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bucketsofmonsters · 1 year

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The Witch’s Apprentice - Part 4

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You woke up wrapped in Lucien’s arms, his tail coiled up your leg.

You couldn’t get up if you wanted to. Not only were you trapped by a cuddly demon, your exhaustion was overtaking you. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead and your brain was attempting to lull you right back to sleep. You were convinced you could sleep here forever if you allowed yourself to.

Which was exactly why you needed to get up. This place was dangerous, you couldn’t let yourself get too comfortable and completely succumb to it.

As you started to rise, the demons arms around you tightened, pulling you closer to him.

“Lucien,” you tried to call out but your face was smashed into his chest and instead it came out as an incomprehensible mumble.

It was still enough to wake him, his grip on you loosening as he came to.

You slipped out of his grasp, although his tail followed you to your new position standing beside him, curling right back up your leg.

He looked up at you with a smile. “What are you doing up so early?”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. Maybe fifteen hours.”

Your eyes widened. “Fifteen hours?”

“Relax, you needed the sleep. I wouldn’t have let you sleep forever, I only do that to the annoying ones.”

“Glad to know I was in such safe hands,” you said with a roll of your eyes and a playful smile.

You looked back at him expecting to see that same wry smile as always on his face but instead his face had gone stony, his eyes darkening.

“You have a decision to make,” he said, all the teasing gone from his voice as he rose to his feet, towering above you.

His black eyes bored into you, asking you to make a choice about something, what it was you weren’t sure.

“I don’t understand,” you said, searching for clues in his face but it looked nothing other than weathered and exhausted.

“I’m being summoned. Time plays differently here but I can only stretch away from it for so long. So, what will it be?”

It didn’t feel like much of a decision at all.

“Well, that means I’m going back. Of course I’m going back, what else would I do?”

“You could go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but there.” His voice was low and breathy, almost sounding as if he was pleading with you.

“She’s my friend. That’s my home.”

“It’s your prison. You're free now, you’re out and you’re asking to go back.” His voice increased in volume as he spoke, hints of anger tinging his words.

“Just because it is your prison does not mean it is mine. I want to go home.”

Creases formed between his brows and you couldn’t tell if they were from worry or anger. “And if I won’t take you?”

You reeled back at the suggestion, a bolt of fear running through you.

You tried desperately to put more force behind your words, needing him to listen to you. “Take me back. Now.”

In the back of your mind you were terrified that he'd leave you, that the unthinkable would happen and you’d be locked away from Eden forever.

He wasn’t surprised by your response. You could tell that much. If anything he looked overcome with dread,

“Don’t say I didn’t try.”

His hand wrapped around your arm and suddenly you too could feel a distant tug pulling at the both of you.

Without the adrenaline running through you this time, you got to actually see the change happen. The room around you faded away slowly, like a mirage you’d gotten a little too close to.

For a second you were nowhere. You didn’t even see black, just true nothing in all directions. Your stomach flipped and you leaned closer to Lucien, part of you terrified of being trapped in this void.

And then everything faded back in and you were confronted with a familiar face.

The second Eden laid eyes on you she grabbed your arm and yanked you out of the circle. You looked back apologetically at Lucien, the treatment feeling absurd after everything he’d done for you.

Lucien’s gaze had hardened once more as he looked down at your witch.

Eden’s focus wasn’t on him at all. Her eyes raked over your body, nails digging into the skin of your arm, like she was afraid you might slip away. Or maybe like she was afraid you might step back once more, back over the line she'd just pulled you from.

“Are you hurt?” she asked frantically. “Did he hurt you?”

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky and guilt pierced through you. You’d been off fucking around with your new favorite demon and she’s been panicking. You wondered how long she’d been like this, what she thought had happened to you.

You pushed past her iron grip, throwing yourself towards her, arms wrapping tightly around her midsection. You buried your head in her neck, her familiar scent bringing waves of comfort to you.

Her arms hesitantly wrapped gently around you but you could tell she was still looking up at him.

As soon as your embrace loosened she pulled you behind her, putting herself between you and Lucien. Ultimately it was a futile gesture, he couldn’t reach either of you out here, but it seemed almost instinctive. She just wanted to put a barrier between the two of you and as much as you’d grown to trust Lucien, it made your heart swell. It awoke some unquenchable instinct, to throw yourself into danger to see if she’d come running.

But there were more important things to attend to. You glanced around at the undamaged cabin, looking exactly as you’d left it. The only change was the new summoning circle beside the old one you’d broken.

“You’re alright?” you asked. “They didn’t hurt you.”

Now that she had established that you were safe, she seemed uninterested in engaging with you. The question was ignored in favor of turning toward Lucian.

“You’re a despicable man,” she said with a sneer. “What did you even gain? They’ve done nothing to you.”

“You don’t understand,” you insisted, trying to get through to her. “He saved me.”

