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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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As the World Turns 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn't have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

When you accepted your new position, you didn’t expect that two days later you would be on your very first business trip. Ever. Like at all!

It’s exciting. It’s not only your first trip overseas for work but your first trip across any border. You’re as happy to get use out of your passport as you are to have the new experiences. You don’t know, however, how much you’ll be able to enjoy any of it. It’s still work after all.

You stand at the luggage belt as your phone vibrates. It’s your boss, Mr. Fowler, once more asking you where you are. The car’s already there. It’s not your fault the elite class flyers got off first and you’re stuck searching for your bags among the sea of coach passengers.

‘Will be there shortly, sir. Just coming through customs.’

It’s a small lie but you don’t think he’ll be impressed to hear you’re struggling to find your bag. It’s not very big but it should be easy to find. A round plastic suitcase in a shade of sunflower you can’t miss. You think it’d be obvious amid the black and black suitcases milling along on the conveyor belt.

You see the plastic slats part and your bag shines bright, like a beacon calling to you. You race forward and grab onto the handle. You accidentally press the button with your thumb so the handle extends and you’re dragged along awkwardly as you struggle to lift it.

Another passenger approaches to remove his heavy black bag but doesn’t walk away before helping you. You thank him with a smile. He’s older, maybe your grandpa’s age, and he assures you it’s no problem. He walks off and you plant the wheels of your bag straight, swerving around as you follow the signs.

You bring your phone up again and read Mr. Fowler’s next impatient text.

‘Take the cab fare off your per diem.’

Right. You’re not surprised. From what you know of your boss so far, he’s a stickler. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t settle for less. While he can be charming, even accommodating, he can also be terrifyingly stern. One moment he has that smile that makes his eyes twinkle and the next, his jaw is set and danger darkens his features. The very memory of that expression makes you shiver.

You suppose it’s your own fault. You should’ve considered the job description a bit closer. An executive assistant does a lot more than just the typical secretary. The pay itself was proof enough. Can you really complain? The perks include free trips!

You try to stay as positive as you can, ignoring your mother’s voice as it sneaks into the back of your head. She always has something negative to say. She could win the lottery and complain about the trouble of claiming her winnings.

You make your way through the terminal and into the atrium, passing by new arrivals and waiting departures. You check your smart watch, you’ll get in your steps for sure, and hurry as the minutes tick by. You follow the flow outside and find a spot along the pick up area, waving down a taxi as your phone buzzes again.

‘Don’t show up without scotch’.

The message is terse. You can only assume the flight was less than accommodating. You spent your time in coach looking out at the clouds or catching up on the adventures in Westeros. Terribly depressing books but it only makes reality a little less so.

You get into a taxi and ask the driver to take you to a liquor store. He doesn’t seem to understand you. Oh, boy. You pull up Google translate on your phone and speak into it, setting it to translate into the native language. You let the speaker play the text to voice. The driver nods and starts the meter.

Okay, not bad. You’re figuring this out. If anything, Mr. Fowler has to give you points for effort, right?

You ask the taxi to wait as you run in and find yourself faced with shelves of bottles and cans. This is the hard part, you’re not much of a drinker. With the help of Google, you ask the clerk for a bottle of scotch and pay with the company card. You’re right back out to the taxi.

Everything is so fast, you feel like you’re still catching up. You’re doing things. Every minute matters. You feel important, probably for the first time in your life. No more sitting behind a desk yawning, you’re tired for good reason.

You give the hotel name next and let yourself relax. Just for a little. Your eyes drift to the traffic outside the taxi, the voices all around, the dimming of the sky as the city sets to evening. It’s beautiful and new and wonderful.

The driver lets you off in front of the hotel. You’re greeted by a valet who offers to take your bag. You try to refuse but he insists, so you let him and follow him inside. As you enter, another man approaches.

You’re confused at first. He’s tall, blonde, and dressed as if he’s a businessman visiting on his own sojourn. You look around, thinking he might be headed for someone behind you. No, it’s only you. You turn back and find his blue eyes centered on you as he stops before you.

“Miss, welcome,” he lilts in his refined accent, “may I have your name so we may get you checked in?”

“Oh, yes, thanks, uh, sir. Actually, first, my, er… my boss is here. I think. He must’ve shown up twenty minutes ago. Erm, Mr. Fowler. I have, a oh,” you look down at the bottle in your hands, “I have this for him.”

“Wonderful,” he eyes the bottle, “Izak,” he addresses the valet, “Fowler.”

He takes the bottle from you without resistance. There’s something about his confidence that has you frozen. He hands it to the valet, Izak, and sends him off. You smile and give a nervous chuckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you rub the back of your neck.

“That is my job. I’m at your service, miss. Jonathan Pine, manager,” he offers his hand.

You shake it, doing your best to keep a firm grip. His fingers are so long that your hand feels tiny in his. He lets you go as you rescind your hand, crossing one arm over your stomach as you cup your other elbow, playing with the button of your blouse.

“Your name, miss?”

