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morallyinept · 2 months

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Reverence - A Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A mysterious, vagabond man comes to your aid, and in return you show him some kindness. And over the course of a stormy night, you discover you both have more in common than just outward appearances.

Pairing: Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair, however. Reader has a prosthetic limb. She was born with an underdeveloped limb below the left knee. Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub. Ezra is in his early-to-mid 40's.)

Word Count: 12.1k - because Ezra won't shut up. 🙃

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions and descriptions of limb loss/use of a prosthetic limb/Ezra is missing his arm/Reader is missing her leg below the knee/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral M & F receiving/there is no fetishising of limb loss here, it's real love/sex with very real bodies/an imagined world created within the Prospect universe/Ezra comes with a thesaurus

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The Pug is a skiv of a planet that seems to have been forgotten by time itself.

Its once-gleaming skyscrapers now stand as towering monuments to a bygone era; their facades stained with the grime of countless rotations. The feculent streets below are a tangled web of concrete and steel, where the lurid neon glow of Vayok advertising signs cast flickering shadows on the faces of the downtrodden masses.

The air of Puggert Bench is thick with the acrid stench of industry, a noxious cocktail of pollutants and toxic fumes that hang heavy over Noki District like a thick shroud.

The sound of machinery echoes through the streets, a constant reminder of the ceaseless churn of production that drives the small planet's rototiller economy, despite being nothing more than a mechanical layover for most passing through on freighters.

Despite the harshness of its environment, Puggert Bench is a livable place of vibrant contrasts. Here, lander pods zip past rusting hulks of abandoned ship corpses, their sleek orbs cutting through the smog with effortless grace.

The cloud stream, blocking out the sun in a haze of burnt umber that chokes you when it sticks to the back of your throat, carries on the breeze through the air into your nasal cavity as you breathe in. When you blow your nose later, black shit will present itself to you in your tissue, unless you wrap up with a mask or scarf whilst outside.

For every gleaming skyscraper and bustling marketplace, there are a dozen dark alleys and forgotten corners where the lawless thrive. In the shadows of the city's turgid underbelly, criminal syndicates and black-market traders ply their illicit loot prospected from alien moons; their activities hidden from the prying eyes of the less-than-honourable authorities.

Everyone is fair game in this place.

A place, where walking by yourself late at night probably isn’t a wise idea, but when left with little choice as your shift runs over - again - you brave it head on, picking up your often wonky steps with a hurried pace.

You’ve walked this grimy thoroughfare countless times, memorising the way with muscle memory. You wrap your fraying scarf round your face, cutting out the tar that burns on your tongue.

A slight drag on your gait, an itch surfaces where the buckles rub at your skin around your left knee joint. You stop, pinching and digging your fingers in over your pants to tug out the relief from the burn of the itch.

With each step, you’re reminded of the weight that bears down upon you - the prosthetic limb pressing back against your prickly marred skin with a relentless intensity. The artificial joint, no matter how seamlessly it's been integrated with your body, still causes a continual dull ache that reverberates through your bones with every movement.

You can switch it off sometimes, but the hard pavement beneath you seems to magnify every twinge of discomfort, every jolt that sends shockwaves of thudding pain coursing through your remaining upper limb with every step you take.

You’re still toying with the idea of trading it in for a bionic model, but the foreboding cost and invasive surgeries to wire it into your nerves - that come with their own horrific testimonials of those who’ve had it done, and done badly - far outweighs any desired practicality. Instead you navigate life with the callouses and blisters, used to them being part of your daily routine.

Slipping your fingers between the buckles offers minimal, sweet respite for a few blissful moments as you scratch, when suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, grabbing you roughly by the arm and yanking you into a secluded alcove; the brick walls slick with the sweat of the city.

Before you can react, a gruff voice growls in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

"Your credits. Now!" The assailant demands, his putrid breath hot against your neck as he presses a sharp object against your side.

Panic surges through your veins as you fumble for your wallet, your hands trembling with fear as you forget momentarily which pocket it’s in.

He shoves his hand in the pocket closest to him, rooting around in there uncouthly as you protest and struggle.

You’re both disturbed when a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, with a quiet determination.

The newcomer is a man of imposing stature, his features obscured by the billowy hood of his tattered coat, and a facial scarf of his own that covers his nose down to his chin.

But what catches your attention most is the sight of his empty right sleeve, the fabric of his coat pinned haphazardly against his shoulder where his arm should be.

“I’d rethink that course of action, unless violence with a matched counterpart is what you're getting at.” The man warns in a steady, yet rich Southern drawl.

Your mugger mouths some regurgitated insult in Vayok. You don‘t fully speak it, but you know enough to know he’s mocking the obvious disability of the man, who simply chortles in response to a jibe he’s probably heard before.

But you're left wondering in bewilderment at how your apparent saviour will pull this off.

“You assume this handicap is to my detriment? Are you sure you wish to find out how inaccurate that misinformed assumption is?”

Undeterred by his physical limitation, the man squares his shoulders, his gaze locks on the attacker with unwavering resolve; a pair of dark eyes shining defiantly in the dim light of the alley.

In a matter of moments, fisticuffs ensue. It happens so fast, you're unsure who threw the first hook. Seizing the opportunity, you break free from the thief's grasp and stumble away; your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the scene unfold before you.

You watch helplessly as the man’s coat is torn where it’s previously pinned as they kerfuffle and tussle - the tear in the dirty fabric is deep. The one-armed man subdues your attacker, his movements fluid and precise despite his apparent infirmity.

But a surprise blow to the sternum knocks him down with a winded oof.

The bolt pistol is revealed; gleaming chromatic and pearly in the night air as it falls from the coat pocket of the man and skitters towards your feet.

A single squeeze on the trigger renders your attacker incapacitated, growling as he clutches his shoulder and stares up at you taking careful aim again.

The thief stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the man completely as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s all teeth and spittle as you watch the one-armed man take his hand - that’s still holding onto your wallet - and bends it back at a sickening angle.

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking.

“Drop it, or I can assure you I’ll make it a more painful process than necessary.” The man warns.

The wallet clatters to the ground.

“Excellent. I suggest you hasten with speed to get your wound tended to, lest I change my mind about absolving myself from further violence.”

As the thief slinks away into the darkness, nursing his wounds and cursing under his breath, you turn to your saviour, your eyes wide with gratitude and dumbfounded admiration.

But he slumps down the wall clutching under his ribs, chest heaving.

“In Kevva’s name, woman!” He snarls when he sees you still taking aim.

Taking little risk, you keep a grip of the pistol, primed and ready.

“Yes,” he nods, breathing in raggedly. “Best to keep your wits about you, Birdie. There are all manner of beasties out here who would relish a chance to get you.” He sniffs deeply. “But tell me, do you treat all your saviours with the same warm welcome or am I the exception?”

“Can never be too certain.” You remark with a shaky hand. "It's like you say, all manner of beasties."

He looks at you like a dog sniffing out the other; sniffing out whether you’re a threat to him or not. Dark eyes preened on you and unrelenting.

“Keep it steady, pet.” He motions to the blaster with a subtle nod. “A weak grip makes an opportunity easy to exploit.”

You look at him suspiciously, two dark tar eyes regarding you back as he pulls down his scarf to breathe, and to show you his face for reassurance you assume, although the swampy air makes him cough and hack.

“Just some friendly advice.” He explains with a dull shrug. He sucks in air with a deep snort and spits out a globule of phlegm on the pavement.

“The mistake you make is assuming we’re friends.” You confirm confidently, although there's a tremor to your tone. Your body feels like jelly as you try to steady yourself.

“An underestimation I won’t make again, duly noted.” The man confirms as he struggles to stand upright himself.

“Do you need a hand?” You put to him as he struggles with balance.

He glares up at you with a rather repugnant look through cinched in brows. The two deep pits of his nostrils flare at you like black holes opening across the vacant universe that’ll swallow you whole.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” You quip, as you step towards his sneer. You remain steadfast with the bolt pistol, holding out your other hand.

He mutters fast under his breath, growling, and you don't catch it.

"What was that?" You query, suspiciously, arming the pistol again.

“Timid threats from a quashed maverick. I’m no harm to you, pet.” He holds his only palm out to you.

You take it and pull him upright to his feet. He passes your wallet to you with thick, grubby fingers and you surrender his bolt pistol in return, albeit reluctantly.

You shudder and gasp out, feeling the unrelenting burn around your prosthetic make itself known again; the adrenaline subsiding in your body.

“Quell your snivels. You remain unsullied. I'd garner that a win.” He says simply, noting your watery eyes. “He was nothing but a hungry brute.”

“Quite the hero, aren't you?” You remark with a scoff at his barbarous contempt towards you.

“Don’t mistake me for a gallant knight, I’m far from that. More of a superfluous hooligan, but I’m still a man with a mere iota of sympathy and respect for the superior species when they find themselves in trouble.” He eyes you carefully as you wibble about on your feet. “You're just a slip of a thing, why are you out so late wandering? Are you lost, little bird?”

“No. My shift… it ran over. This is my usual route home when there's no shuttle.”

“Do you often find yourself in trouble’s embrace?”

”Won’t be the first time, I'm sure.” You mutter.

“Unfortunate. I hear a surge-five is well on the way. Best be homeward.” He remarks with a click of his lips as he looks up at the glowering sky. The heavy swell of a incoming storm predicted is approaching in from the horizon in a cluster of almost onyx clouds.

His scowl softens as he looks back at you still trying to process the whole incident and remaining a little unsteady on your legs.

“I expect you to denounce the offer, but walking you back to your quarters would seem prudent, given the errant situation. I know I appear as a stranger to you, so I’ll respect your wishes if you decline.”

You don’t hear his words as you focus on remaining upright, trying to process the events.

“Oi. Woman. What say you?” He questions again, bringing you back to him.

“I can mend your coat.” You offer, fuzzing back in and your eyes fall on the large gaping flap on his right shoulder.

He looks down at the sleeve you nod to and a growl erupts from his lips at the tear. “That will be unnecessary.”

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs.

“Then it’s necessary.” You assert. “The surge-five is predicted to be harsh.”

He simply nods and drops his hood, shaking his head fully out from under it. An aquiline nose cuts a sharp line across his face, accentuating the aura of strength and intensity that surrounds him. But oddly, a small, messy blonde coiffure sticks out against his hairline, stark amongst a sea of dark oil-slicked tufts.

“I'm not holding out much optimism at your skill. The hole is quite impossible to simply mend.” He observes.

“You let me worry about my skill. I accept your offer of chivalry. It’s kind of you, thank you.” You say, with a pertinent nod.

“I’m not kind, pet, but the assumption is appreciated nonetheless.”

“Kind enough to walk me home and save me from losing my wage.” You tuck your wallet back into your jacket.

“I have enough on my conscience to reconcile with, let alone the thought of a woman of your calibre making it home in one piece.” He tucks the bolt pistol away inside his coat.

“My calibre?” You baulk.

“I meant it as a compliment, of course. Pretty thing like you out here is bound to attract some attention.” He says, eyeing your stance.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

“Minding my own. What’s your name, friend?”

You tell him and he nods. “Ezra.” He introduces. “I’m perplexed by your intentions.” Ezra replies flatly.

“All I offer is some tea and some respite from the incoming storm.” You say.

“Do you open your home to every vagabond you meet?”

“Only the charming ones.” You remark with a snort.

You’re convinced you see a grin turn up his lips. “No quid pro quo? Nothing is free, Birdie. Smart women like you, you know this.”

“I am smart. I offer you some food and drink and to patch up your coat, that’s all. I know very well you’re a stranger and could harbour ill intent despite this heroic facade you've presented.”

“It’s no facade.” He says with a frown.

“Good, because I have no qualms in putting a bolt in you should you try to turn on me, we clear?” You warn with a satisfied smirk.

"Been there, done that." Ezra eyes his stump with a wry grin before he rolls his eyes dramatically at your stern look. "Clear."

“I have my own bolt pistol back at home.” You warn.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. The fire in your belly serves warning well enough, Birdie. I wouldn’t dream of any chicanery.”

“Then follow me, Ezra.” You say, with a brewing smile.

Your tiny, poorly provisioned apartment is nestled in a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city.

A walk there that has you both absorbed in a mutual silence that offers a strange comfort, akin to the satisfaction of picking at a scab. Ezra mostly keeps his hand in his pocket and side glances you occasionally with parted lips as though he’ll say something, but doesn’t.

“Let me get you something for that.” You offer, as you note his knuckles when he takes them out of his pocket and pushes the rusted gate open for you.

“It’ll dry over soon enough.” He says, looking down at his bruised and bloodied fist.

“It’s cold and the winds are picking up.” You say, noting the ferocious sky churning overhead. “I’ll get the tea brewing. Come on up.”

“You’re not as frail as I first assumed. I must stop doing that.” Ezra mumbles as he looks you over.

“He took me by surprise. Had I been prepared, I might have thrown a hook or two.” You shrug. You note he hesitates behind you.

“Pertaining to the circumstances of our meeting, perhaps you might want to be alone?” You can sense the trepidation hanging around him; he’s wary of you and it pulls at something inside your chest.

“Come up, Ezra.” You repeat, ignoring him.

He lets go of the creaky gate behind him. “Far be it from me to deny a lady. Even if her taste is somewhat marred in misjudgement.”

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

“That would be your first mistake.” He assures.

“Well, this evening might surprise us both.” You say, as he follows up the steps behind you.

You take your time, hand sliding up the railing as he walks beside you. With each step, you focus intently on the movements of your prosthetic limb, adjusting your gait to compensate for its artificial nature.

You weight bear on your right side, loading your foot and keep your momentum forward up the stairs. You wince as you feel it rub uncomfortably again.

“Are you hurt?” Ezra asks as he examines your unhurried pace.

“No.” You shake your head with a rueful smile as you carry on.

The stairs, with their unforgiving surfaces and steep incline, pose a formidable obstacle, testing your resolve with each upward stride. The prosthetic, while marvellously engineered, lacks the finesse and flexibility of a natural limb, making each step a delicate balancing act between stability and control. The last thing you want to do is slip in front of him.

After you reach the eighth floor, slightly panting, he follows you round to the faded door of your apartment.

“Cosy,” Ezra retorts as he's introduced to your small, cramped world. “It's not often I’m rendered without speech.” Stacks of clutter balance precariously in columns on every available surface.

“I like to collect things.” You say nonchalantly.

“I can see that.” He counters, blinking as he steps through cautiously.

You hold your hand out expectantly for his coat and he hesitates.

“I can’t patch it if you’re wearing it.” You sway.

He slips it off his shoulders and you try not to look at the long sleeve that flaps without a hand at the bottom of it on his right side. His sweatshirt is terribly frayed and holey, and his pants seem loose and ill-fitting.