She regarded him with no less disdain at your declaration of what he’d done for you.

You butted in once more, refusing to back down, not this time. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I owe him my life.”

Eden snapped, her head turning towards you as she stopped ignoring you. “We cannot do this right now, not in front of him.”

“When else? You said all he wanted was to hurt us and he saved me, how is that not substantial to you.”

“He did not save you,” she shouted.

You drew back at her harsh words. “What? No, he did. I don’t know what happened here but…”

“How many times have I warned you about demon trickery? This is exactly why I wanted to be there, why you two never should have been alone. How long did it take before he managed to make you break the circle.”

“He didn’t make me do anything, he protected me!”

“There was no threat. This was all a mistake, I never should have shown you all of this, you’re not built for it. Trusting you with it was a mistake, I’ve gone soft on you.”

“You’re wrong,” you insisted, eyes flicking to Lucien looking for help. He stared back silently, watching you from the sidelines.

“Am I? Then why was there no one here when I returned?” Eden asked. “Why did this dangerous threat do nothing to the cabin? What explanation do you have other than what is right in front of you, what you refuse to see because your heart is bigger than your head.”

“To what end?” you insisted, refusing to back down on the issue. You were not the fool here. There were gaps in what happened, sure, but her story was not flawless either. “He’s done nothing to me. He created a ploy to what, keep me safe and bring me back unscathed?”

She scoffed. “I don’t pretend to understand the machinations of demons. But neither, frankly, do you. At least one of us understands that.”

“You’re wrong.” It didn’t make sense, it was based on nothing but faux ideas of monsters and you wouldn’t stand for it. Not when he’d just saved your life.

Lucien chose that moment to butt in. “She’s really not.”

Eden looked up at Lucien with wide eyes, seemingly wondering how things had gone so badly that she was on the same side as a demon.

Both turned against you, despite everything.

When Eden turned back to you she looked a little sick, less confident than you’d ever seen her before. “You’ve done so poorly you turned a demon honest. I would be impressed if I weren’t so disappointed.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He was kind, he didn’t hurt me.”

“All in service of some greater plan, I’m sure. You’ve heard it from his own mouth now, surely you don’t need any more hand-holding. The truth is right in front of you.”

“But then why would he tell me?” Your eyes flicked up towards the demon, the one you’d put all of your trust in for days. “Why would you…” You trailed off, dread pooling in your gut, a sickening bile of betrayal bubbling up inside of you.

Lucien refused to meet your gaze, his face stony and unreadable. You wouldn’t have noticed so much if it hadn’t been such a shift from what he’d begun to show you.

But maybe those emotions were fake too, another performance he was putting on. Another trick you were too stupid to see through.

You’d been wrong, dangerously wrong. You couldn’t trust your judgment anymore, never should have in the first place, it seemed.

Eden seemed to take your silence as acceptance, quickly sending Lucien away,

The second he disappeared she turned to you, some of that manic energy from when you’d first returned appearing back in her face. It seemed she’d been hiding it from him, keeping it just under the surface.

Both of them seemed so good at their faux emotions, Eden’s confidence, Lucien's performance as your rescuer. Maybe this was a skill you were supposed to have, maybe you were the odd one out.

Eden’s hands gripped your shoulders, fingernails digging into your skin once more, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“What did he say to you, how badly did he get through to you? He’ll try to lead you astray, to put you in harm's path. He’s a liar, you can’t believe him.”

“He didn’t say anything, he was just… nice.” And he had been. You couldn’t see the signs of this scheme that they both seemed so convinced were obvious.

You could tell Eden didn’t believe you. She rarely did even before all of this, you knew it would be a long long time before she ever did again.

The pressure of her nails subsided, leaving a dull ache of pain where their imprints remained on your skin.

She pulled you along a familiar hall and you didn’t put up a fight, still caught up in trying to make sense of everything.

You barely realized what was happening until she was guiding you to sit on your bed, pushing your hair away from your face and looking down at you with sad eyes.

“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I should’ve known not to let you near all this.

The reassuring graze of her fingers against your cheek faded and you heard the lock on your door click.

“It will stay this way until you show a sense of self-preservation, alright?” she called through the door. “I will permit a lot of things but I will not allow you to hurt yourself.”

You collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh and heard her walk away, not waiting for an answer.

With nothing better to do with your time, you ran through it in your head over and over and over again. Hours passed and you just lay there, turning the events over in your mind.

The signs they’d both pointed to didn’t track, they didn't lead to anything. You couldn’t combine them to a point where they would make sense. If this was a trick, why had he told you the truth when you’d been so convinced? If it was to harm you or Eden why did he keep you safe in his home and bring you back here? You might not have been the best bargaining chip but you would be a good piece of leverage against her and instead here you were, locked back in your room, where you are no longer useful to him.