“Oh, duh,” you clutch the front of your blouse and eke out your name.

“Great, this way,” he beckons you with him and leads you to a round desk. He steps behind and types as his blue eyes reflect the screen. “I assume you’re here on business. You mentioned your boss is in another accommodation.”

“Yes, uh, my first business trip,” you almost wiggle with delight, “I’ve never even stayed in a hotel, you know?”

“Well, then I hope your stay is exceptional,” he smiles as he clicks around, giving a thoughtful hum, “allow me to make your first a special one,” he intones, “I’ve upgraded you to a suite.”

“A suite? Oh, but–”

“No additional fee. It will remain at the rate of your previous room,” his eyes flick to you.

“Wow, that’s… do I sound that pathetic?”

“Pathetic? Not at all, miss.”

You chew your lip and sway back and forth, crossing both arms across your chest. You don’t know what to say. He’s so nice that it almost feels patronizing. Or you’re just insecure.

“Allow me to show you your suite,” he comes out from behind the desk, holding out a small black folio.

You take it and look inside, two cards and a little insert with tiny text on it. You bring your hands down to fold over your stomach and back up to let him lead you. He struts along with you to the elevator and hits the button. He gestures you in first and follows.

“You haven’t traveled before?” He asks.

“Not really. We used to go camping but not far from home. Then we didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been working since, er, college, so… this is my first chance.”

“Well, the world is vast and not all are so lucky as to venture beyond their front door. It’s truly a privilege,” he says. The doors ding and parts, again, he waits for you to go ahead of him.

You step out and check the folio. You read the number and match it to a door at the far end of the hall. He’s right behind you as you get to the suite.

“Shall I show you around?” He asks as you stop on either side of the doorframe.

“Erm, sure, why not?” You shrug.

“Might I?” He points to your hands and you give him the folio.

He takes out a card and holds it up, “these can be unfortunately finicky. You must make sure you hold it so,” he shows you how to position it and slides it through the slot beside the handle. The red light turns green and the door unlocks. “Please,” he opens the door and nods you inside.

You enter as he follows. The door slowly closes as he lets it go and he slips the card back into the folio. He puts it on the corner table beside the door and taps it with his fingertips.

“You’ll find the wireless information in there along with the room service details and our continental breakfast times,” he explains, “if you’ve any questions, you may call the front desk.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“Let me briefly go over the rest of your amenities and I’ll leave you in peace,” he avows as he waves you further inside, “a full bath,” he stops at the doorway to his left, “there are jets built in, rather useful after a long flight.”

You give a polite laugh and he presses on. He guides you through the suite; a kitchenette, a mini bar, a sitting space, a bedroom, a balcony, and a key to the private pool. You thank him again.

He goes back to the door, about to leave but pausing at the door, “if you require anything, you may ask for me. Jonathan, remember.”

“Jonathan,” you repeat.

He nods and steps out into the hall, gently closing the door behind him. You feel another buzz in your pocket. Shoot! Mr. Fowler.

‘Scotch is here. Where are you?’

You cringe and hurry out of the room. You should’ve known better. There was just a lot happening at once. You hurry down the hall and stop short of the elevator. You don’t know where his room is.

‘On my way, sir. Where is your room?’

You key in the message, awkwardly lingering as you wait for his response.

‘Not there. In restaurant. Two minutes.’

You push your head back. You really just want to go back to the room and jump into that giant bed. A full queen to yourself. That’s actual heaven. You answer, affirming your obedience and head for the elevator.

You get down to the lobby and once more find yourself lost. You have that problem, not thinking two steps ahead. As you look around, you see the valet, Izak.

“Hi, uh, is there a restaurant around here?” You ask sheepishly.

“Yes, miss, right through there,” he points towards the rear of the lobby to a wide archway crested with a point.

You thank Izak and scurry across the lobby. You put your phone away as you enter the restaurant and a server approaches you. They ask if you want a table for one and you explain that you’re meeting your boss. She points him out and asks you if you’d like a drink. You assume you won’t be staying for dinner so you pass.

As you near his table, Mr. Fowler doesn’t look up. You stop just across from him and wring your hands. You wait for him to say something but he’s focused on the menu.

“Sorry, sir, I was just checking in–”

“Sit,” he demands.

“Right, thanks,” you sit and grip the edge of the table, “it was very busy at the airport and I had to stop on the way for your scotch–”

“But no time to bring it yourself?” He challenges as he sets the menu down, finally looking at you, “I have a colleague meeting me here shortly.” His eyes dip briefly as he eyes your blouse, “hm, you didn’t change?”

“Like I was saying, sir, I didn’t have a chance yet–”

“Undo your top button,” he waves off your excuses as he sits back and grabs the short glass of scotch in front of him.

“Sir?”

“You look like a nun,” he retorts, “just one button, sweetheart.”

You furrow your brow but pop your top button open. It doesn’t show very much but it still feels wrong. You sit back and peer around the restaurant. The din is quiet and the lightning soft and warm.

“Um, so, you want me to stay for dinner?”