Boots that are at least a size too big for him clomp around his feet. His appearance, although broad and foreboding, also hints at the gaunt and destitute. There’s a peculiar smell emanating from him now he’s taken off his coat. Something sweetly rotten.

You beckon him through, tossing his heavy coat over your arm, and he follows you through to the living quarters; a stalwart room that overlooks the grimy city.

The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering incense spices, mingling with the faint hum of electronic devices scattered throughout the cluttered space.

You switch on an air purifier and remove your scarf revealing your face to him fully as you instruct him to make himself comfortable in the ragged recliner.

You busy yourself in the small kitchenette, chinking cups and getting out a tin of med supplies for his hand. You throw a couple of packets of freeze dry in the warmer and set a timer.

On the splintered coffee table in the centre of the room, stacks of dog-eared books and half-empty mugs vie for space with an assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks thrown clumsily over it.

He leaves through the pages of a hefty book on mining. “Light reading material?” Ezra queries as he tosses the book down.

“Call it a tempered curiosity.” You say, coming through with the cups and the tin shoved under your arm.

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

“Yeah, but it has nine lives.” You state boldly to him and he smirks.

“I could tell you all you need to know. Was my profession, a man’s work.” Ezra explains as he takes the mug from you. The heat immediately absorbs into his fingers.

“You're a Prospector?” You ask, with raised eyebrows.

“I was. Not much of anything now.” His lips downturn into the rim of the mug.

“Where are you from, Earth? You look the type.” You ask him, settling slowly and rigidly into a rickety chair opposite a sewing machine in the corner.

You lay out his coat on your lap and reach for a pin cushion. It smells musty and wild, like the outdoors.

“From that suppurate shit-hole? No. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

“Where then? Lau? Your accent hints at relations from a primitive Earth.” You probe.

“You seem well acquainted with it.” He says, reaching for the med tin and flipping it open. He tears at the packet of an antiseptic pad with his teeth, spitting the paper out that sticks to his lip.

“I read.” You smile as you regard him.

A rugged moustache adorns his upper lip, its edges slightly frayed, combined with a shadow of facial hair, adding to an air of menace that might initially catch one's attention. His presence in the small, dimly lit room feels both enigmatic and imposing.

If you had to guess, you propose him to be within his early fortieth, to forty-third rotation, or thereabouts. His skin carries a layer of grime, a testament to the rigours of his endeavours.

“The memory of my origin is hazy at best.” Ezra shrugs, as he presses his knuckles against the moist swab he lays out on the coffee table. He hisses with the sting. “Home hasn't been a concept that I’m all too familiar with. Although I’m informed it was blue like Earth was before it was ravaged. It's been a long time since I was stationed in permanence. My bones have always been restless.” He leans back in the recliner and sips at the fragrant tea. “This tea… it harbours memories.”

“Regale me.” You entice, as you thread the bobbin on your machine.

He licks round his lips savouring the citrus taste. “Have you ever ventured to Kerulon?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“A pisser of a planet, why would you? I got waylaid there once, on my fuknugt ship. Stranded for a time, which seems to be the continual narrative for my story, but I digress. It’s a planet on the edge of The Fringe, known for its vast expanses of sand and scorching twin suns that never set. Not much there at all except for a slow, agonising death. But as luck would have it, amidst the dunes that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, I sought refuge in a humble desert oasis. A rare oasis of life amidst the harsh landscape, it was tended to by a group of nomadic travellers known as the Sand Dwellers. They offered me a generous cup of their signature orange tea - a brew infused with spices native to Kerulon's desert flora, I’ve come to suspect. Your tea reminds me of that cup of salvation.”

Ezra sips another mouthful loudly and hums with his eyes closed.

“I got it from the marketplace.” You chirp.

“Really? How uncanny… And where exactly did you procure that?” His pointer finger, stubby and long points to the glassy jewel on your shelf by the grimy window.

“I found it.” You shrug.

He scoffs as he approaches and reaches for it as though drawn under a spell. “Birdie, do you know what this is?”

“A pretty rock.” You say with a lazy mirth.

He stands and fondles the faceted cabochon inside his big palm, eyeing the blood amber middle. “Aurelac. You’re sitting on an abundance of riches.”

“I’m well aware of Aurelac and it’s worth on the black market.” You press on the pedal under the table, and the coat slides through your machine fluidly.

Ezra blinks, bewildered. “You know it’s worth, and yet you’ve abdicated it as a paperweight?"

"Mhm."

"Such a curious creature, unable to be bribed by gems in abundance. You must be the only one not to be swayed by the allure. And that’s a rarity.”

“I don’t need riches. If it matters so much to you, you take it.” You simply say with earnest eyes.

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

“You Prospectors are all the same. Vultures just picking at the sinew on the bone. I’ve yet to meet a Prospector who didn’t live up to the reputation of harbouring an unsatisfied greed. You’ve killed for that.” You look at the gem wrapped inside his whopping palm with disdain.

“I have, and indulged in deeds far worse.” Ezra nods with a sigh through his enrapturing verbosity. But also a drained voice that indicates he’s just plain sick of this shit now, sick of it all.

Ezra smirks, bearing teeth and a corrupt murmur slips out. “Your assumption is emphatically sound, little bird. It's like a disease, the siren song of Aurelac knows no bound or reason. A sane man would always be swayed to harvest and reap. I couldn't count on all of our combined digits the number of times I’ve made lewd choices in spite of my perseverance to merely covet the riches that the Kevva forsaken moon bequeaths under her ample bosom. I've spent a long time there suckling at the teat. It only pains me now to ponder my very justifications for it to begin with, purging the bowels of that fecund wood…” He trails off grinding his teeth and sighing as he examines the unspoiled gem shining in his hand.

As you work, Ezra's voice pierces the silence once more, each syllable laden with a poignant blend of resignation and acceptance.

“There was a time when spitting off the edge of the world was an arrogant riot; to pillage and plunder with luck and careless abandon, but now with spirited discourse, I’ve settled into a freefall back into the harsh shunt of The Fringe. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness, while most do not. I fear I’ve become the latter.”

You look up at him and his face bears the worn lines and creases of hard experience, etched deep by the sun and wind, giving him a weathered and world-weary appearance.

His prominent nose adds to the pastiche of mystery and arcane belligerence that hovers about his person. A scruffy beard adorns his jawline, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense demeanour.

Oily hair streaked with grey at the temples, falls in disarray around his forehead, but what catches the eye most is the striking patch of blonde amidst the darker strands at the roots.

It seems like the evidence of a possible birthmark born in the hair line, or could just be a fashion choice exalted in bad taste. You make a mental note to ask him later. But it adds a unique touch to his plotline in a twist of his devious character as you ponder him and his story.

“Such a beauty,” Ezra remarks, observing you as he twists the jewel around his thick, calloused fingers. “It’ll fetch you a good sum.” He simply returns the gem to the shelf, his eyes lingering on it long after it leaves his grip.

Your eyes graze down to the missing appendage, trying to fill in the gaps on his pages, as you place pins in your teeth.

“Ah.” He notices your lingering gaze. “Go on, ask away.” Articulating around his Southern inflection with deep flutters of his tongue, it scatters out of it like jagged diamonds from the mines of Ajaxia.

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

“I’m not foul to you like this?” You sense that he loathes it. Wired bitter with the loss.

Despite the initial challenges and the occasional stares from strangers when your limp overtakes you when your prosthetic becomes unbearable to bear full weight on, you refuse to be confined by societal expectations or limitations.

You throw yourself into mundane life with unparalleled gusto, pursuing your work with a fervour that could inspire those around you if they weren’t so ignorant and assuming. A trait that might only embolden Ezra too, the more time he spends with you, if he cares to.

The thought of revealing your commonality with him rests idle on your tongue however.

Yet, beneath your fearless exterior, you can harbour moments of doubt and insecurity. There are days when the weight of your prosthetic feels heavier than usual, and the whispers of self-doubt threaten to overshadow your resolve. You recognise it too, in his dark eyes right now, fierce, but also harbouring that self-loathing and defeated eroding.

It’s different for you, you don’t miss what you’ve never had, you only know a life like this, but for him? To have had it and then lost it, you can feel the decayed emotion that it evokes pouring from him, even if he never says the words out loud.

You stand, approaching him with his coat patched and he raises his eyebrows. “Far from it. We might have a common depth.” You mutter.

“I fail to see anything we share in common. However, you have magic in you, no doubt.” He says, as he admires his mended coat. “Witchcraft.” He smirks, running his fingers over the neat stitches.

“You have a way with words.” You smile, reaching for your cup.

“A flair, so I’m told. Thank you.” He says earnestly to you, eyes big and round.

“I work in the textile factory, my job.” You explain as you disappear into the kitchen when the beeper from the warmer goes off.

“I was good with both my hands too, once,” he surmises bleakly. “What meat is this?” Ezra enquires, chewing slowly to savour the peculiar tang from the heated freeze dry meal that you’ve thrust at him with a spoon.

“Trog. At least that's what I tell myself. Makes it go down easier.” You remark.

“Never look a gift trog in the mouth, I suppose that’s good counsel.” Ezra shrugs and shovels in more, steadying the packet in his crotch for support; the warmth of it seeping into his thigh muscles and warming him pleasantly.

“I’ve some Bitz Bars if you'd prefer?”

He shakes his head. “If I never see a Bitz Bar again it’ll be too soon.”

The brief silence between you is disturbed only by the battering swell outside that has increased in its voracity in the last hour, and the soft chews and gulps as you both devour your meal in ensconced silence.

It’s a harmonious, off-key beat that serves as the background chime to your dining encounter. Discreet in your mutual voyeurism as you eat and steal curious, yet wary glances at one another.

You’re sitting at the small table with your sewing machine, whilst Ezra masticates on the recliner, albeit much slower, and negotiates a spoon in a hand that’s not ambidextrous in the slightest.

“Tell me where you learned your skill.” Ezra prompts around a spin cycle of meat.

“I have many. You’ll need to be particular.” You finger a newly discovered hole on your kneecap idly and frown at it. You can see a peep of leather from the buckle tarnished underneath.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, pet.” Ezra smirks, as he chews through his mouthful and runs his tongue around his teeth dislodging pieces of meat; his dark eyes flashing to you briefly. “Specifically your skills with a needle,” he waggles his stump at you and his sleeve flaps about and knocks his pouch over. “Fucking tarnation!” He mutters, pissed.

You get up pliantly to assist him as he gathers the packet with quick snaps of his fingers. He spoon-scoops the contents off of his thigh, plopping the mounded heaps back into it, feeling the juice and gravy soak into his pants in a small, irritating patch.

“My grandmother taught me.” You say, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He nods at you whilst continuing to alternate between cleaning himself of the spilled grains and meat, and eating it with good measure.

“Commit to a deal with me.” Ezra prompts after he swallows down the gristle.

“What kind of a deal?” You question, narrowly.

“I’ll tell you my story in its entirety and you regale me with yours in equal measure. Omit no detail too small.” Ezra declares.

“There’s really not much to tell. My life has not been spent roaming the Interplanetary digging up sparkly gems.” You remark.

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh.

“What hindrances?” He cocks his head at you.

“Tell me your story, Ezra.” You deflect as you settle back in the chair to eat.

Ezra smiles exaltedly. He relaxes back into the recliner after discarding the packet, whilst you listen keenly as he recounts how he came to be on the wretched moon with a group of like-minded individuals - rapscallions, as he refers to them - who were an entourage of the roguish sort.

Ragtag acquaintances he’d collected during his time prospecting many planets and satellites across the Interplanetary, but seemingly coming up short until The Green was set in his sights during the heights of the Aurelac rush.

Of course, man’s greed always complicates even the basics of well interpreted relations, and soon he found himself without his ship or his crew; most of them deciding to pick one another off over petty quarrels, whilst the successful of the rogues took to leaving the moon. And Ezra was stranded with nothing but a serious, yet mysterious being known only as Number Two, who filled the role of henchman to Ezra’s own smart, callous wit at genial leadership.

He reiterates to you, several times, that Number Two was not much of a conversationalist, much to his imminent dismay, so when he happened upon Damon, he informs you of the relief he felt to copulate wildly in words exchanged with a stranger, even if they weren't pleasantries.

It’s apparent to you, before he’s started to share his whimsical story, that Ezra has a rapt knack in kinking the tendrils of censorious intelligence and a dry sagacity that often blurs the lines of sarcasm and menace. Flowery, Southern treble clefs dance off of his tongue in a verbal, bewitching thrall, playing their music around your head in kaleidoscopic wonder.

The things he'd done, the things Ezra he'd lost, are all painted from his cracked lips for you to see and experience, unscathed in the most exquisite details and colour. Feeling as though you’re there with him by his side and witnessing the altered course into complete annihilation. He was sure he’d be abandoned by Cee in a warped juxtaposition that, even his attempts at atoning for his previous sins couldn’t seem to cleanse him of. He iterates wistfully that he should've seen it coming.

Ezra finalises the story with her gallant return and bringing him home rather than being left there to perish.

He’s notably candid when he speaks of his love for women - plural. He shares vulgar trysts about his many lovers on Luxillion, mostly whores whom he paid good credits for before he settled off on his wanderings, but who won't even entertain him now that he;s no longer whole. He mentions he occasionally dabbled freely in the delights of flesh with a fellow Y chromosome too; a flouted omission that makes your pores saturate at the outlandish, yet scandalous thought of it. His laying partners are of no prejudice.

Ezra is regimented in never speaking of an unrequited love nor a love that holds permanence inside of his beating organ of clogged ventricles. The closest Ezra has come to feeling an emotion akin to the desire to protect another is with the bolshie whippersnapper named Cee, who had saved him from his fate on The Green.

And then you, this very evening.

“What happened to her?” You enquire.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up in a med bay and haven’t heard a whisper since. Skipped out with a sack full of gems. Good for her.” He remarks.

You watch as he winces and scowls down at his stump.

“Are you alright?” You query.

“Just an irritation" You watch as his lips curl back over his teeth. "Sometimes it… it feels as if it’s still there. Sears. Feels like I can still wiggle my fingers, the most peculiar thing.”

Nursing the aggravation is made small, as Ezra stares out at the window with a watery look making his scleras shine and the cords in his neck tense. Trying to push it to the back of his mind to be recycled into some distorted relief.

“That’s quite the story you shared.” You say.

“It’s but mine to keep. And now yours too, I guess.” Ezra sighs and winces again. “Do you happen to have anything for the burn?” He asks, feeling the pain grow and mutate from his wrangled nerves into his veins.

“I might have a tranq.”

“Bliss.” He says as you get up. He notices you take a moment to regain your balance, a slight limp to your gait as you make your way forward.

A large explosion-like sound is heard outside and you turn towards the window as the lights go out in your dingy apartment.

