#freeze brand obviously i don't like hot iron branding

[sheepdogsandsidesaddle]

When I start breeding horses, everything I produce is getting my ranch brand and an old-style arabian registry brand on the neck. I'm so tired of nice horses getting dumped at auction paperless with no way of know who they are or where they came from. Makes me just so sad.

[fatuilady]

— 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. (NSFW)

✦ word count : 1.7𝐤

✦ feat : 𝐆𝐍 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 , [𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭] 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

✦ cw : 𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 , 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 , 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥 , 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 , 𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 , 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 :

— a certain fatui member is insistent that those of his level of importance don't have time to spare to waste on crying. little did he know, his rival intended to take him up on his statement all with the intent to conclude just exactly how much it takes to make a harbinger cry.

'Harbingers don't cry. It's below somebody of my position.'

The fatui's most valued redhead wore his confidence through his infamous, upturned smirk. He held his relaxed arms knotted together in definite security, crossed against his chest as he lifted his chin to further assert his prior statement. Though he spoke in a self-assured tonality, cockiness resonated in his ultimatum.

It was surely said to coax a remark from you, it was too obviously laced with brimming arrogance to not be some form of verbal mouse trap. It was amusing, how he attempted to retain his mirage of false strength.

'Is that so?'

You pursed your lips, allowing him to add to his curiously delusive ideology. His impudence was mildly beguiled and for the first instance in the whole of your passive-aggressive rivalry, his nerve began to agitate every one of yours. Challenging him with a simple three-part chuckle, you observed him as he shifted his posture. Just how much would it take to change his thesis?

'Tears come from weakness, something that I refuse to display.'

On it's own, it was a rather insensitive statement, considering he was by no means unshakeable. You both knew very well that he was going to contradict himself strongly in due time.

He was going to eat those words.

And he was going to like it.

You tied each finger into the auburn wefts atop his head, stray hints of frustration collecting together as he writhes, shifting and squirming. It was something you had discovered in the moment: he was incredibly hair sensitive. The way your nails dug into his tender scalp, pulling on every fibre sent electrical pulses through his skin.

Tugging sharply, you craned his head to the left. From such stark force, he stumbled, both on his feet and on a choked out groan. It was laughable, how quickly the tables turned at your hands.

'Harbingers don't cry?'

His previously smirking lip now quivered as you projected your words right into his ear. Admittedly, he made his statement with an absent mind. Would he have expected such a one-dimensional outlook would leave him back exposed, red-kneed as his rivalling other half forced each of his four limbs into the hardwood?

Would he have expected to warm up so easily to the situation?

No, but it was more likely than he thought.

You alleviated your grip on his hair, consequently dropping him onto his palms. He flinched once more as his forearms quaked, barely able to support the weight of your hefty boot on his lower back. He should have been thankful you blessed him with permission to keep his pants, however the elemental energy you emanated stung his bare back, torturing him as he shivered with anticipation.

'Pathetic, really.'

With utmost care, he peeked behind him through the space between his quivering forelimbs.

Childe's usual front, being the fatui's most infamous prodigy, didn't allow him to show any sign of submissiveness, however, what he saw flushed him with a feeling he'd never even considered before. It was one of desperation.

One of want.

One of need.

A critical shadow cut across your face, cast sinisterly over your newfound sadistic smile. It bore into him, made him feel queasy, weak at the joints. It was wrong for him to feel excitement prickle upon seeing you assert him in such a way. It was wrong for him to betray the very rules of his nation in the name of his own masochistic desire. It was wrong for him to want to brand the outlines of your sick face into his mind with a hot iron. It was wrong for him to indulge in the very actions he enjoyed inflicting on others.

Yet, it felt right to entertain them.

It felt right to submit and toss the coin to it's most opposite face.

It felt all too right to fall prey to his feral instincts.

'P-please...'

The address was barely audible in ordinary circumstances, but in a barren room, it was alarmingly loud. So loud that Childe couldn't recognise his own voice. It was subordinate, faltering and breaking apart with every syllable. The eleventh harbinger had never uttered such a word in his life; it was an address to a superior, something someone of his recognised status would never dream of choking out underneath someone he held such strong taunting against.

You caught ear of what he uttered, much to his controversial dismay. It was indeed a delight to hear on your part. Pressing your boot further into the base of his spine, you revelled in his weary whimpers. For such an accomplished warrior, he seemed particularly weak to human touch. Perhaps it was a double-edged blade, performing so well that no opponent could touch him also meant that in this irregular instance, he upheld the resistance of a flimsy piece of parchment when it came to withstanding another's force. Entertaining this now obvious forbidden fantasy of his, you unsheathed one of the two foils, a particular favourite from your personal arsenal, from the holsters on your back. It was thin, made rigid with elemental energy in the same way that he materialised his own blades.

They suited you well in previous duels, never once had they failed you against the tyranny of the Fatui, so it was unlikely they would betray you against an unarmed, unhelped and so clearly sexually frustrated opponent.