“You leave when I dismiss you,” he says curtly.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” you reply.

“Stop fidgeting,” he clucks, “try to sit still.”

“Yes, sir,” your voice shrinks.

He sighs and stares at you, “smile, okay? This is an important dinner.”

“Right,” you force a smile, cheeks trembling.

All the excitement, all your former optimism, slowly slakes away. You get the churning anxiety in your stomach. The same sensation that kept you in bed a few minutes past your alarm. You’re only a few days in, you can do this.

“Fowler,” a voice booms across the restaurant as footfalls approach.

Your boss stands and you scramble to do the same. He shakes the hand of another man as you turn to face his acquaintance. It must be his aforementioned colleague.

“Hansen,” Fowler counters as their handshake becomes a battle, “about time.”

“Pfft, you were always boring. You gotta get out, buddy. Especially around here. I’ll give you a few names. There’s a sweet girl down at the spa–” the man, Hansen coughs, stopping himself midsentence as his eyes fall to you, “oh? And this is?”

“New assistant.” Fowler sits and pushes the tails of his jacket back.

You give your name as Hansen puts his hand out again. Instead of shaking yours, he takes it and kisses it in a very old-fashioned gesture, though something about his demeanour is sleazy.

“Lloyd,” he winks as he clings to your hand, “Mr. Hansen is so boring. Makes me sound like an old man.”

You smile and repeat his name.

“What happened to Bennet?” He turns and claims the third chair. You lower yourself, content to be peripheral to their reunion.

“Gone,” is all Fowler says as his eyes meet yours, “so, what’re you drinking, Hansen?”

189 notes · View notes

jolenes-doppelganger · 2 months

Note

hiii, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a continuing of your rose the hat one shot, maybe where reader pays off her debt? ;) or literally anything with rose / rebecca, i’m sooo obsessed with her and ur fic made me go feral it was amazing !!

[Hi Anon! I originally didn’t consider making a second part to the fic, (I just like the vagueness of one shots), but I am happy to write a second story involving similar themes. We’ll call it a multiverse addition. :3 Thank you for the request!]

Belligerent Collector

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader NSFW 18+

Summary: A chance meeting at a supermarket with a specialized clairvoyant brings Rose more than she could ask for. A little too much. [Shifting POVs].

Warnings: Depictions of straight sex between Rose and Crow (oral M and F receiving/giving, 69), one slap (R receiving), choking, depictions of attempted SA, overly emotional for a smut fic, lesbian smut (oral R receiving, strap on use, strap sucking R giving, forced deepthroating, Rose uses a set of vibrating panties to get off), a wee bit dub-con for good measure

A/N: Author pushes her writing boundaries in the name of character authenticity!!! No I’ve never had straight sex, no I don’t want to have straight sex, but boy oh boy, Rose has and will continue to fuck our little corvid boy, and you bet the mattress has some stories to tell. (I promise it ties in!!! It’s very brief!!!).

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in a foreign environment had always felt strange. Waking up in a foreign environment in a dream, only to wake once more in reality made realities blend together. Were you really in the rundown motor home of your Grandma’s in Dallas or were you in the divinely furnished home of some elite posing as a trailer park beauty? Then memories… Oh fuck, the memories.

“Rosie, the kid is barely even a kid, not worth eating at this point.” Crow lamented.

“Oh, for fucks sake, she’s not a kid, she’s an adult, let’s just call her that.” Rose spit back, crossing her arms over her bra covered breasts.

“Okay, fine. The adult-kid, this little overgrown shrimp, can see us coming from miles away. We wouldn’t even know about her if you hadn’t brushed her hand in a supermarket.”

Rose rolled her eyes, or more so you felt the motion of her rolling her eyes. These were her memories after all, and you were living them through her eyes.

“The rube brushed my hand, and she brushed right through my train of thought. She skimmed my mind, Crow! She skimmed my mind!”

Rose felt many things in this particular memory. Anger, a sense of deep humiliation, or more so violation. Rose felt that she had been violated by the little bitch child, a half-adult. The little half-ling had brushed her hand reaching for a lane divider for the conveyor belt of the grocery store, and had managed to skim her mind doing so. Like it hadn’t even been a forethought. She read the inner monologue of Rose the motherfucking Hat like it was as simple as brushing her hand in the first place!

“I want her dead.” Rose blurted. “Not just because she’s a little steamier than normal for her age, but because she read my mind. And now she knows who I am, she knows what I do, and she’s an adult, Crow!”

“-And since she’s an adult she has the authority and the ability to cause more problems than a kid, blah, blah, blah, I get it!” Crow cut her off.

Through Rose’s eyes, the bare-chested man was neither handsome nor appealing. He was a fucking vermin. One that had been latching on to Rose like an overgrown calf, sucking her dry; patience, charity, her damned sex drive all dried up like a desert.

“Out.”

The memory ended there, and with it came a brief reprieve, but brief. Another one of Rose’s memories slammed right into your head, the intensity of it hitting you hard. The last memory had been triggered by the touch of the sheets under your fingertips. This memory by the weight your body exerted on the mattress.

