hands cramping and begging for relief as the tips of your fingers rubbed themselves raw with duty.

You paused for a moment to yawn into the crook of your elbow, wishing for the one hundredth time within that hour alone that you had gotten more sleep the night before.

Still, it had been a worthy sacrifice, had it not? A little bit of exhaustion today in order to avoid the simmering desire of the realm's younger prince throughout the festivities, or, more accurately yet, throughout your abundant tasks that you had scheduled about your day?

Yes, almost assuredly. You had learned all too well from last year (and the other two before that), that it was rather hard to do such things as wash the finest of the palace's dinnerware with Loki's skilled fingers upon your chest or beneath your dress, after all.

So, if a bit of freedom from your concerns of being dragged off into some dark corner upon every available moment of your dear prince's day came at the cost of you being forced to wake up early while he slept away the previous evening's activities, then so be it.

At least this way, you could know for certain that you still had quite a few hours yet until someone urged the prince to rise, giving you plenty of time to complete at least the preparatory chores before he began his ever persistent search for you.

He seemed to enjoy the game of seeking you out each morning, or at whatever time it was that he rose or found himself at leave, though usually it was to do little more than tease or annoy you as you attempted to work through his ceaseless attempts at distraction.

But on a holiday like today, you found that he was typically all too content with taking his teasing quite a few steps further. That said, much to your (mostly feigned) chagrin, that did not mean that he never found himself seeking out far less innocent sounds than those of annoyance, laughter, or sheer disbelief from you on random days throughout the year.

No, Loki was incorrigible, and beyond even that, incomprehensible with his choices and behaviors, and you could normally never hope to know upon which day you might find yourself sandwiched between his chest and some palace wall, though with the arrival Walpurgisnacht, it was almost always a certainty.

Still, with something that was perhaps akin to a fool's ignorance, you dared to hope that maybe, after a night like the one this dawn had followed, your prince may have been just sated enough to make it through the holiday without torturing you so the way that he usually chose to.

Such a thought could not be so terribly remiss, could it? Not after the hours upon hours of groping, fleeting, and cradling touches that the two of you had offered one another the night before.

Not after an afternoon's worth of teasing at the hands of the god of mischief upon that very same day, or the longing glances that carried on well into the evening.

Not after he had cornered you in the garden after dinner had come to an end, speaking his long withheld and inconceivably filthy promises of what was to come clearly and casually into the cool night air as if the two of you were simply taking an evening stroll together, talking about the weather or your hobbies rather than the way he planned to have you upon his tongue within the hour, hands creating bruising imprints of obvious ownership in the soft flesh of your hips and thighs as he drove you to madness before pulling you right back toward sanity again with the blunt tip of his cock as it kissed up against your wet folds, smearing precum amongst the remnants of his saliva and the glistening drool of your already thoroughly abused cunt.

Not after you had given in a mere twenty minutes after hearing his whorish promises of what he intended to do to you once he laid his hands upon your bare flesh again, knocking quietly at his heavy chamber doors until he finally came to find you standing there, having made you wait in a manner that was no doubt intentional just so he could feel the exaggerated way that you melted against him when he finally pulled you near, kissing you deeply until his amused and teasing chuckles turned into low and rumbling groans that arose from deep within his chest, and he pulled away to order you to your knees before him, mouth open and waiting so he could see the way your eager tongue stuck out to taste him even before he was bare before you, and how your perfect thighs began to rub together in a fruitless attempt to ease the ache that the sight of him never ceased to cause.

Not after he had held you firm against his chest, arm looped around your middle as you'd laid beneath him on all fours while he'd thrust his strong and lithe hips against your trembling ones, not an ounce of mercy to be found as he hissed and moaned with reckless abandon beside your ear, the sounds of his pleasure easily matching and occasionally even drowning out your own as he reminded you of who you had been born to serve, to worship, and to cum for upon his very command.

And oh, did he command.

Eleven orgasms, if you had counted correctly, and you were fairly certain with as hazy as your mind had felt after the first four, that you had not.

Your cheeks burned red at the clear and persistent memories of the previous night, Loki's satisfied groans and sluttish moans playing over and over within your head as if he were right there with you, cock buried in whichever tight, wet hole was deemed worthy of his attentions within that particular moment.

You swallowed thickly, pressing your thighs together tightly as you continued your seemingly endless work, flower after flower coming to rest perfectly upon the third archway that had been granted your efforts for the morning thus far.

Though, in spite of how diligently you worked at your assigned chore, it seemed that the fates themselves had something against it being completed,

For what other reason could there be for such familiarly agile hands to suddenly rest upon your hips so early in the morn, in spite of the tiresome escapades that had occurred the night before?

It was so unlike the younger prince of Asgard to awaken so early after a night of passion, after which he tended to lounge upon his sheets, naked body blessing the very realm with its presence as sunlight danced upon his skin.

You had seen that many a time after all, hadn't you? So you would certainly know, better than most at that, if not better than all.

But then again, it was so very much like Loki to rise early not to seize this day, but rather to seize you upon it as he had done for the past three May Eves since he had claimed you as his own...

And maybe you had not considered that fact as diligently as you should have while working to tire him out the night before, though now you were embarrassed to admit that you scarcely knew why you would have wanted to do so in the first place.

It seemed that your rather vivid memories of the prior evening's festivities had brought about a familiar stirring betwixt your thighs, and you knew all too well that there was only one set of hands, one silver tongue, one long and devastatingly thick cock, and one god of mischief who could help you to ease your sudden discomfort.

"Good morning, my dear."

He purred against the shell of your ear, warm breaths causing your hair to flutter about delicately as his hands traveled over top your gown.

"It would seem that I require some additional support when it comes to selecting and befitting myself with the proper attire for this afternoon's festivities."

He all but purred, forcing you to bite back a shiver as you struggled not to make your already overwhelming need for him too obvious.

It was never fun to just give in, after all.

You knew all too well how much he liked the chase.

So, with that thought in mind, you steadied yourself to the best of your ability, giving your already racing imagination a few brief moments of peace before finally, you spoke,

"Is that so, my prince?"

You asked, feigning curiosity as you did your best to continue working on the task at hand, sore fingers working deftly at soft petals and slightly thorny stems as you weaved them continuously through metal.

"Well, I regret to inform you that your dear mother, our most respected queen, specifically requested that I myself create the flowered arches for the festival this year."

You began,

"She was kind enough to let me know how much she enjoyed my work upon them last eve in Lady Juniper's absence, and asked if I might be willing to work my magic for a second year running."

You heard an amused chuckle arise from behind you, and though you were certain that Loki had already planned something truly devious to drag you away from your duties with, you continued to feign innocence.

"And how could I dare say no to a request such as that, dear prince? It would seem that Lady Juniper's past maternity leave has provided me with quite the opportunity with which to rise into our lady's good graces, and who would I be to squander such a thing?"

There was a thoughtful hum from your lover as he reached beyond you to thumb at a few of the petals that decorated your current project with his left hand, though the right stayed firm upon your hip, the pads of his fingers pressing deftly into your flesh just as they had done the night before, mirroring the bruises he'd left there perfectly.

"An utter fool, to be sure."

He replied easily, voice low and smooth as he continued,

"Though, I can think of a far better way for you to rise into the All-Mother's good graces, sweetling."

He murmured, lips brushing against your neck just enough so that you could feel the smirk that rested so prominently upon them.

He had you exactly where he wanted you, though you could scarcely bring yourself to mind when there was such a tremendous desire building for him deep within your core.

"Oh?"

You asked curiously, nimble fingers still working on your once so heavily fixated on project,

"And what might that be, Prince Loki?"

At that, you felt the ever teasing god of mischief crowd your back, his hardness pressed against you as you desperately fought the urge to wriggle against his crotch just to hear the no doubt sluttish groan he would let out if you did.

Thankfully enough though, your lover seemed eager to get to the point, the reasoning for that fact somehow growing even harder at the touch of your warmth, even with it being so dulled beneath your clothing.

He chuckled,

"Well my dear, I think you would find her to be quite pleased if you were to request your own leave in the coming months."

He purred, and this time, you could not even hope to fight back the shiver that followed, your hands finding either side of the nearly completed archway with a gasp as Loki bent you over at the waist, pressing himself as close to your clothed core as he could manage with a low and eager groan, his words dripping with both amusement and thinly veiled arousal as he spoke up again,

"Would you like me to give you a reason to do so?"

He all but growled, offering you one tortuously slow gyration of his hips in order to ensure your understanding of his less than subtle connotations as the hand that had once gripped so tightly to your hip moved swiftly beneath your dress, rubbing firmly against your bundle of nerves through your undergarments as you gasped both out of humiliation for where he had you so plainly in need of him, as well as out of arousal at his confident and ever beseeching touch.

And then suddenly, you were giving fervent and almost pleading nods in response to his previous question, having given up entirely on any hope of completing your most important project of the day.

It was, after all, May Eve, and how else should one hope to properly celebrate the coming of the Spring if not by blossoming beneath the touch of the queen's beloved second son?

And, it was as Loki had so cleverly stated himself,

It was not as if you would not be arriving swiftly and permanently within Frigga's good graces soon.

No, not if the god of mischief had his way,

Not if the two of you celebrated Walpurgisnacht in the way that Freyja herself had intended.

Loki Tag List: @mischief2sarawr

Additional Tag: @lokisgoodgirl (thank you very much for so kindly answering my anonymous questions regarding the SAS earlier! I've found that I have yet to develop the courage necessary to directly message any (other) particular authors yet, but I figured I can at least step outside of my comfort zone and tag you as you oh so kindly gave me permission to in your reply. Thank you again for your encouragement! <3)

[niabridges]

You Look So Good In My Colours

Warning: MDNI. 18+ 🔞 EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT Word count: ~3800 Pairing: Sebastian Sallow | FemReader

Additional warnings: Rough sex, slapping, possessiveness, submission

We all had a Quidditch Seb fantasy at some point. Here is just me letting out some steam in that direction. Read below or on AO3

Her eyes flew open, heart pounding. Had she imagined it? The warmth of his body pressed against hers, the phantom weight of Sebastian’s arm around her waist... Her fingertips brushed the empty space, still warm, and a shiver ran down her spine. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing deep, the faint scent of his cologne a bittersweet reminder.

She stretched, blinking through the canopy, vision blurring then snapping into focus. Ominis stood by the basin, his usual focus now bent on the careful ritual of shaving. “Morning,” she managed, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Morning, dove.” He didn’t turn around, his attention on the razor’s glide.

“Thanks, as always, for…” she trailed off, cheeks warming. How to explain the strange intimacy they’d fallen into? “...for everything.”

Ominis chuckled, a low rumble. “Blind, not oblivious, love.” Still focused on his task. One hand held his chin, the other meticulously dragging the razor across his pale face. “Besides, who am I to begrudge a girl in love a bit of nighttime comfort? Just don’t tell Sebastian I said so. I am keeping a stern attitude with him, otherwise, he’d have you over each night.”

She laughed, tension easing. “My lips are sealed.” Stepping closer, she couldn’t resist the study of him – the focused line of his jaw, the faint dusting of stubble. “Here, you missed a bit. May I?”

“Thanks, love.” He handed her the razor, and a jolt went through her as their fingers brushed.  Carefully, gently, she finished the task, his warmth so close. “You’re better at this than Sebastian ever was,” Ominis murmured leaning down to splash his face in cold water.

“Speaking of which, do you happen to know where he’s sauntered off to?” she asked as Ominis finished patting his face dry.

“Slept in, shamefully,” he admitted. “Not a peep from Sebastian. Odd, that.”

“Slept like a rock myself. Had the nicest dream, though I can’t remember it.” She tugged at her tie. “Ugh, Saturdays are for freedom.” With a toss, the tie landed on the bed.

Ominis straightened his robes. “Any plans for the day?”

“First, a proper wake-up with a bath... then I suppose I’ll try to hunt down Seb,” she shrugged. “What about you?”

“Prefect duties. Someone’s got to keep the chaos in check. Though I might just hide out with you two if you promise more of those… late-night ‘study sessions’.”

She laughed and playfully swatted at him, a blush warming her cheeks. “Must you tease? See you later, Ominis.” A lingering touch on his shoulder, then she was gone.

The common room hummed with the usual Saturday morning chaos as she emerged from the corridor – a heated whisper about a losing chess game, a burst of laughter from the first-years' corner. The air hung sweet with tea and candy. From the top of the stairs, where the seventh-year dorms spilled out, she scanned the scene below, hoping for a glimpse of Sebastian curled by the fireplace, lost in a book. But there was no sign of him, and a sigh escaped her lips.

She turned to enter her dormitory, relieved to find it empty. Then, Imelda’s Quidditch gear sprawled across the floor caught her eye. Of course! Sebastian must have left for Saturday morning practice. She’d find him at the pitch, but first, a bath was desperately needed.

Slipping into the bathroom, she ran a warm, bubbly bath, discarding her clothes in a haphazard pile. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced in the mirror and noticed tiny purple marks on her neck.  Her fingers traced them thoughtfully, thinking back to last night's activities before she turned to lock the door.

Finally, she slid into the water, a sigh escaping her as the warm bubbles enveloped her. As she relaxed her hand instinctively ran over the bump over her wet foamy breast, the touch instigating a nipple to firm up, as her finger slid back over it she felt tingles running through her body. Flicking her finger over her hardened peak her thoughts were on Sebastian again. His musky smell, him towering over her, his greedy hands kneading her breasts. She gasped and bit into her lower lip. 

Her other hand slid underwater to rub in between her aching folds. His voice rang like a deep melody inside her head “That’s it, my siren. Take it all.” And that chuckle of his, damn him. She began to tremble. Eyes tightly shut. The image of Sebastian was clear in her mind’s eye. With a combined effort of rubbing her nipple and her clit she felt a strong tremble rumble through her body. The slightest whimper and a moan escaped her lips as he came undone. Her heart aching to jump out of her chest. She exhaled leaning against the wall of the tub and relaxed, satisfied.

♡♡♡

“Eyes on me, for Merlin’s sake! That Bludger nearly took my head off!” Imelda barked, swooping closer to Sebastian on her broom. “What’s gotten into you, Sallow? I need you focused out here,” she demanded.

Sebastian snapped to attention. “Understood. Sorry.” He repositioned himself, wincing as the broom’s hilt pressed uncomfortably against his groin. Tight Quidditch trousers didn’t help matters either. He gripped the broom tightly, knuckles whitening. Then, a whirring sound from behind – he ducked just as a rogue Bludger whizzed past.

“You’re supposed to hit them, not dodge them!” Imelda yelled. “Bloody hell, Sallow, take five!” She snarled, flying off to regroup with the team.

Sebastian landed, sliding off his broom with an exasperated sigh. He'd been struggling on and off this morning with a particularly stubborn erection and was trying his best to hide that fact from his teammates. However, the ache seemed to worsen when his feet touched the ground. He groaned, feeling the weight and pain in his groin. Panicked, he quickly jumped back on his broom and zoomed toward Madam Kogawa's quarters. Thankfully, he knew she was away at the Ministry this weekend, leaving the quarters empty. He tossed his broom aside and, with a quick Alohomora, he entered inside.

When Imelda turned to scold him, he was gone, panting and leaning against the closed door. Bloody hell, all his blood seemed to rush to a singular spot, churning uncomfortably within him, making him squirm. It was all her fault. This morning when he'd opened his eyes, he'd immediately realized two things: he was running late for practice, and he'd woken up with a... pressing need. His body ached with desire, fueled by the warmth of her pressed against him.

To his great misfortune, this wasn't one of those fleeting morning wood situations. No, this one had persisted throughout practice – for Merlin's sake! He groaned, too afraid to even touch the bulge in his trousers. Carefully he lowered his hand. This was pathetic. Was he really going wank himself off in Kogawa’s office? Yet, he couldn’t go anywhere with his cock outlined against his trousers like that. Damn. Sebastian closed his eyes wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

♡♡♡

She breathed the crisp spring air of fresh grass as she stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. Her eyes fixated on the group of green and white robes, and she quickened her pace hoping Sebastian would be among them. However, he was not.

“Hey Imelda, have you seen Sebastian?” she inquired, positively confused that he wasn’t at the practice.

"I was hoping you'd tell me," Imelda retorted, annoyance lacing her voice. “He was slacking all morning and when I told him to get it together, the knobhead ran away! Oh, the audacity!” she scoffed angrily.

“Ran away?” She asked, her confusion growing.

“Yes. Now, if you find him, tell him to get his arse back to the pitch right this second. I’m not finished with him!” Imelda growled, straddling her broom.

As she watched Imelda take off. She scratched her head, the absurdity of the situation dawning on her, as she started to walk back to the courtyard. Her eyes scanned for any sign of him. Maybe Sebastian wasn’t far away. As she exited the Quidditch pitch, she noticed a discarded Slytherin (his) broom near the entrance to Kogawa’s office. She smirked. There you are.

She approached the door and knocked gently, testing her luck. Silence answered from the other side. She knocked again, this time more firmly.

“Who – who is it?” She heard Sebastian’s startled voice.

“It’s me,” she chuckled.

“Oh,” the tone in his voice shifted. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it. When he saw his girlfriend standing there, he thanked the heavens, and a smirk spread across his face. “You’re just in time,” he said in a sultry voice.

He pressed his hand against his aching bulge and breathed in sharply. "Okay, this might sound weird, but I need to be honest. My… uh… lower regions are protesting. Loudly . All because of you.” She couldn’t help but laugh. "Don't laugh at me. I'm serious! I need release, or I might actually end up in the hospital wing," he groaned, pressing his hand against the trousers where his arousal was tightly confined.

She bit her lower lip, taking in the sight of him. “You could give me a taste of what’s been keeping you in such a... flustered state.” Her grin was wicked, eyes flickering between his trousers and his face.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Oh, a taste, you say?” He licked his bottom lip and stepped closer, grasping her hips and spinning her around. Pressing her back against the door, he murmured, “I'll give you a taste of my fantasies. But first…” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, “Please, let me have a taste of you.” He dropped to his knees, hands sliding her skirt tentatively up her thighs.

She shivered against the cool wood as he began placing feather-light kisses along her inner thigh, breathing in her scent. With each kiss, he worked his way slowly upwards. “Mmm, sweetheart, I’ve been a mess all morning,” he moaned into her skin, the heat of his breath raising goosebumps. “I’ve been bad,” he murmured. “Skipped my practice,” he mumbled as he teased her with tiny kisses against her sensitive area.

“Maybe I’ll have to punish you for that,” she purred, gazing down at him through her lashes, pressing his face closer between her thighs.

Sebastian chuckled, his fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, and a shiver ran through her as he slid them down, gently, yet with undeniable determination. He inhaled sharply, the scent of her arousal intoxicating him. Cursing under his breath, his eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure overwhelmed him.

Slowly, he gripped her thighs, bringing her glistening folds closer to his face, “Mmm,” he moaned “That’s what I love about you. You’re always dripping for me.” He slid his tongue inside slowly gliding up and down, savoring the juices. “Gods, you taste so good,” he growled against her flesh.

She quivered. Well-practiced ministrations of his tongue sent her into oblivion and her fingers tightened in his soft brown locs, pulling, tugging for a sliver of self-control. As if she ever had any when it came to him. 

Sebastian moaned softly as she tugged at his hair. It spurred him to plunge his tongue deeper between her folds, adding a finger to slide over her nub in a thoughtful circular motion. His other hand fell to the front of his trousers, lazily undoing the laces. His aching erection finally sprang free. He palmed around his throbbing arousal while still keeping attention to the movements of his tongue. The growls against her skin created vibrations that deepened her moans and whimpers which in turn gave him valuable cues. With each flick of his tongue, he felt her tremble more. “Shh baby,” he ordered, “don’t come just yet.”

His thumb circled the tip of his cock, spreading the gathering precum around his length, but it somehow wasn’t enough. He moved his face away from her if only for a moment to glide his palm over her dripping pool, picking up as much lubrication as he could. He then coated himself with the juices of her arousal, gazing up at her with hooded, lust-filled eyes. That, right there , would make her come undone if she weren’t holding back, enjoying his little show. 

“Look at yourself,” she grinned through soft moans while lazily rubbing herself. The sight of him on his knees drove her mad. Her eyes fixed on his form as he stroked his cock in long, languid motions. 

Sebastian stood up, “I need to be inside you…will you let me?” he pleaded, voice dripping with desire. He wanted her permission.

“Yes,” she cooed, “ yes ,” she repeated and pressed herself back further into the door as he started to grind his hips against hers.

“Not here though…mmm, so many possibilities,” he breathed, his breath hot against her earlobe before he gently nipped it. “Perhaps I’ll have you on your hands and knees taking me like the insatiable little minx you are.” His fingers trailed teasingly down her spine making her shiver. “Or… I could lay you out on this desk and have my wicked way with you, watching your face contort in ecstasy,” he purred down her ear before his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “The only question is which position shall I ruin you in first?”

She melted in his hands, arching her neck, and exposing it to him. The anticipation of his bruising touch made her skin thrum. “...desk... the desk,” she choked out, lust overriding any sense of control. His own words echoed back to her: “Ruin me, Sebastian.” A whimper escaped her, a mix of shame and the desperate desire he’d coaxed forth.

Sebastian pulled her flush against him his length pressing insistently against her sensitive flesh. “Precisely, darling,” he purred, “I plan to fill every inch of you, over and over, until you can think of nothing but my cock buried deep inside you.” He relished in the sensation of how those words made her shiver like a twig in his arms. He ground his hips against hers with more fervor. “You’re going to be utterly ruined for anyone else…” 

“Like anyone else ever deserved me…” she added, her insistent nods urging him on. With a swift motion, he scooped her into his strong arms, carrying her to Kogawa's desk. Parchments and clutter flew aside with a careless sweep of his hand, and he laid her down on the smooth wood.

“Oh you know me well, sweetheart, now…” his hands ran smoothly down her thighs, “let’s not prolong this any further.” His fingers glided across her slickness eliciting soft moans from her. He wanted to make sure she was thoroughly coated before rubbing some of her essence on his himself as well. “I am in pain, remember?” He groaned as he pushed himself between her thighs, his tip pressing insistently between her folds, he was about to…

“Wait,” she gasped, her hand pressing urgently against his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he growled, the guttural vibration of his voice a mix of frustration and desire. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I want…” her eyes fluttered and she bit her lip. “...I want you to fuck me in your Quidditch jersey.”

