Jellyfish

✩ 21 ✩ No Label ✩ Female ✩ Masculine ✩ #1 Sevika Lover 💓

[wishingonjellyfish]

Welcome to my blog ~

Read below

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~ Tag Guide

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about me

I’m a 21-year-old demisexual/demiromantic woman with a masculine presentation. I write Sevika fanfics and love taking requests! I may not write every request I get, but don’t be shy about sending ideas my way.

~ jellyfish

[delicatelymorbid]

favorite thing ever is someone who's big and bad in front of other people, but a whiny and pathetic mess when they're alone with you. them being so authoritative and naturally in charge with everyone else, but with you, they feel safe and loved so they just let it all go and trust that you'll take care of them. dropping that stern demeanor as if it never existed and replacing it with a desperate need to be good for you. them begging for anything and getting so desperate that they repeat over and over that they're yours, no one else fucks them this well, and no one else will

[p0rnangel]

That's me

[royalpuppp]

Professional ragebaiter so I can get manhandled, pushed around, and put in my place

[santhiquee]

I want you (close)

synopsis: To avoid retaking a science class for the third time, you attend your universities tutoring center and meet the girl of your dreams, unaware of her frat identity and dirty secret of her own. mdni | content: College AU, praise kink, dry humping, g!p Sevika, cunnilingus, frat boy Sevika, oral sex (r! receiving and giving), mild stalking if you squint, depressive unmedicated reader, top Sevika, dom/sub undertones, face-sitting. pairing: college frat boy! Sevika x science student reader a/n: the awaited sevika tutoring fic...inspired by me failing A&P 2 my first time... till next time by lovelies :)!!!

The high hopes of being an academic weapon during your fall semester of Sophomore year fell short. It wasn’t because of the partying or your lack of focus, but rather the downhill of being unmedicated. Anatomy and Physiology two, became a nightmare and each second you endured studying felt like needles pricking your muscles. 

But you’re back. Still not medicated and dreading the months of obsolete motivation and deep depression, but with more hope considering, you’re retaking the class. In a way, it seems like whatever divine being is governing the universe is enjoying punishing you. And in a way, you can’t blame them. 

A biology major, who sucks at science. Who comes up with that?

Now the issue at hand is, you’re going downhill again, and you can’t let your grades drop too much before the first exam. Though you still have a couple of months to pass, theres this impending doom that you won’t memorize and understand everything before the first exam, and then you are truly, really fucked.

The Center of Academic Tutoring is on the second floor of the Jackson Library of the University of Zaun. It's on the west side of the library in the middle of shelves filled with books, and it’s mostly quiet save for the soft murmurs of students.

Towards the back of the building there are ceiling to floor windows overlooking the green fields and the rest of the academic buildings. From the second floor students look like ants scrabbling to their classes.

As soon as you get out of the elevator, you’re staring at a myriad of tables and chairs, with students huddled close to their tutors, each lost in their own conversations. “I’m looking for A&P 2.” You whisper to an older girl with a purple mullet.

Her bottom lip piercings seem to smile along with her and she points to a particular table in the back. When your eyes graze up, you’re met with a vision. The same lean, older girl with soft muscles and short hair that you’ve seen around campus. “Hi.”

She has grey eyes, thick eye brows, and glistening brown skin that smells of cocoa butter and wood. Next to her is a motorcycle helmet, and sprawled out in front of her is a computer, and notebook nearly full of notes. “A&P 2? Check in.”

Her voice is rough, yet smooth, with a soft drawl. It’s all quiet until you place your iPad on the white table, hoping your stomach doesn’t start growling because it’s the afternoon and you haven’t consumed anything besides a small iced coffee for your morning chem class. 

“I have a quiz tomorrow, I just need to…review some things before the lecture, that's all.”

She hums, “What chapter are you on?” The library feels warmer than most days. The hem of your shirt sticks to your skin, and sweat builds at your temples. 

In front of you there’s a drawing of a heart, with an array of arrows pointed from them. Small notes cover your paper, filled during lecture. Your professor and his TA kept adding and adding information, though he promised it was just good knowledge not that it would be on the test.

Yeah, right. 

“Cardiovascular system…currently trying to work on memorizing the heart anatomy. I promise I pay attention in class.” You say with a small, nervous smile that makes your facial muscle tick.

She waves her hand, “Don’t worry, I know what you mean.” And she leans in closer, then points at the lower meaty part of the heart–the one that reminds you of an uncooked ribeye. 

“Myocardium.” And she hums, giving you a wide smile, that makes her cheeks puff up. “Good.” 

And it continues on like that, until you shed your nervousness, and focus on her little tricks and tips. She’d point at a random part of the heart and the words aorta, superior vena cava, and pulmonary artery flies around. 

“I also struggle with the—“ You point at the little muscles sliding down from the right atrium. “These…muscles.”

“…tricuspid valve, then goes to the chordae tendineae which are held on by papillary muscles.” And she leans in, close enough you can see a small, pink scar on her face that dips down her cheek. For a second you want to press your nose into her skin and inhale. 

Nose at her string jaw, and lap the soft skin of her neck, until you reach the metal on her ears. Not a single word that passes her mouth makes it to your ear because as she speaks, you pause at the vision of something shining inside her tongue.

“—use the meaning, ‘heart string’, so the chordae means cords and the tendineae means tendon-like. Tendon-like chords that pull the strings of your heart tight enough they don’t open backwards.” The words feel foreign as you focus on her tongue, and the way her full lips utter each word. 

Does she use her tongue piercing to her advantage when she’s kissing someone? Does it always feel cold against the roof of her mouth? How would it feel as she tipped her tongue down your cunt, and lapped at your folds?

“Oh—“ and you write down everything, making some words up as they go. Your focus seems to fly out of the window, each second that passes with her pressed close to you makes your ears heat up. “Are you a senior?”

“Junior. Engineering major.” She responds coolly, flipping the mechanical pencil in her hand, while your eyes dart to them, taking in her words but also staring at the veins sliding to her knuckles.

The fuck is she doing tutoring Anatomy. “Not to be rude, but why are you tutoring Anatomy? Isn’t that a little off course from your major?”

She smiles, until you can see all thirty-two sets of teeth, and a cute little gap. “It is. Very. But I liked this class, so why not share my knowledge. And you?”

“Sophomore. Biology major.”

“Pre-med?”

“Kind of. Not really in the route to be a doctor, but something in the laboratory.” You respond with a totally cool shrug feeling her foot knock into yours. Your throat bobs, as she hums at your words. 

“So then you’re in the liberty dorms?” 

“Yeah…got the dorm with the shittiest pluming.” You murmur, trying to focus on flipping through the little note card, while she gives you a small chuckle, rough and airy, trying not to pull too much attention from the other students. 

What is the bottom of the heart called? What happens to the heart if the chordae tendineae fails to function? Would she bite your nipples or use her tongue ring to get them all sensitive and swollen?

“It’ll get better, don’t worry.”

And it doesn’t even matter if it gets better or not, you barely pay any mind to the fact that you’re going back to your dorm where the toilet is probably still clogged. Or that you’re holding onto a 70 percent in your class. Your attention is on the fact that you left the tutoring center with a name, and soaked panties. 

Sevika. 

Sevika. 

When the pristine white door of your shared room opens, Jinx is in her bed, while Ekko is on the floor with his laptop. They’re both working in silence, until you drop your bag on the bed. “Just had the hottest tutor, who unfortunately probably thinks I’m stupid.”

Ekko looks up from his computer, and gives you a wide grin, “Mhmm finally widening your horizon? Tutoring for what class?”

“Anatomy and physiology…god, I can’t fail that class again, if i take it a third time that tuition price will kill me.” You grumble, letting yourself fall on the twin bed. The bed groans and bounces with a soft squeak, as Jinx faces you. 

“How was the tutoring center? Need to go so I can pass this stupid calc class.”

“Recommend it…but I can’t say your tutor will be as hot as mine unless you get Ekko to tutor you,” You purr at Ekko, giving him a sultry wink.

Jinx smiles at his side, though Ekko scoffs, “I love you and all, but I am not tutoring you.”

The following morning, you’re awake by eight thirty. An hour to go over the notes, you and Sevika discussed and then another hour for you to eat breakfast and stare at the vast lake in front of the library. You get to class around ten with a cold water bottle, and the little notes from your tutoring session. 

You don’t pay much attention to your professor. He drones on and on with some quips about his own doctoral experience then hands it off to his assistant. But you do think about Sevika, and wonder what she usually does on her free days, and if she’s one of those students who lays on the library lawn between classes.

The hours go by rather quickly and then you’re taking the quiz with vaguely similar questions to the ones you went over with Sevika. The class goes quiet, and one by one they disperse. 

Eighteen out of twenty. 

When you’re back in the tutoring center it’s around four in the afternoon, and your belly is filled with a chicken sandwich melted onto American cheese, and some waffle fries. There’s a cup of cold coke on your hand, and you feel rather sleepy. 

You don’t go to the front table anymore, instead you head to Sevika, and give her a soft smile. She returns it, and somehow she looks better than yesterday. Hair pulled back in a slick, and clean pony tail though some strands fall in front of her forehead. “How was the quiz?” 

“I passed…eighteen out of twenty.” You respond with a pleased smile, and she preens at you. 

“Atta girl.” The words roll out of Sevika’s mouth in a way that makes you freeze. Your fingers twitch, and it takes everything in your body to take a breath without being too loud. Would she say that to you while her fingers caress your clit, and her tongue laps the sensitive skin of your neck?

Sevika leans into you, looking down at your notes as you inhale her scent. Sometimes she wouldn’t even ask you, and take your notebook, jotting down her own notes then explaining it to you. As if what’s yours seems to belong to her as well.

You only study with Sevika for an hour and a half before she looks down at her watch and purses her lips together. A frown forms on her face, and she slumps back on her chair. “My session is over, I have t—“

You quickly scramble to grab your things, “No worries.” And as you put everything in your bag, Sevika’s hand softly clutches your wrist. Her skin is soft, yet rough at the same time, and they engulf your wrist. 

“Hold on. Your first unit exam is coming up in a couple of weeks, no?” Her head is tilted, and she has this lax expression while you’re trying really fucking hard not to explode while some dude talks about molecules and atoms about five feet away. 

You nod, unable to say anything. She smiles, perhaps at your knitted eyebrows or the way you’re holding your breath as she speaks to you. “How about this? I get us some caffeine and I keep tutoring you…what do you think?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’d like that.” 

You’re the one who picks the empty table in the back of the library with a wide view of the lake and the campus on your side. You’re also the one who sits close to the wall, and watches as Sevika slides her belongings next to you. 

You’re also the one who melts into the chair as Sevika turns, and quickly moves to Jinx and Ekko. Sevika is barely out of your vision when you begin to text the pair, vibrating in your chair, leg bouncing with each letter you type.

You: My tutor wants to fffuccckkk me. She wants to part these legs and do meeeee Jinx: do you even know this girls name??? Just thirsting over some random girl on campus. STAND UP.  You: Not too much on me, and yes I know her name. You: Sevika. You: And as i said, she want thissss pussyyyy Ekko:…no way Ekko: are we are talking about the Sevika I know. Jinx:…leftie?

Message bubbles pop up, and then Jinx is sending you a picture of Sevika with Jinx’s sister Vi. Your shoulders drop, and for a second you consider throwing up. 

You: No fucking way…damn, i really have no chance. Wow.  Jinx: Honestly this is on you. Sevika is literally also in Theta Psi Kappa…the frat whose party we’re always attending.  Ekko: LOL Ekko: Remember that party, we got drunk, slid down a bouncy house during Saint Patty’s and damn near hit the wall of a house…that was their party. You: ‘M going to throw up bro. I’m going to be sickkkkkk. She’s getting me a drink right now, should I leave before she comes back? Jinx: DON’T. Pick up your balls and get through it.  Ekko: Mind you…we are going to their Euphoria party tomorrow.

Sevika comes back with two caramel drinks, and you swallow the vile pilling up in your throat. The issue isn’t that Sevika is Vi’s friend. The issue isn't that she’s Vi’s friend, it’s that she’s known to simply sleep with girls, with no attachment. 

You never really enquired what her name was or how she looked. Jinx only referred to her as “leftie” and as of some months, there’s been gossip from Jinx’s mouth that she seems to have sworn off relationships for some girl.

Sevika doesn’t even sit in front of you, instead she slides her seat next to you, close enough that her knees knock yours, and each time she leans in you can almost see the inside of her ear. What does her skin taste like? “Let’s do some practice questions.”

When you’re finished with two sets of quizzes, and some notes that Sevika made up for you, there’s almost no one in the library. There’s a soft buzzing from the lights above you both, though not a single other voice besides her is heard. “What are the major vessels associated with coronary circulatory blockage?”

You purse your lips into a thin line, “right and left…coronary artery. They divide to the anterior inter-ventricular artery, circumflex artery…and posterior inter-ventricular artery.”

“Perfect.” Sevika drawls out, leaning back into her seat and letting the flashcards fall on her lap. Her legs are spread open, and your eyes flicker to crotch. Pervert. “I think you’ll do great on your lab quiz…plus you have me as your tutor.”

You can feel your ears flush at her words. “You have a lot of confidence in yourself. Thank you for the drink…and the tutoring.”

Sevika shrugs, “I am confident that you’ll do good, and don’t even worry about the drinks. They’re on me anytime you see me on campus.”

“I’ll hold you accountable for that. We should go, it’s already late.” When Sevika stands up, you realize for the first time just how…big she is compared to you. She nearly towers over you, and you’re sure if she were to hold you down, the only thing you could do is squirm and let her. 

God, would she? Would she hold you down and rub against you, taking each second of pleasure for herself, and give yours in measure paces just to see you squirm? “Did you drive to campus?”

It takes you a second to shake your head, and for the words to catch up to your brain. The vision of Sevika rubbing against you flashes across your sclera, “No…no, I took the bus…I’ll walk, it’s not that far.”

She scoffs, “As if I’d let you. My bike is outside.”

Sevika’s bike is parked behind the library, which is usually off-limits for students, but she walks to it with such confidence you’re sure not even the campus police would tell her something. She hands you her motorcycle helmet, and helps you clasp it on, warm hands sliding on top of yours, lips pulled at the end. 

She must be enjoying this. She must know that she makes you a little nervous. When she gets on it, there’s a moment of silence before it roars softly, then comes to life, scaring the tiny hares around the grass. 

The black motorcycle makes your entire body vibrate. Each bone feels as though it’s being rattled, and shook. “Hold on tight.” She bellows, and you wrap your arms around her strong frame, before she’s zooming away from the parking space and into the road.

You can’t feel the wind in your hair, but you feel it in every inch of your skin, swirling inside the loose space between your t-shirt and skin. The cold wind caresses your body, until a shiver rushes down your spine, and you somehow feel naked. In a way it feels those seconds of a drunk haze when your head is outside of a car, and the wind is blowing your hair in each way. 

She doesn’t move until you’re inside your dorm, nose attached to the window. She looks up, and smiles at you before putting on her helmet. It doesn’t take long before the motorcycle disappears into the night and becomes small flashes of red.  

It takes nearly an hour for Jinx to stop laughing. Her body thrashes on the small bed, making it groan and shake. “You’re going to wake up Mel, and she’s going to kick our asses again.”

After that warning, it takes her thirty minutes for her to think of a plan. A sly plan that involves you somehow seducing Sevika at Kappa’s Euphoria party, and getting her into your bed. It doesn’t take you an hour to say yes, only two seconds with no consideration of the girl Sevika is supposedly hung up on. 

The tutoring center doesn’t see your face the next day.  But you do look for Sevika in every passing face while you napped on the library lawn, head on Ekko’s lap. By the afternoon, flashcards covered the table inside one of the study rooms, while Jinx scribbled equations on the white board and murmured to herself. 

Two cans of Red Bull passed through Jinx’s system and laid crushed next to your computer until the late afternoon. The large bell outside the library rings once then twice, and by the time you’re finished with some past due work, Jinx is done and nearly asleep. 

“So, shots then uber, then seduction.” Yells Jinx as you open the door for Ekko. There’s a half bottle of vodka in his hand, and you’re holding a tub of eyeliner. You’re dressed in a sparky dark purple dress, with black thigh high boots that reach just some inches under your kneecap. 

Ekko and Jinx are semi-matching with her in a cropped blue sparkly top, and a skirt the same color with black combat boots. Meanwhile, Ekko is in a cropped shirt the same color, though it isn’t sparkly, there’s glitter makeup all over his face. 

You all look like disco balls with glitter smeared all over your shoulders, and Jinx with her collarbone sparkly. Ekko is leaning against the wall of the sink, “You never wear purple…” Says Ekko, eyes narrowed at you and Jinx. 

“Please let me into this plan. You guys know I don't like being left out.”

Jinx turns as if stating the obvious, “She will seduce Sevika tonight, while I seduce you.” 

“Okay…and is the plan also to bring Sevika back to the dorm or…do it under the roof of all those eager Kappa’s?” He responds, wiggling his eyebrow. Ekko prepares a shot for you, and as the alcohol burns your throat, you give him a shrug. 

“Who knows.”

The Theta Psi Kappa frat house is two-story about thirty minutes away from campus in a relatively normal neighborhood. The music doesn’t really get to you until you’re passing through some dudes and a burly guy, with a security shirt, then through a bush and you finally come to the back of the house. 

There’s people everywhere. Each corner is covered, in one section there’s guys doing keg stands, on the other side, doing shots off each other's cups while some people are sprawled out on some worn out couch. The music is loud, and it makes your fingertips tingle. “WOW they’ve truly outdone themselves.”

Sevika becomes a name buzzing in the back of your brain even as you’re in front of the DJ with Jinx grinding against you. You feel loose, and good, each movement done without care while Jinx holds a red solo cup against your lips and the music thumps against your eardrums. 

The idea to look for Sevika takes time to cross your mind. It doesn’t come when you’re heading into the vast house moving along bodies against the wall, drinking and dancing with not much care in the world. Or when you’re inside the bathroom taking a shot from the small silver flask, you had hid in your boots. 

When you come out of the bathroom, a picture of Sevika with some guys hits your eyes. She’s in the corner, holding the university flag wearing her rugby jersey with some guys next to her in the same jersey just a different color. And it goes on like this, more pictures of them in the mountains, on campus, doing damn near everything in the world. 

Your fingertips touch her face or rather a picture of her holding a trophy in her hand, with that smug smile on her face. That cute gap of hers shines at you. The music is loud enough, you don’t feel the presence behind you until a hand touches the wall, right next to you.

“Very handsome, right?” Your face whips around, nearly slamming into Sevika before you back up. The wall hits your back, and you’re no longer alone with people rushing back and forth, pushing Sevika closer to you. 

“Hi,” you murmur, eyes ducking down to see her wearing loose jeans that show off the band of her boxers, and black ribbed tshirt, that show off her muscles. God, your panties are going to drop if you keep staring at her like a piece of meat.

“Enjoying the party?” Sevika smiles at you, face slightly red and her breath smells faintly of beer, and something fruity like lemonade.

“Yes. Though the theme is a bit…over done. Never thought I’d see you in the wild.” That’s a lie. You were actually actively hoping to see her at the party, even if it was only a little glance. Even if it was just her throwing ping pongs at some beer filled cups

“‘m in my element actually. I’m a…kappa.” She says with a soft wince, handing shooting to scrap the back of her head.

“Oh,” you give her a look of surprise. God, you should’ve been a theater major. Broadway would’ve been your bitch. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“The engineering major didn’t give it off?” She croons, and her thumb brushes against your cheek, sending a warm chill down your spine. “Actually, I wanted to give you some notes.” 

She turns, hand sliding from the wall, until the warmth being imitated from her skin leaves your hair. She barely moves to the side, pushing some door open. “Don’t worry I won't trap you in here.” 

Sevika’s room is like one of those college advertising rooms, but cooler. There are posters on her wall, the rugby team flag, and pictures of her and her friends. A giant shark stuffed animal is in the corner of the room, but her space is spotless.

“Here.” And she slides a collection of anatomy notes, all hand written and drawn, even colored. You notice her handwriting and someone else’s. 

“This…you did this?” You gawk at her, flipping through the notes, each more descriptive than the last. God, must be a semester worth of notes. 

“Some of it. I have a bio major friend, and he took some notes, so I compiled it all.”

“Nice. Thank you…” You breathe the words out, through they sound almost like a whisper to her. “Really, you’re saving my life.”

There’s only three shots of vodka in your system. Three shots that haven’t hit you, though you know your limit is really somewhere around seven. But the room feels warmer than usual, as you take a step backward. 

Sevika’s is back on you again, warm hand on the wall so close and yet so far from your face. Her head softly tilts to the side, just inches from yours. “Should we…discuss the ethics of kissing your tutor?”

“There are no ethics to that,” You chide at her, hand reaching to her waist, dipping a finger down her waist band. “But…maybe I’m wrong and further discussion is needed.”

The kiss is instant. A mess of tongue, as Sevika pushes her body into you, trapping you to the wall. The cold metal ball on her tongue rolls around your tongue—cold, then warm.

Her knee cap pushes between your knees, keeping you in place, and you can’t seem to keep your voice down. The feeling of her hands cupping your face, and her chest pushing into yours seems to have pushed your body into such hypersensitivity, each brush against your skin makes you feel on fire. 

Meek moans and whimpers echo in her room. “Been wanting this…” Sevika murmurs, against your cheek, spreading little kisses along your jaw, “For a while.”

The drop of her kneecap on the floor, makes the admission of her longing fizz against your brain. Her face slides down your dress, cheek pressed against the scratchy material. Her eyes flutter up at you, as her hands slide up the side of your legs, reaching for your black panties. 

‘Can I?’

You give her a rushed nod, and she groans, hiking your dress up while her face thrusts against your clothed cunt. A yelp rushes out of your mouth when Sevika pushes your leg onto her shoulder, pressing her face deeper into your cunt with a soft, guttural groan. “Need—“ she slurs. 

And she wedged in between your legs, warm breath hitting your sopping pussy, until your fingers thread through her hair, giving the strands a soft tug. “Sevika,” You whine, making a feeble attempt to grind on her face. “Please—“

“Fuck,” The word rings beneath you as Sevika finally pulls your panties down, rushing to kiss your clit. Her tongue darts between your folds, tasting your arousal, and it makes her cock twitch. 

The metal ball nudges against your clit, and a sharp tremor makes your knees buckle. Your cunt clamps  around Sevika’s tongue, and Sevika preens. Fisting herself to the thought of you against her was a joke compared to this. 

A shudder of warmth curls around your body, and your head thunks against the wall, as Sevika laps on your cunt, assaulting the swollen bud, cold ball dragging around your clit. Her tongue sucks and flicks the nerve, moaning at the sensation of it twitching in her mouth. 

“Sev—“ You gasp at the feeling of something against your leg, the realization of Sevika using you to get off as she fucks her tongue in you, is enough to make your hips jolt on her tongue. You can only imagine the filthy sounds your wet pussy is making against her tongue. 

A thrill rushes down your spine, and Sevika licks abroad stripe from your dripping hole to the twitching nerve, before giving it soft circles. “Fuck—“ You pant as the muscles of your leg twitches. Small shivers drum through your bottle. “ ‘m close, let—let me fuck your face…pleaseplease.”

Sevika cock drips at your words, heading rushing to say yes. Her nails dig into the meat of your thighs, as she peppers kisses along the sensitive skin. And she pulls away with a throaty whine, panting, glazed eyes, and pupils blown wide, “Use me, c’mon baby,” She whines falling backwards on the floor. 

Your brain shorts circuits, but you slide off your leather jacket and crawl to her face as the sound of her belt unlooping rings above the music. Your calves burn, holding onto half of your weight. Sevika’s tongue grazes your pussy, and her hands quickly clasp your thighs pulling you down. “Sev—“

Her face has disappeared under your dress, and the only thing ensuring you she’s alive is the sudden vision of her fucking her fist. Thick bead of precum coat her fingers, and she’s fucking into the tip, as the same rate her tongue is desperately fucking itself inside you. 

Your moans echo in the room, each sound louder than the last, until your belly feels too hot. As you’re too drunk on the pleasure to realize you’re fucking yourself on Sevika’s face. “Right—right there,” You pant, walls fluttering around nothing.

Your hips jerk at the sensation of a shockwave gripping your body. “Yo, Sev,” A hurling knock comes to the room. “Come on, we need you for this sick keg stand. The Beta Sigma boys are here trying to steal the girls.”

Blood curls through your ears, until you can hear nothing but the muffled voices on the other side of the room. Sevika moans, whining and desperate until she’s coming on her first, coating her first.

“FUCK OFF.” You yell, pushing off some weight from Sevika’s face.

‘Dude who the fuck is that?’ 

‘No way, she has someone in her room…yo, who the fuck is in there?” The knock comes louder and louder, while Sevika’s face is red, mirroring that of a ripe tomato. There’s this glazed look on her eyes, like she’s not all there. 

“She’s sleeping.” You throw back, rushing around the room to find something to wipe off her soaked face. The voices back off, and you wipe Sevika’s face, until she’s blinking at you, a wide smirk tugging at her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She slurs back. “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

Sevika feels sick. 

She had you against her wall last night, tongue on your skin, and now you’re avoiding her like the plague. After she popped the question, which in her defense, she should’ve waited until the haze of her orgasm was done, you left. “I mean…I couldn’t have been that bad.”

She was sure she made you cum, and god, did you taste fucking delicious on her face. Cunt gushing of her, until she lapped at your juice. The taste of your is engraved in her tongue, ruined for anyone else.

In the corner of the study room, Vi is trying really hard to not laugh in Sevika’s face. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and she’s nearly pinching herself. “I…I can’t believe you actually convinced Viktor to let you pretend you’re a fucking tutor.” 

Sevika lets her head fall into her hands, as Vi laughs, body thrashing on the black bean bag in the corner of the room. A rushed sigh leaves her lips, “Focus…I’m trying to get my girl back here.”

“She wasn’t even your girl in the first place,” Jinx chimes in, finally getting off her phone to pay Sevika’s groaning attention. “If you just told me, you had it out for my roommate, I would’ve given you some fucking pointers. Stalker.”

“That was one fucking time,” Sevika grumbles, “It was late, and I was making sure she got back to her dorm. Can you just…can you just give me an in so I don’t look like a creep, Jinx for fucks sake—“ Sevika stands up, nearly pleading, “I’ll owe you…please.”

Jinx sighs, “In exchange for you letting me borrow your bike…I’ll help you., Today, she’s making me some tiramisu. You come, and I find an excuse to leave.”