I need to breathe, oh fuck I need to breathe-

“Rosie baby, you taste so fucking good.” Crow moaned, sliding up, his dick sliding out of Rose’s mouth.

Rose sputtered, taking in mouthfuls of air. She laughed once she could, wiggling her hips enticingly. A mouth came down on her open entrance once more, tongue rolling wet circles over it; the way she liked it best. It was a 69, Rose was on the bottom because they were trying something new. Rose opened her mouth again, breathing in deep before guiding Crow’s hips down again.

The angle forced her to deepthroat him in his entirety, without exerting too much pressure on her uvula. She felt him licking and kissing her open pussy, moaning into her as she swirled her tongue at the base of his dick. It was the closest to breath play Rose was willing to go, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, jaw aching at the stretch and gag reflex struggling against her higher will, it was fun.

The memory was ripped away, and you shot up as fast as you could, desperately trying to get away from the unwelcome memories that kept springing upon you. Never before in your life had someone's memories been so vibrant, so stubborn to be heard. You felt humiliation, no, violation. These mental images springing upon you without warning, without a trigger other than touch were akin to being violated. Usually you had more control over your abilities, you didn't have the ability to so easily peruse someone's mind, but with Rose it was like you weren't even trying. Well you weren't. Clairvoyance was an entirely conscious effort, at least it always had been. But Rose? Her mind and memories jumped open. It wasn't like a book sliding off a shelf, or a book falling open, no. It was like the books were violently flying off the shelves, ripping themselves open and shoving your face into them.

"Didn't I tell you to get out already?" Rose sighed, setting the book down she'd been reading.

Andy appeared, worrying her lip like a frightened child. Well... Hadn't she been a teen? Rose couldn't remember, age was pointless anyways. Whether she was 32 or 15, she'd look young with a fresh batch of steam in her.

"But.. I thought-"

"It was a one-time thing. My man is coming home today, and I'm not in the mood to pull apart a cat fight." Rose huffed.

This was the morning after she'd turned Andy, the night after she'd eaten the little blonde's pussy again and again until the young woman's body gave up on pleasure entirely. And waking up after that power trip, that victory for the Knot, it put things into perspective. But regardless, she was being a little too harsh on the newcomer.

"Put your clothes on, and come over here."

The blonde wasn't special, like Rose thought. A glorified pillow princess. And the blonde did have an ability that would benefit the Knot, but Rose was hungry now. She'd given Andy her own damn steam, her own life force. Sure, it had been fun, but not fulfilling.

"Why?" Andy whispered, sliding into Rose's open arms.

Rose groaned, sliding her hat over her head. She had her pair of two day old panties on, nothing else. She looked good, as always, but she was tired.

"Because it just can't. It was fun, it was something we could share, but I'm not available. I can get away with one night, one little welcome for the newbie, but I can't justify more than that to my Crow Daddy." Rose sympathetically explained. "You'll find another, there's plenty of youngins in the Knot still. Silent Sarry, for one."

Andy stared down at her feet. Rose watched her large brown eyes fill up with tears. Then she jerked her head, willing them away. A tough cookie, Rose thought. She'd get over this.

"Can I hug you goodbye, at least?" Andy whispered, looking at the floor still.

Rose chuckled at this, pulling the girl in for a gentle hug, followed by the softest kiss she was capable of giving.

"There. Now chin up, go have breakfast with the others. You're True now, you're family."

As Andy gently closed the door behind her, Rose let out a soft sigh, drawing patterns over the floor with her toe.

You dropped to your knees, clutching your head. It was painful, exerting this much energy into viewing her memories, even if it was completely against your will. You'd been in and out of consciousness for... You couldn't be sure. Time had lost all meaning. You were bombarded by memories until your body succumbed to exhaustion, only to wake up and be subjected to more memories. Rose's memories.

You knew her better than yourself at this point.

"Ah, you're actually conscio-"

Rose carried the little rube to her trailer, smirking as the girl twitched spasmodically.

"Bit off more than you can chew there, huh? Too greedy? Viewed too many memories at once?" Rose taunted, watching the young woman as she continued to twitch, her eyes wildly fluttering as her eyeballs roved around beneath her closed eyelids.

"God, she's like the dying." Barry the Chunk commented.

Rose laughed at that. Her fingers were frozen in twisted shapes, like the claw of the arthritic hands of the elderly. It was nothing like Grandpa Flick's nasty rheumatoid arthritis, but it was comparable.

"Well, that's what happens when someone gets too big for her britches." Rose smirked, hauling the girl right atop her bed. "She'll stay here under my watch until she can maintain conscious-

"Oh god, make it stop!" you cried out, clutching your head as it throbbed dangerously.

You were so tired, so hungry, and thirsty beyond belief. Nothing about this place was welcoming enough to allow you even a split second of rest and relaxation. Out of the corner of your eye, a ring covered hand came forward, reaching out to touch you.

"Don't touch me!" you shouted, voice dry and ragged.

