#morality-or-chains

Work brought Jed out to the coast a couple times a year, and it was always worth taking the time for a little fishing while he was there. People would pay a lot for a hippocampus, a hell of a lot more for a mermaid or a selkie, though they were a damn sight harder to catch. Fishing was essentially the same as hunting, though, and he found both relaxing. He loved his brothers--family was everything for the Ashworths--but the time away from them was a welcome break.

The drive back home through the mountain roads was long and quiet, and that perhaps did more for his peace of mind than the hunting, the back of the truck loaded with carefully covered game--all mostly legal, if only because laws didn't recognize things that weren't human. It wasn't exactly explainable to the local police should he ever be stopped, though, and he preferred to avoid attention.

He'd stopped at this same gas station dozens of times on his trips to refuel. It was barely a building, the trees creeping right up onto the property and threatening to pull it back into the woods. He'd nodded to the only other person in the small gravel parking lot when he placed the nozzle in the tank, the stink of gasoline washing over him, but then his gaze had shifted to the edge of dark trees beyond. It was nothing he could see or hear from that distance, but something lurked just out of sight there, something that made him want to reach for the shotgun in the front seat.

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

"Do I appear to be a creature of mercy?" Rozen's voice is calm and steady, his eyes narrowing like the predatory gaze of a beast disturbed in its rest. He shifts not an inch, as though his presence alone should be enough to compel any would-be trespasser to reconsider. So few dare venture into his domain these days, and yet here stands another.

"Or one in need of collecting strays?"

The velvet beneath the upper half of their body is soft. Peyton is more than positive that they're going to be sore for the next several days. Despite their muscles relaxing enough to allow Kalaziel to slip inside them, a pleasant stretch is still felt. Sweat faintly glistens off their pale skin, visible with each flicker of the club's lights.

A lengthy moan sounds from the escort's lips as Kal's cock fills them just right. Pressure builds around their restrained wrists, causing the small of their back to faintly arch. The nickname almost causes them to immediately melt, heat further gathering in the pit of their stomach like smelting coals. "Yes, sir," they gasp, lustful hazel eyes opening to peer back at the incubus. "Fuck, you're filling me up so perfectly."