#wee nov promts
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November Prompts Day 4: Rainy
Whitney (they/them); Reader (you/your); attempted sexual assault; soft Whtieny ><”
Words: 406
Sprinting through the alleyway, you don’t dare look back. You don’t have to. You know they’re still following you, two boys you’d seen around school. They’ve been following you for days now, waiting for the chance to grab you. You should have known better than to brush it off as a coincidence that you kept seeing them.
Rain wets your skin as you run, chilling you to the bone as you skid around the corner, nearly losing your footing. One of them does lose their footing if the loud thud and following curses are any indication.
Still, you don’t slow down, don’t look back. Not when your end goal is in sight.
The park.
The moment you set foot past the gates, you know you’re safe. Or, safer, at least. You don’t have to think, your feet carrying automatically, the path known by heart. You all but collide into Whitney, arms wrapping around the surprised bully’s waist, pressing your face into their chest.
“The fuck are you-?”
They cut themself off as they see the two boys sprint into the park, looking around wildly. Looking for you.
“Please,” you mumble, pressing harder against Whitney. You’re not even really sure what you’re asking for from the bully. They never shied away from whoring you out before, what would make this time any different? Still, you look up at Whitney through your lashes. Confusion clear in their eyes, pink dusting their cheeks, you ask again, unable to speak above a whisper as you plead, “Please.”
Something shifts in Whitney, a hard look in their eye as they push you behind them.
“Oi!”
The pair freeze. They apparently hadn’t seen Whitney, obscured by their umbrella. They couldn’t say the same now, though, as the bully stares them down.
“You two trying to fuck with my property?”
“N-No, we-”
“Yeah? I think you’re lying. And I think you should leave. Now.”
The boys don’t hesitate, turning tail and scurrying off.
“Thank you,” you sigh, leaning against Whitney’s back, arms lazily wrapping around their middle. Their only response is a grunt, ducking their head in a way that you’re sure was to hide the blush spreading across their face. It doesn’t work. You let your hands drift, dipping under their waistband. “Let me show you how thankful I am.”
Whitney twists in your arms, hands coming up to press down on your shoulders.
You drop to your knees with a laugh.
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November Prompts Day 20: Mist
Ivory Wraith; Reader (you/your); slight possession/mind fuckery
Words: 189
A thin mist has settled over the town, blurring the lines of far off objects and cooling your skin as you try to sneak back to the relative safety of the orphanage. You’re close, so close to that end goal, that you don’t even notice the weight settling around your shoulders or the chill deepening.
Your soul focus is on getting to safety, until you hear it.
Gone too long.
You freeze in your tracks, a shiver running up your spine as the mist swirls around your feet.
Waiting for you.
Sluggishly, you move forward, each halting step taking you closer to the orphanage feels like a monumental effort.
Come back.
Safety. You need safety. Not to wake up on the lake shores, body sore and aching, with the impossible journey back to town looming ahead of you
Where you belong.
Where…you belong. Safe. Safe…in the temple?
No. Orphanage, you’re going to the orphanage.
So why are you on the edge of the woods?
Mist swirls further up your body, your bones lighter, skin tingling as the trees sway before you.
Belong with Us.
You step into the forest.
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November Prompts Day 13: Cuddling
Alex (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 97
Avery (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 59
Bailey (they/them); Reader (you/your); fake dating :3c
Words: 161
Whitney (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 66
Alex
Alex always was big on physical affection, cuddling no different. Almost every morning you end up pressed into their side, and every night your body is molded against theirs. While a single day hasn't gone by where you haven't pulled the farmhand into your lap or found yourself in theirs, you wouldn't be surprised if you found them pouting if such a day ever occurred. Really, you wouldn't blame them, smiling as the farmhand in question presses their face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin as they mumble soft words of praise.