Such a weapon would not have intimidated him usually, in fact, he also knew how to use it perfectly well and precisely. This time, it struck a kind of taboo enjoyment within him. You performed much differently to him in the dance of battle: he was a jack of all trades, you were more concentrated as a master of one. As you leaned into him once more, you traced the charged edge over his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles underneath contract and tense under your fervorous guidance.

Your control was indeed as masterful as he expected, possibly even too much for him.

'What was that?' You mused, through an invasive grin.

He gasped, the last of his depleting reasoning was begging him to come to his senses. It was quickly fading away into mere electrical impulses that made him twitch with every subtle move. Sabre now pressed to his throat, he felt the power of your vision burn into his skin, adam's apple resting uncomfortably on top of the honing edge.

You were waiting impatiently for a response, minutes elapsed and you quickly discovered you would have to coax it out of him. Digging the blade in further, you forced him onto his knees just so he could avoid an accidental demise.

Truthfully, he wouldn't have minded going out this way. If it was to a more despised enemy, he'd turn his nose at even the thought, but with you, his mind wandered like a lost puppy.

'p-please, m-m...'

He seemed as though he was going to choke out another few syllables, but caught himself, or more likely, became tied up on his own tongue.

'I want that in words,'

'f-a-ah~ p-please, [NAME] I-I'll beg, I swe-swear-'

Before he could finish his statement, you disenchanted your foil, allowing it to lose its structure, falling into a long strand connected to a handle. With a careless flick, it coiled around his neck thrice, all whilst leaving an arm's length of cord, more than enough for you to tug on sharply. He jolted upwards, vocals breaking as he wailed.

'Then beg.'

Childe's eyes widened, the sheer cold was like lightning, superconducting across his skin. It felt euphoric, pinning and placing freezing, soothing pressure on each and every torn muscle. Brimming tears started to swell in his waterline.

How utterly humiliating.

'[N-NAME]...m-ma-' he took a moment to swallow back the saliva pooling in his mouth at the sultry thoughts beating him up below, 'm-make me cry.'

'Is that what you want, pretty boy?' He crumbled at the nickname.

'p-prove m~me wrong...'

And there was all the confirmation you needed.

Taking your chance to dual wield your two rapiers, you disenchanted the other and with one forceful swoop, lashed it right across his bare back.

The initial sound was one of pain, but in mutual desire, he melted into the succeeding throbbing, the stinging coaxing unholy sounds to tumble so effortlessly from his lips. He was very well already on his way to Cloud 9, mind spinning with wishful stars as his vision became blurred.

'youre so pretty when you cry,' you cooed, knowing his pants would be far beyond uncomfortable at this point. Another lash.

'f-gahh~ pl-plea-'

Again.

'It's- too- too much,' you leaned down to kiss his blushing earlobes, listening to him sob over his embarrassing request, 'I- n-need t-'

Again.

'Touch yourself? how crude.' Biting the handle of the cord around his neck, you used your now free hand to hook around the front waistband of his pants. 'Go ahead. That is, if you're so desperate to be vulgar.'

You traced the wicked serpents tongue over his back this time.

A thought quickly came to pass. Your vision trinket illuminated a gentle hue as you crystallised the surface in front of him. Puzzled, initially, he only realised it's purpose when he suddenly saw his reflection gaping back at him, scarlet faced with glazed eyes. You had made the surface reflective with elemental energy, all with the purpose of allowing him to see himself come undone at the seams.

'Are you going to begin? or are you to embarrassed to watch yourself?' Leaning into his other ear, you could feel the hot air from his panting, 'would you rather me drag you like a dog all the way back to Snezhnaya so the Tsaritsa can look upon you in this condition?'

The sounds of his muffled moans and wet slapping of raw skin started to fill the room. Just like that.

'I hope you intend to clean this mess you're making, Ajax, you're leaking all over the floor.'

You were more intent now just to watch him cradle himself to desperately over your mere presence alone, how could you resist disrupting him with occasional thrashing, causing him to jerk his hand harshly.

The eleventh harbinger was foaming at the mouth, growing more non-verbal with every shot you took at him like he was merely just a discarded hilichurl training dummy. It was a cocktail of eroticism, pleading whines, tortured whimpers and shameful cries all shaken up as one.

Childe wasn't usually one to complete his process so quickly, mostly saving the build up, so this was something new for him. He made eye contact with you through the makeshift mirror, the look in his eyes telling you he was about to pop. He had discarded his concern for volume long ago, keen to ride out the feeling under your stern supervision. He figured it was drawing to a close soon, so gave it his all.

You didn't like that.

One of your whips wrapped itself around his working hand, tugging it forcefully away from his work. For a brief moment, he had allowed himself to indulge himself to a point where he forgot who's mercy he was under.

'Ajax.'

You trailed your tongue across his salty cheek, the intoxicating taste of your victory turning the flavour sweet.

'Just who said that you could finish?'

It was a guarantee that you would make him cry about it.

This was a mistake on his part.

But boy, was he glad he made it.

© 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖞 .