You’re already dripping, embarrassingly so. Soft cotton damp between your thighs where it sits snuggly against your cunt. Abby is currently fastening the leather straps of the strap-on around her hips, fingers daft as they work.

The sight of her pulling the bands tight makes your breathing pick up, chest moving with desperate little gasps.

Your hands are bound behind your back, silk rope holding the limbs snug but not tight enough to hurt. As she finishes, palms the skin colored dildo bound to her core, your throat runs dry.

“Ready for me, baby?” The question floats over your head as she moves to kneel between your legs on the worn mattress. Her fingers reach for the panties practically sticking to your damp fold.

“Oh yeah - you’re ready for me.” She whispers with the flicker of a smile on her lips.

Abby leans forward, brackening your head with her hands as she looms over you. She captures your mouth in a searing kiss, hot and wet as tongues slide against one another, teeth nip at lips.

Your hands slip over her shoulders to her jaw, caressing the skin there. Your thumbs brush against her cheekbones as the two of your practically tongue-fuck one another. One of her hands lifts off the mattress to palm one of your breasts, thumb circling the nipple while her tongue explores your mouth in earnest.

She swallows the whimper leaving your lips before kissing down your throat, licking and sucking gently. Your hands roam over her back, clawing at the taut muscles of her back.

“Please.” You whisper into the dimly lit room - Abby hums against your neck before she lifts herself enough to loom over you once again. Her hand comes up to brush over the soft skin of your cheek, eyes soft with love and want.

“Yeah? Need me to fuck you, baby?” The question shoots right to your aching cunt, pooling in your lower belly like a promise you need her so badly to fulfill.

“Say it, baby - let me hear you.” She whispers as she leans her head down, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. “Need you to fuck me, Abs - please.”

Abby doesn’t waste time, she hooks two fingers into your already soiled underwear and drags them down excruciatingly slowly. Her thumb brushes through your folds once, circling your clit slowly.

“Look at that - such a pretty little pussy.” She whispers as she brings the thumb to her lips, sucking it clean.

“Gonna let me stuff this cunt? Let me fill you to the brim?” A whimper escapes you as you palm at your own breasts, legs spreading wider in invitation. “Please, Abs - I need you.”

She hums softly and slips two hands under your thighs, hikes your legs over her shoulders. “That’s my girl.” Abby murmurs as she lines herself up with your entrance, rubs the head of the dildo through your folds one or twice to collect the slick and then she pushes in slowly, only the head at first to give you time to adjust.

Your eyebrows knit together as a breathy keen escapes you, hands grabbing at her shoulders for purchase, to ground yourself.

“You okay, baby?” She murmurs, thumb caressing the soft skin of your thigh.

With a nod, you brush a hand up her neck, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Move, please.” You whisper. Abby moves her hips slowly at first, letting you feel the glide, the ridges of the dildo but she watches your face for every flicker, for every spark of pleasure.

“Oh.” Your toes curl as she picks up her pace, skin meeting skin as the room fills with the obscene sounds of damp skin slapping. Abby groans softly as the dildo grinds against her clit with every downstroke, her fingers tightening around your thighs.

She leans forward a little and a little more until you’re nearly folded in half. The position is filthy, intimate and hits just right.

“Fuck, Abby.” You nearly sob, thighs shaking as the inevitable heat in your lower belly coils, tightens.

“I know, baby - me too.” She whispers against your knee, placing openmouthed kisses against your skin as her hips snap against yours, driving the strap so deep.

Your hands grab at her back, slipping to her front to palm at her breasts, the pads of your thumbs toying with the soft peaks of her nipples - the motion elicits louder moans from her, making her hips stutter deliciously.

“Come with me, baby - come on my cock.” She demands, her nails biting into the skin of your thighs. The coil tightens and tightens until the pleasure ebbs over, exploding inside you like a firework finally lightening up in the night sky.

With a cry your back bows off the bed, toes curling and thighs shaking. Abby follows a moment later, hips stuttering her head lulls back, her tits bounce a little as her body shakes with orgasm shooting through her veins.

You’re both breathing hard as she collapses on top of you, burying her face in the crook of your neck, placing sloppy openmouthed kisses against the fluttering of your pulse.

It’s raining cats and dogs and your jacket is NOT waterproof. The cardboard of the package in your hands is probably soaked through and the contents ruined but it’s now or never - the post office closes in about fifteen minutes.

The door to the post office swings open as a man steps outside on the pavement but, oh yes, he doesn’t hold the door open. While juggling your handbag, a cup of very hot coffee and the stupid package, you somehow manage to open the door and slip into the semi warm building.

There’s no one in here except the cashier and she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying being here at all. “How can I help you?” The young woman behind the register, who you’re convinced should still be in high school, asks in a tone which indicates how awfully bored she is. “I’d like to give up this package.”

She doesn’t retaliate and takes the package from your hands without a word. It doesn’t take long for her to type something into the small worn display of the register before the low hum of the label machine fills the awkward silence. The cashier slaps the label onto the package with more force than required and lifts her gaze to yours once again.

“That’ll be 25,70 dollars.” You give her a blink and a pause, because what the hell.

“Excuse me?” Escapes you as you slowly reach for your wallet.

“I don’t make the prices, lady.” The answer leaves her monotone, you’ll guess she’ll have to say it several times a day in order not to go insane. You hand her the money and she puts it into the register before she hands you the recipe. “Bye.” What a lovely young girl.

Then you turn and head towards the door, rain still pounding, the rainfall makes everything look vaguely like a budget version of the twilight films.

The moment is quickly shattered as a woman in uniform, specifically a female officer makes her way to your car - which, okay there was nowhere to park and the damn post office was about to close - is parked in a handicapped space.

“Shit.” You whisper to yourself as you rush out onto the sidewalk. With quick steps you cross the street and unlock, quick - time to act pathetic.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, I-”Safe it, sweetheart.” The officer interrupts you without looking up from her notepad. The interruption make you still next to her, fuck you.

“I’ll move it right-”Too late for that.” She scribbles a little more on her notebook, pen gliding over the paper like finality. As she rips the paper off, doesn’t hand it to you but clips it under one of your windshield wipers. The little gold nametag catches your attention ‘Williams’.

“Look, Officer Williams - I’m really sorry for parking in a handicapped parking spot. I know it looks bad-”It really does.” Williams interrupts you once again with what looks very close to a smile she’s trying to hide, you decide to ignore it.

“I was running late for the post office, it was about to close and there were no parking spots and…I'm just really sorry.” Officer Williams wipes her brow with the back of her hand since her short hair as plastered to her forehead like yours is plastered to your neck and your shirt - she looks beautiful, you must look like a hooker reject.

“That’s heartbreaking, really. But rules apply to everyone, even pretty girls who can’t plan their time.” The whole sentence makes your brain float - rules, yes, okay - you can live with that but pretty girls? You..a pretty girl - is she complimenting you?

“I mean..umh..-”Bring the money to the station by Monday. Ask for Ellie Williams.” With that the Officer turns around and strolls back to her cruiser like she didn’t just rewire your brain in a very both pleasant and unpleasant way. What the actual hell.

You watch her pull off the curb and glance back to the now soaked ticked between your windshield and wiper.

‘VIOLATION Handicapped parking, 150 dollars signed; Officer Ellie Williams’

The walk to the station on Monday feels like being publicly shamed, with the money in hand, you shoulder the glass door open and immediately the bustling of a very busy but rather relaxed station fills your every nerve.

There are people arguing at the counter, people being guided through narrowly placed desks in handcuffs, officers half-heartedly doing paperwork.

The counter clears when the man who’s been arguing with a very tired woman behind it slams the paper in his hand onto the wood and stalks off with a string of curses flying from his mouth.

The glass door rattles a little when he leaves. The woman behind the counter waves you over with an expression that screams ‘I’m too old and too tired for this shit.’

You swallow once before stepping forward, placing the ticket on the wooden counter with an awkward expression. “I’m here to pay my parking ticket - I was told to ask for Ellie Williams.” The woman raises an eyebrow and sighs exasperatedly.

“She flirt with you?” The question makes you cock your head in question - the woman, ‘Shonda’ as her nametag says, chooses to ignore your perplexed expression and instead picks up the telephone on her side of the counter and asks for ‘Williams’ to whoever is on the other line.

“Pay the fine and get your behind out the station - Williams likes to butter up pretty things like you.” Shonda warns as the very same female Officer slips through the door behind her.

“I got it from here, Shonda.” Williams pats Shonda’s shoulder once before the older woman scampers off to god knows where with a roll of her eyes. “Lesbians.” She mutters to no one in particular before she’s gone.

Your gaze flickers to Officer Ellie Williams as she pulls the ticket from your hand and gives you a teasing half smile. “150 dollars, please.” Williams says, her voice lower and a little playful - she is definitely flirting with you now.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out the small bundle of bills and hold it out for her to take, she reaches a hand and lets her digits glide over yours in a way that normal transactions don’t go - the eye contact is probably not professional either. Why is she looking at you like she would climb over this counter and ravish you in broad daylight?

“You don’t look very happy.” The officer before you notes as if she didn’t just take 150 bucks from you with a smile on her face. “Oh I wonder why.” You counter dryly, head cocked in a way that suggests sarcasm.

“Look, I’m just doing my job, sweetheart.” Ellie answers rather amused as she stamps the ticket with ‘PAID’ in bright red and slides it back to you over the counter. “I think doing your job doesn’t include calling me ‘sweetheart’.” The tiny spark of bite in your retort sparks pure delight in her expression - does she like feistiness? This woman is making your brain swim and your heartbeat spike behind your ribs and you’re not entirely sure how to feel about it. She’s hot, too hot to be completely honest and you’ve always had a weakness for hot women with sharp grins.

“Alright, how about this - I’ll make it up to you with a nice dinner, what do you say ‘sweetheart’?” The question makes your brain skid to a halt - did she just - yes she absolutely did.

This irritating, hot bitch of a woman just asked you out after the whole parking ticket fiasco. And the deliberate use of the pet name once again makes something in your lower belly coil dangerously. “Excuse me?” Is all you manage, what the fuck are you supposed to say to a police officer asking you out like this.

“No? You’ll really leave me hanging after I’ve been so ‘nice’ to you?” Ellie tilts her head, challenging you to chicken out, to awkwardly decline but you’ve always been competitive and she is a wet dream come alive - so why the hell not.

“Alright.” The agreement makes Ellie’s grin sharpen and she slips a piece of paper and a pen over the counter.

“Good, give me your number and I’ll have you fed in no time.” That was overly sexual and somehow it doesn’t bother it at all - the number is written down quickly. You pocket your ticket with the ghost of a bashful smile on your lips.

The light rosy blush makes Ellie tilt her head with a gaze that suggests she’s shamelessly undressing you in her mind. Before you can slip out of the station with your head buzzing and your heart doing summer saults in your chest, Ellie calls out once again.

“You look like shit, Williams.” The provoking tone of Captain Servopoulos scrapes at Ellie’s very prominent hangover. She lets herself fall into the chair by her captain’s desk, legs crossed and one hand brushing over her face with a huff. Too much whiskey and too little time to have her body fight it.

“Thanks Tess.” Ellie murmurs around an unlit cigarette which will do nothing to solve the insistent pounding behind her right eye. “Don’t call me that.” Tess grunts as she sits down in her worn office chair. Williams only answers with an amused huff, lighting the cigarette despite the yellow little sign by the door which forbids it.

The older woman opens the top left drawer of her mahogany desk and fishes out a worn yellow folder, one Ellie has only heard of up till now. She slaps the folder onto the desk with a sigh and Ellie knows that this is how shit starts - she’s assigned a case which no one wants and to be honest - she doesn’t want it either.

“Don’t tell me this is what I think it is.” Williams grunts in displeasure as a thin milky string of smoke escapes her nostrils. “Shut up.” Tess exhales as she pinches the bridge of her nose in mild irritation. “This is-”It’s a cold case, that’s what it is.” Williams retorts with snort, tapping ash into the empty paper coffee cup she brought.

“You’re giving me cold cases now, Captain?” The very prospect of being downgraded to cold cases bites at Ellie’s ego - newbies get cold cases, old pricks with retirement practically in their pocket get cold cases - not Ellie Williams, not the very officer who got the JCPD’s ranking up by ten in the last five years.

“It’s not a punishment, Ellie.” Tess tries, places a hand on the yellow folder to emphasize her words, though all Ellie feels is this sour feeling at the back of her throat.

“You can’t push me back like that, Tess. I mean, I’m one of your best.” Ellie attempts, placing the nearly finished cigarette into the paper cup. “You’re a drunk, Ellie. A hypocritical idiot who’d rather spend her days processing park tickets than using your skills as a detective to solve my cases.” Ellie shakes her head with a bitter expression, true words she doesn’t want to hear.

“I know the last year was hard for you. Joel’s passing struck us hard and I know it affected you the most but, Ellie, you have to get it together.” William’s jaw clenches at the very mention of her adoptive father’s death. Joel was a detective too, her partner in crime as he liked to call himself.

“Don’t bring Joel into this.” Ellie manages to whisper as the feeling of the cigarette’s nicotine turns ratchet in her veins. “I’m better, I did the whole therapy shit. I’ve been sticking to my desk like a good soldier and now you’re throwing me under the bus with a cold case?”

Tess barely contains her frustration, the cocked eyebrow tells Ellie that she’s pushing it, but she’s never been good at minding boundaries. “I’m doing you a fucking favor, Ellie.” The older woman pauses for a moment, flips open the folder and flips through a few loose papers. “This case isn’t cold anymore.”

Before Tess can explain further, a knock interrupts her. “Come in.” The Captain calls and with a soft squeak from the old hinges, the white wooden door with the lettering ‘Captain Tess Servopoulos’ opens and reveals a young woman. The dark hair and prominent nose stands out to Ellie - what annoys her even more though is the too bright smile and the awkward stance. “You wanted to see me, Ma’am?”

“Who the hell is that?” Williams tries to whisper to Tess, though it isn’t a whisper at all. Tess shoots her a scalding look, telling her to shut the fuck up. “This is Dina Woodward, rookie and your new partner.”

The words slither into Ellie’s ears like a searing rod, making her heartbeat spike dangerously. She had said that she didn’t want a new partner, not after Joel. Not after she had to bury the only man who has always had her back, not after it all. Ellie was good alone, better than good and this feels like a replacement. Like Tess saying ‘get over it’ without the actual words and it’s fucking awful.

“Fuck no!” Ellie spits with as much venom as the day she identified Joel’s murderer and it makes something burn behind her ribs. Dina looks like a deer caught in headlights, unsure about what to do - turn around and run, pretend this reaction to her simply stepping into the room never happened, possibly ignoring Ellie long enough for the detective to forget her or stay right there in the doorway and listen to the detective rejecting her as if she might carry the plague.

“Stop this instant, Williams.” Tess slams a hand onto the wooden table, her voice echoes off the concrete walls. “You will take this rookie and train her the way Joel did. You will solve this case with her and you will not under any circumstances do this alone.” Ellie crosses her arms, chest tight with anger and something painful she doesn’t want to name.

“Or what?” She whispers, the words a little breathless. “Or I’ll terminate you. I’ve tolerated your behaviour and slip ups out of the goodness of my heart but this stops now. You will take Dina as your partner and solve this case, do you understand me?”

Ellie knows that look, that tone of voice. Tess is serious and if she lets her anger drive this, ruin this - it’ll all be over. It’ll all be in vain. Joel signing her up for the academy, Joel training her for months on end just to be the best in her class - she can’t throw it all away, she knows that much. 

“Fine.” Ellie murmurs, her shoulders drop in defeat as she takes a breath. The thought of a partner, a rookie makes her sick enough but Dina’s seemingly unbreakable smile makes her tad nauseous. “It’s an honor to get to work with you, Miss Williams.” Dina steps forward and offers Ellie a hand she’s sure will be sweaty. “Ellie’s fine.” The detective grumbles before she sidesteps Dina and opens the door.

“And Williams.” Ellie looks over her shoulder. “If you show up to work smelling like a dive bar one more time, I'll have you on archive duty for a month.” The detective gives one more pitiful sigh before she leaves the office without another word. The words are clear in her mind, flashing like a sex club sign - Fuck My Life.

The rookie, Dina, trails after Ellie like a lost puppy no one wanted until they reach her desk. Across from it sits an empty one, Joel’s one. Ellie never cleared it, she doesn’t know when it was cleared but when she came back from therapy, when her mandatory time off to ‘process’ the loss of him - it was empty and she never commented on it.

When Dina sits herself down in his chair, puts the yellow folder and her bag onto his desk and scowls a little at the worn mouse of the tattered computer in front of her, Ellie’s jaw works but she restrains from calling her any names - not a good look if she decides to go snitching to The Cap.

 “Give that here.” Ellie snatches the folder from the rookie’s grip and avoids looking at her as she opens the damned thing up.

“I’ve read a little about the case, it’s truly fascinating how-”I can’t read if your gob is open.” Dina shuts her mouth quick enough and slowly shifts her attention to the sad excuse of a computer as to not aggravate her any further.

The papers inside the folder are mismatched and yellowed at some corners. Witness reports and statement papers are all over the place and the state of this case isn’t really a case - it’s a mess. Then, as Ellie flips through a few papers to set them aside, a few loose pictures flutter onto the roughed up wood of her workdesk. She takes the first one between her thumb and pointer finger - a crime scene photo. Two bodies lay splayed across a concrete floor. 

Both wear a red oozing bullet hole across their foreheads, eyes wide open. The body on the right is already covered with a white sheet up to the shoulders but the angle isn’t good and she can’t make out his face. The one on the left has his leg bent at an unnatural angle, fingers sprouting on the left hand as if all broken individually - the way those bodies were broken suggests torture before the actual killing.

What catches Ellie’s attention though, is the symbol by their feet. Painted in blood, the symbol of what appears to be a key glints in the camera’s flash like a sign, like a warning. Ellie has seen this symbol before.

With her heart skipping behind her ribs, Ellie reaches for the top left drawer of her desk. It slides open with a faint squeak and she has to rummage through a few small half empty liquor bottles, candy wrappers and receipts she was too polite to reject at the register. Under all that junk her fingers pull out a folded crinkly picture.

With a breath to psych herself up, Ellie unfolds the picture that has haunted her dreams for months since the incident. Joel lays on the floor, arm wedged under his own torso, leg bent at an unnatural angle - broken and beside him his gun, magazine neatly placed beside it. 

His forehead bears a bullet hole and his eyes stare at the camera wide open and glossed over. By his feet glints the same symbol, faint and almost dried into the cobble stone but it’s there - drawn in his blood.

Ellie’s blood roars in her ears, mind stumbling over itself - she knew it. Joel’s death wasn’t a robbery, not an accident. Nobody wanted to believe her, nobody was on her side when she insisted on opening an investigation, yet she was right.

Ellie doesn’t know how she’ll solve it, doesn’t know how far this whole thing even goes but she’s sure of one thing - she’ll find the person who did this, find the person who took the only constant in her life and turned it into a pit of grieve she’ll never be able to fill.

She’ll do Joel justice.

“Umh..Ellie..Ma’am..-”What?” The detective barks, fingers already pinching the bridge of her nose at the voice of her rookie problem.

“I swear to god - if you tell me something motivational, I’ll hit you in the face.” Dina pales a little, eyes darting everywhere but at the very disgruntled woman across from her as she points at the receiver in her hand. “Crimescene, umh..they said it’s about our case.”

Ellie’s eyebrows lift a little, interest piquing at her rookie’s words. “A crime scene?" The rookie swallows once, visibly, almost relieved that her detective won’t hit her in the face yet.

“Oh, yeah - something about a symbol we might be interested in.” That makes Ellie ditch her slumped posture - spine ramrod straight as she slams the file shut. “Tell them we’re on the way.” Without waiting for an answer from her newbie, Ellie practically leaps from her chair - which the still very present hangover punishes her for very quickly.

The room tilts for a moment as she catches herself on the desk. “You alright, Ellie?” With a shake of her head the room comes back into focus, there’s no time for this bullshit - hangover or not.

“Shut it, newbs.”

Dina parks the car by the curb, almost hitting the lamppost as her attention strays for a second at the mass of blue lights, media people and others in white forensic hazmat suits.

“You crashing my car on your first day?” Ellie utters around the plume of smoke escaping her nostrils and disappearing through the cracked window. “Actually-”I really don’t care.” Dina only sighs softly at the rude interruption but she’s growing used to it, Ellie thinks. This is no time to tally.

Williams exits the vehicle first, rummages for her badge in her pocket and takes another drag from her cigarette before flicking it down the drain. “Come on now.” Ellie cocks her head as Dina slips out of the car and jogs up behind her. “Why is this linked to our case if our case is cold?” The newbie asks as she pockets the car keys in her coat pocket, her gaze lingers on Ellie’s side profile, she can feel it.

“Because our case is obviously not cold anymore?” Williams casts her glance, eyebrows furrowed at the dumb question. “Just because the trails went cold on the last murder, doesn’t mean they’ll stay cold forever.” Ellie briefly shows her badge to an officer standing guard at the warehouse entrance, once checked, she shoulders past the man without another glance. “Do they not teach you anything at the academy nowadays?”

Dina puffs once as she steps in Ellie’s way, fists clenched and eyebrows drawn together. “I get it that you don’t want me here and I understand but, I’m here and I want to help, that’s my job. So please, stop berating me and let me do my job.” Williams cocks her head with a faint smile, almost impressed by her small outburst.

“I think your job’s right behind you.”

Dina cocks her head over her shoulder and her expression changes quickly, the irritation morphs into revulsion - your first murder is always an experience.

“Holy shit.” The newbie takes a step back as Ellie steps around her to get to the bodies. One lays front to the ground, nose crooked and faintly blue under a smear of blood - bullet hole in the back of the head. The other body, female, lays crumbled sprawled over a yellow plastic chair. Her arms are bound and her head slumped over the back of the chair, a bullet hole decorates her forehead in a splatter of blood.

Then, while slipping on the gloves which were placed on a small white table, Ellie sees it. There, by the female body’s feet glitters the familiar symbol. A blood painted key symbol is already drying on the rough concrete ground.

“The bodies are still warm, dead for about an hour - give or take.” Jesse, one of the only forensic people Ellie can tolerate, steps up beside her.

“So the unsub isn’t far?” Dina throws in as she snaps a few pictures of the bodies. Ellie tilts her head as she takes the scene in - the bodies left here like they did not matter. This isn’t calculated, no serial killer, this simply means to an end, cleaning up if you will.

“This is no ‘unsub’, Woods.” Ellie murmurs as she takes a closer look at the female body. She’s dressed casually, a pencil skirt and a blood splattered blouse. Faint bruises around her throat and collarbones as if she was choked before they decided to end her suffering with a bullet she saw coming. Information. That’s what they kept her alive for long enough to torture her.

“My last name is Woodward.” Dina throws in as she snaps a few more pictures, almost knocking Ellie over as she shimmy’s past to get a picture of the female victim. “It’s Woods for me.” Ellie couldn’t be bothered with remembering names, especially not of rookies.