Avery
You didn't think Avery would be one for cuddling, really. Yet, here you are, leaning against the businessperson in their home, their arm around your shoulders and keeping you from ever getting too far from them. You can't say you mind, enjoying the warmth of their body and the scent of their shampoo as you start to doze off.
Bailey
It's not cuddling. Don't mistake it for cuddling. Bailey doesn't cuddle. But here you are, leaning against the caretaker as they put on some weird facade, one that you knew you had to help sell or you'd both be in deep shit. That doesn't mean you don't take a chance to appreciate the…finer moments of getting to act like Bailey's significant other in this strange situation. Like how their strong arm feels while wrapped around your waist and the scent of cloves and tobacco that stains their skin. Bailey might try to call you out for it later, but, hey, you're doing your part, right? They should really thank you as you give a fake dizzy giggle, pressing your lips to the tattoo twisting across their neck. You're really ready to convince all these people that you're Bailey’s in more ways than one. Though, you know you've pushed too far when you grab their hand and lace your fingers through theirs.
Whitney
It is surprisingly comfortable, laying with Whitney, back pressed to their chest. They're quiet, to the point you'd think they were sleeping if they didn't have their phone in one hand, their other arm thrown over your waist. Occasionally they huff a laugh, breath tickling the back of your neck. Still, it's peaceful like this. You just wish moments like this with Whitney could last longer.
#wee nov promts#degrees of lewdity#alex the farmhand#avery the businessperson#bailey the caretaker#whitney the bully
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November Prompts Day 3: Tea Time
Morgan (he/him); Reader (you/your); pseudoinc*st ; dubcon; Reader slowly starting to mind break, in theory; is it pseudoinc*st or daddy kink or both, that is the question
Words: 229
“Tea time, dear!”
You smile weakly as Morgan returns, holding out a cup of tea. Careful not to touch his hands, you accept the cup. The liquid looks strange, something white and clumpy floating in the “tea.” But, your loving father wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?
Right?
Your father. Your loving, doting father who taught you all you knew. All you needed to know.
Sometimes, he scares you, you still flinch when his skin brushes against yours. That doesn’t matter though. He loves you. He loves you so much, he tells you he does all the time.
Daddy’s special little one, he’d whisper in your ear, hand tucked between your legs.
It’s easier to believe that than fight. Easier to bring the cup to your lips than to listen to the small part of your brain that whispers that something is wrong. Easier to swallow the tea, lukewarm liquid sliding thickly down your throat, and smile at your well-meaning father as he giggles.
“Time for your special lessons.”
Easier, but not better, as your breathing kicks up.
Morgan stares at you, wild smile fixed on his face as a cold sweat breaks out all over your body. A fine, uncontrollable tremor overtakes your body as you stand, following Morgan back to the mat you slept on with your father at night.
You close your eyes, stomach turning as Morgan’s weight settles on top of you. “Don’t worry darling,” he murmurs, hot breath fanning across your neck and making your skin crawl, “Daddy’s gonna take such good care of you, make you feel so good. And you’ll make Daddy feel good too! Aren’t you happy? That you’ll make your Daddy feel good?”
Bile rises in your throat even as you nod.
#degrees of lewdity#morgan the sewer dweller#tw dubcon#cw dubcon#tw pseudocest#cw pseudocest#tw pseudo inc*st#cw pseudo inc*st#wee nov promts#tw pseudo incest#cw pseudo incest
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November Prompts Day 2: Memories
GN Fuct Robin (they/them); GN Reader (you/your); GN Bailey (they/them); reader not around; physical abuse; angst; fuct Robin au
Words: 506
It was something of a miracle that the flower crown still existed, really.
When Robin had set it at the top of their wardrobe all those years ago, they had no idea it would be the last one you’d ever make. How could they? You made them a flower crown every afternoon. You’d sit in the back garden, the golden light of the setting sun extra sweet as it brushed your skin, and would weave together a flower crown to plop on their head.