None of it made sense.

Right up until you stopped thinking about him as Eden’s type of demon, an unthinking force of evil trying to do as much damage as possible.

Because there wasn’t any other perspective you could see. He didn’t hurt you because he didn’t want to. He didn’t hurt you because he saw someone who was scared and alone and couldn’t help himself, just like Eden had done when she found you all alone in the woods all those years ago. He didn’t hurt you because, as much as he might protest, some part of him cared.

And, once more, he wouldn’t hurt you.

You were betting your life on it.

You didn’t have the materials for a summoning circle in your room but it didn’t matter. All you needed to be able to do was get him in here, you didn’t need protection from him.

Honestly, you didn’t want the protection. You were convinced that the warding gave him something to hide behind. As long as he was locked in there, he could claim that he was a monster, that he would hurt you given the chance.

Take that away and you’d find out what he would really do, one way or another.

The summoning spell wasn’t long. All you needed to get him here were the words, everything else was to keep you safe or to keep him bound.

The second he saw you, his eyes widened. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you smiled softly up at him, giving him a little wave.

He did not wave in return.

His gaze dropped slowly to the floor, staring blankly as the seconds ticked by. He seemed baffled by the blank floor beneath him, trying to comprehend what could possibly be happening as you waited patiently for him to react.

Finally, his gaze rose to meet yours once more.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Genuinely, what is wrong with you? It's not a rhetorical question, I would love an answer.”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure. You should ask my witch, she’s got some theories.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he insisted and you couldn’t help but think that he and Eden might actually get along if it weren’t for the fact he was a demon. They seemed to have a lot of similar ideas.

“Well, nothing has happened yet. Do you intend on killing me?”

“I could do anything to you, you couldn’t stop me.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The longer this went on, the more relaxed you became. This man had no intention of hurting you, that much was more than clear.

“I should kill you right now,” he said with a growl, one that you didn’t even have it in you to pretend you found frightening. The both of you had long since passed that point.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a demon. That’s what we do.”

“And yet here we are and I remain unharmed. So it seems demons are more complicated than that. Either that or you’re a shitty demon.”

He couldn’t seem to fight back a smile at that. “Yeah, well you’re a shitty witch.”

“I’m not a witch. A witch-in-training at most, although something tells me the training is not going to happen again for a very long time.”

“My bad,” he said, and you could almost detect a hint of sheepishness in his tone.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you said leaning forwards towards him from your seat on the bed.

His head cocked to the side. “And how is that?”

“Tell me why you did it.”

He groaned. “You and your why’s. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll give it a shot then. Do you know what I think? I think you never imagined I’d break that warding. You were just trying to scare me or prove some point about me or whatever and then I broke the warding and you didn’t know what to do. I think I ruined your little plan and when confronted with someone who was scared and who trusted you, you helped them. Who wouldn’t?”

“Cute little story you’ve spun yourself.”

You shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

“You would’ve created a commotion to scare the shit out of a witch-in-training?”

“No, but testing someone? Trying to prove the very worst? Seeing when push comes to shove, what will people do? That’s not demon scheming.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s really not. Seems more insecure than anything.”

That got a real hearty laugh out of him. “Oh, does it now?”

“At least that’s what my witch says when I do it. Do little tests and push at things to see if she trusts me. I mean, I’ve never made her fear for her life but she’s never trapped me and made me do anything so I think we have different levels of frustration.”

“She doesn’t believe in you,” he observed and you wondered if he was just now coming to understand that.

You rolled your eyes. “Who would?”

The question hung in the air and you could feel him waiting, wondering if he should answer it.

You took the choice away from him, asking a question of your own in return. “When was the last time a human trusted you?”

“A long, long time ago, little one. Not to say I haven’t earned my reputation.”

“I don’t know. You seem pretty trustworthy to me.”

“You’d be surprised.” He looked down at the bare floor below him once more. “You know, there’s nothing stopping me anymore. I could take you away, let you leave this place.”

That caught you by surprise. “What? No, I… I can’t”

“Why? Because of the woods? I could take you right past them. There’s no way you’ve never wanted to leave. Come on, I could even take you back after, you don’t have to be imprisoned here.”

“This is my home,” you insisted.

“What the fuck has she done to you? You could leave, right now, go anywhere. I’m offering you the world, one trip, no fees, no fine print. I never do that, you’d be a fool to refuse it.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me. She just wants to keep me safe.” At the end of the day, it always came back to this with the two of you, Eden forever being the wedge between you.

“The little warden has you playing good little prisoner. I’m honestly impressed. And they call me manipulative.”

“Stop it. I know she’s wronged you but-”

“But? There is not but. She is a monster and you’re trapped in her web just as much as I am.”

“She is a good person.”

“Maybe you’re too far gone. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you said.