“Kevva’s wrath!” You gasp, a silhouette lit up by the purple lightning that rips terribly across the sky.

“Did something calamitous occur?” Ezra asks, standing too.

Aggressive thunder is heard rolling in once more as the rain pelts harder until it’s a tiresome skirmish battering the panes.

“Looks like a strike hit the fuse box. Whole District is out.” You say, hovering by the window.

“Perhaps it was a good call, your invitation.” Ezra says, a small smile unfolding on his lips.

“Mm. The rain is often acidic.” You retreat to the kitchen and find some medicine and some candles. Lighting a couple on the coffee table, you take a hold of Ezra’s sleeve after passing him the pill.

“Not a tranq unfortunately, but it might take the edge off.” You begin to roll his sleeve upwards.

“What are you doing?” He queries.

“Making it easier.” You say, softly. You pin it in place, and then fetch a spool and needle from your sewing table.

He watches, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares down at your fingers working around the new hem of his sleeve you've created.

“I think I’ve seen you before... Around the District, down by the river.” You begin, carefully as you start to sew the sleeve in place. "You live there, don't you?"

He immediately bristles. “I don’t require charity. I’ll take my leave.”

“Ezra. You have nowhere to go. We both know that. It’s a dangerous night with the surge-five. Drink your xanadu tea and stay. You can take my bed.”

He sighs as his eyes shy away. “My predicament since my return from the Green has rendered me… unlucky, it’s true. There isn’t a place or a sympathetic ear here for people like me, and so my place is with shelter under the bridge. But I won’t spoil your evening with my dreary plight.”

“We can share in the dreariness.” You smirk, looking around at the dim confines of your apartment gloaming with waxy candlelight.

He sighs again as he watches you thread neat stitches to keep the sleeve in place.

“I can’t force you to stay. But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe rather than outside in that. I’ll make do on the recliner. I insist.” You say as you glance at the lightning streaking across the sky.

“Kindness offered to a scoundrel. You are something, Birdie.”

“It’s only gratitude for what you did in the alley. We’re even.”

"If I were to take you up on your offer, I will sleep here. You won't be denied your bed."

"There's no argument, Ezra. You'll take the bed and we'll say no more about it." You confirm.

“You trust me fictitiously.”

“No, I trust you.” You correct him.

“You know nothing of me. I could take your treasure and run whilst you sleep.”

“So do it. I already told you I care not for it.” You say, as you thread the stitches carefully.

“Why don't you cash it in? You could improve your living quarters.” He suggests.

“My living quarters are fine as they are.” You reply with a frown.

He looks at you curiously, deep eyes burning into you as you find them with your own.

“I don’t care about the material things.”

“Pet, your dwelling is stacked with material things.” He grins. “Look at all this treasured garbage.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand admittedly. But it's mostly worthless.”

“What is worth it's weight to you?” He enquires, boldly.

“Life. Connection…" You catch his eyes. "Love.”

He scoffs as he brings his cup back to his lips and swallows the pill.

“Immaterial things.” You say, as you notice his gaze heading towards the Aurelac gem again.

“Before I left for the Green, the only material possession I owned was my ship. A Testing Screamer.”

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed.

“No, she was a patched up shit bucket of rust, with a channel rat infestation, but I worked her hard. She got the job done. As I recounted, words and metal flew amongst my crew and they left me there to seek my death without her. I came back with far less.” He says, glancing down at his missing arm. “So, I relish the importance of the immaterial, even if you assume otherwise of me.”

“I assume nothing, Ezra.” You confirm. “There. You’re all patched up. You’re free to go into the wily night if you're so adamant.” You wince at the chafing burn around your knee joint.

You’re keen to rid yourself of the prosthetic, but hesitate whilst he’s here. You don’t mean to be prickly, but it’s a burn that’s starting to irritate.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” You shake your head with a faint smile offered. “I’ve been really grateful for your company, actually. It's been nice to converse with someone.”

“Do you feel lonely, pet?” Ezra questions out of the blue.

You turn to face him, your knee knocking against his and you wince. “All the time.” You answer honestly.

“I find it hard to accept that you cloister yourself here alone each cycle.”

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

His hand is felt on your waist, gently squeezing, and you stop him as he reaches your thigh.

“Too fast?” Ezra queries, reading your eyes carefully.

“No.” You smile. “But…” You sigh with a steady gulp and then take his hand, hesitating before you place it on your artificial calf just past your knee.

He immediately raises his eyebrows with a crooked smirk as he feels not soft flesh under your pants when he squeezes, but a hard shell. He knocks against it, bewildered.

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially.

“Missing pieces.” You correct.

“As do I.” He says as your eyes fall to his stump barely poking out of the rolled up sleeve now. “Tell me your story,” he murmurs hauntingly.

He begins inking soft kisses into your collarbone and you don’t stop his forwardness. Instead you close your eyes and relish the feel of the warm, tender contact offered.

“No story. I was simply born this way.” You sigh, feeling his lips burn on your skin. Your fingers run themselves through his oily nape and scritch into his scalp.

“Then there’s no less of you to love, pet.” Ezra groans, looking up at you. “A simple man would be worthy of your affections, even if just for a night?”

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

“Perhaps? Here you sit like Kevva pushed you out her womb for me, perfectly moulded from clay, and you say perhaps?”

You simply smirk as he looks at you, trying to figure you out.

“I’m not perfect.” You say, your eyes averting away.

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’d like to see you bare.” He says, and you know immediately what he means.

You sigh out deeply and nod. “You too.”

“Birdie-”

“You. Too.” You sway. “Let me see you, Ezra.”

He watches as you stand and unzip your pants. You notice his eyes lingering on your centre for a moment, hidden beneath your bland underwear, but then his eyes trail down your left thigh to your knee where the buckles meet your skin.

You unbuckle your prosthetic without any meekness at all, leaning on his shoulder for support as he wraps his only arm around you, offering balance.

“I've got you, pet.”

You let it clatter to the floor and sit down in his lap, straddling him as his fingers tentatively brush over your revealed skin.

He, however, gulps as his fingers linger on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, pulling the offending item off clumsily and revealing his stump to you as his sweatshirt plops beside him.

“Beautiful,” he says, observing the smooth skin of your ungrown limb. You shudder as his fingers sweep delicately around and across it.

“Likewise,” you say, stroking down his arm to where it stops into a knot of twisty scars.

“Two peas in a dreary pod,” Ezra says, hooked nose brushing over yours.

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle.

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

He watches as you reach forward behind him and take a small jar from the shelf. You push it into his hand as you open the lid and begin to scoop out some of the waxy salve inside.

The balm, infused with cooling agents and healing properties, provides instant relief to your inflamed skin with a comforting warmth; soothing the rawness that bears the brunt of the day's chafing from your prosthetic.

He inhales the scent, lifting the jar to his nose and hums at the fresh, earthy aroma.

“Homemade.” You clarify.

“More potions from my talented sorceress.” Ezra smirks. “May I?”

You nod, holding the jar for him as he scoops out a small dollop, and rubs it between his thick fingers until the consistency turns thin.

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

He runs it gently around your skin, rounding the circumference and across the calloused welts and blisters, soothing and massaging gently.

“That feel good?” He queries with a bewitching smile all of his own.

"So good, Ezra." You nod with a breathy hum and he watches as you lean forward and kiss his stump gently, mouthing over the fibrous knots and welts.

“Your mouth is Kevva sent,” he groans as he watches you.

You run your tongue over it, kissing up his shoulder and tasting the salt of his neck. Tasting him there as he fondles and rubs your knee gently, fingers slick with the balm.

“Your ministrations, although kind, are wasted.” He gasps. “I’m not a man that can be tamed. I fear it's been too long that I won’t be gentle.” Ezra warns.

“Neither will I.” You growl as you pull him to you, teeth tugging on his lips.

He engulfs you wholly; his hand swamping your back for support as you crush him towards you. His tongue slithers into your mouth and you suck on it, gasping as you feel his blunt nails rake up your back over your shirt.

“Here?” He pants around your succulent mouth. “Or the comfort of your chambers?”

“Here. There. I don’t care. I just want you, Ezra.” You groan, your body tingling and sweating.

You squeal in delight as he stands with you abruptly, his sole arm keeping you wound tight around his body as he steps into your bedroom.

“I may only have one arm, but you're safe in it.” He reassures you by gripping you tight.

“Never doubted it.” You say, nuzzling into the salted musk of his neck as you cling on around it.

He twinkles as he smirks at you; those dark eyes regarding you with a controlled enthral, left to marinate spicily in your thoughts and on the fine hairs of your arms.

Outside, the sky growls, bearing its teeth as Ezra lays you on the bed. He watches you unbutton your shirt and pull off your panties, revealing yourself fully bare in all your flesh and graces to him.

His eyes roam over the contours of your body, taking in the shape of your tummy, your hips, the swell of your breasts. The way your right leg curls up and the way your left, stopping at the knee, moves with a seductive fluidness to it just like the other.

Your entire body is his to freely claim, to roam unbidden. Slick pussy to drown in, to worship at the altar.

He's never been a good man, undeserving of the fruit you bear freely to him now as he licks his salivating lips. But you make him feel good; a small, insidious voice convincing him he’s unworthy is quashed inside his mind, silenced blissfully as you beckon him forward and allow him to touch, to explore.

He’s marvelled by his own restraint, wanting nothing more than to tear into you - pull you apart and put you back together again. Yet he’s rendered docile, eager to draw long, haunting moans out of you as he tastes and feels each of them, taking his sweet, glorious time instead.

“You’re so…” He fails to find the right word in his mental thesaurus to do it justice. "I want nothing more than to whelve myself inside of your tight, hot cunt right now." Ezra sighs, staring at your slick centre, an obvious tent growing in his pants. “But first, we must discuss logistics."

You giggle looking up at him. “Fuck logistics, just get over here and fuck me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at you, spread out before him and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Can you ride me?” He kneels on the bed, pink lacing his cheeks. “It’s easier if you can, my balance is often maligned. A chin to the nose might be an unpleasant douse to the fire.”

“I can. I might need you to support me if we go hard.” You nod.

“I can do whatever you need.” Ezra smirks crookedly. "Slow, fast... hard."

“What do you need?” You ask him, reaching for his face and planting kisses over it.

He smells wildly acrid, a build up of sweat and grime from the city has sunk into his flesh, but you’re undeterred as your mouth runs over his skin. Your cunt is so fucking wet just inhaling the stagnant, earthy hidrosis of him; beads of your slick running out of you in a delectable tickle.

“I need you to sit on my face, pet.” Ezra instructs you through a strained grunt, his lips curling up over his teeth as he helps position you above him.

You lower yourself down onto his waiting tongue, holding onto the bed railings. His arm is firmly around you, as assured.

He licks burning acid on your pussy, dissolving you down to the chalk of your bones as he tastes you; groaning into your folds hungrily. You grind on his mouth, chasing that blooming high that tingles and leaves you clawing in his hair desperately as he tongue fucks you gloriously.

You're basking in the pure pleasure of his mouth and tongue lapping at your pussy, all consuming and euphoric. Losing yourself to that dreamy build up of tension that arches your back and curls your toes.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, suddenly all that tension is released and pulses throughout your body. You fall into a zen state of absolutely nothing - just white, hot pleasure coursing through your body.

You forget everything. Your name. The aches from your prosthetic. You even forget to breathe. He’s taken your body and mind to this exquisite place simply with his mouth and lets you fly and float around up in there until you come down, and then he’ll build you up again and again.

“I could lick you for turns, pet.” He snuffles through a satiated smile.

It makes you melt into him, crumpled like paper. Burnt up and falling ashy onto his skin. His stump rests against your thigh, prodding gently against it as his hand sweeps down your back and grips onto your ass, pushing your cunt further onto his mouth.

You move your hips, writhing against his tongue as he licks up onto your clit and you cry out in relief at how good it feels.

“You taste divine,” he muffles around your sticky lips.

He pushes his head up, lips squelching around to get right in as your thighs ripple and shake as he brings you to the edge once more. You're standing on the precipice of the universe and looking down into it's swamping, glittery depth.

You rest back on your hands, your fingers squeezing around the meat of his thighs as his one hand blazes a journey over your belly and towards your breasts where he squeezes and massages the left in his grip. His eyes stare up at you and you stare down, lips parting as your moans increase.

His tongue is precisely erratic, licking, sucking and flicking in all the places he can get to to draw your orgasm out and make it last. A kaleidoscope of colours stream in the room, their waltz blinding you as they swirl and merge. You can feel it all over your body, the heat, the burning as you tense and coil.

When you come again, it feels like you're floating once more; your body slack and wibbly as you gush into his waiting mouth. And as much as you could let him do this, for indeed many a turn, you want him in your mouth too.

You move with ease, comfortable to slide across the sheets gracefully and with speed that makes him grin. Pulling his pants down, you see him in all of his thick, weeping glory.

"Fuck, Ezra..." You murmur at the sight of him.

“This is how you make me feel.” Ezra pants as you stare at the hard swell of him almost lunging out his groin at you.

His cock feels imposing; heavy and smooth. A flushed pink head swollen and leaking profusely. You feel how hard he is, how he’s acutely dripping for you; strings of pre-cum coming away in your palm as he brings it up to his mouth and licks it away whilst eyeing you.

And you can’t explain what it does to your body, let alone your brain, at how wet he is for you. And hard, so fucking hard that it bulges angrily; a taut, thick vein popping off on the side.

“Take me to paradise, Birdie.” Ezra hums, as he watches you slither between his legs and take him in your mouth.

Ezra's eyes roll into the back of his head and he bites his lip until it bleeds copper rust on his tongue. He makes some intangible sound as he looks down at his fat cock sucked slowly and deeply into your mouth.

He brushes your hair away with shaky fingers, unsure and unfamiliar with such a gentle movement that he orchestrates, thumb stroking over your cheek.

“You can take it deeper than that. I know you can. Let me slide all the way down in there. Feel me in your belly.” Ezra grunts.

He bucks his hips as you swallow, your fingers scratching into the soft, wiry hairs in his groin and over his belly. He fills your throat and you feel him twitch when you suck harder.

He pulls your head back and tells you to spit on it. Smirking, you do as he instructs, and he watches as the globule decorates him in crystal strings.

“More,” Ezra keens, as you spit and drool over his cock further.

You’re panting for it; desperate to have him inside of your mouth again as he keeps it close enough, but just out of reach from your lips - teasing with that crooked grin lacing down at you.

But then, he finally lets you have it again, and is enthralled as you take him in greedily like you’ve been starved.

Humming in satisfaction, you suck him down and swallow deep, feeling him prod at the back of your throat as he guides and controls you with his hand knotted in your hair.

His grunts are felt on the end of your clit, his satisfaction tingling all through your body and you get off on getting him off; grinding your hips against the comforter on the bed as you suck, chasing your own release. Groaning out around his cock when the sheet catches your clit deliciously.

