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hosierydarling · 3 years

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Light as a Feather

Darkness. Darkness that breathed. The ever present blackness stuttering with the anxious and ragged exhalation of breath. Panting, soft frightened and chopped by brief choked whimpers. The spotlight slashes through the darkness and we see the girl. She is bound, suspended; in a room not too much bigger than she is. The walls all padded in leather the color of blood. The girls arms have been drawn behind her, shackled into cuffs on the back wall about five feet from the floor. Around her neck is a thick collar tethering her to the ceiling. Her body has been scooped up, legs together, and ankles also shackled by further suspension wires. Her eyes are sightless, closed by a padded blind also the color of blood and fringed with black lace. Beyond the blindfold there is not a stitch upon her. The exhalation softened whimpers come from her lips, from her throat, the cord of tendons disappearing under the collars as she suspends tense in her bonds. Her chest rising and falling in anxiety and fear. Her pale flesh is prickled sharply in anticipation; awaiting the unexpected. She was alone. No one was attending her. Her leg cramped. Her foot giving an involuntary twitch allowing the wires holding her to rattle softly like cabling. Her head tilts as the sound echoes in the tiny room. Fear gripped her. The combination of waiting and the knowledge of the devious mind of her captor instilling in her a spine ramming pulse of dread. It mattered little that she trusted her captor more than anything imaginable. Such surprises were her captor’s forte and they were always devised for the purpose of keeping her in that state of awe and instinctual dread. She cocked her head as she heard the briefest of soft electronic beeps, almost like the sound test doctor’s put one through to examine one’s quality of hearing. After this beep, there was the gentle whine of a motor. She could not tell exactly where the sound was coming from. Sounds were dulled by the rooms padding. All of a sudden she felt the lightest brush of material in a circular swish against the left side of her torso; just faintly against her bottom-most rib. Regardless, of the supreme lightness of this touching motion, it was like a toggle switch had moved to “ON”. The girl thrashed and howled. Legs kicking out and fiercely jarring the whole apparatus that tethered her in the air. After mere moments the tickling ended, but it took a good while longer for the girl to calm. Gulping down air as if she had been deprived, fingers and legs twitching as if to itch that offended spot, or to clutch at her heaving sides. The rattle of the cabling kept her on edge, every movement wracking the different wired tethers. She was almost completely back at her still point when another whir brought about the soft circular touches upon the arch of her feet, and again she began to thrash without control, Her body bucking within its harness wildly, her laughter beautifully delightful and tinged with fright, bouncing off the walls. She bucked and jarred and finally gave one hard kick that managed to dislodge whatever was attacking her feet and end this round of the torment. She panted breathlessly. Her body shivering as it succumbed to this tickling idea motivated by her captor. She could only imagine what might come next. The fear left her unable to calm. Shivering and jittery within her restraints. Flesh prickled, nipples tight and her core fluttering in agitation. Her toes instinctively curled imagining some further plight in this region. She felt the tickling apparatus break under the onslaught of her foot. This was not some person standing there with feathers abound. She was bound before some dispassionate machine. The metal and plastic had jarred from her kick. She turned her sightless eyes to and fro, fearful of what the controller of this machine would do next. Minutes passed, pulse pounded. Her head turned frantically back and forth shivering in wait. Straining to hear the telltale whir of motors in motion that would signal the next device of torture. But, she could hear nothing, nothing but the exasperated out of control bursts of her breathing. For a moment she felt eyes on her, and she knew that this was not an out of the ordinary sensation. She knew her captor must be watching; enjoying every uncomfortable moment of her charges apprehension. But, she could see nothing. She cleared her mind of all this detritus of thought and focused on hearing. She wanted to be ready for the next round regardless of whether she could stop it. She could at least prepare for the sensation. More time passed. She figured she had been waiting for almost a quarter of an hour. Perhaps, knowing just how fiendishly sensitive her body was to the torment of tickling, her captor was not going to subject her to much of it. After all, she might leave a mess to be cleaned up if subjected to an overabundance of the wicked feather touches. It was during this train of thought that she almost missed the third whir of motors. She could almost envision the mechanical arm sliding into place just millimeters from her flesh as if taking pause and regarding her before applying its torture. She shrieked as the teency tines pricked her spine; starting at the nape of neck and travelling downwards over her tail bone. Her body arching deeply . She, trying her damndest not to buck and put pressure on those sharp spines, gritting her teeth and setting about to keep still despite the singing of her nerves. No sooner had the wheel run its course to her ass, then two more sets of tines ran slowly up her feet from heel to toes; and two further sets of tines ran in a circle just a hair outside of each areola. Her body gave up its resistance instantly and began to convulse. Her heart hammering against her ribs as she jostled and jerked within her bonds, howling out against the ceiling. Her body in ache, her core hot with the excitement of each dreaded touch. In the midst of her crescendo of thrashing she swore she heard the static-infused sound of laughter as if from an intercom, but there was no mistaking the assured inflection of that laugh. The amusement dancing within the breathy pitch of the sound. Her uncontrollable howl against the wheel tines dissolved into a whimpering cry for her owner. The bucking of her limbs less of an outrage from the torture and more of a need to get to the creator of the intercom laugh. As if hiding under the skirts of her tormentor would save her from torment. So absorbed in the attempt to extricate herself from her harness, so deep in thought and the sound of her panting, that she missed the next whir of machinery. She felt the merest touch of feather tip against the left side of her sex. As it registered, her eyes shot wide open under the blind and she squealed for mercy. The fevered frantic sound of her begging causing another intercom chuckle. Her fingers and toes flexed for a moment before the tickling began in earnest. The multiple feather tips swirled along the flushed lips of her pussy. Her body thrashed and kicked but there was no way for her to dislodge this arm from the apex of her thighs. She howled and sang, all coherent pleas for her captor to stop lost in the pitched moans of her body. This time the onslaught did not relent. The arm would even periodically push and prod against the opening of her body as the feathers continued to spin against the softness of her lips. It did not take much to send her hyper-sensitized body over the edge. She could not quell her thrashing. Her moans and cries frantic as the machine continued to tickle at her netherbits. She arched deeply and hung there suspended almost trance-like, toes pointed almost stretching before an amazing arc of fluid rushed from between her thighs. Quivering, a slick sheen of sweat glistening upon her features, she let out an exasperated sigh of relief as she heard the whir of mechanics, and felt the feathertips leave the immediate area of her sex. Yet, she prickled in that familiar state of dread when she heard the satisfied purr seep from the grill of the intercom.

#dominance #submission #tickle #tickle torment #tickle kink #feet

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ryushiho · 3 years

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dramatic irony

pairing: iwaizumi x fem!reader (oikawa is involved as well)

contains: smut, oral (both giving and receiving) brief mentions of drugs/alcohol, oikawa, angst, angsty sex, brief mentions of non-consensual touching

w.c: 1.6k

a.n: its sad lul! also im working on a long gojou fic nd im gonna divide it into chapters! thats why ive been a lil slow in writing other fics like these haha

His sweatshirt slipped from your shaking hands, the white fabric deflating with a huff as it hit the floor.

Your heart dropped like sacks of wet concrete, anchoring your feet to the club’s alcohol-stained floor.

You knew he was popular with women, that every inch of him radiated sex and a good time. But he’d told you over and over again he was yours, that none of the women who lusted after him could even compare.

So why was his lips mashed against theirs, legs twining as though they were snakes in heat? Why were their fingers twined into his hair, breasts pushed against his naked chest?

Why?

It was the click of the closing door that finally drew his attention away from the women.

It was the sight of his crumpled sweatshirt that finally flushed the force-fed alcohol and drugs from his brain.

It was the teardrop stains patterning his sweatshirt that had him staggering out of the darkly lit room, sprinting across the floor despite his sprained ankle.

It was the music that drowned out Oikawa’s desperate cries of your name, just like it had drowned out his mumbled no’s and stop’s.

Tears blurred your vision as you slammed on the accelerator, raising cacophonies of angry honks and swerving cars in your wake. You didn’t know where you were going, where you were supposed to go.

Home was no longer an option, not when everything in that place reeked of him. No place in this damned city was an option, not when everything reminded you of him.

Fuck, even the stars were a cruel reminder of his eyes—the way they would twinkle when he smiled, when he’d sleepily confess his love for you.

You swerved the car into the nearest street, killing the engine with shaking fingers.

Utter silence filled the small space, crushing your lungs until you were gasping for air. Fingernails dug crescents into your neck as you clawed at the weight, struggling desperately against the incredible pain. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt…

It hurt until it didn’t.

It hurt until a wave of cold apathy flushed your heart: the brain’s attempt to save your sanity.

You stepped out of the stuffy car and into the brisk night, skimming the area. A dry chuckle burst from your lips when you realized where you were.

It was as if the universe loved torturing you.

Before you could even finish knocking, Iwaizumi yanked the door open and pulled you into an embrace.

“Iwa, what the–”

“I heard you cry,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “Come in, it’s cold.”

The door clicked behind you as he drew you inside his house, leading you into the living room. Settling you into the leather couch, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“You’re shivering,” he frowned.

You looked down in surprise. “Huh.”

You hadn’t noticed.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

And it was that one sentence—the warmth of his voice, his arms, his gaze—that had your walls crumbling, raw emotions bursting through you in a wave of desperation and need.

“I need you,” the raspy plea burst from your lips.

Iwaizumi flinched, your voice sending shivers straight down his spine. “Baby, wh–”

Your frenzied kiss cut him off, arms choking his torso as you devoured his lips.

As Iwaizumi returned your fevered kiss, the pieces began to click in his head. Your shrieking cries, the dented and clipped car, the heartbreak in your eyes…

Damn Tooru.

Only a bastard would take advantage of this situation. Only a desperate asshole would let you tug off his shirt and unbutton his jeans. Only a sick fuck would let you spit tear-stained saliva on his cock, let you take him in quivering lips that seemed like they were seconds away from bursting into a sob.