“You’re setting her up.” Vi laughs, shaking her head. “She is setting you the fuck up.”

Sevika shrugs. “I’m desperate. Deal. What time?”

You partake in sweet and salty treats. And while Tiramisu isn’t exactly your thing, it is Jinx’s. According to her, she enjoys the velvety taste of the cream, and how soggy and sweet the lady fingers get. The pan is filled to the top, coffee nearly brimming out but the smell of espresso makes you feel energetic. 

That is until the door opens and as you smile at Jinx, Sevika shimmies inside wearing dark-washed jeans, and a loose graphic t-shirt. You haven’t told Jinx of you riding Sevika’s face until you saw stars. Or the boys outside the dorm room, mid orgasm. 

“Saw Sev on the way to Vi’s room, and offered her some of your famous tiramisu.” Jinx says in her always cheery voice. The couch dips under her soft weight, and you’re holding onto the pot, while Sevika takes it from you, sliding it to the small table in the middle of the dorm living room.

Oh so gently, and you can’t stop thinking about how her hands touched your thighs or how fucking good her tongue felt. The rushing memory of Sevika’s voice and how her tongue and the cold,metal ball lapped at your cunt, has you standing there like a dumbass. 

“Oh…famous is a very high compliment. I just used some actual Italian ingredients like Bonomi, and…let’s just eat.”

“Actually, save me some, I have to pick up Ekko from his class, okay. Love you.”

Jinx is gone, and you’re staring at the door, as it slam shut. The first minute is filled with such intense awkwardness, you’re sure your eyelids are violently twitching. “I shouldn’t have…asked you that after—“

“I thought you liked someone already.” Your words cut through Sevika’s voice, and the older girl stares at you, before she smiles. 

“You….the person I like is you.” 

“You don’t even know me.” It’s not all true. Sevika knows where your classes are, how you always arrive to your class five to ten minutes late for over sleeping. How to stay in your dorm room for the winter, and leave during the tiny breaks to see your family. 

Her throat feels tight, and she wants to tell you so fucking much but she’s afraid it’ll all just disappear in front of her. “I do….in a way. But I want to get to know you even more…I’m willing to eat the entire pan for a chance”

“Bullshit.” 

“Swear.” 

“Bullshit.” Your fingers curl around the spoon, and it drips off the sweet cream and ladyfinger, as you force it into Sevika’s mouth. You don’t move with anger but rather desperation–a need to know if she’s just wasting time.  

The corner of Sevika’s mouth is coated in the cream of whipped mascarpone cheese and eggs. Two more spoons make it inside her mouth, and she takes it all in, as you watch her with knitted browns, hoping that maybe she’d throw it up and admit to this game. 

Sevika’s chest heaves up and down, and the spoon drops to the crystal pan. “Since when?”

“Spring of last year,” She responds, tongue darting to licks the bottom of her lips, “But…I never said anything, figured I would only see you one time but then you started rooming with Jinx, and she’d tell me about you.”

There’s a pregnant pause, until Sevika leans back into the couch. Your skin feels warm, nearly boiling as you crawl to her, pressing your mouth to the corner of hers, gently licking the sweet residue of cream and coffee. “My roommates aren’t home…and yes to your question.” 

The feeling of the metal ball rolling to the roof of your mouth makes your skin throb, goosebumps crawling along your back. Sevika doesn’t waste a second to press you against the couch, and lick every crevice, using the metal to roll her tongue around yours. 

“You’ll be my girlfriend?” She groans against your cheek, panting as her hands grope your ass. “Youll be mine?”

Her mouth tickles your jaw, and you feverishly nod at her, “Yes, yes.”

Teasing kisses are prepped down your neck, and she’s quick to dip her hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin. “Room, Sev.” You whine at her.

Sevika hoists you up, and each step is rewarded with a soft, chaste-like kiss until she’s pushing open the door to your shared room. The bed squeaks under your weight, and she softly pushes you on the bed, your hand shots to her wrist.

“I want to–” You purse your lips into a thin line, “Let me touch you too.”

You’re quick to switch positions with her, stepping between her thighs and pressing a filthy, wet kiss on her mouth. The sound of her belt unclasping makes your skin shudder, and the hit of your kneecaps on the cold floor has you panting against her jean-clad thighs. 

Sevika leans back on her hands, inhaling sharply. You sinking on your knees is a holy vision. Utterly beautiful with your glazed eyes, and wet lips. “fuc–fuck…god, ‘m going to cum from you touching me.”

Your ears heat up at her words, body turning extra warm, as you open the fly of her pants. Her eyes are on you, watching as you pull down her jeans and underwear to her ankles. Her skin is all warm, against yours, heating up by the second.

Sevika’s cock springs free with a hiss, rock hard between her thighs making a wet spot against her soft-toned belly. She sucks in a breath as you press your lips against the curly patch of hair under her belly button, making her cock twitch.

Precum spreads across the red slit. “Did you think about me doing this?” 

A throaty moan erupts from Sevika’s mouth, and her head bobs up and down, while your tongue darts to taste her slit. “Yes, so many times…all the time.” 

The soft scent of her, and the salty taste curls against your neurons, mouth licking the underside of her cock. You grip the base of her cock, as another thick bead of precum coats your mouth.

Sevika is warm inside your mouth, and you lick and slurp with enthusiasm, making up for your lack of experience. “Atta girl,” She groans, hips softly bucking for a second.

Your throat contracts, stomach bubbling with pleasure. You stroke her length while salivating on the taste of her inside your mouth. Each grunt that slides out of Sevika’s mouth, spurs you on, eliciting sparks down your back. Sevika’s fingers grip onto your sheets, forcing her hands down, trying so fucking hard not to thrust again into your mouth. 

Sevika’s stomach twitches, and she can feel everything tighten. “On your back, baby.” She rasps, placing her thumb against your lip. “C’mon, baby.”

Her strong hands put you on the bed, right on your back, and she enjoys the view of you spread on your back, pliant for her taking. The bed is soon covered with Sevika’s shirt, and pants, but she takes her time with you. 

She peppers kisses on your stomach, fingers dipping under your shirt and pulling it over your head. Your fingers glide next to her, unbuckling your shorts, and toss in them to the floor.

A shudder of embarrassment crosses your stomach—there’s no alcohol to make you brave, only your sober thoughts and a rather excited Sevika between your legs. Her cock twitches, and she licks her mouth, ducking down to your pelvis. The room is filled with your shuddered breath, and you’re gripping the sheets, on your elbows looking up at the popcorn ceiling.

The feeling of Sevika’s mouth on you is cold at first, a soft kiss on your belly that dips down to the hair on your pelvis. She hums along your thighs, kissing and ghosting the inner flesh and with each whimper, her cock twitches. Sevika’s face moves, pressing a soft kiss on your cunt that makes you softly gasp.

Her tongue dips between your folds, darting to lick your pulsing clit. Your toes twitch as her flat tongue licks a fat tripe from your hole to your clit before swirling the swollen nub, metal ball stroking the never. The bud twitches in her tongue, and she savors and circles it until your hips are rocking on their own, desperately searching for that metal ball.

Your body grows hotter by the second, lower belly burning with each flick of pleasure circling your veins. “Sevika.” You choke out, melting into the sheets, back flat on the bed.

Each attempt to muffle your voice is useless, with Sevika fucking her tongue on your cunt with enough vigor to make your muscles throb. “Right there—yes.”

The pressure of a finger sliding inside you, makes your hips buckle into her face, and makes her arms on your thighs holding you down. It’s a small, soft feeling of fullness, like a lithe press to your bladder with more pleasure.

Her thick finger thrusts in and out, a gentle squelch following each movement, until one turns into two, then three and you feel so fucking full. Your back arches, leg softly kicking out, as Sevika fucks her fingers into you and laps at your clit. “Inside.”

Your fingers grasp at her hair, “Please…need—”

And she hums against your cunt, fingers still fucking you full, opening you up for her. A wet squelch echoes in the room, filthy and loud, while Sevika slurps your pussy, and slides in and out of your walls. Her fingers curl along that spongy spot inside you, and it’s as if your spine explodes, warmth curling in every crevice of your body, until you're bucking into the air, toes curled.

The inside of your thigh muscles spasm, as Sevika comes up with a wet chin, and lidded eyes. There’s an awe expression on her face, and she moves, desperately colliding her mouth with yours, making you taste your own arousal. Somehow it’s even more erotic than you sitting on her face.

When she pulls away, you scrabble for a condom, then pause on the bed, a haze of pleasure clouding your mind. “I’m on birth control, and I checked myself not too long ago.”

Sevika smirks, “Are you plotting on me?” And she leans to your lips again, kissing the corner then your cheek, “What is it? You want to feel me that close?”

“Yes…yes, please c’mon,” You whine, pulling her body down, lips searching hers.

Sevika hovers you, metal-tongue scraping your mouth, swiping each crevice. She slides her cock through your folds, pumping the head against your clit, with a shit-eating grin that makes you whine. “Relax, honey…relax,” She croons, and pushes just enough the tip is inside.

The feel of the head inside you, like a small pin needle against your spine, and she takes her time, before rocking inside, softly, drowning inside your walls inch by inch. A small groan leaves your lips, she leans down to your lips, lathering kisses on your face. “So pretty…taking all of me. Like you were made for me.”

Her words are filth laced with a level of romanticism you’ve never experienced–her hands wrap your legs around her waist, pressing down into your body like she’s trying to melt into you. And she rocks down into you, groaning as your nails dig into her back, and her tits glide along with yours, pebbled buds pressing into each other.

“Feels–” You choke out, ears burning at the obscene sound of your twin xl hitting the wall. Your cunt flutters around her cock, with each roll of her hip. “Good, s–so good, faster, please please.”

Sweat builds at your skin, mingling with Sevika’s. The sound of smacking flesh is pornographic with each thrust, making your cunt give out a filthy squelch that makes Sevika’s cock twitch inside you. 

Her pace changes, turning frenzy, and her hands slide down to cup your neck, leaving it there with no real pressure. “Should’ve done this…sooner,” She moans, against your cheek. Your nerves are on fire, pussy spasming as heat pools in your belly. 

“Yes,” You nod frantically at her, “fuck…on the desk of the library…” Each word is grunted and panted out of your mouth, and Sevika’s hips jerk with a throaty moan. 

“Fuck–” A shudder curls at the back of her spine as every muscle in her body tightens, tiny tremors moving along her veins. Your body spasms, cunt clenching wildly, trying to keep Sevika sucked inside you. 

Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back, nails scraping Sevika’s skin and the feeling has your ears muffled, each second passing slowly as if the world has stopped tilting in its axis. The feeling of Sevika emptying herself inside you, makes you tremble in her arms, and swallow deep breaths. 

Sevika falls in the small crevice of your bed pushed against the wall, and you move with a grunt, letting her fall on the mattress before quickly pressing into her to not fall. Sweat sticks at your skin, slowly turning cold with the press of her skin against yours. “Had I known, pretending to be your tutor would result in this, would I have done it a long time ago?”

You can feel the muscles of your thighs twitch, and you turn at her words, a soft smile on your face. “So…technically you were plotting on me, not the other way around…”

“Worked out well, no?” She replies smugly.

a/n: still writing on my iPad so my regular fics and those in my inbox will be done a little slowly until I can get a new computer...BUT do not fret, my perverseness and devotion to Sevika has no bounds. Hope you all enjoy this fic!!! :P

[prettyinpink69]

Hard to resist temptation <3

Chapter one.

Wc: 3.6k

Warnings: Readers parents divorce, age gap is established, there is tension, slight flirting, sharing a bed.

This whole day couldn't possibly get any worse. Yet it has. 

The beloved car you've been driving for years just… stopped. For weeks it's been having a hard time starting and the fuel tank whines at you sometimes, but she's reliable. She got you all the way to the city– where your parents completely broke your heart. 

But your car breaking down in the middle of absolute nowhere? That was worse. At least in the current. It's just your luck that you broke down on a country lane where you hadn't driven past another car for at least 40 minutes, and it was 1AM so the likelihood of somebody finding you was slim to none. 

Things are supposed to come in three's right? First it was your parents –who you believed were happily in love– were divorcing after ten years of faking it, under the guise of “waiting until you were old enough to handle it”. What is that supposed to mean? That the older you are the less it will hurt? If anything, hiding it and dragging it out only made you feel guilty, like you were the one holding them back from living the lives they wanted to. 

As you pull up Google on your phone the words all blur together, you hadn't even realised you were crying until then. Maybe it was the stress of being stuck all alone in the middle of nowhere or the whole cocktail of emotions you've felt all day. Once you've wiped your tears you use find out where you are and search for the nearest recovery service… everything comes in three's. 

There's no 24-hour recovery services close, only one that opens at 8AM in a small town just north of you called Maple Creek. It was one of those towns that only had one of everything, one coffee shop, one grocery store, one boutique, one charity shop, one car repair garage and a police station which also doubled as a fire station. Interesting. 

Convinced that was your only option as the next closest town was over an hour away you sat with your fate before climbing into the back of your car and curling up on the backseat. It could be worse… right? 

After possibly the worst night sleep you've ever experienced –which is saying something because that camping trip in the pouring rain with a broken tent wasn't fun– you decided to call the number for the mechanic. The clock reads 08:07 and your phone almost rings out before a gruff voice answers, “Maple Creek Mechanics, what can I do for you this early in the goddamn morning?” 

Okay somebody had a worse night sleep than you apparently. Rude. 

“Hi… uh I'm broken down- obviously that's why I called you.” An automatic, awkward huff of a laugh leaves your mouth before you can stop it. 

“Riveting. I assume you need me to come and get you?” You can't see it, but you're almost positive this woman rolled her eyes at you. “What's your name and where are ya?” 

After you give the woman your name and drop her a pin to your location, she so graciously provides you with her name– Sevika. “How long do you think it will take?” 

“How long is a piece of string?” you didn't know this woman, and she might be having a terrible morning like you are, but you could throttle her. Despite being trapped alone in the wilderness and scared you weren't being rude to her!

“Maybe you need a course on customer service or you can pass my phone call to somebody else.” Sevika only laughs at your huffiness. She likes this girl. 

“Unfortunately you're stuck with me. I'm the CEO, manager, employee and everything in between." That… makes sense, a small local shop which only has to keep maintenance of maybe 100 vehicles would only need one person. Unfortunate for you. 

“Please can you come as quick as you can?” Sevika can hear the exhaustion in your voice and she softens her voice when she speaks next– which she never does. Being whitty, smart-mouthed and rude was her default. 

“I'm already climbing into my truck angel, give me twenty five minutes and I'll be there.” 

“But Google is telling me it's a thirty two minute drive. You're going to speed to get to me?”

“You told me to be quick.” And with that she hangs up the phone, if there's one thing Sevika cannot handle at 8AM it's a woman showing gratitude and being overly dramatic. 

On the drive Sevika blasts her music trying to will herself to be kind to you when she arrives. Customer service was not her forte as much as mechanics were. As her tuck pulls up you climb out of your car, wrapped in the blanket you keep for emergencies– like this. 

Why does this happen every time you meet somebody attractive? 

Your hair is all over the place from sleeping and not having a hair tie, mascara and eyeliner was smudged around your eyes from your emotional breakdown seven hours ago. Sevika was devastatingly gorgeous, grey eyes which were darkened from lack of sleep, muscles coiled twist and bulging and you could only see them because she made no move to hide them, only wearing a white wife pleaser and jeans which had oil stains on. Most likely permanent. 

“Get in the truck. I'll get the car hooked up.” Her eyes roam your body like a physical caress, you can feel her eyes dragging over your disheveled form as you stand there, still staring at her as if she's the hottest thing since the creation of the sun. “In the truck, angel. I won't tell you again.” 

Snapping out of your trance you climb into the cab of Sevika's truck. The low hum of ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ by Def Leppard fills the small space as you buckle up. The leather seats were cracked, clearly worn after years, maybe a decade of use. The stench of oil and sweat fills the space along with an overwhelming smell of cologne- which Sevika had quickly spritzed on before she got out. You sounded pretty and for some odd reason, somewhere deep in her gut Sevika felt the need to make a good first impression. 

The sound of the divers' side door opening startles you as the truck sinks under Sevika's weight. The two of you are silent as she starts the engine and pulls off, heading back towards town. “Did you sleep in your car? You look like you did.” 

Could this woman get any more infuriating? She's unbelievably hot until she opens her mouth. “Yes I slept in my car, you were the closest garage and you were closed.” 

God Sevika feels like a dick. If you'd have called she would've come, even if she huffed about it the entire time. A pretty girl like you cramped in the back of that car freezing your ass off? That didn't sit right with her. “Shoulda just called and explained the situation, Angel. I would have come.” 

When you glance over Sevika's gaze is glued on the road, but her hands are tight on the steering wheel, calloused and knuckles starting to wrinkle ever so slightly. How old was she? 

“Well I didn't know that… plus I was fine. I didn't get kidnapped or murdered.” Sevika only lets out huff that sounds like she's annoyed as she continues to drive. Subconsciously you wrap the blanket tighter around you, Sevika sees out the corner of her eye and turns the heat up a notch on the dashboard. 

Silence falls over you both once again as she drives you to town. Sevika had already pushed her first job of the day back to come and recover you, it was only a simple service anyway– most people in town kept up with their car repairs as it was a small town and people understood Sevika also had to make a living. Plus keeping up with their car repairs meant less money spent if it ever broke down… you clearly didn't get the memo. 

Eventually Maple Creek comes into view and it's not at all what you had expected, with the current weather all of the trees lining the cobblestone pavements were turning a burnt shades of orange and brown, leaves littering the stone beneath. The truck looks almost out of place in town, too roughed up and rugged for the cosy, peaceful vibe that you felt as Sevike drove– the engine disturbed and rustled against the calm atmosphere. As Sevika drives by the cafe you were close to asking her to pull over so that you could grab a coffee, it's safe to say the nights sleep you had in the back of your car was less than satisfactory however you remain quiet, not wanting to disrupt her routine any further. 

After passing a few rows of beautiful houses her garage comes into view. The double garage doors are covered in  chipped paint desperately in need of a touch up and the bricks that made up the building were visibly old and worn. Yet the building looked like it knew its place and fitted in with the town despite its naturally ‘cutesy’ small town vibes. The roar of the engine echoes off the stone walls as Sevika reveres into the garage, your car looking pathetic and small beside her weathered truck. You’re so distracted taking in the garage you don't notice Sevika has gotten out, rounded the truck and opened your door until she clears her throat. “Hurry up, I’ve got other jobs to do to. Go upstairs and get yourself cleaned up.” 

Rude.

In Sevika’s head she was being nice, offering you a place to rest up and clean up while she worked on your car, thinking the clearing of her throat was unassuming, not rude.  Well… that was until your eyes rolled so far into the back of your head she was concerned they would get stuck, normally Sevika wouldn't care about offending anybody let alone feeling bad about it. Against her will her face softens and she gestures to the door near the back of the shop, right next to her office which looked like a tornado had hit it… she didn't have the time nor energy for organisation. “My apartment is upstairs, Angel. Go take a nap and have a shower while I look at your car.” 

“How are you so grumpy yet so kind? You’re confusing.” The softened features on her face immediately soured again. This young, little thing was really sent to test her patience huh?

“I’m not grumpy. I’m practical. Now go shower before I hose you down like a dog, you stink.” 

“I’m not a damn dog…” she shouldn't like the way you huff. It's bratty and annoying, yet she can't help the tug at her lips, a smirk forming from managing to get under your skin. Luckily your car battery would be dead and all it needed was charging and you would be on your way… how wrong Sevika was. 

The apartment upstairs was very Sevika. Messy and unorganised with dirty dishes in the sink and the milk from her coffee this morning left out on the counter, the curtains are half drawn restricting your view of the pretty town you’ve found yourself stranded in. Having a nosey around you find lots of car magazines and catalogues… she really was dedicated to her work, or she had nothing else going for her. The latter hurt your heart a little bit. The uncontrollable urge to snoop won over as you made your way into the bedroom, it was an ensuite and seemingly that was it… her apartment was so tiny for the mountain of a woman she is. A lone birthday card sits on her dresser, wishing her a happy 45th birthday… forty five. Far too old for you. 

Right?

She’s too old for you even if you were to flirt with her– which you won’t because she is rude, grumpy and apparently incapable of smiling. Even if she is kind, it’s probably only so that she can take your money for fixing your car and then send you on your way. What you didn't understand was how wrong you had it, Sevika was normally so much worse. She didn’t take shit from anybody and if a single person from town had dared interrupt her morning coffee by calling at 08:07AM they would be in for a rude awakening. Yet something in your voice was enough to pull her in and start melting the ice that had encased her heart for the past twenty years. 

It had to be lust, there was no way in hell Sevika was crushing on a young woman at the ripe old age of forty five. Surely. It didn’t matter anyhow because she would fix your car, take your money and never have to see you again. So she thought. 

It’s the goddamn fuel pump.

A fairly uncommon problem, though one she can fix… just not today. Or tomorrow. Fuel pumps are expensive and not something brought in bulk as most cars take specific measurements. Sevika checks your car five, six times to be absolutely positive that the fuel pump is the issue. There’s nothing else it can be. While Sevika was down in the garage diagnosing the issue, you had just gotten out of the shower and re-dressed into your clothes from last night, other than you were now commando which felt wrong and highly uncomfortable when you were in a strangers house– an attractive strangers house. 

Heading back downstairs after refusing to take a nap you find Sevika with you hood popped open, white wife pleaser now grey and stained with oil. A grim looking rag was tucked into the waistband of her pants which only accentuated the curve of her hips. Black oil covered her large, calloused working hands as she fiddled around with car parts your brain refused to understand. “Did you figure out what’s wrong with it?”  

“Yeah Angel, the fuel pump is gone.” Sevika’s eyes roam over your now bare face, making you look even younger than you did this morning. Though the vulnerable look was nowhere to be seen whether it was the smudged makeup or the fact that you know her now… kind of. 

“Okay that doesn’t sound so bad, it is going to be expensive? Be gentle with me.” nervously you fidget with your fingers, twisting and pulling the digits as you wait for Sevika to tell you the damage. Back at home you were a waitress that got paid monthly and relied heavily on tips to make it through the month. Money wasn’t disposable for you- maybe you had two hundred in your account and a twenty in your center console. 

“With the cost of the part, delivery and labor… you’re looking at around eight hundred.”

“That was not gentle.”

“You ain’t got nowhere to stay. And no way to pay, do you?” with Sevika’s size she easily rests her hands on each side of the hood, slightly hunched over as she peeks through her hair that had fallen  over her eyes. The silence confirms it, along with the tears prickling at your waterlines. That was your rent for a month, you wouldn’t be able to get that money anytime soon– especially since you were stranded two hours from home and already missing work. 

“How long will it take for the part to arrive and be fitted?” Your small sniffle almost breaks Sevika. She knew she wasn’t the direc* cause of your tears though the situation you were in certainly wasn’t ideal and she wasn’t helping. 

“A few weeks considering Maple Creek is in the middle of nowhere.” Closing the hood Sevike gestures for you to follow her upstairs and you do without question. “Good girl, come on Angel.”

The praise, so simple, falling from her lips like it was natural had your anxiety soothing instantly. There was no way this woman was breaking you down this easily. Yet your feet were obeying her command and following her up the creaky wooden stairs without complaint. Sevika gestures for you to sit as she puts water on to boil for a coffee, it was the least she could do was offer a small comfort despite the situation you were in… and her damn mouth ran before she could stop it. “You can stay here until it's fixed. I’ve got a bed and a couch.”

“I’m not taking the bed.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not, you’re old your back can’t handle the couch-” Silence.

Great. You just shoved your foot in your mouth and insulted the only person who has been kind to you the past 24 hours. Sevika watches your mouth open and close like a guppy fish, fumbling over your words as you try to find words. Until Sevika’s lips curve into a full on smirk, she should be offended but your bratty side that peeks out every so often is her favourite side. “Forty five ain’t that old Angel. I can assure you my back is perfectly fine.”

Neither of you really think about the consequences of it, nor do you want to really overthink it. It's a game of not letting your pride get the better of you because what was your alternative option? Sleep in your car downstairs in the cold garage mid fall? There was no chance you had money to stay in a hotel for that long, and all the money you would need to go to Sevika for the replacement fuel pump. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, we’re adults we can share a bed without it meaning anything.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow before realising you’re serious– and she knows you're far too stubborn to let it go. You will fight her all night until she sleeps in the bed with you or you’ll end up taking the couch. That won’t do. “Fine. But we’re going to get food first. Come on little angel.” 

All evening Sevika can’t stop watching you, knowing it’s wrong. In no world could she have you, that’s if you’d even let her. After her first and last heartbreak at the ripe age of 25 Sevika hasn’t given her heart to anybody, never let anybody in. Nor does she plan to. If there’s one place she’s going to let you in it’s her pants if you really beg for it, not that you will. With her grumpy ‘I don’t care’ attitude she’s convinced she’s not for you… though you do have a bratty side. She’s growing old, her knees are starting to crack, wrinkles becoming more pronounced, hair greying to the point it’s noticeable. The exact opposite of what you need.

What she thinks you need… 

You’re young, beautiful, intelligent– even if your anxiety gets the better of you sometimes. She noticed when you hesitated to ask for no sauce on your burger at the drive thru. In the end Sevika told them for you but told you that next time you had to do it yourself even though she knows damn well she’ll do it for you. 

By the time you get home from getting food you’re exhausted thinking you maybe should’ve taken Sevika up on the offer to have a nap earlier before sharing a bed with the woman. Sleep is impossible. Not only is your heart racing but now you’re stuck laying like a plank beside her, muscles stiff on the mattress which springs are determined to make sure you feel them. Sevika naturally took up over half of the bed with her being nearly a foot taller and not used to sharing her space, or if she is sharing they’ve most definitely fucked and they can at least touch pinkies. 

You, however, are acting like she has the plague.

It’s 1am again, and you’re not asleep… again. All you can think about is how much money you need to cover the costs of getting your car fixed and how you’re going to find said money. Asking your parents right now is a no-go, you can’t get to work to go and earn it as the taxi back to your hometown would only put you out further. After hours of back and forth in your mind you decide to ask Sevika to work it off. Cleaning, organising, answering the phone and booking in services and repairs. Surely she could use the help, right? Climbing out of the bed you wince at the small creak of the frame as your weight is lifted. The small alarm clock on the night stand reads 04:21am. Tip-toeing through the apartment you make it to the couch and you’re about to lay down– 

“Get back into bed. I’ll sleep on the damn couch.” How in the world is she awake right now? Not ten minutes ago Sevika was snoring loud enough to set a world record and one tiny bedframe squeak woke her up? Impossible. 