Rose raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically. It was one of the few times you'd seen her. And unlike the mirrored effect you were used to viewing her in, the only perspective of herself she had, you were looking at her in the present, through your eyes.

"So now you're calling the shots? Oh, well excuse me." Rose let out an annoyed laugh.

You were scared to breathe, waiting for another memory to suddenly implode over you, but none came.

"I just... I'm tired. And if I move, if I shift my weight over the damn floor I might get another memory."

Rose cocked a brow.

"Get another memory? What, you can sense the memory of objects?"

You hesitantly nodded. Rose let out an intrigued sniff, but that's the only reaction she gave. You had been in her head long enough to understand what her different mannerisms meant. It gave you an advantage, being able to read her so.

"So... You've been reliving whose memories?" Rose asked, brow raised in that calculating critique.

Stern, that's what she was. This was Rose being stern.

"Yours. Only yours."

Rose's nose twitched in immediate disgust and disgraced anger.

"Not by choice," you butted in, trying to calm the storm before it began to brew much farther, "I keep passing out from exhaustion because I can't figure out how to stop viewing the memories. I'm tired, I've had enough of your thoughts and memories and..."

You cut yourself off. The next words out of your mouth would have been 'hedonistic escapades', or worse, 'sexcapades'. Rose eyed you dangerously, neither really believing or listening to your plight.

"Too big for my britches, crude violator, shrimp, halfling, rube, bitch-child," you listed, "I know. And I know too much. I don't want to know, I-"

You cut yourself off, pausing before you reenacted Irina Spalko's inversed lament. This could be something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you supposed. Rose had the special, magical hat after all.

"So, what. I don't care if you do or don't want to read my thoughts-"

"Memories-"

The slap that landed across your cheeks stung, and for the first time since meeting Rose, you were stunned. Slapping someone wasn't something the woman did. She was zealously cruel, calculatingly wicked, manipulating, hateful, over-indulgent and sadistic, but the woman didn't hit people. To lose herself in such a motion would surely seem overdone, by her standards.

"Shut your mouth." Rose seethed.

It was anger. Pure, unbridled, raging fury that caused her hands to shake. You'd never gotten a memory from Rose where she was so angry. Her trailer wasn't a place where she let negative emotions hang about, and that's why it was her safe place.

"You have the audacity to interrupt me when I'm speaking to you? You've been leaching off of me for weeks while I tracked you, reading not just my thoughts, but re-living my memories, and you have the fucking gall to interrupt me?" Rose spit, hands reaching up and choking, squeezing your windpipe.

It was an ego wound, you realized. She was bitter because her ego was being trodden all over by someone who'd been in her head for as long as you had. It was simple, in essence. You knew her. Intimately. More intimately than anyone else. In all of Rose's glory and power, you were interrupting her like any other individual regardless of the fact that you knew her. Knew what she could do, knew what she was.

"I don't even want your steam anymore, I just want to watch you die."

Your stomach lurched, and a memory slammed so violently into your skull that it didn't have somewhere else to go. You grabbed onto Rose's wrists, pulling her down the rabbit hole with you.

"Fucking Rube!" Malte wheezed, hands clinging to Rose's wrists.

Rose was shaking, her hands were shaking. The man beneath her wiggled like a squirrel caught in a trap, his eyes bulging violently, the whites of them rolling wildly. Rose was scared shitless, squeezing harder on instinct, even as the man beneath her slapped at her arms, trying to pull the young teen's hands off him.

He'd tried to rape her. He'd lured her into a street corner, promising her cash if she hiked up her skirts for him. She'd agreed to do so, she needed the money to feed her family. But she'd misheard him, or more accurately, had misunderstood him. The English these American foreigners spoke didn't cling to her Irish tongue easily. That and the structure of the English language was hard. It didn't match up with her native tongue. Combined with a day working in the filthy factories of Jersey had rubbed her hands and mind raw, so "Lift your skirt" meant to quite literally lift your skirt, no other motive or hidden arrangement. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old girl, but he had been stronger. Malte, the son of the factory owner, descended from Dutch immigrants who settled in Delaware, well before it was called Delaware had his eye on her. And he'd shoved her up against the brick wall of the factory, pawing at the front of his trousers, trying to bury himself between her legs as she tried to politely get him to stop.

But Rose was tired. And there was no direct translation for 'no' in her native language, and she couldn't remember the English word for it, so all her words were mixes of jumbled Irish phrases, none of which he interpreted correctly until she struck him between the legs.

His mouth was starting to froth. And the more pressure she exerted on his neck, the more afraid she got. If she killed him, oh god, if she killed him she could ruin her own life, the life of her family. They'd starve, they'd have nothing left to eat. She reached for the first strewn article of clothing she could grab. A top hat, the expensive satin lined kind, one that could fetch enough food for her family if she sold it. Food, eat, live long, stay young... Eat well, live long, stay young...