Sebastian closed his eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, do you now?” His voice was a low rumble. “Take off your shirt.” She obeyed him. In one fluid motion, he stripped off his jersey, his toned, muscular physique rippling in the dim light. Possessively, he draped the jersey over her, the scent of his sweat and masculinity enveloping her. “Now, let me show you just how well I can handle my broom…” he smirked. No matter how ridiculous he sounded, he was lost in the moment.

Satisfied with the view below he surged forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, finally repositioning himself at her entrance. His tip glided over her slick wet folds. He groaned “‘Sallow’ looks so fucking good on you,” he gripped the hem of the jersey and with one swift motion thrust inside her, hitting the deepest spot.

She gasped her eyes wide open in surprise as she took hi,. “I always…wanted…ahh…this.” her words were coming out in between his measured thrusts.

His eyes gleamed with unbridled desire as he gazed down at her, his hands grasping the hem of his shirt on her possessively. “You have no idea how hot you sound,” he groaned while leaning in claiming her lips, bruising them, almost. His hips surged forward. He wanted to bury himself deeper into her welcoming heat. “Fuck, you look so good in my colours…” he growled, breath hot against her skin, his thrusts began to quicken drawing a cacophony of moans out of her. 

“The idea of somebody catching us…ah, Sebastian,” she moaned, her hips bucking to meet each of his thrusts, his scent driving her crazy. Her nails dug deep into his freckled shoulders dragging down his arms. Each time he leaned in for a bruising kiss, her tongue glided masterfully over his, teasing, and driving him more mad.

His hips snapped forward with renewed urgency, his thick length plunging deeper into her core over and over. His fingers released the jersey and glided upwards to cup her breasts underneath, kneading them until he deftly moved his fingers over her nipples, instantly hardening her peaks.

He flicked one finger over her nipple while the other hand found its way back down to her plush clit. “That’s it darling, let me see you come undone around me,” he groaned and flicked his fingers with more intention while maintaining a thrusting rhythm and he could feel her walls tremble. 

Her first orgasm washed over her whole body, erupting from her core and sending tingles down to her toes. Her walls clenched around his cock hard, and he strained leaning forward to devour her moans of pleasure. He moaned in desperation, as he felt his own impending release, he bit down into his lip making it bleed, tasting iron. He wouldn’t let himself come yet. This was just too good to end it here.

She laughed breathlessly beneath him. “Don’t stop,” she urged even though the sensitivity of the afterglow made her squirm beneath his insistent thrusts.

“Mhm, that’s it darling, squeeze me just like that,” he growled while regaining momentum and rolling his hips in a sensual grind. “I am going to wring every last drop from you. You feel so bloody incredible, dripping and clenching around me,” he cried out.

She arched forward eagerly meeting his every hard pulse. Hoisting up the jersey she pulled his face down to her breasts urging him to suck at her aching buds. Sebastian relished in the taste of flesh, his tongue capturing hungrily one of her pert nipples between his teeth and sucking on it, rekindling her arousal. His hips continued relentless pace, driving himself deeper, hitting her sweet spots over and over. “You’re mine, do you hear me? He growled, his other free hand kneading her other breast roughly. “Every inch of you belongs to me now. Say it.”

“I am yours,” she cried out through strained moans, his deep thrusts and rough handling making her head spin. “I am Sallow’s girl,” she moaned. Suddenly, she wanted to give in deeply to his possessive desires. She wanted his rough treatment to be even more intense. “Slap me!” she demanded.

“What did you say?” her demand surprised him, making him slow down momentarily.

“Slap me, Sebastian” she insisted. “I am yours. Have your way with me.”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with unbridled lust at her wanton plea. With a feral growl, he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging slap against her cheek. “You’re damn right, you’re mine,” he snarled possessively, his hips pounding into her with renewed fervor. He leaned in, dragging his lips over her abused flesh.

She pulled his hair tugging him closer. He buried himself to the hilt into her slick warmth. “Take every inch of me,” he nuzzled into her neck. She panted heavily chasing another wave of pleasure under his relentless rhythm. Beads of his sweat dripped down from his chestnut hair strands onto her shoulder. She hooked one of her arms around his neck letting it slowly trail lower until reaching his groin, gently squeezing, drawing out guttural sounds.

“Fuck,” he strained “Keep doing that love and you’ll have me spilling inside you…” his voice dropped to a ragged growl as he gazed down at her with pure lust burning in his eyes. “I won’t be able to hold back much longer…”

Her fingers teased and brushed his sensitive sac, making his breath hitch, his hips bucked forward involuntarily. “Bloody hell, you’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, his voice thick with raw need. “I want to hear you scream my name when I fill you.”

Her hand found its way back to her clit, rubbing it tentatively chasing her orgasm and matching his impending release. “I’ll be there with you,” she breathed.

“Yes, I need you to…” he groaned, coiled tension within him threatening to shatter. His form contorted over her, toes curling, feeling her tight walls squeeze around him once again. He gripped onto the fabric of his green jersey. His orgasm crashed over him in waves, filling her deeply with his, hot pulsing seed.

“I am right here with you,” he breathed heavily against her hair, still coming down from his intense release. She could feel him tremble above her.

“That was a lot,” she breathed, as he collapsed down. Her fingers threaded through his damp locs. Their lips met in a long, languid kiss, a sigh escaping her. His fingers traced the flush on her cheeks, then moved to roam her face, gently worshiping each feature.

He pulled out slowly, not breaking their connection entirely. He marveled at her sated form beneath him, the glow of her skin, the way she still trembled. A glistening trail ran down her thigh, and he traced it with a fingertip before sliding his hand gently upwards back into her well-used folds. “There, that’s better,” he murmured, his voice rough with tenderness. He scooped her into his arms, her warmth a delicious weight against him.

She chuckled against his chest. “What’s so funny?” He looked down at her, a gentle kiss landing on her hair.

“Imelda told me to bring your arse back to the pitch the second I found you,” she murmured, giggling.

“There were… more pressing matters to resolve first,” Sebastian smirked, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“I'll take care of Imelda,” she murmured, kissing him again, a shiver running through her. “But don’t think this is over.” With a final, lingering touch, she stepped away, leaving him wanting more.

[strangersatellites]

second installment of the eddie knows tarot-verse

decided to flesh out this post !! enjoy !! xoxo

part two is posted!!

edit: look at this AMAZING art by: @amethyst-crowns !

“What are these?”

Steve is gesturing to Eddie’s deck of tarot cards on top of his dresser.

Today has been just like every other Saturday has been for the past several months.

At the ungodly hour of nine a.m. Steve knocks on the trailer door to summon the boy out for their standing Saturday breakfast at the diner. After several cups of coffee and a rather mediocre stack of pancakes, they find themselves back at Eddie’s where the rest of the day is typically spent with Eddie strumming at his guitar and jotting down song lyrics and melodies while Steve entertains himself by either listening, interjecting with questions, or rummaging through Eddie’s things.

Today, he’s spotted Eddie’s deck.

Shifting in his spot on the floor he props his guitar against his bed and stands to walk to the dresser and retrieve the deck. 

“I knew you were gonna ask that,” Eddie jokes as he pulls Steve to sit on the bed with him and starts shuffling with the cards.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he lets out a questioning hum making Eddie huff a laugh.

“They’re tarot cards,” he starts, dropping his voice low for dramatic effect. “Set aside your skepticism and allow the cards to tell you your fortune.”

Steve chuckles, “Don’t think I would call myself a skeptic, ya know, given the circumstances of the last several years of my life. But I’ll bite. What kind of future can they tell me, oh wise one?”

And see, as of late, Eddie has been working on not running away from things that scare him. Has been the reason he has run directly toward danger in situations severe enough to nearly cost his life. 

Point is, one would think that by now he would know which scary things are hills worth dying on.

He doesn’t.

His big, fat crush on Steve Harrington clouds his judgment and drives his own morbid curiosity and self-destructive tendencies to have him saying, “Well, my favorite is the soulmate reading. Let's do that one, yeah?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “They can tell me that?”

Eddie starts focusing his energy more intentionally on his card shuffling. Furrows his brows in an attempt to convey his seriousness. 

“They can tell you anything, sweetheart.”

Decidedly dragging his eyes from the pretty flush covering Steve’s cheeks at the pet name, Eddie gives Steve a quick lesson in what he’s doing.

“So, basically, I just focus my energy-”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Shush!”

Steve giggles.

“I focus my energy on communicating to the universe what I am asking the cards. So this time, I’m asking them to tell me about the soulmate of the great Steve Harrington.” He catches the card that jumps out of the deck and into his lap and places it face down between them. “And that, Stevie, is how we pull cards.”

Steve looks questioning but not dismissive. “So you pick the ones that fall out?”

Eddie scoffs as he pauses his rapid shuffling and pulls a rogue card from where it’s peeking out from the deck. “Ones that fall out. No, Steve! I pick the ones that speak to me.” He resumes his shuffling and is immediately gifted with another two cards spinning out between them both.

Lifting his hands in a gesture of innocence Steve mutters apologies as Eddie stacks his remaining cards and sets them to the side.

‘Okay, pretty boy. Last chance to back out before all is revealed,” Eddie whispers, lining up the four cards he pulled. 

Its an out for Steve if he was just feigning interest, and it's a copout for Eddie. Eddie who is actively psyching himself up to face disappointment at the task of telling Steve allllll about his dream girl.

Steve shoves his shoulder. “Shut up and tell me about them.”

Before flipping the cards face up, Eddie points at each one and tells what it is going to represent based on the reading format he chose.

“Alright, this first card is going to be representative of how your soulmate views you. The next one tells you who they are and how this person comes into your life, and the last two are descriptors of your soulmate.” 

Steve takes a breath and gives a resolute nod. 

Eddie steels himself and flips the cards.

Freezes.

Instantly his mind is running a mile a minute, both in shock and what the fuck he is going to tell Steve.

Let it be said that Eddie is nothing if not quick on his feet. And Eddie Munson knows for a fact that Steve doesn’t know anything about tarot. What’s he going to do? Correct him?

He claps his hands together and plasters on his most predatory smile. 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” he tuts. “Now this is no surprise,” he starts.

And you see, the best kinds of lies are ones that are based in truth. That’s the reason that Eddie taps a finger over The Magician and says, “Your soulmate sees you as a person of great power and influence. King Steve, if you will.”

True.

Steve bristles a bit but nods along.

Pointing at the next card, “The King of Cups,” Eddie tells him, “Now this, this is a good one. This one says you’re going to be a great boyfriend-”

Not quite true.

“- and that your soulmate is a new person in your life. You meet a new girl and not tell me, Stevie? I’m hurt.”

Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don't think so, no. Haven’t really had much time since the apocalypse, ya know,”

Eddie’s brain short circuits a bit at the idea that he is the newest person Steve knows. Right. 

He opts to press on. “Ah this is interesting. The reverse King of Swords. Well, typically this represents someone abrasive. Brash, even.”

True.

“But since it's reversed, it means the opposite,” he says.

Not true. 

“She’s going to be gentle and kind. Aw. Isn’t that sweet, Stevie.”

Even the thought of it makes Eddie’s heart flip over and twist with discomfort. Despite the fact that he’s lying out of his ass.

Steve is getting really into it and picks up the last card himself. “What’s this one? The Tower.”

Eddie twirls a piece of his hair around his finger and thinks for a split second before responding with the first thing that comes to mind. 

“It’s a landmark. It means you’ll meet her somewhere you’re familiar with. Maybe that farmer’s market you like to go to on Sunday’s! That seems like a good place to meet someone.”

Steve wrings his hands together and then takes Eddie’s notebook from the floor to jot down what he’s learned. 

If Eddie wasn’t already trying valiantly to hold back his own impending panic he might find his enthusiasm cute. As it is, he’s experiencing the heavy feeling of dread settling low in his stomach of the realization of what this reading actually says.

The Magician actually says that Steve’s soulmate had to learn to use their intuition to get to know him. Had to look past his power and influence, his King Steve persona. 

The reverse King of Swords actually says that it's someone abrasive and blunt. Someone who uses words as a weapon and easily finds themselves in harm's way. 

The Tower actually says that this person comes close to chaos, destruction. Has had their life turned upside down. When pulled with the reverse King of Swords it implies that this person nearly fell victim to their own rash decisions. 

If that wasn’t enough, it's the King of Cups that really put Eddie over the edge. Because it tells us that Steve’s soulmate is someone older than him who came into his life with a bang. 

It also says it's a guy.

But Eddie just agrees with Steve’s request to join him on a trip to the farmer’s market tomorrow and puts his cards back on the dresser with a ringing static sound in his ears.

He’s content to join Steve on his quest to find his nice girl at the farmer’s market if it means he never has to tell him the truth.

That the cards said Steve’s soulmate was him.

_________________________________________________

It's Tuesday night and Eddie is nose-deep in some book Gareth recommended to him. Truth be told it's boring, but he’s reading it because his friend liked it. He can never say Eddie never did anything for him. 

A firm knock on his door frame has his eyes shooting up.

Wayne is standing there, hands in his pockets. He nods Eddie’s direction.

“Got a call from that Buckley girl, kid.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows as he walks to the phone in the living room. 

He answers with a question in his voice. 

“Hey Bird. You okay?”

He is cut off from asking anything else when Robin launches into one of her rambles.

“Well honestly I feel like I might be going crazy because like a year ago- well I guess it was two years ago. Anyway- this one Summer our tv went out and I had to find other ways to entertain myself, and you know I’ve already read every book I own and Steve was working on his house and was busy all the time so no one could drive me to the library-”

“Bird! What’s going on? Why did you call?”

She groans dramatically, “I was getting there Eddie. But fine. I learned how to read tarot and I don’t know what you said to Steve about the soulmate reading you did for him, but I know for a fact that The Tower has nothing to do with the farmer’s market.”

And isn't that just it? All of Eddie’s carefully crafted lies coming back to bite him. 

“I- Robbie. You can’t tell him. Please?”

Her voice drops in a show of sincerity. 

“Of course not Eds. I won’t tell him.”

He heaves out a breath of relief.

“Thank you, Bird. I owe you one.”

She giggles.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She pauses before she speaks again.

“Not with Steve though. He’s the one who taught me how to read the cards.”

[ssaeri]

for your eyes only

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, elliott and farmer are married, he writes love poems for his spouse and is told to monetize them, oh boy is he not happy about that ☆

You pat your pig's backside encouragingly and coo as it digs its snout into the ground, unearthing yet another truffle that you add to your basket. Can't believe you were worried about this one being the runt of its litter—it's quickly proving to be one of the fastest learners, taking to truffle hunting like a duck to water. It'll do just fine with the rest of the adult pigs.

Taking care of the farm by yourself has always been a gargantuan task, but as the years go by, everything grows bigger—the coops, the barns, the ponds, the crops, the expectations—and exhaustion wears you down to the bone. You sigh and push to your feet, ready to head into the nearest coop to collect more eggs. Collect animal products, drop them into churning machines, harvest and sell. It feels like the cycle never ends. Against your neck, the small mermaid's pendant slides on its chain, another reminder of your absent husband. An extra pair of helping hands made the daily work light; you wonder if it's selfish to ask him to stay home more often.

"I know, I know," you say to your angry chickens once you open the door. You miss your husband, but these girls like to remind you that they miss him more. "He'll be home soon. Bear with me, okay?"

After giving each of them pats on the head, a motion they accept with reluctance, you dig around the hay for eggs. The large chicken and dinosaur eggs are easy to spot, but for the delicate duck eggs, you prod every corner with your fingers until you come across something warm and smooth. You push away your hens as they peck at your hands. The ducks are fine with you. The chickens, however...how in the world did Elliott win them over?

Outside, your dog barks. A single warning to the intruder before the tone shifts into excitement. Someone familiar, then. Maybe Marnie is stopping by to give you some hay like she mentioned last night. With winter approaching, any addition to your reserves is appreciated, and you're already wiping your hands on your overalls to greet her.

"Hey, Marnie! I'm just in here—"

You stop in your tracks when the visitor raises his head, though he's not exactly a visitor. Elliott smiles as you draw close, ignoring the horde of chickens now lining the fence for his attention. Their wings flap, clucking loudly as they hit each other.

"Good morning, my love," he says over the noise, as if it really is the start to a normal day. His thumb reaches out to rub at a dirt smudge on your cheek. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Just some leftovers and coffee," you reply, dazed. Your husband tends to have that effect, and after two weeks apart, you feel it more than ever. You lean into his touch, comforting against your wind-blown skin. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"

"I decided to come back early. The office didn't need me today, anyway."

"You should've messaged me! I would've picked you up at the train station," you say. Behind him sits his traveling suitcase, the wheels speckled with mud from being dragged through the road. He steps in front of it. "Why don't you go get unpacked? I'll be done soon."

He leans his elbows onto the fence, tilting his head until his fiery hair spills over one shoulder. "You're rather quick to dismiss my presence. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're unhappy to see me," he says, though his words hold no accusation. It's merely a way to boost his ego when you reassure him. After all, you practically radiate by his side. "Would you like me to help?"

You glance at the dress shoes, the slacks, the spotless cardigan that he's already shrugging off to reveal a clean pressed button-down. Not exactly farm-friendly attire. "No, I'll be alright by myself."

"I could go change really quickly," he offers in a suspicious rush.

You search his expression then, and underneath the joy of being back, there's...something. You squint, unable to make it out. Sure, he must've missed you, but this feels like it runs deeper than that. When you give him a nod, he hurries towards the house, your dog chasing and barking at his heels. True to his word, he's back in minutes.

The chickens are much more cooperative now, and you roll your eyes at how they parade around your husband. They even hop around the coop, showing him where they've hidden their eggs from your intrusive searching.

"Thank you, dearies," he says to the hens. You swear they swoon.

"A real heart breaker," you deadpan. "Have you told them you're married?"

He chuckles, taking your hand as you move into the barns next door. While you lay out new hay on the feeding bench, he unhooks the stools and milk pails and sets them on either side of the door. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago he barely knew how to approach your animals, let alone help you with the chores.

He whistles lowly, and the first cow trudges to his station, ready to be milked. You get settled at your own station. One of the newer goats skids to the front of the line, eager to be let outside. It's not quiet in the barn—it never is, not with twelve grown animals waiting for their turn—but when you call Elliott's name, he looks at you. His ponytail needs to be retied.

"So why'd you come home early?" The young adult goats don't have much milk, just enough for a small container. You pat its hind leg, and it runs into the crisp autumn air with an excited bleat.

"I missed the atmosphere of our farm. The fresh air of the valley is good for my creative soul, unlike the bustle of Zuzu City."

You only raise your eyebrows, and he sighs from your all-knowing gaze.

"You read me a little too well, my love."

"I sure hope so, after all this time together. Did something happen at the office?"

Since the release of his last collection of short stories, he's been invited to the city more often for author-related events. This latest stint, running a series of writing workshops in partnership with Zuzu University and the local community, was organized by his agent in hopes of bigger opportunities. Maybe even a guest lecturer contract, they've said on more than one occasion, though Elliott refuses to be apart from you for too long.

Elliott gives another sigh. "Something like that. I just...it was admittedly negligence on my part. I was in the middle of writing you another letter when someone required my presence down the hall. I thought that it'd be a quick matter, so I didn't clear my desk. But apparently one of the secretaries came looking for me while I was out."

"Did they read...?" You wrinkle your nose, knowing how private Elliott is about his unpolished work. He's even more private about what he writes for your eyes only. "I'm sure they were embarrassed."

"That's what bothers me the most! She had the audacity to bring it up in front of everyone when we had a meeting, even quoted a few lines—"

The cow groans as he moves particularly rough. He gives it an apologetic scratch under the chin.

"So for the past two days, everyone has been trying to talk me into releasing a collection of love poems, which I would have no issues with if it didn't stem from such a personal...I mean, the poems were addressed to my muse, and when I explained that it was you, they said that was even better. Something about how the romance will really sell." He frowns. "I like being able to support myself—contribute to our funds, you know—with my writing, but it's not...a commodity. I'm allowed to make art for the sake of making art."

His forehead is furrowed, and you would reach out to ease the frustration if your hands weren't busy.

"What's your plan now?"

He scoffs. "There's no plan regarding that. I completely refuse. It's quite insulting, in fact, the idea that I'd put my love on display for a paycheck."

It's relieving, you have to admit. Even after getting a taste of success, your husband remains the same person you said your vows to. The same romantic who holds you in such high esteem. There's so many emotions—namely affection—swirling in your chest, but you're not the writer so all you manage is a simple Okay.

"Okay," you say again for good measure, but he must understand you because his expression smooths. "So what do you want for lunch?"

[drdemonprince]

Hangouts don’t have to involve doing something out of the ordinary together— majority of life is an accumulation of a series of mundane, regular, consistent tasks we need to engage in to survive. The goal is to move towards sharing the mundane together rather than drifting through each day, moving from task to task… alone. Right now, I’m being forced to apply for jobs so I have a position as an attending somewhere after I finish my fellowship next June. There’s so few openings that I can’t be picky about location. I’m also simultaneously studying for my board exams to get licensed in my medical specialty. It’s overwhelming. I find most of these processes deeply unethical and it is excruciatingly cringe to beg for someone to see that you are worthy of life. I’m not even sure how long I can drag on in academic medicine… so this is a particularly stressful time period in my life. But I don’t want to isolate and study myself to death. I don’t want to fixate on this in a way where I have no time left to spend with the people I care about. If I only hung out with people to do something different/ fun/ out of the norm, I’d essentially limit myself to sporadic interactions. Instead, I asked my homies if I could still be there with them AND study or work on a stupid cover letter etc. Along with communal cooking nights and such, I’m slowly starting to spend more time in comforting silence with my homies. I’ll be studying while someone is cleaning or cooking or doing their laundry. Bottomline: I want our day-to-day lives to be more bearable. The cooking, cleaning, caretaking, caregiving, chores, all of the mundane… that’s where we can gradually build in more interdependence. It’s nice to have celebrations that honor any auspicious moment or time in our lives. It’s great to get together to try something new. But we need more low-stakes hangouts that also give us room to deepen our relationships. In Bengre, even if some folks still went out into the city to work during the day— almost everyone including our elders and children, would be outside under the moon at night. Some spend hours drinking chai on porches looking onward at the children playing cricket on the beach sand. Some make the rounds sprinkling blessed flowers from this morning’s temple ritual on every patch of fertile soil in the village as an offering to the land. Some practice their musical instruments and everyone can hear the soothing beats of the mridangam or the melody of the tambura. Some are out back in the kitchens mashing together spices to marinade the fish that others caught on the river this morning. Point is anything… no matter how “mundane” can be a ritual. If anything, that is what makes rituals sustainable.