You pull him out of your mouth in a wet slurp and begin kissing around his groin; each little kiss peppering him and absorbing into his skin, leaving further fiery brands as you go.

You haven’t lost interest in his dick, still grasping him in your hand and running it over him, but you’re interested in all of him now, want all of him.

He’s drawn into your eyes as they look up at him, as you work your way across his abdomen and leave his hand to weaken inside of your scalp. It drops to your jaw as he helps you slither up his body and kisses you.

He’s surprisingly gentle, explorative and leaves no part of you untouched by his lips as he’s only too willing to return the favour. He lays back, his body weakening as you sit on his cock; your hands running through his hair, massaging his scalp as his head lolls back and he loses himself to the feel of your nails scratching through it.

You’re squirming and pushing yourself down on his length.

“Oh, you want it all, huh? Take it. Fuck my cock, pet. It’s yours.” He husks.

“You feel so good.” You whine, pulling on his hips as you work.

“I'm going to make a mess of you when I come.” He grunts.

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

“Flood you,” he groans. “Fuck, I want to ruin you, but I want you like this too. It’s confounding.” He pants.

"Plenty of time to ruin me," you groan.

The infinite kaleidoscope only intensifies, becoming more vivid. Bursts of colour explode from behind your eyelids and are felt warming you all over as his cock nudges against the deepest part inside of you.

“Ezra!”

You feel his mouth roaming your chest. Sucking your nipples between his teeth as he alternates, pulling on them, teasing them hard; the tiny spots around your areolas standing and tightening too. Little pleasurable bumps that each have their own nerve centre that make your pussy twinge and drip like a leaky faucet over his cock as you ride.

Soon you flop forward onto him, your breasts hitting the hardness of his chest. That delicious pull deep inside your belly makes itself known. That tight, knotting before you’ll snap back and release.

His pants increase and those growls start to haunt. He’s close. It’s in the way he grabs and paws at you more sloppy now, like he can barely hold on anymore.

All it takes is an enticing whisper from you, telling him to come, to let go, to fill you up, and his teeth sink into your shoulder.

He groans and grunts deeply, hips stuttering and candid whimpers leaving his breath. All the atoms of his being spilling into you, thick and warm as he drips out of your cunt over his thighs.

And Ezra doesn’t let you go. He keeps you there, kissing you, glued to his chest, fitted around him like a perfect puzzle piece.

The surge-five still roars outside, but seemingly less consequential.

The acidic rains have moved on and the window of the bedroom is speckled with only a few streaks of wayward drops that the wind blows in squiggly lines around it; the tail ends of shooting stars before they die out completely.

A little snuffle beside your ear focuses your attention on Ezra, still asleep beside you in the middle of the night; his stumped arm poking out of the bobbled blanket, and his other still curled under your back and ending around your waist.

His fingers twitch occasionally, as he jostles and flinches in his sleep, still branding on the skin on your navel. You wonder what he dreams about to make him shudder so.

Your head tilts to examine his face in the darkness. The slow roaming from the blonde tuft so stark in his chocolate hairline, to the way in which his eyelids flutter restlessly as his eyeballs move under them as though something is alive.

He pelts your face with light breaths that are warm and hardened, and yet it’s a scent that doesn’t putrefy as you allow yourself to be bathed in the warmth of them.

You refute anything that’ll disturb your peace right now, such as the dull urge to urinate, instead cocooning yourself further into this moment right here in Ezra’s sleep laden grip.

He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and it leaves you breathless as you examine his face whilst he sleeps beside you.

Thick eyelashes adorn his swollen, sealed lids and a wiry scar is a slapdash carving below his left eye socket, leaving your imagination to ponder how he obtained it.

A thick velvet slug, matted with sweat and the residue of your slick, clings to his top lip, whilst the rest of his chin and neck is garnished with unruly stubble that's in the throes of growing in length and sparsity in hodgepodge greying patches.

His lips, pale pink and fuller on the bottom set, are chapped and sore, much like your own as you continue to gnaw on them whilst you mull the events over of how this enigma came to be in your sheets this night.

“See something you like, Birdie?” Those lips move with a small gruff tone.

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly.

“Spectating? I think the term is voyeurism.” Ezra smiles with his eyes still closed, and the creases around them grow in number and folds.

You smile and Ezra can hear the moisture in your mouth click around your teeth at such a close proximity.

“Your lament protests about sleeping on the recliner were just a bunch of who shot John, weren't they?” He croons into the skin of your neck, dipping his head as he stretches. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin.

Ezra wonders briefly if he’s suffered another loss, for his left arm is numb with the weight of you resting on it. He wiggles his fingers bringing them back to life and feels your skin warm against it under the blanket.

“Your practicality has been lampshaded,” he whispers. “Tell me, did you plot this tryst into fruition?” He chuckles.

“One would think this situation is amusing to you,” you say.

“It’s ah… something.” That brazen itch turns from ghastly mania into a settling excitement, an accepted wave of rapture that shakes his bones at your warmth and proximity; the blood in his body rushing towards the end of his cock at breakneck speeds.

“I fear I won’t be able to resist sordid temptation much longer.” Ezra repeats, a dirty grunt escaping through his strained voice.

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

The sound of his haughty chuckle is both harmonious and husky at the same time as it reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest cavity. Ezra is most attractive when he smiles and laughs, you think. It completely changes his stern, scowled face.

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable.

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours.

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt.

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want.

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too.

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.”

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile.

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support.

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work.

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips.

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be.

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line.

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles.

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften.

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close.

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip.

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric.

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog.

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves.

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him.

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying.

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck.

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed.

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss.

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more.

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm.

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has.

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers.

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum.

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway.

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time.

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move.

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly.

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.”

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #tw limb loss #tw prosthesis #every body is beautiful #diversity #inclusivity #bodies series #jett's writing

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cheese-water · 7 months

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Charlie is right.

Bolas Rojos won today. They got their revenge after yesterday’s beating. They’ve proven themselves as real competitors. They have literally won the battle today.

But they themselves have orchestrated the war.

Peace is no longer an option. All bridges have been burned for the red team. Any sympathy or pity from the other groups was gone as soon as they cemented first place. And even worse, there were many witnesses to their carnage. Primarily ElQuackity on green, who faced them head-on (so much for blaming the base raid on Bad), but Pol and Tina on blue saw those same chat messages. Like Charlie said, in situations like these, people will never forget. These are how grudges are formed, how small decisions lead to larger repercussions, and how consequences end up mattering after all is said and done.

The Bolas can’t go back now. They’ve made their bed of destruction and warfare, and now they have to lie in it. While the actions of the others may have led them down this path, do not get me wrong. They were not backed into a corner. There are many opportunities to do something different. For instance, the trader village or going full-on cult mode were genuinely viable options. Due to the lack of players on today and the players that were online’s motivation for the competition visibly waning, the red team could have easily isolated them each and indoctrinated them into the group.

To be honest, the Reds’ resistance to joining general vc only furthered their “us against the world” and “peace was never an option” mentality. Disregarding everything pre-purgatory, the only person who actually has positive relationships with the others is Foolish, who made an effort to interact outside of the team (1v1 with Étoiles, chatting with Tina and BBH, etc.). Unlike his teammates, Foolish really has set himself up well for the future, be it for trading, secret alliances, or if, for whatever reason, teams switch. And in games like these, that's how you gain credibility; that’s how you end up being pitied; that's how you survive.

And today, guess who won in that regard? The team in last place, SoulFire. Which thank god they did, because steamrolling the competition two days in a row is how you get majorly targeted. Their lack of progress (which was definitely unintentional lmao), the gen vc basically being BadBoyHalo’s “apology” tour for a bit (which again, very unintentionally focused the blame off of the six kills from their equally bloodthirsty leader), but most importantly, keeping Étoiles, the skilled and need I mention literal leader of the enemy team, company when his team was gone has more impact than even they might not realize. I mean, talk about damage control lol. Like going into Day 3, my bets on who’s group will form an alliance first are solely on green and blue.

Anyway, I am happy not only about the Reds getting the win they rightly deserve but also about the fact that they are aware of what they are doing. The moves they have and will make are purposeful, self-aware of their own “let’s all be peaceful” hypocrisy.

On Day 1, Blue and Green got to be the bad guys.

On Day 2, Charlie can’t help but question his own morality while doing the same terrible things that sent him down this spiral to ElQuackity tonight.

But I guess it's the burden that first place has to bear. I’m sure they’ll all get used to it eventually :)

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #team soulfire #qsmp analysis #slimecicle #charlie slimecicle #elquackity #foolish gamers #idk I talked about him a lot I guess lol #How tf do I tag this???#I’m rusty at posting my impromptu essays #Would’ve been longer however I’m running on 4 hours of sleep #I deserve the treat of rest #btw if you’re new here I used to be a sole slimecicle main this is why I’m like this #Not the first Charlie slimecicle analysis and definitely not the last #yadda yadda qsmp purgatory is a social game and you can quote me on this radda radda

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fallout-fucker · 2 months

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Random Sole x Hancock Headcanon - Emails.

Sole figures out how to get some sort of online connection up and running again purely so they can send emails to Hancock's terminal from their Pip-Boy whenever they're apart. Love sick idiots.

Cue Hancock blushing and kicking his feet whilst reading the emails. He invents the ;) emote. Sole, in turn, makes the ^-^ and :3 emotes.

They both invent selfies. Hancock's the first to send one when he realises he can send pictures. It's a fucking process but he barters for old parts here and there and gets help from Kent. Eventually he has a working camera for his terminal. The first selfie was him stood on his couch, high af and surrounded by an assortment of baked goods (Edibles) he made. The email said 'Look what I can do ;D'.

He regularly sends pictures of what he's baking or random selfies when he's high.

Sole then made a similar upgrade to their Pip-Boy the minute they could. They send him random pictures of cats and other creatures they see in their travels. Cool views or old, historic buildings and art they think he'd enjoy. A collection of Dogmeat being cute. They sent one of Danse falling over. They send him pictures of books they'll think he like. Usually literature, history, or STEM stuff. Sole also takes pictures with their shared friends and lets them email him too from their arm for a quick update.

They also show off their new builds and inventions. Gun mods, armour, ect.

They also share a 'Spotting Deacon In The Wild' collection. They have a running joke that every new disguise they spot is a 'Deacon Variant' or new Deacon 'Synth'. They add names for each 'character' and the email will say '[Insert Character Name] Deacon Unlocked!' Like, Butcher Deacon, or Diamond City Guard Deacon, etc.

On that note, they invent memes. Usually from pictures of other companions or each other.

Like when Nick was 'sleeping' one time (Wide eyed stare Synth style) and Sole sent a picture of him, captioned 'Me after the horrors'.

Or when Preston was stood looking out at the Sanctuary River after a long night. Coffee in his hand. His hat and one shoe missing. Expressionless as he stared at the sunrise.

Hancock replied 'Me fucking too, brother'.

Sole will update him on their whereabouts regularly so he stays sane.

Hancock will tell them about how Goodneighbour is doing. From Mayoral plans to general gossip. How Daisy is doing, how the local kids are, etc.

Sometimes Hancock sends the most cryptic chain spam looking things when he is stoned.

Sole can email him whenever they're nearby and plan on visiting.

Hancock sometimes requests items if he knows they’re on their way, but only if they happen to come across it or already have whatever it is.

Will email them questions that he doesn't actually mean for them to answer. Just questions to the void, really. He just uses them as an outlet for his thoughts a lot.

Or for help on a crossword puzzle.

Sole will email him when they can't sleep just in case he's also awake. Nights feel really lonely when everyone you knew died 200 years ago.

Sometimes they ask him for knowledge. Like 'Do you know if this plant is poisonous?' or things that most Commonwealthers know for survival, but Sole is still figuring out.

They ask him for leadership advise. Especially during big decisions.

They both tell each other things they've seen/heard through the grapevine that they think the other should know. 'I heard that guy you were looking for was seen in Bunker Hill' 'Some Gens 2s were spotted patrolling Medford Hospital' 'Hi :) Sorry for the late response, I was running for my life :( Tell your traders to stay away from the East Bridge- Gunners'

#Taking advantage of the fact they both canonly have devices on hand #They bring back wifi just to fucking send each other notes what idiots (I love them)#Do you think Sole ever goes to call him and realises phones don't exist anymore.#John Hancock you would've LOVED facetime #Hancock invents facetime in the Fallout Canon just to talk to his husband/wife #If Sole can have a radio tower for the Castle #Who's to decide what they can't do #They're both so smart but so dumb. They share one braincell and Dogmeat has it.#Fallout #Fallout 4 #Hancock #Sole Survivor #John Hancock #SoSu #Hancock x sole #Crack headcanon

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soullessdianthus · 9 months

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𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲 | 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Requested by anon:

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR SUCH DELAY, I kept postponing it and then I had other things on my head.

Summary: Task Force 141 is sent to gather intel from cartel's warehouse. However, their informations were flawed and they were cornered by hostiles. Soap got shot and it doesn't look good. What will they do in a stalemate as such?

Warnings:reader is eastern european coded (just briefly), some gruesome desc. of wounds, blood and fights, talk of killing people

Word count: 3.8k

GIF by oleworldblues

The flight wasn’t a steady one, turbulence occurring every minute on board. Although such voyages weren't anything new, those tremors were irritating to say the least. You managed to stay in the seat for the most part of it, cursing the pilot, Nikolai for such an unpleasant ride.

A flick of regret crossed your mind, scolding yourself for being so strict on him. But all the remorse passed, when another turbulence made you hit your head over the helo’s wall.

When you crossed through the storm cloud, the helicopter twitched so suddenly and you jumped in your seat. Afraid of falling off the bench, without much thinking you grabbed what was the nearest to search for support. And it was Soap’s thigh.

━ Jesus, since when th’ lass‘ so handsy? ━ Scott laughed it off as you straighten your back against the helo’s surface.

━ Since Nikolai forgot how to navigate damn thing.

━ Then ye hadn’t seen Ghost drivin’ a car. That was somethin’ to be terrified of.

Soap chuckled while jokingly mocking the lieutenant sitting across them. As always the skull face remained solid, still and emotionless. You spent enough time in Task Force 141 to know that he had to be smirking under that thick layer of balaclava. Even if the big, grumpy guy denied it verbally. The spark in his eyes revealed all you had to know. Some people laugh with their eyes, you know?

━ I hope we won’t live that long to repeat the thing. ━ Gaz cut in, leaving the cockpit and entering space, where they were sitting. It meant they were close to landing.

Thank God, because if the flight would continue like this, you would have bumped into all of them by the time of your arrival at the meeting point.