The newbie doesn’t comment on it and keeps snapping pictures for the file - at least the academy taught her that much. Ellie moves on to the male victim. His face is turned half way into the concrete, his hand bent at an unnatural angle and his ankle is swollen and blue. They were rougher with him, less merciful as with her - if you can even call it that.

Ellie slowly turns the body onto its back, the short black hair still sticks to the blood crusted forehead where the bullet exited. His nose is busted and a tooth is missing - definitely rougher. “Jesus, didn’t go easy on him, huh?” Dina comments as she lifts her gaze to gauge Ellie’s reaction. “Probably a blunt object or a fist, hard to pinpoint.” Jesse throws in. “He was the one they wanted information from.” Ellie tilts her head, wheels turning in her mind. “She was simply leverage.” Dina is fast to write it all down on a small station issued notebook.

With a few slaps to the right side of the microwave, the thing finally blinks alive and a low hum from the electronic device fills Ellie’s ear. The small dollar store lasagna turns in sad little circles as if to say - hey, I don’t actually taste like the real deal, you’re just convincing yourself that I do. With a sigh, Ellie turns around to the top drawer by the barely functioning oven to retrieve a fork. Her mind wanders back to the case - to the parallels. Joel was somehow involved with this key symbol, maybe he pissed someone off and they got rid of him - but who?

The distorted ping of the microwave rips Ellie out of her thoughts and with a hiss, she pulls the little tin out of the device - it’s piping hot and she doesn’t own an oven mitt. With two fingers on each side, Ellie transports the tin to the small kitchen table “Fuck - Shit.” She curses as it’s burning her fingertips.

As she pulls the soggy paper covering off, milky steam drifts towards the ceiling and Ellie decides to wait - she doesn’t need to burn her mouth too. While she waits for her sad excuse of a dinner to cool down, she flips open the laptop which once belonged to Joel, as does almost everything in this house.

Ellie has to find out who is behind this symbol, who might’ve wanted Joel dead. So Ellie types “Key Symbol Jackson.” into the search bar. The search engine spits out a few hits that won’t bring her very far - even one about a swinger club but that’s nowhere near her preferences.

Then, as Ellie scrolls down to the very bottom, a link to a website catches her attention. “Lock & Key - Wood’s Services” - it’s a local locksmith business, has been open for centuries and has changed owners only once about ten years ago. Ellie has seen this place, of course. As her job requires her to move around town constantly - it’s not a heavily visited place, it’s just been around for as long as one can remember.

Then as Ellie scrolls down the homepage of the business, one little thing sears her attention - the key symbol. It’s exactly the same and it’s the symbol the locksmith uses. But why would a locksmith business go around killing people, why Joel? Unless - unless it’s a front, a front for something much bigger.

But before Ellie can even think about writing her findings down to rub it under the newbie’s nose the next morning, a small but audible sound makes her still. The back door of the house has this squeak - a squeak Joel wanted to fix since they moved in years ago but never got to fixing it, Ellie hasn’t fixed it either.

She turns her head to look over her shoulder but the masked figure approaching from behind is faster. With a sickening crack the hand of said figure drives Ellie’s head forward and smashes her nose into the keypad of the laptop - the website glitches away at the sudden key intake.

“Oh fuck!” She curses as a hand shoots up, only to come back bloodied. Then, the figure yanks her backward off the chair - the wood connects to the floor with a clatter and Ellie falls on her back, the back of her head snapping against the laminate floor. Her vision swims for a second, the pain making her nerves fray. 

“Keep away from the case.” Is all the figure says before it vanishes out the back door as fast as it appeared. Ellie lays on the floor for a moment, sprawled like a very beaten starfish, nose oozing blood, back of her head pounding from the impact.

Any sane person would back off now, let the cold case be a cold case but Ellie is very clearly not sane. She can’t give it up - especially not now. Someone breaking into her house to beat the shit out of her, to scare her into wrapping the case up as a cold case once again means she’s close, means she’s on the right track - she’ll find out what happened to Joel and why it happened and she won’t give up.

With a grunt, Ellie manages to bring herself to her feet, blood trickles steadily onto her favorite triceratops shirt. With one hand braced along the wall and the other cupping her nose, Ellie manages to make her way into the bathroom. The overhead light flickers to life as she blindly tabs at the switch and what awaits her in the mirror only makes her frown. Her nose doesn’t look broken but it’s definitely swollen, blood coating her lips and chin - jesus, she’s a cop for fucks sake.

She presses a towel to her face as she lowers herself onto the edge of the greyish bathtub - this was a warning which she’s not going to hone.

The next morning Ellie doesn’t bother to cover up - she neither has the tools to nor does she have the skills to even try. A few people look as she steps into the station, probably speculating if she lost another bar fight last night or if gravity one again after having one bottle too many.

“Good mo-Oh Jesus, what happened to you?” Ellie can feel the overly worried expression on her newbie’s face. If she tells Dina the truth, she might be pulled into this and getting a rookie killed in her first week doesn’t look particularly great on her wrap.

“Stumbled.” Ellie grunts, the word leaves her a little naisily since her nose is still swollen from the very rude and unexpected assault. “Did you fall?” Ellie knows that Dina means well but she wouldn’t mind if the newbie just shut her mouth.

“Yes I did.” The detective sneers, collapsing on her ratty chair with a disapproving sound. “How about you keep organizing the damn file and shut your mouth while I fully wake up, mh?” Dina’s mouth quivers downward for a moment but she doesn’t retaliate, smart girl.

Ellie decides to focus on her computer instead, logs in and continues her research from yesterday. At the thought of digging deeper, her nose throbs once more to remind her of the warning, the simple words of leaving whatever is going on behind the locksmith business alone but Ellie’s always been rather stubborn.

The website from yesterday flickers as it loads fully, bearing the same simple design and limited information.

The key symbol stands as the logo of the small business and under contacts is an email - lock&keyy/[email protected], now if Ellie were an idiot, she’d send an email and ask for a visit to question the people behind it all but Ellie’s not as stupid as she currently looks so she decides to search the name included in the email - Y/N Marshall.

The internet shows limited results as always, people in Jackson rather stay private. Though one result catches her attention - a high school graduation post from Jackson High School.

A very badly formatted web post loads on the screen - the text doesn’t interest Ellie much but the picture attached does. It depicts a row of students, neatly captured next to each other. On the far right sits the picture of a girl, young and unsmiling but her eyes stare into the camera as if challenging it to do her beauty justice - it didn’t. Under the picture is no quote or teenish words telling the world to fuck off, just her name ‘Y/N Marshall.”

Ellie’s on a roll now, she’s got the face behind the blacksmith front and she’ll find out more, she’ll find out what the fuck is happening. With a click of her mouse, Ellie logs into the station's server and searches for someone named ‘Marshall’ and soon enough the system spits out a deceased ‘Theodore Marshall’, several felonies. The profile reads that he had died at the hands of Detective Joel Miller two years ago while Marhsall tried to fire a handgun at said Detective. Marshall died on the way to the local hospital, leaving behind a younger sister - Y/N Marshall.

Ellie’s downright ecstatic as she reads the evidence she so desperately knew was out there - Joel was killed because he killed Y/N’s brother. It wasn’t a simple mugging gone wrong, it was revenge.

Later that day Ellie is the only one left at the station. Her desk is lit by the smudgy old table lamp as she’s hunched over a notebook writing everything down of information she’s accumulated on Y/N Marshall and the blacksmith business she’s sure is just a front for something bigger.

When her phone pings once, signaling that it’s currently fighting its life on approximately ten percent of battery, she glances at the phone’s clock and winces - she’s not one to stay long, especially not until ten p.m. on a friday night. She logs out of her computer and stretches with a groan which someone passing might mistake as a dying racoon.

Ellie’s thoughts drift to the local bar, to the endless drinks on a tab she’ll never really pay off because despite it being Joel’s tab and not her own, she likes telling the bartender to put it on Miller’s tab. It feels like he’s just far away and not six feet under a couple miles away.

With her head heavy and eyes tired, Ellie lifts herself out of her chair and the hours of sitting at this damned desk make themself known in her lower back.

“Jesus.” She mumbles to no one in particular as the ache settles in like an old friend. She gathers her phone, pack of cigarettes and the old scratches lighter Joel gifted her for her eighteenth birthday and pockets the items into her jacket pockets.

With slow leaden steps, she makes her way to the glass doors of the station which lead into darkness of the night, the door closes behind her with a soft hiss and Ellie turns around to lock the door behind herself. Jackson is a quiet town but even quiet towns have loud individuals.

Without warning the squealing of tires sound behind Ellie and time seems to speed up as the telltale sensation of adrenaline shoots through her veins. There is no time to turn around, to even think of having her hands wander to her holster or let alone defend herself in any way possible as a hood is hastily thrown over her head - stealing her vision.

“What the fuck, hey!” Ellie yells once as she’s lifted off her feet and dragged into the inside of a van - she presumes as said vehicle pulls off. She’s held down by two hands as the vehicle jerks down the road. “Who the fuck are you?” Ellie barks at her captors. They tighten zip ties around her feet and wrists to keep her immoble and pressed onto the floor of the automobile, breathing hard.

Are those the people who belong to the key symbol, who answer to Y/N Marshall? The same people who killed Joel because he got too close to what they do? What do they even do? So many questions stir in Ellie’s mind that the sound of the van roaring down an off track road, the low mumble of the unknown people in the vehicle with her and her own questions swim together in a numbing swirl threatening to empty her belly in answer.

Ellie’s unsure how long the drive actually takes, no one in the damn car speaks to her, the only contact she’s having are the hands pressing her hooded face to the car’s floor, one holding her back down and one her calves.

After what feels like forever and a day, the van stops abruptly and her head knocks into something metal. “Oh fuck, ow!” The sliding door of the van opens with the same hiss as they yanked her off the sidewalk and one hand closes around the hood of her jacket, pulling her to her knees, causing her to cough at the sudden choke of the fabric around her throat.

“You assholes really know how to treat a lady.” She mumbles more to herself since none of them - she doesn’t even know how many are actually in the fucking car - talk to her. Ellie’s dragged out of the van by arms which, two of the people she can’t make out through the hood, hook under her armpits. Ellie lets herself be dragged into what she believes is a house since it’s suddenly a lot warmer. They haul her up a flight of stairs and into a room which is only dimly lit, judging by the limited sight of the hood over her head.

She’s placed in a plush chair, hood kept on. “Oh, please don’t tie our guest up, boys.” A low female voice speaks and it slithers into Ellie’s ears like a long forgotten lullaby. “Take the hood off, will you?” Ellie stays quiet as one of ‘her boys’ yanks the fabric off of her head. The room comes slowly into focus, swimming like she’s underwater and can’t get up for air in the midst of a bad dream.

The woman stands a few feet away, leant against a massive dark wooden table. Her stance is relaxed but in no way cocky, she holds herself with such confidence - it makes Ellie wonder if she’s ever seen loss.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ellie breaks the silence, cocking her head slowly as to read her intentions - if she wants Ellie dead, she would already be on the side of the road by the station, no, she doesn’t want her dead, not yet at least.

“I think you already know me, Ellie.” The woman cocks her head with the hint of a smirk etched into her features and that alone makes her stomach turn - she can’t read this woman, can’t get a tell on her and it pisses her off to no end.

“You’re Y/N Marshall.” Y/N only hums, her slender fingers picking at her sleeve in disinterest. She doesn’t seem surprised that Ellie knows her name, that she’s suspicious enough to dig into her facade.

“Fascinating, is that all you found out?” Her gaze flickers back to Ellie and the unwavering eye contact makes something behind Ellie’s ribs pound - maybe her heart which Ellie believed she had numbed with enough whiskey the last few months.