“No it’s fine I’ll-”

“Do not make me carry you and chain you to the bed… though you’d probably like that. Move, angel.” With a glare that makes it perfectly clear you’re not happy about it, you retreat back to the bedroom, squeezing past Sevika who was standing in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest forcing you to squeeze through the little space that was left. The small brush of your skin against hers ignites something in your belly dangerously close to butterflies. Ignoring it you climb back in, springs groaning in protest. 

“Stupid…” Sevika hears the mutter, scoffs at your brattiness then climbs back into bed right next to you, closer than before. She’s doing this to piss you off deliberately, you’re sure of it. “Do you need that much room?”

The only answer to get as you turn to face away from her is a chuckle. Yeah. She’s doing it on purpose. 

“Goodnight sweetheart.” 

“...goodnight Sevika.”

@superobservationdreamwitch @callmeazu @sevikasangel @arealmissunderstood @lonerslug @celinealways @riotstemple29 @rawrspacecat @lesbab-panik @battylittlefox @riveramorylunar @lesfortlouandarcane @cherry-kissesxox @justagirlexisting @nkeyaaa @vhsluvv @ash273819 @blessupblessup @tourtoise234 @azxteria @libbyofc @arcanehellokittyforlife69 @aizawatittie @fragile-angell @sooodie @l4dyaranea @idkkmp @undersevikasponcho @angelz-void @kylorey25 @izzy-sevika @rudymoon @hitmehardmommy @ghostedxoxo @neptunezxx @culuvr @sevikasswifee @thatredheadloserlesbian @mlkaseyy @likepinterest @essiebitssie @sweetmochadxll @lobotomymutt @stiizyxlani @insullina @leeidk87 @2oceanette23 @sevikaluvz @glassesnoraenjiz @lifeofnaty

[santhiquee]

swallow me

Synopsis: After an abnormal accident you grapple with the consequences of your odd, animalistic hunger towards the much older cowboy, Sevika, who's only supposed to be helping around the ranch as a violent biker gang terrorizes the hot, and tired southern city of Zaun.

mdni | Content: angst and hurt/comfort, self-esteem issues, implied/referenced alcohol abuse/alcoholism, implied/referenced child abUse, blood and violence, implied/referenced self-harm, self-harm, blood and injury, blood drinking, morally grey reader, light masochism, cunnilingus, sevika with ptsd, tribbing, strap-on, multiple orgasms, table sex, possessive sevika, scissoring, age difference (about like 20 years), vaginal fingering, possessive sex, orgasm denial, bathing/washing

pairing: cowboy! sevika x vamp! farmer! reader

a/n: this fic is 41.6k words....therefore it can't exactly be posted on here without messing up my algorithm, so apologies for that. I've provided a snippet of the story, and the rest can be read on my ao3

“What’s so bad about being different?” You asked your uncle. The sun had already set, and there was an odd hum in the sky that circled the farm. 

He didn’t reply for a while; he only looked at the sky and shrugged. You could hear the soft neighing of the horses, whistling in the distance along with the blare of the cicadas. “I asked myself the same thing, child…realized some people just afraid of being alone.”

It’s difficult to recount what happened that Friday night. You remember coming back from the city, back to Zaun, since the summer began, and your college term was over.

You remember the smell of Jinx shampoo as she pulled you to her truck—strawberry with…motor oil. Then picking up Ekko because as soon as Jinx is back in town, and Ekko is back too, it becomes Jinx and Ekko, one whole entity. 

The drive to Undercity Creek was smooth, with the dark blue sky shining down on your eyes, making the trees look black, like shadows. It smelled of smoke and burnt wood, though not unusual for gatherings.

Jinx parked somewhere along the rest of the old beat-up trucks that surrounded the woods, and from afar, you could see the bonfires and the sways of drunk boys. “Try not to get wasted.”

Drinking wasn’t your thing. It still isn’t. “I should be saying that to you.” You had gone along because you enjoyed observing. 

You’ve always felt different. Even as your bones kept growing and your face began losing its baby fat, it still took longer to understand people. The way some people spoke always seemed foreign, how they said things they didn’t mean and how their words sometimes meant the opposite. 

Even with Jinx and Ekko, it often took your brain time to understand their jokes, and you tried to catalogue their behavior though you failed.

You only drank one cup. A mistake because you’ve gone years without a drop of alcohol. Not that it made you do bad things. It just made you feel…exactly like your father. Cold, and mean.

The cup was a small one served to you by Jinx. And then you were gone. Floating between the mist of death and sleep with your limbs being pulled to every side. 

Something bad happened to you that night. 

Something real bad.

The darkness reached out to your body like a bad dream, and caressed your soul until you couldn’t recognize yourself. And when you had woken up, Jonah Burggen, the pastor's middle son, was next to you with milky white eyes and a pierced throat.

The two Zaunite sheriffs never really found Jonah. Sheriff Mike organized a search party, though it led nowhere. You had been so hungry that morning, it felt almost rude to drop only the bones in front of old pastor John’s house.  

But it wasn’t like he was going to miss his son. The town called him a sinner anyway. Especially the Burggen family. They always used him as an example of a sin, but more importantly that a sin could be repented.

You and your uncle stopped going to church after that.

You still can’t explain what’s wrong with your body. Not the way your hearing has gotten better, or how your skin gets too sensitive in the sun, or how you can smell when Jinx has been eating at Miller's Diner, even if she washed her mouth with that blue mint mouthwash to get rid of the smell of burnt onions.

By the second week of summer at Zaun, you were no longer someone, but something.

It’s difficult to wrap your head around becoming something inhumane. The shock that enters your body as you feel the rumbling of the earth beneath you while a herd of cattle rushes past you, or hear each muscle of your dog’s mouth moving as his tongue plunges inside his water bowl. 

It’s as if something in your brain has been unlocked. The sudden hunger that passes through your body makes you sick. It takes another week to pass through the stifling changes, from the sharp canine that plunges out of your gums to the sensitive hearing that makes it impossible to sleep. 

By next Monday, you’re a new being. Each change in your body whipped into submission until you’re functioning as a human–or something close to a human. 

The sky barely sets before you’re leaping from bed, and trying to see what the chickens have laid. You feed them as they peck at your boots, and rush around the fences checking for stray animals. You work until six, then scramble four eggs, toast four pieces of bread, spreading butter until it’s melted. 

Your uncle is down a minute later, yawning as he pours his own cup of coffee. “Some help is coming tomorrow.”

“Help? Isn’t this place too small for extra help?” You respond with a dry laugh, picking at the scrambled eggs.

“Yeah, well, Big Joe has gotten generous and given me two of his cows and Big Red…along with his worker.

You hum, “And this worker, is he from town?”

“She is.” 

Your uncle doesn’t say anything else, and he sits down, eyes staring down at his plate. Yet, you can almost feel the uncertainty rising in his bones. 

You can feel the heat rising off the soil-covered earth as you milk the cows. Warm milk rushed down into a silver bucket until it resembled a small sea of white. 

The smell of hay curls in your nose, and the sound of hooves beats until it seems to fall into a rhythm. The hours blend in slowly, as the heat becomes more unbearable. By lunchtime, you’ve fixed some simple sandwiches and laid them out on the dining table, with a cold cup of orange juice. 

Unlike your past body, you barely sweated, and your stamina felt the same as when you had woken up. You almost felt nothing, really. “Still got enough energy to bring back the cattle?” Your uncle says, heaving as sweat pours from his hair down to his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” You reply and place the sandwich down on the small plate. You barely touched it, and the scraps nibbled off it; you gave it to the roaming chickens, hoping they would pick at it before your uncle noticed. “Come on, boy.”

Sheriff, the black and white border collie, rushes up from the shade and follows you, barking into the air. He knocks into your back legs, rushing out to the stables. Despite the vast greenest of the grass, Zaun is grey, and sometimes, when the night is silent enough, you can hear foxes howling.

Odd part is, nobody has ever found a fox around the place. As you gather the cattle, you can hear their loud moos and see them softly knock into each other. The soft buzzing of cicadas and the ruffle of Sheriff’s hair make you miss your father. 

You don’t really speak to your uncle when you’re back, and the cattle are all locked and safe. But he spares you a glance and gives you a subtle nod. 

The living room phone screams around ten at night, just shy of thirty minutes before you used to go to sleep. A voice rings behind the apparatus, “Hey…I got a couple of bottles for you. Come by the bar.” You look down under your bed, seeing the myriad of bottles, labels gone, though you can distinctly remember which is which. 

“Give a couple of minutes.” Like most twenty-year-olds, you have a hobby—an odd one. You find alcohol fascinating. A phenomenon that can quickly turn into a disease and eat the brain until you’re left with nothing but your clothes and a penny to your name. 

A disease almost like your current sickness. Both are riddled by violence, though one can be forgotten, and the other haunts you until you’re no longer able to see yourself in the mirror.

You don’t drink. You have vices. But you don’t drink. 

Under your twin bed lies about two hundred dollars' worth of empty alcohol bottles. Drank by another person, but hoarded by you. Sometimes you think about who drank them and if they were drinking more the next day, or if they puked it all out before going to work. 

You drive your uncle's red truck, and it roars in the dead of night, before you’re hauling into town with your hands outside the window, and the wind blows into your hair—the Rusty smells like cedar and old leather. 

You’re parked in the back before you walk inside, loud cheering and country music assaulting your ears. There are people line dancing on one side and playing pool on the other. The bar is filled with old men, gawking at the waitresses, and some of them are just plain drunk. 

Ekko waves his arm, and his white, bundled locks come into view. “Heard some gossip.”

You hum, and he smiles, “Sevika is working at your uncle's farm.

Your eyebrows, “Is that her name? My uncle only mentioned something about a new worker. No name. You know her?”

He laughs, thick hair bobbing with each movement of his shoulder. “Everybody around town knows her. You would know her if you ever left that damn farm, and she’s here.” His raised finger points to the corner of the room, and your eyes follow. 

Despite the dim, odd lighting of the bar, you catch her. Dark blue jeans, a flannel shirt, a thick belt with a scorpion on the front, and an odd red shawl covering her left side. 

Your throat tightens, and heat rises to every inch of your body despite the change in your internal system. You’ve met people after having left Zaun: Physically strong people, pretty people, almost every kind of person. 

And despite that, you’ve never felt those so-called butterflies in your stomach, or remembered their face long enough to ache for another glance. Most people simply passed you, and you passed by them.

But Sevika. She is different. An odd feeling of heat pushes through your stomach. 

Bulky and muscular, perhaps enough to tower and cover you. A big, round nose, and sharp eyebrows with electrifying grey eyes. Her short hair is pulled back into a small ponytail, and there’s a brown cowboy hat on the table that her thumb brushes against. 

“Jinx and I are heading to the lake tomorrow night…we’ll pick you up.” He interjects into the air, as you stare at Sevika. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m helping around the farm’ or ‘oh, my uncle’s back is still shit’.”

You turn to him, giving him a small laugh, “Alright, whatever.”

As Ekko moves to give another tub of beer to some cowboy, you hear the distinct thud of boots making their way to you. As if the rest of the sound in the bar is drowned out, your senses focus on that thud until they stop.

Cigar, burnt wood, and caramel. 

Your head turns just enough that a pair of grey eyes make it to your vision, and they stare down at you. “You’re in my seat, sweetheart.”

Sevika has a dim pink scar on her left cheek that extends into the skin like the branches of a fig tree, and it slides down into the collar of her flannel shirt. Her eyebrows are crunched down, and her face is lax. “It has your name on it?”

And with that, she smiles, a hand pointing to the legs of the high chair, and as you look down, the words “Sevika” are carved on the wood. Well shit. 

You look back up, before moving to get off the chair, turn your body, and a hand is quick to land on your arm. “You can have it today.”

There’s an odd air surrounding you and her, and from the corner of your eyes, you can see people subtly stare. You can hear their voices, but you try to ignore them, too focused on the warmth of Sevika’s hand curling through your body, passing your shirt. “Say, you from around town?” She drawls out.

“Just passing by.” And she smiles at that, right as Ekko walks to you and he’s awkwardly staring between you both. “Have a good night.”

You move past Sevika, though you can feel her stare at you from afar. You walk out of the bar through the back, and Ekko is quick to shove two empty Jack Daniel bottles in your hand. “Where’s my treat?”

“You’re funny.” He says, pointing at you while he fetches from the inside of his pocket, pulling out a plastic bag. There is a variation of gummies inside, and you preen at him.

“Thank you. I am thinking about a comedy career.” You respond, grabbing the baggy from his hand, “You think I'll make it to Broadway?”

He laughs, short and quick, before he’s back inside the bar. Sevika arrives in the morning, around seven, when the chickens are already fed, the horses are waking up, and Sheriff is brimming with energy, curling around you.

Your uncle is still sleeping, so you meet her alone. Her head is covered in a dark brown cowboy hat. “You must be Sevika?” You feign not knowing her name, or how good she fucking smells.

“And you’re the niece. A little too young to be at the bar last night, no?”

You stare at her, taking in her smell and how there’s a soft hiss slowly curling from her covered side. You can see something from under it, a sliver of metal peeking out. “’m old enough…my uncle said to show you around.”

She follows you around the farm as you show her the barn, watching as she deliberately moves the stacks of hay, and follows you along. Sometimes you’d stare at her muscles, and the way her dark heavy-duty denim jeans would hug her ass, and as she moves a single stack, you finally see it. 

A metal, mechanical arm, sliding from under her red shawl. A rusty brown color and an odd green. She stops, realizing you’re staring at her arms, “Your uncle wouldn’t mind, would he?”

“As long as you get the work done, I don’t think he’d care.” You reply with a shrug, moving along. The heavy thud of her boots sends shudders down your spine. Sheriff tails her, sometimes prodding into her space, barking and smelling her, then backing away. 

“Then after that, we check the fences and make sure there aren’t any openings, along with picking some of the crops. A little later, depending on what runs out, I go, or my uncle goes into town and buys what’s needed.” You say with a shrug, watching the sun finally break out of the horizon. “If you spot anything broken, let him know, and he’ll go down.”

Sevika hums, and she moves along the stable as you let out the cattle, enjoying the soft sliver of sun on your skin. Behind you, the sheriff barks, and the cattle move, feet thudding on the soil, rushing past you. 

When you’re done picking ripe, new vegetables in the garden, you rush back inside the house, as your uncle walks past you, sleep still curling in his eyes. “Morning.” He nods back at you. 

You hold your breath seeing Sevika inside. “How come ain’t never seen you around town?”

Two cold cups of water hit the table. Water pools at your chin, and you shrug, “Don’t go into town that often.”

“Why not? Doesn’t it get…boring being on the ranch all the time? What is it? You don’t like the town…or the people.” Sevika moves from the table, and she leans on the doorway, relaxed and poised. Her brown hat is tipped back, and hair is sticking to her forehead. 

She faintly smells of sweat, and it makes you feel so fucking dizzy. You pause, putting the cup into the sink. For a moment, you think back to Jonah and his brother’s howling from their truck, their red faces beaming in with the soft orange light. 

In the few seconds you had stared at Jonah, he never smiled. He looked alive, not exactly living, until his brothers slapped the back of his shoulders, and a robotic smile curled at his lips. “I like it better here. I have no feelings for the town or the people.”

Sevika smiles, showing a small gap between her teeth. She laughs, shoulders moving up and down, as she sets down her cold cup. “What a way to think.”

You don’t speak with Sevika. Sometimes you both go inside the house for a glass of water, and your eyes meet for a brief second, and you can feel her serene heart pick up pace or smell the manure under her boots. By the afternoon, your uncle is outside, cleaning the tools and refilling any empty water containers for the animals. 

You cook the evening meal and finish any work, focused on the soft thud of Sevika’s heartbeat as it thumps around you. You hear them eat from inside the barn, body pressed into the stacks of hay, staring at the wooden ceiling. 

You watch Sevika before Jinx and Ekko pick you up. She’s sitting on a stack of hay, leaning back into another pile, brown hat on top of her face, and her heartbeat is soft, a rhythmic thumping. Her foot moves, and she’s gently humming to a beat with no care for anything. 

You’re no longer wearing boots but rather black converse, loose jean shorts, and a hoodie. Soil softly crunches under your shoes, and you tower over her for a second, watching her strong frame and the way her mechanical arm emits a hum.

Your uncle comes around the stables as Ekko and Jinx arrive. And though you’re not there to watch her leave, the murmured hiss of her arm plays in your mind as the cold air rushes around your hair. 

Inside the house, a skunk odor mixes with the scent of fire and smoke, swirling around the vent in the floor on the wall. On the glass panel of a poorly decorated table lies an array of thin, sheer white wraps filled with a small mix of green leaves that resemble herbs. Jinx grinds more of the green leaf mix while you chew on sugar-coated bears that taste like nothing but ash.

Ekko inserts a CD in one of those portable black radios, and he starts. While a thin strip of light shines through the small window, a lamp in the corner of the room emits a soft yellow glow. His shoulders move up and down, matching the slow beats that drum through the trailer. 

He stares at you and Jinx, through lidded eyes, while she inhales the bubbling smoke of a large glass pipe. It hovers over you, and you watch the bottom of the pipe turn into a sea of bubbles.

With a deep exhale that sends a swirl of smoke around them, Ekko grinds his hips in the air. There’s no space anywhere, and you feel grounded, like a thick blanket has been draped over your body, pushing you into the couch. 

The heat and smell of skunk seeps into her joints, mirroring a fleeting high. In the mix of disorientation, Ekko dances up to you until a rough hand has circled your wrist, “Dance, come on...”

You give him a meek smile, letting him pull you up as the tendrils of the awaited high begin crawling along your veins. Jordan’s arm wraps around your waist as they dance before the little gray television. 

The music is a strange mix of fast and slow beats, though not a prom song, but you dance as if there’s an audience. “So how was meeting the new cowboy?” He murmurs. “I know your type…”

You laugh, though it comes out dry and humorless, “Come on…I don’t think she’d be caught dead with me even if she got paid.” 

From the side, Jinx shrugs, setting down the glass pipe on the wooden coffee table. “I don’t think it would hurt to find …unless you have someone you haven’t told us about.”

Ekko lets you go, and you drop on the couch, head hitting soft flesh. “You spent most of the time with me…you know I don’t like rejection.” You drawl out. 

Despite the abnormality flowing through your veins, the high is still the same as when you were human. It buzzes in your head like a mosquito in your ear, except there’s no annoyance in it, only bubbling pleasure. The feeling flows from your toes to your torso, pinching your skin until it's numb, and the room spins.

“Exposure therapy.” As the room revolves, there are hands on your head, petting your hair in slow motion. In the haze of your high, you don’t sleep, simply letting your consciousness drift in and out, while you listen to the rhythmic heartbeats of Ekko and Jinx, thumping in unison.

Early in the morning, you walk back home, as sweat builds at your temple, rushing down your back. The sun is shining through the horizon, just barely illuminating the trees, and the soft rumble of a truck rushes past you. 

That same familiar red that Sevika drives. It stops for a moment, and a head peeks out from the side of a dark brown hat, covering her eyes, but you can see her short hair falling beside her cheek. Touching that pink, nearly fading scar. 

The car reverses, piling dirt at your feet, and it stops right next to you. “You know…as safe as this town is, nobody should be walking alone before the sun breaks.”

You stare at her as she leans out of the window, thick arms on the window. “Are you offering me a ride?”

“Get in.”

There’s a soft silence that settles between you. A quiet not riddled by uncomfortableness but sheer calmness. But you can still hear her heart pick up pace, and the way her breathing shallows until you’re halfway at the ranch. 

A yellow glow hits the side of her face, and for a second, she looks older and brighter. “It must be odd to leave such a big farm to come to a place…so small.”

Her shoulders shake up and down before she actually laughs, and she gives you a quick glimpse, “The size of the ranch doesn’t matter, it’s about the people, and I hear your uncle is good people.”

And she isn’t exactly wrong. Compared to your father, your uncle is a man of his word. Rough around the edges, but better than most people who thrive off violence and the pain of others. “Will you stay for long?”

Sevika shrugs, “Maybe.”

The answer lingers with you long after the truck rolls into the ranch. You shower before heading back down again, letting the stale coolness of the late night roll into heat. The floorboard creaks gently beneath your feet as you slip outside. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed as if trying to wake the rest of the ranch.  

The mornings quickly settle into the same routine. Feed buckets across damp grass while the little chickens swarm your feet, picking at them. From afar, you see Sevika check the fencing, you can hear her soft grunts, and hums. Sevika spends most mornings on the opposite side of the property. 

By eight, the ranch is fully awake, and your uncle is hauling out of the house, walking to you as your hands check the garden soil. His hands are on his overalls, and he looks around before his eyes dart to you. The broad shape of Sevika’s shoulders moves across the fields. “The old cattle chute needs replacing.

You hum, thinking back to the wooden structure that sits near the stables, half-rotted and leaning sideways. One bad storm away from collapsing. You still don’t know why he hasn’t replaced it; maybe it’s because of the names carved on the wood. 

"You two can handle it," he says before disappearing back toward the house.

You find Sevika in the stables, moving stacks of hay around. You find her by the scent around her, that’s been mingling in your nose for the past few days. It’s nearly intoxicating. “My uncle wants the castle chute replaced. The tools are in the…shed.”

You imagine it wouldn’t take long. Anytime you replaced something with your uncle, it didn’t take too much to replace or install something, and yet, with Sevika, it’s as if time operates differently, slower and longer, like the universe wants you to take your time with her. 

You hold the boards while Sevika drills them into place, sometimes leaning to the side to pass her a tool, though you’d take longer, just to frustrate her a little. There’s something…odd about seeing her eyebrows furrow into a soft scowl. 

In those seconds, you expect her to yell at you, but all she does is look at you and sigh, “Don’t be a brat.”

Each thump of the hammer against the nail matches her heartbeat, and you feel sick thinking about how her blood would taste. By noon, sweat sticks your shirt to your skin, drips down from your scalp. Sevika moves from the cattle shoot, and you stare out to the green plane, before turning back to Sevika, watching her as she strips off her flannel, tossing it onto a fence post. 

A black tank top sticks to her skin, and faint coarse hair runs from her belly button into the dark jeans. You immediately regret looking, forcing your brain from staring at her broad shoulders and strong arms covered in tiny, faint scars. 

You force yourself to focus on the measuring tape. Barely focused on what you’re looking at, and how everything has somehow gotten hotter. “Wrong mark."

You glance up. "What?”

"You're reading it upside down."

Heat crawls up your neck, and Sevika smirks, inching closer to you until you can feel the warmth from her body. You’re hitched beneath the small metal providing shade above the cattle chute, and the woosh of Sevika's veins right in front of you makes you sick.

You can hear her jugular vein thump. "’m a little tired.”

"Sure." Her smirk only widens. 

Your uncle has supper fixed by the time the cattle chute is finished, and Sevika’s shirt is back on. A part of you misses seeing the sweat glide from her neck down her collarbone and the slight bulge of her muscles.

You don’t eat with them, but you can hear the clatter of utensils from your room. The way their throats drag the specks of cornbread down from the oesophagus to their stomach. And the way, your uncle sniffles, while Sevika’s arm hisses.

The sun hangs low, painting the ranch in amber. A thin, metallic hum circles the sky, echoing over the hot, cracked earth. There’s a soft buzzing of flies next to your window, and as the seconds pass, the stall-door creaks open. You stand still until the herds erupt in panic,  and the rushing down of hooves slams against the soil-caked ground. 

A high-pitched whine cuts through the cicada’s buzzing and the sudden clatter of utensils. Then a scream, thin as a needle, before you shot down the stairs, heavy boots thudding into the floorboard. “Big Red is out.”

Sevika jumps up, and as the soft orange sun cracks into the side of your head, you hear a bullet streak towards the fleeing animal. You’re faster, rushing to the staggering horse, as Sevika runs behind you, a heavy thud of movements, while gasoline and pasture mix in your nose. 

From the side, bikes form tiny groups. The bullet strikes the horse’s forehead with a soft thunk, a spray of bright blood blossoms against the dark orange sky, soaking the green grass. And you can smell when its blood hits the air, metallic and heavy with a thick tang of something putrid. 

The horse staggers, one leg buckling, then drops, the thud reverberating through the ground. There’s no heartbeat, though the jarring screams and cheers beat in your ears, but you’re sure Sevika can’t hear them.

She’s a few steps behind you, and you drop, hands rushing around the fur of the beast, blood seeping from its head. From afar, you can see them. “Can’t you hear them?” 

Sevika’s pupils are dilated, breathing heavily as she stands before 

Big Red. “What?”

Her heart thumps frantically as your uncle rides the tractor, a rumble of motor along the bikes. “They’re cheering.” 

You lift the horse, in unison with Sevika, placing it behind the tractor. Your uncle's eyes are narrow, and he says nothing, until you’re touching Big Red’s face, black eyes staring into you, until it seems as though you’re staring into yourself.

Then he speaks, voice flat, “Who? Who, child?”

You stare at the horse’s head, the wound a crescent of raw flesh still glistening in the dying light. You respond, the words slipping out as a whisper:  “I don’t know… I didn’t see them. I only heard them. A group of them.”

“You heard them?” Sevika’s eyebrows furrow. “We were downstairs, we didn’t–didn’t hear them.”  

You don’t say anything, you just shrug, as another crack rings across the distance, farther down the fence, all the way in what you assume is Joe’s farm. The echo of a second rifle reverberates over the fields, nearly shaking the wooden plank carrying you and Big Red.

“Them bikers are back.” 

Your uncle doesn’t speak, not until Sevika hauls Big Red to the stable, and you’re all staring at him, waiting for the horse to whine or kick his hind leg. There’s blood on your hands, and some on Sevika’s mechanical hand, and she’s staring down at Big Red, nearly trembling with a lax face. Her heart beat hasn’t slowed down since she got up from her seat. 

“We’ll bury him out back tomorrow.” And he leaves. 

The words hang in the air as you stare at Big Red until his black eyes turn milky white and the blood stops gushing out of him. Your teeth sharpen until they’re touching the inside of your bottom teeth, and it’s unbearable to be next to Sevika while blood spills onto the hay-covered ground. 

She’s gone around nine at night, when your uncle is on the couch watching TV, with a cold beer in his hand. You stay awake for a long time, unable to stop hearing the faint cheering that echoed before Big Red went down. Your bed squeaks, and you lie on the floor, staring at the empty bottles under your bed, until they begin to look as if they’re full.