The lights went off, when you got closer to the ground. A one, stronger jolt and the helo landed, dust floating in the air due to the propellers spinning around.

All of you gathered up near the exit, doing the last weapon and inventory check up. When everything was proper and intact, you were ready for the ramp to open.

━ Gonna wait for your signal on the radio ━ Nikolai said with a Russian accent, flicking some of the controls above his head. ━ Nadrat im zadnitsu [rus.: Kick their asses].

━ Sure will. ━ Gaz patted the pilot on his shoulder, before joining the rest of the team. The platform began lowering itself until it hit the ground beneath, hard.

You were supposed to meet up with Captain Price, leading a group of his own, just a few kliks from your landing location. Team’s sole purpose that night was to infiltrate the cartel’s hideout, north of Mexico's border. It wasn’t a fortress, but a well equipped warehouse at most.

Well, at least that's what your superiors were suspecting.

They needed proof of the cartel's affiliation with powerful drug traders overseas and any other information you managed to find inside, while Price’s team created a diversion. You were a group of professionals, what could go wrong?

When all of you walked out the helo, you took a look around, eyes getting used to the darkness flooding the field around. The night has fallen as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

You stuck closely to MacTavish as it was never smart to split up without strict order. Your main task as a medic was to keep an eye on them, patch them up if needed – overall, keep them alive.

There were no crickets to be heard, creatures hiding somewhere in the grass. But the gut feeling, or rather a natural intuition convinced you, something else was lurking in the plain field. When Nikolai started the engine again of the helo and flew off the ground, your eyes crossed with Ghost’s.

It was too quiet.

He believed something was off too and the Englishman was much more experienced in a field than you. That could only mean trouble.

You pinched your lips together into a fine line, involuntarily holding a breath in. Your muscles and joints were in a preparation mode. If the military had a medal for prophetic abilities, you would have a stack of them by now.

Just as you started moving towards the old, abandoned truck in the middle of the grassy field, the first shots got fired. Your knees softened, when you sprinted towards the rusty vehicle to take a cover.

You managed to take a quick look through the scope on your rifle, trying to asses – where were the fuckers coming from. But they hid in the bushes quite well. Those who were foolish enough to come closer to your group, quickly got eliminated.

Kyle was right by your side by the rusty car, shooting just above your head as you kneeled down. Suddenly an enemy troop jumped from his cover swinging a knife at your comrade. The steel shimmered in the moonlight.

It was a matter of seconds – despite the training sergeant had received, he couldn’t break the laws of time and space. You, on the other hand, were facing the threat directly.

━ Gaz, down! ━ You yelled, before taking down the man, piercing his chest with few bullets. You held the rifle up and steady, meanwhile the attacker stumbled backwards and fell onto the coarse grass beneath. Lifeless.

Kyle nodded in your direction, not exchanging a word of gratitude, but he didn’t have to. Besides, there was no time for courtesy. You were under fire.

━ Piece ‘f cake, eh? Real nice fuckin’ cake, Lt. ━ Soap mocked Ghost earlier words, as his predictions regarding this mission didn’t include an ambush right off the bat. ━ What now?

━ Focus, MacTavish, we need to take a cover. There’s an ol’ farm, only a klik east-south ━ The lieutenant reloaded his own rifle with a firm tug on the empty magazine. As always, he kept a cold blood even when surprised by unpredictable ━ We’re headin’ there, is that clear?

━ Aye. ━ Gaz approved and you silently nodded, feeling the raging pulse of your own heart in the neck artery.

You noticed that his dark gaze got stuck on your face, that probably got a little too pale due to the adrenaline. You were still getting used to working in a field, you’ve never been cornered like this before. Verbatim.

Every time after the mission, when you lay still in the barrack at night time, you wonder if Ghost felt like he was actually babysitting the whole Task Force. At least sometimes. Because it was usually you, Soap or Gaz who got into trouble.

Kyle and Johnny were around the same age, still fairly young to be in special forces, but you? You were even younger and less skilled, though you managed to catch up with different abilities than your male mates.

And Lieutenant Riley? He was older than all of you, that’s for sure. You didn’t know how much exactly, but that’s what you managed to deduce since your joining the squad.

So it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, where Ghost took the lead during a crisis and led you all to safety. He was more than sure all of you would manage on your own, if the circumstances were different.

━ Y/C, with me ━ the lieutenant stated, getting ready for the next step. ━ Soap, Gaz, you go together. We’re movin’, now.

Each soldier with a rifle held steadily in their hands, began to move swiftly through the darkness of the upcoming night. While Gaz and Soap took the right flank, you and Ghost took care of the left. The lieutenant kept in mind checking the back too. All you had to do was push forward.

It was a challenging task to keep up with their longer strides, but they were mindful of your struggles. You would never be left behind. One for one.

The outline of the old barn appeared in the reach of your hand as you pointed the rifle’s barrel towards the two men coming from your left. You managed to take one down, by shooting through his knee, however you missed the other one.

You cursed in your native language, letting the frustration out. Within the span of a couple seconds you collected your breath and aimed once again. This time you shot him, right through his shoulder. They had bullet proof vests, therefore shooting at their chest made no sense at all.

Shooting at the vest from up close – then, that’s a different story.

Muppets, as Captain Price called them, took down each one of the enemies without a slip up on their flank.

You’ve never said it outloud to anyone, especially not any member of Task Force, but in a work field you looked up to…well, some of them. They executed their tasks immaculately. Whilst you still had some things to learn, they were usually understanding, willing to help out. Usually, not always.

Sometimes, due to his harsh comments, you thought that Ghost expected you to be born with skills he achieved through the years in a service. Which, for obvious reasons, was not fair.

The way to the farm was a bumpy one, tall grass covering any holes in the ground, but you finally made it. Ghost and Gaz broke into the old stable and began checking out the insides. You were just behind them, when you heard Soap’s grunt through clenched teeth.

It could only mean one thing – Johnny got shot. You reached to touch his arm, maybe to pull him inside, but the Scottish sergeant did it anyway. With Kyle’s help you shut the heavy doors behind to give the team extra coverage.

You finally took a deep breath.

Ghost spoke through the radio, slowly walking up to the barn's other end. You deduced that he spoke with Price about the ambush, but your focus was on blood pouring out of the fresh wound.

You stepped closer and MacTavish leaned in, letting you take a look. And it didn’t look good. Soap inhaled the chilly air, a droplet of sweat rolling down his temple.

━ Shit. ━ You felt Ghost’s gaze upon your back, when you cursed with such passion. He was waiting on a report. ━ Bullet went through his arm.

━ The cartel wasn’t wasting money on security, huh? ━ Gaz mentioned, still quite not believing himself they encountered such skilled soldiers. Why weren’t they informed about that beforehand? They would take a bigger team.

━ But ━ you continued ━ because Soap is so bulky, the ammo didn’t scratch any important artery.

━ I knew you’d appreciate my form, lass.

━ Nevertheless, I insist on patching him up.

━ Insist? ━ The big Englishman repeated what he just heard, surely raising an eyebrow beneath mysterious balaclava. At least that's what you imagined him to do. When he looked at you, he saw your scowl. ━ Fuckin’ hell, fine. We need to stay ‘ere until Price comes with backup.

Ghost’s voice sounded firm and emotionless as always. Maybe there was a hint of annoyance, but who wouldn’t be? The intel wasn’t good enough if the cartel's security managed to take you by surprise and outsmart the special forces.

Kyle silently went outside to take a look around, patrol the surroundings when you took care of John’s nasty wound.

━ Hey, I’ll manage, no need to–

━ Don’t even start ━ you interrupted Scottish man, rummaging through the medic bag. ━ You want them to follow us by the trickle of blood you left behind? Or do you want to faint due to blood loss?

━ Alright, alright, I get it, lass. Sweet Jesus.

━ You’re like children. ━ The lieutenant pointed out at your foolish scuffle, checking each corner of the barn.

━ Do you know children that carry M4s?━ An even more stupid joke escaped your mouth, before you giggled silently, opening the new package of gause. Even Johnny chuckled, when you began applying pressure on top of his wound.

━ Keep your morals like this and we just might fulfill our task.

Ghost definitely had the charisma of an exhausted father, but that was one of his characteristics that not many people were fond of. But you were. You liked his tacky humor, always a way to brighten the day.

━ One-four-one, do you copy?

A sudden sound of the radio on your vest broke the silence. It was a voice belonging to Gaz, but usually his tone wasn’t so… nervous. Another bad omen.

━ We need to get out of ‘ere! ━ Just as he finished the sentence, Kyle ran through the barn’s door, M4 rifle in his hand. ━ They’ve got their own reinforcement.

━ How many? ━ You asked, finishing wrapping a tight bandage over Soap’s bicep.

━ I saw four cars riding through that bush we came from. ━ Dark skinned soldier answered, glaring through his shoulder. You have to be very aware of your surroundings from now on.

━ Y/C, you feel like sniping? ━ The skull had spoken, the brown eyes looking at you. No, through you. ━ Can you cover us?

━ Yes, I’ll keep an eye from the attic.

━ Good.

━ What about Price? Where is he? ━ Soap asked, reloading his weapon.

The Englishman pressed the button on his radio.

━ Bravo 0-6 this is Ghost, how long?

━ Hang on, four more kliks. Are you still in the barn? ━ Captain asked through the speaking channel only your team had access to.

━ Positive.

━ Good, stay there. Over and out.

Price’s voice vanished as soon as he echoed through the old stable. Situation wasn’t looking good for your team, but what else could you do? If Gaz was right and the enemy managed to distribute groups of his soldiers around the farm, there was no way out.

So you had to defend your position and wait. For what? At this point for a backup that miraculously appears from the skies.

You swiftly climbed onto the wooden ladder until you reached the upper floor of the old stable. There were bales of hay scattered around and few windows. One of the bigger ones was facing the courtyard between the buildings. When you were in a position, you took a look around the property.

Ghost was already prepared on the right side of the building you were in and Gaz was on the other. Meanwhile Soap was slowly walking around the antique fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

Everyone was ready and anticipating the enemy’s next move.

━ Gaz, three coming from your left. ━ You warned him through the speaking channel, before pointing the rifle’s end to those mentioned soldiers.

When the adrenaline bursts inside of your veins, time passes quite fast. Which was a dangerous thing, because if you lost track of it or a consciousness about your surroundings – you would be dead quickly.

You had to withhold your nerves and focus on one task at the time.

After a deep breath in, you slowly let it out. Looking through the rifle’s loupe, you began shooting at the group that just got out of the truck. A gunfire right beneath their feet, before they got perforated with your bullets.

A bitter, metallic taste spreaded over your tongue. You swallowed some saliva, checking up if you had bit the inside of your cheek. It happened before, when you completely zoned out during a shooting. You were so fixated on the task, you clenched your jaw on the delicate tissue.

But this time it was just remorse, building up each time you pulled the trigger. Of course, you knew not each inflicted harm caused inevitable death, some just made the enemy’s soldiers… indisposed. Nonetheless, it was a burden you had to carry on your shoulders.

When you cleared out the zone near the parked car, your sight moved to the Ghost outpost. He was stabbing the soldier's neck and shoulder with short and quick movements. In your assessment, he was doing fine.

Then when you wanted to check on Gaz and Soap, there was a thud over the wooden surface that got your attention. You snapped your head towards the sound and saw one soldier that managed to climb here.

━ I found the sniper. ━ The man said into his own radio, hooked over his tactical vest.

He rushed towards you and you tried to point your rifle at him. The man was faster and he grabbed the weapon, stopping you from shooting at him. There was only a little window of time to decide what to do next. So you used all your body weight to tackle that soldier to the ground.

Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you pushed forwards, causing him to fall backwards. Meanwhile, still having an upper hand, you reached for a karambit that was stacked behind your belt.

You managed to climb on top of him swiftly, because that was your advantage in a clash with big, muscular men. You raised your hand and before the blade reached his chest, the man grabbed your wrist in the air, blocking your further movements.

For a short while you struggled against his grip, trying to push the knife into his ribcage with the mass of your upper body. However, the mercenary locked you with his leg and rolled over you, trapping you beneath him.

You took a quick look around – both of you rolled over dangerously close to the edge of the attic. A sight of a few meters depth made you lightheaded. So you continued struggling, as the soldier held a firm grip over your wrist, cutting the blood flow. Even when your wrist went numb, you did not drop that karambit.

It was your most valuable bargaining chip in this situation.

You huffed a couple of times, slightly changing the position under the man’s frame. But when he finally reached for his gun, you grabbed the short barrel and pointed it far from your head.

Calculating the next step carefully, you decided to let him win over the knife in your hand. Because with the drop of it, he released your wrist. The man swung his whole shoulder to punch you in the face.

For a short moment you saw spots in front of your eyes, when his clenched fist met your cheekbone. Ouch.

And finally, when your arms began to give up, you focused your defense on your legs – they were stronger. You managed to tuck them beneath his pelvis and strengthen your legs, kicking him over your head. Only then, you released the barrel of the gun.

The mercenary fell over the edge of the attic and onto the ground beneath. You heard the loud thud followed by a crack. He broke his neck.

You laid there for a while, collecting your breath as you just faced death. Quite a normal day in the life of a soldier. The shootouts from the outside began to fade and it got you worried. You had to check that out.

━ Steaming Jesus ━ a familiar voice, brought you back to your full strength. You got up on your knees and carefully looked through the hole in the floor. ━ Is that how you greet people?

The American was standing above the body you just threw from the upper floor. A puddle of blood staining the ground.

━ Alex! ━ You expressed your enjoyment, seeing your college for the first time in a while. It meant he came with a backup. A miracle of tonight's ambush. ━ You’re saving our asses.

━ Come down now, the situation is under control.

You ran to gather your weapon, before hooking it around your shoulder. You quickly climbed down the ladder and walked up to a man with bright eyes and trimmed mustache.

━ Laswell send her regards. Price team wouldn’t make it on time ━ Alex Keller explained, putting one of his hands on your shoulder as the two of you slowly walked out of the barn to the courtyard. ━ A bloodbath, huh? Only the four of you?

Soap was sitting on the fountain’s edge, the material hugging his arm wasn’t soaked with blood. “Good” you thought. Some of Alex’s soldiers that were sent here by Kate Laswell walked around the farm to check every corner.

━ We don’t like crowds. ━ Gaz reached his hand to greet their friend, who was in Urzikstan. At least, that's what they thought. Until now.

━ Understandable, sergeant. ━ The ends of his mustache lifted up as he smiled. ━ We should wait here for Price and regroup.

━ So we continue what we started? ━ Just before you asked, Soap and Ghost joined the conversation in the middle of the courtyard, the pathways laid out with stones.

━ We can’t retreat now, they would know we’re after ‘em. ━ The lieutenant explained, why the retreat was an idea not even being speculated here. The presumed cartel would move along with their belongings, the proof you needed to gather.