How many had they thrown away? The flimsy crowns crumpled in their hands, unwinding and forgotten in the bottom of bins. How could they? How could they ever have done something like that, tossing something out that you gave them? Made for them?
But, they hadn’t known then that their time with you was limited. If they had, Robin would have kept every single thing you’d ever given them. They’d be drawing in flower crowns, but that would have been preferable.
Gingerly, Robin picks up the crown, a soft whine building in the back of their throat when a few dried petals shake free. On impulse, they set the crown on top of their head, and, for a moment, they can believe that it’s you doing it. That it’s you tucking their hair behind their ears, smoothing down any flyaways so they wouldn’t get tangled with the flowers, brushing your lips over their ears as you whispered how lovely they looked wreathed in flowers.
“Birdie.”
Robin goes cold, scrambling to get the old crown off their head lest it gets ripped away.
Bailey stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a cold smile on their face.
“No time to get lost in memories. Got a job to get to, don’t you?”
Robin nods quickly, “Was just grabbing my gloves.”
Bailey kicks off from the door frame, stalking towards Robin. They stand still, refusing to back down even though they feel like they might crumple to the floor at any moment. Bailey still had that effect on them, even now, well into adulthood.
Bailey’s eyes flick down to the crown, still held in Robin’s hands, before back to Robin’s face. There’s a split second where Robin knows what’s coming next, but they still don’t back down. Bailey moves like a viper, a rough hand making contact with Robin’s cheek before they can even steel themselves. One of Bailey’s rings catches on their bottom lip, and Robin knows there will be a new scar.
“Don’t lie. Get your gloves and get going. Got bills to pay, and no one else can bail you out this time.”
Bailey yanks the crown from Robin’s hands, more than just petals falling to the floor from their force.
“Don’t-!”
“Shut it. I’ll give it back to you after.”
Before Robin can argue further, Bailey leaves.
All Robin can do is grab their gloves from their wardrobe, and hope the job tonight is an easy one.
That, and think of how they’ll one day pay Bailey back, for everything.
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November Prompts Day 18: Rainboots
Whitney (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 226
You know you look silly, running through the streets in the rain, trying to make it to the park before it gets too late. Even the reason you're running to start with is silly, dumb. It might even put you in a bad situation.
That doesn't stop you, though. You keep running, skidding into the park, and taking a moment to catch your breath. Scanning the park, you break out into a wide grin as you spot a familiar-looking umbrella, a thin trail of smoke unfurling from beneath it.
Whitney.
The bully hardly looks at you as you take your customary place at their side, grinning up at them as they pointedly ignore you.
“Whit-ney,” you say in a sing-song voice, nudging their shoulder with your own.
They sigh, “You’re getting way too comfortable around me.”
You laugh, their own small smile warming you further as you press into their side.
“Look what I just got,” you say, sticking out one of your feet so they can see your new rain boots. “We match!”
The expression on Whitney’s face is unreadable, their ears going a bright pink as they stare down at your boots.
Whitney doesn’t say anything, just shuffles a little closer as they take another drag from their cigarette. Their leg presses against yours, boots almost touching, as they stare out across the park.
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November Prompts Day 12: Gloomy
Bailey (they/them); Reader (you;your); heavily implied that it’s hybrid cat Bailey just after returning human; animal au
Words: 275
The air is thick, and oppressive. Stifling. You do all you can to creep down the hall, not wanting to catch Bailey’s attention if you can help it. The biggest problem is, you don’t know where the caretaker is in the orphanage if they're even in the orphanage at all. They’d shown up yesterday, in a foul mood. It didn’t help you’d been out all night, chilled to the bone looking for a lost pet.
Straining your ears gets you nothing, the only sound is the sniffing of your fellow orphans from where they hide in their own rooms and the rhythmic beating of the nighttime rain against the outside of the building.
Breathing a sigh of relief, you slip into your room only to freeze at the sight of the caretaker sitting on the edge of your bed.