<------------->

Rose was crying. Sobbing like a fourteen-year-old child all over again. And the body underneath her was seizing, twitching and letting out garbled sounds. Rose grabbed the body, hugging it to her chest with possessive neediness. She needed physical contact, she needed that reassurance. The memory viewing had ended there, but Rose's memories filled in afterwards. She'd run home, falling into her overburdened mother's arms, sobbing and whimpering like her infant brother, still latched on her mother's breast. Her father had been furious, her mother scared. They were all scared in the perpetual twilight of Rose's memory.

Malte had never pressed charges. Whether it was pride or some other vice that compelled him to stay silent about the assault, he never did speak a word of it to anyone. But Rose found that her hours were cut back, her position was regularly filled before she had made it to her station. She looked for other work, worrying over the little bump that grew inside her mother. Worrying about food, about money, about the things that they needed to stay alive, let alone stock up to build their American dream.

"Tá brón orm." she sobbed into the girl's hair. "I'm sorry." she repeated.

Because Rose wasn't holding the rube girl anymore, she was holding a mirror of her younger self.

<------------>

Waking up for the upteenth time was more exhausting than being awake itself. Your head swum with too many thoughts, the mind's way of catching up after being unconscious. Someone was petting your hair, little strokes and teases that pulled at your scalp menacingly.

"We have a debt." Rose murmured. "My people are hungry, and they're going to go hungry because you're not on the menu any longer."

Her words rolled over your head in weary waves, peddling meanings over the valleys of your brain until they slowly sunk in, stringing together cohesive ideas once more.

"And why does that mean I have a debt with you?"

Rose gave the hairs at your scalp a tug, raising an eyebrow as she looked at you seriously.

"Because what I say goes, honey pie."

You closed your eyes, nodding in defeat. The light hurt, everything hurt.

"Got any more memories to view? I have millions, my mind is a cathedral."

You fought back the urge to mouth the words along with her. You knew her little cliches too well.

"I don't think so. The last memory was pushing others out of the way until it could be seen."

The logic behind that theory was imbued with a hidden clarity that had come from somewhere in your unconscious mind. The memories would stop jumping in front of your eyes again.

"Okay, well, you owe me. I'm keeping you alive because you're useful. Clairvoyance is a gift, we don't have a lot of True with such wide sensors as you."

Leaning forward felt like the next best thing with your head throbbing so violently. A soft little 'mmph' left your lips as you did so.

"You're not listening..." Rose said in sing-song fashion.

"Brain hurts."

Rose snorted at this.

"So eloquent. Truly, you should write novels with your linguistic prowess."

You let out another grunt in response.

"Its like talking to a caveman." Rose muttered.

She brought a cup of something to your lips. Tea. You drank it, not really caring that it was lukewarm and half full. It was liquid.

"Not picky. I'll add that to your list of positives."

You eyed her wearily.

"And let me guess, all the negatives include the fantasies of me you can't have because I know you too well."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, momentarily stunned.

"Well. I do have plans for you in the physical department. Crow and I are fizzling out, it might be time to break in a new lover."

She said it so confidently, in a fashion that made it almost unbearably flirtatious.

"You're wondering how good my head game is."

Rose laughed, a stunned kind of bark that caused her chest to jiggle, the swell of her breasts unencumbered beneath her t-shirt.

"Oh god, you're hysterical. I mean yes, but you make me sound so blunt. So, collected." Rose snickered. "I can be blunt, and I certainly try to be..."

Rose trailed off, eyeing you carefully.

"Kiss me."

It was a command that cut through your tired brain. She caught your head as you leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. Rose pulled away after the short kiss, seemingly a little vexed by something.

"How much... How much experience do you have? You kiss like a petrified boy."

You blushed profusely, even though embarrassment in your exhausted state was difficult to even feel.

"I'm tired. Not in the mood."

Rose sighed, nodding at that statement.

"Fine. We'll nurse you back to health before the turn, get you all spick and span. But right before then... You and I are going to sort out this little debt situation we have going on. And then we'll see if you survive the turn."

The thought made your stomach queasy. You were between hell and a hard place. Become like her or die.

"What if I'd prefer being on the menu?"

"Not a lesbo?" Rose teased.

"Not a child eater."

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning in closer as she gripped your hips tight. She kissed your neck chastely.

"Eat well, live long, stay young."

You found yourself looking up at the ceiling, almost willing another memory to intrude, an excuse to pull away from this aggravating situation, but nothing.

"I'd like the luxury of just being normal."

Rose laughed at this, a genuine laugh.

"Whoever told you reading minds was normal. God, you're positively hysterical. I want to make a miniature you and stick her in my hat."

You crossed your arms, perusing the trailer for any signs of food, like a mouse. A little mouse caught in the cat's trap.

"I'll feed you, but first you need to give me a proper kiss." Rose whispered, breath tickling your earlobe.

As if you had anything on your mind other than food. Rose was pushing at your boundaries, playing with you and molding you into a state somewhere between desperate and stubbornly defiant. You leaned in, but you paused. You were coming on too strong. This needed to be natural, not forced. But it was forced, that was the paradox. Leaning in again, slowly, you met her grey eyes, taking a deep breath in. Your hands you drew up to her face, thumbs gently rubbing over the hollow of her cheeks. Rose leaned in, eyeing you with predatory intent.