You bury Big Red alone. You’re up when the cicadas and frogs are still screaming. Sheriff whines next to Big Red's head, and he snuggles against the beats until you’ve dragged him all the way to the back.

And you spend breakfast digging a hole until your boots are filled with dirt and your overalls are dirty and soiled. By the time the earth breaks, Bug Red is buried, and a small cross is pressed into the grave. By eight, breakfast is done, and Sevika has arrived. 

You can hear the brake of her car as it stops and then the thud of her boot on the floor. “I buried him already.” You say after a beat. 

The store's bell jingles as you step inside, and there’s a smell of stale coffee and fresh-cut vegetables. A fluorescent glow casts a pallor over rows of canned beans and jars, and you linger near the produce, the lettuce leaves still damp with dew, when a muffled conversation drifts from the back corner. 

You can hear it clearly, though the soft, high-pitched voice is low, as if fearing anyone else would hear. “Them Nexon bikers are back–shot down Joe’s horse, and I think another one. Poor man’s been moping about it all morning at the Shimmer Diner.”

News about the horses spreads around like wildfire. By late morning, the news of Joe’s and your uncle's horse was uttered in every dinner, bar, grocery store, and house. The name Nexon Baron, curled in everyone's lips, was uttered in hushed voices, as if a grave family secret. 

A mixture of emotions rolls against your body as you rush past Rusty’s. The front of the bar is covered with bikes, while smoke hurls out of the door like a chimney, and the scent of alcohol, blood, and smoke is all you can smell. Some of Nexon’s rugged men are out in the front, sitting on their bikes, leather jackets decorated with a skull bull and two guns in the back. 

The whole town knows they’re a joke–a violent joke, but a joke nevertheless. Back at the ranch, your uncle feeds the two round pigs, and you hear Sevika in the stables as you carry the plastic bags inside the house. Her footsteps press into the soil, a soft thump–thump that turns louder and louder until they hit the wooden floors. 

“How was town?”

You shrug, taking a glance at the small droplets of sweat sliding down her face. “Gossip here, and there. Nothing new.”

She pauses for a second. “Gossip about Joe’s horse?”

“Yeah.”

Somewhere around late night, when you’ve caught a glance at the sweat-soaked Sevika from afar, and smelled the salt on her skin, that Jinx shows up. The small blue truck rumbles as she puts it in park. Sevika is rounding the corner, coming face-to-face with you and Jinx. “Evening.”

Jinx gives her a tight-lipped smile before looking back at you. When you arrive at Rusty, the myriad of bikes are parked outside, and the smell of smoke hurls around. Your uncle is probably seething at the thought of you in the bar, but he’s never been the type to stop you. 

Inside Rusty, the Nexon Riders take the back of the bar, perched against the wall, while smoke crawls in their space, and their screeching laugh and cheering blend in with the country music. Most people keep to their side, ignoring them as if it’ll make them go away. 

It’s difficult to predict the big things in life–not like finding out a friend has gossiped about you, your partner’s family hates you, or stuff like that. Big things like death, or being forced to take a crowbar to someone’s head outside the bar in self-defence.

Stuff like that is never predictable. 

Unpredictably has etched itself into your skin. Time rushes by when you’re at Rusty’s, despite a drop of alcohol never touching your tongue. You come out of Rusty’s an hour later after going inside and watching Jinx down glasses of beer while Ekko makes conversation. 

The smell of burned wood makes your nose itch. Crickets and bugs scream while the dark sky clouds everything. For a second, you feel as though you’ve begun to hallucinate when the short girl in a tight leopard dress stumbles out of the woods to the side of Rusty’s. 

A thick, black fur covers half of her body, and she drags her black heels, raking against the soil, through the darkness. Her hair is short and curly, and her eyes are framed by thick eyeliner, making them look black.

She stumbles to the street, and you find yourself wondering if the neurons inside her own head are fried. Impulsion is a torrent, scouring your cortex and drowning every whisper of rationality. 

Your feet crunch the dried leaves as you enter the woods, following the girl, watching her pass the thick trees, blurring your vision. The clip and clop of the girl’s heels are the only thing heard. 

For a moment, you imagine yourself in her shoes, being pursued by a stranger with an unnatural, sick hunger that can’t be sedated.

The girl stops, and you follow. She turns, eyes slightly unfocused, watching as you stand there, silently watching from inside the woods.

Her heartbeat picks up, and she turns. You can’t tell how long you follow her, not until a rumble of motor curls behind her, making her jump. She goes down, scraping her knee, cutting the skin until there are tiny scrapes of blood oozing from her skin. 

The tangy, metallic aroma of blood laced with ammonia engulfs your senses, and the girl pushes her hands inside her black coat. And she walks and walks, while the rumble of a bike follows her as well, stopping when she’s in front of the old mill warehouse. 

The bike stops, and you recognize the black and white bull, surrounded by a viper. 

Nexon Barons

From the still woods, you watch her turn and offer the man a cigarette. “A hundred for thirty minutes,” the girl murmurs, lighting a cigarette between her lips. 

“What a deal…mhm, make it worth my time, sugar.”

Sickness curls against your stomach, and you turn, until the crack of skin against skin makes you pause. The sound rings out behind you, making the trees nearly shake. 

Thwack

You turn, eyes connecting to the man’s hands as he hits the girl’s cheek and clutches the back of her head. Thwack. 

You step from the woods, boots hitting the cement of the streets, and the guy turns as you rush to him. His hands stop in the air, looking back at you. Then…Thwack, again. 

Perhaps it’s adrenaline or the odd way that the girl somehow resembles an old picture of your mother. The only one you’ve ever seen of her. 

Puffy red eyes and black eyeliner rushes down the girl's flushed face, bright red cheeks, but your body doesn’t exactly register which emotion takes over first before you launch yourself in full force. Your canines connect with his fat neck, chewing through the muscles until you feel the faint, sharp touch of bones.

You don’t register the screaming behind you, but rather the familiar squelch of muscles when your fingers push down on the skin, and your face feels wet. His eyes bulge out, rolling to the side until you rip them out, and nothing stares back at you but red muscles.

“Oh god…”

You look back at her, “‘m so sorry.”

The girl’s face morphs into something red, unrecognizable, and violent. She lunges at you, and despite the state of adrenaline and every instinct to fight, you let yourself fall back, dull pain shooting through your head as you fall on the cement.

Your cheeks sting, each slap delivered with a violent force only dulling down when her hands move to your scalp, a bright burn spreading through each follicle. 

When you taste salt and metal, you turn us over, and though you can’t look at her face, you can imagine the girl’s eyes bulging out as your teeth break into her. The girl tasted sharp and bitter. You grab her wrist, sinking in for a second time and letting the warm, metallic yet bitter taste swirl on her tongue. Warmth spreads down to your stomach.

The girl gurgles, choking on her own blood, her eyes glazed and staring into the distance. Her body convulses, and your head falls on her stomach, hearing every one of her intestines wiggle and slither against each other. Fat tears are still rolling down your cheeks, and a small sob rips out of your throat when the girl’s system stops, and everything falls silent. 

How are you worth saving?

Through blurred vision, you roll the girl’s sleeve, licking at the wound until you notice the tiny dark punctures. The markings are red, expanding with a deep purple, marking the inside of her forearm.

Your stomach sinks, and though the blood sets in the stomach, you shove two fingers inside your mouth, feeling small pebbles on the inside of your palm. 

Your throat spasms, a curling feeling travelling throughout her skin, while you gag. It’s as though every single one of your nerves has been set ablaze, pulling them to the surface yet dulling every one of your senses.

You gag again, but nothing comes up, and when you pull your fingers out, a thick strand of saliva connects your fingers to your mouth. Through a wet gasp, you look around, watching the distant light pole turn gleamingly bright, moving left and right in slow, yet fast motions. 

Help. 

Help. 

The smell of oil, sweat, and chemicals hangs around you, and a deep numbness sets within your bones. You can’t feel the small pebbles on your skin anymore, and distant voices echo your name like angels in a choir. The drag of flesh and bones rings in the air, crunching and squelching, until the sky crackles, and you realize you’ve torn into two people.

You barely remember stumbling back home, but halfway, it rains–hard, like the world is separating and the earth is parting and breaking. Nothing feels real, not until you’re on the floor, bile and blood next to your head, each muscle twitching.

By early morning, mere hours after an elderly lady and her daughter found one of the Nexon Barons and a working lady on the floor, one of Zaun’s sheriffs had arrived at Rusty’s with a shaking hand. He inched close to the Nexon Baron leader, with an envelope in his hand, and his throat bobs.

“This morning…” he begins, shiny badge reflecting off the mirror behind the Nexon leader. The man always wore dark shades, covering his eyes. Perhaps too afraid of the familiarity with the town. “We found the body of a Bill Regan but we need someone to identify the—“

“Our Fat Bill?” One of the Barons perks up, jumping from his seat, pointing a finger at the sheriff. “One of your buddies shot him?”

Those words seem to collide in the air, and the other barons look at each other before slowly standing up. They puff their chest up, fingers sliding down to the concealed knives in their pockets.

The Sheriff steps back, “No. No, we found him next to another victim. Seems like they found an animal and it attacked them.”

“Who was the other victim?”

The sheriff shakes his head, though the barons immediately stand guard at his words. “I’m sorry, we can’t disclose th—“

One of the barons grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him just an inch from the ground. “Jackie Lane, a local working girl. A couple of soliciting charges, they were found bitten.” 

You didn’t know any of that. And how could you when you were too busy expecting the sheriffs to show up, with handcuffs reading you your Miranda rights. You imagine their heavy steps and your uncle's face as they drop those murder charges right on his face, while Sevika listens. 

Manslaughter with intent. 

But it never comes. You wake up early enough that the smell of bile hasn’t worked its way into your sheets, and you scrub the floors clean. The wood chips from the pressure, and you stand still staring at the wet spot before showering and changing. 

You barely pay attention to Sevika’s arrival. You aren’t ignoring her–but there is something easier about avoiding her, and pretending your gums haven’t taken the habit of flapping open when she’s near. So you feed the pigs, and give them a little wash before you’re checking the garden.

The heavy sun sits behind your back as you stare at a sleeping Sevika on top of a stack of hay with her cowboy hat covering her face. It nearly seems to burn through your lithe shirt until the warmth reaches your skin, burning you. The stench of lettuce and mayo follows your nose, mingling with manure. 

And you sit next to Sevika, crouching down ever so gently as to not disturb her. Her breathing is heavy, and it almost sounds like she’s grunting in her sleep, while her arm gives consecutive hisses into the air. 

Her body twitches, nearly shaking the ground underneath her, and it’s so close to hitting your stomach, until she settles back down. Like she doesn’t seem to be fighting in her dreams. For a second you wonder what she’s dreaming of. 

You slide the red shawl to your face until you can open your eyes and stare at the sun without burning your eyes. It’s a vision of red, catching the light under the tiny threads of red, though blurring the flare of the sun. You lie there in the first few minutes, face covered, cooking in the heat while Sevika naps. 

And then you sink into the soft rhythm of Sevika’s heartbeat. thump -thump, thump-thump.

For the first time, you sleep, despite the constant noise of the horses whining and the distant moos of the cattle, which seem like it’s right in your ear. Your heart slows, and restlessness fizzes away from your body, slowly seeping into the soil. Sevika grunts and turns, arm slinging on your waist, though she never stops snoring.

While your eyes flutter, she turns to the side of her mechanical arm, the weight of her falling into you. The warmth of her skin caresses your shirt, and you pull the material until her skin is touching yours. 

It’s soft and sweet, the faint hairs on her arm rubbing against your soft stomach. “Its good,” Sevika grumbles in her sleep. “Horse.” 

It’s not that late when you wake up. The sun is still blaring, but its glare is softly covered by a thick, loud, shining only a mere inch of the star. The wind has begun to pick up, and a shudder runs through your spine. You’re no longer next to Sevika, but her shawl is still on your face. 

The thud of your boots curl against the soil, and you look for her, until you come face-to-face with her in the house, working on her mechanical arm in full view. “How was your sleep, doll?”

Your body heats up with each small step you take until your back is pressed against the sink, “‘ts alright. Sorry for the shawl.”

She shrugs, “I don’t usually let anyone touch it…but I have a few exceptions.” 

Next to her arm is a small roll-up case, with tiny wrenches and tools you’ve seen inside your uncle's shed. Oddly, there’s a tiny resemblance in Sevika’s behavior and your uncle's. 

From the doorstep, there’s a small smell of beer in her tongue, and you wonder how she tastes. Is it overpowering? Does it drown out the taste of her cigar, or the mint she had this morning? 

“Have you eaten?”

“No. Your uncle went out…I was waiting for you to wake up. Made some passion fruit juice. It's in the silver pitcher…would you be a doll and pour me some?” You immediately cross to the small, sterile white refrigerator, and the latch clicks with a quick sound in the sudden silence. Soft yellow liquid oozes small beads of water on the side of the glass as you pour it from the silver pitcher. When it hits the counter, the scrape of a chair screeches in the air. 

You turn to see her tapping on the wooden chair next to her, though her eyes never leave the tiny screws plunged into her mechanical arm. “Here.” 

Fifteen inches.

That is the amount of space between your knee and Sevika. Knee almost to knee, while your body is halfway facing her, and it feels almost too intimate. Between the sweet and fruity smell of the passion fruit juice and her presence, your brain feels like it’s working manually.

Breathe. Keep your hands on your lap. Keep your knees away. Smell the air.

Breathe. Keep your hands on your lap. Keep your knees away. Smell the air.

She lifts the glass of juice with her eyes fixed on you, finally looking away from her arm, and they barely waver as the liquid touches her mouth. Sevika’s throat bobs once, then twice.

Mouth, pharynx, esophagus, lower esophageal sphincter, and stomach.

The air feels tight and thick with the sound of the refrigerator humming faintly behind you. In between the silence, Sevika holds up the half-full glass with her head tilted, and though you’ve never been good at reading people, there’s a certainty in your head that tells you she isn’t asking for more juice.

Your mouth touches the rim of the glass, eyes closing as the aroma of citrus and something akin to ripe melon engulfs your senses. It’s dizzying thinking about how her lips had been on the glass before yours. 

Mouth to mouth.

Pharynx, esophagus, lower esophageal sphincter, and stomach.

When your eyes flutter open, you don’t hear the words because they never really leave her throat, but you see them on her lips.

More.

More.

Fire bursts through your veins, and the glass tips until it’s empty. You feel dizzy with a warming feeling you can’t quite place. A sudden urge for something more than just pig's blood or the occasional blood sausages that you’ve begun to import from around the world to curb your hunger. 

It tastes disgusting, and it reeks of pig, but it lessens the hunger, and therefore, you look at people as if they matter rather than blood bags. Sevika stops working on her arm, and she stands while you grip the ice-cold glass, “C’mon.”

“What?”

You watch her open the fridge and pull out a white bag, with various things that smell like vegetables and spices. “I’ll cook something for us.”

You press your lips into a thin line. “Well, look at that. Am I the first lucky woman to see you cooking?” you say, moving to fetch the black apron next to the fridge.

The material scratches your skin, and you know the question is far-fetched. Truthfully, you don’t expect to hear the answer that you would like. 

Sevika hums, ducking down to your level as you place the apron on her. It feels oddly domestic–like you’ve done this a thousand times , “Yes. Besides my mother.”

You pause in front of her,  staring at her chest, before she leans away and turns. Your hands reach the long black cloth, and you tie a bow on her back. “I don’t think I can…help you.

“Why’s that? I promise you my cooking ain’t that bad.” And she gives you a dry laugh, before taking a glance at you. 

“My taste buds don’t work.” Saying those words feels like setting off a bomb in the middle of a crowded building. 

You can see when Sevika’s body tenses up, despite her back facing you. Her throat bobs, saliva making it down her esophagus, and she turns, though there’s no pity in her eyes, just worry. “I got sick in uni, and they just stopped…working.”

She purses her lips into a thin line and takes a step toward you, “and your uncle? Does he know?”

“No.” You respond with a dry laugh. “It’s the only reason he still lets me cook. I think if I told him, he’d croak…But I think he’s starting to realise that I’ve lost my touch in the kitchen.”

Sevika nods, “Don’t worry about tasting then. Next time you’re cooking something, call me. I’ll stand there and watch–be whatever you need me to be.”

I’ll be whatever you need me to be.

An anchor. A reminder. Someone human to tell you that what you are isn’t all wrong. A companion. Just someone next to you.

The kitchen air, usually thin and empty, thickens as the pot on the stove begins to hum. “I’ll make a home recipe.” She says, sliding the ingredients across the counter. 

She adds a splash of mirin, a pinch of turmeric, and a handful of curry leaves, then pours in a cup of coconut milk. The mixture swirls, turning a creamy amber as she moves around the kitchen, and you watch from her side. 

“Heat it,” She commands, and you follow, turning the knob to medium‑high.

While it simmers, you stir now and then, until the scent of toasted spices fills the room. You don’t really speak, enjoying the way she’s working around the kitchen, chopping onions and moving everything while delivering soft commands. 

While the curry cooks, she moves to fetch the flour. You watch her mix the flour, a teaspoon of sugar, a splash of coconut milk, and a pinch of salt until the mixture is smooth. “Come here.”

Her hands move your body to the front of the bowl, pushing your fingers inside the mix until it feels gooey around your skin. “Sev–”

“Pinch and knead.” She interjects, “You’re doing well.” Her strong hands force your own to pinch and knead the dough until it’s all combined, and the warmth of her skin bites at your spine. 

Your eyes flutter, breathing shallower with each second that her jeans press onto your back, and her breath hits the shell of your ear, just right enough that you can faintly feel her lips. It’s as if your body suddenly becomes hyperaware of everything from the strong scent of wood and soil in her skin to the way her calloused hands touch yours. 

You put the dough to rest when you’re finished, and she slides her hands away from yours. “I think you’ll like it.”

“The bread?” She nods, “What’s the name again?”

“Roti.” She rolls the dough until it’s thin, seconds after placing the nearly black skillet on the stove. “Cook until it bubbles, and the edges puff up.” 

She lets you take over that part, giving you a small shove to flip the roti a couple of times until it’s lightly golden. The coconut scent rises, and she sets a couple aside to keep warm.

It’s maddening being unable to taste what Sevika makes. As if a punishment from the universe for what you did last night. It happens again the next day. Sevika works while you work on the other side of the ranch, and when the sky lowers just enough that it signals the afternoon, she stands a couple of meters away from you, staring. 

Then she walks away when she sees you follow along. You wobble behind her while your uncle feeds and works with the pigs, and it’s as you enter the house, you smell the jasmine and wood of her scent underscored by something sharper, more jagged. 

When she walks past you to the kitchen, right in front of the sink, the smells of cool aftershave and the acrid tang of cigarettes hit you. It’s the first time you’ve been close to Sevika since you hadn’t seen her in the morning. Besides the time you slept next to her.

You find yourself moving toward her without thinking, pressing your nose against the fabric of her flannel shirt, between the slit of her arm and back. You inhale, a deep breath filling your lungs, “You smell nice.” You slur out, fingers rushing to grip onto her waist. 

Your hold is gentle, barely using any strength. Her skin shudders against your fingertips, heart beat fluttering, a skip that vibrates through you.  And she tenses up, then lets out a slow, careful breath. 

“‘m sorry. I smoked…outside, near the fence.”

“I know,” You murmur, pulling back just enough that you’re sure the scent has begun to linger in your clothing, “Newport?”

She nods, looking a bit dazed. She cooks while you watch. Your uncle's feedback on her food seemed to light something in her, and you think she took it as a sign. Sevika cooks and covers the food before going back to work as if nothing happened. 

It’s maddening. 

You think about her all day long.

While you splash new soil around the garden. When you check the leaves to make sure none of them have been chewed up by the ants or little critters. While you milk the cows, boil it and pet the little cows, offering small praises that their brains can barely comprehend. 

While you clean Sheriff's house, right next to the house, and give him food and water. While the sun lowers, and the Zaun sheriff finally arrives at the doorstep of your house. You’re outside the house playing with the dog when the car screeches, and Sheriff rushes to bark and sniff.

The man in the light green uniform gets out of the car, and there’s this look on his face, like he doesn’t want to be there, like it’s taking all of him to walk to the house. You follow behind. 

“Something wrong, Mike?” Your uncle says, with a rather bored expression as you walk past  Sheriff Mike.

He takes his brown hat and holds it close to his chest. “This morning, we found the…body of one of them biker…it’s routine. I promise it don’t mean anything but we have to ask given tha–”

“That they killed his horse.” Your words ring in the air, and Sevika stops short behind Sheriff Mike, towering him, just for a couple of inches. She moves past him, settling next to you. Sheriff Mike doesn’t nod or shake his head, but there’s a silent ‘yes’ that circles around.

“Where were you two days ago, around ten pm?”

“Here.” And Sevika nods beside him, “Sevika, here can attest for me.” Sheriff Mike looks down at the floor, then around the room, before nodding. “Say…if those Nexon rides come after me, Mike…I can’t guarantee you that I’ll be civil.”

Sheriff Mike puts on his hat, and he nods. “Don’t give ‘em a reason to come.”

“They killed our horse.” You respond, and the words taste exactly like that rider's blood–metallic, and nearly putrid. “Makes no sense for us to be the ones in trouble.”

Sheriff Mike doesn’t do anything, and he walks away while the dog barks at him and runs back and forth in front of the big dirt-covered wheels. His words hang in the air until Sevika is gone outside, and your uncle falls behind. They bring back the cattle, all while you put the blood-soaked clothing in a bag and shove them under your bed. 

Better to burn them tonight. 

When Sevika leaves, you smoke an entire box of Newport–the last one you stashed before leaving for college. A gift given to you by Rusty’s owner. You don’t usually smoke that brand, you find that it tastes too old and not sweet enough. 

Not like Virginia Slims, though, it isn’t like you are a habitual smoker. But you finish the pack while your clothing burns in the large silver barrel behind the shed. And through the night, it’s as if Sevika’s next to you, and her nose is pressed against your jugular, and the cigarette is between her fingers, while she whispers in your ears.

There’s something wrong with you. 

Besides the sudden rush of needing Sevika is the odd absence of guilt. Your fingertips only waver for the girl, but when the memories come rushing down, you feel nothing for the biker. As if his life was minuscule compared to the sun, the moon, the tiny specs of blood on your shoes, and the dirt under your boots. 

Word of the Nexon Baron’s death and of Jackie Lane hit the streets of Zaun like a super drug. Yet, Jackie Lane’s name seemed to fall into the cracks of society, behind the shadow of Fat Bill of the Nexon Baron’s, like she wasn’t a person. 

Shame seemed to fall in the hands of every person who asked, “It was only him?”, “I heard there was another person,” and “Who was the girl with him?” 

It’s Jinx’s father, Vander, the owner of the last factory in Zaun, who brings up Jackie Lane. You’re sitting next to Ekko, staring into space while the soft hum of the restaurant's AC rings in your ear. 

They speak in hushed voices, despite the restaurant having no customers, and you look up to see eyes trained on you. “What?”

“You were at Rusty’s the night the biker died. You see anything?” 

The question seems to echo in your ear as if you’re drowning, and your ears are filled with water. “No.” You say, though your words falter for a second, and you shake your head as the small bells of the restaurant twinkle. “I didn’t.”

“Sevika, I got a job for you…but you’ll need an extra hand.” Vander calls out, taking the dirty plates off the table. Ekko and Jinx speak in hushed voices, and sevika grunts, taking a seat next to you. Her arm swings behind your head, landing on the backrest, fingers mere inches from your back. 

“Why don’t you help her?” Jinx perks up, staring right at you. There’s this mischievous glint in her eyes as she stares between you and Sevika, blue eyes lingering on the woman's strong arm behind your body. 

You glance at Sevika from your peripheral vision and you shrug. Your arms feel heavy, and you lean back just enough to finally feel the press of Sevika’s hand against your t-shirt. “Sure. How much will I get paid?

The older woman scoffs. “It’s not about the money, kid. It’s the experience and community…you’d know that if you ever went out.”

“Well will this experience and community pay for a burger at Millers or the new shoes I want?”

“It will…if not, I’ll pay for them. Compensation for your precious time,” She responds, sarcasm dripping from her voice and takes a swing off a cup filled with amber liquid, as if nothing is happening.

Your skin heats up, and remains warm, until you arrive at the vast empty land in front of First Victory Zaun church. The job is to help with the preparations of the upcoming harvest festival. 

In two days, Zaun will be filled to the brim with people from all nearby towns, rushing in to taste the fresh pumpkins, squash and corn. The cry crackles, grey clouds, slowly warming the sky until the sun is hidden. Sevika’s truck reverberates, and the sky smells of rain before it actually falls. 

“Is it true you were at Rusty’s the night that biker died?”

You take a second of staring out the window, fingers dancing in the strong wind, making your hair rustle. “Why?”

“Your uncle seems to protect you a lot. If I didn’t know better I’d confuse him for your father.”

“But you know better so try not to say that in front of him.”

Your words seem to circle around Sevika’s head. As you set up the small show stand towards the back of the empty field, right under a white tarp, she stares at you. Her eyes follow the back of your head, trained on each of your movements until it feels as though you can’t even sneeze without her checking up on you. 

“Thank you for helping…thought Vander would send you alone. Who’s the helper?” A voice murmurs, close to Sevika. The voice trails to your ear, and your eyes twitch, as you set up the white folding chairs in pristine rows. 

“You know the ranch all the way to the end of town? She’s the niece of the owner.”

“Ah–” The voice says.

You hear the first clatter of rain hit the ground before it begins to slowly pour down, hitting the top of your head then your shoulders. It comes down gently then it clatters down like hail, slamming into everything. The sky thunders again, making your bones rattle, and you duck down the white tarp as a sea of bodies rush under it as well.

“Y/N.” Sevika calls out from the other side of the stage, and as you look up, she’s moving through the sea of people, until she’s standing in front of you, while you shiver, teeth shattering into each other. “Sorry. Thought we would’ve finished before the rain came down.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. My uncle’s not waiting, he brought in all the cattle before you left.”

She stays quiet for a moment, before holding down her hat and dashing from under the tarp. You can’t even call her name. It’s not like she’ll hear you, under the weight of the clasping thundering hitting the sky.

But she runs, while her breathing glides in your ears, and she disappears as another set of thunder hits the sky. You consider running after her, but you stay put, unsure if your new body could handle the cold. A part of you is afraid of the merest change–the fear of dying in front of your uncle, or your body giving out, eats at your limbs.