“The symbol, the bodies, it’s all you, no?” Ellie’s voice is steady but laced with the wavering of adrenaline. She tries to tug at the zip ties but the restraints don’t give.

“So you did put your cute little nose into my business.” Y/N drawls on, voice low and steady as she pushes off the chair to take a step closer to Ellie. “I don’t care about your business.” She hums in return.

“Then what do you care about? Because I believe you wouldn’t dig your early grave over a cold case, no?” The cold case - she knows that about the cold case, how long has she been watching? How much does she know?

“Joel Miller. He was my…partner, he was killed six months ago. The key was found by his feet and I want to know why.” Ellie manages as the familiar ache in her sternum accumulates again at the mention of his name, of his memory, of his loss.

“Joel Miller…doesn’t ring a bell.” The woman answers, tilting her head with her eyebrows drawn in question or disinterest - Ellie can’t really tell. “Why was the symbol by his feet then?” She barks, hands tugging at the ties in earnest. “Now, don’t get all worked up, Ellie.”

Y/N places a hand, cool to the touch, on Ellie’s cheek to direct her gaze to her. “You belong to me now, Ellie - that is if you don’t want to die here tonight.” Ellie’s pulse spikes as her finger traces the fluttering evidence down her throat of her fear, she’s playing with her and Ellie has no choice but to play along.

“No I don’t” Ellie whispers in response which sparks the hint of a smirk on Y/N’s face. With a flick of her wrist, she sends the men lurking in the shadows out of the room and as the door shuts with a soft click behind the last - Ellie’s suddenly aware of the proximity between them, the fact that she’s alone with a woman who commands men and silences people with the barrel of her gun.

“You’re pretty worked up.” She states, hands skimming down Ellie’s shoulder and under the fabric of her shirt, her fingertips nudge the textile of Ellie’s bra to the side and then her cool digits brush over the already pebbled skin of her nipple.

Ellie’s breath catches involuntarily at the contact, at the sheer event of being groped by a woman who she thought would kill her in cold blood a moment ago.

“Let me help you with that.” Y/N whispers as she retrieves her hand. She sinks to her knees before Ellie and brushes her hair behind her shoulders to keep it out of the way for whatever she has planned to do to her.

The woman reaches for the button of Ellie’s jeans and pops it open without much trouble, with a tug the pants pool now around her knees and Ellie watches in a mix of aversion and arousal as Y/N yanks Ellie’s panties down just as fast. With a little more pulling the trousers fall to Ellie’s ankles and leave her cunt awfully bare in the weirdly large room - and so close to this strange but strikingly beautiful woman.

Ellie fights the pressure of the woman’s hands as they push her knees apart for little as a second before letting her. What is she to do - tell her no? They’re far past consent it seems. “You’ll relax in no time.” Marshall whispers against the skin of her inner thigh, evoking goosebumps along the sensitive flesh. Without much preamble, Y/N dives in - her mouth attaches to Ellie’s cunt like it's always meant to end up there. Her tongue licks a fat stripe from entrance to clit - Ellie answers with a sharp cry, bound hands fisting into the soft hair of her captor.

“Fuck, oh fuck!” She shrieks at the assault on her center. Y/N doesn’t let up, if anything, she’s encouraged by Ellie’s outburst of pleasure.

“Shit, oh- fuck me.” Woods pulls back for a moment, chin glistening as she looks up at Ellie. “Already am, sweetheart.” Ellie has no time to retaliate before she dives back on, tongue swirling her clit in the best way.

Ellie should push her away, demand real answers and not get her pussy eaten by a woman with shady back business but fuck - it’s been a long time since someone has gone down on her, who is she to say no to a stunning woman licking her without the need for drinks and awkward foreplay.

Y/N sucks and licks at Ellie’s clit like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this pussy. Obscene sounds fill the air, mixing with the moans and whimpers Ellie can’t quite hold back.

“Shit, shit.” Without warning, Marshall plunges a finger into Ellie’s entrance - fingers curling just right as she sucks at her clit. Ellie keens at the utter volume of pleasure cursing through her veins. Her toes curl, her head lulls back with ardent noises.

“Gonna- oh fuck fuck, gonna.” Ellie stammers as Y/N pumps her finger into her tight hole, her tongue flicks along her clit like she’s writing a symphony Ellie’s supposed to feel in the marrow of her bones.

The orgasm crashes over Ellie like electricity shooting into every nerve her body inhabits, sharp and fast and so so good. A sharp cry leaves her as her body locks up, thighs shaking and closing around Y/N’s head. Her chest is heaving, body limp as the woman pulls back, chin glistening with Ellie’s juices. She pulls her finger from Ellie’s tight cunt and slips the digit into her mouth to lick it clean.

“Such a good girl.”

With heavy lidded eyes, Ellie lifts her head and licks her lips. If she wants answers, real answers - she has to get close, not the other way around. This woman is unguarded and way too sure of herself. If she plays along, if Y/N thinks that she has Ellie in her grasp long enough, she might be able to get those answers.

“Untie me.” Ellie rasps, voice raw and dry. Her wrists throb and she knows, what better way to a woman’s mind than mushing it up with the simple tool of sex.

“And why should I do that?” Y/N tilts her head as she gets to her feet. “Let me make you feel good.” She tilts her head as if she’s considering Ellie’s offer. “We’ll have other-”No, I want it now. I want my pussy on yours and make you come with my name on your lips.” Not the worst thing Ellie has said, to be honest.

Y/N’s head cocks, intrigued by the detective’s eagerness to give back the pleasure she received a moment ago. The corner of her lips lifts and she steps back to retrieve a small object from the wooden table, a switchblade, and moves to kneel before Ellie once more.

“Any funny business and you’re dead, Williams.” The woman warns before cutting the zip ties around Ellie’s ankles and the ones around her wrists. Y/N steps back to perch herself on the wooden desk, hiking her dress up and slipping her panties off without much effort.

Ellie doesn’t waste time as she stumbles forward, her pants which still pool around her ankles almost make her plant on the edge of the table - she kicks them off with a shrug of her foot.

Ellie hooks one of Y/N’s legs over her shoulder and one of her own up onto the table and positions her cunt over the woman’s. Then, because this has to be over as quickly as possible, Ellie rolls her hips and slides her slick cunt against Y/N’s.

She thrusts into her, the sound of wet flash rocking together fills the space. Marshall keens as Ellie pulls her leg up higher. “What is it that you actually do?” Ellie tries, her voice comes out wrecked and a little out of breath but she’s a detective to the bone and she promised herself that she’ll find out what the hell’s going on - even if she has to ask those questions while having her pussy wedged against a woman she knows for about twenty minutes at most.

“What?” Y/N whimpers, eyes half lidded as her hands roam up and down Ellie’s ribs. “The blacksmith, oh fuck, is it a front?” Williams tries again, sliding her clit up and down the length of her cunt, juices mixing in a filthy slurp.

“Oh, ah shit, yes yes it is.” Y/N whispers, voice high pitched with pleasure. Her fingers sweep under the fabric of Ellie’s bra to toy with her nipples, rolling and tugging at the buds in a way which makes her head swim.

“I sell coke - a lot.” Y/N manages between high keens and whimpers. This is working, her head’s so fuzzy with pleasure that Ellie can pull out the answers without any trouble at all. Her gaze sweeps over the woman beneath her - she’s truly beautiful, in another world they might’ve been a good match.

Y/N’s breathing is growing ragged quickly as Ellie picks up her pace, lifting the hand resting on the woman’s thigh to rub tight and quick circles on her clit with her thumb - Y/N mewls at the contact, the sudden spike of her orgasm approaching at a rapid pace.

Her fingers slip to the underside of Ellie’s breasts, kneading the delicate skin. The mixed sensation of their cunts slipping together, the friction of it all combined with the assault on her tits, Ellie’s close too - so so close.

Y/N breaks first, her body locks up, back bowing off the table as a cry leaves her. The stutter makes her pussy jump against Ellie’s and that alone is enough to push Ellie over the edge too. Her legs buckle as she has to brace herself on the table above the woman catching her breath beneath her.

Ellie’s knee slips off the table and she’s hovering over Y/N while catching her breath, her chest heaves and her cunt throbs with the aftershock of what they’ve both done just now. It was ecstatic, brilliant and so wrong - Ellie’s done a lot of fucked up shit in her life, but this takes the cake. Y/N licks her lips and lifts a hand to brush her fingers along the edge of Ellie’s jaw, tracing a few freckles there. 

“Miller - I did kill him.” Ellie doesn’t even register the words at first, her own blood roaring in her ears from the spike of her orgasm is still going, suddenly firing again. Images of Joel as he adopted her, gave her a home, holding her while she told him that she likes girls rush into her mind’s eye - she was so scared but he assured just enough ‘Doesn’t matter to me, Els.’ He had said. He was her dad in every way that mattered and this woman, this monster beneath her has killed him.

“What?” Ellie whispers as tears gather in her eyes, unwanted but present. Her heart pounds behind her ribs and she feels the rage, the grief making a home there once again.

“He took my brother from me, Ellie. I had to do something.” Ellie stays exactly as she is, hovering over the woman like a statue, eyes open and stinging as a tear slips and falls onto Y/N’s flushed cheek.

“Don’t cry, you knew it before you fucked me.”

Ellie swallows as her fists ball up, eyebrows furrowing as a new kind of rage makes way in her chest. Her breathing picks up once again, jaw clenching.

“What’re you going to do?” The woman whispers, brushing her fingers along Ellie’s cheek as if she’s merely consoling a saddened child.

Ellie doesn’t think as time slows down - her hand shoots out to the switchblade Y/N has discarded on the edge of the table after untying Ellie. With a flick of her wrist the glinting blade of the knife flips out and before the woman beneath Ellie can even form a word or make a move to push her off, Ellie plunges the weapon into her heart.

A choked cry leaves Y/N as the knife makes itself a home in her chest, piercing her heart with all the strength Ellie can muster - her hands stay clasped around the weapon as it sticks in the woman’s chest, her chest heaving with the gravity of what she’s done as well as the edge of relief. A sob jerks out of Ellie as Y/N’s breathing falters, blood seeping out from around the weapon’s entry in her flesh.

Ellie’s grief mounts as she bows over, sobs tearing out of her, ugly and real. Y/N breathes out once more before her body stills, her hands slips from Ellie’s cheek and lands on the wooden table with a dull thud as her heart stops beating.

This won’t bring him back, it won’t give Ellie the late nights on the deck with a cold bear as they talk about god knows what, it won’t stop the ache in her chest when she listens to his records after a long shift.

This is simply an end - an end to violence, to people disappearing and an end of the endless questions Ellie has been asking herself for the last months. It’s an end and it happened through Ellie’s hands, brutal and bloody.

The room is dimly lit, candles flickering due to the faint breeze from the half open balcony window. Caitlyn’s breathing hard, her chest heaving with the force of raw pleasure surging through her veins. The sight of her breasts glistening with saliva and sweat makes the coil in your belly tighten with each thrust.

The pale pink dildo which is strapped to your groin like it’s a part of you, slips in and out of her puffy pink pussy and you’re sure if heaven was a place on earth - it’d be your faux cock buried inside the cunt of the usually stoic enforcer beneath you.

“Oh..fuck!” She grunts, hands gripping the sheets with purchase as you ram the cock inside her, one leg over your shoulder and the other angled to hit deeper, to let as much of her pussy take you in.

The room is filled with obscene sounds of sweat damp skin slapping, her keening and cursing and the soft whiny grunts which leave you. It’s properly indecent, lewd even - judging by cait’s fucked expression.