"Good." she whispered. "You're getting somewhere."

You leaned in even further, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her lip, catching her gaze with hers. It was a game of both movement and eye-lines. Each of you would rove your eyes up and down the other, trying to catch the opponent in the act, making that split second of contact before drawing away to brush noses, to shift grip slightly. You weren't kissing yet, no, this was all about will. Who could tempt the other into making the first move.

"I believe I asked you to give me a kiss." Rose whispered, growing a bit bored of the game.

The softest brush of your lips over hers, making that eye-contact.

"Is that what you want?" you asked.

Rose's eyebrow quirked, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in response. The kiss wasn't as soft as you would have made it had you been administering the kiss. Rose kept you steady with a hand on your hip, a hand in your hair, her mouth occupied with yours. You forced yourself to be more engaged, even with how hungry and weak you felt. She tasted of mint tea, an undercurrent of something sour clinging to the edge of your tastebuds. It was the product of your clairvoyance, surely. Rose didn't taste quite right, a fact that lingered in the peripherals of your thoughts as you leaned into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment, seemingly amused.

"You're so chaste with your kisses. Or perhaps neat is the correct word. It's entertaining to see you so careful and focused."

Rose leaned back, dropping her hands. She easily maneuvered you out of her way, walking towards a fridge on the side of her camper. She wasn't wearing any pants, just too tight lacy panties. Her long legs were on full display, bare feet padding across her wooden floors. Her motions were all so elegantly careless, like she didn't much care what kind of gesture she made, so much as things landed in their respective places.

"Eggs alright with you?" she sighed.

"Yes, thank you."

Rose hummed in reply, starting up her gas powered stove top. She cracked open three eggs, reaching into the fridge for chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits. It smelled good.

"You're pale, drink this."

A glass of orange juice appeared in front of you, and Rose looked down at you with some amusement.

"Like a startled lamb, freezing up in front of a newcomer." she laughed.

You drank the juice, grateful for the liquid. You weren't really paying attention to where your eyes rested as you drank, you were too tired to focus on much else other than the motion of your throat as you drank down the juice.

"I look that good do I?" Rose teased, grabbing your chin and angling it up.

You'd been staring at her upper thighs. Being so tall, Rose's legs filled much of your central and peripheral vision as you spaced out. The couch was low to the ground, and her stance gave a clear view of her inner thighs and the patch of dark hair that clung around her bikini line.

"Sorry, spaced out." you blushed, face going hot with the weight of your embarrassment.

Rose chuckled, squishing your face in soft teasing. She took the glass out of your hand, returning to the stove top. She came back with three eggs piled with cheese, chives and bacon. An American breakfast classic. You ate quickly, and the miserable tightness of your stomach gradually subsided.

"Perhaps you'd like to lay down on the bed and take a nap." Rose suggested.

You nearly choked on your bite of egg. The memory and the feeling of being forcefully deepthroated through Rose's eyes still clung to the back of your mind.

"Uhh, no. Not the bed. Couch is fine."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking away the plate of food you were still working on.

"Why? My hedonistic escapades still haunt you?" Rose threw your earlier internal monologue right back at you. "My sexcapades?"

You looked up at her in pure disbelief and jaded embarrassment. Rose wore a shit eating grin, leaning in as she grabbed your chin.

"Poor thing, thought you were the only one with the ability to skim someone's foremost thoughts, huh?" Rose cooed. "Maybe that's what we'll do.. Re-enact that little fixation of yours, get it out of your system."

You found yourself shaking your head and stuttering, hands searching for something to grab onto.

"Mhm, oh you're getting all flustered just thinking about it." Rose grinned cruelly, pulling you up to her feet. "What a perfect way to settle our debt, huh? We'll re-enact one of the memories you collected."

This time, you ardently shook your head, getting over your momentary bout of shyness.

"No, I didn't have control over what I was seeing, I didn't want to-"

"Shush, honey pie." Rose cut you off, pushing you to sit on the bed. "It'll be fun, we'll go slow-ish."

Rose stretched, settling on the bed beside you. She dusted off her hat, gingerly setting it off to the side. Hands looped around your waist, drawing you in.

"You'll like it, I promise." Rose whispered, leaning in to nip at your jaw and ear.

As she placed little love bites over your face and neck, her hands massaged slow patterns on your waist and back. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into her little nips and kisses.

"There you go, warming up to me perfectly." Rose cooed. "Touch me."

Your hands obeyed, cupping her lower face and neck. She placed a slow kiss in the crook between your jaw and neck, opening her lips to suck softly at the skin there. A soft moan broke out of your throat, to which Rose replied with her own throaty hum. One of your legs crept up to straddle her, and a hand from your waist quickly caught your leg, aiding the motion.

"Oh, good girl." Rose whispered. "Warming up nicely."