Beautiful writing from Ayesha Khan that gets me thinking about the conversations we've been having on here about culture!

[willalove75]

Alcina's New Maid Pt. 21 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: Alcina goes to scout for the hunters and boy, does she find them. With a prisoner in tow, you feel guilty about his impending fate.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI.

Tags: Light angst, mostly fluff

Notes: Part 21!

Click here for the rest of the series

Gif source

The following day you spent most of the morning and afternoon trailing behind Alcina; helping her with paperwork and tasks as she finished getting caught up from the previous week. Tonight she planned to go out and search for the hunters that have been wandering just beyond the castle grounds and she wanted everything finished before she left.

"What time are you planning on going out?" You ask as you file away some of the papers scattered across her desk.

"After dusk, it'll be easier for me to hide amongst the forest at night."

"That's fair, although you are very skilled at hiding in plain sight in the middle of broad daylight." You tease.

"What can I say? I am a skilled huntress." She quips as she continues her paperwork.

"Huntress?"

"Do you have a problem with the way I describe myself?" She asks, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"No, I just wasn't expecting that to be the word you chose."

"And what word were you expecting me to use?"

"Predator feels like it fits the bill a little better, no?" You say trying to hide your smile and fail.

Alcina side-eyes you and you bite your lip to keep your smile back.

"Predator?" She says, mulling over the word. "Is that how you really feel about me, draga?"

Alcina acts hurt before standing to her full height and slowly makes her way over to you. Each step she takes is calculated, like a lion stalking a baby antelope. Her pout grows into a grin as she backs you up against the filing cabinet and looks down at you, her golden eyes boring into yours.

"Tell me, my love, is that how you view me?" She asks before bending down to your height and brushes her lips against your ear. "As a predator?"

Your breath hitches in your chest when you feel hers against your skin. Before you can react Alcina grabs the front of your dress and hoists you into the air up to her eye level as she stands to her full height. You let out a squeal and she sits you on top of the gigantic filing cabinet. Caging you in, she places both of her hands against the wall on either side of your head and leans in.

"Speak." She commands. The intensity in her eyes have a hint of playfulness to them but it still sends a shiver down your spine.

"I suppose, but it's not something that frightens me." You say as you look back into her eyes. She quirks an eyebrow at you and you lean in closer to her. "I'll let you in on a little secret." You lower your voice. "I actually find it quite attractive."

Alcina doesn't try to hide the smile that pulls at the corner of her lips as she tilts her head at you.

"So peculiar."

"What is?"

"The prey finding the predator attractive."

"Well I find it quite peculiar that the predator finds the prey as equally as attractive."

"The prey has quite the audacity to act so bold in front of it's predator." She says, flashing you a dangerous smile. "Especially when the predator can rip it's prey to shreds in seconds."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You innocently shrug before tilting your head to the side and pressing your lips into the skin on her neck.

You can hear Alcina's breath hitch in her throat. She lets out a low growl as you kiss and suck on her neck.

"You my dear are playing a very dangerous game." She says through her teeth, trying to mask the hint of arousal in her voice.

You respond by nipping at her pulse point and you can feel the vibration of her growl in her throat. She drags her nails down the wall before they rest on your hips and you continue to kiss, suck and nip up and down the column of her neck.

Alcina begins to lose herself in your ministrations, her head falls back and her eyes roll into the back of her head before she catches herself. She captures your lips in a searing kiss and her tongue pushes its way into your mouth. You moan at the intrusion and Alcina's hands grip at your thighs. Spreading your legs wider, you moan into her mouth and your hands go to tangle themselves into her hair. Before you can grasp onto her raven locks she pulls away completely with a sinister smile on her face, leaving you panting, wet, and eager for more. You whine at the loss and she chuckles.

"Oh, my sweet girl." She says, tracing the back of her finger down your cheek. "See what happens when you play with a predator?"

Alcina turns away and walks back to her desk. Her body is aching for you, it's taking all of her self restraint to not turn around, rip the fabric from your body and take you right this second. The only thing keeping her from doing so is knowing she has to finish her work before she leaves and that tomorrow night will be your date night. No harm in getting you all worked up now.

You groan and lean your head back against the ruined wall.

"Ughh! You're so unfair!" You whine. "Come back!"

"May I remind you draga, that you started this?" She says, her eyes trained on her paperwork.

"So?!" Alcina only shrugs in response and you let out another groan. "At least help me get down! It's too tall for me to climb down on my own!"

As you look down you know for sure you'll break an ankle if you try and jump. Alcina taps the pen against her chin in thought before answering.

"What was that thing you and the girls were telling me about? What you do with mischievous pets that are misbehaving?"

Her question takes you off guard for a second and you think. When you realize what she's talking about your jaw drops.

"Are you putting me in air jail?!"

"Ah, yes! That's it. Precisely. I will not get any work done if you continue to distract me." She says with mirth in her voice.

"I wasn't even distracting you all day! I was helping! You're so unfair." You say with a pout and cross your arms.

"Don't forget darling, predators don't play fair." She says with a wink.

Eventually Alcina lets you down and you continue helping her with her tasks. At dinner the girls beg their mother again to let them join her in her hunt but she refuses.

"Absolutely not. Not until I know for certain what we are up against. Plus, the temperature has been dropping at night and I am afraid it is beginning to become unsafe for you girls to be outside in the middle of the night."

The girls groan in unison and Alcina silences them with a stern look.

"We shall see how tonight goes. In terms of both the temperature and what we are up against." The girls become giddy and Alcina gets their attention once more. "Make no mistake, I am not making any promises in this moment. Am I clear?"

"Yes mother." The girls reply in unison.

"Good. Now I must get ready. Draga, will you assist me?"

"Of course!"

She leads you into her chambers and rummages through her dresser.

"Draga, please get me my boots from my wardrobe." She asks.

You nod and rummage through the dozens of shoes she has until you find a large pair of worn, black leather knee-high boots in the back of the wardrobe.

"These?" You ask.

"Yes! Thank you."

Alcina pulls out a pair of black pants and a grey, long sleeved shirt. She lays them on the bed before digging through another drawer and hums when she finds what she's looking for: a black corset belt with straps. Finally, she opens her wardrobe and sifts through the hangers before pulling out a dark brown cowl with a hood.

"That should be everything." She says to herself before she nods and sits down at her vanity. "Draga can you please undo the buttons on my dress?" She asks as she takes the pins out of her hair.

"Of course."

You hop onto the step stool and start unbuttoning the buttons down the back of her dress. She finishes taking out the last pin in her hair as you undo the last button and she stands up and lets the fabric pool around her feet. You stand there for a moment entranced as you look at her, your eyes drinking in every inch of her body.

Alcina's chuckle breaks you out of your stare and you shake your head and to go pick up her dress.

"I am pleased to know I still have such an effect on you." She says.

"You always have." You reply with a smile.

Alcina laughs as she removes her bra and puts on a new one that looks more like a sports bra. She replaces her lacy underwear with a cotton pair and slips on her skin-tight black pants. Alcina pulls the long sleeve shirt over her head and sits on the edge of the bed to put the corset belt. You stand between her legs and fasten the belt around her waist. After that you adjust the straps so they're snug - but not too tight - on her shoulders and nod to yourself when you're satisfied with your work.

"Thank you, draga mea." She says as she cups your face and leans down to kiss you.

"Of course, my love. Do you need anything else? Socks?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you. There should be a wool pair in the drawer."

You rummage through the drawer and find the black wool socks she was talking about and grab them. After shutting the drawer you walk over to her and place them in her hand.

Alcina slips the socks on and you grab her shoes and help her into them. You zipper both boots up and she tightens the laces on the front. She stands up and makes her way back over to the vanity and begins to pin her hair out of her face. You've never seen her do this with her hair before - truthfully you've never seen her dressed so casually before - but she still looks as beautiful as ever.

She stands up, adjusts the belt and her shirt and gives herself another once-over in the mirror.

"How do I look?" She asks.

"Just as beautiful as ever." You reply with a smile.

Alcina grabs the cowl and pulls it over her head and adjusts it on her shoulders. She grabs a pair of gloves from her drawer and slips them on and she's ready to go.

The sun has just begin to set and the last of its light peeks through the window.

"Ready?" You ask.

Alcina huffs and nods. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The two of you walk hand-in-hand down the stairs to the front doors. The girls swarm in and Zina follows closely behind with a bag in her hand.

"Here you are, my Lady. I've packed the usual for you." She says, handing Alcina the bag.

"Thank you, Zina."

Alcina notices the look of confusion on your face and she chuckles as she pulls the bag across her shoulder.

"Most nights when I am out hunting I am gone for long periods of time. So we've come up with a go-bag of sorts with supplies I'll need. Blood, meat, matches, compass, rope, things of that nature."

"I also put a special snack in there for you, mother!" Daniela says with excitement.

"Thank you, bug." Alcina says as she cups her face and kisses her on the forehead.

"How long will you be gone for?" You ask.

"Not until the early hours of the morning I presume."

"Is that normal? Are you usually out that late?"

"Only when she's hunting hunters. If mother were to be hunting deer or other animals she returns much earlier." Bela chimes in.

Suddenly you feel nervous, you're not sure why but you didn't expect Alcina to be out all night. You figured she'd patrol for a couple of hours and head back home. The thought of her being out in the forest alone all night long forms a pit of nervousness in your stomach.

"But you aren't fighting them or actually hunting them, right? I thought you were just scouting?"

"That is correct, although I must be prepared to fight anyway just in case. You never know what could happen and I'd rather be prepared for a fight and not have one than not."

"I guess."

Alcina senses your nerves and bends down to your height and cups your cheek.

"There's nothing to worry about, draga mea. I will stay safe. Even if there is a fight, those hunters won't stand a chance."

"Just be careful, okay?" You ask, looking deep into her eyes.

"I will, iubirea mea. I promise."

She leans in and kisses you like there weren't four other people staring at the two of you. Her kiss was reassuring, sealing the promise she made to be careful and to stay safe. When the kiss ends you wrap your arms around her neck and hold her. You feel her arms wrap around your waist and her hand cradles the back of your head.

"I will come back to you, my love. I promise." She whispers. You nod into her and she kisses you once more before you pull away from each other.

The girls swarm their mother and she wraps her arms around all three of them.

"Stay safe, mother." Bela says.

"If you do kill any, bring one back for us!" Cassandra says.

"Oh! Yes! Please mother? Please?" Daniela asks excitedly.

Alcina chuckles and kisses each girl on the head.

"I will try daughters. If I have any confrontations I need to bring one back as a prisoner for questioning."

"OH! Can I do it? Please mom?!" Cassandra asks as she vibrates with excitement.

"I can't make any promises, but I will see what I can do."

After one more hug and another kiss to the top of each of their heads, Alcina lets the girls go and she pulls her hood up over her head.

"I must be off, I have some distance to cover before I reach where they were last spotted. Daughters, please behave while I am out."

"Yes mother." The girls say in unison.

"Draga, please don't try and stay awake until I come home."

How she's able to know you so well will never not fascinate you. You pout at her demand and she chuckles.

"I promise I will wake you when I'm home so you know I am back safely. Alright?"

"Deal."

"Zina, as per usual you are in charge until I return. I trust you will keep things under control until then." She says, eyeballing the girls as she speaks.

"Of course, my Lady." She says with a bow.

"Excellent. I am as appreciative as always for your loyalty."

"It is my honor, my Lady."

"Have a good night girls, please stay out of trouble while I am gone." Alcina says before scanning everyone's face before opening the door and walking out into the night.

When the door shuts there's a moment of silence before Daniela flies around the entrance hall.

"Oh! Lets play a game! We should chase one of the new maids around the castle!"

"Absolutely not." Zina says. "Ms. Daniela you know well enough I do not allow those kinds of 'games' to be played while I am in charge. Please go and find something quiet and non-destructive to do for the night."

"Fineeeee!" Daniela says.

Zina gives her a warning look before walking away towards the kitchens.

"Ugh she's so strict!"

"I mean I feel like she has to be. Your mother would kill her if something were to happen when she was away." You say.

The girls burst into laughter and you're confused.

"Oh please!" Cassandra laughs.

"Zina can do literally anything and mother would barely bat an eye." Bela says.

"She can get away with murder and mother won't do a single thing to her." Daniela replies.

"She has!" Cassandra adds.

"She what?!" You ask, wide-eyed.

"Oh it was nothing, the girl deserved it and everyone was happy she was gone." Cassandra says.

"What?!"

"That's a story for another day." Bela says, glaring at Cassandra. "Anyway, lets go play a board game!"

The four of you head into the library. A few maids that were in there picking out books before curfew scurry out when you all enter and the girls giggle at their skittishness.

For the rest of the night you and the girls play board games. They try and teach you how to play chess but after a few hours it still makes almost no sense to you. Even when you have one of the girls playing with you, Bela kicks your ass over and over again.

"And that's checkmate!" Bela says and you groan in response.

"Okay, I'm done, I hate this game." You say as you push the board away from you.

"Oh come on! One more! Don't be a sore loser!"

"Bela I'd be a sore loser if I quit after losing one or two games, you've kicked my ass at least a dozen times."

"I've literally never seen anyone suck at chess so badly." Cassandra says as she sketches on the floor.

"Whatever! It's a stupid game anyway!" You say defensively before yawning. "I'm getting tired, we should head to bed."

Looking over you see Daniela curled up on one of the couches, fast asleep with a book resting on her chest.

"Dani, come on, it's time to go to sleep." You say as you gently wake her.

"Is the parlor set up?"

"What?"

"Are our beds in the parlor?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Whenever mother goes out hunting all night Dani usually pulls all of our beds downstairs into one of the parlors so we can hear when mom comes home."

"Aw, that's actually really sweet."

"I'm too tired to do it." Dani says in her half-asleep state.

"How about we all stay in your moms bed then?" You suggest.

"I like that idea. Carry me?" She says.

"There is no way I'm going to be able to carry you, come on, get up."

Daniela growls and reluctantly gets up. She sleepily shuffles into Alcina's chambers with you, Bela and Cassandra. The four of you crawl into Alcina's massive bed and before you know it you're all asleep.

You're awoken in the middle of the night by a loud "BANG" and you and the girls jump up. The four of you rush downstairs and can hear the sounds of someone yelling and crying. As you make your way into the main hall you see Alcina walk in and you freeze.

She sure as hell got into a fight, and a nasty one at that. Alcina was covered in blood, both hers and the hunters. She had cuts, bullet wounds and scrapes all over her body that hadn't healed yet and your heart began to hammer wildly in your chest. Why wasn't she healing? What the hell happened?!

Slung over her shoulder was a man bound by his wrists and ankles, kicking, yelling and begging for Alcina to have mercy on him and to let him go.

"Shut. Up." She growls.

When she sees the four of you run into the hall she relaxes and drops the man onto the ground. He cries out in pain and scrambles to get up onto his knees.

"Mother!"

"Oh my god Alcina what happened?!"

"Mmm man blood!"

"Mom! Are you okay?!"

"I am fine." She says, clearly exhausted.

"Why haven't you healed?!" You say in a panic.

"I am, slowly, but I am. There's no need to fear, draga mea."

"Mother what happened?!"

"I found the hunters." She says with a humorless laugh.

You feel something pulling at your pajamas and you look down to see the prisoner at your feet.

"Please! Please help me! She's a monster!" He cries.

You take a step back in shock, this wasn't a man, this was basically a kid. It would surprise you if he was eighteen years old. You look back at Alcina and she sees the look on your face.

"Keep your filthy man hands off of her!" She says before kicking him away. "Cassandra, take our prisoner down to the dungeon. But do not, and I mean do not harm a single hair on his head. Do you understand?"

"Yes mother." Cassandra says with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. She sticks her sickle into his leg and he cries out in pain as she drags him into the basement.

"Alcina what the hell happened?!" You say as you look over her injuries.

"I will explain everything, but first please bring me into my chambers, I need to bathe."

You nod and you, Bela and Daniela help Alcina upstairs and into the bathroom. Her clothes were torn with bullet holes and slashes and covered in mud. She slices through the remaining fabric and settles into the bathtub. You pour some of her favorite oils and soaps into the tub as it finishes filing and the water immediately turns pink and brown from all of the blood and dirt.

"Are you okay?" You ask with fear in your voice.

"Yes iubirea mea, I am alright." She says with her eyes closed.

"What can I do? Do you want me to do your hair?"

"Thank you."

You climb onto the step stool behind the tub and remove whatever pins remained in Alcina's hair before shampooing and conditioning it. She washed herself before pulling the drain and stepping out of the large tub. After handing her a towel, she dries herself off and the two of you walk back into her bedroom. The wounds on her body still haven't healed although they do look better. Some are still bleeding so Bela tends to them and wraps them up before Alcina gets dressed.

"They're already looking better." Bela says.

"Damn, mom. They really must have put up a good fight." Daniela says, staring at her mothers wounds wide-eyed.

"That they did, my bug." Alcina says as she lays down.

"What happened?" You ask.

"I found a few and stalked them back to their base. Somehow I was spotted and was ambushed by nearly thirty hunters."

"THIRTY?!" Daniela exclaims.

"Approximately, I don't know the exact number. But I killed them all, except the one. He wasn't even fighting, he was just cowering in a bush while the rest of them were slain."

"He looks like a kid." You say quietly.

"Yes, he certainly is young. But that will work to our advantage. The less experienced the hunter the easier they are to pry information from."

A shiver runs up your spine and you try to put the implications of what she said out of your mind.

"Why are you healing so slowly?"

"As Heisenberg said, they are armed to the nines. Machine guns, knives, shotguns, bows and arrows. They had it all and launched one massive assault. My body can only heal so quickly after so many attacks."

"But I thought-"

"It's not the same, draga, I promise." She says, taking your hand in hers. "My healing is not slowed because of the weapons themselves, and none of these are life threatening. The way my healing works is not that I heal in the order I receive the wounds, but in order of which is worse. For example, I was shot in the arms and legs multiple times but one arrow pierced my heart. My body healed that first even though I sustained it after the other wounds. Understand?"

"I do. How many other life-threatening injuries did you sustain?"

"Quite a few. The worst being shot at close-range with a shotgun where my cadou was placed." Your eyes widen with fear and Alcina strokes your hand. "There's nothing to worry about, draga mea. That wound was by far the worst and took the most of my body's energy to heal but it happened quickly. Between that and the other wounds my healing was slowed, but not so much so that any of their attacks could have killed me."

"What can you do to speed up the healing?"

"Blood and rest."

"We'll go grab some of the reserve blood from the kitchen." Bela says.

"Wonderful, thank you girls."

The two of them swarm out of the room leaving you and Alcina alone. She turns back towards you and cuddles into her pillow. She studies your face, seeing the worry in your eyes as you look over the wounds on her body that are taking too long to heal. You're pulled from your thoughts when her finger rests underneath your chin and lifts your gaze to hers.

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean what's wrong?! Look at you!" You say as tears fill your eyes.

Alcina sighs and sits up, pulling you into her lap and wrapping her arms around you.

"I am alright iubirea mea, I promise. Please don't worry, there's nothing to be fearful of. Even though my healing was slowed they could not have killed me. I promise."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said before about the dagger, but that's completely different. The poison would slow or stop my healing and keep it from regaining it's strength. Even though I was berated with assaults my healing kept up with almost all of it until it was over. The only wounds that were left unhealed were superficial. It healed any other lethal wounds almost instantly the entire time, alright?"

"Okay." You say quietly as you rest you head against her chest.

She runs her fingers through your hair and you hold her hand in yours and place a kiss in her palm.

"Isn't fresh blood better than the reserves?"

"Yes, but I have nothing right now."

"You have me." You say as you interlock your fingers with hers.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Draga, do you not remember what happened merely a week ago?"

"I do, but that's so different."

"I am not comfortable with feeding from you."

"Ever again?" Alcina doesn't respond and you look up at her. "You know that's ridiculous, right? You can't be afraid of feeding from me for the rest of your life."

"Draga I will not do it. I cannot lose control again."

"But the dragon isn't out or trying to come out. You never struggled with it before."

"It doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does!"

"That is enough. I am through talking about this."

"Alcina, please. You have to forgive yourself, you have to trust yourself again."

"Draga." She says with a warning tone.

"You know I'm right. And you know that my blood will help you heal faster than the cold reserves you have."

"I am done with this conversation."

"But I'm not!"

"Enough!" She says as she stares down at you. "That is enough, I am not feeding from you and that is-"

Before she can finish her sentence you slice your wrist across one of her nails, breaking the skin and causing yourself to bleed.

"Y/N!!" She yells.

You hold your wrist up to her as an offering.

"I trust you. And you need this. Please, just drink."

Tears well up in her eyes and she looks away.

"Draga, I - I can't-"

"Yes you can! Hurry before I bleed all over myself and you. You have to forgive yourself, Alcina. You have to trust yourself again. Just drink it. It's not from my neck, it's just my wrist. I know you can do it, okay? I trust you." You guide her face towards yours and look into her watery golden eyes. "I trust you. You've taken such good care of me after everything that's happened. Please, let me take care of you. Just this once."

A tear rolls down her cheek and you offer her your wrist once more. The blood is starting to drip down your other hand as you hold it. Alcina hesitates and you bring it closer to her lips.

"You can do it. I trust you. I love you."

With a shaking breath, Alcina leans towards your wrist and wraps her lips around the wound. The moment the blood hits her tongue she closes her eyes and tears fall down her cheeks. Wiping the blood on your hand on your already blood-stained pajama shirt, you reach up and cup her face, wiping away her tears.

"There you go, see? Just like that. And I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'm not in pain, I'm okay." You say, whispering reassuring words to her as she drinks.

As the bleeding comes to a stop Alcina licks over the wound once more before pulling her lips away from your wrist. Her bottom lip quivers and she wraps her arms around you and buries her face into your neck.

"Please don't ever do that again." She says as you feel tears run down your shoulders.

"I promise. But you did it, right? You drank from me and I wasn't on the brink of death. You were able to control yourself Alcina. I'm so proud of you. I love you, so much."

"I was so afraid I was going to hurt you again."

"But you didn't. Did you feel like you were losing control?" Alcina shakes her head "no." "See? Exactly. You were fine, you didn't hurt me. There's no reason to be afraid of that - unless your dragon is out or trying to get out. When it's just you and I you have nothing to be afraid of, my love."

"But if something were to happen to you and it was because of me-"

"Stop that. Stop thinking that. The only time I was ever really hurt by you like that wasn't even you, it was your dragon. When you're in control you are never going to hurt me. I need you to know and believe that like I do. Plus, I even have a feeling your dragon might not do something like that again after the last time. But that's a theory we can test another day. For now, when it's just you and me, I am safe when I am with you. Okay?"