For you, Iwaizumi Hajime was a desperate fucking bastard.

“Fuck,” he couldn’t help but groan as you pumped his cock into your mouth.

For you, Iwaizumi Hajime was a sick fuck—one that had lusted after his best friend’s girlfriend of 6 years, one that had dreamt about your lips, your cunt longer than that fucking Oikawa had dated you.

He screwed his eyes shut, pushing away the guilt from his mind. He knew this chance would never come again. He’d make it last for the rest of his lifetime.

“Look at me, baby,” Iwaizumi hissed, digging his fingers into your hair. “That’s right, just like that.”

You moaned around his girth, his words slicking your cunt.

“Suckin’ my cock so well,” he caressed your hollowed cheeks. “Ah, fuck.” He tipped back his head as you forced yourself down his shaft, his thick head mashing into the back of your throat. “Balls fuckin’ deep, that’s right, my pretty baby,” he sighed.

His seed tasted as salty as your tears.

Iwa’s cum still stained your lips as you pulled him into a sloppy kiss, lips locked with his as you slipped off your panties.

When you finally tore away, gasping for air, he could still see the tears pearling your eyes.

He had time. He could stop you right now. He knew you’d regret this. He knew you’d never look at him the same way again, with the same pure love… the same, platonic fucking love.

Irrational rage filled Iwaizumi—he didn’t know if it was rage for Oikawa, who’d made you like this; rage for you, who’d never looked at him with the same lust, the same love he had for you; rage for himself, who was letting his clearly distressed friend fuck his selfish ass.

Regardless of who the rage was directed towards, Iwaizumi only knew it filled him with a singular purpose.

He’d make you remember this. He’d make you remember this night, make you never be able to look at him again without thinking his cock stretching your little cunny.

He’d make you remember him.

You gasped in surprise when Iwa wrapped his fingers around your neck, the grip almost bruising. “Iwa…?” you strained out, eyes flickering towards his heated snarl.

He gave no response; instead, he pushed you off his thighs and slammed you into the couch. Iwa’s strangling hold on your throat shackled you against the leathery surface, your body left completely vulnerable to his advances.

His lips were hot when they latched onto your clit. Iwa’s tongue lashed harshly against your sopping flesh, the wet muscle fucking your twitching entrance.

It was so different. Oikawa ate you out to bring you pleasure; Iwa ate you out to devour you, to take everything you had to offer and make it his.

You keened as he sucked your clit from its hood, teeth grazing the bundle of nerves. “Iwa!” You writhed in his vice-like grip, trying to alleviate the pleasure. “D-don’t! It’s too much!”

“That’s the fucking point, baby,” he growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. He buried his head in your thighs, his lips sucking and slathering all over your throbbing cunt. “Tastiest fuckin’ cunny,” he groaned, each word punctuated by wet slurps of his tongue.

Screams burst from your hoarse throat as you came over his tongue, slick spurting uncontrollably from your cunny.

“Fuck yea, cum all over my tongue,” Iwa growled, gulping down your gushing arousal. “Creamin’ so good,” he moaned happily, his fingers tightening around your already-bruised throat. “You like that?”

You nodded against his grip, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Were you crying from overstimulation, or because Iwaizumi’s words reminded you of Oikawa’s own grunted praises?

You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

“Need your cock,” you cried out, hands clawing for his body. “Need you inside me.”

He didn’t even give you time to adjust—and he was big, bigger than Oikawa. No, Iwaizumi wasn’t fucking you to make you feel good; he was fucking you to make you remember him.

And oh, you would. You cried out sputtered moans as he rammed into your cunt, his hips bruising your thighs with every brutal thrust. Animalistic grunts tickled your ears as he plowed into you without restraint, his cock bumping into the hard pucker of your cervix.

It hurt, but the sting of pain was a pleasurable one. His frenzied fingers flicking your clit only intensified the waves of euphoria rushing down your body. You curled your legs around his torso and squeezed, just like your cunt’s choking clamps around his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he growled, dipping his head down to suckle on your breast. “So perfect,” his snarl faltered for a second, but he schooled his expression back into a lust-filled grimace.

You threw your head back and howled, bliss pushing you to that brink. “Gonna cum, Iwa,” you screamed.

So lost were you in your pleasure that you failed to recognize the silhouette in the open window, the familiar red sports car next to your own.

And as you both hurtled into ecstasy, a shadow reeking of club-sweat and alcohol turned away and slid into his car.

Iwaizumi flooded your cunt with ropes of his hot cum, his deep groans drowning out the rumbling engine of Oikawa’s car.

When he slumped against you, spent in his orgasm, he found you sniffling silently, salty tears pearling your swollen eyes.

Sighing softly, he pulled you into his chest and pressed his lips into the crook of your shoulders.

“You still love him,” he remarked.

You nodded against his chest, tears mingling with the sweat on his skin.

“Shh,” he crooned, stroking your hair. “I know.”

Only when you fell asleep did Iwaizumi finally allow himself to cry.

Somewhere outside of Miyagi, Oikawa leans against his car, a cigarette lolling in his fingers. His voice is gritty as he whispers into the phone.

“I’ll take it.”

“You will?”

“Book a flight for Argentina. I’m leaving tonight.”

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fem-blade-adept · 2 years

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Ok so I love this story. About a month ago, I got hooked on Injustice 2 and I wrote a story about how Petra would react to the One Earth Regime. It spiraled and became one of my better stories that I’ve ever written. This displays the upper reaches or Petra’s power that she doesn’t necessarily get to display very often. So enjoy! @sapphic-alcina-dimitrescu

Petra Threatens The One Earth Regime

Earth was finally settling back into a peaceful state after the Fall of the One Earth Regime. With Bruce Wayne consoling the masses and the rest of the Insurgency reverting the world slowly back into a world of welcome, the High Councilor, Superman, and his followers continued to ram against their shackles.

The world was still a mess. Cities had been ripped to shreds, but as it was, it felt a lot better than being under Clark’s oppressive fist. It hurt Wayne’s heart to see it turned into this, but nothing can change the past. He was only human after all and the cost of such power was too high to pay. As Wayne sat in the tunnels where Brother Eye would soon be completed, his mind kept drifting to his old friend in the red sun radiated cell on Stryker’s Island.

As he sat at his keyboard, calibrating the scanners and logistics for Brother Eye, he heard the sound of a tuning fork that he’d only ever heard a couple times, but it only meant one thing.

“Petra, great to see you again.” Wayne said, without turning around.

The friendly, small, yet imposing figure of the red-haired, heterochromic, chest bindered girl with the sabre walked in, looking at the screens. “New pet project, Bruce? You never were one to sit on your hands even in peace time.” She said, her black jeans stretching as she sat down in the chair next to him.

“Reparations couldn’t wait. Clark leveled the world with his grief and, since he can’t be trusted to fix it, it’s up to us to rebuild. Hopefully, Brother Eye will give us a leg up on crime in the meantime. I assume you’re here for a reason considering you never drop into this timeline unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Wayne said in his monotone way that he always talks, not even looking away from the screens.

Petra stood, trench falling back into its form, leather tricorn hat keeping her ginger hair out of her eyes. “Bruce, you know I care for this world. I want what’s best for the people in it, especially the ones who struggle with the same burden I do. I warned Clark and his stooges before the Regime even began that there would be a reckoning if he went through with it. Now, here we are, thousands dead, half of the Justice League in graves or in shackles, and it’s like we’ve learned nothing. I’m going to Stryker’s Island to give him my postmortem lecture. He crumbled so fast after Joker’s plan. It’s time to drag the weight of his sins back onto his shoulders. I’d do it for any of you. Crippling regimes is unfortunately my calling.” She said, ponytail swinging as she started walking towards the door as an alarm went off.

Bruce pulled up video feeds on the screens. “Well, this is the perfect time. Damien and Diana pulled an escape and are trying to break him out of that cell.”

Petra gave a warranted grimace. “They’re gonna regret that…,” she said, pulling a component out of her satchel.

Bruce turned. “Petra, don’t kill them.”

Petra gave a small smile. “Bruce, you know me better than that. I’ve known Clark as long as I’ve known you. I’ll save him one day, even if it means he has to spend his life in the Phantom Zone.” And with a red flare, she disappeared.

~~~

Petra stalked down the hall. She couldn’t help but feel the rage boiling in her. Every single step they took were the wrong ones. Every action they took led to painful consequences. She was done. Superman would pay.

She could see the red glow of the cell ahead as well as a figure with a blade walking to meet her. “Look who it is. You’re not powerful enough to stop this. The Regime isn’t over yet.” Damien said, his condescending tone ringing through her skull.

“Step aside, juvie candidate. I’m not here for you, I’m here for Big Blue. We’re going to have a wonderfully enlightening conversation after I toss your ungrateful ass back into your cell.” Petra fired back.

Damien looked almost nervous. “You’re not working for Bruce. I’d have known. You’re in over your head.”

Petra walked up to Damien, blade at the ready and eyes glowing a malevolent red and purple. “Damien, I’m giving you ten seconds to remove yourself from my way or I will hand your murderous backside to you on the tray of food they serve you here. And yes, I know your dad. He’s an old friend. He may refuse to punish you, but I sure as hell won’t hesitate.”

Damien set his stance and Petra noticed his mood shift to blind rage. “He’s not my father.”

Petra smirked and prepared for a fight. “Oh, yeah. My mistake. You’re dead to him.”

Damien Wayne launched himself in her direction only to get parried and stuck with her dagger in his hip. With every movement he made, Petra had a counter. Every action, a reaction. She wasn’t even wasting any magic because she didn’t need it. She hadn’t even built up a sweat before the cuts and wounds she was leaving on him started to wear him down.

Damien finally dropped a smoke bomb and, with his adept movement, attempted to slip behind her and take a slash, aiming to bisect her through her lungs, only to find his sword passed harmlessly through. He felt a hand grip his throat as Petra’s blood red iris flared with magical energy.

“He took you in, trained you, gave you a home, an alternative way of life, gave you a family to be proud of and this is what you do with it. You kill Dick Greyson, side with a grief-ridden tyrant, and watch that tyrant’s reign as he turns himself into a monster.” Petra growled, picking him up

Damien looked shocked. “How did-“

Petra didn’t even wait for him to finish. “You think I don’t know Ra’s’ secrets? You think I haven’t studied the League of Assassins? You think Talia Al Ghul could surprise me, an 700-year old mercenary who has seen more wars than even you could imagine?!” She snapped her fingers and his vision tunneled and his body was racked with psychic energy, forcing him to lose his ability to think clearly. She kicked his sword away and opened the nearest empty cell and threw him in. “You continue to sit in the misguided belief that you think, just because you learned from the Demon, that you could be judge, jury, and executioner. That you could take lives. Those lives aren’t yours to take. Now, rot in your own ego.” Petra said, slamming the door closed and walking towards the red sun cell as Damien lay on the ground of his cell behind her, stripped of his weapons and tools.