Even if you could think of anything to say, you don’t get a chance as Bailey stands, slowly stalking towards you. Keeping your eyes on their shoes, you don’t see the weariness in their expression, the softness around their eyes and mouth. All you know is their dark gaze as it burns against your skin.
A hand comes down heavily on your shoulder, making you flinch. Still, you don’t move away, don’t look up, as they speak. “Payment due tomorrow, don’t be late.”
Bailey doesn’t drink. You know they don’t, but you almost think they’re drunk as they leave you standing there in the dark of your room. You almost hope they are. It would make more sense if they were. But, you doubt it.
Bailey acting weird and your pet is in the wind, lovely.
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November Prompts Day 1: Crisp Air
GN Great Hawk (they/them); GN Reader (you/your); harpy Reader; hybrids; fluff :3
Words: 215
“Air crisp, clear. Good air for flying.”
You nod, not really listening to your mate as they talk, too busy grooming their wings, soft feathers under your fingers. The same soft feathers that line your nest.
Great Hawk’s feathers puff out under your attentions, a sign of love that always makes you giggle.
“Mate should fly with me.”
One of their wings wraps around you, fluttering against your back as they pull you closer. They start searing you out of the castle, to their perch, and it’s only now that your mate’s words reach you. With a whine, you shake your head, your own wings twitching where they’re folded against your back.
“They’re not strong enough,” you mumble, wings stretching out behind you as you try to prove your point. They look so much smaller than your mate’s, even though you know they’re done growing.
“Fly more, grow stronger.”
They nuzzle into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin before pulling away.
You look out over the moor. Hesitantly, you nod heart fluttering as Great Hawk trills happily next to you.
“Don’t worry, will be next to mate always.”
You can only hope they’re being honest as you let the winds catch your wings and lift you into the air.
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November Prompts Day 11: Shooting Stars
Cat Bailey (they/them); Reader (you/your); animal au
Words: 247
Leaning against the garden fence, you let your head rest against the solid wood. Three blankets are all that keep the nighttime chill from chasing you back into the orphanage. Nights like this were nice. New moon, the orphans all asleep. Nights that you got to keep to yourself.
“Merow!"
You jump at the angry meow, golden eyes staring out at you from the darkness. With a huffed laugh, you pull the blanket back, beckoning the mouthy stray you’d adopted to settle in your lap. Small paws kneed your calves as they settle, another indignant meow sounding as you mutter about their quality biscuits before setting back against the fence.
Your hand settles on top of the cat's head, idly stroking their soft fur, fingertips ghosting over their torn ear. The low purr is felt more than heard, one that doesn't break your thoughts as you gaze into the night sky.
It’s been almost a month now since Bailey went missing. It’s strange. You used to hate the caretaker but now you were worried. Mostly, you worried about the orphanage but there was still a tiny voice in the back of your head that worried about their safety.
A star streaks past overhead and you sigh, picking up your cat and holding them against your chest. Pressing a kiss to their head you mutter a wish on the fading light:
“I wish for Bailey to come back safe.”
A soft meow is the only answer you get.
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November Prompts Day 7: Mysterious
this is fucking Inky’s fault for making me associate Quinn with the term “mysterious” and we haven't even published the thing yet so I can't even link to it so u guys know and it's just me screaming into the abyss on this aaaaaaa
Quinn (they/them); Avery (they/them); Reader (you/your); idk what i’d even call this tbh; noncon touching
Words: 268
You nearly jump out of your skin as a hand presses against the small of your back. Being with Avery at these types of outings usually affords you a type of protection that you wouldn’t otherwise have. That didn't seem to matter now though, as the mayor themself smiled at you, hand dipping lower to graze your ass.
“Quinn!” Avery says with a tight smile that doesn’t reach their eyes. “What a lovely surprise.”
Quinn gives Avery a brilliant grin, eyes hidden behind sunglasses even in the softly lit ballroom. “Managed to swing a night to myself and thought I’d drop in.”