Alcina takes a shaking breath in and nods her head. She lifts her head from your shoulder and you cup her face, wiping away her tears with your thumbs.

"I love you, Alcina. I love you so much."

She closes her eyes and a few more tears fall before she opens them again and looks deeply into yours.

"I will never understand what I did in this life to deserve such love from such a kind soul." She says before resting her forehead against yours. "I love you with all I have, draga mea."

Alcina pulls you tighter into her and you rest your head on her shoulder as she leans her head against yours.

A few minutes later the girls return with a large carafe of blood and a glass. Bela walks over and notices her mother's wounds are nearly all healed.

"Mother, your wounds are almost all healed, what happened?" As she finishes her sentence she notices the blood on your shirt and she eyes the two of you.

Alcina says nothing and gives you a look, silently pushing you to answer.

"I helped her out." You say, showing Bela the mark on your wrist.

Bela and Daniela look at their mother wide-eyed and you cut in before they can say anything.

"In her defense, she didn't want to but I went ahead and did it anyway. It was a shallow cut and it didn't bleed too much. And she was more than in control. Everything is fine girls, don't worry."

Bela and Daniela relax a little and Bela sits the carafe and glass on the nightstand.

"Okay, well, I'm just going to leave this here anyway just in case. Do you need anything else mother?"

"No, thank you girls. I just need rest."

"Okay. Goodnight mother." Bela says before kissing Alcina on the cheek.

"Night mom, I'm glad you're looking and feeling better." Daniela says and kisses Alcina on the cheek before the two of them swarm out of the room.

You go to get up so Alcina can rest but her grip around you tightens.

"Stay." She says softly as she lays back down.

Nodding your head you allow Alcina to pull you into her embrace and you tuck yourself underneath her chin. She kisses the top of your head and sighs.

"Te iubesc atât de mult, draga mea fata." (I love you so much, my sweet girl.)

At breakfast the next morning Alcina's wounds were all healed and she was back to her normal self. She went into more detail on what happened the night before, how it took her a few hours to find the hunters and that she stalked them for about an hour before they attacked. She's not sure how they saw her but her theory was that she was close to their camp and spotters found her and had the hunters lead her away from it. She said that they suddenly changed course which raised her suspicion levels and a few minutes later she was attacked.

The fight didn't last very long and although they were able to get a few decent hits on her, they never stood a chance. Just when she was about to retrace her steps to see if she could find their camp she heard a heartbeat pounding away in a bush. She silently crept up to it and grabbed the kid and pulled him out.

Alcina laughed when she described the terror on his face and how he was trembling so badly he couldn't run away if he tried. When she stated tying him up he began to scream. She backhanded him across the face and knocked him out just in case more hunters were in the area and heard his cries for help. When he was bound she threw him over her shoulder and made her way back to the castle. He only awoke a few minutes before arriving.

"Thank goodness for that, he was insufferably annoying and if I had to listen to him cry and beg so pathetically the entire trek back I probably would have lost my temper and killed him." She said with a laugh.

The girls listened intently and with excitement at their mothers story meanwhile you sat there silently, thinking of the kid sitting in the dungeon. It would have been one thing if he tried killing her or hurting her. You probably wouldn't have any sympathy for him if that was the case. But he hid the entire time, he was too scared to fight. And now there was a good chance he was going to die. You knew he was part of a group of people that wanted your family dead, but he was also just a kid. Probably following in the footsteps of his family. Part of you felt sorry for him and hoped Alcina would show him some mercy if he was cooperative but deep down you knew that more than likely wasn't going to be the case.

"Draga?" Alcina asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?" She asks, reaching over and placing a hand on your arm.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine."

"Something is troubling you."

"I'm okay, I was just thinking of that kid."

"Don't tell me you feel bad for him?" Cassandra deadpans.

"Cassandra." Alcina hisses.

"I know I shouldn't but I do. He's just a kid, and he wasn't even fighting, he was hiding."

Alcina cups your chin and guides your face towards her.

"Your heart is too large for your own good." She says with a warm smile.

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Most likely."

"Even if he cooperates? Even if he tells you everything he knows?"

"That's the fun part! You make 'em think you're going to show them mercy if they tell you everything and then you gut them anyway!" Daniela chimes in.

You feel your stomach drop and Alcina shoots a glare at Daniela who shrinks in her seat.

"Girls, that is enough. You are excused. Please let me speak with y/n in private."

"Yes mother." They say before swarming out of the dining room.

"Come." Alcina says, waving you towards her.

You stand up and she lifts you and sits you across her lap. Her fingers lift your chin towards her and she looks down into your eyes.

"You feel empathy for this, man thing?"

"I do. I know I shouldn't. Like if he attacked you, I'd feel differently about it. But he was just scared."

"He let his men die while he hid away."

"I know, but he's just a kid. Alcina you and I both know he's barely eighteen. He's so young. And I would bet he was just there because it's something his family has done for generations. Like what if he never wanted to be there in the first place?"

"Then he should have left."

"Come on, you know it's not always that easy."

"What would you like me to do then? Cut him loose and send him on his way?"

"No, I know you need information from him. I get that. But what if he complies? It feels wrong killing him anyway."

"Draga, it would be dangerous for me to just let him go after he tells us the information we need. He knows too much. Just knowing any of the layout of the castle can be dangerous if he lets the others know what he's seen here."

"I guess. But lets say he gives up the information without a fight, what's the point of torturing him afterwards?" You look up at Alcina and her eyes are gleaming, you remember how they enjoy torture and you sigh. "Right. Because it's fun for you guys."

"Oh, draga." Alcina says as she holds you tighter. "This is just the way things happen here."

"What if he tells you everything you ask for and you don't torture him and just kill him? Like a mercy kill. I know I can't convince you to keep him alive, as much as I would like to. I get how much of a threat that is if he goes back and tells everyone what he saw here. But what if you just did it as quickly and painlessly as possible?"

"Would that ease the guilt you feel?"

"A little."

"Then perhaps. I will consider it. Alright? But let me be clear, either way, he dies. And if he puts up a fight then I will not show him any mercy." She says, lifting your chip up again.

You nod your head and Alcina leans down and kisses you. When your lips part she holds your head to her chest and cuddles you.

"What on earth have you done to me?" She mumbles before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You look up and meet her eyes. "I'm finding the humanity you swore you lost decades ago." You quip with a smile.

Alcina chuckles and rests her cheek against your head. "That you are, draga mea. That you are."

The two of you sit like that for a few more minutes, enjoying each others embrace. Finally, Alcina sits up and places a kiss on your lips before lifting you off of her lap.

"Will you need to go into our chambers before you need to get ready for this evening?" She asks.

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Good, because I am banning you until further notice. There are some last-minute details I need to sort before our date this evening." She says with a warm smile.

"Oh, yeah sure. Can I get ready in there or do I have to go into my old room?"

"You may get ready in our chambers. I will send a maid for you when you are allowed to enter again."

"Okay, that sounds good to me!"

"Excellent. I have some very important plans to finalize and I will not be at lunch. Of course you are permitted to attend although I suggest a light lunch since we will be meeting before our usual dinner time."

"Okay."

"I will see you, my love, tonight." She says before bending down.

"I'm very excited to see what you have planned."

"I am excited for you to see it."

Alcina kisses you passionately and your heart flutters in your chest. She looks deep into your eyes for a moment before standing back up and making her way out of the dining room.

It was still early and you had all day to kill. As excited as you were for your date tonight, your mind kept going back to the kid in the dungeon. Either way he had a death sentence, which still didn't sit right with you. But if you could only let him know that she would show a shred of mercy if he cooperated, you would at least feel like you did something to help him.

Your thoughts began to race in your head and the outline of a plan began to form. If you didn't do anything, you would feel guilty for the rest of your life. But he's just a kid, he deserves some kindness. As the maids enter the dining room to clean up what remained of your breakfast, you head out with a rough plan in place on how you can at least try and help him, for both his sake and yours.

[nerdyloverparadise]

IM DONE STARVING YOU GUYS!!

Pt.3 of Chuuya Fanfiction/Headcanons.

2.2k Words

Disclaimer: This is basically like a fanfiction to the Headcanons. Explaining the course of which the reader and Chuuya "nurtured" their relationship. This is only the first part of the story because I didn't want to continue starving the people for so long so please enjoy it. This scene was recommended by someone also to include so I did my best. It contains the following things: groping, harassment (not from Chuuya!), choking, cursing, unspoken tension. ENJOY!!

Months went by of working in the Port Mafia together and upon analyzing how well Chuuya mentored you, Mori decided to partner you both often on missions. Oftentimes it was you, Chuuya, and one other person who was a strategist. The partner hated tagging along due to you and Chuuyas banter but it's just a regular occurrence at this point.

JEALOUSY

Now that we’ve set the groundwork… How did you two end up falling for each other? It all started when Mori assigned you both to a mission—one that would reveal just how jealous Chuuya could be when someone else laid hands on you.

The mission involved seducing a big-shot gambler to draw him away from his table long enough for Chuuya to search his belongings and determine if he needed to be eliminated. The man might be innocent, but Mori’s philosophy was always better safe than sorry.

Mori: I have a task for both of you.

Chuuya and You: What is it?

Mori: This man might be in cahoots with a well-known gang around Yokohama. I need you to locate him and search him for any leads.

-

Chuuya: I could handle this by myself.

“As if, you always need me.” You nudge Chuuya’s shoulder, and he immediately wants to toss you out the window.

Chuuya: I do not NEED you!

You: Yeah, right. You need me like you need your next breath.

For some reason, this line struck a nerve with Chuuya. Not because it angered him, but because it sparked a twinge of desire. He enjoyed bantering with you, realizing that his days without you were a blur compared to the ones you spent together on missions. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists, his cheeks growing red as his breathing becomes shallow and jagged. Mori, of course, notices Chuuya's sudden silence, his hand raking through his hair to appear casual while his face flushes crimson.

Mori: I have an idea, Y/N. You’ll play an imperative role in this mission. I need you to seduce the gambler. It's a quick and easy way to ensure our success.

You: Alright, that's fine. Nothing difficult.

Chuuya’s eyes widen as he processes what Mori just said. Seduce? Seduce??

Mori: Unless… our fiery friend here has a problem with that. Huh, Chuuya?

Chuuya: Problem? No, there's no problem. Why would I have a problem, Boss?

Mori: Judging by the redness of your face, the sudden lack of aggression, and the sweaty palms… I just wanted to ensure you’d be okay with her seducing another man.

Chuuya didn’t quite know what he was feeling, so he vehemently rejected the suggestion.

Chuuya: What the… groans Let’s just find the guy, Y/N.

He's dragging you by the arm out of Mori’s office, his hat over his face to hide his flushed expression. He doesn't speak for a while, walking straight out of the PM with you stumbling behind, struggling to match his long strides. He must be really bugged by something; you didn’t know he could walk that fast.

Later, you both enter the casino, greeted by flashing lights and bustling aisles. Addicts play their hearts out, sending their money spiraling down the drain. You walk in front of Chuuya, your hips swaying fluidly with each step. Something clicks in Chuuya's head—his eyes are glued to the sleek motion of your backside instead of his surroundings. Shit… Why the hell am I so entranced by this? They've always worn this, what’s different today?

You’ve put on something more form-fitting for the mission, a little more business casual but not completely safe for work. Your curves are hugged in all the right places, and he can’t tear his eyes away. How your legs are so nice, toned, and thick, just like…

You continue to scan the area, and Chuuya makes his way to your side. “See anything, brat?”

“No, not yet, Chuus.”

“Chuus? Seriously, you're such a loser.”

“It’s just a nickname, don’t be a dick about it.”

As you both move through the casino, you spot a big, burly man at a table with a group of alcohol-reeking guys. He’s holding a deck of playing cards, spinning one on his fingertips. His chest hair peeks out over his half-buttoned shirt. Not only does he look like a big-shot gambler, but he also has a suspicious duffle bag under his chair.

Chuuya, that’s definitely our guy.” Before Chuuya can react, you’re already walking over and asking to sit on the man's lap. All part of the mission. Chuuya lingers in the distance, but his eyes are locked on you both. Watching as your hands grace the man's chest, seducing him into letting you sit in his lap. Your fingers trail down his neck, and you whisper compliments into his ear with your lips brushing the lobe as you speak. The man looks at you like you’re the hottest thing on earth, cards damn near spilling out of his hands as his friends watch in awe, and Chuuya is clenching his fist, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks.

“I fuckin’ hate that brat. No way.”

The man's rough hands wrap around your arm and pull you onto his lap. He adjusts in his chair a little before continuing his game. Throughout the entirety of it, you can feel his pants tightening underneath you, the groin area of it pushing against the swell of your ass. You use it to your advantage and grind down into him causing his breath to hitch.

“Ya like that?” You whisper into his ear, catching a glimpse of Chuuya out of the corner of your eye. He looks fine.

“Don't start sumthin ya can't finish, sweetheart…” He responds, his voice husky and smooth, like how a villain would sound. A large hand comes down to rest on your thigh, pulsing between light squeezes and ones with more pressure.

Chuuya’s eyes are piercing your skin like bullets now. It feels like his clothing is tightening on his body, leaching to his flesh as it collects sweat. His eyes are glued to the hand on your thigh, his mind wandering as he watches it ripple with each touch. Anyone who was watching him right now would see him unballing his fist and latching his hand onto his own thigh, squeezing it tightly in his hand in tandem with what he was seeing. Suddenly the burly man stands up with you still in his arms, his big thighs scooting the chair back for him. You look no less than cocky with a big grin on your face. The man has you in his arms bridally, your upper body reclining against the crook of his arm, head suspended in the air, and hair cascading downward under the pull of gravity.

“Got sumn to take care of now, boys. I’ll catch ya later.” He steps out from between the chair and the poker table, leaving the duffle bag under his chair as planned. This was supposed to be Chuuya’s cue to collect it, to search the contents for anything suspicious, but his feet felt cemented in place by the weight of his envy. Why? They were always at each other's throats, so why the sudden concern? Not even he could answer that, but the pool of warmth forming in his pelvis could. He eventually snaps out of it when he sees your arm waving frantically, echoing the look on your face as you mouth, “Chuuya, grab the bag!” The man rounds the corner, disappearing along with his muscular frame and you in his arms.

You barely had half a second to scrutinize Chuuya's face, and all you could see was pure aggravation. That's the only detail you could fixate on as you were whisked away to the casino's backrooms. Then, Mori’s words echoed in your ears, emphasizing the flush on Chuuya's face when you mentioned how indispensable you were to him—like his next breath. Were you truly that indispensable? It was meant to be a joke, but Chuuya's intense scrutiny of the man's hands as they cradled your thigh with a fervor that mirrored his gaze during heated confrontations left you questioning. That same blazing passion, usually only unmasked when you were at intense odds, was being applied to this situation too. The realization dawned on you with startling clarity---was he starting to feel something for you?

Chuuya darts over to the table, his mouth deduced to a thin line, masking any trace of emotion. The men at the table didn't pay too much mind to the bag being stolen so it was simple enough. He tucks himself away into a corner and starts to search the bag. There was money, obviously stolen, artifacts, and documents of certain government information which was supposed to stay under lock and key. “Yeah… we definitely got our guy. Great for me, I'm itching ta-” His remarks were cut short by a throaty scream. “Get the hell off of me!”

Chuuya knew that yell like the back of his hand, he'd encountered it time and time again back at headquarters when he was screwing around. He dropped the items that were inside of the duffle and looked up, his eyes skimming to the side slightly as if the sound were right next to him. “Whattt? Thought ya liked me, sweetheart?” He was damn near ready to hurl at the commotion. He knew exactly what was going on but his body was frozen momentarily, his mouth slightly ajar as he crushed the handle of the bag in his hands. “Pretty collar ya got there. Let me show you a good time, little doll.” A smug grin plastered on his face from ear to ear. “Come on, you were damn near riding my thigh earlier, I know you're just ready for me down there, yeah?” His lips were grazing your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and rank with liquor. Your little frame was smashed into the wall by his hunky one and he wasn't relenting, not even when you started to sweat and squirm, a look of terror in your eyes that didn't betray the fear shooting through your body.

It was almost as if Chuuya could hear the leather of the choker burning into your skin as that man's hand came down on it tightly. The slight squeak and scrunch it made against your flesh as your chin flew up into the air, throat straining for oxygen it wasn't receiving. His rough hands were unyielding, merciless, as they pushed your back flush against the wall. Your head was thumping now, blood running through it like a riptide as it bumped the wall several times, but you couldn't blow your cover, not even when his hands started to wiggle their way down in between your bodies, trailing down your stomach like eerily soft trickles of rain.

“Nngh.. Ah-hach! CHUUYA--Goddamit! TODAY PLEASE!” The voices were very faint but Chuuya could hear them perfectly clear. His knees steadied as he got up from his squat quickly, using his gravity manipulation to make himself a bit lighter as he darted to the corner he'd seetn you get whirled around earlier. His body seemed to take initiative before his brain did. What was happening to you hadn't even had time to register properly before he was already halfway to where you resided chaotically.

You were starting to gasp for air as the man's hand tightened around your neck firmly. Coughs littering the air around you.

“Who’s Chuuya, hm? Some twink, sweetheart? Doesn't matter, no one's saving ya.”

“He'll kick your-!”

“Ah… watch your mouth, doll. You put yourself in this situation and now… I'm gonna get my fix outta you.”

His hands seemed to pulse, allowing you enough air to keep your vision from going out. It felt like he was about to break the choker you received from Chuuya and that made a wave of anxiety shoot through you. A pit of uneasiness settling right above your pelvis. Your feet were starting to lift from the floor slightly, onto the tips of your toes. Your teeth clenched together in a desperate attempt to wiggle free ever so slightly.

“How would your mother feel if she knew this was how you handled women?” A familiar raspy voice echoes from around the corner, followed by a blaze of orange and red light. His glare was deadly, barely any time had passed before he had the man crushed up against the wall, feet off the ground with drool dribbling down his chin. 'And just so were clear, I aint a twink.’

You’re watching the whole display from the ground, having fallen to the ground when the man released you, hacking and coughing for air while Chuuya handled the rest. When he’d apprehended the guy and freed you, he scowled at you with an intensity that rivaled a full on reprimand. His eyes were darkened and narrow, his lips stretched in a straight line. It’s like you could hear his thoughts, even in this half of a second. It wasn’t a normal seething rage, it was fueled by something deeper. Something so strong that his eyes seemed to talk on their own, like an “ill handle you later” type of glare.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Better | Jisung Imagine #4

Title: Better

Genre: Angst

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, mental struggles

Word Count: 867

Author's Note: I wrote this last week I think, and I apologize for posting something so dark again. I do have some lighter stuff I plan to write in the near future. Something I noticed in writing these type of stories is kind of me just talking to myself through the characters. I don't know, I guess it's kinda selfish and pathetic. But I wrote this from the perspective of someone witnessing their loved one going through a hard time, and I could see Jisung in this specific scenario. Thank you for reading and if it can comfort any of you, then I hope it does ^ ^

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With a sigh, Jisung drowsily let his phone drop to the coffee table, retiring from the mobile game he had been playing. He then rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, seeking your presence. Mere seconds later he caught the sight of you gracefully packing away the leftovers from dinner into clear airtight containers. 

Usually, watching you perform these tasks with such ease brought comfort to him. Oftentimes Jisung felt you were more like his mom than his girlfriend. Despite him being older by two years, you consistently made an effort to take care of him. Whether it be through doing his laundry on the weekends, buying him bunggeobang when he was having a bad day, or when you made him home-cooked meals so that he didn’t eat take-out all the time. Your actions were always so nurturing, and your eyes always brimmed with joy as he ate.

However, observing you tonight didn’t bring him the usual sense of domestic tranquility that usually filled the atmosphere. Instead, there was this deep, sadness that gnawed at his stomach and traveled up his throat.

It was the way you momentarily paused what you were doing. Then the slight hesitation that crossed your expression before your hand gripped the edge of your sleeve to vigorously drag the fabric up and down your forearm. Jisung despised how familiar that habit had become to him, one he had witnessed too many times before now. Your actions could only be a sign of the physical manifestation of the pain you carried as a result of the endless thunderstorm in your mind.

Jisung wanted to say something, he always did in these moments. But each time his tongue stilled, because he was weighed down by his own emotions. He knew what it was like to struggle mentally, yet he couldn’t think of the best way to express his concern without sounding like he was judging you.

However, Jisung knew he couldn’t stand around doing nothing. He stayed still for a moment though, watching you return to collecting the containers and turning around to store them in his refrigerator. Once the fridge door was closed again, your brows furrowed in frustration one more as you rubbed your arm again. You seemed more annoyed with the irritation beneath your skin than the fact that you had intentionally hurt yourself. This realization only made Jisung’s heart sink further.

After taking a deep breath, Jisung decided now was the time to act. His footsteps were barely audible against the tiled floor. Walking up from behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist in a gentle back-hug. Your body initially tensed at the unexpected affection. But once you recognized it was just your boyfriend, you instinctively leaned back against him.

A few seconds passed before Jisung cautiously extended his arm out to tug at your sleeve. When you didn’t say anything, he slowly rolled it up, the kitchen light immediately drawing attention to the angry red lines scattered across your pale skin. Just a glimpse made his heart break into a million pieces.

Jisung felt your head lower, diverting your gaze to the dark countertop. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, biting your lip. “That you have to see this horrible, ugly side of me.”

Following your quiet apology, Jisung gently turned you around to face him. His heart broke at the emptiness in your expression, almost as if you were used to this sort of reaction. Even though you were standing in his arms, there was this distance you were trying to maintain with him. More than anything, Jisung wanted to reach out, pull you close and never let go. Never let you go, ever.

“I just want you to get better, (Y/n),” his voice wavered, unable to suppress his emotions any longer. However, Jisung knew it was almost futile to say these words to you. Deep down the both of you knew that you didn’t share the same desire for yourself as he did.

Yet, tears started to form when you managed to meet his gaze. Most likely because you could see the heartbreak in his eyes, he thought. Then, unexpectedly, you were the one embracing him, burying your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry Jisung,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his sweatshirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Those words left your mouth repeatedly between your sobs. It didn’t take long for Jisung to feel his own tears stream down his cheeks, mingling with yours. The two of you stood there, holding each other tighter than you ever had before. Although he knew you weren’t on the same page as him, the silent understanding that you loved each other was the connection.