You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against hers. Her lips caught yours in a kiss, her tongue sliding out to caress your lip. You met her tongue with yours the longer the kiss went on, teasing her with your tongue. Rose's hands slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass and massaging slowly. You moaned immediately, allowing Rose to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your hands were in her hair, playing with the half-braided strands that clung to the base of her scalp.

"Ready for more?" Rose rasped, one hand gripping your rear, the other drawing patterns down your spine.

"Yes." you found yourself saying.

Rose pulled off her top, freeing her breasts entirely. She brought your hands to them, biting her lip playfully.

"Touch, squeeze."

You did as she asked, to which she rewarded you with a sinfully teasing kiss.

"Lay down, top off."

You did as directed, pulling off your shirt, and the loose sports bra she'd found you in. Rose rummaged around in a drawer near the bedside for a moment, grabbing several Items. You watched as she slipped off her underwear, pulling a plain looking black set over her thighs again. A remote, which she clicked just twice. Rose bit her lip immediately, wiggling her hips a few times. A fake dick, a harness. You blushed as you realized just what she was going to do.

"I've never... I can't suck dick." you blurted out.

Rose laughed, sliding the harness over her hips.

"Too bad. You're gonna. And if you leave teeth marks on my nice silicone cock I'll throttle you."

Rose settled between your thighs, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one motion. She spread your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your inner labia. Taking a moment to gather saliva in her mouth, Rose leaned down, spitting on your red, erected clit.

"There's something you can focus on while I stretch your throat."

Rose crawled over you in a traditional 69, slapping the silicone dick on your chin.

"Open."

You could see the soft blur of the panties as they vibrated, producing a noticeable wet spot on the black fabric. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you were careful not to graze the silicone with your teeth. The saliva Rose had placed on your clit slowly began to drip down and cool, producing a maddening sensation. Leaning forward all the way, Rose propped herself up on her elbows, holding your thighs open.

"Breathe through your nose, deep breath, now relax."

Rose pushed her hips down, forcing the silicone past your molars, past your uvula and down into the hollow space of your throat. You gagged, grabbing at her hips and thighs, desperately trying to push away the weight on your head that bore down. Rose laughed as she heard you gag and choke, letting up after fifteen seconds. You sputtered, nose running and eyes blurry with tears.

"Catch your breath, I'll give you fifteen."

Fifteen seconds felt more like five, and the silicone was back down, further this time. You couldn't breathe through your nose, and the burn of your lungs mixed with the stretch of your throat was both terrifying and maddeningly difficult to get away from. Rose let up after a moment, and you were quick to breathe in through your nose, filling your lungs as rapidly as you could, exhaling shortly thereafter. The next time, you breathed in through your nose as the dick slid down your throat, forcing the muscles of your throat to relax. Rose hummed in approval, pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Good girl. Now I'm going to rock. If you absolutely cannot manage to get any air in, two taps to my hips, got it?"

Rose didn't wait for you to make any sort of noise or gesture in understanding, she just undulated her hips slowly. You exhaled with every thrust out, inhaling as she thrust in. Your lungs slowly began to accommodate the lack of air, your throat muscles relaxing. Rose kissed your clit again, humming carefully as she rolled her tongue in slow circles over your clit. You found yourself getting the hang of things, more focused on the sensations between your legs than the burn of your throat. Rose's own stimulation was heightened by the pull and stretch of the vibrating panties that shifted with every movement of her hips. You moaned as she licked down into your entrance, and Rose let out a breathy hum in response.

Her mouth settled at your entrance, licking and probing gently. You gripped her hips, helping to support her thrusts. Overtime, your nose brushed her clothed clit as the base of the strap met your lips, adding direct pressure to the vibrating panties. Rose moaned loudly at this sensation, fervently kissing and licking your open pussy. Your lower abdominal muscles coiled rapidly, and by the way Rose was growing sloppy with her thrusts, she must have also been close.

Warm tingles slid up your spine as you climaxed, and your moans were muffled by the strap. Rose slipped the silicone dick out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp and moan through your orgasm without threat of suffocation. Still relatively aware, you had the forethought to find her clit through the panties and rub circles over the vibrating fabric. Rose let out a series of breathy whimpers, pushing her hips back into your thumb until she too climaxed. In need of a place to rest her weary hips, Rose sat back, resting on your face. A mouthful of panty-clad pussy and an eye-full of ass was all you knew for a good fifteen seconds.

"Fine then." Rose sighed, sliding off of you after you tapped the side of her ass twice.

Rose looked down, eyeing your puffy, tear and snot covered face. She smirked, reaching for something on her bedside table. A polaroid camera, one that had to be from the 90s. She snapped a photo of your frazzled state, taking out the photo produced and grabbing a pen.

"What shall we name this one? 'Belligerent collector', perhaps."

Rose gave an evil grin, sliding off the vibrating panties and casting them aside. She swung one of her legs over your face, angling her still wet core over your mouth. Another snap of the camera, capturing your mortified eyes as your mouth was obscured by her vulva.

"And this one we'll title 'debt settled'."

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