~~~

Diana continued to tap on the screen and managed to type in the right buttons before she felt a hand grab her neck and throw her down the catwalk. Landing on her feet, she raised her sword and shield against the cloaked figure.

She snarled. “Petra, I thought you of all people would understand the need for a Regime. People can’t protect themselves, so we have to do it for them.”

Petra’s red eye burned with a malevolent glare as she slowly stalked toward the Amazon. “You know the pantheon I worship, Diana. This isn’t giving them protection, this is taking away their free will. I thought someone who followed the Olympians would understand that.” Clark attempted to blind side Petra with a fist only to be caught by a Hold Person with 10% of Petra’s attention. “Not now, child. The adults are talking. Your discipline will come shortly.”

Diana tried to take advantage of her focus on Superman, only to get caught by a Gravity Sinkhole at her feet. The sinkhole dragged her to the ground, surprising her with the magnitude of its pull.

“You know, it’s funny. I always thought you were a good influence on Clark, Diana. I figured that the second Clark broke, you would help him grieve. You would be a good friend. You would recommend therapy or something else worthwhile, yet here you are. Aiding and abetting this madness.” Petra said as Wonder Woman started pulling herself against the sinkhole. Petra knew it wasn’t enough to hold her, but she definitely wasn’t ready for it.

Diana stood and shoved Petra with her shield. Petra held her concentration on Hold Person, but only just barely.

“Clark needed peace. He needed closure. Bruce’s lack of spine led the Joker to a rampage. You know what happened. That psychopath needed to die.”

Petra slowly walked back towards her while casting Power Word: Stun on Clark, forcing his body into a paralyzed state. “What makes you think I disagree? Bruce was on the same page as you. The Joker needed to be dealt with, but like I told Brat Boy back there, that’s not for us to decide. We wield an unstable amount of power, especially Boy Scout over here…” Petra said, tapping Superman and swinging her sword around mindlessly. “And if that power remains unchecked, that’s where you get despots and tyrants and dictators and self-proclaimed gods. You know the stories, Diana. Icarus, Achilles, Agamemnon. Those who think themselves gods suffer for it. And not just them. There is always unintended collateral.”

Diana readied her sword. “I’m the best fighter in the universe, Petra. You can’t beat me.”

Petra let out a short cackle, grounded her feet, and flipped her Swordbreaker into her hand. “Funny thing about that, Wondie. I’m not from your universe.”

Diana charged with a yell. Petra ducked her first few swings and parried the next few. Petra attempted to kick out her leg and felt like she was kicking concrete. Remembering how difficult it was to fight people with super strength, she clicked her teeth and slid under Diana’s legs.

“You’re weak, vampire.” Diana scoffed.

Petra slashed her hand, magic encompassing her body in a blood red aura. “We just started, thunder thighs. And I haven’t even scratched the surface of my bag of tricks.”

Diana tried to shield bash again, but felt her muscles give a little by getting into arms reach. Petra sensed her hesitation and redirected her force into a counter. Grabbing the tip of the shield, Petra swung the butt of her sabre into the back of Diana’s head, then slashed her back with the dagger. Diana immediately spun and attempted to recover, but was shoved back by Petra’s Retribution. Petra closed the gap again with a dash and a flurry of slashes, each blocked by Diana.

Then, Diana kicked backwards, sending her rolling. Chasing her down, Diana realized all too late that this was a lure. Petra smiled a devilish grin and caught her by the leg. Pulling the stolen Lasso of Truth from behind her back, she slammed Diana onto the floor of the catwalk. Diana felt her spine groan as Petra immediately cast Entangle. The Lasso of Truth bound and tied her into a perfect state of restrainment.