He opened his mouth to insist you did or tell you once more how much of a monster your savior was but you dismissed him before he had the chance.

Without the warding, he could have stayed. He could have clung to this plane easily but he let you push him away and once more you were locked alone in your room.

It took a long time to fall asleep. Your conversation with Lucien kept swimming around and around in your head.

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of you and your room faded away to another familiar place.

It hadn’t even been a full day since you’d left and Lucien’s room was just as vivid as when you’d been standing in it.

He was there too, looking down at you with that hungry look he’d gotten in his eyes on occasion, when he thought you weren’t looking.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, walking over towards you, his hand moving under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “It gets boring around here without you, I could always use a sweet little thing to play with.”

Your face warmed and you managed to stutter out, “I… uh…”

You heard a chuckle from behind you and dream Lucien dissipated in a puff of smoke as you stiffened.

You whipped around to see Lucien again, a notably more real one, leaning against the wall. “Pity. I wanted to see what happened next.

Your face burned, glad dream Lucien left before he could do anything particularly embarrassing.

You folded your arms with a huff. “Are you just going to invade all of my dreams now?”

“Maybe. If they’re all as fun as this one was gearing up to be then you can sign me up.”

You clamored for a retort but came up empty, ending up just sputtering and then staring at him all while feeling as if your cheeks might melt and your heart might beat its way right out of your chest.

He chucked again. “Relax. It’s sweet. Next time I’ll try and come in later, you could use some stress relief.”

You might actually spontaneously combust. “Please say you came for some reason other than to embarrass me,” you pleaded.

He shrugged. “Just came to talk. Embarrassing you was an unexpected bonus.”

Next time you saw him in the non-dream world you were going to throw something at him.

“Talk about what?” you asked, desperately trying to change the topic.

“We ended on bad terms earlier.”

Oh. That. You’d almost prefer he keep on humiliating you.

“Did you come to apologize?” you asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

But nothing could ever be simple with him.

“You know,” he said, “there’s lots of different reactions demons have when humans summon them, trap them, make them do their bidding, all that nasty business. Some get violent, some get tricky, some have given up and are just filled with despair, following along until they’re finally free. There’s no right reaction to this sort of thing, not really. But there’s one kind that we all hate, the real traitors. Because sometimes there is no fighting back, no despair. Sometimes they just happily fall in line. It’s certainly safer that way, I can’t fault anyone for listening, but to do it happily? And sometimes, eventually, they don’t even need to be forced. They just go along with it, anything for their little masters.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. I won’t push too hard, you’re clearly not ready for that, but you witch is a very, very bad person.”

“She just doesn’t understand you. I’ll make her understand.”

“At least you're going to try. That’s something.” He spoke with a halfhearted smile, his mind clearly elsewhere. You wished more than anything you could read him, that you could understand what was going on in his head.

“Of course I am. And she will understand, I’ll make her see that you’re not a threat, that she shouldn't be summoning you.”

The sadness written across his face was clear, with hunched shoulders and a furrowed brow betraying him as he stared down at you.

Finally, after staring intently at you, contemplating something as he mulled over your words, he said,“Thyme.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have enough thyme. That’s how I can get in here. Most witches use way more than necessary just in case but you tried to make it exact and it fucked you over.”

“Oh. I didn’t want to use more of my witch’s stash than I had to.”

“One of these days someone crueler than me is going to come along and that mindset is going to get you hurt.”

“I’ve been fine so far. Why did you tell me, if I fix it you can’t get into my head anymore.”

He shrugged. “Figure it out.”

“Is it an apology or another trick”

“What do you think,” he asked with a smile. He enjoyed this, giving you little pieces of information and seeing what you’d do with them.

“An apology,” you decided.

“Your witch would call that foolish,” he informed you, as if you weren’t already intimately familiar with the idea.

“She already calls me foolish, might as well trust my instincts if it’s going to happen anyways.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’m so good-intentioned.”

You laughed. “Yeah, because you’ve been so cruel to me”

“I tricked you,” he reminded you, as if it had just slipped your mind.

“And then you took care of me when I proved you wrong.”

“An outlier. You caught me off guard.”

“How?”

“Because you fell for my trick.”

“Oh, is that so? Maybe your expectations of me were too high. Do you think me foolish now too?”

“Maybe. I’m not entirely sure what to think of you.”

The room snapped out of existence as you woke with a jolt at Eden banging at your door, some food having already been slipped underneath it. You considered asking her to bring you more thyme but thought better of it. You didn’t think you’d be needing it anytime soon.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #Sorry I was on a sort of unplanned hiatus for a bit guys #I am back now #also would you believe me if I told you I didn't see the garden of eden metaphor in this until someone pointed it out to me #incredible things our subconscious can do #Especially when you were raised catholic lmao #I was having issues writing this so I went with the tried and true write it like a script #and then add dialogue tags and description until it works lol

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

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