In the mist of the clattering rain, Sevika hauls her truck close enough to the tarp that you can slide in with only a few drops of water wetting your body. Though it isn’t like you aren’t already soaking wet, water drips from your hair onto her seat. “The road near the farm is too muddy for the truck…you wouldn’t mind staying at my place would you?”

“No. It's fine.” Your heart thumps all the way to Sevika’s home. As the truck rattles you imagine how it looks inside. The material of her couch, if her coffee table has an ashtray, filled with cigarette filters, and if smells like Newport and fabric softener. Maybe she has a dog that sleeps under her bed, right next to her bat. 

Sevika’s house is near the entry of Zaun, curled around the vast trees in the woods. A small house, with white wood paneling, and an old front porch. There’s an old car, that’s halfway rusted parked next to the side, hood open collecting rain water.

You run behind her, until you're perched right into her back as she’s opening the door. It clicks and she pushes it open, until you begin to smell pine and gardenias. Sevika’s is nearly exactly like you imagined.

An aged couch, to the wall facing the road, an old TV to the front wall facing the kitchen, and a dark wooden coffee table in the middle of the room that supports an ashtray. It’s not filled to the brim with cigarette filters, but there’s ash inside, and a small cat meows from the corner of the room, jumping on the couch.

Your eyes trail up from the TV, as a rack above it holds a myriad of guns, like your uncle's rifle. On the side are mounted animal heads with unmoving, reflective eyes. “You hunt?” You ask, staring at the glazed eyes of the brown deer.

“Took it up about a year ago,” She replies, from the kitchen, “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

You spare him a glance, shaking your head, “No, it’s fine. Maybe I should take up hunting, too? You think I'll be any good at it.”

“I can teach you.”

You let the words linger in your head as the black cat stalks its way to you.  “Hello.” You say to the animal, as its little head tilts. You mimic its little meow, inhaling towards it, holding up your hand. “What is her name?”

“Carmilla.”

“Odd name.”

Sevika chuckles, disappearing into the dark hallway. You can hear the rustle of clothing from the living room, though you focus on the black cat’s nose sniffing your fingers before it ducks down to push into your palm. “She doesn’t usually talk to strangers.” 

You hum as Sevika comes out of the hall, hands holding up a black sweater, a pair of shorts, and a dark brown towel. “You can shower if you’d like. If not, change into this.”

“I’ll just change.” And You take it off her hand, as she directs you to the first room to the left in the hall. 

Sevika’s bathroom is clean and nearly empty with only a few products on the sink counter. You inspect them, fingers touch the glass bottles full of cologne, and the plastic ones. When you open the mirror, there’s two bottles. Both white and light orange ones, almost see through, carrying tiny pills.

Prazosin.

Paroxetine.

You look at your wet shirt, and bra, then take both off, and slip in Sevika’s sweater, bringing it up to your nose for a second. It smells like her and aged wood. Her shorts nearly feel tight around your hips, but they’re snug and they also smell like her. Outside the bathroom, Sevika is putting on a pot of hot chocolate, filling the room with a faint smell of nutmeg.

She moves around the kitchen until you  step into it, shifting in your foot with your wet clothing in hand. “Give it.” She takes them and opens the back door, right in front of the kitchen. It leads to a small patio, and there’s a washer and dryer against the wall.

“Must get lonely up here.”

She shrugs, “Sometimes. But nobody complains about me shooting down some rabbits or my rusty car.” 

When you take a seat on the couch, the black cat leaps to your lap. It curls into itself, ducking her head until she starts to purr. Through the silence Sevika stares at you. Her eyes search yours, but she doesn’t speak.

“You should just ask me.” You call out, scratching the back of the cat's ears. It ducks into your nails, and Sevika’s heart skips a beat. “It’s rude to stare.”

“When I first started working at your uncle's farm…I asked around. Nobody could tell me a straight answer about your family.” She responds with a calculated breath. 

Steam rises out of a small cup and she places it down on the coffee table, right in front of you. A cold beer sits on her big hands, as she takes a seat in the cushioned chair right in front of the couch. “Why is that?” 

Your father wasn’t a bad man. That’s at least what your uncle used to tell you before you gained some type of consciousness that made you hate his brother. 

The correct phrasing to that sentence would be “your father wasn’t a bad man before you were born”. Something in him seemed to snap after you emerged from your poor mothers womb. You never got to meet her, because she died giving birth.

But somewhere along the months of you babbling and crying like a normal newborn would, his bones curled with hate.

Hate for you. Hate for life. Hate for himself. 

“My father was from this town. My mother wasn’t. They moved in together when they were teenagers. I was born and then…they disappeared. Well…my mother died. He disappeared.” 

Sevika’s eyebrows narrowed. “When you were a kid?” 

“Yeah.” And you vaguely remember the soil digging into your little shoes as he walked away to his bike and you stood by watching. Your uncle had been somewhere inside milking a cow, unsure of the 10 year old, waddling around the yard. 

Your father’s leather jacket shined and his black glasses reflected off your tiny body. He sat on his bike for a good two minutes, looking into your eyes, as if waiting for you to look away, or drop the little bear in your hand and run to him. 

Neither happened. You stood there, waiting and waiting until he was gone. And even then, even after he was gone, you stood there waiting.

Not a good-bye. Not even an apology. 

“Would you do that to your kid? Leave and never come back.” You ask her after a beat of silence. 

She takes a swing off her beer and shakes her head. Pity is scattered across her grey eyes. “No. Never.” 

For a second, you want her to tell you to climb on her lap, and cradle you until each of your memories dissolve. Her hand would curl on your back, and she’d gently tap it until your eyes flutter heavily and sleep pulls your limbs. Maybe she’d do that until you disappear in her lap, but she’d never leave you.

It continues to rain well into the night, with tiny droplets hitting Sevika’s window, sliding down until it’s a symphony of small thuds. The TV in the room plays some old black and white cooking show, the type that you need a CD to see. Sevika says it’s something her father left her before he passed. 

There’s a sliver of fear, or something along that, that makes you afraid of asking her about her past. By then  you’re fully leaning on the couch’s shoulder rest, while Carmila’s is pressed against your stomach, purring. 

Sevika has moved from the chair to the couch, right next to you, nearly warming your feet, leaving a sliver of space between you both. “Are you hungry? I have some steaks in there.” She yawns softly. “Steak and potatoes.”

“Rare. I want it rare.” You grumble out, too tired to move or say no to the offer. Sevika cooks in silence, much like your uncle, though sometimes she’d hum to some kind of lyric in her head, and then she’d stop and get silent again. “You know…I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“Really?” She asks, “You don’t like Sheriff?”

“I do but cats are…they like their space, and don’t hound you too much. They’re like another tiny human that you just need to feed and occasionally give attention.” You explain, watching as Carmila jumps from the bed, and rushes to her tiny litter. 

Even if they disappear, they always come back into the palms of your hand. Unlike humans.

“But unlike humans you can’t tell if they actually like you or simply want a meal.” She retorts with a chuckle and a loud sizzling makes the cat jump an inch from the litter. The smell of burnt meat, and butter crowds the room, and you can see Sevika inching from the oil, watching her skin. 

You hum at her words, though you’re sure she can’t hear you. Sevika takes you home, some wear around midnight when it finally stops raining and your belly is fished with the taste of ash. 

You stood in front of the door, awkwardly bent to scratch Carmilla’s ears and coo at her, when Sevika steps behind you, a coat open waiting for you to step into it. You look between her and the coat, body deadly still, unsure of what to do. 

“It’s cold tonight,” She whispered, moving until she’s behind you and you can smell her.  “Just a precaution. Otherwise your uncle will hang me.”

A shiver, not of coldness but of anticipation, traced its way down your spine as the warmth of her coat slid along your skin. Sevika’s fingertips, light as a feather, drifted across your shoulder blades, ascending to stroke the sensitive curve of your neck. 

You stifled a gasp, holding in your canines, and you could smell him everywhere. She gently adjusted the coat, ensuring its warmth snuggled against you. A strange, delicious feeling traveled through your gums, and you sensed the subtle widening and deliberate contraction of your teeth. 

Their delicate sharpness grazed your lips, nearing the edge of your lower teeth. Sevika’s silent regarding your skin, but the violent patter of her heart, like a caged animal thrumming against her ribs.

You let yourself selfishly indulge in the warmth of the coat, forgetting that you can no longer taste meat or the soft potatoes that used to melt in your mouth. When you arrive at the ranch your uncle is drinking himself to sleep, replaying an old video of him and your father as children, somewhere along the mountains near Zaun, while an old woman calls out their name. 

“Can you teach me to hunt?”

Your question hits the air somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, just short of you finally milking the cows. One of them mooed your ear off, her belly so full it nearly bulged out of her skin. You can faintly hear the baby calf move around inside her stomach, sloshing around the mucus of its body. 

You’re wearing one of your old overalls, the one with rips near the front where you can see the material of your spiderman t-shirt. Your boots are all dirty and heavy, and you’re supposed to be snipping off the old growth of the vegetation in the garden, but instead you’re looking down at Sevika. 

Your uncle offered his well-known cherry pie in exchange for her fixing the truck. Something about the radiator, and oil. You didn’t care to pay much attention to their conversation, only to the hum of Sevika’s voice. 

Sevika rolls from under the truck, oil scattered on her face, and hands. “Today?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter. When you have time.” And you turn only for her to call your name. 

“There isn’t much to do today. We’ll leave around five.”

Much of the useless vegetation is snipped off, along with old, brown leaves. Tiny unripe tomatoes curl around the thick wooden pole dug straight into the dirt. The air smells like manure with grass. An odd combination you’ve now gotten used to. 

When you come out of the garden and lock the hatch, Sheriff nips at your feet, barking and fighting as you walk to the inside of the house. Your uncle is drenched in sweat though the sky is clear with no sun. “Sevika will be teaching me to shoot. I’ll come back around ten.”

“Been spending some time with that cowboy, huh?” He drawls out, drowning himself in a cold cup of water. There’s something inside his voice, the way he says the words like he’s not truly saying that you’ve been spending too much time with Sevika. 

“Yes, as you are spending time with Ms. Anna. I’m sure her husband is watching over you both,” You respond. You both look at each with the same lax expression before he tries to hold in a laugh, the muscles of his cheek twitching as he turns around. “I won’t be late this time.”

When you arrive at her house, Sevika puts down a bundle of green and dark brown fabric on the couch, then unmounts one of the heavy-gauge rifles. 

“Do you want a hare or a deer?” she says and sets the rifle on the heavy wooden table, sliding the clothing to you with a meek smile. 

You blink at her, “We have deer in Zaun?”

“Some…let’s stick with a hare, instead. They’ll be more in numbers.” 

The hunting gear is unlike anything you’ve ever worn. The jacket is bulky, the pants slightly stiff, but when you pull the material over your overall, a peculiar sensation of comfort settles over you. The weight of the fabric makes you feel solid and prepared, like the thick layers you usually wear. 

Sevika slips out the back door, and you follow right into the dense woods behind the cabin. The slight cool air, of pine needles and wet decay. You move silently until she stops at a small, flat clearing. There, perfectly still in the misting grass, is a hare.

Sevika crouches, and extends her hand, and you stare at it for a second before sliding yours against hers and allowing her to pull you to the ground. Your knees thud on the wet soil, and you surrender yourself, letting her push your legs apart with her foot, and prop the rifle on your shoulder, pushing your head to the scope.

“ Usually, it takes some minutes, even hours for a little rabbit or hare to appear.” She says, “ You must be lucky.” 

“I hope my luck is still running.” You whisper. 

“It’s your first time. It doesn’t matter if you kill it or not. Deep breath in”, she whispers to you, mere inches away, “Deep breath out.”

Sevika’s warm hands gently, brush past your cheek, and the hare jumps. It crutches down, then up with its long, odd legs, and upward ears. It stares far away from you both, and then it stops. 

“Deep breath in…and out. When you’re ready…pull.”

There’s something utterly impersonal about standing so far away from the rabbit. Like, you have no personal connection to it. As if you don’t share the same DNA that makes humans animals, or as if you are not the reason the rabbit population has depleted around Zaun. 

It takes a moment for you to pull your finger back, and the rifle recoils, shaking your body until the only thing you can do is gasp and look up. The bullet rushes out like a clap of thunder, and the immediate thud of something akin to a rock hitting the ground screams in your ears.

Besides you, a flash of pride passes through Sevika’s eyes, and then a smile. She moves up, grabbing the scruff of the jacket until you’re upright next to her. “Beautiful.” She grins out, clasping her hand on your back, “You did good. Very good.”

She guides you, holding onto you until you're in front of the carcass, and its wide glazed eyes are so dark, you can see your reflection. Exactly like Big Red. Neither of you tip down to grab it.

“I wonder if it had a family,” you whisper, fearing that your words would make the dead rabbit rise. Odd, but then again, you should be dead, yet you are not, “Maybe it’s family is waiting.”

“Maybe it has no family.” Sevika responds, eyes still on the hare. “Better a quick death than being eaten alive by foxes or snakes.”

“You don’t think it deserved a chance to live?”

Sevika bends down to pick it up. She rattles it, as if making sure the animal is dead. “It did. Let’s say you’re out in the desert, between you and the rabbit, who deserves to live?”

You tilt your head, “The rabbit. It’s just an animal. It doesn’t have a choice in what it is.”

“Aren’t humans animals too?” She asks, and she says it like someone who has seen people act no better than animals.

“But we have choices. Unless that ability is taken away from us, we find other ways to do things.

Sevika is silent for a moment, her gaze shifting from you back to the carcass in her hand. You look at the blood matting the creature’s fur, then at your own, cold hands. “Sometimes choice is a luxury,” she replies, voice barely louder than the rustle of the trees.

She starts walking back toward the house, gesturing for you to follow. There’s no disgust in your stomach yet. But the smell of herbs and spices colliding, as Sevika stands in the kitchen, methodically slicing the hare, makes your stomach squirm. 

The house air is thick with the copper scent of fresh blood and the cool musk of the woods, and the carcass lies on a sheet of newspaper, the process clean and quick. You sink into the couch, fingers twitching as the cat sits on the table, watching Sevika. 

Your eyes follow her, lathering bits of the rabbit with a bright red sauce. The crackle of oil swarms the air, and for the seconds you surrender into the couch, the hare turns a crisp brown. Before she calls your name, Sevika sets down a sizzling skillet filled with cuts of crispy rabbit thighs and legs.

There’s a bowl filled with sauteed vegetables, and another with a large portion of white rice. The food doesn’t fill you. It washes away the last taste of Fat Joe’s blood, leaving only the taste of ash. Again.

“Doesn’t seem like your first time hunting.” Sevika says, sharp teeth biting down into the crispy skin.

The first bite tastes like smoked wood, and then it dissolves into ash. The taste sits in your tongue while you shrug at Sevika “It is. But maybe I just have an eye for it.” 

She laughs, shoulders shaking, and her arm hisses. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?” 

that ends the snippet :), for the rest of the story Swallow Me. Feel free to comment here and/or on ao3!!!! and again, apologies for taking so loonnggg!!!

[sunbunniz]

Thinking about Sevika with flowers 🌸✨

[gabrielthethird]

[santhiquee]

swallow me

Synopsis: After an abnormal accident you grapple with the consequences of your odd, animalistic hunger towards the much older cowboy, Sevika, who's only supposed to be helping around the ranch as a violent biker gang terrorizes the hot, and tired southern city of Zaun.

mdni | Content: angst and hurt/comfort, self-esteem issues, implied/referenced alcohol abuse/alcoholism, implied/referenced child abUse, blood and violence, implied/referenced self-harm, self-harm, blood and injury, blood drinking, morally grey reader, light masochism, cunnilingus, sevika with ptsd, tribbing, strap-on, multiple orgasms, table sex, possessive sevika, scissoring, age difference (about like 20 years), vaginal fingering, possessive sex, orgasm denial, bathing/washing

pairing: cowboy! sevika x vamp! farmer! reader

a/n: this fic is 41.6k words....therefore it can't exactly be posted on here without messing up my algorithm, so apologies for that. I've provided a snippet of the story, and the rest can be read on my ao3

“What’s so bad about being different?” You asked your uncle. The sun had already set, and there was an odd hum in the sky that circled the farm. 

He didn’t reply for a while; he only looked at the sky and shrugged. You could hear the soft neighing of the horses, whistling in the distance along with the blare of the cicadas. “I asked myself the same thing, child…realized some people just afraid of being alone.”

It’s difficult to recount what happened that Friday night. You remember coming back from the city, back to Zaun, since the summer began, and your college term was over.

You remember the smell of Jinx shampoo as she pulled you to her truck—strawberry with…motor oil. Then picking up Ekko because as soon as Jinx is back in town, and Ekko is back too, it becomes Jinx and Ekko, one whole entity. 

The drive to Undercity Creek was smooth, with the dark blue sky shining down on your eyes, making the trees look black, like shadows. It smelled of smoke and burnt wood, though not unusual for gatherings.

Jinx parked somewhere along the rest of the old beat-up trucks that surrounded the woods, and from afar, you could see the bonfires and the sways of drunk boys. “Try not to get wasted.”

Drinking wasn’t your thing. It still isn’t. “I should be saying that to you.” You had gone along because you enjoyed observing. 

You’ve always felt different. Even as your bones kept growing and your face began losing its baby fat, it still took longer to understand people. The way some people spoke always seemed foreign, how they said things they didn’t mean and how their words sometimes meant the opposite. 

Even with Jinx and Ekko, it often took your brain time to understand their jokes, and you tried to catalogue their behavior though you failed.

You only drank one cup. A mistake because you’ve gone years without a drop of alcohol. Not that it made you do bad things. It just made you feel…exactly like your father. Cold, and mean.

The cup was a small one served to you by Jinx. And then you were gone. Floating between the mist of death and sleep with your limbs being pulled to every side. 

Something bad happened to you that night. 

Something real bad.

The darkness reached out to your body like a bad dream, and caressed your soul until you couldn’t recognize yourself. And when you had woken up, Jonah Burggen, the pastor's middle son, was next to you with milky white eyes and a pierced throat.

The two Zaunite sheriffs never really found Jonah. Sheriff Mike organized a search party, though it led nowhere. You had been so hungry that morning, it felt almost rude to drop only the bones in front of old pastor John’s house.  

But it wasn’t like he was going to miss his son. The town called him a sinner anyway. Especially the Burggen family. They always used him as an example of a sin, but more importantly that a sin could be repented.

You and your uncle stopped going to church after that.

You still can’t explain what’s wrong with your body. Not the way your hearing has gotten better, or how your skin gets too sensitive in the sun, or how you can smell when Jinx has been eating at Miller's Diner, even if she washed her mouth with that blue mint mouthwash to get rid of the smell of burnt onions.

By the second week of summer at Zaun, you were no longer someone, but something.

It’s difficult to wrap your head around becoming something inhumane. The shock that enters your body as you feel the rumbling of the earth beneath you while a herd of cattle rushes past you, or hear each muscle of your dog’s mouth moving as his tongue plunges inside his water bowl. 

It’s as if something in your brain has been unlocked. The sudden hunger that passes through your body makes you sick. It takes another week to pass through the stifling changes, from the sharp canine that plunges out of your gums to the sensitive hearing that makes it impossible to sleep. 

By next Monday, you’re a new being. Each change in your body whipped into submission until you’re functioning as a human–or something close to a human. 

The sky barely sets before you’re leaping from bed, and trying to see what the chickens have laid. You feed them as they peck at your boots, and rush around the fences checking for stray animals. You work until six, then scramble four eggs, toast four pieces of bread, spreading butter until it’s melted. 

Your uncle is down a minute later, yawning as he pours his own cup of coffee. “Some help is coming tomorrow.”

“Help? Isn’t this place too small for extra help?” You respond with a dry laugh, picking at the scrambled eggs.

“Yeah, well, Big Joe has gotten generous and given me two of his cows and Big Red…along with his worker.

You hum, “And this worker, is he from town?”

“She is.” 

Your uncle doesn’t say anything else, and he sits down, eyes staring down at his plate. Yet, you can almost feel the uncertainty rising in his bones. 

You can feel the heat rising off the soil-covered earth as you milk the cows. Warm milk rushed down into a silver bucket until it resembled a small sea of white. 

The smell of hay curls in your nose, and the sound of hooves beats until it seems to fall into a rhythm. The hours blend in slowly, as the heat becomes more unbearable. By lunchtime, you’ve fixed some simple sandwiches and laid them out on the dining table, with a cold cup of orange juice. 

Unlike your past body, you barely sweated, and your stamina felt the same as when you had woken up. You almost felt nothing, really. “Still got enough energy to bring back the cattle?” Your uncle says, heaving as sweat pours from his hair down to his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” You reply and place the sandwich down on the small plate. You barely touched it, and the scraps nibbled off it; you gave it to the roaming chickens, hoping they would pick at it before your uncle noticed. “Come on, boy.”

Sheriff, the black and white border collie, rushes up from the shade and follows you, barking into the air. He knocks into your back legs, rushing out to the stables. Despite the vast greenest of the grass, Zaun is grey, and sometimes, when the night is silent enough, you can hear foxes howling.

Odd part is, nobody has ever found a fox around the place. As you gather the cattle, you can hear their loud moos and see them softly knock into each other. The soft buzzing of cicadas and the ruffle of Sheriff’s hair make you miss your father. 

You don’t really speak to your uncle when you’re back, and the cattle are all locked and safe. But he spares you a glance and gives you a subtle nod. 

The living room phone screams around ten at night, just shy of thirty minutes before you used to go to sleep. A voice rings behind the apparatus, “Hey…I got a couple of bottles for you. Come by the bar.” You look down under your bed, seeing the myriad of bottles, labels gone, though you can distinctly remember which is which. 

“Give a couple of minutes.” Like most twenty-year-olds, you have a hobby—an odd one. You find alcohol fascinating. A phenomenon that can quickly turn into a disease and eat the brain until you’re left with nothing but your clothes and a penny to your name. 

A disease almost like your current sickness. Both are riddled by violence, though one can be forgotten, and the other haunts you until you’re no longer able to see yourself in the mirror.

You don’t drink. You have vices. But you don’t drink. 

Under your twin bed lies about two hundred dollars' worth of empty alcohol bottles. Drank by another person, but hoarded by you. Sometimes you think about who drank them and if they were drinking more the next day, or if they puked it all out before going to work. 

You drive your uncle's red truck, and it roars in the dead of night, before you’re hauling into town with your hands outside the window, and the wind blows into your hair—the Rusty smells like cedar and old leather. 

You’re parked in the back before you walk inside, loud cheering and country music assaulting your ears. There are people line dancing on one side and playing pool on the other. The bar is filled with old men, gawking at the waitresses, and some of them are just plain drunk. 

Ekko waves his arm, and his white, bundled locks come into view. “Heard some gossip.”

You hum, and he smiles, “Sevika is working at your uncle's farm.

Your eyebrows, “Is that her name? My uncle only mentioned something about a new worker. No name. You know her?”

He laughs, thick hair bobbing with each movement of his shoulder. “Everybody around town knows her. You would know her if you ever left that damn farm, and she’s here.” His raised finger points to the corner of the room, and your eyes follow. 

Despite the dim, odd lighting of the bar, you catch her. Dark blue jeans, a flannel shirt, a thick belt with a scorpion on the front, and an odd red shawl covering her left side. 

Your throat tightens, and heat rises to every inch of your body despite the change in your internal system. You’ve met people after having left Zaun: Physically strong people, pretty people, almost every kind of person. 

And despite that, you’ve never felt those so-called butterflies in your stomach, or remembered their face long enough to ache for another glance. Most people simply passed you, and you passed by them.

But Sevika. She is different. An odd feeling of heat pushes through your stomach. 

Bulky and muscular, perhaps enough to tower and cover you. A big, round nose, and sharp eyebrows with electrifying grey eyes. Her short hair is pulled back into a small ponytail, and there’s a brown cowboy hat on the table that her thumb brushes against. 

“Jinx and I are heading to the lake tomorrow night…we’ll pick you up.” He interjects into the air, as you stare at Sevika. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m helping around the farm’ or ‘oh, my uncle’s back is still shit’.”

You turn to him, giving him a small laugh, “Alright, whatever.”

As Ekko moves to give another tub of beer to some cowboy, you hear the distinct thud of boots making their way to you. As if the rest of the sound in the bar is drowned out, your senses focus on that thud until they stop.

Cigar, burnt wood, and caramel. 

Your head turns just enough that a pair of grey eyes make it to your vision, and they stare down at you. “You’re in my seat, sweetheart.”

Sevika has a dim pink scar on her left cheek that extends into the skin like the branches of a fig tree, and it slides down into the collar of her flannel shirt. Her eyebrows are crunched down, and her face is lax. “It has your name on it?”

And with that, she smiles, a hand pointing to the legs of the high chair, and as you look down, the words “Sevika” are carved on the wood. Well shit. 

You look back up, before moving to get off the chair, turn your body, and a hand is quick to land on your arm. “You can have it today.”

There’s an odd air surrounding you and her, and from the corner of your eyes, you can see people subtly stare. You can hear their voices, but you try to ignore them, too focused on the warmth of Sevika’s hand curling through your body, passing your shirt. “Say, you from around town?” She drawls out.

“Just passing by.” And she smiles at that, right as Ekko walks to you and he’s awkwardly staring between you both. “Have a good night.”

You move past Sevika, though you can feel her stare at you from afar. You walk out of the bar through the back, and Ekko is quick to shove two empty Jack Daniel bottles in your hand. “Where’s my treat?”

“You’re funny.” He says, pointing at you while he fetches from the inside of his pocket, pulling out a plastic bag. There is a variation of gummies inside, and you preen at him.

“Thank you. I am thinking about a comedy career.” You respond, grabbing the baggy from his hand, “You think I'll make it to Broadway?”

He laughs, short and quick, before he’s back inside the bar. Sevika arrives in the morning, around seven, when the chickens are already fed, the horses are waking up, and Sheriff is brimming with energy, curling around you.

Your uncle is still sleeping, so you meet her alone. Her head is covered in a dark brown cowboy hat. “You must be Sevika?” You feign not knowing her name, or how good she fucking smells.

“And you’re the niece. A little too young to be at the bar last night, no?”

You stare at her, taking in her smell and how there’s a soft hiss slowly curling from her covered side. You can see something from under it, a sliver of metal peeking out. “’m old enough…my uncle said to show you around.”

She follows you around the farm as you show her the barn, watching as she deliberately moves the stacks of hay, and follows you along. Sometimes you’d stare at her muscles, and the way her dark heavy-duty denim jeans would hug her ass, and as she moves a single stack, you finally see it. 