Petra walked over, barely phased by the encounter. Clark was now doubled over, still incapable of movement. Petra picked up the struggling Diana by the lasso’s bindings that now held her. “Stop moving and accept your fate.” Diana immediately obeyed and Petra snarled in disapproval. “I hate this lasso. For so many reasons.” Petra said, dragging her to the nearest empty prison cell. “You know, I always imagined it would be me bound by ropes with you, but in much different circumstances. Oh well, what can you do?” Petra tossed her in, pulled the lasso out, tossed it next to her other two weapons, and locked the door.

~~~

Petra strutted towards the still-immobilized Superman, who was staring daggers into her. “God, you were so close, weren’t you, Blue? Almost had this dog and pony show start all over. I warned you before all of this started. Remember? The Watchtower? Not sure you do because here you are.”

Petra snapped her fingers and Clark fell to the ground as the spell finally wore off. Petra continued. “It must be weird to be the most powerful being on this Earth. In my world, I’m normal. The only reason I can contend with you here is my combat experience and magic and, even then, it’s a difficult fight. And yet, Doctor Fate can demolish you. One day, I’ll learn enough.”

Superman looked up with a smile. As if on cue, a small charge exploded, dousing Clark in a glow of yellow sun, no doubt a last trick from Wonder Woman. He immediately punched her down the hall, slamming her into the solid metal of the door she came in. Casting a quick Heal, she had just enough time to stand before being pinned to the door by Superman.

“You’re cute, Boy Scout. That was clever.” She said as Clark’s eyes began to glow.

“Enough. Blood magic hurts people. Criminals like you must be punished.” He said, firing his lasers at…nothing.

Petra appeared several meters behind him, dusting herself off.

“You're a hilarious dude, big guy. Am I a criminal? Sure, but I spent my life looking out for the little guy. The people who couldn’t protect themselves. And I didn’t need an iron fist to do it. I used care. I used tact. I let them have their free will. What about you?”

Superman charged her again only to find himself surrounded by multiple identical copies of her, circling him at a distance, all of them speaking in unison. Clark tried to look for clues as to where the real Petra was, but her clones were flawlessly identical.

Their eyes started to glow with anger once again. “Martian Manhunter. Green Arrow. Shazam. Nightwing. Batwoman. Captain Atom. Black Lightning. All of them were friends. All people who attempted to shake you out of this power trip. All of them buried six feet under because of your own hubris. Because you became like ALL of this world’s despots and decided you needed to choose for them. And now, look where we are.”

Superman blasted a massive ray of lasers to destroy the mirror images to find that all of them were fake.

He growled. “Come out and fight. Now.”

Petra laughed from back in the red sun room. He slowly drifted towards her cackles, but her voice echoed around the room. He tried to use X-ray vision to find her, but, as usual, Bruce had thought of everything.

“Clark, you know I’m a brat and that I hate rules. I also don’t listen to authority figures who don’t have my respect.” Clark felt a blade pierce his chest and bring him to his knees. Petra dropped her invisibility and shoved him closer to his cell. “And I lost my respect for you a long time ago.”

Clark looked back and Petra’s blades were covered in a stain of blood each and resonating with a faint red energy as she leaped forward. He dove back and went to punch, only for Petra to drive her dagger into his hand, grab him, and throw him down the catwalk. “Holy Weapons, Clark. I’ve fought brawlers like you for centuries. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen in spades.”

Superman continued to attempt to hit her, but she continued to make cuts and scrapes, slowly wearing away his energy with each strike as the magic worked its way around his physical invulnerability.

As they fought, he finally caught a lucky break. Landing a few blows, but nothing she couldn’t heal from, he wasn’t strong enough at the moment. Even if he was, Petra had plenty of shields and maneuvers to counter. Fighting a truly skilled and adept magic user was something Clark couldn’t work around and that was her forte.

Finally, after several minutes of combat, Superman got in a lucky hit and broke Petra’s nose, followed closely by a strike that broke her ribs. Enraged, Petra threw down her weapons and yelled “ENOUGH!!!”. Her veins pulsating with blood magic, Clark felt all of his limbs freeze. This felt like another stun, but it wasn’t. It was like something had reached inside his brain and pulled something out, forcing another creature into its place. With her hand up, eyes burning with an energy that scared even the Man of Steel, he felt all of his limbs forcing him into his red sun cell as the blood cleric continued to follow.

Clark stood at the entrance, unable to control his own body as Petra walked closer, her words oozing with devilish frustration. “Grodd has a lot of funny tricks, but nothing even close to as strong as this. Dominate Person is such a strong spell. Only, my variant is controlling the blood in a person’s body. Not fun this feeling, right, Boy Scout? Having someone force you to abide by rules you didn’t agree to? Forced to respect the wishes of the person who wields more power? I only use this spell as a lesson to those who refuse to listen to my warnings and seek to strip people of their right to choose. Consider this a second chance.”

Superman could feel his power drain from his body as the red sunlight sapped the Kryptonian energy from his cells from exposure. Petra continued to hold him there until she felt the work was done. She, then, threw him to the ground of his cell and, with a couple of pressed buttons, the door slammed shut.

“I have plenty more tricks to use next time you try bullshit like this, Kent.” She said, as her nose snapped back into place and ribs reattached themselves into the perfect position from the healing spells she performed. “You know more than well enough that no matter how much power you have, it means nothing to me. Learn what’s really important as I have learned your weaknesses. If I have to come back here, I will put you down.” Reaching down to pick up her weapons and returning them to their scabbards, she started to rifle through her bag of components. “I have millions of planes that you could never reach at my fingertips. I could literally drag you to hell if I wanted. I care for you, Clark, but not at the risk of the lives of the people you protect.”

Clark attempted to stand up. “You can’t keep me here.”

Petra pulled out a tuning fork and flicked it. “No. No, I can’t, but Bruce can. And you know he can. As well as the consequences of what will happen if you see my face again on the opposing side. Step one toe out of line and I will drag you where the light won’t reach. Do the right thing, Clark. I won’t ask you again.” And with a mournful yet dead serious look, she melted into a puddle of blood that seeped into the ground, returning back from whence she came.

#petra naverrian

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anonthenullifier · 3 years

Note

How would Wanda and Vision (and Billy) react to Tommy being taken by that mutant experimentation facility that wanted to turn him into a weapon?

When I saw this, the entire story immediately formed in my head and I had to write it. Thank you for the ask, I had a lot of fun doing it! I hope you enjoy :D.

Warning: story has some strong language

------

It took an enormous amount of convincing for them (Vision in particular) to agree to leave the boys alone for the weekend. There were many hours of whining and conversations about how they are sixteen now and how they need to be treated as adults. Surprisingly, it was Tommy who flipped the narrative by presenting them thoroughly researched details of their current private island get-away. In the back of his mind, Vision knows he should be more than just mildly worried about what antics they are getting up to and if they are remembering to eat and sleep, except that would mean ignoring the murmur of the ocean and the wistful smirk on his wife’s face and the way her curls sway in the salty breeze and the adorable wrinkles that have formed by her closing her eyes to fully enjoy the soft caress of their freedom. Though he can efficiently consider all of this at once, he would rather take Wanda’s near constant advice to live in the moment. So he does, scooping up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Would you care for more sangria?”

Wanda pops open her left eye to look at him. “That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you deliver it in your speedo.”

Vision contemplates the request, not in a serious manner, but in a theatrical show of potential uncertainty despite both of them being aware there is no physical way for him to resist the insatiability sending scarlet flares across her iris. “At the Maximoff resort,” her eyebrows perk up at the lathering of poshness and the implication of the direction of their evening, “we do pride ourselves on catering,” a shrug of his shoulders dissolves his prior floral shirt and Bermuda shorts into the little teal number from their honeymoon so many years ago, “to our guest’s every need.”

“That’s good because I,” before he can grab her glass, Wanda fishes out one of the inebriated peaches, sliding it into her mouth with a saucy wink, “have lots of needs.”

“I will return momen-” the thought hangs limply in the air as he watches Wanda freeze, her back straightening out and hands gripping the armrest of her beach chair as her lust cracks and gives way to a distant stare. Whatever she sees is not on this beach, may not even be in this universe. “Wanda?” Each passing moment crawls up Vision’s spine, prickling his skin and sending his mind into a whirlwind of unease at his ignorance of the issue. After what feels like five minutes but is actually ten seconds, Vision kneels in the sand beside her chair, haltingly bringing his hand to hers, “Wanda what is it?”

“Tommy.”

All joy leeches immediately from his mind, replaced only by a frigid shroud of concern. “What’s wrong?”

To the untrained ear, the whirring and sputter to Vision’s left would be no different from the tropical breeze dancing around them, but Vision’s auditory system is functioning perfectly so he turns expectedly towards the blue portal of their son. “Mom,” Billy rushes through and the fact he’s barefooted and wearing sweatpants with a pajama shirt only unsettles Vision further, “Dad. They took Tommy.”

Wanda’s head snaps to the side to stare in the general direction of their son, her eyes still miles away despite her voice trembling with rage in the present, “Who?”

“I don’t, I don’t know.” Nervously he brushes a hand through his hair, “He went out for a run and then I felt,” Billy’s eyes are wild, tinged with blue, much like Wanda’s own get when she struggles with overwhelming emotions, “we were connected, you know, like you say we should be and-”

Vision has known anger in his own life, whether it is in the way he never hesitates to decimate those who harm Wanda, or in the calculated attacks of logic he uses on politicians and other officials who are being discriminatory and lecherous, or even in the calm, but firm words he uses to discipline the boys, but this feeling now, this dropping of his stomach and the roiling, severe heat that flows through his synthetic veins and the complete and utter single ideation of causing pain to whomever did this...this is new. “Can you track him still?”

Pinched eyes, a shaky nod, and a prismatic cloud confirms the question. Not wanting to pressure their son more than he, no doubt, is already doing to himself, Vision directs his attention to Wanda, recognizing the same fury in the serious scowl on her face and he does a less than admirable job of remaining calm when he assures her, “We will get him back.”

“I think…” Billy’s neck cranes to the right as if he’s trying to peer around a corner, “I found him.”

The strain in his voice kick starts Wanda out of her seething and into action, “Let me help.” Scarlet twines its way through Billy’s electric blue seeing glass, seeming to clarify the situation even if Vision stands helplessly blind next to them. “Vizh,” he snaps to attention, taking in every piece of information and constructing a mental diagram of the situation, “there’re six armed guards,” Vision’s fingers curl into a tight fist at the number, “two holding him, two flanking those, and two in the back near the door.” The people are added to his schematic. “It’s a small room.”

“Looks like an operating room.”

Billy’s addition is helpful and causes Vision’s body to become denser, his feet burying in the sand as his mind churns through the tactical options instead of getting mired in what might befall Tommy if they do not hurry. “Billy, you are going to portal us there. Let your mother and I eradicate the targets.”