You can’t concentrate on most of their conversation, too distracted by the hand resting on your rear becoming more and more adventurous. You shoot Avery a pleading look, unsure of what to do. Avery ignores you, and you continue to stand still and let the mayor grope you.
“What’d ya say?”
A small squeak escapes you as Avery pulls you from Quinn. “Not tonight,” the businessperson mutters.
Quinn gives Avery a long look, an unreadable expression on their face. “Some other time, then?”
Avery jerks their head in a sharp nod.
Quinn’s smile widens. “Splendid. Next week work for you? Be sure to bring this pretty thing with you.” Quinn doesn’t give Avery a chance to say anything, winking at you over the rim of their sunglasses before swaggering off into the thick of the party.
You’re not sure what just happened, but you know it can't be good as Avery steers you away from the party, the look in their eye promising a long night.
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November Prompts Day 28: Smoke
Briar (they/them); Bailey (they/them); Reader (you/you); drugs; multiple partners
Another special lil shout out for @inkyquince for the one line they gave me that irrevocably altered the trajectory of this in such a nice way 💕
Words: 650
Bailey hates visiting the brothel. Music blasting loud enough for them to feel it in their bones, whores grabbing at them as they pass through the dimly lit space. The only tolerable part about it is how Briar keeps the place clean. They don’t think they could stomach it if their shoes started sticking to the floors during visits.
They’d never tell Briar this, though. Otherwise, the brothel owner might actually relax their cleaning standards to make Bailey uncomfortable enough to invite them to the orphanage for their bi-monthly meetings.
Over Bailey's dead body will they invite Briar into the orphanage. Already bad enough Briar’s eyes wander during the meetings at the brothel. Briar wouldn't hesitate to take things further, and Bailey is well aware of that. Inviting the fucker into the orphanage? Into their own office? Into the room that shares a wall with their bedroom? They know Birar would feel like they’d won, in some way.
Won what? Bailey doesn’t particularly know, nor do they care. As long as they can keep Briar from giving them that smug fucking smile, keep them from leaning over and murmuring in their ear, keep them from placing a hand on their knee and giving it a soft squeeze, Bailey is happy.
They don’t bother knocking on Briar’s door. Maybe they should have, but they know Briar would have just called them in any way. Briar’s never been shy, especially when it came to taunting Bailey.
Taunting them. That must be what Briar's doing because why else would you be here, sitting in Briar’s lap in sheer clothing that covered absolutely nothing?
There’s a panic in your eyes as you see Bailey, pressing closer into Briar as if they can somehow hide you when it’s their doing that you’re here to begin with. If anything, Briar shows you off more, gip on your hip keeping you from squirming out of their lap, your thighs spread to accommodate Bria’s legs between them. It gives Bailey a clear view of your arousal, precum darkening the thin fabric around your crotch.
“You’re late.”
Bailey’s eyes snap to Briar's, the brothel owner smirking as Bailey scowls, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Briar laughs and Bailey doesn’t bother arguing to have you leave the room, taking their customary seat on the sofa in Briar’s office.
Your eyes dart between the brothel owner and your caretaker, a small, pathetic whine building in your throat as Briar’s hand strokes over your thigh, coming dangerously close to brushing your groin.
“Come on pretty,” Briar murmurs in your ear, “don’t tense up on me now. We’re going to show them a good time, aren’t we?” Bailey’s scowl deepens as you give a mewling whine, nodding your head eagerly.
Bailey hadn’t noticed the joint between Briar’s fingers before, but they can’t ignore it now as the brothel owner brings it to their lips, end flaring as they inhale. You don’t need prompting, eager lips parting expectantly and waiting for Briar to shotgun the smoke into your mouth.
Obedient. Far more obedient than you’ve ever been for Bailey.
“Go on, little star,” Briar chuckles, letting you slide from their lap. “Give your caretaker a sample of our latest, tastiest concoction.”