A metal, mechanical arm, sliding from under her red shawl. A rusty brown color and an odd green. She stops, realizing you’re staring at her arms, “Your uncle wouldn’t mind, would he?”

“As long as you get the work done, I don’t think he’d care.” You reply with a shrug, moving along. The heavy thud of her boots sends shudders down your spine. Sheriff tails her, sometimes prodding into her space, barking and smelling her, then backing away. 

“Then after that, we check the fences and make sure there aren’t any openings, along with picking some of the crops. A little later, depending on what runs out, I go, or my uncle goes into town and buys what’s needed.” You say with a shrug, watching the sun finally break out of the horizon. “If you spot anything broken, let him know, and he’ll go down.”

Sevika hums, and she moves along the stable as you let out the cattle, enjoying the soft sliver of sun on your skin. Behind you, the sheriff barks, and the cattle move, feet thudding on the soil, rushing past you. 

When you’re done picking ripe, new vegetables in the garden, you rush back inside the house, as your uncle walks past you, sleep still curling in his eyes. “Morning.” He nods back at you. 

You hold your breath seeing Sevika inside. “How come ain’t never seen you around town?”

Two cold cups of water hit the table. Water pools at your chin, and you shrug, “Don’t go into town that often.”

“Why not? Doesn’t it get…boring being on the ranch all the time? What is it? You don’t like the town…or the people.” Sevika moves from the table, and she leans on the doorway, relaxed and poised. Her brown hat is tipped back, and hair is sticking to her forehead. 

She faintly smells of sweat, and it makes you feel so fucking dizzy. You pause, putting the cup into the sink. For a moment, you think back to Jonah and his brother’s howling from their truck, their red faces beaming in with the soft orange light. 

In the few seconds you had stared at Jonah, he never smiled. He looked alive, not exactly living, until his brothers slapped the back of his shoulders, and a robotic smile curled at his lips. “I like it better here. I have no feelings for the town or the people.”

Sevika smiles, showing a small gap between her teeth. She laughs, shoulders moving up and down, as she sets down her cold cup. “What a way to think.”

You don’t speak with Sevika. Sometimes you both go inside the house for a glass of water, and your eyes meet for a brief second, and you can feel her serene heart pick up pace or smell the manure under her boots. By the afternoon, your uncle is outside, cleaning the tools and refilling any empty water containers for the animals. 

You cook the evening meal and finish any work, focused on the soft thud of Sevika’s heartbeat as it thumps around you. You hear them eat from inside the barn, body pressed into the stacks of hay, staring at the wooden ceiling. 

You watch Sevika before Jinx and Ekko pick you up. She’s sitting on a stack of hay, leaning back into another pile, brown hat on top of her face, and her heartbeat is soft, a rhythmic thumping. Her foot moves, and she’s gently humming to a beat with no care for anything. 

You’re no longer wearing boots but rather black converse, loose jean shorts, and a hoodie. Soil softly crunches under your shoes, and you tower over her for a second, watching her strong frame and the way her mechanical arm emits a hum.

Your uncle comes around the stables as Ekko and Jinx arrive. And though you’re not there to watch her leave, the murmured hiss of her arm plays in your mind as the cold air rushes around your hair. 

Inside the house, a skunk odor mixes with the scent of fire and smoke, swirling around the vent in the floor on the wall. On the glass panel of a poorly decorated table lies an array of thin, sheer white wraps filled with a small mix of green leaves that resemble herbs. Jinx grinds more of the green leaf mix while you chew on sugar-coated bears that taste like nothing but ash.

Ekko inserts a CD in one of those portable black radios, and he starts. While a thin strip of light shines through the small window, a lamp in the corner of the room emits a soft yellow glow. His shoulders move up and down, matching the slow beats that drum through the trailer. 

He stares at you and Jinx, through lidded eyes, while she inhales the bubbling smoke of a large glass pipe. It hovers over you, and you watch the bottom of the pipe turn into a sea of bubbles.

With a deep exhale that sends a swirl of smoke around them, Ekko grinds his hips in the air. There’s no space anywhere, and you feel grounded, like a thick blanket has been draped over your body, pushing you into the couch. 

The heat and smell of skunk seeps into her joints, mirroring a fleeting high. In the mix of disorientation, Ekko dances up to you until a rough hand has circled your wrist, “Dance, come on...”

You give him a meek smile, letting him pull you up as the tendrils of the awaited high begin crawling along your veins. Jordan’s arm wraps around your waist as they dance before the little gray television. 

The music is a strange mix of fast and slow beats, though not a prom song, but you dance as if there’s an audience. “So how was meeting the new cowboy?” He murmurs. “I know your type…”

You laugh, though it comes out dry and humorless, “Come on…I don’t think she’d be caught dead with me even if she got paid.” 

From the side, Jinx shrugs, setting down the glass pipe on the wooden coffee table. “I don’t think it would hurt to find …unless you have someone you haven’t told us about.”

Ekko lets you go, and you drop on the couch, head hitting soft flesh. “You spent most of the time with me…you know I don’t like rejection.” You drawl out. 

Despite the abnormality flowing through your veins, the high is still the same as when you were human. It buzzes in your head like a mosquito in your ear, except there’s no annoyance in it, only bubbling pleasure. The feeling flows from your toes to your torso, pinching your skin until it's numb, and the room spins.

“Exposure therapy.” As the room revolves, there are hands on your head, petting your hair in slow motion. In the haze of your high, you don’t sleep, simply letting your consciousness drift in and out, while you listen to the rhythmic heartbeats of Ekko and Jinx, thumping in unison.

Early in the morning, you walk back home, as sweat builds at your temple, rushing down your back. The sun is shining through the horizon, just barely illuminating the trees, and the soft rumble of a truck rushes past you. 

That same familiar red that Sevika drives. It stops for a moment, and a head peeks out from the side of a dark brown hat, covering her eyes, but you can see her short hair falling beside her cheek. Touching that pink, nearly fading scar. 

The car reverses, piling dirt at your feet, and it stops right next to you. “You know…as safe as this town is, nobody should be walking alone before the sun breaks.”

You stare at her as she leans out of the window, thick arms on the window. “Are you offering me a ride?”

“Get in.”

There’s a soft silence that settles between you. A quiet not riddled by uncomfortableness but sheer calmness. But you can still hear her heart pick up pace, and the way her breathing shallows until you’re halfway at the ranch. 

A yellow glow hits the side of her face, and for a second, she looks older and brighter. “It must be odd to leave such a big farm to come to a place…so small.”

Her shoulders shake up and down before she actually laughs, and she gives you a quick glimpse, “The size of the ranch doesn’t matter, it’s about the people, and I hear your uncle is good people.”

And she isn’t exactly wrong. Compared to your father, your uncle is a man of his word. Rough around the edges, but better than most people who thrive off violence and the pain of others. “Will you stay for long?”

Sevika shrugs, “Maybe.”

The answer lingers with you long after the truck rolls into the ranch. You shower before heading back down again, letting the stale coolness of the late night roll into heat. The floorboard creaks gently beneath your feet as you slip outside. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed as if trying to wake the rest of the ranch.  

The mornings quickly settle into the same routine. Feed buckets across damp grass while the little chickens swarm your feet, picking at them. From afar, you see Sevika check the fencing, you can hear her soft grunts, and hums. Sevika spends most mornings on the opposite side of the property. 

By eight, the ranch is fully awake, and your uncle is hauling out of the house, walking to you as your hands check the garden soil. His hands are on his overalls, and he looks around before his eyes dart to you. The broad shape of Sevika’s shoulders moves across the fields. “The old cattle chute needs replacing.

You hum, thinking back to the wooden structure that sits near the stables, half-rotted and leaning sideways. One bad storm away from collapsing. You still don’t know why he hasn’t replaced it; maybe it’s because of the names carved on the wood. 

"You two can handle it," he says before disappearing back toward the house.

You find Sevika in the stables, moving stacks of hay around. You find her by the scent around her, that’s been mingling in your nose for the past few days. It’s nearly intoxicating. “My uncle wants the castle chute replaced. The tools are in the…shed.”

You imagine it wouldn’t take long. Anytime you replaced something with your uncle, it didn’t take too much to replace or install something, and yet, with Sevika, it’s as if time operates differently, slower and longer, like the universe wants you to take your time with her. 

You hold the boards while Sevika drills them into place, sometimes leaning to the side to pass her a tool, though you’d take longer, just to frustrate her a little. There’s something…odd about seeing her eyebrows furrow into a soft scowl. 

In those seconds, you expect her to yell at you, but all she does is look at you and sigh, “Don’t be a brat.”

Each thump of the hammer against the nail matches her heartbeat, and you feel sick thinking about how her blood would taste. By noon, sweat sticks your shirt to your skin, drips down from your scalp. Sevika moves from the cattle shoot, and you stare out to the green plane, before turning back to Sevika, watching her as she strips off her flannel, tossing it onto a fence post. 

A black tank top sticks to her skin, and faint coarse hair runs from her belly button into the dark jeans. You immediately regret looking, forcing your brain from staring at her broad shoulders and strong arms covered in tiny, faint scars. 

You force yourself to focus on the measuring tape. Barely focused on what you’re looking at, and how everything has somehow gotten hotter. “Wrong mark."

You glance up. "What?”

"You're reading it upside down."

Heat crawls up your neck, and Sevika smirks, inching closer to you until you can feel the warmth from her body. You’re hitched beneath the small metal providing shade above the cattle chute, and the woosh of Sevika's veins right in front of you makes you sick.

You can hear her jugular vein thump. "’m a little tired.”

"Sure." Her smirk only widens. 

Your uncle has supper fixed by the time the cattle chute is finished, and Sevika’s shirt is back on. A part of you misses seeing the sweat glide from her neck down her collarbone and the slight bulge of her muscles.

You don’t eat with them, but you can hear the clatter of utensils from your room. The way their throats drag the specks of cornbread down from the oesophagus to their stomach. And the way, your uncle sniffles, while Sevika’s arm hisses.

The sun hangs low, painting the ranch in amber. A thin, metallic hum circles the sky, echoing over the hot, cracked earth. There’s a soft buzzing of flies next to your window, and as the seconds pass, the stall-door creaks open. You stand still until the herds erupt in panic,  and the rushing down of hooves slams against the soil-caked ground. 

A high-pitched whine cuts through the cicada’s buzzing and the sudden clatter of utensils. Then a scream, thin as a needle, before you shot down the stairs, heavy boots thudding into the floorboard. “Big Red is out.”

Sevika jumps up, and as the soft orange sun cracks into the side of your head, you hear a bullet streak towards the fleeing animal. You’re faster, rushing to the staggering horse, as Sevika runs behind you, a heavy thud of movements, while gasoline and pasture mix in your nose. 

From the side, bikes form tiny groups. The bullet strikes the horse’s forehead with a soft thunk, a spray of bright blood blossoms against the dark orange sky, soaking the green grass. And you can smell when its blood hits the air, metallic and heavy with a thick tang of something putrid. 

The horse staggers, one leg buckling, then drops, the thud reverberating through the ground. There’s no heartbeat, though the jarring screams and cheers beat in your ears, but you’re sure Sevika can’t hear them.

She’s a few steps behind you, and you drop, hands rushing around the fur of the beast, blood seeping from its head. From afar, you can see them. “Can’t you hear them?” 

Sevika’s pupils are dilated, breathing heavily as she stands before 

Big Red. “What?”

Her heart thumps frantically as your uncle rides the tractor, a rumble of motor along the bikes. “They’re cheering.” 

You lift the horse, in unison with Sevika, placing it behind the tractor. Your uncle's eyes are narrow, and he says nothing, until you’re touching Big Red’s face, black eyes staring into you, until it seems as though you’re staring into yourself.

Then he speaks, voice flat, “Who? Who, child?”

You stare at the horse’s head, the wound a crescent of raw flesh still glistening in the dying light. You respond, the words slipping out as a whisper:  “I don’t know… I didn’t see them. I only heard them. A group of them.”

“You heard them?” Sevika’s eyebrows furrow. “We were downstairs, we didn’t–didn’t hear them.”  

You don’t say anything, you just shrug, as another crack rings across the distance, farther down the fence, all the way in what you assume is Joe’s farm. The echo of a second rifle reverberates over the fields, nearly shaking the wooden plank carrying you and Big Red.

“Them bikers are back.” 

Your uncle doesn’t speak, not until Sevika hauls Big Red to the stable, and you’re all staring at him, waiting for the horse to whine or kick his hind leg. There’s blood on your hands, and some on Sevika’s mechanical hand, and she’s staring down at Big Red, nearly trembling with a lax face. Her heart beat hasn’t slowed down since she got up from her seat. 

“We’ll bury him out back tomorrow.” And he leaves. 

The words hang in the air as you stare at Big Red until his black eyes turn milky white and the blood stops gushing out of him. Your teeth sharpen until they’re touching the inside of your bottom teeth, and it’s unbearable to be next to Sevika while blood spills onto the hay-covered ground. 

She’s gone around nine at night, when your uncle is on the couch watching TV, with a cold beer in his hand. You stay awake for a long time, unable to stop hearing the faint cheering that echoed before Big Red went down. Your bed squeaks, and you lie on the floor, staring at the empty bottles under your bed, until they begin to look as if they’re full.

You bury Big Red alone. You’re up when the cicadas and frogs are still screaming. Sheriff whines next to Big Red's head, and he snuggles against the beats until you’ve dragged him all the way to the back.

And you spend breakfast digging a hole until your boots are filled with dirt and your overalls are dirty and soiled. By the time the earth breaks, Bug Red is buried, and a small cross is pressed into the grave. By eight, breakfast is done, and Sevika has arrived. 

You can hear the brake of her car as it stops and then the thud of her boot on the floor. “I buried him already.” You say after a beat. 

The store's bell jingles as you step inside, and there’s a smell of stale coffee and fresh-cut vegetables. A fluorescent glow casts a pallor over rows of canned beans and jars, and you linger near the produce, the lettuce leaves still damp with dew, when a muffled conversation drifts from the back corner. 

You can hear it clearly, though the soft, high-pitched voice is low, as if fearing anyone else would hear. “Them Nexon bikers are back–shot down Joe’s horse, and I think another one. Poor man’s been moping about it all morning at the Shimmer Diner.”

News about the horses spreads around like wildfire. By late morning, the news of Joe’s and your uncle's horse was uttered in every dinner, bar, grocery store, and house. The name Nexon Baron, curled in everyone's lips, was uttered in hushed voices, as if a grave family secret. 

A mixture of emotions rolls against your body as you rush past Rusty’s. The front of the bar is covered with bikes, while smoke hurls out of the door like a chimney, and the scent of alcohol, blood, and smoke is all you can smell. Some of Nexon’s rugged men are out in the front, sitting on their bikes, leather jackets decorated with a skull bull and two guns in the back. 

The whole town knows they’re a joke–a violent joke, but a joke nevertheless. Back at the ranch, your uncle feeds the two round pigs, and you hear Sevika in the stables as you carry the plastic bags inside the house. Her footsteps press into the soil, a soft thump–thump that turns louder and louder until they hit the wooden floors. 

“How was town?”

You shrug, taking a glance at the small droplets of sweat sliding down her face. “Gossip here, and there. Nothing new.”

She pauses for a second. “Gossip about Joe’s horse?”

“Yeah.”

Somewhere around late night, when you’ve caught a glance at the sweat-soaked Sevika from afar, and smelled the salt on her skin, that Jinx shows up. The small blue truck rumbles as she puts it in park. Sevika is rounding the corner, coming face-to-face with you and Jinx. “Evening.”

Jinx gives her a tight-lipped smile before looking back at you. When you arrive at Rusty, the myriad of bikes are parked outside, and the smell of smoke hurls around. Your uncle is probably seething at the thought of you in the bar, but he’s never been the type to stop you. 

Inside Rusty, the Nexon Riders take the back of the bar, perched against the wall, while smoke crawls in their space, and their screeching laugh and cheering blend in with the country music. Most people keep to their side, ignoring them as if it’ll make them go away. 

It’s difficult to predict the big things in life–not like finding out a friend has gossiped about you, your partner’s family hates you, or stuff like that. Big things like death, or being forced to take a crowbar to someone’s head outside the bar in self-defence.

Stuff like that is never predictable. 

Unpredictably has etched itself into your skin. Time rushes by when you’re at Rusty’s, despite a drop of alcohol never touching your tongue. You come out of Rusty’s an hour later after going inside and watching Jinx down glasses of beer while Ekko makes conversation. 

The smell of burned wood makes your nose itch. Crickets and bugs scream while the dark sky clouds everything. For a second, you feel as though you’ve begun to hallucinate when the short girl in a tight leopard dress stumbles out of the woods to the side of Rusty’s. 

A thick, black fur covers half of her body, and she drags her black heels, raking against the soil, through the darkness. Her hair is short and curly, and her eyes are framed by thick eyeliner, making them look black.

She stumbles to the street, and you find yourself wondering if the neurons inside her own head are fried. Impulsion is a torrent, scouring your cortex and drowning every whisper of rationality. 

Your feet crunch the dried leaves as you enter the woods, following the girl, watching her pass the thick trees, blurring your vision. The clip and clop of the girl’s heels are the only thing heard. 

For a moment, you imagine yourself in her shoes, being pursued by a stranger with an unnatural, sick hunger that can’t be sedated.

The girl stops, and you follow. She turns, eyes slightly unfocused, watching as you stand there, silently watching from inside the woods.

Her heartbeat picks up, and she turns. You can’t tell how long you follow her, not until a rumble of motor curls behind her, making her jump. She goes down, scraping her knee, cutting the skin until there are tiny scrapes of blood oozing from her skin. 

The tangy, metallic aroma of blood laced with ammonia engulfs your senses, and the girl pushes her hands inside her black coat. And she walks and walks, while the rumble of a bike follows her as well, stopping when she’s in front of the old mill warehouse. 

The bike stops, and you recognize the black and white bull, surrounded by a viper. 

Nexon Barons

From the still woods, you watch her turn and offer the man a cigarette. “A hundred for thirty minutes,” the girl murmurs, lighting a cigarette between her lips. 

“What a deal…mhm, make it worth my time, sugar.”

Sickness curls against your stomach, and you turn, until the crack of skin against skin makes you pause. The sound rings out behind you, making the trees nearly shake. 

Thwack

You turn, eyes connecting to the man’s hands as he hits the girl’s cheek and clutches the back of her head. Thwack. 

You step from the woods, boots hitting the cement of the streets, and the guy turns as you rush to him. His hands stop in the air, looking back at you. Then…Thwack, again. 

Perhaps it’s adrenaline or the odd way that the girl somehow resembles an old picture of your mother. The only one you’ve ever seen of her. 

Puffy red eyes and black eyeliner rushes down the girl's flushed face, bright red cheeks, but your body doesn’t exactly register which emotion takes over first before you launch yourself in full force. Your canines connect with his fat neck, chewing through the muscles until you feel the faint, sharp touch of bones.

You don’t register the screaming behind you, but rather the familiar squelch of muscles when your fingers push down on the skin, and your face feels wet. His eyes bulge out, rolling to the side until you rip them out, and nothing stares back at you but red muscles.

“Oh god…”

You look back at her, “‘m so sorry.”

The girl’s face morphs into something red, unrecognizable, and violent. She lunges at you, and despite the state of adrenaline and every instinct to fight, you let yourself fall back, dull pain shooting through your head as you fall on the cement.

Your cheeks sting, each slap delivered with a violent force only dulling down when her hands move to your scalp, a bright burn spreading through each follicle. 

When you taste salt and metal, you turn us over, and though you can’t look at her face, you can imagine the girl’s eyes bulging out as your teeth break into her. The girl tasted sharp and bitter. You grab her wrist, sinking in for a second time and letting the warm, metallic yet bitter taste swirl on her tongue. Warmth spreads down to your stomach.

The girl gurgles, choking on her own blood, her eyes glazed and staring into the distance. Her body convulses, and your head falls on her stomach, hearing every one of her intestines wiggle and slither against each other. Fat tears are still rolling down your cheeks, and a small sob rips out of your throat when the girl’s system stops, and everything falls silent. 

How are you worth saving?

Through blurred vision, you roll the girl’s sleeve, licking at the wound until you notice the tiny dark punctures. The markings are red, expanding with a deep purple, marking the inside of her forearm.

Your stomach sinks, and though the blood sets in the stomach, you shove two fingers inside your mouth, feeling small pebbles on the inside of your palm. 

Your throat spasms, a curling feeling travelling throughout her skin, while you gag. It’s as though every single one of your nerves has been set ablaze, pulling them to the surface yet dulling every one of your senses.

You gag again, but nothing comes up, and when you pull your fingers out, a thick strand of saliva connects your fingers to your mouth. Through a wet gasp, you look around, watching the distant light pole turn gleamingly bright, moving left and right in slow, yet fast motions. 

Help. 

Help. 

The smell of oil, sweat, and chemicals hangs around you, and a deep numbness sets within your bones. You can’t feel the small pebbles on your skin anymore, and distant voices echo your name like angels in a choir. The drag of flesh and bones rings in the air, crunching and squelching, until the sky crackles, and you realize you’ve torn into two people.

You barely remember stumbling back home, but halfway, it rains–hard, like the world is separating and the earth is parting and breaking. Nothing feels real, not until you’re on the floor, bile and blood next to your head, each muscle twitching.

By early morning, mere hours after an elderly lady and her daughter found one of the Nexon Barons and a working lady on the floor, one of Zaun’s sheriffs had arrived at Rusty’s with a shaking hand. He inched close to the Nexon Baron leader, with an envelope in his hand, and his throat bobs.

“This morning…” he begins, shiny badge reflecting off the mirror behind the Nexon leader. The man always wore dark shades, covering his eyes. Perhaps too afraid of the familiarity with the town. “We found the body of a Bill Regan but we need someone to identify the—“

“Our Fat Bill?” One of the Barons perks up, jumping from his seat, pointing a finger at the sheriff. “One of your buddies shot him?”

Those words seem to collide in the air, and the other barons look at each other before slowly standing up. They puff their chest up, fingers sliding down to the concealed knives in their pockets.

The Sheriff steps back, “No. No, we found him next to another victim. Seems like they found an animal and it attacked them.”

“Who was the other victim?”

The sheriff shakes his head, though the barons immediately stand guard at his words. “I’m sorry, we can’t disclose th—“

One of the barons grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him just an inch from the ground. “Jackie Lane, a local working girl. A couple of soliciting charges, they were found bitten.” 

You didn’t know any of that. And how could you when you were too busy expecting the sheriffs to show up, with handcuffs reading you your Miranda rights. You imagine their heavy steps and your uncle's face as they drop those murder charges right on his face, while Sevika listens. 

Manslaughter with intent. 

But it never comes. You wake up early enough that the smell of bile hasn’t worked its way into your sheets, and you scrub the floors clean. The wood chips from the pressure, and you stand still staring at the wet spot before showering and changing. 

You barely pay attention to Sevika’s arrival. You aren’t ignoring her–but there is something easier about avoiding her, and pretending your gums haven’t taken the habit of flapping open when she’s near. So you feed the pigs, and give them a little wash before you’re checking the garden.

The heavy sun sits behind your back as you stare at a sleeping Sevika on top of a stack of hay with her cowboy hat covering her face. It nearly seems to burn through your lithe shirt until the warmth reaches your skin, burning you. The stench of lettuce and mayo follows your nose, mingling with manure. 

And you sit next to Sevika, crouching down ever so gently as to not disturb her. Her breathing is heavy, and it almost sounds like she’s grunting in her sleep, while her arm gives consecutive hisses into the air. 

Her body twitches, nearly shaking the ground underneath her, and it’s so close to hitting your stomach, until she settles back down. Like she doesn’t seem to be fighting in her dreams. For a second you wonder what she’s dreaming of. 

You slide the red shawl to your face until you can open your eyes and stare at the sun without burning your eyes. It’s a vision of red, catching the light under the tiny threads of red, though blurring the flare of the sun. You lie there in the first few minutes, face covered, cooking in the heat while Sevika naps. 

And then you sink into the soft rhythm of Sevika’s heartbeat. thump -thump, thump-thump.

For the first time, you sleep, despite the constant noise of the horses whining and the distant moos of the cattle, which seem like it’s right in your ear. Your heart slows, and restlessness fizzes away from your body, slowly seeping into the soil. Sevika grunts and turns, arm slinging on your waist, though she never stops snoring.

While your eyes flutter, she turns to the side of her mechanical arm, the weight of her falling into you. The warmth of her skin caresses your shirt, and you pull the material until her skin is touching yours. 

It’s soft and sweet, the faint hairs on her arm rubbing against your soft stomach. “Its good,” Sevika grumbles in her sleep. “Horse.” 

It’s not that late when you wake up. The sun is still blaring, but its glare is softly covered by a thick, loud, shining only a mere inch of the star. The wind has begun to pick up, and a shudder runs through your spine. You’re no longer next to Sevika, but her shawl is still on your face. 

The thud of your boots curl against the soil, and you look for her, until you come face-to-face with her in the house, working on her mechanical arm in full view. “How was your sleep, doll?”

Your body heats up with each small step you take until your back is pressed against the sink, “‘ts alright. Sorry for the shawl.”

She shrugs, “I don’t usually let anyone touch it…but I have a few exceptions.” 

Next to her arm is a small roll-up case, with tiny wrenches and tools you’ve seen inside your uncle's shed. Oddly, there’s a tiny resemblance in Sevika’s behavior and your uncle's. 

From the doorstep, there’s a small smell of beer in her tongue, and you wonder how she tastes. Is it overpowering? Does it drown out the taste of her cigar, or the mint she had this morning? 

“Have you eaten?”

“No. Your uncle went out…I was waiting for you to wake up. Made some passion fruit juice. It's in the silver pitcher…would you be a doll and pour me some?” You immediately cross to the small, sterile white refrigerator, and the latch clicks with a quick sound in the sudden silence. Soft yellow liquid oozes small beads of water on the side of the glass as you pour it from the silver pitcher. When it hits the counter, the scrape of a chair screeches in the air. 

You turn to see her tapping on the wooden chair next to her, though her eyes never leave the tiny screws plunged into her mechanical arm. “Here.” 

Fifteen inches.

That is the amount of space between your knee and Sevika. Knee almost to knee, while your body is halfway facing her, and it feels almost too intimate. Between the sweet and fruity smell of the passion fruit juice and her presence, your brain feels like it’s working manually.

Breathe. Keep your hands on your lap. Keep your knees away. Smell the air.

Breathe. Keep your hands on your lap. Keep your knees away. Smell the air.

She lifts the glass of juice with her eyes fixed on you, finally looking away from her arm, and they barely waver as the liquid touches her mouth. Sevika’s throat bobs once, then twice.

Mouth, pharynx, esophagus, lower esophageal sphincter, and stomach.

The air feels tight and thick with the sound of the refrigerator humming faintly behind you. In between the silence, Sevika holds up the half-full glass with her head tilted, and though you’ve never been good at reading people, there’s a certainty in your head that tells you she isn’t asking for more juice.

Your mouth touches the rim of the glass, eyes closing as the aroma of citrus and something akin to ripe melon engulfs your senses. It’s dizzying thinking about how her lips had been on the glass before yours. 

Mouth to mouth.

Pharynx, esophagus, lower esophageal sphincter, and stomach.

When your eyes flutter open, you don’t hear the words because they never really leave her throat, but you see them on her lips.

More.

More.

Fire bursts through your veins, and the glass tips until it’s empty. You feel dizzy with a warming feeling you can’t quite place. A sudden urge for something more than just pig's blood or the occasional blood sausages that you’ve begun to import from around the world to curb your hunger. 

It tastes disgusting, and it reeks of pig, but it lessens the hunger, and therefore, you look at people as if they matter rather than blood bags. Sevika stops working on her arm, and she stands while you grip the ice-cold glass, “C’mon.”

“What?”

You watch her open the fridge and pull out a white bag, with various things that smell like vegetables and spices. “I’ll cook something for us.”

You press your lips into a thin line. “Well, look at that. Am I the first lucky woman to see you cooking?” you say, moving to fetch the black apron next to the fridge.

The material scratches your skin, and you know the question is far-fetched. Truthfully, you don’t expect to hear the answer that you would like. 

Sevika hums, ducking down to your level as you place the apron on her. It feels oddly domestic–like you’ve done this a thousand times , “Yes. Besides my mother.”

You pause in front of her,  staring at her chest, before she leans away and turns. Your hands reach the long black cloth, and you tie a bow on her back. “I don’t think I can…help you.

“Why’s that? I promise you my cooking ain’t that bad.” And she gives you a dry laugh, before taking a glance at you. 

“My taste buds don’t work.” Saying those words feels like setting off a bomb in the middle of a crowded building. 

You can see when Sevika’s body tenses up, despite her back facing you. Her throat bobs, saliva making it down her esophagus, and she turns, though there’s no pity in her eyes, just worry. “I got sick in uni, and they just stopped…working.”

She purses her lips into a thin line and takes a step toward you, “and your uncle? Does he know?”

“No.” You respond with a dry laugh. “It’s the only reason he still lets me cook. I think if I told him, he’d croak…But I think he’s starting to realise that I’ve lost my touch in the kitchen.”

Sevika nods, “Don’t worry about tasting then. Next time you’re cooking something, call me. I’ll stand there and watch–be whatever you need me to be.”

I’ll be whatever you need me to be.

An anchor. A reminder. Someone human to tell you that what you are isn’t all wrong. A companion. Just someone next to you.

The kitchen air, usually thin and empty, thickens as the pot on the stove begins to hum. “I’ll make a home recipe.” She says, sliding the ingredients across the counter. 

She adds a splash of mirin, a pinch of turmeric, and a handful of curry leaves, then pours in a cup of coconut milk. The mixture swirls, turning a creamy amber as she moves around the kitchen, and you watch from her side. 

“Heat it,” She commands, and you follow, turning the knob to medium‑high.

While it simmers, you stir now and then, until the scent of toasted spices fills the room. You don’t really speak, enjoying the way she’s working around the kitchen, chopping onions and moving everything while delivering soft commands. 

While the curry cooks, she moves to fetch the flour. You watch her mix the flour, a teaspoon of sugar, a splash of coconut milk, and a pinch of salt until the mixture is smooth. “Come here.”

Her hands move your body to the front of the bowl, pushing your fingers inside the mix until it feels gooey around your skin. “Sev–”

“Pinch and knead.” She interjects, “You’re doing well.” Her strong hands force your own to pinch and knead the dough until it’s all combined, and the warmth of her skin bites at your spine. 

Your eyes flutter, breathing shallower with each second that her jeans press onto your back, and her breath hits the shell of your ear, just right enough that you can faintly feel her lips. It’s as if your body suddenly becomes hyperaware of everything from the strong scent of wood and soil in her skin to the way her calloused hands touch yours. 

You put the dough to rest when you’re finished, and she slides her hands away from yours. “I think you’ll like it.”

“The bread?” She nods, “What’s the name again?”

“Roti.” She rolls the dough until it’s thin, seconds after placing the nearly black skillet on the stove. “Cook until it bubbles, and the edges puff up.” 

She lets you take over that part, giving you a small shove to flip the roti a couple of times until it’s lightly golden. The coconut scent rises, and she sets a couple aside to keep warm.

It’s maddening being unable to taste what Sevika makes. As if a punishment from the universe for what you did last night. It happens again the next day. Sevika works while you work on the other side of the ranch, and when the sky lowers just enough that it signals the afternoon, she stands a couple of meters away from you, staring. 

Then she walks away when she sees you follow along. You wobble behind her while your uncle feeds and works with the pigs, and it’s as you enter the house, you smell the jasmine and wood of her scent underscored by something sharper, more jagged. 

When she walks past you to the kitchen, right in front of the sink, the smells of cool aftershave and the acrid tang of cigarettes hit you. It’s the first time you’ve been close to Sevika since you hadn’t seen her in the morning. Besides the time you slept next to her.

You find yourself moving toward her without thinking, pressing your nose against the fabric of her flannel shirt, between the slit of her arm and back. You inhale, a deep breath filling your lungs, “You smell nice.” You slur out, fingers rushing to grip onto her waist. 

Your hold is gentle, barely using any strength. Her skin shudders against your fingertips, heart beat fluttering, a skip that vibrates through you.  And she tenses up, then lets out a slow, careful breath. 

“‘m sorry. I smoked…outside, near the fence.”

“I know,” You murmur, pulling back just enough that you’re sure the scent has begun to linger in your clothing, “Newport?”

She nods, looking a bit dazed. She cooks while you watch. Your uncle's feedback on her food seemed to light something in her, and you think she took it as a sign. Sevika cooks and covers the food before going back to work as if nothing happened. 

It’s maddening. 

You think about her all day long.

While you splash new soil around the garden. When you check the leaves to make sure none of them have been chewed up by the ants or little critters. While you milk the cows, boil it and pet the little cows, offering small praises that their brains can barely comprehend. 

While you clean Sheriff's house, right next to the house, and give him food and water. While the sun lowers, and the Zaun sheriff finally arrives at the doorstep of your house. You’re outside the house playing with the dog when the car screeches, and Sheriff rushes to bark and sniff.

The man in the light green uniform gets out of the car, and there’s this look on his face, like he doesn’t want to be there, like it’s taking all of him to walk to the house. You follow behind. 

“Something wrong, Mike?” Your uncle says, with a rather bored expression as you walk past  Sheriff Mike.

He takes his brown hat and holds it close to his chest. “This morning, we found the…body of one of them biker…it’s routine. I promise it don’t mean anything but we have to ask given tha–”

“That they killed his horse.” Your words ring in the air, and Sevika stops short behind Sheriff Mike, towering him, just for a couple of inches. She moves past him, settling next to you. Sheriff Mike doesn’t nod or shake his head, but there’s a silent ‘yes’ that circles around.

“Where were you two days ago, around ten pm?”

“Here.” And Sevika nods beside him, “Sevika, here can attest for me.” Sheriff Mike looks down at the floor, then around the room, before nodding. “Say…if those Nexon rides come after me, Mike…I can’t guarantee you that I’ll be civil.”

Sheriff Mike puts on his hat, and he nods. “Don’t give ‘em a reason to come.”

“They killed our horse.” You respond, and the words taste exactly like that rider's blood–metallic, and nearly putrid. “Makes no sense for us to be the ones in trouble.”

Sheriff Mike doesn’t do anything, and he walks away while the dog barks at him and runs back and forth in front of the big dirt-covered wheels. His words hang in the air until Sevika is gone outside, and your uncle falls behind. They bring back the cattle, all while you put the blood-soaked clothing in a bag and shove them under your bed. 

Better to burn them tonight. 

When Sevika leaves, you smoke an entire box of Newport–the last one you stashed before leaving for college. A gift given to you by Rusty’s owner. You don’t usually smoke that brand, you find that it tastes too old and not sweet enough. 

Not like Virginia Slims, though, it isn’t like you are a habitual smoker. But you finish the pack while your clothing burns in the large silver barrel behind the shed. And through the night, it’s as if Sevika’s next to you, and her nose is pressed against your jugular, and the cigarette is between her fingers, while she whispers in your ears.

There’s something wrong with you. 

Besides the sudden rush of needing Sevika is the odd absence of guilt. Your fingertips only waver for the girl, but when the memories come rushing down, you feel nothing for the biker. As if his life was minuscule compared to the sun, the moon, the tiny specs of blood on your shoes, and the dirt under your boots. 

Word of the Nexon Baron’s death and of Jackie Lane hit the streets of Zaun like a super drug. Yet, Jackie Lane’s name seemed to fall into the cracks of society, behind the shadow of Fat Bill of the Nexon Baron’s, like she wasn’t a person. 

Shame seemed to fall in the hands of every person who asked, “It was only him?”, “I heard there was another person,” and “Who was the girl with him?” 

It’s Jinx’s father, Vander, the owner of the last factory in Zaun, who brings up Jackie Lane. You’re sitting next to Ekko, staring into space while the soft hum of the restaurant's AC rings in your ear. 

They speak in hushed voices, despite the restaurant having no customers, and you look up to see eyes trained on you. “What?”

“You were at Rusty’s the night the biker died. You see anything?” 

The question seems to echo in your ear as if you’re drowning, and your ears are filled with water. “No.” You say, though your words falter for a second, and you shake your head as the small bells of the restaurant twinkle. “I didn’t.”

“Sevika, I got a job for you…but you’ll need an extra hand.” Vander calls out, taking the dirty plates off the table. Ekko and Jinx speak in hushed voices, and sevika grunts, taking a seat next to you. Her arm swings behind your head, landing on the backrest, fingers mere inches from your back. 

“Why don’t you help her?” Jinx perks up, staring right at you. There’s this mischievous glint in her eyes as she stares between you and Sevika, blue eyes lingering on the woman's strong arm behind your body. 

You glance at Sevika from your peripheral vision and you shrug. Your arms feel heavy, and you lean back just enough to finally feel the press of Sevika’s hand against your t-shirt. “Sure. How much will I get paid?

The older woman scoffs. “It’s not about the money, kid. It’s the experience and community…you’d know that if you ever went out.”

“Well will this experience and community pay for a burger at Millers or the new shoes I want?”

“It will…if not, I’ll pay for them. Compensation for your precious time,” She responds, sarcasm dripping from her voice and takes a swing off a cup filled with amber liquid, as if nothing is happening.

Your skin heats up, and remains warm, until you arrive at the vast empty land in front of First Victory Zaun church. The job is to help with the preparations of the upcoming harvest festival. 

In two days, Zaun will be filled to the brim with people from all nearby towns, rushing in to taste the fresh pumpkins, squash and corn. The cry crackles, grey clouds, slowly warming the sky until the sun is hidden. Sevika’s truck reverberates, and the sky smells of rain before it actually falls. 

“Is it true you were at Rusty’s the night that biker died?”

You take a second of staring out the window, fingers dancing in the strong wind, making your hair rustle. “Why?”

“Your uncle seems to protect you a lot. If I didn’t know better I’d confuse him for your father.”

“But you know better so try not to say that in front of him.”

Your words seem to circle around Sevika’s head. As you set up the small show stand towards the back of the empty field, right under a white tarp, she stares at you. Her eyes follow the back of your head, trained on each of your movements until it feels as though you can’t even sneeze without her checking up on you. 

“Thank you for helping…thought Vander would send you alone. Who’s the helper?” A voice murmurs, close to Sevika. The voice trails to your ear, and your eyes twitch, as you set up the white folding chairs in pristine rows. 

“You know the ranch all the way to the end of town? She’s the niece of the owner.”

“Ah–” The voice says.

You hear the first clatter of rain hit the ground before it begins to slowly pour down, hitting the top of your head then your shoulders. It comes down gently then it clatters down like hail, slamming into everything. The sky thunders again, making your bones rattle, and you duck down the white tarp as a sea of bodies rush under it as well.

“Y/N.” Sevika calls out from the other side of the stage, and as you look up, she’s moving through the sea of people, until she’s standing in front of you, while you shiver, teeth shattering into each other. “Sorry. Thought we would’ve finished before the rain came down.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. My uncle’s not waiting, he brought in all the cattle before you left.”

She stays quiet for a moment, before holding down her hat and dashing from under the tarp. You can’t even call her name. It’s not like she’ll hear you, under the weight of the clasping thundering hitting the sky.

But she runs, while her breathing glides in your ears, and she disappears as another set of thunder hits the sky. You consider running after her, but you stay put, unsure if your new body could handle the cold. A part of you is afraid of the merest change–the fear of dying in front of your uncle, or your body giving out, eats at your limbs.

In the mist of the clattering rain, Sevika hauls her truck close enough to the tarp that you can slide in with only a few drops of water wetting your body. Though it isn’t like you aren’t already soaking wet, water drips from your hair onto her seat. “The road near the farm is too muddy for the truck…you wouldn’t mind staying at my place would you?”

“No. It's fine.” Your heart thumps all the way to Sevika’s home. As the truck rattles you imagine how it looks inside. The material of her couch, if her coffee table has an ashtray, filled with cigarette filters, and if smells like Newport and fabric softener. Maybe she has a dog that sleeps under her bed, right next to her bat. 

Sevika’s house is near the entry of Zaun, curled around the vast trees in the woods. A small house, with white wood paneling, and an old front porch. There’s an old car, that’s halfway rusted parked next to the side, hood open collecting rain water.

You run behind her, until you're perched right into her back as she’s opening the door. It clicks and she pushes it open, until you begin to smell pine and gardenias. Sevika’s is nearly exactly like you imagined.

An aged couch, to the wall facing the road, an old TV to the front wall facing the kitchen, and a dark wooden coffee table in the middle of the room that supports an ashtray. It’s not filled to the brim with cigarette filters, but there’s ash inside, and a small cat meows from the corner of the room, jumping on the couch.

Your eyes trail up from the TV, as a rack above it holds a myriad of guns, like your uncle's rifle. On the side are mounted animal heads with unmoving, reflective eyes. “You hunt?” You ask, staring at the glazed eyes of the brown deer.

“Took it up about a year ago,” She replies, from the kitchen, “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

You spare him a glance, shaking your head, “No, it’s fine. Maybe I should take up hunting, too? You think I'll be any good at it.”

“I can teach you.”

You let the words linger in your head as the black cat stalks its way to you.  “Hello.” You say to the animal, as its little head tilts. You mimic its little meow, inhaling towards it, holding up your hand. “What is her name?”

“Carmilla.”

“Odd name.”

Sevika chuckles, disappearing into the dark hallway. You can hear the rustle of clothing from the living room, though you focus on the black cat’s nose sniffing your fingers before it ducks down to push into your palm. “She doesn’t usually talk to strangers.” 

You hum as Sevika comes out of the hall, hands holding up a black sweater, a pair of shorts, and a dark brown towel. “You can shower if you’d like. If not, change into this.”

“I’ll just change.” And You take it off her hand, as she directs you to the first room to the left in the hall. 

Sevika’s bathroom is clean and nearly empty with only a few products on the sink counter. You inspect them, fingers touch the glass bottles full of cologne, and the plastic ones. When you open the mirror, there’s two bottles. Both white and light orange ones, almost see through, carrying tiny pills.

Prazosin.

Paroxetine.

You look at your wet shirt, and bra, then take both off, and slip in Sevika’s sweater, bringing it up to your nose for a second. It smells like her and aged wood. Her shorts nearly feel tight around your hips, but they’re snug and they also smell like her. Outside the bathroom, Sevika is putting on a pot of hot chocolate, filling the room with a faint smell of nutmeg.

She moves around the kitchen until you  step into it, shifting in your foot with your wet clothing in hand. “Give it.” She takes them and opens the back door, right in front of the kitchen. It leads to a small patio, and there’s a washer and dryer against the wall.

“Must get lonely up here.”

She shrugs, “Sometimes. But nobody complains about me shooting down some rabbits or my rusty car.” 

When you take a seat on the couch, the black cat leaps to your lap. It curls into itself, ducking her head until she starts to purr. Through the silence Sevika stares at you. Her eyes search yours, but she doesn’t speak.

“You should just ask me.” You call out, scratching the back of the cat's ears. It ducks into your nails, and Sevika’s heart skips a beat. “It’s rude to stare.”

“When I first started working at your uncle's farm…I asked around. Nobody could tell me a straight answer about your family.” She responds with a calculated breath. 

Steam rises out of a small cup and she places it down on the coffee table, right in front of you. A cold beer sits on her big hands, as she takes a seat in the cushioned chair right in front of the couch. “Why is that?” 

Your father wasn’t a bad man. That’s at least what your uncle used to tell you before you gained some type of consciousness that made you hate his brother. 

The correct phrasing to that sentence would be “your father wasn’t a bad man before you were born”. Something in him seemed to snap after you emerged from your poor mothers womb. You never got to meet her, because she died giving birth.

But somewhere along the months of you babbling and crying like a normal newborn would, his bones curled with hate.

Hate for you. Hate for life. Hate for himself. 

“My father was from this town. My mother wasn’t. They moved in together when they were teenagers. I was born and then…they disappeared. Well…my mother died. He disappeared.” 

Sevika’s eyebrows narrowed. “When you were a kid?” 

“Yeah.” And you vaguely remember the soil digging into your little shoes as he walked away to his bike and you stood by watching. Your uncle had been somewhere inside milking a cow, unsure of the 10 year old, waddling around the yard. 

Your father’s leather jacket shined and his black glasses reflected off your tiny body. He sat on his bike for a good two minutes, looking into your eyes, as if waiting for you to look away, or drop the little bear in your hand and run to him. 

Neither happened. You stood there, waiting and waiting until he was gone. And even then, even after he was gone, you stood there waiting.

Not a good-bye. Not even an apology. 

“Would you do that to your kid? Leave and never come back.” You ask her after a beat of silence. 

She takes a swing off her beer and shakes her head. Pity is scattered across her grey eyes. “No. Never.” 

For a second, you want her to tell you to climb on her lap, and cradle you until each of your memories dissolve. Her hand would curl on your back, and she’d gently tap it until your eyes flutter heavily and sleep pulls your limbs. Maybe she’d do that until you disappear in her lap, but she’d never leave you.

It continues to rain well into the night, with tiny droplets hitting Sevika’s window, sliding down until it’s a symphony of small thuds. The TV in the room plays some old black and white cooking show, the type that you need a CD to see. Sevika says it’s something her father left her before he passed. 

There’s a sliver of fear, or something along that, that makes you afraid of asking her about her past. By then  you’re fully leaning on the couch’s shoulder rest, while Carmila’s is pressed against your stomach, purring. 

Sevika has moved from the chair to the couch, right next to you, nearly warming your feet, leaving a sliver of space between you both. “Are you hungry? I have some steaks in there.” She yawns softly. “Steak and potatoes.”

“Rare. I want it rare.” You grumble out, too tired to move or say no to the offer. Sevika cooks in silence, much like your uncle, though sometimes she’d hum to some kind of lyric in her head, and then she’d stop and get silent again. “You know…I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“Really?” She asks, “You don’t like Sheriff?”

“I do but cats are…they like their space, and don’t hound you too much. They’re like another tiny human that you just need to feed and occasionally give attention.” You explain, watching as Carmila jumps from the bed, and rushes to her tiny litter. 

Even if they disappear, they always come back into the palms of your hand. Unlike humans.

“But unlike humans you can’t tell if they actually like you or simply want a meal.” She retorts with a chuckle and a loud sizzling makes the cat jump an inch from the litter. The smell of burnt meat, and butter crowds the room, and you can see Sevika inching from the oil, watching her skin. 

You hum at her words, though you’re sure she can’t hear you. Sevika takes you home, some wear around midnight when it finally stops raining and your belly is fished with the taste of ash. 

You stood in front of the door, awkwardly bent to scratch Carmilla’s ears and coo at her, when Sevika steps behind you, a coat open waiting for you to step into it. You look between her and the coat, body deadly still, unsure of what to do. 

“It’s cold tonight,” She whispered, moving until she’s behind you and you can smell her.  “Just a precaution. Otherwise your uncle will hang me.”

A shiver, not of coldness but of anticipation, traced its way down your spine as the warmth of her coat slid along your skin. Sevika’s fingertips, light as a feather, drifted across your shoulder blades, ascending to stroke the sensitive curve of your neck. 

You stifled a gasp, holding in your canines, and you could smell him everywhere. She gently adjusted the coat, ensuring its warmth snuggled against you. A strange, delicious feeling traveled through your gums, and you sensed the subtle widening and deliberate contraction of your teeth. 

Their delicate sharpness grazed your lips, nearing the edge of your lower teeth. Sevika’s silent regarding your skin, but the violent patter of her heart, like a caged animal thrumming against her ribs.

You let yourself selfishly indulge in the warmth of the coat, forgetting that you can no longer taste meat or the soft potatoes that used to melt in your mouth. When you arrive at the ranch your uncle is drinking himself to sleep, replaying an old video of him and your father as children, somewhere along the mountains near Zaun, while an old woman calls out their name. 

“Can you teach me to hunt?”

Your question hits the air somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, just short of you finally milking the cows. One of them mooed your ear off, her belly so full it nearly bulged out of her skin. You can faintly hear the baby calf move around inside her stomach, sloshing around the mucus of its body. 

You’re wearing one of your old overalls, the one with rips near the front where you can see the material of your spiderman t-shirt. Your boots are all dirty and heavy, and you’re supposed to be snipping off the old growth of the vegetation in the garden, but instead you’re looking down at Sevika. 

Your uncle offered his well-known cherry pie in exchange for her fixing the truck. Something about the radiator, and oil. You didn’t care to pay much attention to their conversation, only to the hum of Sevika’s voice. 

Sevika rolls from under the truck, oil scattered on her face, and hands. “Today?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter. When you have time.” And you turn only for her to call your name. 

“There isn’t much to do today. We’ll leave around five.”

Much of the useless vegetation is snipped off, along with old, brown leaves. Tiny unripe tomatoes curl around the thick wooden pole dug straight into the dirt. The air smells like manure with grass. An odd combination you’ve now gotten used to. 

When you come out of the garden and lock the hatch, Sheriff nips at your feet, barking and fighting as you walk to the inside of the house. Your uncle is drenched in sweat though the sky is clear with no sun. “Sevika will be teaching me to shoot. I’ll come back around ten.”

“Been spending some time with that cowboy, huh?” He drawls out, drowning himself in a cold cup of water. There’s something inside his voice, the way he says the words like he’s not truly saying that you’ve been spending too much time with Sevika. 

“Yes, as you are spending time with Ms. Anna. I’m sure her husband is watching over you both,” You respond. You both look at each with the same lax expression before he tries to hold in a laugh, the muscles of his cheek twitching as he turns around. “I won’t be late this time.”

When you arrive at her house, Sevika puts down a bundle of green and dark brown fabric on the couch, then unmounts one of the heavy-gauge rifles. 

“Do you want a hare or a deer?” she says and sets the rifle on the heavy wooden table, sliding the clothing to you with a meek smile. 

You blink at her, “We have deer in Zaun?”

“Some…let’s stick with a hare, instead. They’ll be more in numbers.” 

The hunting gear is unlike anything you’ve ever worn. The jacket is bulky, the pants slightly stiff, but when you pull the material over your overall, a peculiar sensation of comfort settles over you. The weight of the fabric makes you feel solid and prepared, like the thick layers you usually wear. 

Sevika slips out the back door, and you follow right into the dense woods behind the cabin. The slight cool air, of pine needles and wet decay. You move silently until she stops at a small, flat clearing. There, perfectly still in the misting grass, is a hare.

Sevika crouches, and extends her hand, and you stare at it for a second before sliding yours against hers and allowing her to pull you to the ground. Your knees thud on the wet soil, and you surrender yourself, letting her push your legs apart with her foot, and prop the rifle on your shoulder, pushing your head to the scope.

“ Usually, it takes some minutes, even hours for a little rabbit or hare to appear.” She says, “ You must be lucky.” 

“I hope my luck is still running.” You whisper. 

“It’s your first time. It doesn’t matter if you kill it or not. Deep breath in”, she whispers to you, mere inches away, “Deep breath out.”

Sevika’s warm hands gently, brush past your cheek, and the hare jumps. It crutches down, then up with its long, odd legs, and upward ears. It stares far away from you both, and then it stops. 

“Deep breath in…and out. When you’re ready…pull.”

There’s something utterly impersonal about standing so far away from the rabbit. Like, you have no personal connection to it. As if you don’t share the same DNA that makes humans animals, or as if you are not the reason the rabbit population has depleted around Zaun. 

It takes a moment for you to pull your finger back, and the rifle recoils, shaking your body until the only thing you can do is gasp and look up. The bullet rushes out like a clap of thunder, and the immediate thud of something akin to a rock hitting the ground screams in your ears.

Besides you, a flash of pride passes through Sevika’s eyes, and then a smile. She moves up, grabbing the scruff of the jacket until you’re upright next to her. “Beautiful.” She grins out, clasping her hand on your back, “You did good. Very good.”

She guides you, holding onto you until you're in front of the carcass, and its wide glazed eyes are so dark, you can see your reflection. Exactly like Big Red. Neither of you tip down to grab it.

“I wonder if it had a family,” you whisper, fearing that your words would make the dead rabbit rise. Odd, but then again, you should be dead, yet you are not, “Maybe it’s family is waiting.”

“Maybe it has no family.” Sevika responds, eyes still on the hare. “Better a quick death than being eaten alive by foxes or snakes.”

“You don’t think it deserved a chance to live?”

Sevika bends down to pick it up. She rattles it, as if making sure the animal is dead. “It did. Let’s say you’re out in the desert, between you and the rabbit, who deserves to live?”

You tilt your head, “The rabbit. It’s just an animal. It doesn’t have a choice in what it is.”

“Aren’t humans animals too?” She asks, and she says it like someone who has seen people act no better than animals.

“But we have choices. Unless that ability is taken away from us, we find other ways to do things.