Only the surprised warning in Wanda’s, “Vision” alerts him to his harsh vocabulary.

“I mean we will subdue and neutralize the targets.”

Billy doesn’t care about the terminology, still focused on his connection to his twin. “What should I do?”

It is tempting to tell him to remain here, safe on the beach, but if all Vision feels is a need for retribution, he imagines Billy’s own feelings are similar and being sidelined will only increase his worry. “You get your brother.” With a hand on each of their shoulders, Vision draws them in for a pre-fight huddle. “The most important thing is to get Tommy back safely.” Synchronized nods confirm the obvious goal. “The second most important outcome is that we make these individuals rue the day they decided to target the Maximoff family.” Battle ready smiles meet his words, all of them ready to tear the world apart if that’s what it comes down to. “Let’s get your brother.”

--------------------------------------

Tommy is pissed. For one thing, mom and dad are never going to trust them alone again and that’s utter crap because it’s not his fault some shady ass organization was apparently creeping on him and waiting for him to be alone. He was even following dad’s stupid running route of highest visibility to cars and he was wearing the even more idiotic reflective vest because he was damned if he ruined their earned freedom. It is going to be so vindicating to inform dad that the vest gave his position away.

Another point of annoyance is that these assholes used some sort of electrified net to catch him and it hurt like hell and they somehow have restraints that can withstand his powers. This was clearly well planned and that is a little flattering but mainly it’s infuriating. “Do you assholes know who I am?” Of course they do, but clearly they haven’t much thought through what kidnapping him would mean for their own well-being.

The guard to his right doesn’t directly acknowledge the comment, instead asking her superior, “Can we please gag him?”

Good, he’s glad his charming banter is annoying them. “You all are so fucked once they get here.”

The superior also pretends like he’s not talking. “Get him on the table and sedate him.” Great. “He won’t remember anything once we’re done.” Not ominous at all.

“Do you have to get training for how to be a villain?” He’d really, desperately like to speed away now, but not even vibrating his molecules is working on these shackles, so he needs to take the Stark approved quippy distraction strategy. “Because the delivery of the threat was a bit halfhearted. I’m not even scared.” A lie but they don’t know that (hopefully).

The two guards gripping his arms drag him to the middle of the room where there’s the stereotypical solitary operating table with leather straps and a blinding fluorescent light above it (does someone make their living doing interior decorating for bad guys? If they do, they suck at it because this is drab and uninspired). Tommy resists as best he can, flopping his body in the opposite direction of their tugging all while sending out a mental SOS. Truthfully he doesn’t really understand Billy or mom’s telepathy, he just knows one of them always shows up eventually when he thinks about wanting company. And he really wants them here right now.

A taser is rammed into his back and he crumples forward with an irate, “Assholes.”

Almost giddily they strap him onto the table, the leader grinning down at him through the military grade face shield. “Halfhearted or not, you’re ours now.”

“What does that even mean?” The man moves away without even the decency to shrug, radioing to someone that the subject is subdued and ready for the procedure which Tommy is most certainly not ready for whatever they plan to do and so he squeezes his eyes shut and sends out a very, he thinks, clear cry for help.

When he receives an answer in the form of a thought dropped deep into his brain, one that says We’re almost there , Tommy knows he should play it cool, bemoan the fate he is about to befall and rub the egos of the sadistic bastards around him, but he can’t help himself, turning to the guard tightening the strap across his chest, “You are fucked.” He turns his head towards the other guard, “You’re fucked too.” And then he just channels Oprah herself and spreads it to everyone. “And you’re fucked, and you’re fucked, and you’re fucked.” A shimmering portal opens up on the far wall right next to one of the door guards, to whom he shouts, “And you are most definitely fucked.” Before the promise is fully out the guard is pulled through the portal with a strangled scream, the wall closing up milliseconds before the others in the room turn towards the noise.

Mr. You’re Ours Now glares at Tommy and then instructs the rest of the room. “Orders are shoot to kill, do you copy?”

“Affirmative,” answers the guard next to him.

That’s how this is going to go? Well then a very sarcastic, “Good luck” to them.

Luck is not on their side because another portal opens and the second door guard is pulled through, dad phasing through the man’s body and solidifying just in time to punch another guard so hard it shatters their visor. Shit.

The room erupts in chaos, a scarlet mist descending around them, the guards try to shoot but their guns are ripped out of their hands. And then there’s dad’s vibranium gleaming as he phases in and out of mom’s carefully crafted cover, the frantic and pained screams of the guards echoing as they fall, and this, this is how you do drama because if Tommy wasn’t the one being rescued, he’d be praying to whatever god might take mercy on his soul. “You okay?” Billy’s voice cracks with concern which is just really sweet.

“Took you long enough.”

And the concern is gone, “I was doing the responsible thing and getting backup.”

He should be gracious right now because he is actually thankful but, “I don’t think you can call it backup when they’re the ones doing all the work.”

There’s the steely gaze Billy’s perfected, “Do you want to be rescued or not?”

“Thomas,” dad hovers beside him now, the transformation of his terrifying rage into fatherly concern contorting his features into a mildly upsetting scowl. “Are you injured?”

It’s not often he’s the absolute center of attention and if he were to lay it on a bit thick it would be wholly understandable because he was the one who was rudely kidnapped, but he also has never seen his family this worried before so he defers to downplaying the experience. “Just a bit sore,” while also being truthful, “They electrocuted me a few times.”

Finally, someone removes the straps and then dad breaks the constraints around his ankles, allowing him to blissfully stretch and shake out his muscles. Billy helps him sit up and the sight he’s met with is unexpected. “Why are you in a speedo?” To be fair, mom is in a beach cover and Billy’s in pajamas, but at least they’re clothed.

“Um,” it seems the choice of clothing skipped dad’s mind, his hands running haltingly over his bare chest, “it was a tactical choice meant to bewilder and divert attention.”

Scary, rage filled dad is gone and replaced with the normal, dry humored and dorky one, a fact that comforts Tommy far more than he’d ever admit out loud. “Sam’s never taught us about the tactical speedo.”

Dad’s shoulders rise up a half inch and then fall with grace, “It is an advanced skill meant only for the most stalwart of Avengers.”

Which would be more believable (still not close to it, but marginally more so) if he didn’t instantly morph into his uniform when the door opened and the rest of the Avengers came inside, dressed and ready for battle.

Mom directs them, “Vision has downloaded the schematics and files and will share them with you.” A chorus of chimes indicates the message has been delivered. “If you don’t mind,” mom wraps her arm around Tommy’s shoulder, easing him off the bed and helping steady him with her powers, “we’re going to leave the rest to you all.”

Sam’s, “We got it covered,” absolves them of any responsibility in taking down the rest of whatever shady organization this is.

Even though Tommy would love to be part of an actual Avenger’s mission, he’s okay with sitting this one out…for the most part because as they walk towards Billy’s portal, Tommy shimmies free of his family’s helping hands long enough to stare smugly down at the broken nose of the leader of the assholes, “Told you you were fucked.” And then they leave, certain that the message was loudly received: no one messes with the Maximoffs.

#scarlet vision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #billy kaplan #tommy shepherd #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #mine #ask anon #To anyone else who has sent me an ask - I promise I am working my way through them!#The maximoffs

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hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 5

Prompt: “take me instead”

Read on AO3

Read My Mind

Obi-Wan could feel them before he saw them. Bounty hunters lurking in the shadows, stalking him and Satine as they walk through the busy market. He grabs Satine's arm above the elbow.

"Obi wha-"

"We need to go."

She looks up at him, her crisp blue eyes looking into his as though she can read his thoughts-- sometimes he thinks she can. She nods, and he guides her swiftly from the main stretch. He senses them at the main chokepoints, probably hoping to catch them as they leave. Obi-Wan has a feeling they aren't monitoring the less accessible methods of exiting the market, though. They cut down a tight path between a fruit and a leather stall. Both of them have to turn sideways in order to fit between the buildings, but Obi-Wan moves his hand from her elbow to intertwining his fingers with hers. To make sure she stays near him.

"How many?"

"At least four."

"Is this a way out?"

"Oh no, I felt like taking us to a dead end so we can be promptly trapped and captured," Obi-Wan replies dryly.

They emerge into the back alley which is much less crowded than the main market.

"Can we call Master Jinn for help?"

Obi-Wan swallows hard. Maybe they could... if his commlink hadn't been pickpocketed off him nearly as soon as they entered the market. He hadn't yet told Satine this fact, embarrassed that he somehow managed to be distracted enough to allow someone to steal his communication device.

"If I had my commlink..."

"If?" she stops, looking at him with that accusatory face. "So we're flying blind?"

"We're not flying blind, I'm here,"

"Oh right."

He still holds her hand, pulling her closer to his side in a playful nudge. Even when they're in certain danger he can't help the smile across his face as he tries his best to feign outrage.

"I'm more than capable of protecting you!"

"We're really testing that theory as of late, aren't we, Ben?" she says with a wry smile.

Obi-Wan is confident they can get out of this. They just need to get out of the market and make a break for their camp to warn Qui-Gon. He noted an old farmhand's entrance when they arrived-- boarded up, but with old rotting wood that he knows his lightsaber will be able to cut right through if it doesn't come right off with a simple tug. He continuously scans the area as they swiftly weave through the backstreets. Obi-Wan can't deny the feeling of danger is steadily growing by the second.

He lets the pit in his stomach fester until he sees the passageway he saw earlier come into view. Obi-Wan lets go of Satine's hand and jogs ahead, prying on the wooden planks. The first comes off easily and he throws it to the ground at his side to get started on the others. As he pulls the next plank off, a chill runs down his spine. In his mind's eye, he sees it before it happens.

Obi-Wan shifts his grip to the end of the piece of wood and whirls around, putting as much force behind the swing as he can before smashing it into the head of the bounty hunter that is still in the midst of recovering from his jump from the rooftops. He staggers to the side in surprise, grabbing for his blaster, but Obi-Wan's lightsaber is out in an instant.

"Satine!" he yells, seeing a flash of blonde hair in the corner of his vision. The next moment he feels her hand brush against his waist as she lets him step in front of her.

"Not leading us to a dead-end, huh?"

Obi-Wan blocks a blaster shot that comes from above, jetting one hand out to press her tighter behind the shield of his body.

"Is this really the time? Work on that door."

The one he took out at the beginning now has regained his footing, pulling out a long knife. As Obi-Wan has to deflect a shower of blasters from now two bounty hunters on the rooftops, the other slides across the ground below the blade of his saber and nearly drives it into the padawan's stomach. Obi-Wan has to twist uncomfortably to get out of the way, his back ramming into the wall beside the door. Satine looks at him with wide eyes, still pulling at the third wooden plank. Seeing her ignites his energy once again and he jumps back into action.