Bailey expects you to scurry from the room, to grab some strange bottle of wine. They’re too shocked to fight you off when you push them to lay back against the sofa and straddle their face. Not too shocked to think Briar didn’t plan this as the brothel owner laughs again, slotting themself between Bailey’s legs.
They could still push you off them, slug Briar in their stupid fucking face and leave the brothel. They could.
They don’t. Not when you’re breathy and whining above them, begging for them to ruin you on their tongue. Not when Briar's sinfully skilled hands dip beneath their trousers. Not when they can finally get what they deserve.
#degrees of lewdity#bailey the caretaker#briar the brothel owner#wee nov promts#tw drugs#cw drugs#tw multiple partners#cw multiple partners
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November Prompts Day 10: Cozy
Scarred Inmate (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 241
Sprinting across the yard during free period draws a few eyes your way, but no one thinks twice about it. It's bitterly cold out, most of your fellow inmates shuffling after you, preferring to spend time inside the cell blocks than in the cold, buffered by the biting wind.
Even in the prison it's chilly, but better than being outside. Especially with your destination.
It's a little funny that you don't know the scarred inmate's name. You spend a good deal of time with them, after all. Though, you don't think they know your name either.
It doesn't matter. You slip into their cell regardless, ready to pay up for their protection. Their rough hands on your waist is expected, as is how they pull you against them. You know the drill, trying to shimmy out of your clothes as quickly as possible in hopes that they won't tear them this time when they surprise you.
They stop you from stripping.
They pull you into their cot, still holding you against them. Keeping one arm secured around your middle, they blindly fumble for the thin blanket the prison provided. Your mind is still reeling as they settle, mumbling for you to stay still as they drag the blanket up, maneuvering you so you're tucked under their chin, back pressed to their chest.
It's…surprisingly cozy. Their steady, deep breaths lulling you into a peaceful doze for the rest of your free period.
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November Prompts Day 19: Hugs
Darryl (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 101
Landry (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 112
Wren (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 74
Darryl
Soft. Darryl’s hug is soft. Their muttering in your ear how you were so brave, launching at that customer when Darryl froze. Their hair brushing the back of your hand as you wrap your arms around their neck, trying to pull yourself closer into their warm embrace. Even their scent, a faint trace of honeysuckle as you press your face into their neck in an attempt to hide the tears that spring to life as adrenaline fades.
Darryl guides you to the sofa in their office as they hug you, letting you get comfortable as you calm down in their arms.
Landry
You don’t know why you hug the criminal, really. They’re not the hugging type, strictly business with you. But, you do, the urge to hug them as they snap at a lean woman to leave you alone overriding logic. You latch onto Landry, their body going stiff in surprise before relaxing, ever so slightly. A hand comes to rest on your back, a small smile that you can’t see tugging at their lips as they take a moment to enjoy the press of your body against theirs. Finally, with a soft pat on the back, Landry moves away, and you let them slip out from your embrace like nothing had happened at all.
Wren
It’s with a loud whoop that Wren hugs you, smell of petrol clinging to their skin as they crush you against them. There’s no warning before your feet leave the ground, Wren spinning you around as they laugh wildly. When Wren sets you back down, you stay clinging to them, head still spinning. The smuggler’s hand comes to rest on your ass as they drag you back through the estate and to their cottage.
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November Prompts Day 30: Lanterns
Wren (they/them); Reader (you/your); drugs
Words: 301
Lanterns bob in the distance, Remy’s goons on the prowl. You’re not sure if they’ve noticed your absence or if this is a regular occurrence on the estate during the night. You don’t want to find out.
“This way, sweetheart,” Wren murmurs, their hands splayed over your hips as they guide you, making you walk in front of them to keep you from falling or running off. “Watch your step now.”
Their voice is low, a hint of amusement underneath the worry.