Sevika is silent for a moment, her gaze shifting from you back to the carcass in her hand. You look at the blood matting the creature’s fur, then at your own, cold hands. “Sometimes choice is a luxury,” she replies, voice barely louder than the rustle of the trees.

She starts walking back toward the house, gesturing for you to follow. There’s no disgust in your stomach yet. But the smell of herbs and spices colliding, as Sevika stands in the kitchen, methodically slicing the hare, makes your stomach squirm. 

The house air is thick with the copper scent of fresh blood and the cool musk of the woods, and the carcass lies on a sheet of newspaper, the process clean and quick. You sink into the couch, fingers twitching as the cat sits on the table, watching Sevika. 

Your eyes follow her, lathering bits of the rabbit with a bright red sauce. The crackle of oil swarms the air, and for the seconds you surrender into the couch, the hare turns a crisp brown. Before she calls your name, Sevika sets down a sizzling skillet filled with cuts of crispy rabbit thighs and legs.

There’s a bowl filled with sauteed vegetables, and another with a large portion of white rice. The food doesn’t fill you. It washes away the last taste of Fat Joe’s blood, leaving only the taste of ash. Again.

“Doesn’t seem like your first time hunting.” Sevika says, sharp teeth biting down into the crispy skin.

The first bite tastes like smoked wood, and then it dissolves into ash. The taste sits in your tongue while you shrug at Sevika “It is. But maybe I just have an eye for it.” 

She laughs, shoulders shaking, and her arm hisses. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?” 

that ends the snippet :), for the rest of the story Swallow Me. Feel free to comment here and/or on ao3!!!! and again, apologies for taking so loonnggg!!!

[wishingonjellyfish]

I get so pissed when I see a bitch complaining about gp Sevika like shut the fuck up and just say you’re transphobic if you don’t like it don’t fucking read it and WRITE YOUR OWN SHIT Jesus fucking Christ 🫩🫩

[miracleboylene]

summer sevika for the rest of the fandom dying of thirst

[seiwin]

I present to youuuuu…… normal Sevika and bald Sevika!!

Very important news.

[wishingonjellyfish]

Uhhhhhhhh 🫪🫪

[xadvocatusdiabolixx]

If It’s God’s Will

The new priest in your little village, Sevika, has caught your eye, but as an inexperienced virgin you have no idea how to deal with these feelings.

tw: g!p priest!sevika, virgin!reader, object insertion, coercion, religious trauma, breeding kink, fingering, pussy inspection, corruption kink

warnings: 18+ only, minors and men please do not interact.

*virginity is a construct, never let anyone coerce you to lose it, this is purely fiction*

Mousey. That’s how everyone described you. Growing up in your small village you were teased relentlessly for it, all the other young girls would gossip and make fun of you for your modest behaviour and lack of experience with boys. When they were off sneaking out late at night to meet their boyfriends in barns or at the local dance hall, you were at home reading your bible, studying up on passages so you could impress the priest with your knowledge.

Last winter the old priest had died in his sleep, called back to god to continue fulfilling his calling up in heaven. He was replaced by someone new, a priest quite different from those you had seen before… tall, muscular and imposing. Sevika commanded the congregation to listen to her sermons with her intimidating presence alone.

From the moment you had laid your eyes on the priest you had felt a strange tingling sensation deep within your loins. There was just something about the way her dark skin seemed to glow under the candle light of the church, her deep richness of her voice as she led you in prayer, and you couldn’t forget those grey stormy eyes and the way they seemed to pierce into your soul.

Never before had another person made you feel this way… you immediately thought that perhaps you’d been taken ill, maybe the flushed hue of your cheeks and sweaty palms were signs of a sickness you’d caught.

It took you several days to figure out that Sevika was the cause of your illness, since every time you thought about the way her robes fit around her toned body as she preached to the village folk the symptoms would return in full force. And annoyingly this was often, no matter where you were she was in your mind. Whilst you completed your chores around the house the idea of her touching you under your heavy skirts flashed into your mind, sometimes as you helped prepare the evening meal for your mother and father you saw a vision of the priest’s fingers lingering on your lips as she fed you communion… but the most concerning thought you had came to you whilst you studied your bible… Images of the older woman knelt behind you with her fingers buried deep inside your wet cunt as you knelt at the alter and recited the Lord’s Prayer occupied your mind. She’d speed up the pumping of her fingers as you recited the holy words perfectly, whispering praises in your ears as she went, but every time you got too distracted and slipped up she’d tut at you and slow down causing you to whine pathetically for her.

These visions and thoughts plagued your every moment waking or not. You found that in church you were unable to make eye contact with the priest, every time you received your holy communion you’d tremble and shake in her mere presence. This was only made worse by your well meaning mother inquiring about a job for you to clean the church every evening. She told you that she was worried about your connection to God recently as you’d seemed so distracted in church, surely spending more time in the old building getting closer to your Lord and the priest would only do you some good?! You mentally cursed your mother for putting you forward for the role but secretly a part of you was elated, you’d be spending more time in Sevika’s presence!

The evening you were due to begin your new job you had left the house you shared with your parents dressed in an appropriately modest dress with your winter jacket, hat, gloves and scarf since it was the dead of winter and the ground was covered in snow. After a long trudge through town you made it to the church, pulled on the heavy door and slipped into the old building.

Nobody seemed to be around yet all the candles were lit, illuminating the hallowed space. Luckily your mother had handed you a rota of tasks to complete each evening so you got to work.

Shedding your winter accessories you wondered towards the back of the building where you knew the cleaning cupboard was and helped yourself to a scrub brush and a bucket. After finding a tap you filled your bucket and started to clean.

A few hours seemed to pass this way as you scrubbed down the floor, small beads of sweat dripped down the back of your neck as you worked, your hands stiff and tired from the labour. The priest never showed her face, leaving you to guess she was too busy to check in on the lowly cleaner.

Once you’d finished scrubbing the floor you emptied your bucket, returning the cleaning supplies before you gathered your winter clothing items and readied yourself to leave.

A few nights passed this way, each day you completed another chore on the list but never once did Sevika turn up to check on you.

During the hours of unsupervised cleaning your mind seemed to wonder, every evening a new fantasy of your priest occupied your mind. The church’s scent of incense and wood filled your nose and you found you wondered if Sevika also smelt of it… your tummy would warm at the thought as you felt a tingling sensation grow in your virgin pussy. Briefly you considered how naughty your thoughts were, surely god would think badly of you for your whorish behaviour.

On the fifth night you looked at your chore rota and saw your job for the night was tidying the priest’s office. Secretly you wished you’d bump into Sevika tonight…

You gathered your supplies from the cupboard made your way to the priest’s quarters. Brushing down your dress and running a hand through your hair you gathered your nerves to knock on the door to the office. A deep “Come in” sounded from the other side, causing a jolt of excitement to pulse through you. Steeling your nerves you opened the door and slipped inside.

There she was, your priest, sat at her desk scribbling away at a letter. Her broad shoulders filled out her robes nicely, her dark hair glistened in the low light of the room, but what caught your eye the most was her smile… there was something in it that you just couldn’t read.

“My apologies for disturbing you M’am. I’m here to clean your office” you muttered as you looked down at the floor. You heard a small amused huff escape the priest’s lips.

“There’s no need to be nervous my child. Go ahead” she responded in a calm tone. Her attention returned to her work, pen once again scratching at paper.

You took that as you sign to start working again, reaching into your supply bucket to retrieve your duster. Slowly you moved around the room, dusting down old religious artefacts, most of which had been left by the old priest when he’d died. The sound of Sevika working was your only distraction from the boredom of your job. Occasionally she’d let out a stressed out sigh or a displeased grumble, but mostly she shuffled around papers, reading through her recent correspondences.

As you continued working away you wished you had the confidence to speak with her, to maybe ask her about her opinions on what makes a good pious girl… but you kept silence. Only when you realised your next task was to tidy her desk of rubbish did you nervously speak up. Turning to stand in front of the priest’s desk you spoke quietly, “Urm… my apologies… I need to clean your desk but I know you’re busy… I can wait till you’re finished”. Awkwardly you rang the duster in your hands and looked down at the worn rug on the floor, awaiting the priest’s response. But she was silent.

Daring a glance at her, you looked up to meet her gaze. You felt that familiar jolt of nervous pleasure as you locked eyes with the priest’s stony grey ones. You were lost for words, your lips slightly quivering as you waited for a response still. Sevika appeared to be taking you in, her eyes confidently roamed your face, then down to your shoulders, taking in the way your modest dress still clung to your body.

“I know why you’re so nervous around me… you don’t hide it well” Sevika finally said as her eyes focused back on your face. “Huh?” you replied almost dumbly. Sevika huffed a laugh at your reply as she stood, her large hands planting themselves on the wooden surface as pushed her chair back. Slowly she came from behind the desk and walked towards you, the height difference between you both now more apparent than ever. Sevika circled you as you stood stiff, more nervous in her presence than ever before, surely this close she could smell the arousal between your thighs?

The priest stopped her movements, standing directly behind you, close enough that her breath was tickling your neck. “You’re nervous because you’re a sinner…” came her deep voice, in a dark low tone. Shock ran up your spine in response, you weren’t a sinner! Unless… lusting over one of God’s own representatives on earth was a sin?

Sevika’s chuckle was the only thing to pull you from your spiralling thoughts. “I’m right aren’t I?” she asked you, her voice calm and steady. “You put on this mousey, good girl act for everyone, pretending to be sweet and innocent, but I know the truth…”. All you could do was stand in shock as the older woman’s words settled in your head. “I see the way you look at me during my sermons, the lustful gaze you have when I’m preaching God’s words no less!” her voice was now raised slightly, the indignation clear in her tone.

It felt like the floor dropped out from under you, you were breathing fast, your palms sweaty, surely this couldn’t be happening?!

“Do you have anything to say for yourself little mouse?” Sevika questioned you as your panic rose. All you could do was mumble a stuttered “I-I…” before you sucked in a quick breath at the feeling of the priest’s hands on your waist, her arms circling your corseted form as she pulled you into her chest.

You dropped your rag in shock as the larger woman’s cheek nuzzled at your head, exposing your bare neck to her as she nosed at the flesh inhaling your scent lightly. “It would appear I have a whore in my congregation…” she muttered as her lips moved against your neck. “You are a part of my flock and I’m God’s shepherd, it’s my duty to guide you towards a life of good morals” she continued. Her grip tightened at your waist as she spoke, it felt like she was knocking the air right out of you… the room getting smaller and smaller as her body surrounded you.

“I-I’m not a whore! I’m a virgin!” you squealed desperately trying to make yourself heard by the older woman. She only chuckled in a mocking way before pulling away from you and grabbing your wrist tightly. “You’ll need to prove that to me, little mouse. Who’s to say a whore like you doesn’t know how to lie?”

Once again you were shocked at her words, you were a good girl, you’d listened to your parents when they said you weren’t allowed to talk to boys, you were saving yourself for marriage, you’d never even touched your own pussy! Yes you’d had dirty thoughts about the priest… but you’d never acted on them.

“Come with me child. I’ll need to confirm your purity in the eyes of our Lord” and before you had time to reply you were being dragged away from her office and out towards the alter.

The candles that illuminated the hallowed place flickered as the priest pulled you behind her, you nearly tripped over your skirts but caught yourself last minute as she trailed you up the steps to the alter. Finally she released her grip on you but only to throw you down against the cold hard steps as she commanded you to prey.

Fearing the priest’s wrath you did as you were told, scrambling up to your knees and locking your hands in a prayer position. Your head was tilted down and you began to recite the Lord’s Prayer by heart. As you spoke the well rehearsed words Sevika watched you, her eyes were burning into your feeble form as you spoke.

Feeling the intensity of her stare you stumbled over the last of your words causing the priest to tut at you in dissatisfaction. She again grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you up to full height. “Silly little mouse can’t even say the Lord’s Prayer correctly? Come here, I guess I have no choice but to inspect you myself”. Her words shocked you? An inspection?!

“Inspect me? W-what for?” you questioned the older woman, genuinely confused about what she could possibly be looking for.

As Sevika pushed you against the back of the alter her strong hands gripped at your thighs and she lifted you, placing you down on the alter. You were in shock, there was no way you should be so disrespectfully treating the sacred space this way but if your priest wants it then who were you to question it?

“I must inspect your cunt to see if your hymen is still intact” the older woman informed you as she bunched up your skirts around you waist and quickly pulled down your bloomers not giving you a chance to react. “M’am!” you cried out in response as you tried to kick away from her and pull down your skirts. “That’s not what you should call me little mouse, it’s ’Father’ to you” she responded with a smirk. “Father…” you whimpered back. “That’s it my good girl, don’t fight the Lord’s will, spread your legs for me little mousey and show me your whore cunt” she instructed you and you mindlessly obeyed.

With both feet propped up on the alter, your cunt exposed to the cold air in the empty building, you breathed deeply as you looked up at the priest with a nervous look. Sevika eyed you up, her large hands massaged your thighs, with each stroke they crept closer to your pussy. “That’s it sweet thing, let Father inspect you, I need to confirm your purity” her deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Sevika reached up and with both hands she held open your folds, the contact to your pussy making you jump and your knees come together. “Don’t try and wiggle away, make this easy for me mousey or I’ll have to tie you up” she said in response. Fearing her wrath you obeyed and slowly opened your knees, once more she smiled at your obedience and praised you sweetly, causing you to blush and look away in embarrassment. Sevika must have seen how you responded to her praise because she continued to compliment you muttering “such a pretty pussy”, “your clit is so small and sweet” and “God really made you perfect didn’t he?” as she inspected you.

You preened under her praise and whispered “Father…” in a breathy tone. Casually she brought her finger to your entrance as she said “this hole is so slutty though, just dripping for me already… this isn’t the hole of a virgin.” You whined in response shaking your head as you cried “I am! I promise I wouldn’t lie!” Sevika tutted and continued toying with your hole. “Have you ever pushed your fingers inside here and pleasured yourself?” You shook your head no. “Have you ever rubbed your little nub before?” her fingers brushed your clit gently causing you to jolt and let out a small moan at the unusual sensation. Once again you shook your head no. “Hmmm… there’s only one way to find out if you’re lying, open up mousey!” Sevika said as she pushed her thick finger into your entrance slowly yet firmly. You let out a little cry as she breached your hole, new feelings flooded your body and your mind went blank in pleasure as she pumped her digit in and out ever so slowly.

“I need to get deeper, luckily you’re sufficiently wet enough but this might still hurt a little mousey, breath in for me” she instructed you as she pushed in a second finger. Her digits were thick, and your inexperienced pussy stretched at the intrusion. You whimpered out a pathetic “Father!” at the burning pain and your hips jolted once more. The priest brought her free hand up and slapped your pussy as she scolded you “I said to stay still!” You muttered your apologies and stilled your body, allowing a shuddering breath to escape. The older woman pressed harder into you as she moved deeper with both fingers, using her free hand to grip at your waist and pin you down.

The feelings of pleasure that were so new to you bloomed inside your tummy, it felt like a knot tying itself around and around, pulling tighter and tighter. “Father! It feels weird! I think I might pee!” you cried out, cheeks flushed and a drop of sweat dripping down your forehead. “Now now child, hold it back, I just need to feel for…” she trailed off as her heavy brows knitted in concentration. Looking down you saw your folds spread around her hand and her fingers probing deep inside you. “There it is! You were right my child you are a virgin” you squealed as she touched something deep inside you. “Your hymen is still intact, the devil has not had his way with you yet…” she confirmed.

You had no idea what any of that meant but you were ecstatic that she believed you finally, you couldn’t help the wide smile that bloomed on your face. “Thank you Father!” you breathed out as she pulled her fingers from you, finally the weird feeling of needing to pee relented and you could catch your breath again.

You stayed propped up on the alter, skirts around your waist and pussy exposed to your priest still. Sevika inspected her fingers, your glistening juices dripping down her wrist. Much to your shock you watched as she brought her fingers to her plush dark lips and sucked them into her mouth, licking up your wetness in a crude manner that you didn’t expect from a holy woman. A groan slipped from her as she sucked on each digit, her eyes closed and you heard her breath hitch as she clearly enjoyed herself. As she cleaned her fingers, her free hand came to palm at her crotch through her thick robes and that’s when you saw her heavy looking bulge.

You couldn’t help but stare and your mouth watered as you took in the scene before you. A small whine slipped from your lips and you knew you needed more of her… this didn’t escape Sevika’s attention either as her eyes refocused on you. Suddenly she was right up in your space again, her arms bracketing your waist, palms down on the alter as she leaned in to whisper against your neck. “It would appear that you’re having lustful thoughts in the house of God again, I thought you were a good girl?” she questioned you in that deep dark tone that simply made you melt. “I-I am a good girl!” you cried back in response but before you could speak again you gasped as you felt your priest press that large bulge into your bare pussy.

You threw your head back and moaned as she rubbed her hard cock against your slippery cunt. Suddenly you noticed how the stained glass images of saints and angels stared down at you from the heavens, judging you, the images lit up in the darkness by large candles. The religious artwork behind the alter made you hyper aware of where you were and what was happening. “F-father, please… we shouldn’t do this here” you begged as dozens of heavenly glass eyes glared down at you.

“Why not? I’m a woman of God, anything that I do is sanctified by him” she reasoned as she continued to rub her hard cock into you. She then upped the ante and left you breathless as she kissed and licked at your delicate neck, clearly trying to distract you.

“Father, I-“ you started but she cut you off with a kiss, your first ever kiss. You moaned into her lips and tried your best to keep up with her. Clearly she’d had some practice as she teased her tongue into your mouth and nipped at your lip causing you to finally grind back into her stiffness. “That’s it, good girl. I bet my sweet little church mouse was saving herself for marriage?” the older lady asked you as she continued to dry hump you, both of your growing frustrations clear. You nodded as you brought your arms up to rest on the priest’s broad shoulders and run your hands through her short dark hair, the feeling of the silky strands calming your nerves. “Of course you were saving yourself, what a good girl. You see though, if I was the one to take your virginity now, right here in front of our Lord he’d approve of it” she reasoned. Your brows furrowed as you thought over her words… you’d been told your whole life that remaining a virgin till marriage was the correct thing to do. Maybe it didn’t count if it was with a priest though? Maybe it’d be like receiving communion or a blessing? Still you asked the more experienced woman “how can that be Father?” to which she replied “God works in mysterious ways mousey. If you let me use your pussy for my own relief he won’t punish you, you’ll be servicing one of his chosen ones, you’ll be blessed.”

Her words made sense to you, either because you were inexperienced and eager to please or because you too wanted nothing more than for Sevika to have her way with you.

“Yes Father, please use my pussy for your own pleasure”

Quickly you found yourself on your knees with Sevika stood above you pouring sacramental wine past your lips, you gazed up at her with glassy eyes, lost in the way she watched you drink it down from the golden chalice. A small droplet escaped your mouth and her thick thumb caught it as it dripped down your chin, without a second thought she licked it up.

Once she was happy with your consumption of the holy wine she pulled back her robes and took her thick cock out, placing it on your waiting tongue.

You’d never really seen a cock before, let alone one this big, the tip was red and dripping, it looked desperate for relief. Luckily Sevika took charge as she gently began rocking her hips back and forth whilst giving you instructions. “That’s it mousey, use your tongue on my tip, keep sucking it… harder”. You tried your best to keep up with her pace, staring up at her face, watching as it contorted in pleasure so you knew you were doing something right at least. Her thick brows pinched together, her scarred lips fell open and her tooth gap became visible as she groaned deeply. “Such a good little virgin, you’re so eager to please. Look at you on your knees worshiping my cock…” she cut her ramblings off with a groan as she grabbed a hold of your hair in both hands and finally gave in to temptation, face fucking you hard for a few seconds.

Just as you were adjusting to her harsh treatment, the older woman pulled back suddenly, leaving your mouth empty and a string of saliva still connecting you to her cock. You fell back onto your bum, knees burning from the prolonged contact with the cold marble floor, you coughed slightly as you recovered from the deep intrusion in your throat. “Fuck… you nearly made me cum” she said through heavy breaths, “I have a better idea of where I want to finish though” her tone dark and full of promise. “Get up little mousey and bend over the alter”. You did as she asked, legs slightly trembling as you got into position.

The priest came up behind you and once again pulled up your skirts so you were exposed to her, then she pushed down on your back so your chest touched the cloth covered alter and she grabbed your hips, pulling you into a harsh curve. “That’s it pretty girl, look at this virgin pussy just gushing for my cock already” Sevika said as she teased your hole with her thick fingers.

She pushed one digit inside, pumping it gently as she toyed with you “hmmm I think it’s going to be a tight squeeze, but I’ll make it fit little mousey, don’t worry”. You could feel the anticipation in the air, your cunt dripping in excitement. You’d imagined loosing your virginity before but it’s never looked like this in your day dreams… only a few months ago the thought of your priest bending you over the alter was unthinkable.

You jumped slightly, the sensation of Sevika’s tip rubbing against your clit sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Her cock head then probed at your entrance, collecting your slick. “Breathe in little mouse, this might hurt a bit” was the last thing you heard before her large member push hard and deep inside you, breaching your virgin cunt.

At first there was pain, then a burning stinging sensation, which quickly bloomed into a deep warmth settling within your stomach all accompanied by a wanton moan you could never had imagined yourself capable of making.

Sevika stilled her movements letting you adjust to the stretching intrusion. “Fuckkk your pussy is so tight, she’s squeezing me so hard and I’m barely even half way in”. Shock hit you at Sevika’s words, not only because she was cussing in church but also at the notion that despite how full you felt there was still more to come. “I can’t take anymore… I’m so full already Father, please have mercy on me!” you begged her, yet all you got in response was a deep groan, her hands squeezing tighter at your hips and another small thrust as she pushed deeper inside you.

You gasped as more of her thick cock bullied its way into your pussy causing you to grip the alter cloth and whine “nooo Father it hurts!” Your whole body felt tense yet weak at the same time, it was completely overwhelmed by the barrage of new sensations. Sevika shushed you sweetly, her hands rubbing soothingly at your hips trying to calm you, “shhh, shhh mousey. You want your blessing don’t you? It’ll get easier I promise, just keep taking me nicely and it’ll start to feel really good inside you soon, okay?” You shuddered out a feeble “yes Father” and tried to steady your breathing as Sevika pulled her cock almost all of the way out, leaving her tip resting just inside your entrance. Crudely you heard her spit on your hole and felt her fingers rub the skin where you were connected, lubing you up more for her next move. However before you could adjust to the change she rammed herself back in as she mockingly said “that’s it mousey, biiiig stretch, ughhh…” cutting herself off with a groan.

Once again you were totally full but this time you registered her hips pressing into your arse. Your pussy fluttered around her length, sucking her impossibly further in. Sevika gave you no time to rest as she picked up a fast and brutal pace, her thick cock slamming into your virgin pussy. With each move you moaned and whined as pleasure took over your mind, completely unaware of the way your blissed out noises filled the empty church. If you were even semiconscious of the way your voice echoed off the marble and stone building you’d never be able to sit in the pews during service and look up at the alter where you lost your virginity.

Your priest’s deep groans joined yours as she took her pleasure from your smaller body. “That’s my pretty little mousey. I knew just from looking at you that there was a slutty little whore inside you. The way you shifted and wiggled in your pew during my sermons I just knew you were distracted by my voice. Don’t even get me started on the way your lips lingered as my fingers fed you communion… ughhh. Fucking little slut”.

You barely registered her words as she continued to abuse your cervix with her tip, too lost in your building orgasm to make sense of it all.

What did get your attention though was when suddenly she shifted and pulled you into her chest, wrapping one muscular arm around your neck and squeezing. Your hands left their place on the alter as they wrapped around her bicep and tried feebly to loosen her grip. A breathy “Father!” was all you could manage to get out, yet you couldn’t deny the way your pussy pulsed at her abuse.

“Gunna fill this pretty cunt up. Gunna breed my little mousey. When your bump starts showing your parents will be so disappointed in their whore daughter” you gasped at her words, the nightmarish vision clouding your mind. “But then I’ll step in and offer to marry you, they’ll jump at the chance to marry you off to a priest. You’ll be my pretty little wife and God will bless our union with a child”. Suddenly Sevika’s hand was pressing against your corseted stomach, rubbing at the flat surface as her large nose caressed your neck. “This pretty little church mouse will be all mine… fuck! I’m gunna break in your virgin pussy”.

Sevika’s hips began to stutter and her hand left your stomach to rub tight circles on your swollen neglected clit. “That’s it pretty girl! Cum on my cock, I’m gunna fill you up and make you mine”.

It was all too much, between her thick fingers stimulating your bud and her heavy cock rubbing just right inside you, that knot that had been building finally broke and an intense pulse of ecstasy took over your body.

As you came down from your high you felt warmth spreading within you deep inside as Sevika pumped her cock, slowly filling you up, blessing your womb with her holy seed. Once she pulled out of you it dawned on you… you were no longer an innocent virgin anymore. Would God really forgive you? All you could do was trust in the plan the older woman had for you.

“That’s my good girl” your priest cooed at you as she kissed your neck pulling you into her body so your back was pressed up against her breasts. One of her hands then reached out and picked up a cloth used during her services to wipe down the communion chalice. Briefly you thought how you were glad she was going to clean her mess from between your thighs but were surprised when instead her other hand held your pussy open as she stuffed a corner of the material inside your body, the soft cotton plugging your cunt. She left a good half of the cloth hanging between your legs, the tickling sensation against your sensitive skin causing you to try rubbing your thighs together. After planting a light pat on your pussy she shoved the material inside your body deeper with two of her fingers, checking that it wouldn’t fall out.

“Now you’re going to put your bloomers back on and I’ll walk you home. You’re to keep this cloth stuffed in your pussy till you come back for your cleaning duties tomorrow evening. It’s God’s will that you bear me a child I can’t have my cum leaking out of you”. You whined at the thought of having to stay stuffed like this all day, and sleep with your womb full of her cum. “I’ll keep blessing you with my seed till it takes but until then you need to continue being a good girl for me, alright?” You nodded at her words. Surely if your priest said it was God’s will then this was all okay?

[burntwavez]

A kitty!

[wishingonjellyfish]

I got my nipples pierced 🫪🫪

[wishingonjellyfish]

I’m gonna fucking tear my eyes out

It’s so fucking annoying when you guys write something then DONT update your master list so now I have to sit here for 30 minutes and scroll through your blog which you post on EVERY SINGLE MINUTE with your ONE BRAINCELL

Like dawg PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU

😭😭😭