This time he manages to deflect a number of blaster shots back perfectly. He hears groans of pain, one falling from the rooftop and hitting the ground with a solid thud. The bounty hunter doesn't move. Through the Force, he can feel the life presence of the other fade into nothing. His attention goes back to the knife-wielder, who looks shaken by the two that now lie dead. Still, he lunges forward, and Obi-Wan reacts accordingly. He twirls his lightsaber to slice off the blade of the knife, but that doesn't stop the bounty hunter from pulling out a blaster with his other hand. At point-blank, there is nothing the Jedi can do besides slice off his hand completely, and so he does. A horrible scream fills the alleyway as the bounty hunter's arm drops from his body at the elbow. It takes only a few moments for his consciousness to leave him as well.

He thought it was over, but a whimper behind him makes his stomach drop with the realization.

Obi-Wan turns around to see the fourth has finally made an appearance. He holds Satine tight against his chest, a blaster against her temple, and a sinister grin on his face.

He's a Kiffar man, with dark skin and hair similar to Obi-Wan's friend Quinlan. Geometric red tattoos cross his face like a mask over his eyes, with more up both of his arms. "I must thank you for taking care of my competition for me. You've just grown my pocketbook considerably, Jedi child."

"But you forget, now, it is two against one," Obi-Wan says, holding his lightsaber up in a ready position. The Kiffar just chuckles.

"You forget I have a blaster to your girlfriend's head," he presses it harder for good measure, making Satine cringe in pain. "So what's going to happen is, I am going to take her and get my money. And you won't be following me. Unless you want her death on your hands."

He considers his options. If he makes any aggressive moves, he will kill Satine. If he lets him take her, they will lose her before he can get to their ship and find Qui-Gon. He swallows hard, his eyes flickering to the terrified woman. She looks at him with pleading eyes. Expecting something. Expecting a plan. He told her he would protect her, and now she has a gun to her head. He messed up this time, and now he must fix it.

Obi-Wan knows what he must do.

He raises his other hand slowly, deactivating his lightsaber, and letting it drop into the street.

"Take me instead," Obi-Wan says, keeping his hands up in surrender.

"Obi... no," Satine says in a low voice.

The bounty hunter cocks his head in intrigue. Obi-Wan has a feeling he knows where he is going with this.

"And why should I?"

"I assume you know all of our bounties. I also assume you are a smart man. You let your counterparts take the brunt of the fight while you laid in wait. You looked for the greatest reward for the least risk. You only have the ability to take one of us to not be outnumbered and risk losing both of us."

He smirks. "Out with it boy."

"You saw the damage I did alone, and I am only a student. My Master has the power and training to take out ten of you without breaking a sweat, and us together, we can take down twice that. So take me. You eliminate the possibility of having two Jedi coming after you, and you will get a better bounty from the Jedi Temple for my return than your employer wants for some runaway of a clan leader they are going to kill anyway."

Oh, Satine is angry. He can feel her outrage through the Force, but also her sadness. Because she knows, as Obi-Wan and the bounty hunter do, that he is right.

"How do I know this isn't a trick?"

Obi-Wan's lips press into a thin line. "If you take me, and do not hurt her, I will not fight you. I will leave my weapon, and come willingly. Just..." he looks into Satine's wide eyes. "do not harm her."

There are a million other things he wants to say as he looks at her struggling against the grip of the bounty hunter. Some that he can't say because it will reveal too much of him and some things he can't say because he hasn't yet figured out how to actually admit them to himself. But in the split second they have before the Kiffar makes his decision, a look is enough. He looks at her as though she can hear the things that run through his mind whenever he thinks about her. A part of him has always hoped that maybe she does have those mind-reading powers they often joke about because then she would know the internal tug-of-war raging within him. She would know that love is currently winning, and he has no idea how to come to terms with that.

The bounty hunter doesn't reply, but he does throw a pair of electrocuffs into the dirt at Obi-Wan's feet.

"Put them on, Jedi child."

"No!" Satine bellows as he leans down to scoop up the shackles. "Don't do this,"

Obi-Wan doesn't reply. He can't if he's being honest. He just looks back at her teary eyes with his deepest sympathies. I'm sorry, he projects to her. She doesn't have to be Force-sensitive to feel his regret for putting her in this situation.

He steps into the body piece and pulls it around his waist, and then slips the cuffs on, tight around his wrists. When he holds up to confirm they are secure, the bounty hunter activates the electric field and throws Satine roughly into the street, ordering her to stay put.

"Let's go then," he says, tugging at the cuffs. Obi-Wan looks down at Satine, using everything within him to not fall to his knees beside her and draw him into his arms one last time.

"It'll be okay, my darling," he says as he is forced to pass right by her. I love you and will return to you.

"If you aren't dead by the time I get you back, you will soon be," she says, wiping away a tear.

He smiles through the thickness growing in his throat. "I will make sure you have the honor."

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday5 #take me instead #a day late but oh well #obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #read my mind

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years

Text

Shackled

Pairing | Lucien x Reader

Warnings | NON-CON, smut, kidnapping, violence, bondage

Word count | 1740

Summary | getting kidnapped by Lucien and he fucks you

A/n | this fic contains Non consensual sex and dark themes, please DO NOT READ if this makes you uncomfortable

A/n | (Based in the time of season 3 of TO) You are a Siphon. You are living with the mikaelsons. You had been like a sister to Rebekah a few years ago while she was in Mystic falls and after she moved back to New Orleans you dated Jeremy. After you two broke up you needed to get away so you moved to New Orleans after Rebekah invited you to stay with them. You and Kol always flirted and had endless banter but neither of you ever persude each other. You are currently out trying to find some dark object of Kol’s that Cami must have lost when she took them as it wasn’t in your apartment.

“Kol, do you even know where you’re going?” You whined. “Of course darling, do you mistake me with a fool?” You rolled your eyes and continued following him. You were walking down a back ally in New Orleans, blindly following Kol who apparently knew exactly where he was going. Suddenly a hand clamped over your mouth and your vision went black.

Your eyes fluttered open as you slowly regained consciousness. Your wrists were bound by chains hanging from the ceiling and you were kneeling with you arms in the air. Your white camisole was torn and stained red but your ripped black jeans were gone, leaving you in your red lace underwear. Shit. The sound of footsteps echoed through your hearing and you saw him from the corner of your eye. You hind your head in defeat, knowing he would most certainly kill you. He stopped right infront of you. “Lucien.” You venomously spat. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to look at him, “Someone’s happy to see me.” He smirked. “Fuck you.” You retorted. He let go of you chin and walked over to a table. He picked something up and walked back over to you, lifting your chin and daring you to break eye contact with him. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” Suddenly the leather hit your skin ferociously. You screamed in pain as he struck your back over and over until he drew blood. He stopped after 20 lashes. “Having fun, darling? I’m sure we can work something else out if you’re not.” He smirked at you again. “Oh fuck you and your torture just let me go.” You almost shouted. He dropped the whip and kneeled down behind you, his hand wrapping round your throat and turning your head to look at him, the other one snaking round your chest and grabbing your boob, holding you firmly into him. “So feisty. You’d do well to remember I’m a 1000 year old vampire and you’re a worthless mortal.” He said into your cheek. “And when you’re 1000 years old you get bored very easily. So your going to be my entertainment, y/n.” His hand trailed from your boob to your core and slipped into your panties, rubbing circles on your clit. “You have no idea how badly I want to fuck your brains out.” He pushed his hard-on unto you ass, “you feel that? That’s all because of you, darling.” He growled in your ear as sighs and quiet moans tumbled from your lips. He has your juices running over his fingers quickly and took his hand out your panties, satisfied. He shoved his fingers down your throat and used his other hand to move your panties to the side.

“Now the real fun begins” he chuckled. The sound of his zip made your eyes widen and you let out a cry of pain and pleasure as his cock slid into your tight cunt. “Fuck, Y/N, your pussy is so tight around my big dick.” Lucien cooed in your ear. He began pumping at a punishing rate, his fingers leaving your mouth as you started gagging. He slapped your ass 1,2,3...10 times. Hard. “My handprint looks so good on your big ass.” He hummed. A constant flow of moans and curse words left your mouth as he continued to bury himself in you roughly. He reached round and grabbed your boobs in turn, hard enough to leave bruises. Suddenly, he stopped, his dick still inside you. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back enough for you to look into his eyes. “Fuck yourself on my cock, y/n. Pleasure yourself in me.” He commanded. When you refused to move he bared his fangs and sank them onto your neck. You instantly began grinding against his dick and he moaned your name. “Fuck, y/n, I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the minute I first met you.” He said.

He pulled out of you and walked around to your front, where he grabbed you by a fist-full of your hair and forced his cock into your mouth. “I’ve been wondering what your pretty little mouth could do except insult me.” He snarled. He rammed his dick into your mouth for a while until you had saliva dripping down your chin. “Good girl.” He praised. “Taking my dick so well. Let’s see how far you can go.” He held your head in place so you were taking him all the way and his top brushed you back of your throat. You gagged around him and tears pricked your eyes. “Oh fuck” he moaned. He pulled your head back, allowing you to get some air before eventually doing the same thing over and over until you struggled to breathe. He started to moan as his cum released into your mouth in hot spurts, “come on slut, swallow it. Swallow it all.” He spat. You did as he said and he pulled out. Your head hung as you regained your breath.

There was a sudden banging on the door and your heard kol’s voice. “y/n! Y/n? Are you in there? Y/N!!” He shouted. Lucien appeared over you and ripped the chains off you, leaving blood dripping from your wrists. You were covered in bruises and aches all over, your legs so weak you collapsed the second you were free. Lucien grabbed you and held you against him with his arm over your chest. You started to struggle against him but it was no use as you were no-where near as strong as him. The door gave way to reveal Kol and Freya stood there. Just as Kol was about to rush over to you Lucien spoke. “If you take a step closer, I feed her my blood and snap her neck. Oh god. You didn’t want to be a vampire. Let alone a heratic. You hated your powers and had a strict, no vampire blood rule unless it was a life or death situation. Lucien bit into his wrist and held it over your mouth. You had no choice but to drink as you started choking on his blood. your vision was blurred with tears and you heard Freya mutter something. A spell. Before Lucien could react he was screaming. He let go of you and you collapsed. The sun started to burn him. He was on fire. He ran as fast as he could to a sheltered area of the apartment. Freya must have de-activated his daylight ring.