So therefore withdrawal was off the table.

━ We need to strike ‘ard, now. ━ Ghost continued his talk, when the soldiers began to talk between each other from the other side of the abandoned house.

All of you turned around to see the upcoming Captain Price, pressing his rifle to his chest.

━ Took ya long enough, Captain. ━ Gaz stated bluntly, few droplets of blood appearing on his forehead.

━ Yeah, the intel was shit, we’re gonna take care of it later. Now, we have different targets. Gather up. Everyone in one piece?

The man in his forties looked at each one of you – from head to toes. Obviously, his eyes were locked with the bandage over Soap’s arm, but MacTavish quickly assured him it was only a scratch on the surface.

Which it wasn’t, yet he wasn’t bleeding, so for the sake of peace you nodded your head to assure Price.

━ Alright, the real fun can begin. We got ‘em outnumbered, this is going to be a quick and smooth operation. No slip ups from now on, understood?

The whole team agreed and began to mentally prepare for what was coming. Captain patted Gaz on his shoulder, before slowly walking away.

━ No more flying corpses? ━ Alex whispered, leaning towards you. It seemed that only the two of you heard the conversation.

And maybe Ghost who was standing on the other side of Sergeant Keller, because he looked at you with amusement.

━ We’ll see about that. Just try to get on my bad side, American boy.

Price whistled in a high pitched tone, announcing that all of you should gather up.

Once again you had that feeling in your guts, that it was going to be a long, exhausting night. And at the end of the day, your hand would be covered in blood, like a butcher (which you swore you wouldn’t be).

#request #reader insert #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #platonic relationships #alex keller x reader

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georgeshutcheson · 8 months

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Sole Trader Advantages And Disadvantages

New Post has been published on https://www.fastaccountant.co.uk/sole-trader-advantages-and-disadvantages/

Sole Trader Advantages And Disadvantages

So, you’re considering becoming a sole trader, huh? Well, before you make that leap, let’s check out a few Sole Trader Advantages And Disadvantages. Being a sole trader can offer you the freedom to be your own boss and make all the decisions. On the other hand, it also means taking on all the responsibilities, risks, and financial burdens. In this article, we’ll explore the advantages and disadvantages of being a sole trader, giving you a clearer picture of what awaits you on this entrepreneurial journey. So, grab a cup of tea, sit back, and let’s look at some Sole Trader Advantages And Disadvantages!

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Sole Trader Advantages

Autonomy and Control

No doubt there a sole trader advantages otherwise no one will trade or carry out a business as a sole trader. To start with, as a sole trader, you have complete autonomy and control over your business. You have the freedom to make all the decisions regarding your company without having to consult with anyone else. This independence allows you to steer your business in the direction you desire, making it easier to align with your personal values and goals. You can set your own working hours, choose the clients you work with, and make decisions that best suit your business needs.

Ease of Set Up

Setting up a sole trader business is relatively simple and straightforward. You can register your business name and obtain any necessary licenses or permits without going through a complex process. Compared to other business structures, such as partnerships or Limited Companies, there are fewer legal formalities and administrative requirements involved. This means you can get your business up and running quickly, allowing you to focus on generating income and serving your customers.

Flexibility

As a sole trader, you have the flexibility to adapt and change your business as needed. You can easily change your products or services, modify your marketing strategies, and experiment with different approaches to meet the demands of your customers and the market. Unlike larger businesses that may have multiple layers of decision-making, you can quickly respond to changes and make adjustments on the fly. This agility and adaptability can give you a competitive edge in the marketplace.

Profit Retention

One of the significant advantages of being a sole trader is that you have the sole ownership of all the profits your business generates. Unlike other business structures, where profits are shared among multiple partners or shareholders, as a sole trader, you get to keep all the earnings. This can provide you with a higher level of financial freedom and flexibility. You can reinvest the profits back into your business, use them to expand your operations, or save them for personal use.

Ease of Decision Making

As the sole decision-maker in your business, you can make quick decisions without the need for extensive consultation or approval from others. This streamlined decision-making process allows you to respond to opportunities or challenges promptly. You can evaluate options, weigh the pros and cons, and take decisive action. This agility in decision-making can help you stay ahead of the competition and seize opportunities that may arise in the market.

Direct Customer Interaction

As a sole trader, you have the opportunity to interact directly with your customers. This direct contact allows you to build strong relationships with your clients, gaining a better understanding of their needs, preferences, and feedback. By personally serving your customers, you can provide exceptional customer service and tailor your offerings to meet their specific requirements. This personal touch can foster loyalty and trust, leading to repeat business and positive word-of-mouth referrals.

Tax Advantages

Sole traders also enjoy certain tax advantages compared to other business structures. You have the ability to claim tax deductions for business-related expenses, such as office supplies, equipment, and travel expenses. Additionally, as a sole trader, you can offset any business losses against some of your other taxable income, potentially reducing your overall tax liability. This favorable tax treatment can provide you with more financial flexibility and increase your business’s profitability.

Simple Accounting Requirements

As a sole trader, your accounting requirements are relatively simple and straightforward. You are not obligated to prepare complex financial statements or reports. Instead, you can maintain basic records of your business’s income and expenses, such as receipts and invoices. This simplicity can save you time and effort in managing your finances, allowing you to focus on running and growing your business.

Less Government Regulation and Reporting

Compared to other business structures, sole traders face fewer government regulations and reporting obligations. There are typically fewer legal formalities or compliance requirements for sole traders, which means less time spent on paperwork and administration. This reduced regulatory burden allows you to concentrate on core business activities, such as serving your customers and expanding your operations.

Privacy

As a sole trader, you can maintain a higher level of privacy compared to a Ltd Company. You are not required to disclose sensitive financial or operational information to the public or shareholders. This privacy can be especially important if you value confidentiality or operate in a niche industry. It gives you the freedom to keep your business operations and financial performance private, protecting your competitive advantage and maintaining your personal privacy.

Sole Trader Disadvantages

Unlimited Liability

One significant disadvantage of being a sole trader is that you have unlimited liability. As the sole owner of the business, you are personally responsible for all the business’s debts and obligations. If your business fails or faces financial difficulties, your personal assets, such as your home or savings, can be at risk. This unlimited liability can create a significant personal and financial risk, potentially impacting your personal finances and future prospects.

Limited Resources and Expertise

As a sole trader, you may face limitations in terms of resources and expertise. Since you are the sole owner and operator of your business, you may have limited financial resources compared to larger companies. This can affect your ability to invest in the latest technologies, hire specialized staff, or expand your operations. Additionally, as a sole trader, you may have to handle various aspects of your business, such as marketing, finance, and operations, which requires a broad range of skills. Limited resources and expertise can pose challenges in effectively managing and growing your business.

Difficulty in Raising Capital

Sole traders often face challenges when trying to raise capital to fund their business operations or expansion plans. Since you are solely responsible for the business’s financial obligations, lenders and investors may perceive higher risks in providing funding to sole traders. Traditional sources of financing, such as bank loans or venture capital, may be less accessible to sole traders compared to larger, more established businesses. Limited access to capital can hinder your ability to invest in new opportunities, purchase additional stock, or upgrade your equipment.

Long Working Hours

As a sole trader, you are responsible for overseeing all aspects of your business, which often translates into long working hours. You may find yourself working evenings, weekends, and holidays to meet customer demands, manage administrative tasks, and ensure the smooth operation of your business. The need to juggle multiple responsibilities, including marketing, customer service, bookkeeping, and production, can result in a heavy workload and potential burnout. It is crucial to establish work-life balance strategies to avoid exhaustion and maintain your well-being.

Lack of Continuity

In the case of a sole trader’s illness, incapacity, or retirement, the business’s continuity can be at risk. Unlike larger businesses with multiple owners or shareholders, there is no inherent continuity plan for a sole trader business. If you are unable to operate the business due to unforeseen circumstances, such as a health issue, your business may suffer and potentially fail. Planning for such contingencies, such as having a succession plan or considering business insurance, can help mitigate this risk and ensure the long-term viability of your business.

Limited Growth Potential

Sole traders often face limitations in terms of growth potential compared to larger companies. With limited financial resources and limited expertise, expanding into new markets, launching new products or services, or scaling operations may be challenging. The ability to seize growth opportunities may be dependent on your personal capacity to handle increased workload or generate additional income. It is essential to carefully consider scalability and growth strategies to avoid reaching a point where you cannot further expand or increase revenue significantly.

Personal Liability for Business Debts

As a sole trader, your personal assets are at risk if your business incurs debts. If your business cannot meet its financial obligations, creditors can potentially go after your personal assets, such as your home, car, or savings, to settle the debts. This personal liability can have a significant impact on your financial well-being and future prospects. It is essential to manage your business’s financial health diligently, including monitoring cash flow, minimizing debt, and exploring business insurance options, to protect yourself from personal liability.

Difficulty in Attracting Top Talent

As a sole trader, you may face challenges in attracting and retaining top talent due to limited resources and the perception of job security. Larger companies with more established reputations and resources may be more appealing to highly skilled individuals seeking stability and career advancement opportunities. As a result, you may have to rely on your own skills and expertise or consider alternative recruitment strategies, such as outsourcing or partnering with freelancers, to meet your business’s staffing needs.

Limited Access to Benefits

Sole traders typically do not have access to employee benefits such as health insurance, retirement plans, or paid time off. These benefits are often associated with larger companies that can negotiate favorable terms with providers or offer them as part of their employment packages. As a sole trader, you are responsible for arranging and financing these benefits on your own, which can be cost-prohibitive or less comprehensive. It is essential to consider and plan for your personal benefits requirements to safeguard your well-being and financial stability.

Risk of Business Failure

Like any business, sole traders face the risk of business failure. Without the support or resources of partners or shareholders, the success or failure of your business lies solely in your hands. Economic downturns, changing market conditions, or unforeseen events can impact your business’s revenue and profitability. It is crucial to carefully manage risks, conduct market research, establish contingency plans, and seek expert advice to minimize the risk of business failure and increase your chances of long-term success.

In conclusion, there are several Sole trader advantages, including autonomy and control, ease of set up, flexibility, profit retention, ease of decision making, direct customer interaction, tax advantages, simple accounting requirements, less government regulation and reporting, and privacy. However, there are also sole trader disadvantages to consider, such as unlimited liability, limited resources and expertise, difficulty in raising capital, long working hours, lack of continuity, limited growth potential, personal liability for business debts, difficulty in attracting top talent, limited access to benefits, and the risk of business failure. By carefully weighing these Sole trader advantages and disadvantages and planning accordingly, you can make an informed decision about whether being a sole trader is the right choice for you and your business aspirations.

#advantages of a sole trader #advantages of sole trader #being a sole trader advantages #disadvantages of a sole trader #sole trader advantages #Sole Trader Advantages And Disadvantages

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archiveikemen · 3 months

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『 The Past Records 』 Collection Event: Chapter 1

Jude Jazza & Ellis Twilight

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

< Ellis' POV >

I’m sure we met each other four years before we joined Crown.

On the night I arrived in London and was wandering around town in search of accommodation, I was crossing a bridge when I saw him there looking up at the moon.

Looking at his vacant facial expression from his side profile as he finished smoking a cigarette, I thought he was going to fall into the river below.

So, I asked him a question.

Ellis: Are you happy?

Jude: … So what if I am?

Ellis: I’ll make the happiest moment in your life… last forever.

Jude: Hah? What was that? You’ve got a screw loose.

Jude: The happiest moment in my life, huh. Perhaps—

…

< Third Person POV >

Victor: Work again? I was informed in advance, but you two sure seem busy.

It was morning at Crown’s castle. Victor had just arrived at the dining room for breakfast when two people were already heading out after finishing theirs even though it was still early in the morning, and so he called out to them as they passed by one another.

Ellis: Sorry, Victor. We’ll be back by nightfall, so let’s discuss the mission then.

Victor: Ahh, how very commendable! I’m perfectly OK with that!

Jude: Shut up. You don’t have to apologise to this weirdo every single time.

Victor: You have a very sharp tongue, Jude. But I like that about you.

Jude: Creep.

Ellis: We’ll be taking our leave now.

The two left the castle with facial expressions contradicting each other’s.

Liam: I’m impressed with how you’re still not depressed despite being treated with that tone daily, Victor.

Victor: Well, those two were recruited by me after all.

Liam: Just like them, you also told me that you were “OK with me keeping my current job” when I joined Crown. But they seem so much busier than I am.

Liam: I wonder if they have the time to go on missions for Crown.

Ever since Ellis and Jude joined Crown a few days ago, the two had yet to even go on their first mission.

William: Well, there’s no deadline for when they must have their first mission by.

Harrison: … You know, can we really trust those two guys?

William: What makes you say so?

Harrison: They say that they're traders, but I heard some suspicious rumours about them. It’s said that they have enemies everywhere holding grudges against them.

Liam: Oh, I heard those rumours too. Such rumours occasionally spread amongst my fellow actors.

Liam: There's rumours about things like an aristocrat got swindled of their entire fortune.

Harrison: It won’t be a problem if they’re merely immoral businessmen.

Harrison: But if they're spies from elsewhere, we can’t just sit back and do nothing.

Victor: Do you not trust them?

Harrison: As much as you’re a weirdo, but I believe that you’re a good judge of character. It’s just that…

Victor: !! Did you hear that, William?! Harry just praised me!

William: Yes, I did. He has more to say.

Victor: Right, please continue!

Harrison: … You’re really a pain in the neck.

Harrison: It’s just that because of these rumours, their background is too dubious for us to feel like we can safely assume that they’re trustworthy.

Harrison: Don’t you think we shouldn't let them go their own way too often?

Victor: Hmm, you have a point… but I don’t want to impose too much restriction on their freedom.

William: Why don’t we ascertain for ourselves, whether they can be trusted?

Victor: Ascertain for ourselves… I like that idea!

Liam: Ahaha, looks like something’s brewing.

Harrison: Ohhh I have a bad feeling about this.

…

Victor: All members of Crown are here~! It’s time for a new mission, and I call it “Operation Observe Jude and Ellis’ Way of Life”!

Liam: Wow—! *seal clapping*

Alfons: Another one of Victor’s idiotic plans? Marvellous.

Victor: I want everyone to observe the two of them and submit reports to me.

Victor: The theme shall be “are the two of them suited for Crown?”.

Harrison: Damn it… I shouldn’t have said anything. I already have enough on my plate as it is.

Elbert: … You’re busy?

Alfons: If I’m not mistaken, you’re in the midst of a proofreading job with no extensions allowed for its deadline, and the author of the book has yet to submit their first draft.

Alfons: I think you also mentioned having to burn the midnight oil before the deadline.

Liam: Then, why not have Harry be the commander?

Liam: The investigation works will be distributed amongst all the members except Harry!