“Don’t…have to?” Your words are labored, loose and mushy in your mouth. Drugged, you think dimly. Remy drugged you. And Wren was putting themself in danger by sneaking you off the estate.
Wren in danger.
You try to smack at their hands, try to push Wren away from you. You don’t want Wren to get in trouble with Remy, fucking Remy of all people, because of you. Unfortunately, your limbs are just as weak as your tongue, your hands resting over Wren’s as you weakly tug at them.
“I know I don’t have to, darlin’,” Wren says with a soft laugh. “Just not fair boss gets all the fun.” Wren gives your hips a quick squeeze, making you stop so they can tuck their face into the crook of your neck. It takes everything in you not to make a sound as you feel the smuggler’s hot breath fan across your skin, and you can’t repress a shudder as their teeth graze against you. “You’ll owe me one, but don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about that now. We still need to get you off the estate first.” Wren starts to guide you forward again.
It takes all your strength to keep upright, head spinning and heart pounding in your ears as Wren walks you through the muddy fields.
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November Prompts Day 17: Blanket
Sydney (they/them); Reader (you/your)
Words: 227
The car ride home is quiet. Sirris has a news channel on, listening intently to talk about space explorations as you stare out the window. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, but you can’t bring yourself to ask Sirris or Sydney if you can spend the night in their home.
Sydney sighs next to you, having drifted into a light doze during the ride. Watching their reflection in the window, you can't help but admire them. Their lips are parted slightly, cheeks flushed, fine strands of strawberry blonde hair escaping their ponytail and caressing their cheek. You wish you had a camera, had some way of capturing this image of Sydney snoozing.
You're still watching them when they shudder, curling in on themself in an attempt to keep warm.
A jacket lays between you and Sydney, Sirris' you think. You turn from the window, grabbing the jacket and laying it across Sydney as a blanket, tucking it around their shoulders. They sigh softly, slowly relaxing into the makeshift blanket as they warm up.
As you watch, their eyes flutter open, hazy gaze meeting yours as they give you a sleepy smile. They shift, hand creeping out from under the blanket. They take your hand, lacing their fingers through yours and giving you a soft squeeze as their eyes drift closed, drifting back to sleep.
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November Prompts day 29: Apple Cider
Remy (they/them); Reader (you/your); drugging; past cattle reader
Words: 338
Thunder booms outside, making you flinch involuntarily. Remy’s eyes are drawn to you at the movement, the slight frown on their face making you squirm.
It’d been stupid for you to go to the riding school, you knew that. You just, thought it would be cathartic, honestly. Paying Remy to teach you how to ride when the last time you’d seen the farmer was on their farm, whip curled around their fist as you’d reclaimed your humanity. You hadn’t expected a storm to sweep in like this. Even when it had, you thought you would just have a hellish walk back to Alex’s farm.
No. Apparently not. You could hardly see past the wall of rain, let alone walk in it.
Begrudgingly, you’d asked Remy if you could stay until the storm passed, and the farmer couldn’t really refuse.
Now, here you were, stuck with them, picking at a meal with Remy sitting right next to you, so close you swear you can feel the smugness over your situation rolling off them.
Remy eyes you over the rim of their glass as they take a long drink. “It’s rude to refuse such hospitality,” they murmured, green eyes shining at your discomfort. “One might think you’re a barnyard animal with manners like this.”
You fight back a sneer as you pick up your own glass, not even bothering to look at its contents before drinking. That was a mistake. Where you expected water, you find something sweet instead. Something crisp and addictive. You end up draining your glass in large, greedy gulps.
Remy smirks as you set your glass down. You…had drunk too fast. Yeah, that was it. That was why it felt like your head was spinning as you balled your hands into fists in an attempt to ground yourself.
“Apple cider,” Remy says, answering your unasked question. “Made right here on the estate. Thought you might appreciate it.”
Your tongue feels thick, heavy in your mouth, as you nod in agreement, elated as Remy refills your drink.
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