Kol rushed to your side and cradled you into his chest. "It'll be alright darling. I promise. Did he hurt you?" he asked calmly. You nodded. "Where, darling?" you looked up at him and spoke, "M-my stomach, an-and my, um, m-my-" you cut yourself off as you broke down into tears. "I think she means to say her thighs and hips." Lucien smirked. Kol's face contorted with anger and he passed you to Freya. Kol had Lucien held up against the wall in an instant. "You what?!" he shouted. Lucien maintained his smirk and said, "OH she was wonderful, no wonder all you mikaelsons are desperate to get in her pants." Kol growled and threw Lucien into the sunlight. he screeched and dashed back to the shade, hitting the wall and gasping. "Why you little-" Kol was cut-off by Freya. "Kol, I know you want your revenge, but its going to have to wait. We need to get y/n out of here and my spell will wear-off soon. We can't risk endangering her again. Let's go." Kol let out a frustrated sigh and came over to you, picking you up bridal-style and walking out the penthouse with you.

Back at the Mikaelson compound you woke up to Kol brushing your face with the back of his hand. "Sorry, darling. I didn't mean to wake you." he said. "Oh-uh, don't worry about it." You smiled weakly. He brushed your hair out your face and smile softly back. "When I saw you, all I could think was to rip that bastard's head off. I couldn't stand to see you in pain." He admitted. "I'm okay now." You replied gently. "Well, you see, y/n..." oh god. He never used your name. He always came up with some kind of pet-name. "I realised that if I ever lost you, my world would just...collapse. So o guess what I'm saying is I like you. As more than a bloody friend." He sighed. Ignoring the pain, your reached up and placed a tentative kiss on his lips, cupping his cheek with your hand. It took him a moment to register what happened, but when he did he kissed you back passionately - as if he'd been waiting to do it for a long time. You pulled back, gunning pike an idiot. "Kol." "Yes darling." You took a deep breath, your face turning serious, "I guess what I have to say is..could you get me some food? I'm starving and unlike you, I actually have to eat." A goofy smile broke out on your face. "And to think for a second there I thought you were going to declare you undying love for me, darling." He chuckled and kissed your forehead before standing up and heading to the kitchen. "Kol." "What now?" He stopped and spun on his head. "I like you too." You smiled. His face broke out into an expression of pure joy and he walked out the room.

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tenmillionwhumperflies · 4 years

Text

Cloudwalker Series: Part 1

Okay, so let’s get the ball rolling with a part 1. I’ll try and post at least once a week, but if people want to ask me questions then I’ll happily answer asks on that and I might do a BTHB soon as well.

So this involved human-like creatures being badly neglected, including mentioning some of these creatures have been mutilated (wing and horn removal), the selling of said creatures, and a fairly creepy owner. If there is anything else I should mark this as, please let me know.

Master-list Here

Approx WC: 1900

He walked into the square like he owned it, and he could have if he wanted to. Everyone there knew it and they kept out of his path, hiding, bowing, doing what they thought was best to survive. He followed the signs and sounds of cries to the marketplace where the cloudwalkers were kept. The air buzzed with energy and suffering, and the smell was strong and foul. He was ready to take one for his own, but finding one… interesting enough, was the challenge. He had all day to look, and this was not a decision he was willing to rush. He had a feeling he’d know when he saw it.

“You there,” he called out to a handler. The handler’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he recognised him. He was a young man, but strong, gruff, and iron-fisted. The cloudwalkers all flinched and ducked as he passed, and yet he melted in Avizon’s presence. Avizon loved the rush of power it made him feel. He was the strongest one here, and he would get what he wanted.

“Avizon! W.what can I do for you, your greatness?”

Avizon smirked. So his reputation as an ‘evil sorcerer’ had reached this far into the land. “I want a pet, I was wondering if you could guide me in the right direction.” “I will certainly try. I.is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“There are a few things, yes.”

Avizon gestured for them to begin walking, and he took in the sight of the cloudwalkers in their cages. Cages that were too small, even for the poor creatures who had lost their wings. He saw the wild look of fear in their eyes as he passed, the look of a wild animal. That’s all they really were, animals, creatures beneath humans and certainly beneath him. The majority of these creatures were no good to him. Their wings were missing, or badly damaged. He needed feathers, and a pet that wasn’t so traumatised and flinchy under his touch.

“What is your name?” Avizon asked the handler. “Archer, your greatness.”

“Well, Archer, I want a cloudwalker, something… fresh, one with their wings and horns, preferably male.” “We have several fresh captures, but they are less broken and only half-trained.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Take me to them.”

Archer led the way deeper into the market, past more cages and customers, to a closed-off section. He unlocked it and allowed Avizon to enter first.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have had this area cleaned, it is so rare for customers to enter here.”

Indeed, it did need cleaning, the smell of blood and filth was somewhat overpowering, but he could tolerate it. His own dungeons had a reputation for smelling the same.

“We have three new products this month. That one over there was in a fight before we caught it, so it’s still recovering from the fall. We haven’t really started training it yet if you want to start from fresh. This one is a right weakling. Trained him within two full days of work. He aims to please, that’s for sure. He’s getting moved outside in the morning.”

Avizon took a long look at the ‘weakling’. With white feathers and soft brown hair. He had large innocent eyes, already filled with tears and one horn. He looked perfectly adorable, but for now he kept walking, seeing a cloudwalker chained against the far wall, by a collar and a shackle on either wrist. His black wings, outstretched and held in clamps, were a little more uncommon. Not as rare as speckled wings, but special enough.

“What about that one? I thought you said they had their horns.”

“Oh, they do, your greatness.” Archer walked over to the creature, who snarled behind the muzzle, but Archer grabbed him by the hair. Avizon approached curiously despite the creature snarling and snapping in Archer’s grip. Archer moved some of their thick contrasting white hair, revealing a tiny horn, maybe an inch in length. They had some growing to do if they were to curl around their head like the horns on a ram.

“This one’s a lot younger than the others. The equivalent of our early twenties. It’s got an attitude, but I am confident it is breakable. I was able get a few commands into its thick skull.”

Avizon nodded slowly, and Arched took the creature by the jaw to force them to look up at Avizon so he could examine him. His eyes were wild, but not just with fear. Avizon could sense this one had a real spirit in him, a spark. He did like a challenge, but there was one problem.

“You cut his hair?” Avizon asked, seeing that his usually long hair was cut very short.

“I'm afraid it’s too hard to manage the hair, so we get rid of it and sell it on while it’s fine.”

Avizon wasn’t impressed. cloudwalkers were meant to have hair down to their hips, sometimes down to their feet. It was almost as depressing for them as taking their horns or wings, only less painful. If he was getting a cloudwalker, he wanted him to look like one.

“I want this one.” He said, gesturing to the black-winged one. “What is his name?”

“Its wild name is Ihuka, but of course, you can name it whatever you like.”

“Ihuka...” he sampled the word on his tongue. He liked it. He nodded and passed over a gold piece as motivation. “Prep them for me- they’ll be walking alongside my horse. You can have the rest of the payment later.”

Archer grinned and ruffled the creature’s hair, which only made them angrier, but a stinging yank silenced them. Avizon approached the softer cloudwalker, the scared one and gently stroked his hair to pass the time. He whimpered, but Avizon steered clear of his clearly sore horn, or what was left of it. He saw the stump clearly where it had been sawed off and blood remained where they'd hacked away at it. Avizon suppressed his anger as the creature leaned into the touch with a soft whimper. He was older as his one horn was almost a third of the way grown. Seeing the creature so compliant, trying to lean against his leg, seeing the welts on his skin. It pulled at a heartstring Avizon didn’t know he had.

He wanted a cloudwalker for a steady supply of feathers for his spells and company. He’d only intended to buy one, a challenge to work with, but the idea of having one already manageable was too tempting. He did have two very different needs after all. He had space, and he could easily afford it. Besides, they were social creatures. A little company would do them some good if he was away.

“Change of plan, I’ll have two. I want this one also.”

“Yes, your greatness. Is this one to walk as well?”

Avizon looked down at his legs, the cuts, deeper and more sore looking than Ihuka’s. He'd had two full days of training and the injuries showed. He looked exhausted, but seemed well behaved enough. “No, this one can ride with me. Does he have a wild name?”

“Not that we know of.”

Avizon looked down at him and scratched behind his ear, which made him arch his neck. “I’ll think of something.”

Avizon watched as Archer struggled to force Ihuka’s wings out of the clamps that had held them wide open and into a cramped leather harness to keep them restrained. Ihuka managed to get a wing free, hit Archer hard in the face, and scramble back as far as their collar would allow. “You little-” Archer snarled. The cloudwalker by Avizon whimpered in fear.

“Please, allow me to assist,” Avizon said. He patted the brown-haired cloudwalker on the head and approached Ihuka. Like a wild animal, Ihuka snarled and showed his sharpened fangs, which, behind a muzzle, were useless. Avizon was not afraid. “You said they were partially trained?” “It knows what the words mean, it’s taking a while to make it do as it’s told though. So far, it knows come, stay, kneel and follow.”

Avizon pointed to the ground by his foot. “Ihuka, come!”

Ihuka snarled again and inched back. Avizon smirked and used his powers with a flick of his hand, sending an invisible force to pull him closer when he didn’t do as he was told. It sent Ihuka into a blind panic, confused by what was happening.

“Get the harness,” Avizon said, and Archer obeyed.

It was easy for Avizon to use his magic to force Ihuka to neatly fold their wings, and for Archer to secure them in the leather harness, tying it tight and buckling it up. Ihuka shrieked like something possessed, trying in vain to thrash. Avizon had perfect control over him, and he knew that he’d be able to manage him quite easily.

“I appreciate the help, your greatness,” Archer huffed with relief when he was done securing him. A blindfold and a different type of muzzle with a bit to quieten them finished the process. Ihuka’s hands were tied in front of him and his hands were wrapped in a thick cloth, tucked under the manacles to stop them using their claws.

“This one certainly is wild, I’m impressed.”

Avizon turned back to the brown-haired cloudwalker that whined and lowered themselves down. Seeing Avizon use his powers had clearly scared him. He inched back, trembling.

“You’re not in trouble, little pet.”

Avizon approached, stunned at how docile he was when he took the muzzle off himself. He’d brought his own, a leather one that was far more comfortable than the metal ones. He’d only brought one, but he trusted this cloudwalker would be less trouble. He deserved the nicer muzzle. The cloudwalker backed off as best he could as he approached with the piece, and he dared to hiss, but that was all. Firm, but considerate hands kept him still until it was fastened. It wasn’t practical to punish them yet, not until they were back at the palace if anything. He wanted an easy journey, and he was a considerate man. These creatures didn’t know who they were dealing with yet. So Avizon patted his head as a reward. “Good.”

Avizon noted the areas where this one was missing feathers on his white wings, great bloody chunks. It was no surprise when he thrashed and panicked as Archer released his wings. Avizon used his magic again but stroked his hair as he slowly folded his wings for him and had them restrained properly. It did help to calm him a little but he whimpered and mewled in fear. “Good boy… I think I will call you Dyan.”

“An excellent name,” Archer said. Avizon rolled his eyes. Bootlicker.

Avizon attached a strong leash to Dyan’s collar since their hands were behind his back for the journey. He would fix that later and tie them around his front once they were on the horse so he had to hug him to hold on. Avizon used gentle magic to help Dyan to his feet, and then looked back to Archer who was battling to make Ihuka walk forward, but revealing his curved knife was more than enough incentive. Ihuka followed behind with his head down. He was going to be an interesting one, Avizon could feel it.