And as you cried together in the middle of the kitchen at 10:37 p.m., all Jisung could hope for was that showing his support for you more often would do something. He knew that he couldn’t take your pain away entirely, but in these moments all you needed was someone to hold you. He needed to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Maybe, and just maybe, his love would be enough to encourage you to get better.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[hauntedjohnny]

A PIECE OF MEAT

johnny x reader (est. relationship) | sissy x reader

wc: 7k tw: DUB-CON | NON-CON. bondage. gags. objectification. possession. knife play. blood play. oral sex (m+f). spanking. humiliation. nipple play. slapping. branding. p in v. breeding.

MINORS DNI

a/n: i seperated the sissy section in case anyone wants to skip it. this is my first fic. it may be my last. enjoy :)

It wasn't every day that you were left alone without company. It wasn't every day that you were given the power to tend to the family gas station. One misstep into one of Nubbin's macabre creations left Drayton off his feet, going off about how he can't count on no one around here.

His misfortune opened a door of opportunity for you; Drayton still hadn't warmed up to you completely, so you'd been trying to get on his good side by helping around the house. Hysterical giggles bounced off the walls of the house as Nubbins reenacted the mishap for Sissy and Bubba. The laughter trailed off as you made your way through the house to find Drayton sitting in the living room, his foot being iced by a slice of meat.

"I can't think straight with all this craziness going on," he murmured to himself, rubbing his temples to relieve the tension. Timidly, you approached him, giving a light cough to make your presence known.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Sawyer, but I was just wondering if you were gonna need help with the gas station tomorrow." Gesturing to his legs, you trailed off. "Seeing as you're in no state to be on your feet all day n all."

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes squinting at the proposal. Seeing nothing but sincerity in your eyes, he reluctantly shrugged his shoulders.

"Was thinking of just closing for that day," he hummed, tilting his head to the side, "but money is getting tight with that extra mouth of yours... I don't see why not." Your eyes widen in surprise, thinking he'd laugh at your offer. "Lord knows no one else in this house is competent enough for such a task."

That morning, he reluctantly gave you a ring of keys, slowly walking you through each one and what he expected of you that day. His patronizing tone was unable to dull the excitement buzzing through you; the prospect of spending the day out of the house alone was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence. Turning the sign on the door to open, you started your day eagerly, repeating his rules in your head like a mantra.

It turns out all the regulars are dreary or crazed, the morning rush filled with short conversations and confused stares. Leaving the cool confines, you decided to refill the vending machine out front, the heat from the mid-day sun causing a wetness to form on the back of your tank top. A set of large tires rumbling against the gravel pulled your focus from the monotonous task. Turning to greet the customer, your eyes fell on the figure of a young man you'd never seen before.

"Howdy, miss.  Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you could help me find my way. I appear to have found myself lost." He stated, raising the map with one hand and the other dragging through his blonde hair to soothe his nerves.

Drawn to his niceties, you smile and nod shyly. "Easy to get lost in these parts, with all the roads looking the same. Where you headed?"

"The Jackson ranch. It's my grandpa's; he needs help with upkeep in his old age. Stubborn bastard says he's fine but thought it wouldn't hurt to stay awhile." He chuckled bashfully.

Truthfully, you didn't really know where this ranch was. You barely knew the area from the house to the gas station. But this was the most interaction you'd had with anyone new in a while; surely it wouldn't hurt to pretend. The map was placed on the vending machine in front of you. You stared at the lines, trying to find your bearings, before a thick finger fell in front of your eyes, marking the gas station. With an awkward laugh, you placed your finger next to his and traced up the road you traveled this morning, trying to recall any ranches nearby. Drayton's voice comes to mind as he scolds Nubbins about straying too close to the graveyard, telling him to go no further than the Jackson ranch. Or was it the Johnson ranch? You bit your lip in contemplation, unaware of the man studying your face.

Deciding that he wouldn't call your bluff, you point close to the graveyard. "Should be around here, sir."

He scoffed at the title: "No need for those formalities; it wounds me seeing a pretty thing like yourself talk to me like I'm withered."

He introduces himself, presenting his hand for you to shake. You offer your name back, heat blooming in your cheeks at the compliment. Questions get thrown back and forth as you get to know each other, a breath of fresh air for both of you. Even the rumbling of a second set of tires isn't enough to drag you out of your bubble. Johnny observes you from the driver's seat as the man leans into you, causing a laugh to bubble from your chest. The movement of the truck door opening draws the man's attention. He cowers at the daggers being thrown his way, knowing he's overstepped in some way.

"I better be off, neighbour. I hope to be seeing more of you soon," he winks. You scoff at his forwardness, turning back to the vending machine as you say your farewell. What you didn't notice was the man lingering behind you as you bent down to grab the warm soda bottles, your denim shorts exposing the softness of your upper thighs. The roar of an engine signaled his departure as you went back to mindlessly refilling the machine, a soft hum filling the silence.

"Who was that?" A voice spoke beside you.

Glass hit the floor with a crash as you brought your hand to settle your startled heart, sticky soda seeping into the black boots of the man behind you. His shadow engulfed you, protecting you from the hot rays. The scowl forming on Johnny's face made you raise an eyebrow.

"Family of the Jackson Ranch; just need some help getting there, s'all," you reassured suspiciously, meeting his eye as you stood. He was standing so close that you could feel the growl emanating from his chest. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

"You always flirt like a needy whore with boys who need help?" Johnny's breath on your face sent a chill down your spine before settling into your core. Noses centimeters apart, you felt his nostrils flare at the thought. His mocking grin dared you to divulge your fiery heart's desires. Intensity radiates off him as his dark eyes stare you down. A moment passed.

"Only the pretty ones," you coyly provoked. The sudden force of being pushed against the machine winded you, with a strong grip on your throat preventing you from catching your breath. Despite this, a wolfish grin found its way to your face. You'd never seen a jealous Johnny. It was exciting. Responsibilities faded from your mind. Anticipation swirled in your eyes. Before you could poke the bear harder, he dropped his gloved hand from your throat and made his way to the back of his truck. You tried to blink away the confusion, watching him take a couple of jerry cans and fill them up with gas.

Abandoning the safety of the gas station, you tentatively followed Johnny's movement before speaking up, "I was only playing, Johnny. You know I don't have eyes for anyone else." There was a facetious ring to your tone.

You cleared the nerves out of your throat when he turned his back away from you. Rolling your bottom lip into your teeth, you sway impatiently, kicking the dust beneath you, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your frayed top. You desperately tried to come up with something to say as you watched him finish up with the cans, not wanting him to leave upset. As he walks past you, you paw at his shirt, causing him to stop in his tracks. Pleading eyes met void eyes. A whine of his name causes them to glaze over.

"In the truck." He demanded.

"Johnny, you know I can't leave this place unattended. I'd be kicked out quicker than a greased pig." You argued, words going in one ear and out the other.

"Now."  He snarled, taking the keys from your pocket before sauntering to the gas station entrance.

Your tongue pokes at your cheek in annoyance, eyes rolling as you muttered curses under your breath. Stubborn bastard.  The open sign turns to closed before you can close the truck door. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes meet Johnny's as he brings the engine to life. He turns away, pulling out of the gas station. Eyes not moving, you sit, waiting for the bomb to explode next to you. Johnny has never had control of his emotions.

You bit your tongue waiting for him to start, but your impatience won, causing you to meekly break the silence. "Johnny, I'm sorry. He really just needed help."

The wind whistled through the truck.

"Can't even notice when someone's eyein' ya up like a piece of meat, can ya?" His voice was calm and low—unsettling.

"Johnny, it wasn't like that. He was being neighbourly" you began defending yourself, rolling your eyes at the pending argument brewing.

Your words were met with nothing but a scoff—not the reaction you were expecting. Apprehensively, you glanced over at Johnny, expecting him to be staring back at you. His eyes were glued to the dusty road ahead of him. You could tell he was angry; he's always had a short fuse, but it never felt cold like it did now. Your eyes jumped around his face, desperately trying to understand what his problem was. Did he not trust you? His jaw clenched under your hot gaze, gloved hands tightening around the steering wheel as he adjusted himself in his seat slightly, trying to subdue the feelings buzzing inside him.

You lay your head against the window, hoping the coolness would soothe some anxiety, but you were only met with warmth where it had been out in the sun all day. The silence was more unbearable than the heated argument you expected, receiving nothing but a disapproving click of his tongue every time you tried to break it. A tight knot formed in your stomach as you replayed the interaction over and over. Had you been flirting with him? Sure, you may have smiled more than with the other customers, but they all speak in grunts; it was nice to have an actual conversation with someone. With a sigh, you focus on the fields turning into a blur of dusty yellow, frustration brewing in your chest.

You get broken out of your daze by a door slamming behind you, the vibrations shaking the truck. Your eyes follow him as he walks around the hood, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. A film of sweat has formed on his forehead, dark splotches colouring his shirt, speaking to how much physical work he'd done in the Texan morning heat.

A swing of your door caused a familiar gust of septic and blood to enter your nose—the slaughterhouse, the place where there's more iron in the air than water. Johnny's suede hand gripped your upper arm and pulled you out of the car, slamming the door behind you. He walked onward expectantly before you were able to spit out any questions. You'd never ventured past the parking lot of the slaughterhouse. The questions swirling in your head left you frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the buildings in front of you. Did I mess up that badly? Was he going to kill me? A whistle echoes through the lot, causing you to lock eyes with Johnny standing in front of the unlocked facility building. A small smirk rose on his face as he watched you obediently scurry across the parking lot, stumbling over the short staircase on the way.

Now face-to-face with Johnny, he brought a hand to brush a loose hair behind your ears, eyes lazily dancing over your face as he read your every thought. You bit the inside of your cracked lip as you tried to do the same. With a light tap on your cheek, he moved out of the heat. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air you didn't realise you were depriving yourself of, before following Johnny into the facility building. Quick on his tail, he leads you through the crumbling corridors until you reach the other side. Overgrown weeds tickled at your ankles as you made your way to a worn-down building. It smelt earthier in here, the wooden walls sheltering you from the scalding sun. It wasn't the slaughterhouse he was taking you to; it was the... holding pen?

The question finally falls off your tongue. "What are we doing here, Johnny?"

He crossed his arms, the muscles bulging, as he dragged his eyes across your figure, "Well, darling, if you wanna act like a piece of meat, then imma treat you like one."

Your eyebrows furrowed as he slowly approached you, but before you could contest, he grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, pulling you deeper into the holding pen. He stopped in front of a wooden structure with three holes in it. It was clearly not designed for cattle; it was too small. Your squirming body had no effect on his actions as he unlocked the frame. The pleas falling from your lips dissolved into the thick air as he pushed you forward towards the pillory. Unable to catch your footing, you fell into place, your head and hands now bound by the wooden barriers. Hair fell onto your face, restricting your already limited view. You felt your breathing get heavier in anticipation, the crunch of boots on the dirty floor being the only indicator of Johnny's position.

The feeling of hands on your stomach made you tense. Johnny's fingers hastily unbuttoned your shorts and pulled them down your legs, discarding them in the dirt behind him. A soft huff left his lips as he pulled his knife out of the sheath on his belt. The warm air hits your breasts as he sheds you of your tank top. The only sound you could hear was the blood in your head—the buzzing getting louder as every second passed. You closed your eyes to try and quell the sound, but a strong grip on your jaw opened them instinctually. Johnny's eyes stared into your doe-like ones.

"Got anything to say to me?"

A beat passed.

"I'm so sorry, Johnny. Really, I promise I didn't mean to," you whine out, words melting together, before being hushed by a low chuckle and finger tapping your lips.

He slowly rose from his hunched position as he tutted, "Not quite the answer I wanted, but I guess that's on me. How am I to expect you to know how to use your tongue when you can't even use your eyes? What stupid slut can't tell the difference between a neighbourly gaze and a sexual one?"

He undid the buckle of his belt and unzipped his jeans, revealing the leaking tip of his penis against his stomach. You were dumbfounded. A wave of shame ran through your body as your eyes met the floor, suddenly finding the tracks in the dirt very interesting. Johnny, however, didn't let you get distracted as he grabbed the hair that had fallen over your face and tugged it so your eyes met his. The warm stickiness on your lips made your eyes flutter closed, but a click of his tongue accompanied by a yank of your hair opened them in shock, your mouth following suit. The sharp pain on your scalp made a small gasp leave your lips as he met it halfway. You gag at the sensation of him brushing the back of your throat. The sound trailing off into a soft moan as he began to rut himself into your slack jaw.

"Such a dumb little thing already. Look at me," he demanded. "Does this look neighbourly to you? Is this the kinda thing you'd let a neighbour do to you? Because I know this is all that boy could think about when he saw you."

A harsh slap across your cheek had you shaking your head, eyes wide, pleading in apology. His pace quickened as tears started to prickle in your eyes and a dull ache spread through your jaw. The lack of oxygen made you delirious, causing a low whine to escape around him. The feeling of the vibration coupled with the sight of drool running down your chin caused him to throw his head back and pull harder at the hair underneath his covered fingers. He lets out a low curse before his breath hitches. The smell of musty sweat fills your nose as he buries your face in the coarse hair covering his pubic bone. Squirming does nothing as his cum finally shoots down your throat.

The taste is bitter, but you know better than to spit it out. His hold loosens under your sagging body as he catches his breath, running a hand through his hair. Once the twitching subsides, Johnny slowly pulls out of your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva that connects you both. A choked gasp left you as your lungs begged for oxygen. You croaked out a soft, apologetic Johnny.

"Pieces of meat like yourself don't speak," he tutted as he grabbed your cheeks with one hand, causing you to pout.

You try to focus on your breathing as Johnny buttons up his jeans and wanders to the other side of the pen. Hearing his return, you crane your neck to see what he has—a black bar with a leather buckle. Your mouth opens in question, but Johnny meets the forming words by stuffing the gag bit into your mouth and buckling it around the side of your head. You shake your head, trying to push it out with your tongue. Johnny kneels in front of you, brushing his nose against yours to mimic your struggles before letting out a dark chuckle.

Your body was unable to comply with the buzz of frustration in your chest, forcing you to sag in defeat, blood bubbling with rage as Johnny takes a step back to study your situation. He moves out of your eyesight, the footsteps growing quieter as they move behind you. It's quiet for a moment before his rough, calloused hands start trailing up and down your body, his heedful eye locked on each groove and bump until he reaches your heat. He pokes the dark spot that has formed on your underwear, causing you to twitch and cry out.

"Y'know, I could teach you a thing or two if you just listened. It's a dangerous world out there." He trailed off with a sharp inhale and a slap to your underwear-covered cheeks.

Ripping echoes through the pen as Johnny tears the underwear off your body, leaving you exposed to the elements. A new wave of defiance rolls through your body, kicking and twisting your legs, trying to preserve some dignity. An impatient sigh falls on your back as Johnny grabs some discarded rope in the corner and ties each flailing ankle to a metal loop screwed into the base of the wooden restraint. Now spread and open, he watches you thrash against the new restrictions to see if they'll give.

"You could've made this a lot easier on yourself, darling. Nothin' I ain't seen before," he huffs.

He's right.  Johnny has had access to all parts of your body before, but not like this, not when you didn't have access to his. This was new. This was different. Your body started to relax in its hold, as you remember; this is just Johnny. Your Johnny.

Mockingly, a knife starts to run down your spine. "Now, it's time to teach you a lesson."

Despite the trepidation, you slowly nod your head and take a deep breath. Just keep breathing. He trails the knife down your back as if following an invisible guide. When he reaches your lower back, he pushes the knife deeper, leaving a thin, horizontal trail of blood. Johnny's lack of self-control was clear as he licked across the cut he had just made. It always tastes best when it's fresh. In quick succession, he makes more shallow cuts on your back, explaining cuts of meat as he goes: the loin is the most tender meat down here on the lower back; above it are the ribs (perfect for barbecuing); and then we have your cheaper chuck. A trail of prickly fire spreads from your lower back to your shoulders as blood oozes out of all your cuts. You start to become restless as he leans back and admires his work, his hands resting on your hips.

Whimpers escape the gag, causing a smirk to creep onto Johnny's face, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm only treatin' ya like the thing you are," he says, bringing his hand down to your ass to cease your fidgeting. "Besides, we've not gotten to my favourite part yet."

He crouches behind you, one knee deep in the dust. He slowly drags the knife to the underside of your cheek, turns the blade, and pushes a deep cut across, causing blood to trickle down your leg. You buck away from the sensation, gritting your teeth around the gag as you grow uncomfortable. Pain and pleasure start to merge when Johnny starts suckling on the flesh of your thigh.

"This is the shank," he mutters against your thigh. "Used to tenderize it for Mama's stew; said it makes the meat less tough and more succulent."

He held your flesh between his teeth, applying more pressure, until he could feel the blood beneath your skin rushing to the surface. Sweat, blood, and saliva covered your thighs as he took his time playing and fondling. Arousal starts forming in your lower stomach. Fog starts clouding your brain. A muffled moan echoed through the holding pen, telling him you were at his beck and call. His mouth made its way to your sticky cunt, mixing the blood on his tongue with your arousal.

"Leaking like a faucet..." He groans, mouth watering at the thought of your juices.

Enamoured by your scent, he found himself buried in you, his nose prodding at your entrance as both hands wrapped inside and around your thighs to pull you closer. Instinctually, you push yourself towards him in desperation, eager to be relieved. Unable to deny you, his tongue grazed against your clit, making its way up your puffy slit. Two broad fingers followed in its tracks. Johnny's mouth watered at the sight of your glistening folds; a tight squeeze on either side causing more of your excitement to seep onto his tongue.

A guttural moan bounced off the walls when his rough thumb began drawing circles on your clit, his dick twitching at the sound. His mouth replaced his fingers as he latched onto your swollen clit, rolling it against his tongue. You could do nothing but quiver and moan as he spread your cheeks, groaning at the sight. You clenched your fist as if you had hold of his greasy locks, your eyes rolling back as he hummed into your heat. Thighs tightened around his head, spurring him on. He relentlessly lapped at you, like a ravenous dog burying itself in his last meal. Sharp canines scraped against you, the animalistic nature of his actions bringing you closer to the edge. He's hungry for you. An endless spur of nonsense fills the room as your body tightens against his hold. He knows you're about to cum. He always knew what your body wanted. A burning white is all you see as fire spreads through your body. Kneading the flesh in his hands, he let you chase your high, suffocating him with your excitement before melting against his mouth.

A cool, hard sensation against your throbbing pussy pulls you back into reality. Johnny rubs the blood-stained knife up and down your puffy slit, collecting your juices. Twisting the knife in the air, he admires how it glistens in the beam of light leaking through the wall crack before wiping it clean on his bicep and putting it back in its sheath.

Dragging one hand across his chin, the other slides the unbuckled brown leather out of its belt loops. Coolness brushed along your thighs, doing very little to soothe the throbbing marks Johnny left in his wake. Without thought, your hips tilted towards him in submission, making Johnny's chest fill with pride; he almost forgot about the boy at the gas station. Almost.  Before you could even register the whipping sound slicing through the air, you felt it—the sharp sting of his belt. The impact caused your body to lunge forward, your knees buckling as you lost control. Johnny had never used his belt like this before; you often traced the insignia on the buckle, wondering where he got such a thing and how long it'd been with him. It felt strangely intimate. Merciless hits leave your head foggy with arousal, each eliciting a gasp, whimper, or wail. A sharp sting spreads its way to your core as tears start to form in the corner of your eyes, slowly making a trail down your face. Despite the brutality of his strikes, your body grew more aroused with each passing welt.

Obstructed, wet sobs harmonise with the sharp cracks of the belt. Your thighs trembled when he suddenly stopped. He traced his finger across the indents he'd just made—the design of his belt buckle marked into your skin. A heavy breath tickled you as he licked into the shallow dents of your skin, savouring the feeling of each divot before pulling away. A soothing coolness was left behind as the wet started to dry. The sound of his zipper made your body buzz with anticipation; your toes clenched at the idea of what was coming. Anticipation turned into confusion as you felt rough hands brushing at the wetness on your face, opening them to see Johnny looking as put-together as he started. As he pulled a hanky out of his back pocket to clean the snot that had fallen from your nose during the anguish, he saw the confusion swirling in your eyes.

A snicker passed his lips before he got up, his eyes never leaving your face. "You ain't leaving just yet, sweetheart." His silhouette grew smaller as he made his way to the doors you both entered. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at your tangled form, "Can't promise I'll be quick."

The air grew heavier in his absence as you sobered to your reality. Without Johnny's distractions, you felt everything. Fatigue took over your body—every muscle in your body ached, your fingers were growing numb. Frustration started to pilot your body as you flailed against your shackles, hoping the ropes would slacken. Noticing a shining latch from the corner of your eye, your fingers searched around the grainy restraint for freedom, but nothing was within reach. You attempt to shout for attention, but the gag still held between your teeth muffles any noise. Maybe Johnny would return quicker if he thought you were in trouble. Maybe he was too far away and someone else would hear you? Did you really want anyone to find you in such a vulnerable position? Tears prickled in your eyes at the thought. A huff leaves your lips as your body sags in defeat. He was right; you did feel like a piece of meat.

Humidity hangs in the air. Hairs are stuck to your damp forehead, itching to be moved. A string of drool connects your bound mouth to the newly formed puddle on the floor. You try to focus on the smell of the stale hay as it fights with the metallic blood in the air—your blood. The grasshoppers and crickets in the field outside are the soundtrack to your humiliation—an incessant buzz to match the numb feeling of blood pooling in your legs. The occasional sniffle breaks the monotony. At some point, your eye hung closed, dragging you into a state of semi-consciousness. Every second is like a minute. Every minute feels like an hour. The growl of an engine alerts you. The sweet call for Johnny that follows confuses you.

"Johnny,"  The calls get louder as the person approaches: "The old man's threatening to take his stick upside your head if you don't bring back them gas cans." 

You chalk the voice up to your state of delirium. There's no one actually here. The figure making its way into the holding pen isn't actually there. You close your eyes as you shake your head in denial. Maybe she won't see you in the corner and move on.

"Oh, you poor little thing," Sissy interrupted your deluded thoughts. "How'd you get yourself all done in like that?"

You lowered your head in embarrassment as she skipped her way across the pen. What are the chances?

"Aw, ain't you a sight?" She cooed as she lifted your head.

Soft fingers brushed the damp hairs away from your eyes, combing out the knots that fought against her fingers. Your swollen eyes were fighting fresh tears at Sissy's caressing touch. Humilitating.

A faux pout formed at the sight: "Did that mean boy leave you tied up like a Christmas ham?"

A hand reached for your chin, forcing you to nod. Unable to muster the strength to defy, you accepted your fate—nothing but a doll in Sissy's playhouse.

"From the moment I saw you, I knew you were special, y'know."

A giggle escaped her lips as she let go of your head and began circling your motionless body, a soft hum letting you follow her position. The sensation of her finger trailing down your spine was so light it felt illusory; her finger snagging slightly against the scabbing cuts.

"Ain't that a pretty view?" Sissy admires the watercolour of purple painted on your thighs. "Just like a blackberry pie."

You felt dizzy at the softness, underwhelmed, and overwhelmed at the same time. The skin under her fingers twitched as it begged for the pressure it had become accustomed to. A fearful whine crawls up your throat as you feel her finger push against your puckered hole, swallowing it as she continues her path. The thrum of your heart pounds louder in your head, the sound suppressing the jovial tunes Sissy crooned. With no patience, two fingers sink into your neglected cunt, a scissoring motion drenching her slim fingers with your juices. Before you could relish in the feeling, it was gone. Her glistening fingers were brought to her mouth.

She hummed as she suckled on them, delighting in the flavour, "Sweeter than one too."

Her words made you dizzy with desire—shame dethroned by pleasure. Your body craved her touch. Sharp fangs peered over her lips as she felt your body gravitate towards her; she wanted to taste more of you. Nimble fingers began picking at the scabs on your back, relighting the fire as blood trickled down your ribs. She lapped at the blood, her flattened tongue tracing your wounds with vigor.

"Look at all this pretty blood," she coos. "Let's see where it leads me."

Her lips followed a trail of red as it dripped down your ribs and across the side of your breast. She crawled under your standing form so she could access the prize at the end of the path, goosebumps forming after every nibble. A soft kiss on your nipple makes your breath hitch. The kisses become fervorous as her lips widen, sucking the flesh into her mouth. Your back arches in a silent plea as she drags her thumb against your free nipple, pebbling against her touch. Fangs scrape against the sore bud as she begins to roll the other between her nimble fingers. A wave of electricity shoots to your core as she bites down.

As she releases you from her bite, she blows on your nipple, her teeth biting her lip in a smile as it hardened under the coolness. Her bony hands cupped both of your breasts as she squeezed and fondled, mesmerized by the way they conform to the shape of her hands, flesh bulging between her fingers. They fell to the ground upon their release, jiggling at the force. Sissy giggled in glee at the sight, bringing her hands to lightly tap at your hanging breasts. The impact causes them to sway as she stares at them, captivated by the movement. Instinctually, you recoil against the feeling, whimpering like a struck dog.

Sissy furrows her brow at the rejection, her voice lowering in sternness. "Stop fightin' it."

She continued her assault, the giggles growing louder as her spanks grew harder. A tingling numbness replaced the burning sharpness as the blood swelled under her hands. Growing bored with your swaying tits, she shoved her face between them, collecting a stray bead of sweat with her tongue, pushing your flesh on either side of her cheeks as she breathed in your scent. Small nips were left in her wake as she trailed her lips back to your nipple. You sigh shakily in relief as her jaw locks around your flesh, the tip of her tongue prodding at your erect nipple, alternating with a flat, pulsating brush of the wet muscle. Her slender fingers supporting your breast massaged the tissue deviously as she pulled you to the roof of her mouth and began sucking vigorously, the flesh rolling with the steady pressure. Unbearable waves of sensation jolted through your body as she relentlessly suckled, coaxing milk to fall from your peak. An enthusiastic groan vibrated against your breast when she could taste you on her tongue, sweet drops trickling on her taste buds like nectar from a wildflower. Confused moans bounced off the wooden walls as your body senselessly rutted towards her. She held you in her mouth as if she were biting into a peach before letting her jaw slacken, relishing in the taste of you. Sweet words fell from her lips as your chest erratically thumped before her but your ears werefull of cotton, oblivious to the praise.

She crawled her way from beneath you, allowing her eyes to devour your shaking, goosebump-riddled form. Her hand began to condescendingly stroke at your heavy head, cooing in faux consolation, "There, there, it's alright. It feels good, don't it, sugar?"

Expecting a reply, the hand in your damp hair tightened. Your motionless body made her yank hard, fearful eyes meeting hers, as she circled to bend in front of you. "Ain't your mama teach you any manners?"

Before you could gurgle your apologies, a bruising slap replaced the hot words that had fallen on your cheek. Your head jolted to the right, dizzying at the feeling. Blinking away the pain, your eyes focus on the blurry silhouette in the door of the holding pen. The feral growl rolling from his chest confirmed his identity. Smirking at the sound, the woman turned around. Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she noticed the darkness in his.

"Ain't your mama tell you not to touch things that don't belong to ya?" He bellowed, his accent growing thicker.

Snickers fell from Sissy's lips as she pressed your cheek against hers. "I don't see your name written on her anywhere," she retorts mockingly, with a small pout on her lips.

Johnny's composure drops for a moment, denting the can in his hand, his growl growing deeper, squaring up for a fight. He knew she was taunting him. It's what she did. But seeing her hands on you blinded him with a primal fury. Your eyes never leave his puffed chest, heart rattling against your own. Sissy concedes with a kiss to your forehead. She skips her way to Johnny, hushed hisses shared between them before she is gone.

Holding Johnny's gaze was a feat; your throat tightening as he sauntered his way over. There's nothing to feel guilty about; it wasn't your fault. But your body didn't listen to the excuses in your brain. A dark shadow cast over your face as Johnny loomed over you, his binding gaze making you a compliant mess. 

"She has a point, y'know... ain't nothing here to tell the world who you belong to." He circles your body like a vulture waiting to claim its prize.

His scent engulfs your mind, the fantasies that kept you company in his absence come to the forefront. A sudden click, followed by a low hiss of air, sounded behind you. No, not air, fire. You hadn't noticed the blowtorch in his grasp when he returned. You tried to swallow the bile rising in your throat, unaware of Johnny holding the torch to a branding iron. He watched as the heat revealed a glowing 'J'. Babbling pleas turned to white noise as you felt the residual heat on the iron close to your trembling body. With a satisfied hum, he squeezed the flesh of your ass before pressing the iron against it. Every muscle in your body tensed as wildfire spread through your body, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, attempting to put it out. A scream fought against gritted teeth, vision going white on the verge of blacking out, suffocated by the smell of burning flesh. Crescent moons were carved into your palm as you tried to grab onto nothing. The pain didn't subside as he pulled away, the clang of the disposal bucket never reaching your ears.

"Most prized heifer in Texas." He chuckles, poking a finger at your entrance. "Well, almost. A heifer ain't nothing when she's not bred."

Pain began to melt into pleasure. The desire in your body was louder than any word he uttered. You wanted him to claim you. The instinctual ache in your body wanted to obey his every command. He could feel it. She could feel it too—his thick length throbbing against your own throbbing heat. You couldn't help but rut against him, eager to feel him inside you. A choked cry escaped your throat as teased your entrance. He met your cry with a groan as he slowly pushed himself into you, savouring the warm feeling. Pushing backwards, your back arched in a silent plea, only to be met with his veined hands gripping tightly on your hips, immobilising the movement. You whine at the lack of friction. He towers over your body, pulling your head back so your eyes meet.

"Got anything to say to me?" His question was marked with a single thrust.

You remained silent, knowing anything you said would be incomprehensible. With a sigh, he brings his other hand to unbuckle the drool-drenched gag, letting it fall to the floor. Eyes wide and watery, you let out a raspy apology, your jaw convulsing at the sudden relaxation. He begins to rut into you carelessly.

"Anything else, sugar?" Each syllable was punctuated with a thrust.

To his dismay, your mind goes blank at the pleasure. Whorish moans are now free to dance around the room as your cunt fluttered around him. His hands roam over your back with possessive desire before groping the round flesh in front of him. Rough fingertips digging into the fresh wound, send a new blaze of fire through you.

"I'm yours, Johnny. Only yours."  Your sob trailed into a moan as his pace quickened at the confession.

His breath tickles your ear. "Every inch of flesh on your body belongs to me." Dominance seeps through his every word. "Every moan.   Every sound.   Every thought. You are mine alone."

You're at his complete mercy. The only word that leaves your mouth is his name. You'd do anything for him as his hands do a second lap of your body, trailing down to your sore nipples, twisting and pulling on them with no compassion. Your eyes fluttered closed as the coil in your core tightened.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," Johnny mumbled, holding your hair in one hand as the other played with your swollen clit. He could play your body like a fiddle, with brutal thrusts and torturous circles in a melodic rhythm. Slamming harder, he could feel you clench against him. He could feel every warm ridge inside you—sharp teeth meeting your shoulder at the feeling. With a primal cry, your coil snapped. Knees buckle beneath you as your slick drips down his cock, marking him with your scent.

He rode out the wave, circling harder and faster on your swollen bud. The sensation was overwhelming, causing you to pull away with a pathetic whine. Your nerves were raw. The resistance made his length twitch inside you, hands landing on your hips, pulling you flush against him, knuckles turning pale. His breathing got heavier as his thrusts got deeper, his tip bruising your cervix, making his grunts feral. He moved one of his hands to your stomach, pushing against the outline of himself, basking in the feeling of his dick abusing your hole. His pace grew needier. His desire became carnal. His sounds became animalistic. The slap of his balls against your clit was agonising, making your mouth fall open with silent moans. He leant back to watch the point where your bodies connected, groaning at the sloppy sound gurgling around him. Over and over, his veiny dick disappeared into you, covered in a sweet cream on its return. His head falls back, the vein in his neck throbbing as he hisses. The feeling of his release made you see stars, circling your hips mindlessly as he grew limp inside you.

He lazily pulled out of you, mesmerised by the thick, white stream oozing from your folds. Your body twitched under his possessive gaze. Overwhelmed, you closed your eyes for a moment of relief. Not even the sound of duct tape ripping could wake you from your blissful daze. Johnny fingers the escaping cum, pushing it inside you. A tacky strip gets slapped over your abused cunt, trapping his seed. With a final tap, he beams at his prize.

"Would win all the county prizes, you would."

[fleetingcalypso]

Work In Progress - Henry Winter x AFAB!Reader.

≋ Greetings, my darlings. I have been absent for some time, and though my heart has always remained anchored here I apologize for having disappeared in such a way and wholly thank you for your patience. Alas, I've had little time to write, but I haven't forgotten you, my companions, my heroes, my world. I'm working on new stories that I hope you'll enjoy, so as proof that my soul has never strayed too far, I present to you a small part of what I'm currently busying myself with. It is not much, but it is enough to show my devotion to our heaven.

≋ Word Count: 700 words.

≋ CW: hallucinations, afab!reader but no feminine pronouns are used while referring to them.

Unfortunately ‘good things never last’ is a hymn I’ve grown to fully comprehend a lifetime ago, the very moment I heard the gut wrenching, bone chilling noise Bunny’s body made when it was done falling off that damned cliff. I still hear it sometimes: sitting on the porch of our villa – another, perhaps too kind, gift by my now mother-in-law – sipping a warm cup of tea, watching the birds fly back to their nests after a long day of losing themselves in the thrill of flight. As always, Henry is in his study, surrounded by inks, papers and documents I do not much care about and for just a second my insubordinate mind drifts to the past, to an echo of what once was laughter and academic conversations, now turned deafening silence and haunting guilt. It only takes a second, a fleeting moment of reminiscing for me to feel Bunny’s thud right next to me, on my porch. I do not dare move a muscle because I know he is watching me with glassy eyes, his glasses broken and his head turned at an inhuman angle. I don’t have it in me to sneak a peek and give into my hallucinations. Allowing him the pleasure of plaguing my reality, as well as my nightmares, would drag me too deep into culpability.

I’m sure Henry sees him as well, at times. He will never admit to it.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back into a most heavenly and cruel present: Bunny is dead, my friends have drifted away, I am somewhere in the countryside alienated from society, but at last, I’m with my lover who cares deeply for me and handles me as if I’m made of crystal. “Dearest, come inside, it’s getting dark.” Wordlessly I follow my husband into our home. It’s an arduous task for the terrors to follow me when he takes my hand in mine ever so gently and guides me to safety, like a knight in shining armor. My savior leading me through our own private pearly gates.

Dinner is eerily silent, the only noise being cutlery scraping against porcelain plates and ice cold wine being poured in glasses. I scattered the quiet that has settled upon us with quite the daring observation, "Are you happy?" 

His arm stills mid-air as he was bringing a fork to his mouth. The look he gives me through his glasses it's as if I am an open book and he could recite every single one of the inked paragraphs inside of me. 

I insist, "Are you?" And finally he sets his fork down. I hold his attention in my shaking palm. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a small muscle in his jaw that twitches before he speaks and his voice fills the calm of our dining room.

"I am."

"Despite us only having each other, with not a single soul around for miles?"

“Where is this coming from?” I don’t miss the accusative tone buried in what appears to be an innocent question, only a fool would be capable of ignoring it. His gaze pierces right through me, it renders me unable to ever look away, the ocean blue of his eyes is a sea I would gladly choose to swim into until my limbs no longer could keep me afloat and my lungs were filled with him, only with him.

"I'm not too sure," I lie with not little difficulty, it all tastes far too bitter on my tongue, "I suppose I was wondering about our future. Are we to bury ourselves in our solitude for the rest of our lives?" The absence of our friends is more than noticeable, Bunny's absence even more than that. Living like this, pretending we did not murder our friend and abandon the rest to their fate is an herculean feat. 

"What if I said yes? What if that's precisely what I want? For us to only have each other, for the rest of our lives, until our home is but dust and ruins with the only thing remaining of us being our bones entangled with each other in one final hug. Wouldn't you like that?" 

[azucarmorena97]

Money Ties (Jungkook Love Story || Pt.1)

Pt.2 ||

Your parents have worked hard to get to the top and have made sure to teach you everything you need to know to be successful in this business: from tough but lucrative financial decisions, down to the right ball gown for any given banquet. A promising and extravagant future awaits you- that is, if you agree to one teensy detail...

Son of Mr.Jeon Sr. and heir to June Company, Jeon Jungkook is an immature playboy with nothing to offer a woman but good looks and a crap ton of money, and he stands to inherit much MUCH more, so long as you both enter into the arranged marriage contract that was drawn up before the pair of you were even born.

You're more than willing to try, but you're not sure you'll be able to stand each other long enough to inherit a single penny...

Series Warnings: There will be smut in the near future and I will label those chapters as such. As I say before most of my pieces- I do not endorse any themes, ideas, or behaviors in this series. This is all purely fiction/fantasy! Feel free to inbox me suggestions/ideas/what you'd like to see in this series and I'll see what I can do! Enjoy <3

"How are you feeling? Have you got everything? Check your seat, make sure you didn't leave anything behind-" Your mom rambles, not letting you get a word in. Meanwhile, you're sandwiching your phone between your ear and shoulder as you struggle to get your bag down from the overhead compartment. "Yeah, mom- you know the way questions work is, you ask one and then let the other person answer." "Ugh, Sorry- I'm just so worried...and excited! I mean, we've only been dreaming about this day since-" "Before I was born. Yeah, I know," You sigh, finally letting your suitcase drop gently onto the floor of the plain and grabbing ahold of the handle to drag it out behind you. "Hey mom, I hate to interrupt you but is dad there? I wanna go over my itinerary while I'm here, I have like no time to myself on this schedule. I kinda wanted to do some sightseeing, being as how I'm almost never in Seoul-" "Oh, no I'm sorry honey. He had to rush off to the office but he told me to tell you that he's very proud of you and that he'll be there to get you when you come back." Your face falls flat and, since no one important is there to reprimand you for it, you roll your eyes and shake your head, "Alright." "Baby, you know he really is doing his best. He's been working nonstop to make sure this agreement comes to fruition and-" "Yeah, listen mom, I gotta go okay? I love you. I'll call you tonight to let you know how the meeting went, alright?" "Oh- okay. I love you!" "Love you too, mom." Without another word, you hang up the phone. You hate to be short with her, but today's supposed to be an important day leading up to...THE important day, and you really could've used more guidance on the matter. You could've...really used your dad today.

Oh well. No use in crying over spilled milk, right? You continue walking down the long terminal, a long line of people behind you in their own little worlds, having their own conversations, going on about their own lives; how interesting it would be to switch places with someone else...anyone else. Just for one day. You wonder if maybe your day would be a lot better then. You rifle through your bag with one hand while the other pulls your luggage along. "Aha," You say, pulling out your air pod case. You need to drown out any and all thoughts and distractions from the task at hand. Right now, it's just you, your anxiety about the meeting later, and "Rhiannon" by Fleetwod Mac.

When you finally get out of the terminal and into the waiting area, you give a sigh of relief; the plane ride had been long and suffocating, and now you're just glad to be breathing non-recycled air. It had been a long time since you'd flown into the Seoul airport, and it's much more extravagant than you remember; more ornate and, in the best way possible, hospitalesque. In the middle of your appreciation, you're shoved forward by someone behind you, causing your ear phones to fall out and everything. "What the fuck," You hiss, having been caught by complete surprise. You turn around and see a small crowd of people, all huddled in tight around someone, though you can't quite make the person's features out from behind the people. "Excuse you," You say loudly, hoping to get someone's attention, though you're not even sure who pushed you. "I said, excuse you!" You yell. Suddenly, everyone turns to look at you, and slowly, like parting the Red Sea down the middle, they divide to reveal the person in the midst of them.

"I'm sorry, I know my friends can get a little...rowdy," The person apologizes, though he has an annoyingly smug look on his face. He's tall, maybe 5'11" or so, with broad shoulders and a slim build (yet muscular, as you can see through his very tight turtle neck and slim fitting pants). His face is quite handsome, dark hair accentuating his features nicely. But you're still pissed off. "Well tell your 'friends' to please watch where the hell they're going. I almost fell over." "Hey I mean, no one told you to stand in the middle of one of the busiest airports in the world, staring at the ceiling like some catatonic zombie," He says, shrugging his shoulders. A few people from his group laugh in response, and he absolutely eats it up. "Excuse me?" You furrow your brows, incredulous to the arrogance in his tone. Are you missing something? You are the one who should be offended right now, right? "Alrighty, you're excused," He says before turning around. Again, the group adds in their little two cents in the form of 'oh's and laughter. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" You say, letting go of your suitcase and crossing you arms across your chest. The crowd goes dead silent, everyone darting their eyes at him. He turns around though this time, his expression is that of complete annoyance, "You're still here? Here, here's two hundred. Get yourself some new air pods or go kick rocks or whatever," He takes his wallet out of his pocket and reaches out to grab your hand. He turns it face up and slaps two bills into your palm, shooing you away immediately after. You can feel your blood practically boiling within you, and before you can really think about it, you're covering the five foot distance between you and slapping him cold on the left cheek, bills still in hand. "Don't spend it all in one place," You smirk before promptly picking up your suitcase and walking away in the direction of the front entrance. You feel sorry for any girl that might end up with that total loser.

You stare at yourself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom in the lobby. You'd spent hours getting ready; a fresh wax (leg and mustache... you've never been able to say no whenever the lady suggests it), new press-ons, fresh blowout, and a killer (yet modest) outfit. However, even with all that work, you still can't help but feel...completely ill-prepared. You bite you bottom lip, "I can do this. I can do this. I..." You quickly go to your purse on the sink counter in front of you and take out your phone, punching in your dad's number into the keypad. "Come on, come on. Pick up." It rings once, twice, three times, and then goes to voicemail. You try again, and then once more before tossing the phone aggressively back into your purse. "Dammit..." You lean forward onto the counter and let your face fall into your hands. Fuck the makeup. Fuck the blowout. You might just pass out right here and now. You notice your phone light up from inside your purse and scramble to get it; it's a text, though not from your dad. You open it and realize it's from Mr.Jeon Sr. 𝙼𝚛.𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗: 𝚈/𝚗, 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢; 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐! 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗.

"Shit," You hiss, looking back up at the mirror to make sure you didn't mess anything up. Luckily, you're just as put together as you were when you stepped out of your room. You check your messages once more, just to make sure your dad hasn't tried reaching you. Radio silence. "Fuck it," You sigh, grabbing your purse and typing out your response.

𝚈/𝙽: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚂𝚒𝚛. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎.

You shove your phone into your purse and then walk out of the lobby, through the front entrance, and out to the sidewalk to wait for the car. Get your game face on, Y/n. It'll be over before you know it.

Your family has money; they've spent decades building together, both metaphorically and literally. They began working odd jobs before you were even born, scraping by with whatever money they could get, and slowly, began investing in different companies and start-ups that became very successful in a rather short amount of time. Then they began doing land development, which was how they came to know the Jeon's. They developed and prepared properties for the Jeon's to build their hotels and restaurants, which only worked to stabilize your family's economical status.

The Jeon's, however, have had money for upwards of three generations. While you're not sure how exactly their empire began, what you do know is that hotel and restaurant management has greatly increased the wealth they already had, and now all they need is to secure an heir; well, more like prepare the heir they already have, as their son, Jungkook, is the sole inheritor to the entire Jeon fortune. As they say, 'No pressure'.

You're meeting the Jeon family at one of their more successful restaurants, one that received three Michelin stars within the first three years of opening. You brought some gifts with you, which your mom so thoughtfully wrapped up for you and put in a pretty gift bag; she refused to let you embarrass her by bringing such expensive gifts in whatever random plastic Target bag. You take a moment to breathe deeply, shoving your dad, mom, the plane ride, and the asshole at the airport out of your mind. This is about your future. You're gonna do great.

The restaurant is full, but you somehow easily spot the Jeons at a table at the far end of the restaurant. "Do you have a reservation?" Asks the host at the podium. "Yes, I'm with the Jeons. Ms.L/n." "Ah yes, please follow me to your party." You follow him to the far end where you'd initially seen them, "Mr. and Mrs.Jeon, your guest has arrived." "Oh, Y/n!" Mrs.Jeon says cheerfully. You bow to them, "Mr. and Mrs.Jeon, it is truly a pleasure to see the both of you again after all this time." "Please, please- take a seat," Mr.Jeon says. The host pulls out your chair for you and waits for you to sit to be able to push it in for you. "Thank you," You say, giving him a small bow as well, to which he returns the gesture. "I've taken the liberty of ordering all of our best dishes for you to try. I hope you're hungry," Mrs.Jeon says, "Please, have some tea." "Oh thank you," You say, grabbing the teapot and carefully pouring some into their cups before pouring your own. "Should I pour into this one?" You ask, motioning to the empty place next to you. Mr.Jeon sighs, "No, that's okay. You'll have to excuse my son's tardiness. He should be here shortly." "Don't worry; I'm sure he has a good reason," You reassure. They exchange a peculiar glance at each other, though you don't think much of it.

"You know, we were worried that our agreement would fall through before this day would come." "Oh?" "Yes, we thought maybe there was a chance you'd refuse and we'd end up having to put up with someone we knew nothing about. With you, we know your family, we know you come from a good home with strong morals and family values similar to ours. It's not every day that parents find in-laws they get along with so well," Mr.Jeon says, sipping on his tea. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. I'm all in. This could be something that helps all of us and I'd do anything for my parents." You feel a tinge of sadness as you think of your dad. You haven't really seen him in the last three months, what with all his meetings and clients- you're hoping this will relieve some of the stress off his shoulders.

"That's what we love to hear," Mrs.Jeon chimes in, "We did bring the contract here with us for you to sign- whenever you have the time to read over it, of course." "That sounds great," You say cheerfully. This is going surprisingly well. You're not even sure what you were so nervous about initially. "There he is," Mr.Jeon calls out, looking past you at the door way, "There's Jungkook." You turn to look behind you, squinting your eyes to try to block out some of the glare so you can get a good look at your soon-to-be-fiancé. His silhouette is oddly familiar. Of course, you've met before but it's been at least fifteen or twenty years; he couldn't possibly look the same from then 'til now. No, you recognize him from something more recent...Where is he from? It isn't until he's a good seven feet away that you realize... SHIT.

"Sorry, I'm late everyone," He says, his familiar voice ringing in your ears like a pesky mosquito- that is, if a mosquito could singlehandedly make or break your entire future. "What took you so long, son?" Mrs.Jeon asked, her eyes darting at you momentarily. "Well, I'd just flown in from Paris when some crazy bitch attacked me at the airport. Broad daylight, completely unprovoked. Can you believe it? And then I had to go to Jimin's house for- for some thing and then we all got caught up at...a different place where some...other shit went down-" "Son, please mind your language. As you can see, Ms.L/n has been waiting to meet you." You slowly look over to face Jungkook, wishing you could morph into someone else- anyone else, for only a moment so as to not have to explain to this boys parents that you slapped their son in the face with two hundred dollars.

It's as though everything is happening in slow motion; torturously absorbing every ounce of energy in your body for such a simple action as turning your head. When you finally look up at him, you see his expression turn from slight irritation, to full blown anger. "YOU." The venom in his tone is palpable. You smile sheepishly, looking from his parents, to him, to his parents, and then back to him, "H-hey, you." This is gonna be the longest dinner of your life.

[xochimillilili]

Confession task for you

I do really really like bladder control, I want you to tell me when and where I’m allowed to pee, give me a little schedule that just pushes me to feel desperate and beg for you. We both know I’m bad at drinking enough so you’d have control over that too maybe even only letting me use the bathroom once I’ve drank a certain amount. That would be torture being so desperate yet having to drink more just so I could pee.

Whenever you did let me you could tell me how you want me to use the bathroom weather I’m allowed to actually use the toilet or having to piss myself, giving me little rewards each time I manage to hold it like keeping my piss soaked underwear in my mouth while I cum.

I honestly really wish we were together because I’d let you use me as your little toilet puppy and I know you’d take advantage of it. Pushing me to my knees whenever you need to piss or just soaking my clothes and hair marking me.

I really really wanna be a pretty piss puppy for you sir

Fuck puppy, you're such a good boy aren't you? Doing your task of writing one of your disgusting little fantasies for everyone to see. Good boy, mwa~

And speaking of the idea, you should know by now that obviously I'd fucking adore it. A mix of getting your bladder full, getting you slowly desperate throughout the day, until you're begging, barking, anything for me to let you piss, and also cute soft caring for you as my love and pet, making sure my precious pup has been drinking properly, all hydrated

I'd adore being with you too sweetheart, I'd love to see you humping my leg, grabbing and begging at me for permission to piss. Wish I could drag you off to the yard and make you piss against a tree, or take you on walks and have you mark up a bush or tree with your piss. Or refuse your begs and have you carry your soaked panties the whole way back home

Letting you drop your panties by the door before grabbing your head and making you take more piss in your mouth, using you as my pretty puppy urinal. The dream really is marking you and making you obviously mine with the smell of my piss on your hair and face. I just know you'd be a good boy through it all~

[abalidoth]

Replanting (Chapter 2)

(Chapter 1)

(Read on AO3)

You wake up at six on the dot every morning.

It's a habit from before, but there's something about being up before the Unionists -- who tend to sleep late -- that comforts you. They've adapted to your schedule some, at least; there's a neatly wrapped breakfast waiting outside your door when you get up.

Each morning you eat, do a basic set of conditioning exercises, and navigate the labyrinth of corridors.

Sometimes you make your way to the roof, and bring your food with you. It's an unexpected luxury, being able to eat wherever you want, and the rooftop balcony is usually empty.

There's a bench there, and a lovely view of the grounds of the facility. For as utilitarian as the architecture is, they take care with the greenery; the cultivated surrounds transition gracefully into the native forest, and the sun glints off the glass of the city in the distance.

But most days, your impatience gets the better of you and you head straight for the hangar.

They won't let you sleep in Acacia, but they at least moved you to a closer room and gave you a special access badge. There are usually a few mechanics wandering around. A few are even brave enough to call out to you.

"Hello, Acacia," you say. Her lights brighten in response, the seal on her canopy cracking open with a hermetic hiss.

You climb inside, swab the connection pads off, and become whole.

Acacia is chewing through the Unionist's scientific databases of plants. They're still not comfortable giving her the full uplink to their civilian databases, but her talks with the Union's machine minds seem to be going well in that direction. You ride her thoughts as she learns, and taxa and diagrams of anatomy blur through your awareness.

Dr. Crane comes by at some point, mug of coffee in hand and sometimes a colleague following her like a contrail, and settles into the couch she dragged into your mechbay. She asks questions -- considerately undirected after the first few times, letting you or Acacia or Acacia-through-you or you-through-Acacia answer as desired.

"Can you tell me a little about how the Conclave grows AI?" she asks one day. Her eyes are eager. Your heat sensors pick up a flush.

Acacia already talked this over with the Union AIs that she's been talking to, but you both assume Dr. Crane has her own reasons for asking.

"We don't," Acacia says. "I was not grown in a creche like your minds were."

"That's what I've heard," Dr. Crane says. "But...we don't understand how that could be the case."

"I don't know," Acacia says. One of you is feeling a bit of frustration. "There was no moment of awakening for me, there was no transition from interfacing with a creche environment to the outside world. It was slow. I differentiated myself from my pilot... somehow. I don't know how much other mechs and other pilots have done the same. I know some of them are along some phase of the process, but..." Her shoulders aren't mobile and Dr. Crane is looking at you, so you shrug for her.

"That's what I've heard from our AIs. Just wanted to confirm." Dr. Crane makes a note on her ever-present clipboard -- this appears to be something of an affectation on her part, given that most of the other scientists use some kind of electronic tablet in lieu of paper. "This is a dilemma for us. The Union counts fairly few AI amongst our population, and while they're very powerful at certain tasks, the way we've managed to emulate human cognition is slow. Slower than a human is."

"And I'm not," Acacia says.

"And you're not. You're...something new, something our system hasn't had to handle before. I'm definitely in the process of granting you both citizenship, if you want it--"

I don't, you think, at the same time Acacia says, "I would like that very much."

"--but there remains the chance that we'll want to call you in for more questions occasionally. I won't do that against your will, and it's possible that the process by which you came to be is..." Dr. Crane gets a little lost in her own sentence structure, starts over. "I'll be blunt. I haven't really kept it a secret that I think the Conclave mech program is horrific."

"You have not," Acacia agrees. Dr. Crane flushes a bit, but continues.

"I'm glad that you came from it, but I'm a little afraid that...more alarmist elements in the Union might take your existence as a sign that we need to do something different. There's already a cause for secrecy because we weren't aware that the Conclave had AI at all, let alone piloting mechanized infantry."

"I don't pilot," Acacia says. "My pilot pilots. My direct control over motive function is very limited without a neural tunnel."

"Inhabiting, then. The point is, I'm worried that more hawkish elements will want to...replicate you."

"Hawkish?"

Dr. Crane presses her lips together. "The faction in the Union that wants to move our war from defense against Conclave aggression to direct offense. I won't lie, some of the things I've heard from you about your society make me want to walk to New Jerusalem and slap the shit out of the First Voice myself. But the Cascadian Union was born out of the ashes of the old military junta, a centralized government that committed atrocities solely to protect the interests of those at the top of society, and we were founded specifically to keep that kind of perverse incentive structure in check."

You only understood about half of that -- you've never been to New Jerusalem yourself, only your staging base in Las Cruces. You've obviously never met the First Voice of God. But you understand enough that a question bubbles out of you, and Acacia passes it along in her smooth, even voice. "What does this mean for us?"

"I don't know," she says wearily. "In the long run, I don't know. But I'm going to push where I can for your freedom. I might have to get you to agree to some terms, for release. To keep you close to here. Bring you in for questions if necessary."

"Okay," Acacia says carefully.

"But I have a partner in the Parks Union," Dr. Crane says. "I think, Acacia -- if you'd like, we could figure out how to give you control of your own body, you could do great work with landscaping. Some of the first Union mechs were originally designed for that, actually."

Acacia dreams of trees, lives in the green spaces of her mind, and she lights up when she thinks of it. But all you can think of is that phrase:

Control of your own body.

Acacia reads your fear, catches your fall, whispers that it'll be alright. But there's no connection gel, just the pads, and she can't osmote the happy chemicals directly into you. Across that gap, she can't extend her hand to soothe your nerves.

There's a little tremor in your hand as you disconnect the first of the connection pads from your temple.

No, pilot. Please.

They're going to take me away, you think at her. Her voice is already fuzzy and indistinct as you remove the second pad. You don't know what it's like for her, but a small, cruel part of you hopes that she's afraid...as afraid as you are.

Then you feel sick for even thinking it. Then as the disconnect vertigo hits you, you just feel sick in general.

Acacia stops talking as you remove the last few pads, and just kneel there in the skeleton of the force rig, shaking. For a mortifying moment you're afraid that Dr. Crane is going to ask why, and that Acacia is going to answer, and that someone is going to come to get you out. Instead you just hear, "One moment, Dr. Crane. My pilot needs a few seconds." A silence, probably a reply that you can't hear through the mech's skin. "No, nothing you need to worry about."

A tinny noise sounds near your head, swallowed by the general chaos of machinery inside Acacia's cockpit. "Pilot. It's going to be alright."

"They're going to take me away from you."

"They're not," she replies, and it's still so strange to hear her outside her head, to exist outside her yet still within her context. "I won't let them if they try."

"I saw," you say. It's something resembling accusatory, the closest you can get to resentment while you're actively avoiding puking in the cockpit. The world swims as you adjust to the sudden change in your proprioception. "I saw...how happy you would be."

"I would be happy to be with you. Giving me control of my own body doesn't mean taking you away. It just gives both of us options, dear pilot." That's as close a translation as the language can come for the name she calls you across the neural tunnel, a wordless glow of love and care.

"How do I...how do I know?" you say. "I don't... I'm your pilot. I don't know how not to be."

"Put the pads back on," she says gently, "and I'll show you."

And you do, and she does, and for a while everything is okay.

---

This morning is a little different. Dr. Crane is earlier than usual, and she's brought Dr. Chen, as well as another academic type you don't recognize and a gaggle of mechanics. One of them is carrying a big pail with a bundle of cloth atop.

"Good morning," Dr. Crane says. "I have a surprise for you."

The mechanic with the bucket sets it down, and Dr. Crane gently kicks it. Seeing it through Acacia's sensors, you get a rough schematic of the weight distribution inside. "We scraped the remnants of the connection gel from Acacia when we brought her in. We've been trying to reverse engineer it -- there's a lot that we don't know. But we'd like to try it. How, is it, um..." Her usual confidence falters. "How is it applied?"

You tell her, with help from Acacia. She's not good at hiding her flinch when your handler comes up. You think you have an idea of why that is, now -- pilots here are people, they don't have handlers, sex is common between them but not a part of battle routine. You're not really sure why that matters to Dr. Crane (she's mentioned partners, but other than that it's a mystery).

But you're starting to see, now. How the Conclave talks about sex and sin, and how the Conclave handlers use it, are two facts that might just be irreconcilable to you. You mentioned to Dr. Crane, once, that Conclave handlers are known as "Jezebels."

You make a note to ask again, sometime.

With no handler, you don't see any choice but to do it yourself. You strip down quickly, pry the lid off, do the best you can to cover yourself, then slide into your old flightsuit that they left on top.

You apply a second coat, and rush back into the cockpit. Acacia re-engages the connection mesh and

green

green

fire

green

It's almost too much. At first, you're not sure if you're just not used to it anymore, but you hear Acacia in your mind and her voice is wrong, wrong, crackling with static and light like a knife. You feel her pain and she breathes yours in like desert dust, it clogs in your lungs, in your intake manifolds.

You distantly hear swearing, you feel Acacia push you out. Your canopy flips open, she falls-- no, you fall --

One of the medics is over you, the lights are too bright, you can barely make out the shape of a concerned expression.

They check your breathing, your pupils. The shock wears off, the sudden lack of jump jets and weapon hardpoints in your sensorium wears from an acute burn to an ache. There's a tingling in your limbs where pressure sensors and damage readouts should be, like the feel of a nerve pinch.

"Shit," Dr. Crane says. "There's something wrong in our recipe, maybe. Dr. Kessi was pretty sure she got the nanobots right, but... I'm sorry, pilot."

You shakily get to your feet. "It's all right. I'm...I'm okay. We'll try again next time. I just need to..." you gesture at the cockpit. "I'll just use the pads. Until next time."

"Pilot..." Dr. Crane says. "You just had a petit mal seizure. I don't want to let you back in there without a full neural scan, at minimum."

You thought that something like this was coming. You're still gutted by it. You look to Acacia, to the immobile eyes of her front facing camera nacelles.

"I don't," you start. You swallow. "I don't care. I'd rather..." You gesture at Acacia's cockpit, knowing how opaque the attempt to communicate is, knowing you can't do any better right now.

"We don't know how her brain functions either," Dr. Crane says. The sympathy in her voice is like an icepick between your eyes. "Even if you don't care about damage to your mind -- and I think you should -- do you want to expose her to the same risk?"

"She's right," Acacia says, slowly, unsurely. "I...don't know if I was just feeling your pain or also my own, pilot. I'm still seeing readings that worry me. I'm sorry."

You look at the canopy. The sequence of events plays out in your mind: you could rush in, close the canopy. But would Acacia even want you, any more, with her own autonomy all but assured? Would she spit you back out like a bit of plastic caught in a meal? The Caskies wouldn't kill you, but they'd lecture you, lock you down for your own protection, they would --

"I think," Dr. Crane says, "this might be a good thing, for a little while. You need time to heal, to be...yourself, you know?"

Words come to you, from when you first saw Acacia here.

“Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes.” Your impression of Dr. Crane isn't going to get you an acting career, but it's enough to drive home the point. She steps back as though you'd slapped her.

You tear your eyes away from Acacia, put your shaky legs to work, and start walking in the other direction without a word.

---

You don't even really think about where you're going, but you end up at the balcony and nobody stops you.

You haven't been up here at midday, and at first the angle of the sun makes it hard to look out the direction you usually look, toward the city. As you stand, lost in your mind, the clouds roll in and turn the glare into a glow.

Your thoughts are formless and fearful. There are no words. It's like the way you think with Acacia, pictures and emotions and forms. Words are only necessary in a last-ditch scenario, and you don't need them when you're alone. It's just a slideshow of feelings, fear of abandonment, pictures of Acacia living her life as a free entity, and you -- all your nightmares are Conclave-flavored, of course. Re-education, recycling, excommunication, the confused scraps of religious dogma that are fed to something less than human that nevertheless needs the fear of God beaten into it.

You pick at the flaking white paint on the metal bench while your brain cycles. The Union is a big unknown to you. What lurks behind this kindness? What punishment follows your rejection of the reward? Every time you've defied them previously they have shown mercy, compassion shown to the bullet and to the gun. But the bullet is there to be spent, and the gun is there to be reloaded and fired again. You're not going to fool yourself that most of your concern is for Acacia -- there's a very real undercurrent of anger towards her there.

The hours wear on, and your stomach begins to rumble, but you're not interested in going back down and facing the looks of the Caskie technicians and support staff in the cafeteria. It's more than you can handle on a good day, which this has definitely turned out not to be.

You hear steps behind you on the rooftop stairs as the sun's cloud halo reaches down to kiss the skyline. You don't look up, there's still a little of you that is petty enough to not give that satisfaction.

"Dr. Crane," you say, flat and hoarse.

"I've told both of you, you can call me Mia if you like." She sits on the other end of the bench. She's shed her lab coat, and looks unusual in a pair of slacks and ruffle blouse.

You don't respond, just wait for her to say whatever she came here to say. She sets down some kind of electronic device on the middle seat of the bench, between you, and rifles through her bag for a metal water bottle and a paper-wrapped sandwich. "Thought you might need it."

You take them both, gratefully but with no little wariness, and tear into the sandwich. You're not sure if you're going to get another.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Crane -- Mia -- says. You look at her with a mouth full of bread and greens.

"After you walked off," she says, "I was frustrated. I've been frustrated for a while. Not at you, more at what the Conclave has done in general. But frustration, you know. It gets misplaced. I stalked into my office, threw my coat at the wall, called my partners to rant."

She takes a sip from her own bottle, savors it for a moment. "One of my partners, Aurora, they're...not a single person." She pauses. "More like a collective of people in one body, that blend into each other at the edges a little bit, mostly work as a team. It's not uncommon, in the Union, but it's not something I...directly experience, you know."

You look at her, tilt your head. This isn't something you're familiar with -- certainly the kind of thing that wouldn't be tolerated in the Conclave.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" She gestures at the city. "Portland."

You'd heard the name during your time here, but you still don't have much of a grasp of the geography. "We've never... I've never seen a city like it before. Las Cruces is a lot more...flat."

She nods. "I'm a Vancouver girl, myself. Grew up in the capital. Even after the founding of the Union, even after the First Principles and all that, there were a fair number of people who didn't like the new way things worked. My parents were like that -- their parents were cap-class before the Union, and that's how they grew up, with this deep resentment, this whole belief in self-sufficiency. You ask me whether I've gotten away from that, I tell you of course I have, just look at my life, my partners, my service."

Mia sighs. "Aurora, they're not from here. They're refugees from further east, not Conclave territory, but the prairies, one of the little tinpot dictatorships out there. So they know what it's like, to be new to the way that we do things here in Cascadia. And I'm so lucky to be with them, because when I called them tonight they called me on my shit." She shakes her head. "I was so focused on the autonomy that had been taken from you, from Acacia, that I forgot the founding principles of the union are all centered around none of us are in this alone."

"What..." You want to ask what is the point of all this, but bite it down. "What are you saying?"

"Aurora, or rather the one that was in front at the moment, reminded me that you can be a person and a part of a person.”

You think about it, then let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Part of a person.

You can’t say it to her, not the way you should be able to with Acacia. So you nod, and hope she understands anyway.

She smiles at you, a little, and continues. “I was... I was afraid that the Conclave had forced you into this, that teaching you to be independent would be undoing the damage they dealt to you.”

"It's not damage," you say, finding a little spark of defiance.

"You're right," she says. "There is damage, I think. But your bond with Acacia -- your being part of her -- isn't it. Anyway. I wanted to get that out there before I dialed her in."

She messes with a couple of knobs and a button on the top of the gizmo she'd put on the seat, and Acacia's voice comes out.

"Pilot?"

It's still so strange, hearing her from outside you, but the sound of her voice strikes straight at the fear that drove you to this rooftop in the first place. "I'm here."

"I don't know what I did wrong," she says. She's not used to apologizing; the part of her that lives in you remembers. "But I need you. I need you back. Even if I could walk on my own, even if everything inside me was hooked together and under control, I need you to be piloting me."

"But you...you don't need me. You can...you can garden, and..."

"When I think about gardening without you there, it doesn't seem like it would be worth it," she says. Her affect is flat, but you know what it takes for her to say that. "I want to be connected, to not be paralyzed. But please don't leave me alone in our body. I’m only half of us."

Acacia's fragment in you, the green vignette ringing your field of view, vibrates in resonance with her words. 

Part of a person.

You nod, and think your assent to her, and then remember she can't see you. "Yes," you croak, all the moisture from the water you drank seemingly evaporated from your vocal chords. "Please."

Mia clears her throat quietly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to stand firm on the medical concerns," she says. "I don't want to allow a neural connection without extensive monitoring, at the most. But I promise I won't push you towards an independence you don't want -- it's just for safety reasons. And I'll do my best to get you cleared quickly."

"That is fair, Dr. Crane," Acacia says. "I will share all the neural data I've collected, if it will help."

It hurts, the thought that you can't be whole. But it's a clean hurt, a neatly bandaged wound. So you nod, even through the pain.

"I'm sure it will." She stands. "I'm going back down. Cafeteria's still open for a bit if you want more than just the sandwich, pilot. And even if we don't want you connected for the moment...we can move a cot and a privacy curtain into the mech bay for you."

“You said your partner...partners...they’re like us?”

Mia laughs. “Not exactly, but they understand better than I do, for sure.”

“I think we’d like to meet them, sometime,” you say.

“I think they’d like that.”

She tosses her wrapper in the compost bin nearby, tucks her water bottle in her bag, and holds her hand out to help you up.

You take it, and follow her back inside.

[sleekervae]

The Bride [0.6]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: Eleanor gets a visit from the notary

Warnings: attempted assault, mentions of familial death

Word Count: 3,763

Tag List: @poppyflower-22 @ponyslayer

Eleanor stopped counting after two weeks. The days dragged, the heat growing to be unbearable, and despite the money Jesse was making from his jobs, the gang was constantly on the move. Some days they'd find empty houses to inhabit, other days they were camping out under the stars, restless until they could make it to the next town. And every day that went by, Eleanor couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop worrying about Billy.

She was thinking about him while she was washing clothes in the riverbank. Camping was nothing new to Eleanor, and while the gang weren't too far off from the river, there was always trouble lurking around the corner.

The icy water numbed her fingers as she scrubbed a shirt against the washboard. The cold air seeped through her clothes, making her shiver. She preferred the solitude, the rhythmic task giving her a rare moment of peace.

The crunch of boots on rocks pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see a cowboy approaching, his hat shadowing his eyes. He was tall, lanky, she'd put him around Jesse's age with a weary, weathered approach. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

"Hi there," he greeted her. Eleanor didn't respond, she just kept cleaning, "What's a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here?"

"Working," Eleanor replied simply, not bothering to look his way.

“You need a hand?” he asked, his lips curling into a smirk, "I'm an avid worker myself,"

Eleanor straightened, clutching the wet fabric tighter, “I don't need your help. Leave me alone,” she said, her voice clipped.

He didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence invasive, "What's your name?"

She scoffed back, "Eat dirt,"

“Aw, come on now. Don’t be like that,” he said, reaching out to grab her arm.

"Hey!" she jerked away, her pulse quickening, “I said, leave me alone!” she repeated, grabbing her stuff to take off. She hoped he'd take the hint to get lost.

But of course, he didn’t. In an instant, he grabbed her, wrestling her to the ground. Eleanor’s world narrowed to the feel of his weight crushing her, the scent of his sweat and tobacco filling her nose. She kicked and clawed at any part of him she could, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, but he was too strong for her.

A shout pierced the air. The cowboy was ripped off her, and Eleanor scrambled to her feet, chest heaving. She looked up to see Jesse and his crew descending on the man. Fists flew, the dull thud of punches and the cowboy’s grunts mixing with the rush of the river.

Eleanor backed away, her legs trembling. Jesse’s face was a mask of fury as he struck the cowboy, each punch a release of pent-up rage. His men joined in, their combined force overwhelming the attacker.

She wrapped her arms around herself, watching the brutal scene with wide eyes. The cowboy lay on the ground, a bloody mess, groaning in pain. Jesse finally stepped back, his chest heaving, and turned to her, concern replacing the anger in his eyes.

“You okay, Eleanor?” he asked, his voice softer now.

She nodded, though her body still trembled while her shirt and pants were stained with mud, “I’m fine,” she said, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her mind raced, processing the violence, the fear, the relief.

Despite his moment of calm, Jesse turned and grabbed the cowboy by the scruff of his neck. He gurgled and choked as Jesse dragged him over, propping him up on his knees before the frightened girl as he roared, "Apologize to her!"

The smug and snarky cowboy was now a bloody mess, crimson drool running down his chin and mud and cuts covered his face and arms. He looked so pathetic now, so weak and impudent as he coughed out a raspy "I'm sorry,"

Eleanor didn't respond, couldn't find the words to speak before Jesse took her under his arm, murmuring reassurances while he told the boys to 'finish up'. Eleanor stayed looking straight ahead, even when she heard more scuffling behind her, even when she heard a gunshot go off, she stayed looking straight. Her thoughts brought her somewhere else, somewhere a little bit more comfortable. Despite Jesse’s timely intervention, she found herself wishing for Billy. She longed for his steady presence, his comforting arms around her.

They afforded Eleanor all but half a day of rest before the demands of cooking, caring for the horses, and tending to other chores resumed. The weather was shifting as late summer approached, the heat becoming only slightly more bearable. Each day seemed to drag on endlessly, and without a job to report to, her situation felt increasingly hopeless. Soon enough, their camping endeavors came to an end when they stumbled upon an old ranch house. It was unoccupied, the perfect new hideout.

Early afternoon offered little to admire. Eleanor sat inside while the gang discussed their next job. Jesse had suddenly exempted her from attending the meetings. Though she didn’t think lightly of it, she was at least grateful he seemed to be giving her some space.

She spent her afternoon mending John's coat, a futile task given the garment's age and wear. She was surprised it hadn’t fallen to scraps already. Her attention was piqued when she heard a rise in the chatter outside, followed by the boys rummaging through the camp, calling for weapons.

Eleanor dropped her sewing and moved to the window, her heart racing. A man on horseback was approaching quickly. She knew the drill:

"Anything happens, stay inside until we come get you."

Jesse was the first to confront the man, while his gang stood ready with their guns. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The stranger approached slowly, raising his free hand while holding the reins. "You boys the Seven Rivers Gang?" he asked, his worn, greying eyes scanning their faces.

"Who wants to know?" Jesse retorted.

"I'm looking for a Miss Eleanor Aubert," the stranger replied.

Jesse glowered. "Again—who wants to know?"

The stranger reached into his coat, prompting the gang to take aim. Keeping one hand raised, he pulled out a piece of paper. Eleanor watched intently from the dusty window.

"The notary wants to know. Henry Aubert is dead," he announced, "His daughter has a claim in his will."

Eleanor’s world shifted. Grief and disbelief collided within her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. Her father was dead? Her fingers clenched the windowsill as she tried to process the news. She could hardly think straight.

Her instincts screamed caution. She didn’t trust this stranger. He might be telling the truth, but she couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, it was a trap laid by the army Captain, another weak ploy to lure her home. Nevertheless, with a steely resolve she stepped outside, drawing the attention of everyone present.

“I'm Henry's daughter,” she told him, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The man turned to her, his expression softening, “Miss Aubert, I’m sorry for your loss. Your father’s will states that you have a claim to his estate. I’m here to ensure you receive what’s rightfully yours,”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, her mind racing. “And who are you, exactly?” she asked, come to stand before him, "I know my father's lawyer, you're not him,"

"No ma'am. I'm Mr. Roan's paralegal, William McTavish. They sent me on a wild goose chase trying to track you down," he handed her the paper, his gaze sincere, “I have documents to prove it. You can check my credentials, hell, you can talk with Mr. Roan yourself,”

She glanced at Jesse, who remained wary, his hand still on his gun. She turned her attention to the paper, and sure enough she was skimming the details of his death certificate.

She scoffed, "Ya'll found him in the marsh?"

"The doctor suspects he drowned after a drunken stupor," McTavish’s face was lined with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes, “I know this is sudden, Miss Aubert. But I promise, I'm just here to carry out your father's will,”

Eleanor took a deep breath, the weight of her father’s death pressing down on her. She wished Billy were there, his presence a source of comfort and strength. But she had to face this alone. She turned to Jesse, “Drop your fuckin' guns,”

Jesse hesitated but finally nodded, signaling his men to lower their weapons. The stranger dismounted and approached Eleanor, extending the documents. She took them, her hands trembling slightly. As she read, a mix of grief and determination filled her. Even as Mr. McTavish rambled on about the details, what she was entitled to, how she had to come back to Rosario, Eleanor was only half listening.

She knew it wouldn't sink in until she saw his body, or his grave even, but Eleanor had to accept that her father was really dead.

Billy had found a new life for himself across the border in Chihuahua. He’d settled into the rhythm of the town, quickly learning that the locals didn’t always welcome gringos with open arms. But some of them, like Melquiades Segura, turned out to be more than alright. Melquiades, with his rough exterior and guarded nature, slowly became a reliable friend, a steady presence in Billy’s otherwise tumultuous life.

Despite the fresh start, trouble had a way of finding Billy, even in Mexico. Over the course of a few days, meeting swindling seńoritas and card king pins, he was left breathless and shaken, his heart pounding with the realization that running away hadn’t solved anything. He couldn’t keep dodging the shadows of his past, couldn’t keep pretending he was someone he wasn’t.

On his way back into town he met another character, Pat Garret, who he came to find out was riding with Jesse and his gang. The thought of reuniting with the group sent a chill through him, though at the same time Billy knew he didn't have many options.

So he followed Pat back to Jesse's new hide out, another old, abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. To say Jesse was surprised to see Billy was an understatement, and despite his lingering resentment, he welcome Billy back into the gang. He promised him work, a place to sleep, somewhere he could actually call home.

Everyone was still there. Bob, John, and Pat -- who stood out among the crowd in his dapper suit and sharp-brimmed hat. But the one person Billy couldn't help but notice was Eleanor—or the lack of her. Her absence felt like a gaping hole in the gang.

After a souless dinner of canned beans and dry bread, Billy found himself sitting across from Jesse. The tension between them was almost palpable, but Billy couldn't ignore the question burning inside him.

"Where's Eleanor?" he asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

Jesse looked up, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Billy wondered if he would even get an answer, fearing that perhaps he'd done something to her.

"Took off," he replied simply, "Said she'd be back within a week, she's been gone for two, now,"

Billy cocked a brow, a new fear riding within him, "Where'd she go?" he asked.

"Rosario. She got a message that her father passed and he left his land to her. She went to go claim it," Jesse explained, looking non-too worried for her absence, "Oh, don't worry, she didn't go alone. Some highf'lutin paralegal went with her,"

"You don't think it could be a trap?" he said.

Jesse scoffed, "Hey, we offered to go with her, she insisted she'd be fine. I'm not her keeper, Billy," he replied.

While Billy wasn't surprised by Jesse's aloofness, he couldn't believe how unmoved he seemed about Eleanor's disappearance. Just a month ago, Jesse had been so enamored with her that he'd practically threatened to fight Billy over her.

"And what if she doesn't come back by week three?" Billy pressed. "You gonna' go find her? After all, you're the one who swore to protect her..."

Jesse shrugged, an infuriating gesture to Billy as he stoked the firewood crackling in the pit, "Eleanor's a grown woman. If she wants to come back, she'll come back. If she doesn't, then she doesn't. It's a free country, after all,"

Billy clenched his jaw, holding back the words he wanted to hurl at Jesse. He could see through Jesse's cold facade. Jesse was heartbroken—just as heartbroken as Billy was. Only Jesse refused to show it in front of the boys.

Billy lay in bed that night, as wide awake as the owls that hooted just outside. The rough fabric of the blanket scratched against his skin, but it was the unease gnawing at his insides that kept him from sleep. His mind wandered to Eleanor, his heart aching with worry. Where was she now? Was she safe? The thought of her out there alone gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the image of her face from his mind.

The news of her father's death must have hit her hard. He could picture the grief etched on her delicate features, the sorrow in her eyes that she always tried to hide but never quite could. He wondered how she was coping, if she had anyone to lean on. The thought of her going through this alone gnawed at him, though at the same time it so reminiscent to him. It was one thing to know you still had people in the world, it was another to know they were gone for good.

Billy rolled onto his back, staring at the dark ceiling. He couldn't stop the relentless parade of "what ifs" that stormed through his mind. What if she was hurt? What if she needed him and he wasn't there? His fists clenched with the helplessness of it all, the frustration of not knowing where she was or if she was alright.

“You don’t love me, Billy... You don’t even know what that means,”

So what if he didn't? Wasn't it enough that he wanted her? Was it selfish of him to want to find her and convince her otherwise?

He ached to be there for her, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. But instead, he was miles away, lying in the darkness, powerless to help. The thought that he might never get that chance made his chest tighten with dread. Billy turned onto his side, eyes squeezed shut, willing sleep to come and bring a reprieve from his worries.

But it never did. Instead, he lay there, the weight of his fears pressing down on him, the ache in his heart a constant reminder of the girl he loved and the hope that somehow, someday, he’d find his way back to her.

The days turned to weeks, and still there was no sign of Eleanor. Not even a letter telling the boys that she was okay. Anything could've happened to her out there, and scenario after scenario would play out in Billy's head. It seemed though that he was really the only one who was concerned as Jesse never brought her up again. It was as though she never existed in the first place.

He wondered if she was thinking of him, if she missed him as much as he missed her. The nights felt colder, the days longer without her presence. Every memory of her was a bittersweet reminder of what he’d lost. The way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the softness of her voice when she spoke his name—it all haunted him.

Nevertheless, life had to go on. Cattle were rustled, guns were fired, lives were lost. And much to his chagrin, Billy's name was getting around more and more. Pat Garret came back after an errand in town, touting a newspaper that detailed the crimes of the Seven Rivers Gang, as well as the "illustrious criminal career of Billy Bonny".

He didn't care to sit and listen to the rest of the article, his mind too tangled in his own thoughts. The weight of the lives he had taken pressed heavily on him. Guilt gnawed at his conscience, each face haunting him in the quiet of the night. He never pictured himself as a criminal, never imagined he’d fall so far from the person he once was. His mother’s disappointment was a constant shadow. She had raised him better, instilled in him values that he now seemed to trample with every wrong turn. It seemed that no matter what he did though, he could do no right.

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, soft and loving, yet tinged with the pain of seeing her son stray from the path. What would she say if she saw him now? The thought twisted his stomach. He could almost hear her sigh of resignation, feel the warmth of her hand on his cheek, forgiving but forever changed.

And then there was Eleanor. She had a way of soothing his troubled heart, her words like balm to his soul. He could almost hear her voice, soft and reassuring, telling him it was okay. She would understand, she always did. She’d look into his eyes and see the good still within him, reminding him of the man he wanted to be.

Billy clenched his fists, the heat of the bonfire grounding him. He wanted to believe her, wanted to grasp onto the hope she offered. But the darkness was overwhelming, the guilt a relentless tide. How could he ever face her, knowing the blood on his hands? Yet, in the depths of his despair, he clung to the image of her, to the possibility of redemption through her eyes.

Jesse kept a watchful eye on Billy, still harboring doubts about his trustworthiness. Yet, he couldn't deny the impact the new environment was having on him. Billy was different—a sensitive soul in a world hardened by criminality. He needed time to adjust, to acclimate to the harsh realities they faced daily.

Despite Billy's initial hesitations and uncertainties, Jesse saw potential in him. He sensed an underlying strength and determination that could make Billy one of the most formidable members of their gang. With patience and guidance, Jesse believed Billy could grow into a great gunslinger, capable of navigating their dangerous world with a blend of resilience and compassion.

There was hardly any time for grief or contemplation of internal conflict in the following days, not when Frank Baker came to the gang touting the opportunity of a lifetime in the city of Lincoln.

"There's a big player up there, goes by the name of Lawrence P. Murphy," Frank explained, his voice smooth despite his rough and rugged exterior. "He owns stores, cattle, supplies Fort Stanton and the reservation offices with grain, cattle, horses—everything they need." Frank's distinguished manner contrasted sharply with his appearance, adding an air of credibility to his words. As he continued, his eyes kept drifting to Billy, who stood off to the side, listening quietly.

"Naturally, he wants to protect his operation, and that's where we come in," Frank went on, detailing Murphy's wealth and his desperation to keep his supply chain the only game in town. To do that, he needed some muscle, the hard, unfeeling kind.

Jesse and the boys were more than eager to take the job. Cattle rustling only brought in so much money, and a steady income from Murphy could secure them for a long, long time. But Frank's attention lingered on Billy, who remained unmoved and expressionless throughout the pitch.

"And Billy?" he called out to him, none the wiser to the grin that faded fast from Jesse, "I need to know where you stand in all this,"

Billy said nothing at first, letting him make his pitch, "If you agree to join us I guarantee Murphy can hire us. I'll tell you sum'thin' else," his smile broadened, "We'll make sure you get the biggest slice of the cake when it comes time to cut,"

"Just -- wait a minute there, Frank," Jesse intervened, his prior excitement having melted away into dismay, that lingering feeling of resentment returned to him.

Frank simply chuckled, "Billy's name alone is worth that," he told Jesse.

Jesse however would have none of it, "This is my gang, these are my boys," he replied sharply.

Pat meanwhile turned to Billy, watching him look off in the distance, still without saying a word. He looked pensive, conflicted, so mature and still Pat had to remind himself that Billy wasn't even twenty-years-old yet.

"You got to understand it, Jesse," Frank continued, "It's just not the same --" his words cut short as Jesse suddenly stood, sizing him up, his fists balled at his sides. No one would've been surprised if he took a swung at Frank, but they also knew what sort of stakes were at play if he did.

Finally, Billy spoke, eliciting nearly the entire table to turn his way, "Calm down, Jesse," he called, finally turning to the boys.

"You know he's right; I'm William H. Bonny," Billy touted, giving his head a shake, "Reason you came here, right Mr. Baker?"

Frank simply nodded, further intrigued with this young man as he continued to talk, "So from now on, if people want my services they're gonna' have to pay for it. As simple as that,"

If this was the life he was destined to lead, if this was how he could scrape by, Billy figured he might as well make the best of it. He had to ensure it paid him what he felt he was owed. After all, this was the role Jesse wanted him to embrace. And deep down, Billy couldn't deny the small hint of satisfaction bubbling in his gut at seeing Jesse so riled up.

"Sit down, Jesse," The look on Jesse's face alone was murderous, for a moment Pat swore he would lunge across the table and go for Billy's throat. Nevertheless, with his lip stiff and his eyes blown wide, he sat back down in silence. He wouldn't dare embarrass himself in front of Frank now, not with so much on the table.

The rush of adrenaline and the thrill of asserting himself in a world that demanded toughness—it was a stark contrast to the sensitive kid he used to be. Billy knew he had to adapt, to shed any remnants of his former self if he wanted to survive.

If only that was easier done than said...

[angel-of-the-moons]

Can you do pavitr sex pollen smut😩

Gonna combine this ask:

Because ommmgg? Asdfghjkl I haven't actually come close to writing any sex pollen tropes and I fucking need to!

Hazy

Pavitr Prabhakar x Fem!Reader

Because I'm tired of repeating myself: PAVITR IS AGED UP IN THIS FIC

TW/CW: Smut. Straight up smut. Unprotected sex, PiV sex, NSFW, creampie, sex pollen trope, no refractory period, oversensitivity

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I really need to do this trope with other characters.

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

It was a typical day for you. You finished your course papers for the day, submitted them in an email to your professor, and decided to brush up on some spring cleaning.

You'd opened the glass doors to your tiny apartment balcony, allowing the evening breeze to blow inwards, your curtain billowing about as it was blown around.

You turned on some tunes and set yourself to task; knowing your boyfriend would be home soon. You didn't cook dinner because the two of your decided to order out tonight to save on an extra load of dishes, and it honestly made your night much easier.

You were so consumed with your chores and your music that you failed to notice the man dropping onto your balcony, his body tense, his hands trembling; the multi-colored suit he wore covered in something light and powdery.

He dragged one foot at a time into your apartment, spotting you in the tiny kitchen, his chest heaving with each breath he took.

He barely managed to rip his mask off before he slipped his arms around your waist.

You gasped and spun around in his arms, blinking up at him, taking in his blown pupils and flushed face.

"P-Pavitr!" You gasped.

"What--"

He cut you off by crashing his mouth into yours, taking your off-guard moment to slip his tongue into your mouth, greedily twining with yours.

You could feel the strange powdery substance on his suit, the small flecks falling from his hair to breathe it in.

And it was... Strange. Your head started to feel funny, giddy, almost drunk. You didn't even retort when Pavitr's hand slipped around you to grip at your ass, pulling you so you were pressed against him.

You hiccuped for some air, briefly getting a respite before he kisses you again, his mouth hungry and desperate.

He was hard. Painfully hard.

Just feeling him press against you through his suit and your skirt, made you take another deep breath.

With every drag of your lungs, that weird feeling got heavier, with heat pooling low in your belly and dripping down your thighs, your underwear soaked clean through already.

What had Pavitr gotten into?

"Need you." His usually sweet and peppy voice croaked out.

Your mind was foggy and all you could do was crash your mouth to his again, biting at his bottom lip.

He groaned and all but ripped your skirt down, sinking to his knees in front of you before burying his face between your legs, licking a broad stripe up your weeping sex before his lips wrapped around your clit, his free hand gripping at his cock through his suit, desperate for some friction.

The moment he thrust his fingers inside of you, you tipped your head back and moaned wantonly, your hands gripping the edge of the counter for dear life, riding his face and fingers like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Pavitr pulled his mouth off of you to bite at your thighs, curling and thrusting his fingers as fast as he could as he licked a rivulet of your slick back up to your lips, hungrily lapping at you like a man parched.

You spared a glance down and you saw him, his hair messy, the black strands dusted with the orange substance; his eyes were closed and he had this expression in a mix of bliss and hunger, like it was too much and not enough at the same time.

One of your hands flew down to grip at his hair, your teeth gritting tightly as you feel your orgasm start to wash over you, your blood boiling to the point sweat was rolling down your brow, your throat, and into the valley between your breasts.

When you cum, you do it with a broken whine and heavy breath, breasts heaving as Pavitr thrusts his tongue inside, drinking you up even more than before, nudging your clit with his nose as he does.

"Pavitr...." You moan as he pulls away, his jaw slack, the glossy sticky webs of your slick connecting him still, snapping like tension wires as he pulls far enough away.

He wipes his face on the back of his hand and shoots back to his feet, kissing you again, all teeth and tongue, robbing you of your breath that you managed to claw for.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough, you needed more. You needed all of him. You needed him inside you, and you needed him now.

It was like he could read your mind.

Pavitr buried his face in your neck, and you just barely heard him whine as he desperately rutted his clothed cock against your thigh.

"Need you." He whimpered.

You groan, feeling more heat gush out of you, your pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation of being filled.

"I'm yours." You gasped when he bit down on your neck.

In a flash you were spun around, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as he bends you over, gripping your hips in his hand as he shoved the bottom half of his suit down in one swift motion, his cock finally springing free, the tip leaking and obscene amount of precum from it.

You made a hefty groan when all at once he thrust into you, his cock bottoming out and stretching you full.

Pavitr let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as he gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath, before he started slamming into you like a man possessed, small whimpers and weak grunts coming from him as he roughly fucked into you, burying his face into your hair and breathing deeply.

You keened loudly, Pavitr's thrusts punching the air out of your lungs so harshly it felt like your guts were being rearranged.

Your skin was burning, his every touch feeling like it was turning the blood in your veins to molten lava.

You let out a yelp when he pulled your shirt, ripping the buttons open and your bra down so your breasts could bounce free, one of his hands gripping and fondling you as if it were the only way to pull you back down onto him

You bite your lip and choke back a sob as your hand slides between your legs of its own accord, your fingertips brushing where his cock pistoned in and and out of you before moving back up to furiously roll your clit, working you back up to that peak where your second orgasm was waiting to pull you over the edge.

Pavitr made another pathetic whimper as he slapped his hips into yours, fucking you full as he pumped a hot, thick load into you, rutting into you as hard as he could, his cum dribbling out of you and dripping down your thighs, onto the floor as he kept fucking you.

You let out a high-pitched wail as you cum, gushing around his cock as he rode out his high.

The two of you slipped in your shared mess. And without even dislodging his cock from you, Pavitr reached out and caught you both, his arm wrapped around your chest as his other palm slammed onto the floor.

He rolled his hips desperately into yours, his still-hard cock slamming into your spongy walls.

"P-Pav--" You groaned deeply as he pinned you to your kitchen floor with his hips.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry--" He grunted into your hair.

"Need more. Need all of you." Pavitr groaned, pulling back to grip at your hips, pulling you back against him as he split you open with his cock.

"I... I need more."