Alfons: A Sneaking Mission? Sounds like fun.

Elbert: I don't mind.

Roger: I mean, I don’t see why not?

Harrison: … By the way, can I choose NOT to be a part of this?

William: At this juncture, I highly doubt so.

Harrison: … Right.

Victor: Well then, the investigation begins!

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #otome #cybird otome #ikevil collection event #jude jazza #ellis twilight

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fvckwithmefamo · 8 months

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Advantages of Being a Sole Trader

Being a sole trader presents numerous advantages that make it an appealing option for entrepreneurs. By assuming full control and responsibility for your business, you have the freedom to make autonomous decisions and navigate the direction of your enterprise. As a sole trader, you have sole ownership of profits, allowing you to retain and reinvest all earnings. Additionally, the simplified legal…

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#advantages of a sole trader #Advantages of Being a Sole Trader #advantages of sole trader #benefits of being a sole trader #disadvantages of sole trader #Sole Trader benefits

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nukaberries · 1 month

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*holds out hands* spare some preston garvey headcanons, good sir?

Preston is so underrated, I'm so glad he has some fans out there! I personally don't tend to use him unless I'm running a Minutemen playthrough, but he's severely under appreciated. Poor guy just wants to help the Commonwealth. (Accidentally made him hate me in my last playthrough because I was playing around with Nuka World, sorry Preston </3)

Preston Garvey Headcanons

Although they met in unfortunate circumstances, Sturges, Mama Murphy and the Longs are the closest thing he's ever had to a real family, as he lost his biological family at a young age and doesn't really remember them.

He expected to rise up the ranks of the Minutemen easily, but actually struggled at first and fell behind his peers a little. It did knock his confidence a lot, but he managed to work his way up, it just took him a bit longer.

Deathclaws just creep him out, more so than any other creatures in the Wasteland, the one in Concord didn't help that.

It's more or less canon that he has a lot of guilt regarding the Quincy Massacre, which is a big reason as to why he's hesitant to help out more settlements. He's worried about not being able to save people a second time around.

He bought Sunset Sarsaparilla from a trader from the Mojave once and no other drink has ever compared to it since, he's often considered heading out West just to get another bottle.

Piper managed to convince him to do an interview for the Publick once, about how the Minutemen had changed since Sole had taken over as the General. It was inevitably scrapped as he stumbled over his words so many times, there wasn't anything coherent that Piper could write about.

Despite most of the Minutemen he used to know being gone, he managed to track down some of the remnants and makes an effort to see them as often as he can. It's somewhat therapeutic to be able to recount old stories with them.

#get that man his sarsaparilla #this might be out of character #we're gonna roll with it #fallout #fallout headcanons #fallout imagines #fallout x reader #fallout 4 #preston garvey #preston garvey headcanons

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marvelstars · 1 year

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This is a really interesting take on TPM, art and text by @FaithErinHicks from twitter.

Anakin��s story

Imagine you are a slave boy on Tatooine. You & your mother are sold to a junk trader when you were 3 years old & you live without freedom, without personhood. You & your mother together, against the world.

A Jedi Knight comes to Tatooine. The Jedi are the “Guardians of Peace and Justice” but he is not here to free slaves. There is no justice on Tatooine, but the Jedi Knight doesn’t seem to care about that.

The Jedi decides to take you away from Tatooine. Not because you are a slave boy & he recognizes that injustice, but because you are special. You are a Chosen One from some prophecy you’ve never heard of. You will become a Jedi.

You have to leave your mother, who the Jedi will not free. The one person in the world who you love, you must leave her in slavery, while you become a Jedi, a Guardian of Peace and Justice.

You are told by privileged people in robes you will not become a Jedi, you are not fit. You are a child, and you miss your mother. The Jedi tell you to fear losing her is to risk falling to the Dark Side. But what is the Light without your mother?

At the end of the story there is a party & you watch a Queen gives a Gungan a shiny ball. You are a Padawan, you will become a Jedi someday. But do the Jedi take you back to Tattoine, to rescue your mother? They do not.

There is no justice for your mother, still a slave, trapped galaxies apart from you. Years pass & the Jedi, Guardians of Peace & Justice, do not free her. You are the Chosen One, but you have no agency, no power. You are merely a tool to be used to bring balance to the Force.

The Dark Side beckons.

"Anakin and "The Son(Darkside) from the Clone Wars"

Now I personally think this wasn´t the sole reason Anakin fell to the darkside but this definitely was a strong reason for him to develop tension with the entire Jedi Order along with what happens on the Clone Wars because it´s curious how they often treat Anakin more like an unreliable resource than one of their own, they expect him to win battles for them but don´t trust him to make decisions and when he shows emotional umbalance as a result of this is tackled as if it´s only a fault of Anakin, all this background certainly explains Vaderkin´s perspective of the Jedi being evil even if he tried for many years to justify them to himself and others,in fact he had an idealized view of them and often defended them to Palpatine.

I am not saying they were indeed evil or that they were in charge of correcting every evil in the galaxy but they are responsible for the things they had the possibility to correct and didn´t just like Anakin was responsible for his own actions.

The Prequel trilogy had many interesting concepts that weren´t truly explored but it´s richness in the story of the tragedy of star wars is still out there to be explored.

#anakin skywalker #shmi skywalker #star wars #clone wars #jedi order critical #Qui-Gon critical

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 9 months

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Hi! Hope you're well! Sorry if you've already done this request, but have you done a plant pollen lust story with Marilyn x student reader yet? Where they breathe in some kind of aphrodisiac pollen that makes them lose control and give into each other? I was thinking maybe they've had feelings for each other for awhile but haven't succumbed to it yet and this is when they do. Just wanting some mommy!dom Marilyn with an experienced reader so Marilyn can be rough with her. Maybe Marilyn uses a strap on or is intersex? Whichever you're more comfortable writing! Thanks!

Yesss!!! Here it is!!!! Finally I made Marilyn intersex, just to be "realistic", I mean, who has a strap-on in a classroom? I hope you don't mind and that you like it!!! Sorry about the delay, and the language mistakes!!! :)))))

Lust is in the air

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem, Student! Reader

Warnings: Smut, intersex Marilyn (She has a dick), kinks, lust pollen, dom! Marilyn, sub! Reader, strong language…

Word count: 4,883

Summary: You were in the conservatory as always, but that night things were going to turn weird, but funny…

N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

“Let's see, (Y/N), do you think you're ready for an express questions round?” Marilyn, your teacher said. You nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, test me,” you said, shaking your fists, very sure of yourself.

It was a night like any other. There was nothing weird. You never got along with botany, you always had to memorize over and over again all those plants names, something that was quite complicated for you.

Fortunately a few months ago your bitter and unpleasant teacher was replaced by Marilyn Thornhill.

She was different, kind, funny, and very, very beautiful. With her you began to like the plants you hated before. But memory was still not your best skill. You would need some kind of reinforcement or a mentoring, great idea.

You didn't mean to fool yourself. That strange redhead normi attracted you, not just because of her sweet and innocent appearance, but also because of her kind and gentle way of being. Wanting to know her answer, you asked her for help with her assignment. She accepted gratefully. It seemed that her normie status didn't make her to get many friends in Nevermore.

Little by little, nocturnal visits to the conservatory became usual. Marilyn and you talked about plants, but also about other topics that had nothing to do with them. You'd be blind if you didn't notice the tension that slowly built up. Your feelings were focused solely on her and Marilyn didn't seem displeased by your presence, quite the opposite. For you there was always a smile, a caress, a gesture or a word of affection.

You could feel desire and love engulfing you, but, of course, you didn’t do anything about it. You, because you thought that a woman older than you, and who was also your teacher, couldn’t have a real interest in you. She would surely find unlikely that a young girl, a Nevermore student, would take an interest in her, beyond her lessons on plants.

It was a dead end, a closed circuit of especially strange comments and silent looks that never amounted to anything more than that, looks, words, caresses. Never a kiss, a hint, any hint of what your true feelings were. It was a daily fight to see who would give up first. You were proud, and you were still afraid of not being reciprocated. She was innocent, surely she wouldn't take your hints the way they truly were.

“Let's see…” Marilyn said, amused while she looked at the plants that were around her. “Okay, (Y/N), tell me what these two beauties have in common,” she said, pointing to two small plants.

“Hmm,” you muttered. You were sure you had read about it, that Marilyn had explained it to you, probably that very night. “I know it,” you said satisfied, smiling. “Both are invasive species, imported from Australian traders in the early 19th century.”

Marilyn smirked and nodded.

“That's right, very good, (Y/N). Maybe that one was too easy. Let's see… What about this one? Could you tell me what its main characteristic is?” She asked after, moving around the conservatory to make her little "exam" more difficult for you.

“Yes, it's self defense. If an animal gets too close, it emits a substance that causes drowsiness. It can even affect humans,” you answered, happy to remember. Your memory improved every night you spent with her, or so you thought. It was surely a trap of your subconscious to please the redhead, or to try to impress her.

“Extraordinary…” Marilyn sighed, with a smile. “I see you have paid attention to today's class. Let's see… something more difficult. (Y/N), how many hours of sun does this beauty need to maintain all its properties?”

You laughed, you also knew the answer.

“It's a trick question,” you said satisfied, with a certain petulant tone. “The nightshade doesn’t need sun, it would die if you expose it to sunlight.

“Very good, (Y/N), I see that you have really studied today…” Marilyn said, giving up. “Good job, I think you'll have no problem passing next week's exam.”

“Great,” you said, making a victory gesture.

“You've made a lot of progress, (Y/N),” Marilyn said, returning to her desk. “I think that’s enough for today.”

You agreed, because the worst moment of the night had arrived, the moment of farewell. You thought about protesting or sighing pityingly, but you'd be being too obvious. You had to be smarter, buy more time with her.

You searched with your eyes for something that caught your attention and her infinite wisdom could explain to you. To one side of the table, there was a display case with a plant that you did not remember having ever seen. It was a deep green colored plant, and for some strange reason, you felt drawn to it.

“Marilyn,” you said, not taking your eyes off the plant. She looked at you and nodded for you to continue, with her usual kind smile, the one that made you melt. “What kind of plant is that?” You asked, pointing to the small display case.

“Oh, well, it's a very rare species,” she answered, looking at the plant. “It's a variant of a carnivorous plant,” she said, smiling. You knew that she loved to talk about plants, to tell you everything she knew about them. It was a cunning plan, (Y/N).

You nodded curiously, moving closer to the plant and taking a closer look at it.

“I wouldn't do that, (Y/N)…” Marilyn said, with raised eyebrows and an amused tone.

“Why?”

“You see... This little one is something... Special. I suppose you remember that I told you about the sexual deception that some of these plants perpetrate.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” you said amused. That class would never be forgotten. Marilyn shook her head, laughing softly.

“I wonder why the students always remember those things…”she sighed with an amused but intriguing look. You blushed but laughed too, shrugging.

“It’s because you explain it very well…” You whispered, perhaps going a little beyond your subtle comments. She laughed again, crossing her arms and closing her eyes.

“Of course, I'm sure that's what it's about,” she said, clearly with irony. “Look, (Y/N), it may seem like a small and harmless plant, but nothing like that. When it flowers, it produces a very intense pollen that it carries through the air. This pollen has nothing to do with what you may have known. It's about… well, a superior imitation of sex pheromones.”

“Oh…” You said, nodding. You didn't expect that kind of conversation. A thousand points for you, (Y/N).

“The difference between it and its colleagues is that this pollen doesn’t only affect bees or small animals. It is capable of altering the behavior of large animals, including people,” she continued explaining, perhaps a little nervous. You naturally wanted to know more.

“To alter behavior? How?” You asked curiously, moving away a bit from that display case.

She didn't seem to know how to answer, she stopped to think of a correct way to explain it to you.

“Well... If a person inhales the pollen from this plant, let's say that they become... Affectionate...” She said, lowering her head and looking away. You were convinced that it was a simple euphemism.

“Affectionate? Do you mean wanting to…? Well, wanting to do that?” You asked, feigning innocence. She glanced at you briefly and nodded. Her cheeks were starting to turn red.

“Indeed, (Y/N), it's what I want to say,” she said with a small voice. Soon her expression changed as she looked at that display case. “I shouldn't tell you this but… They say that once there was a scientists convention to analyze these types of plants, in case it was possible to use them for some kind of medicinal purpose… Oh, my God, I really shouldn't tell you this.”

You smiled, knowing it wasn't hard to push her to finally speak. She had said so many times that you shouldn't know something that it almost seemed like a joke already.

“Come on, Marilyn, tell me about it, please. I won't tell anyone, I promise,” you said, putting on the face of a good girl.

“Okay, (Y/N)…” She finally sighed. You smirked and looked at her expectantly. “Well, it is said that one of the scientists was not careful, and the whole room was filled with pollen and… Well… I’m sure you can imagine what happened next…”

“Oh, a scientific orgy,” you said cheekily, without paying any attention to your words. She looked at you surprised by your answer.

“(Y/N)…” She said with a warning tone. “But yeah, that's basically what they say that happened. Now I suppose you understand why it's in a display case,” she told you, pretending that you hadn't said what you had said.

“We don't want orgies,” you said amused, earning you a soft tap on the shoulder from her. Marilyn shook her head, feigning anger at those words, but she soon burst out laughing, just the same way you did.

“No, we don't want it,” she replied, trying to stop laughing. Soon her laughter subsided and a moment of silence took over the place. Marilyn's expression relaxed and she looked into your eyes. You did the same and for once, she showed signs of weakness, of wanting to tell you something. “(Y/N), I…”

What she was about to say was interrupted by howls coming from outside the building. Marilyn shook her head, looking at you like she was apologizing, and headed for the door.

“But what's going on?” She asked, leaning out the door.

You looked at the conservatory ceiling. The moon was only a day away from being full. Your fellow werewolves would go crazy when that happened.

“Oh, oh... The wolves haven't gone to their cages...” You said with concern. Marilyn went to close the door, but it was too late. A bunch of wacky, furry students, burst howling into the conservatory, jumping off tables and stirring up everything in their path.

“Hi, (Y/N)!” One of your classmates turned to you. You recognized that deranged look. The poor thing was out of control.

“Hey, Marcus, why don't you guys go to make a fuss somewhere else? I'm trying to learn something,” you said to your friend, who was panting with his tongue outside his mouth.

Marilyn was in a more comical situation, chasing the rest of the pack, who were running and jumping, hanging from the trees as if they were ape-men instead of werewolves.

“Get out of here!” She yelled, grabbing some vases that were about to fall to the floor. “Get out, get out!”

“Come on, man, take your little wolves to another place…” You said to your friend. His eyes bulged almost out of their sockets, but he was one of your best friends, and in that state, he still had some consciousness.