“Please…god, gonna..” She mumbles, voice hoarse and higher than usual. The difference between how Caitlyn usually is, composed and dominant and how she is now, begging, fucked out and downright filthy is almost laughable. She truly is a cock-slut behind closed doors.

“Gonna come, baby?” The words leave you breathless and gruff - strained by the effort of giving her exactly what she needs and what you desire yourself.

The cock’s base rubs excruciatingly against your clit as the length of it disappears over and over again in her insatiable cunt.

Without warning, Cait's back bows off the bed, her thighs try to clamp down but are forced open by your upper body and a shrill cry leaves her.

Her chest heaves with the delectation of her climax, sweat beads down her brow and down the valley of her breasts - the sight alone is enough to keep you going, to take what you grave. The thrusts do not stop, if anything - you pick up your pace, hips knocking against hers in earnest.

The cloud of pleasure lifts from Cait’s features, her brows furrow as she tries to shimmy away - to put distance between you two. You do not give it to her.

“Fuck..baby, no-” She whimpers, hands pushing at your hips - desperate to lessen the assault on her overly sensitive cunt.

“I gotta come too, baby.” You murmur through the haze.

“But..it’s too much..please-” A moan leaves you as she shifts her hips, the strap grinds deliciously against your clit.

“Be good and take it, yeah?” Is all you manage as you spread her open wider, to grind, to take. Then, like lightning - the inevitable force of your own orgasm strikes you like a force - leaving you shuddering and groaning with the might of it.

With an audible ‘shlick’, the faux cock slips free of Cait’s pinked folds and a soft, wrung out breath from her. Her arms fall to the bedding beside her, utterly spent.

“You’re a beast.” She whispers, though the amusement in her words beg to differ her accusation. 

His dorm room is dim, cozy and filled with the drawl of one of many david bowie vinyls Sirius plays when you’re hanging out.

A cigarette is being passed between the two of you like a shared secret healthrisking secret and in your opinion - you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on a saturday night.

“What does getting your cock sucked feel like?” The words escape your throat scratchy and a little hoarse from the smoke. Sirius doesn’t startle, he doesn’t gasp or give you a particularly strange look - he takes another drag, lets the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment before it leaves his nostrils in a swirling vapor, enchanting really.

“Feels bloody nice.” The words leave him quietly though the corners of his lips betray the nonchalance.

“There’s nothin’ better than havin’ a pretty bird's mouth wrapped about my cock.”

His words did the job, tingling from the base of your skull all the way to the very tips of your toes. His cock - a sight to see everytime. 

“Could you show me?” The question floats between you two like temptation and promise at the same time - how could he deny you, especially when your very view is laid upon him in such desire.

“You want to suck my dick, sweetheart?” His voice comes out a little more hoarse than before, already imagining your plush lips wrapped about his best piece.

A soft hum leaves you, anticipation coils low in your gut. “Please.” The words leave you in nothing louder than a whisper, impossibly quiet and yet so compelling that Sirius has no will other than fulfilling your request.

He snuffs the cigarette on the windowsill and flicks it into the dark of the night before he crosses the room to his bed in three strides. He sits on the edge of his bed, hair rumpled, shirt half-way unbuttoned like clothes are merely a suggestion to the young Black.

His hands undo the zipper of his trousers with steady hands, eyes darkened and lingering on you.

“Come here, love.” He whispers though the word sends sparks right down in between your legs. You waste no time to cross the room and stand between his legs, breath coming quick as his gaze lifts to you. His lips are damp and the craving reflecting in his storm grey eyes nearly makes your knees buckle. 

“Get on your knees for me, darlin’”

You don’t need to be told twice. He reaches into his undone pants and fishes out his already half-hard cock, the tip glistening with precome and the anticipation of your soft warm lips. He strokes himself one and twice before he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand.

“Start with licks.” He whispers as his hand gently threads into your hair - not forcing but holding, grounding himself in this moment, in the pleasure to come.

You follow his lead and lower your head, your hands come up to brace on his thighs - he lets you. The first flick your tongue over the head elicits a sharp hiss and a soft tug at the roots of your hair from him and the very response fills you with confidence, with reassurance that you could break Sirius Black in the best way.

With newfound certitude you take the head of him between your lips and allow him further into your mouth, letting the tips of your teeth graze the tender flesh of his cock.

“Just like that, my sweet.” He whispers, voice ragged as he fists the sheets, his other hand withdraws from your hair to brace himself against the bed. Ever so slowly you take him further and further, right until the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat - one of your hands reaches the base of his cock to cover what your mouth can’t take.

“Up and down.” He manages as your tongue flicks over the base and he can’t help the groan of pure pleasure escaping him. His head lolls back as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

You follow his instruction and start to bop your head, incorporating your hand in the steady motion. It doesn’t take long for Sirius to start thrusting into your mouth, his hips snap upwards unsteadily and desperate to chase his release and you let him.

You let him use your mouth, give him licks and grazes of your teeth to give him exactly what he needs.

His hips stutter soon enough, eyebrows drawn together as his climax rushes into his nervous system - sudden and unforgiving.

“Gon-…fuck..come in your mouth.” He manages but the words swim between the obscene sounds of his cock slipping in and out of your mouth and his moans.

Without warning, his hips lock - his head lulling back as a low groan rumbles from his chest and his cock pulses between your lips - spilling down your throat in unsteady but hot streaks.

He slumps back against the bed, chest heaving as your lips leave his dick with a soft plop.

“Bloody hell - you’re a natural.” The words carry faint amusement but he’s too exhausted for his usual cockiness. 

“Come here, sweetheart.” Sirius's hand reaches for you, gently pulling him onto the bed and helping you settle on top of him, straddling him enough to feel the very heat of your middle against his lower belly.

“Take your knickers off.” He whispers and the mere command makes your clit throb. You scramble to slip them off of yourself but the fabric just won’t budge, hooking around your thighs in an insistent band - Sirius, as impatient as he is, hooks two fingers in the fabric and promptly rips it apart.

“There she is.” He doesn’t hesitate to slip a finger between your glistening folds, circling the bud once - your breath catches, hands fisting in his sleeve for purchase. “Sirius-Sit on my face.” He commands, interrupting your plea as his hands already sneak around your thighs, gently pushing you towards his upper body.

You barely manage to catch yourself on the curtain draped over the headboard, fingers curling into the fabric as he pulls your hips downwards. A sharp hiss escapes you as he laps at your folds, sucking your clit.

“Shit..oh..fuck…” He hums contently as his muscle slips through your cunt like he was made for it, protruding past your entrance once - the action makes your hips buckle, roll slowly over his face - the very tip of his nose grazes your clit and you’re sure he’ll kill you like this - death by given head.

The coil in your lower belly tightens as he slips a finger into your cunt, curling it just right as his mouth keeps his assault on your clit, licking, sucking, nipping at the sensitive bud.

You’re close to seeing stars, close to ruining his beautiful face with your release, ready to give him exactly what he wants from you.

The tension snaps a second later, sharp and sudden and so marvelous it makes you keel over - clench your thighs around his head with a cry so wrecked and breathless he has to hold you up. When the spasms subside and you go limp, he shifts you to lay beside him, one leg draped across his belly in comfort.

“We’re really good at sex.” You mumble, one hand slowly tracing his tattoo. Sirius brushes a strand of sweat damp hair from your forehead. 

The new stallion had been nothin’ but trouble since the auction — all spitfire and snortin’ rage, kickin’ up dirt and refusin’ a rope. Vi stood by the fence, jaw tight, watchin’ her boys try to wrangle him in the corral.

“No one gets near him,” one muttered, stepping back with a curse. “He’s all wild eyes and teeth.”

Vi sighed, hand on her hip. “We’ll give him time. Let him settle.”

You’d been watchin’ from the porch, apron still tied at your waist, sundress catchin’ the breeze. Your heart ached for the poor creature — all wound up and scared in a place he didn’t know.

You stepped down off the porch, slow and quiet, soft voice carryin’ across the yard. “Let me try.”

Vi turned, brows shootin’ up. “Sugar, no—he’s mean. I ain’t lettin’ you get kicked halfway to Sunday—”

But you were already climbin’ the fence.

She cursed under her breath. “Damn stubborn thing—don’t you dare run at her—”

You dropped into the corral easy as anything, movin’ slow, whisperin’ sweet nothings the whole way.

“Hey now, baby boy,” you cooed, hands out, voice warm and gentle. “Ain’t nobody here gonna hurt you. I know it’s scary. But you’re alright now.”

The stallion snorted, pawed the ground, tossed his head as if in warning. The mare’s desperate attempt of scarin' you away didn’t sway you - you saw the fear in the animal above all.

Vi’s hand gripped the fence so tight her knuckles went white, voice hushed but strained. “Darlin’, back away from him!”

But you just kept talkin’. Kept smilin’. Steppin’ closer, softer, until the stallion stopped. Ears perked. Head tilted in interest as if it were judgin' your intent.

And then — like magic — he stepped toward you.

Quiet. Careful.

You reached out, fingers barely touchin’ his muzzle, and he let you. Eyes calm. Breath steady, won over by sunshine and a voice as soft as a calmin' breeze.

The whole yard went still, maybe in awe or sheer bewilderment - you didn’t bother to check.

Vi let out a slow, stunned breath. “Well I’ll be damned…”

Her boy elbowed her with a smirk. “Looks like the wild things listen to your wife.”

Vi grinned, eyes locked on you like you’d hung the damn moon. “That’s ‘cause she is one. Sweet little thing wrangled me, didn’t she?” The words left her reverently, almost mesmerized and Vi’s heart thumped the same way it did when she asked you out on your seventeenth birthday and gave her a yes.

You glanced back with a shy smile, still scratchin’ behind the stallion’s ear.

Sev’s bedroom is dimly lit by a dangly old bedside lamp, the faint orange light illuminates her back as she fastens the strap around her waist.

Your hands fiddle with the hem of the blanket, eyes fixed on the woman before you. As she turns around, cock now resting low on her hips, something shifts inside you, warm and fuzzy.

“Lay down, baby.” She drawls, voice low and velvety. One of her hands lifts to brush a strand of hair from your face as you lay down, the other brushes over your belly in content.

“You’ll be good for me, yeah?” The question lands somewhere behind your ribs, sparking your heartbeat into a whole new rhythm.

“Yeah.” The whisper seems to reassure her enough as she positions herself.

The tip of her silicone dick brushes your lips, head cocked in quiet admiration. There are no words to be spoken, the invitation comes silently as your lips part, allowing her to push the head between your teeth.

Her hand rests upon your throat as she pushes in further. The cock vanishes inside your throat with every moment and it’s anything but filthy - it’s intimate and somehow pleasing her, is the greatest pleasure of it all.

Sevika begins to slowly thrust her hips, giving you enough time to adjust to the feel of her inside your mouth.

“Breathe through your nose, sweetheart.” She murmurs low, fingers gently grazing over your throat to feel the bulge there.

The instructions are followed without any word, not that you could answer in any way but a hum. Then, without warning, her fingers brush over your folds, eliciting that familiar warmth in the low of your belly. All you manage is a breathy moan around the fullness of her silicone cock stuffed into your throat.

“There there, breathe.” She mumbles as her hips keep gently rocking, her cock gliding in and out of your throat with a quiet ‘slick’.

Her hand keeps brushing your clit breezily, just enough to keep the pressure in your lower belly building with every thrust of her hips. Your throat bobs around her length, barely audible whimpers leave you at the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Atta girl, so good for me.”

Sevika murmurs, her administration not faltering despite your hips jerking every now and then to chase more, to have her give you more and more. She stays consistent, frustratingly so but the heat builds nonetheless.

Sevika knows her girl after all.

Your moans grow higher, scratchier with the size of her inside your mouth and Sevika knows, she can tell that you’re close, so so close.

Their dorm’s dimly lit by a bunch of candles which sit arranged on bedside tables and dressers. Remus and you’ve been making out for the last ten minutes, sheets tangled and breath mingled as Sirius groans with all the energy of an exasperated toddler.

“Could you guys be any more noisy?” Black barks from his bed, muffled by the heavy red curtains shielding him from sight. Remus lifts his head from the crook of your neck, hand still resting on your belly.

“Come over then, Padfoot” His words are quiet and a little muffled but judging by the stark silence Sirius heard him without problem.

“You serious, Moony?” Remus laughs softly, his thumb caressing your skin.

“No, that's you.”

You can’t help the little laugh, cheeks flushed and body vibrating with what’s to come.

“Ha ha, dumbass.”

The curtain is dragged to the side as Sirius steps closer, dressed in one of his shirts and his boxers and to be quite honest - it makes your mouth water.

“You really wanna do this?” Padfoot asks as he sits down on the edge of his bed, hands in his lap as his gaze flicks between you and Remus.

Your boyfriend gives Sirius a sly grin, pushes the blanket to the side to reveal the both of you - him dressed in just his boxers, his cock hard beneath the fabric and you, bra abandoned a long time ago and the sheer panties he had insisted on buying in muggle london a few months back.

“You gonna say no?” Remus brushes a hand over your breast, gently flicking your nipple. Sirius’ eyes are glued to your chest and in that moment you know, he’s hooked.

“Fuck it.” He mutters and climbs over to your side, hands hovering.

“Don’t be shy, Pads. Taste her.” He nods his head towards you, his own head lowering to latch onto your tit, tongue swirling the bud. The gesture elicits a breathy moan from you, fingers tangling in Remus’ short locks.

Sirius doesn’t need to be told twice, fingers slow and careful as he reaches for your other boob, warm and calloused against your skin.

Then, like Remus’ demonstration is the only thought residing in his brain at the very moment, he lowers his head as well.

His lips close around your erect bud, teeth scraping gently as he begins to suck like a newborn. The sensation of having them both latched onto you, messily and absolutely lacking sanity, sparks something low and hot in your belly.

Their hands skim your belly as their administration at your chest continues, wet and obscene.

The summer night is calm, cool for once - the stone walls of the Potter estate keep it cold, perfect to the excruciating heat of the summer, especially when you’re letting your boyfriend blindfold and play games with you when his parents were perfectly clear about no sex under their roof.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Jamie.” The words leave you a little wobbly, uncertain and fueled by the sensation - yes, you two shouldn’t be doing this but also - how could you ever deny James Potter when he’s standing in front of you bare as the day he was born asking for sex. The sudden brush of his tongue over your right nipple makes you suck in a breath.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt’em.” He whispers against your skin, breath hot and humid.

Your vision stays blank, darkened by the blindfold as he slowly kisses down your belly. The sound of his movements, his breathing, the soft hush of his skin on yours - it’s all heightened by lack of vision and quite frankly, it’s driving you insane.

Your heart’s beating as though it wishes to free itself from your ribcage, your breathing labored by the anticipation of what he’ll do to you next, it’s almost unbearable.

“Jamie, please.” The words leave your throat in a pathetic whine and you can almost imagine the grin on his face.

“Oh, how I love when you beg.”

He shifts again, slowly nudges your legs apart with his hands warm on your thighs. “You’ll take me, right?” The question doesn’t really register as the sound of fabric hitting the ground hushes between you, your breath hitching.

“What?” All you receive as an answer is a low chuckle. Then, unexpectedly, the tip of cock brushes over your entrance and the sensation makes your heartbeat skip, your hands fist the sheets as your mouth dries with anticipation.

“Don’t matter, just breathe, baby.” He murmurs before he pushes inside. The motion makes your breath stutter, mouth hangs open in silent overwhelm. Like this, without vision, he’s so much bigger than you remember.

The way he stretches you, the way his dick fills up your cunt in the best way, it makes your brain go fuzzy. A helpless moan escapes you as he slowly starts to move.

“Fuck, J-Jamie.” He hums, brushes a hand over your thigh in comfort.

“What do you feel? Talk to me, baby.” Your toes curl as he gradually fastens his pace.

“You’re…so much bigger…fuck..”

He moans too, low and gravely and the sound alone makes you shiver. His hands knead at your breasts, flicking your nipples to heighten the pleasure.

His words come low and breathless, tinted with amusement of a man knowing exactly how to please his woman.

The living room’s filled with obscene sounds, skin slapping and labored breathing as you drive the strap into Ellie’s cunt with every hitch of your hips.

Your hand’s clasped on her leg, which rests slung over your shoulder, the other kneads at her breast which spills ever so beautifully over the edge of her blouse.

The image is truly pornographic. Ellie lays before you on the couch, gasping for air, face twisted in pleasure as babbled moans leave her mouth.

The pencil skirt’s hitched up her thighs, the blouse almost undone and the glasses crooked on her nose. The teacher fit looks like something from a wet dream on her and you’re unimaginably happy to have agreed to her roleplay request.

“I wanna…put a baby…in you, Miss Williams.” You grunt with the effort of plunging the strap into her cunt over and over again, the other hand wanders lower to brush over her clit. Ellie whines and writhes underneath you, toes curling with the immensity of being fucked like this.

Her hand comes up to knead at your breast now, thumb flicking over your nipple which draws a low moan from your lips. Your head slumps back but your pace never falters, the slapping of skin is so obscenely delicious, it makes your head swim.

“Say please.”

Ellie rasps as she tugs at the tip of your tie, making you loom over her. Your hair frames her, tickling her skin but she could care less. Your breath ghosts over her mouth before you whisper the plea. She connects your mouth to hers in a kiss that is anything but gentle - it’s all spit and tongues tangling, teeth knocking and swallowing each other’s moans.

The hitch in her breath is a sign you’ve grown familiar with, she’s close. Without much fanfare you pick up the pace - both of you are panting, sweaty and tangled in the best way.

Her hand tangles in your hair for leverage as her breath grows short, her hips stutter against your own and in a second’s notice, her body tenses.

A cry so raw and broken leaves her throat but it’s the sweetest melody. You help her through it, the thrusts slow but never stop until she slumps against the sofa with a soft whimper - utterly and thoroughly fucked.

“You satisfied, Miss Williams?” You murmur against her skin as the strap slips free from her folds with a wet plop, dripping and soaked with her release.

The bedroom’s dimly lit by candles, carefully arranged by Cait. Your body bare and chest heaving as she fastens the chain around your neck, her fingers nimble and steady as she works.

“There, now you’re mine - say it.” Your gaze is fixed on her as she holds the leash in her hand, looming over you.

“I’m yours.” You whisper, voice scratchy with want. Cait gives the leash a tug, the metal momentarily tightens around your throat, making your breath hitch in surprise.

“Tsk tsk, you know better, baby.” Her voice makes your heart skip and your folds wetten.

“I’m yours, mommy.” The correction seems to please her as she loosens her hold on the leash.

“That’s more like it. Mommy’s good girl, aren’t you?” Her hand comes up to cup your breast, her thumb teasingly brushes over your nipple - the motion makes your legs twitch.

“Now, arms above your head and keep’em there.” Your limbs move before the demand even registers fully. She nudges your legs apart with her own and reaches her hand between your legs. Cait slowly circles your entrance with two fingers, gaze fixed on your cunt.

“Think you can take two from the start?” She murmurs, her attention flickers up to study your face. You have to swallow, your throat dry with what’s to come.

“Yes, mommy.” You manage to croak, fingers twitching where they hold on to the headboard. A slow satisfied grin spreads on her lips as she hums, content with your willingness to please her.

“We’ll see, sweetheart.” Without warning she glides her digits into your sodden cunt. The sensation makes you suck in air, eyes flickering closed with sudden pleasure.

“What do we say, my love?” She inquires while her fingers slide in and out of you, her thumb brushing your clit now and then. Then, a sudden yank of the leash and you gasp for air, eyes fluttering open by the momentary lack of oxygen.

“I asked you a question, baby.” Cait tilts her head, loosening her grip on the leash to allow you to talk, though the words come breathless.

“Thank you, mommy.” You manage to croak through moans and lack of air. The tension builds inevitable and cruel and Cait knows, she knows every twitch and crack. But then, right when your back arches and the pleasure threatens to spill over into absolute bliss - Cait stops.

Your eyes flutter open, chest heaving, the peak of pleasure slowly fleeting as Cait now looms over you, noses almost touching. Her mouth’s curled into a grin, cruel and absolutely devastating as she whispers. 

The bedroom’s dimly lit by the lamp jinx fixed up months ago, a dangly little thing which threatens to tumble over every time you reach to light it up.

You’re out cold though, breathing even and peaceful - too peaceful in her opinion.

She carefully pulls back the blanket, exposing your barely clothed body to the chill of the bedroom - not that she’s complaining, you in her clothes is always a sight to salivate over.

She moves with all the grace of a cat about to get the cream as she positions herself between your legs, the very spot she’s been fantasizing over for a good hour now so close, only hidden away by the damp cloth of your panties.

Jinx’s eyes close for a moment to collect herself - or rather to reign in her hunger. Then with all the precision of someone defusing a bomb she hooks her fingers into the fabric of your panties and slides them down, revealing the glistening folds of your cunt.

Her mouth waters, heartbeat skipping as she takes it all in. You, fast asleep, totally unaware and your body unconsciously registering her anyways, it makes her own pussy throb.

 Her eyes stay fixed on your face, watching every twitch or hitch of breath as she slides her tongue over your folds once.

Your eyebrows twitch subtly, a soft little sound forms in your throat and Jinx knows that she just can’t help it - she has to wake you up in the best way possible.

Her tongue grows greedier, teeth scraping delicate skin. Her hands, calloused and nails coated with chipped paint, hold your thighs steady and apart as she watches your chest heave, throat now spilling whimpers and fast breath. Jinx moans against your folds herself, the situation's just too filthy not to get slick herself.

Then, finally - your eyes flutter, slowly gaining consciousness.

“J-Jinx?”

Her name falls from your lips in the most pathetic, breathless way, your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and confusion and Jinx is sure - no amount of shimmer could paint the world like this.

She hums against your cunt, lapping and scraping unrelentingly. Your hand creeps downwards and tangles in her blue strands, gripping and the sweet sting of your grip makes her groan against you.

Jinx knows you’re close when your hip starts to twitch against her mouth, desperate for more friction, for more pleasure to push you over the edge.

Jinx lifts her face from between your legs, mouth glistening and curved in that smirk you know too well.

You’re about to complain about the loss of her mouth as she plunges her fingers into your soaked pussy, setting a pace which sure enough will spike your high.

A shark cry leaves your throat at the assault, hands gripping the sheets as your orgasm shoots through you like a lightening bolt.

“That’s it, toots - come on my fingers.”

“There was no need for such language, sweetheart.”

Caitlyn disposes of her coat with a shrug of her shoulders, the movement almost irritates you with how much elegance such a simple shift of muscles carries.

The coat finds its place on the back of the patted velvet chair next to her vanity. Her back faces you but the steel in her gaze cools the atmosphere in her bedroom even without being visible.

You’re sitting on her bed unmoving, scowling quietly.

“You’re not my mother.” The incident was unnecessary but inevitable. Hadn’t that posh woman opened her mouth and fried your nerves in real time, this night’s event would’ve gone smoothly - but here you’re.

“Take your clothes off” Her voice carries quieter but not missing the sharpness in her tone.