“Come on, guys, let's go to the woods to hunt squirrels, Auuuuu!” He howled, leaving the conservatory, followed noisily by the rest of his friends, who howled desperately.

Marilyn closed the door as the last werewolf emerged, and leaned against it, sighing in relief.

“I'm never going to get used to this…” She murmured. You moved closer, trying not to laugh too much, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“It was probably our fault. The light will have caught their attention. “You said, looking around you at the mess they had left behind. “Oh…”

“Oh, damn it…” The redhead said, putting a hand to her forehead. “(Y/N), I wouldn't want to abuse your trust but… If you could…”

“Yes, Yes of course. I'll help you put all of this in order,” you said immediately, blinking with an angelic look.

“You're such a good girl…” Marilyn whispered, briefly caressing your cheek.

You started to put the fallen chairs in place and suddenly you noticed something strange in your body. It was November, it was freezing outside, but somehow you were starting to sweat. You passed a hand across your forehead to confirm it.

You felt as if your clothes were in your way, you even got dizzy. You leaned against a table before being overwhelmed by that strange sensation, and made a disturbing discovery.

“Eh… Marilyn…” You said trembling, pointing to the floor, where the display case containing that strange plant lay, broken into a thousand pieces. The redhead looked at the same spot and her eyes widened in horror.

“Oh my God…” She sighed, moving closer to the plant. “Oh my gosh this is so bad...”

“The orgy plant,” you whispered, fanning yourself with your hand.

“(Y/N), don’t, don't move… Stay where you are…” Marilyn said, who seemed to be experiencing the same thing as you, an unbearable heat.

“I'm hot…” You said, after which you frowned. You didn't plan to say that.

“I know, I'm hot too, I mean… It’s hot here…” The redhead said, without taking her eyes off you.

“I, I feel weird…” You said, sighing in a strangely suggestive way.

“Don't worry, it's because of the plant…” Marilyn gasped, turning around to look at herself. “Just, just relax and enjoy, I mean, take a slow breath and…”

“I'm on a cloud, Marilyn, a sexual cloud…” You said, now smiling, noticing familiar tingles all over your body.

“You have to relax… I… I…” She said, turning her back on you.

Suddenly an almost unbearable desire took over your body. It was a feeling similar to when you drank too much. You felt uninhibited. You felt invincible, capable of saying everything that was on your mind, of doing everything that was on your mind. You moved from that table and approached the redhead, who seemed to be breathing heavily, as if she was fighting with the same feeling as you.

“Hurry up, (Y/N), we have to cover the plant with a damp cloth so that the effects don't... Be worse...”

As in one of your fantasies, you ran your finger down her back, enjoying seeing her tremble when you did.

“Marilyn… I want you,” you said, totally oblivious to the circumstances that such a phrase could entail.

Now she turned. She was sweating, she was looking at you with her mouth open. She didn't seem uncomfortable, but quite the opposite. Beneath her typical blue jumpsuit, you could sense that her desire was also growing, literally.

“Fuck, (Y/N), don't do this to me…” She sighed, when you stood inches from her face and your hands roamed her body, panting at the same rate.

“Do you want me, Marilyn?” You asked with a smile. At first she looked at you scared, but her eyes began to reflect your desires and her gaze became serious. Marilyn nodded slowly, running her hands around your waist.

“Yes, (Y/N), I want you… I think about you every night…”She whispered in your ear, biting the lobe of your ear.

Deep down you knew that everything that was happening was because of that plant, but a confession like that couldn't be just due to the pollen. You moaned heartbreakingly when you heard those words, ones you didn't think you'd ever hear.

“That makes me really…” You said hissing, getting rid of your Nevermore jacket. The heat had already been unbearable.

“This is all because of the pollen…” she said, coming back a bit to reality. “We have, we have to fight against its effects before we do something crazy.”

You were already too poisoned. You thought about nothing else than having her inside you. Between moans you couldn't suppress, you caressed the remarkable bulge that had formed between her legs. She moaned when she felt your hand in that private part. Her forehead was sweaty, and her hands roamed your back, your butt.

“I like to do crazy things… I'm crazy about you, Marilyn, and I want to make love to you, now,” you said in her ear, while you unbuttoned her jumpsuit.

She moaned, while she shook her head.

“No, (Y/N), it's, it's wrong…” She said, fooling herself. “Damn... It's so wrong...”

“Just let it go, Miss Thornhill. You're so hard... I think I would die if I don't have you inside of me...” You moaned, continuing to caress her. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I think, I think me too…” She whispered, pulling you, pressing her body against yours. “ Is that what you want, (Y/N)? Do you want mommy to fuck you until you faint?”

Her voice turned grim, dark and lustful.

She knew everything about plants. Surely her reaction capacity was faster than yours, breathing slow and moving away from the broken display case. But something told you that she simply gave up, she was carried away by that unbearable desire that the pollen caused. Perhaps your theories in which she had feelings for you were right, supported by the intriguing and erotic confession she made to you minutes before.

“Yes, mommy, fuck me...” You responded angrily, with hungry desire, while you tore off your shirt. “Touch me, caress me...”

She nodded with a sinister smile on her face, before leaning in and finally, kissing you.

Gasps and moans echoed off the conservatory glass walls. They were animal kisses, wild kisses. Your bodies brushed against each other, sending pleasant stimuli to all the corners of your body. Your neck was assaulted by her teeth and the last buttons of her blue jumpsuit, by your hands.

“You're beautiful, (Y/N), your body is delicious…” The redhead whispered, grabbing your nipple between her teeth, making you moan with pleasure. “Are you going to be a good girl for mommy?”

“Yes, I'll be whatever you want, Marilyn…” You sighed, noticing how your center began to demand some attention.

“Poor silly girl... So desperate for mommy...” She hissed, amused. A slap hit your butt under your skirt and that made you bite your lip. “Take off your panties, (Y/N), do it.”

You obeyed, looking at her with desire. You left your skirt on, just as she hinted at you with her hands.

“Mommy… I need you…” You said with a desperate face, unable to avoid caressing yourself. It was as if the sensations you would normally feel when touching yourself had been multiplied. You moaned as you looked at the redhead, obsessed with what you were doing.

“You know how to touch yourself... You're a smart girl...” She said with a childish voice. Right after, she grabbed you around your waist, turning you around abruptly, putting your belly against her desk and lifting your skirt.

“Mommy…” You moaned, letting yourself to be touched anywhere she wanted. Her hands went to your breasts, while her hips rubbed against your bare bottom. You could feel her cock through her clothes, you could feel it rubbing against your center. You moaned as if you were going to die, wishing that she would finally fill you up and fuck you mercilessly.

“So wet for me…” The redhead whispered, leaning over you as she stroked your slippery folds up and down. Your legs trembled at the contact, you thought you were going to explode.

Her fingers entered you without asking, without any kind of warning. That made you want to bite into something so you could silence your cries of pleasure. She was not affectionate, nor tender. She was rude, commanding. That dark side that that sweet and innocent woman had could make you end up in that state without needing that pollen. It was erotic, tremendously sexual. You had never been dominated in this way, but you found that you could not do it otherwise.

“Mommy, mommy... Yes, please, yes...” You moaned, receiving another slap on your butt and an evil laugh from the redhead.

“Silence, bitch, mommy is working…” She told you, holding your hair tightly. “Enjoy whatever you want, but don't cum, (Y/N)…”

You opened your eyes. That request was impossible for you at that moment, you were already very close.

“But mommy, I can't help it, you do it so well to me…” You gasped, noticing how her fingers increased her speed. Marilyn stopped, pulling your skirt down to get rid of what was left of your clothes, and your shame.

“Good girls wait for mommy to give them permission…” Marilyn told you, caressing your buttocks with her free hand. “First you have to make mommy happy... Tell me, (Y/N), have you ever do this?” She asked, making you turn around, taking his fingers out of your desperate humidity, which pressed its walls so that her fingers didn’t abandon you.

You closed your eyes, feeling almost pained by this sudden lack of pleasure, and nodded.

“Yes…” You confessed. She smiled, lowering her jumpsuit to her ankles, releasing her throbbing cock and aiming it at your entrance.

“Fine, I guess I don't have to treat you like an innocent girl then …”

You admired her length and licked your lips. None of the boys you know had anything to do with it. You wanted it, you wanted to see your body adjusting to it, stretching for it.

Your conscience was clouded by lust. The pollen was really dangerous, but it was nothing else than an enhancer of everything you felt, everything you wanted. To think that she wasn't the one with you at that moment disgusted you.

“Be a good girl and stay still…” She said, while she ran the tip through your folds. “Oh fuck, you're so willing, so wet…” She whispered, clearly struggling not to enter you so soon.

You moaned at her touch, looking into her eyes just as she did.

“I'm not going to ask your permission, (Y / N), I'm going to make you mine, my love… Mommy will give you what you want and you're going to take it like the good girl you pretend to be…” She said, leaning into your ear.

You nodded, moving your hips to feel the tip of her cock right on your clit, making you shiver at the sensation.

With a sudden thrust, she entered you moaning with a strangled sigh.

“Oh, damn... It feels so good... You squeeze me so much, it’s so tight...” The redhead said, introducing herself completely.

You moaned for that feeling you craved. Your body moved, adapting to the intruder as best it could. She had been quick, she had been ruthless, that was what she was looking for, what she wanted, and deep down, what you wanted.

“Mommy... It's big...” You moaned, hissing at the little pain you felt, a pain that was even pleasant.

“Oh… your little pussy can't take mommy? Is mommy hurting you? Poor girl...” She said with a childish voice, while she moved little by little, slowly, but with intensity, stretching your walls in an overwhelming and gratifying way.

“It's so hard…” you sighed, pleased to see how your body played with her, embracing her cock lovingly but firmly. She smiled and caressed your cheek, before moving faster and faster.

“Yeah… You take it so well, you're perfect…” The redhead panted, moving her hips, giving little slaps to your thighs. “My good girl... Mommy's good girl...”

“Keep going, don't stop…” You said, stammering. Your body moved from front to back. Marilyn was holding you to move just as she wanted. It wasn't delicate, it wasn't the loving sex you used to imagine, but it was what your body needed at that moment.

“Oh, but what are those ways of talking to me, honey? Haven't you learned anything?” She said to you, giving you a smack on the cheek. “Talk to me properly or I won't continue fucking you, is that what you want? What mommy doesn't fill you up?”

You shook your head, horrified by that idea. Your moans were intense, as was her thrust. Her cock slid easily through your body, rubbing against the most pleasurable places inside you.

“No, please, mommy, don't stop… I want, I want you to fill me up, I want to be full of you, keep fucking me…. Please mommy, don't stop,” you said in a pathetic, desperate and humiliating way. She chuckled, grabbing your ankles and lifting them into the air, moving her hips gracefully, almost as if she was playing with you.

“That's the way I like it…” She said, placing your legs over her shoulders and increasing the pace even more.

The redhead's moans were so sexual that they added another point of pleasure to the way she fucked you. They were high-pitched gasps, exhausted, hungry, but with a soft layer of sweetness, something of the kind, innocent, caring side of her. And you couldn't take it anymore. All your muscles fought not to contract, not to feel those familiar cramps in your center. You were so close to heaven that you thought you could touch the clouds.

“Please, mommy...I'm close...” You said, being pushed with even more force. Marilyn looked at you as her eyes focused on the way her body moved inside yours. Her smile turned sarcastic, ironic.

“Is that all you can take? No, honey, you're not going to cum yet. Have you forgotten who's in control here?”

“You,” you moaned.

“Exactly, (Y/N), and like the good girl you are, you're going to be nice, and wait for mommy to cum first, will you?” She said, slowing down, moving inside of you softly.

“Yes…I will,” you sighed. You didn't see any other possible options. You had to obey, and besides, just thinking about her cum inside your body made you go even crazier.

“Be patient, my love... Mommy isn't far from filling you up...” Marilyn said, moving quickly again, with a little more hunger in her onslaught. “Oh baby, I want to… Make you mine…”

“And I want it too, mommy, I want to be filled with you, I want to be yours forever...”

“Yes, honey, that's it... Repeat it... Come on, repeat it!” She asked you, the second time in a more abrupt way.

You bit your lip, knowing it was just what she needed. Just what you needed.

“I want to be yours... Make me yours, Marilyn...” You repeated with the most sexual moan you had ever emitted.

“Oh, fuck, I, I'm going to cum…” She said, moving her hips with force, until, with a sharp moan she stopped, pressing against your body, releasing inside of you.

“Yes! Yes!” You screamed when you felt the heat filling your body, when you felt a hot liquid filling you completely. Your orgasm did not wait, your vagina contracted with a gasp and your back arched under the watchful eye of your teacher.

Her dark, hungry expression changed as she finished. She was still inside you, but her eyes were wide, looking into yours, scared.

You began to see things more clearly. You didn’t know if the effect of that pollen had a limited duration in time, or ended once the desire had been satisfied.

“My God, but, what have we done?” The redhead said, beginning to get very nervous.

You had had the best sex of your life, even if it was under the influence of that plant. Maybe it wasn't time to confess your love, or maybe it was. Anyway, what was done was done, and proof of that was a trickle of liquid running down your leg.

“Marilyn,” you said, sitting up, as she pulled out of you and pulled up her pants, quickly covering herself. “I don't think it was a mistake...”

“Oh my God... They're going to fire me... I... Wait, you were of legal age, right?” She asked nervously, passing her hand across her forehead.

“Of course I am, I'm twenty years old,” you said, frowning, annoyed. “But those things you told me, that you were thinking about me...”

She sighed in relief and looked at you embarrassed.

“Please, tell me it wasn't because of the plant, tell me you feel something for me, like I do,” you said softly, getting up from the table and grabbing her waist. She turned around and took your hands, thinking hard about her response.

“Oh, fuck everything. Yes, (Y/N), everything I told you is true. I... I... I feel things for you, many things... I, I love you...”

You smiled and gave her a quick kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes, but then she smiled, pulling you into a hug.

“Me too…”

“Wait, you mean you came to the conservatory every night just to be with me?”

You nodded amused, giving her another kiss.

“You are crazy…”

“About you…” You answered. You kissed her again, now with more intensity. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the plant on the floor. “Hey, what do we do with it?”

Marilyn looked at the plant and lowered her head...

“We just have to pick it up, the effects have already passed, and I doubt it will affect us again for a while.”

You nodded and went with her to collect the crystals from the display case. She was looking at you, but with some kind of guilty feeling.

“(Y/N)… I…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t… Don't think my intention was to treat you that way. I'm only like that when I'm confident… I hope I didn't hurt you… It was that damned plant’s fault.”

“Oh, then I guess I have to thank it,” you said jokingly. “Thank you, sinister plant.”

“(Y/N)…” Marilyn sighed.

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wednesday #ms thornhill #oneshot #smut

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