The protest dies on your tongue as the sound of her belt unbuckling clicks like a snare through the stillness. Your heartbeat picks up, like a hummingbird fighting to break free from behind your ribs.

She turns slowly, unneeding to raise her voice. Caitlyn isn’t cruel, she’s not violent - there’s no need for her to take what she wants, she simply commands it, she carries this air of authority which holds you captive. willingly.

The blouse falls first, a soft sound against the tiled floor, then the white lacey panties which are Cait’s doing, obviously. Her gaze flickers over your bare form with something hungry, something reverent all the same.

Cait takes a step forward, leaving almost no space between the two of you. Her breath ghosts over your ear, faint and intoxicating.

“You're gonna be a good girl for me.” She rasps once before her teeth gently nip at your neck. The motion makes your pulse skip and you’re sure the poor thing’d jump straight from your ripcage if it could.

“Cait..” Her name falls from your lips like a plea, a plea to have her touch you and never stop. A soft inevitable moan escapes your lips, which Cait promptly finds with her own.

The kiss is anything but gentle, all teeth and tongues clashing. Your back hits the mattress with a soft creek from the bedframing and a stutter of your own breath.

Cait’s hand creeps lower and lower until her fingertips find the velvety skin of your folds.

Your back arches, your hips twitch involuntarily. The older woman looms over you like sin and salvation combined and you’re convinced that your sanity is slowly fleeting.

“Go on, girl - fuck yourself on my hand.” She murmurs against your skin, her words hot and daring. The control she holds irks you but disobeying isn’t an option, not right now. Your hips start rocking upwards.

“Put them in, please.” The words leave you in a pitiful downright pathetic whimper and Cait’s enjoying it, she loves having you at her mercy like this.

“So demanding.” She whispers amused before her fingers glide into your pussy, though without movement. A strangled moan leaves you as her other hand comes up to knead at your breast.

It doesn’t take long for your rutting to spark that familiar tightness in the low of your belly. Breathless little moans spill from your mouth as you use her hand, your cunt gliding over her digits.

Cait watches almost mesmerized, mouth slack and eyes glinting. “You better come on my hand, darling.” All you can do is answer her with a pitched groan, hands fisting the sheets as the heat builds. “That’s it, my love.”

Then, like a lightening bolt to your nervous system - the heat snaps fast and overwhelming.

The orgasm shoots through you unrelentingly and so good that you’re sure your soul left this plane of existence for a good second. Cait then rides you through it, her fingers slide slowly and assuringly as your climax subsides. 

The cabin is quiet, save for the wind whipping against the wooden walls outside. Warmth is scarce but in her arms it feels scorching, heavy and so good you swear you can feel it seeping behind your ribs.

Nat shifts a little, her cheek presses against your sternum cozily but you know she’s not asleep - yes, she’s resting but sleep seems to allude her just like you.

Her fingers draw soft little patterns against your belly beneath the blanket. Your hand slowly skims through her hair.

“You ever think we’ll get to go home?” You whisper against her hair, soft and private. Nat doesn’t move, doesn’t have to but you can feel the flutter of her sigh against your skin.

“Yeah, someday.” She whispers - liar - yet, you know she’s lying on your behalf, to give you hope.

“I mean we have to - nirvana might already have released three more albums we have to catch up on.” It’s wishful thinking, you’re aware but somehow it’s the only thing keeping the both of you sane.

“Fuck nirvana.” She whispers and your smile somewhat falters in the dark - you know she doesn’t really mean it, doesn’t mean to blow you off but she feels helpless and you know the feeling too well yourself.

“Nat, hey.” Your hand slowly sneaks to her jaw, forcing her to look up at you.

Though the cabin’s dimly lit you can make her features out like they’re a liferaft in a deathly storm. Her eyes shimmer, involuntarily filling with tears, sparked by the frustration and pain of being stuck out here with no way out.

“We’re okay, baby - We’ll make it out together.” You whisper as your forehead presses to hers. Your thumb tenderly brushes against her cheek, breath mingling.

“How’re you so sure?” Nat murmurs against your lips, eyes fluttering at the proximity.

“Cause I got you.” You pause to press a featherlight kiss to her lips.

“As long as I got you - everything’s just fine.” Nat doesn’t waste time to press another kiss to your lips, grounding and soothing.

Her hand sneaks to the base of your neck as she kisses you, teeth knocking and tongues brushing.

The dorm room’s quiet, save for the charmed candles floating above his bed, gently illuminating your face. Sirius is busy with the black cotton rope which he’s binding with fascinating concentration around your legs. The position he’s prepping you in is truly filthy, obscene even. Knees bent and bound, arms connected to your knees, unable to move.

He finishes his administration with a soft satisfied hum, brushing his hands over your legs once as he admires his work.

“So pretty, darling.” He mumbles as his gaze swims over your form. To see you so compromised and pliant in the best way does something to him and he’s already hard, his cock strains against the soft fabric of his boxers.

“You okay?” His eyes find yours, hands braced on your knees, all you manage is a weak nod. He squeezes your knees once.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” The tone, the gentle firmness makes your cunt throb.

“I’m okay.” The words come out shaky and strangely unfamiliar but that doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is that he’s got you bound like a japanese bondage artwork and he’s soiling his boxers with precum.

“What’s the safeword?” You swallow once and rack your brain - right, he insisted on picking a safeword, an out if you ever need it. “Broomstick.” He nods once and pats your knees before he gets to his feet, he slips his boxers off.

You watch helplessly and probably drooling as his dick springs free, slapping once against his lower belly, hard as a rock.

“You use it if you need to - no hesitation.” He instructs once more but you’re already soft brained. “Darling - talk to me.” Sirius gives your thigh a gentle slap, your gaze snaps back to his face.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He closes his eyes briefly, palming his cock once.

“Fuck, baby - keep calling me that and I’ll come just like that.” Without much fanfare he positions himself before you, lining himself up.

“You ready for me, baby?” He mumbles, eyes hopping between your face and your glistening cunt. “Yeah.” You breathe, helpless and dying for him to wreck you.

Sirius hums satisfied and pushes in, cock sliding past your folds and into you pussy - a moan slips past your lips, involuntarily but he swallows it up with a kiss which is all teeth, spit and grunts.

He drives into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size before his hand slips to your breast, he gives your nipple a gentle squeeze which leaves you whimpering, mouth slightly agape with the amount of pleasure.

“Still doing okay, my love?” His voice reaches you dulled, muffled as if it were coming through thick smoke. Sirius doesn’t stop his movements though his hand gently pats your cheek to pull you back to earth.

“Talk to me, baby - you alright?” A high pitched mewl leaves your lips as his thumb starts to draw circles over your clit.

“Yes, fuck - don’t you stop, pads.” You mumble, hands straining against the restraints.

“Not planning on it.” Sirius huffs a laugh, driving into you, skin slapping against skin in a way that can only be described as sinful.

“You like this, don’t you?” He grunts, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. “Me having you tied up, splitting you open like this.”

And fuck, yes you do.

Moans, the sound of damp skin meeting each other repeatedly and heavy breathing fills the room, vulgar and sinful.

“Gonna cum like this, baby - buried inside your tight little cunt.” He mumbles, breathless and absolutely drunk in the sensation of fucking you senseless. You lay there, tied up like a bretzel and spilling moans and gasps like it’s all you’ve ever known.

“Gonna fill ya’ up, baby - get you all full of me.” He grunts and you know - he’s just as close as you are. The white hot coil tightens in your lower belly and judging by how frantic his thrusts are growing, he’s not far behind.

With a grunt so guttural and downright animalistic he spills into you, hands gripping your thighs so tightly you’re sure it’s gonna bruise. You’re not far behind, a moment later your body locks up, shakes, limbs tugging against the ropes as babbles and moans tumble from your lips, your climax crashing through you relentlessly.

“You okay, baby?” He whispers, slumped against you, still very much stuck inside you. Your brain’s soup, your limbs jelly.

The royal hall is quiet, save for the faint creaking of the old wood which the two opulent thrones consist of. Sunlight fleets through the stained glass windows and heats Ellie’s cheek relentlessly, though she doesn’t move - doesn’t dare to.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Her voice carries through the stuffy air, Queen Eloise is perched on her throne, nose held high.

She eyes the poor messenger like he himself is the reason for her confusion. The man, knelt before the royal couple, lowers his gaze in respect - though Ellie knows it’s fear which has him cowering before the Queen.

“Talks of Pyra’s Breath resurfacing round the lands, My Queen. The relic has returned.” The man sputters, head bowed. Ellie’s head tilts, words of childhood stories reemerge in her mind.

The story of Pyra is a bedtime story, a piece of literature to fill children with comfort in their sleep. The dragon wielder, a witch, used to walk the lands of Virethos - a wasteland now but it used to be forbidden for mere commoners, blessed by the relic of Pyra’s Breath .

It was a land so grand, ineffable for outsiders. She reigned over the lands of Virethos, to the borders of Solmere - the king’s land.

Though the witch didn’t have enough - she commanded the beasts, an army of dragons to erase Solmere’s might off the map, costing the loss of thousands. King Joel’s grandfather, late King Antoine killed the witch and destroyed the relic in the great war - or so is told.

“That’s nonsense! Pyra’s Breath was destroyed moons ago!” Queen Eloise chuckles, brushing off the man’s words with a wave of her hand.

The man is pulled to his feet, dragged across the marble floor like a sack of flour, bellowing that his words carry the truth. King Joel stays quiet, as always. His eyes are unfocused, legs crossed but his mind is somewhere else - it’s been like this for a long time, how long - Ellie’s unsure.

“Ellie. Come here.” Queen Eloise beckons her forward, her smile too saccharine to be real. Ellie has learned not to trust the queen’s expressions, she knows how to manipulate people, no matter the age.

Ellie does follow the order, she always does. She steps closer, hands clasped behind her back and head bowed.

“My Queen.” Ellie addresses her, just how she was taught. She’s made the mistake of calling Eloise mother once and the slap has left her six year old self bruised for days, so formality it is - always.

“What do you think of this…nuisance?” Eloise tilts her head, sharp eyes watching Ellie’s every move, unrelenting. Ellie keeps her eyes on the ground, voice steady.

“Pyra’s Breath was destroyed, My Queen.” It’s the truth, it’s what everyone knows and believes but even Ellie has her doubts now and Eloise knows, it’s like she can smell it in Ellie’s stillness.

“That’s what is said, yes.” The queen pauses to fix her skirt, manicured nails brush over the silk fabric meaninglessly. “But what if it’s true?” Ellie’s eyebrows furrow involuntarily - she hadn’t expected that the queen harbored suspicions after sending the messenger away.

“I’d like you to search for it and bring it to Solmere.” Ellie’s head snaps up, eyes flickering to Queen Eloise. She can feel the panic simmering in her gut.

“You’re sending me away.” The queen gives her solemn smile, a pitying little thing. “Oh don’t be dramatic - you’re the king’s most skilled knight. It’s only fitting for you to return the relic of Pyra’s Breath to its rightful owner.”

Ellie’s gaze flickers to Joel who’s still perched in his throne beside Eloise unmoving, unresponsive. She wishes that Joel would protest, that he would shield her from the queen’s tyranny but to no avail - he stays in his seat like a ghost.

Ellie’s head lowers a fraction, realization of what’s to come slowly creeps up her spine and makes a home in the base of her neck like a leash.

“You’ll be heading out by first light.” She takes a shaky breath and wills her heartbeat to slow, though like everything in her life - it just keeps going inside her chest like a wardrum.

Ellie’s things are easily packed, one woolen bag is enough to carry her possessions. Her chambers feel colder now, no longer sits the small portrait of her mother, Duchess Anna on her bedside table.

Ellie never met her mother, she was too young when her parents perished a gruesome death. Though Joel made it his mission that even at a young age Ellie would understand who her real parents were. 

Duchess Anna Williams, a beautiful young woman, not much older than Ellie is now, was a strong woman. A woman driven by her own opinions and beliefs, which eventually cost her her life.

Duke Edgar Williams was a man of high standard, a close consultant and friend of King Joel. He loved his wife and daughter, supported his wife’s wishes and intentions but his thoughtlessness and will to believe in the good of people, caused his death and that of his beloved wife, leaving little Ellie behind.

King Joel couldn’t fathom seeing his friend’s orphaned daughter grow up in an orphanage for commoners. Since neither Anna nor Edgar had any close family, Joel took little Ellie in and raised her like his own.

When Ellie was six years old, Joel married the beautiful princess Eloise of Eldoria, he was in need of a Queen afterall.

Eloise was the prettiest woman Ellie had ever seen and her sole goal as a little girl was to get Eloise to smile at her as she did at Joel but those hopes and dreams were quickly crushed. Joel’s new wife was anything but kind to Ellie, she tolerated her, nothing more.

Weeks away from Ellie’s seventh birthday, the little girl had made a painting for Eloise, a peace offering so to say. On the parchment depicted were a horse, a King, a little girl, a castle and a Queen.

Ellie, with her big brown eyes and crooked baby teeth, had looked up at the lavishly dressed woman and asked if she was allowed to call her mother. Eloise wasn’t delighted by the little girl’s requests and disciplined her with a slap to her puffy cheek.

Ellie had never cried as hard ever again as that night at six years old with a tear soaked painting depicting a wishful dream of a child.

She banishes the memory into the back of her mind, the place where all happy memories reside as of lately and stuffs another piece of clothing into the bag. With three slow strides, Ellie crosses the wooden floor to the milky stained mirror.

She looks at herself, sees the scars from battles she never wanted to fight but all of it doesn’t matter anymore - she’s to go on a quest most dangerous and it might be her last.

Late at night when Ellie’s unable to sleep, like most - her feet carry her through the dimly lit halls of the castle and to the outside grounds. The training field is quiet, save for the chirping provided by the insects attacking the oil lamp she’s brought.

This is where Ellie has spent most of her younger years, training to be useful - to whom, she’s not sure. She draws her sword from the scabbard and positions herself in front of the wooden dummy, shoulders squared, breathing leveled - just how she was taught.

“Another midnight training?” The voice doesn’t catch her off guard, his voice glides through the air like a raspy whisper. Ellie lowers her sword and catches sight of Tommy, Joel’s brother. He approaches down the stone built stairs, steps slow and cloak swishing behind him. He gives her a half smile, something comforting.

“I have to be prepared.” Tommy hums in understanding, or amusement - Ellie’s never been good at deciphering his mood correctly. He sits himself down on an overturned milk carton and pats the one beside him, she doesn’t have the heart to refuse, not when Tommy’s been the only one showing her any form of kindness the last few years.

So Ellie joins him on the other milk carton, sword already sheathed and hands clasped in her lap. “She’s sending me away.” Ellie murmurs, almost embarrassed to talk about her misfortune. Tommy nods slowly, crosses his legs in thought.

“So I heard.” Ellie takes a deep shaky breath, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. This talk, such honesty, it feels as if she were a child again.

“I wish he’d say something.” She hates how small her voice sounds, how much the little girl, desperate for Joel’s attention, still resides inside her chest. Tommy sighs softly, lays one hand upon Ellie’s shoulder in understanding.

“My brother’s sick.” Ellie knows that, everyone knows that but knowing doesn’t hurt less. Her gaze sweeps over the quiet training court in an effort to reign in her emotions, though the tightness behind her ribs doesn’t leave right away.

Tommy slips his hand into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a dagger. The object is black as obsidian, the blade cut in ridges and the hilt is adorned with worn leather and tight seams.

“This belonged to your father, Edgar.” He starts but his voice is softer now. Ellie glances between the dagger and her uncle, adoptive uncle, though he never made her feel like anything less than family.

“He had it on him when he died. You were too young to be given such an heirloom, but not anymore.” He gently places the dagger in Ellie’s palm. Her fingers close around the leather bound hilt, gaze fixed on it. Ellie never had an heirloom, everything that belonged to her family was lost when her parents perished, not this though.

“You’re a grown woman now, Ellie. It’s time to prove that you’re more than Eloise’s stepping stool.”

Ellie takes a shaky breath and pockets the dagger, keeping it close now.

“Thank you, Tommy.” She whispers, giving him a shaky smile and she’s sure - Tommy sees her exactly for how she feels. Scared, overwhelmed and somehow stronger because at least one person in this godforsaken castle believes she’ll be able to fulfill this quest and make it out alive.

The next morning is painted orange, the sky is free of clouds and the castle is quiet. As Ellie descends the stone steps on the east side of the castle, she catches herself harboring a sour feeling.

She didn’t expect trumpets or the King’s guards seeing her off, she didn’t dare to hope but somewhere, deep inside - she did hope that apart from Tommy, someone would like to see her off - to wish her luck or even just watch her leave. She adjusts the straps of her bag and sighs softly, the disappointment sits deep, deeper than she likes.

With heavy steps and her mind swimming in negative, she approaches the stables. The wooden doors are slightly ajar and she quietly slips inside.

The stable’s air is stuffy, filled with the smell of hay and horse urine but Ellie’s grown used to it - her horse resides there after all. Some days Ellie’s sure that Shimmer is her only true friend on this planet. 

Her footsteps carry softly across the hay covered gravel, one hand blindly reaching for the woolen rope which is hung on the wooden pillar by the door. Shimmer’s head is already leant out of his stable, soft breaths emitting from his nostrils.

A small smile forms on Ellie’s face upon seeing her horse waiting for her. She reaches one hand and brushes it over his muzzle. “Hey there, buddy.” She whispers, careful not to disturb the other mare’s.

“We’re going on a little adventure.” Shimmer neighs softly, nudging Ellie’s elbow as she fastens the holster around his head.

Ellie unfastens the latch and slowly guides Shimmer out of his stable, the steed follows her without protest, rather with trust. They make it out of the stable and onto the gravel road leading back to the main road and outside the castle. Birds chirp above, a soft breeze tussles both Shimmer’s mane and Ellie’s short hair.

With a soft sigh, feeling more like finality, Ellie hooks one leg into the stirrup and pulls herself up into the saddle. Just as she adjusts the reigns, the sound of footsteps from behind catches her attention. She twists in the saddle, lowers her hood and catches sight of someone she didn’t expect, not in a million years.

Joel.

Ellie stays still, frozen even as she watches the man who raised and forgotten her, approach down the gravel road. He’s dressed in maroon sleeping robes, satin slippers and flanked by two guards who stare ahead stoically.

“Child.” His voice is raspy and makes something behind Ellie’s ribs ache, something she’s tried to bury a long time ago. She watches him unmovingly as he gets closer, Shimmer shifts slightly, his head lowering in recognition.

“I’m wishing you luck.” Ellie’s head is spinning, chest achy and fingers white with how tightly she’s holding the reins.

“Wishing me luck in not dying?” Joel doesn’t flinch, though the lack of emotions doesn’t anger her as much as it did years ago. He lifts his gaze as Shimmer shifts his behind away from him, probably to get a good look at the usually silent King.

“You’re honoring the kingdom, Eloise said so.” The calm in his voice makes Ellie’s blood boil but she swallows it down. She knows there’s no use in exploding right now - he’d probably not react.

“Is that all?” Her voice comes clipped and a little too harsh but he deserves it, he deserves the same coldness that he sent her way since Ellie was a child.

“May you free us, Ellie.” Those words make her brows furrow, her brain rack on high speed.

“Of what?” Joel averts his gaze, almost as if those words slipped without his permission.

“Of Pyra’s Breath, of course.” But Ellie catches the edge - he’s not just talking of the relic or the ancient threat to human kind.

“Goodbye, My King.” Ellie murmurs the words but Joel stays calm, always so damn calm.

“Goodbye, Els.”

The nickname makes her head snap back, breath stuttering for a moment but he’s already turned around. She watches Joel retreat back to the castle, his maroon robes catching the morning sun, making it look awfully close to the color of fresh blood.

The journey through the wasteland between Solmere and the approaching town of Thornmere seems to stretch endlessly. Shimmer’s keeping his pace, slow but moving and Ellie doesn’t pressure her mare to move faster. She wants Shimmer by her side as long as possible, after all.

Shimmer’s hooves clack softly along the dirt road, fields of dead grass surround them as they proceed further. Ellie keeps her gaze sharp but the ache in her bottoms and the strain of waking up so early finally catch up to her.

She catches herself yawning and Shimmer neighs softly in response, as if to say that he’s equally as tired.

A few miles later Ellie catches sight of a stream up ahead, a small spot of shade from a half dead tree and decides that a break won’t hurt, not if she’s to fulfill this quest awake. So she stirs Shimmer closer to the stream and barely gets off his back before he’s already plunged his muzzle into the cool water.

“Dummy, I was about to fall.” She mumbles, the horse doesn’t seem to care.

With a sigh she stretches, brushes a hand through her windswept hair and plops down by the base of the tree. Shimmer’s found a patch of green grass by the stream’s bank and munches contently. Ellie’s asleep before she’s able to get a good look at their surroundings, half slumped against the tree.

“Goodness, you’re alright?” A voice so soft Ellie thinks she’s still dreaming slowly pulls her to the edge of consciousness again. Her eyes slowly flutter open, mouth dry and brain battling with the grip on reality for a moment.

Before Ellie crouches a woman, not much older than her, hair windswept. She’s dressed in purple ropes and - there’s a crow perched on her shoulder like a pet.

The woman doesn’t look threatening, judging by the confused little smile on her lips, she probably isn’t but Ellie knows better to be trusting of a stranger.

She’s up in one leap, dagger drawn without warning. “Who the hell are you?” Ellie points the weapon towards the woman, whose hands are now raised in an effort to not look threatening.

“My apologies - I’m Y/N of Astralis.” The crow upon her shoulder croaks once, flares its wings as if to tell Ellie to back off. Astralis - witch’s lands. Ellie’s heard of the small communities of people calling themselves witches, people of magic.

Eloise has told her that those people are thiefs, crooks and overall bad people. This woman though, this ‘witch’ doesn’t look as threatening as the Queen has made them out to be.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” The witch insists, hands still raised and Ellie cocks her head, her gaze sweeps over the woman once again. Definitely not a crook.

“Then what were you doin’ here?” Ellie retaliates, dagger still raised, just in case. “I saw you slumped by the tree - I thought you might need help but Saphi wanted to just leave you here. I gave her a good talking to.” Ellie’s eyebrows furrow, utterly confused.

“Who the hell is Saphi?” The woman gives Ellie a soft laugh, more like a breath and gestures to the crow on her shoulder. The crow croaks again, wings fluttering as if to say - yes, that’s me.

Ellie’s quiet for a moment, trying to process what the hell’s happening right now.

This woman, this witch is talking to her pet crow and the bird’s name apparently is Saphi.

So either she’s losing her mind or the people outside of Solmere are particularly strange. Shimmer’s not reacting to all of this, he’s basking in the batch of green grass by the water, soaking in the sun.

So Ellie decides one thing - maybe this woman could be of help to fulfill her quest, witches are allegedly welcomed in the lands of Virethos, since dragons are like kin to them or she’ll kill her.

Either Way, Ellie’s sure that this quest has barely started and it’s already costing her her sanity.

જ⁀➴ 𝖙𝖆𝖌 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖙

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