“Come. We have a long journey ahead.”

Sorry it’s so long, but I hope you found this interesting.

#whump #whump writing #cloudwalker series #whumper and whumpee #Avizon #Ihuka #Dyan #My OCS #Part 1 #tw: neglect #tw: slavery

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ramshacklegear · 4 months

Text

Black and brass

Solid brass spikes & buckle hardware

#My work #leatherwork #leather #crafter #queer creator #trans creator #ram shackle leather #ram shackle gear

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voltage-vixen · 4 years

Text

A Fornicating Faction (NSFW-Request)

(This is featuring the trio from MK.) *Warning: This fic contains group sex, and some s&m references.

“Oh, that’s tight Kei,” MC grunted in response to the erotic Englishman’s bondage job on her wrists and ankles.

Kei’s erection strained tightly against the constricting fabric of his pants, while he watched the vulnerable agent struggle helplessly, as she attempted to free herself from the leather bondage restraints that were keeping MC compliant to his every fantasy. Ignoring the throbbing feeling coming from below his waist, Kei straddled her naked body, and slowly crawled up towards her face. His long fingers wrapped the fleece lined blindfold over her smoky eyes, robbing MC of her most subservient assets. The blond Englishman chuckled in approval, and deliberately brushed his covered cock in her face, before leaving her abandoned on the bed.

“I never thought the day would come that we would see our MC be so submissive,” Kazuomi’s voice boomed throughout Kei’s bedroom. He confidently strutted into the private chambers, while Yuzuru quietly trailed behind him. “Sorry, Yuzu and I are running a bit behind schedule. Thanks for preparing our little lamb for tonight’s slaughter Kei.”

MC’s coils tightened in anticipation at Kazuomi’s dominating words, and her lips curled into a small smirk. A few nights ago, after having one too many drinks, MC enrolled into a wager with the trio formerly known as 3S. If she lost to the men in a game of poker, MC was to surrender her body to their wildest sensual desires. Although casual sex was not something MC normally engaged in, she had grown close to these attractive guys, and the prospect of them dominating her was something that sounded extremely arousing.

“We had a bet, and I’m a woman of my word,” she purred in response to the lone finger that was now trailing down her body.

“Hot already? I’ve barely touched you MC,” Kazuomi crooned into her ear, “Although, I guess that seems about right considering I can bring any woman down to her knees.”

MC wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, she knew that he was wearing in true Kazuomi fashion, but his simple touch was already making her melt. Tonight-and just for tonight-she would obediently allow them to execute their whims, while MC passively adhered to each and every command.

“Stop trying to take her for yourself Kazuomi,” Kei huffed, “Even back in school, you never were any good at sharing.” Kei disrobed his clothing and sighed in relief when his thick cock was finally sprung free from its confinement.

Yuzuru, who up until this point had been silently observing, removed the clothing from his lower half. Taking his long length into his cold hand, Yuzuru slowly started to stroke up and down, while he curiously watched his two friends caress the brass woman.

Kazuomi’s tongue was presently worshiping her swollen breasts, and Kei’s fingers were working their magic to gratify MC’s dripping cunt. Her nipples were erect, and Kazuomi gently kneaded them with his teeth. Kei’s withdrew himself from her and MC let out a growl of displeasure.

“Patience MC,” Kei ordered the withering spy. Kei licked his fingers, and sucked hard, ensuring that he lapped up every last drop of her bliss. “I’m going to get a toy, that I know a bad girl like you would enjoy.”

“Damn it! You guys are all talk, but let’s see how you are in action!” MC proclaimed out in aggravation. Her body was ready, and MC needed a lot less foreplay, and a whole lot more fucking in order to really savor every second of this crazy night.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what you just initiated,” Kazuomi groaned, as he pulled away from the bed. He started to strip his clothing, while Yuzuru haltingly strode over to the bed, gazing at MC in a similar way a lion surveys its prey.

MC’s body was glistening with sweat. The satin sheets on the bed were sticking to her back, and MC’s hair was a disheveled curly mess. God, she needed to touch them. Any of them would do just fine, but MC NEEDED to feel them. Throwing her pride out the window, MC wriggled in sheer desperation, and tried to arch her pelvis up from the bed.

“Please. PLEASE, I need one of you fine gentleman inside of me,” she begged with no shame, “I can’t take this any longer. Not without someone fucking me.”

Firm hands suddenly clutched her hips, and MC could tell by the faint scent of the natural cologne, that her assailant was Yuzuru. His nails dug into her rosy colored skin, and he teased MC by pressing the head of his member against her entrance.

“You might regret saying that,” Yuzuru whispered, “Especially when I end up breaking you.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she retorted, while biting the inside of her cheek. That bastard knew what he was doing felt good, yet he continued to draw out his torture session.

Fortunately for MC, she didn’t have to wait much longer, because she felt Yuzuru’s hands grab onto her firm breasts and give them a few hard squeezes.

“Don’t forget you said that then,” Yuzuru remarked, before taking the deep plunge into her awaiting core.

“Ahh! Yes! God, yes!” MC panted in rhythm to his powerful thrusts.

“Not God. Yuzuru. It would be in your best interest if you remembered that,” he muttered in response to her incoherent babbling.

“You must be quite the special woman MC,” Kazuomi called out, “Yuzuru’s animalistic side has been fully awakened.”

He watched while her breasts bounced and smacked around, and pumped his cock a few times, before pushing his cock between her pouted lips. She readily accepted his erection and ran her tongue down the thick penis that was fully occupying her mouth.

“That’s it. Can you feel Yuzuru and I stretching out the different areas of your body?” Kazuomi cooed. MC tried to nod but gagged when Kazuomi’s erection pressed further into her mouth.

Meanwhile, Kei had finally returned from his closet and took a moment to appreciate the sight that was taking place before him.

“Beautiful,” he admired, “All three of you are absolutely beautiful.” Kei approached the threesome, and revealed to his friends the anal beads he planned to use on their unsuspecting MC.

Making his way around his two friends, Kei sucked on his finger, and tested the waters by sliding it into her tight asshole. He felt her initially clench her muscles, but soon relaxed when Kei softly massaged his thumb along her sensitive hole.

“Let yourself unwind,” Kei smoothly guided. Pushing the beads into her, MC roughly grasped the bounds containing her wrists, and started to violently thrash around.

“Oh, yes! I’m ready to cum! L-Let me cum,” MC whimpered in hopes they would show mercy on her desperate soul.

Kazuomi soon shot his load into her mouth, and MC swallowed the hot seed, while he removed his limp penis from her. He shared a private glance with both Yuzuru and Kei, and the three longtime friends all exchanged a nod.

“Only if you declare us the winners of tonight’s love fest,” Kazuomi proposed, “Acknowledge your role as the mouse in our game, and we’ll have you screaming to the heavens in no time.”

MC openly scowled, knowing very well that the men were probably all grinning at each other, relishing the fact that she was at their mercy. Normally she was never one to let a man tell her what to do in bed, yet tonight was an exception. Her orgasm was within reach with the help of these tricksters. If they were going to use her, MC was going to take a page from their rulebook and use them right back to find her release.

“Fine, but only if you release my ankles from these shackles,” she negotiated, “I want to change positions to ensure that I’m guaranteed to fully receive your “happy ending” services.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but we’ll allow it,” Kazuomi neutrally responded.

Soon her ankles were free, and MC took a moment to stretch them out. Once she was comfortable, she lifted them up into the air, and Yuzuru helped situate her onto his shoulders. This angle allowed him to penetrate MC even deeper, and Yuzuru’s penis was once against surrounded by her sweltering dampness in between her soft thighs.

Yuzuru rammed into her, and MC let out sharp cries of bliss. Kei’s fingers were toying with the anal beads, yet he made sure his tongue was focusing on her hypersensitive clit. Kazuomi also joined back in and was groping the fleshy mounds of her chest. Every caress, squeeze, fondle, and pet the guys were unleashing on MC, was enough to send vibrations pulsating throughout her boiling frame. She let herself go, and her walls came crashing down around Yuzuru. “Hmm,” Yuzuru and MC moaned in unison, and MC howled, as they rode the waves of their climax together. Yuzuru’s hips resumed their gyrating, until both had finally reached the end their euphoria.

MC yelped when she felt Kei withdraw the anal beads, and gasped when Kazuomi freed her wrists. She quickly tore off the blindfold and was now facing the three winners of the bet. Swinging her legs to the edge of the bed, MC tried to stand up, but collapsed when her wobbling knees refused to support her weight. Opening her mouth, MC went to speak, yet was unable to since her throat was scratchy and hoarse.

“There’s no need to push yourself,” Kazuomi reassured. He pressed himself against her back, and Kei went to fetch a glass of water. MC nodded her head in thanks, and gently rubbed her slightly sore wrists.

Yuzuru broke the silence by offering a suggestion that had caught everyone off guard. “Since we’re the ones that made you feel this way, I think it’s only fair if you allow us to pamper you. I’ll go run a bath.”

Without waiting for a response, Yuzuru lifted MC’s petite frame, and started to carry her towards the bath.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see her reactions when we pound her this time,” Kei cheerfully admitted to Kazuomi.

They entered the bathroom, and Yuzuru began to run some hot water. Kei poured in some foamy bath salts, and Kazuomi initiated a foot massage. She uttered a content sigh, which only urged the impatient men to commence their explorations of her body. MC knew she was in for a never-ending night of intense lovemaking, nevertheless, her core was ready to be filled with the toe-curling gratification she was sure only this trio could deliver.

Throwing her head back, MC felt hands run along the side of her neck, and all the way down to her defined curves. Kazuomi tugged her hair and bit her responsive earlobe.

“Let us be your fuck boys for the evening. After all, our guests’ satisfaction, is our number one priority here at the Raven Hills.”

Succumbing to her own lusts, MC omitted a small cry of consent, before submerging into the next round of their thrilling game. This game was rare in the fact that even losers were winners.

“O-Oh,” she murmured at the feel of licks and bites marking her skin. Just for the remainder of their evening together, MC would submit, and allowed their claiming marks on her body.

Feel free to check out my Masterlist!

@agustd54, @joanneshiba

#masquerade kiss #kazuomi shido #yuzuru shiba #kei soejima #voltage smut #masquerade kiss smut #voltage fanfic #masquerade kiss fanfic #voltage inc #love 365 find your story #voltage fandom

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | summon

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The Devil and his right-hand demon are forcibly yanked from Hell to encounter a power they've never seen before, a power that everyone thought was only a rumor. In chains and unable to break free, they are asked to give up part of their souls. And they do. For science. But, mostly, to fuck.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; short graphic descriptions of sexual acts; supernatural and horror (and it gets way creepier during the smut, you have been warned); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs; they don't have your best interests at heart and neither do you.

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

there’s not a word for what i wanna do to you

One second, the Devil, also known as Min Yoongi, was frowning as he gazed up at his right-hand demon Jeon Jungkook, pondering the whereabouts of the missing soul-shards. The next second, the volcanic ground below him exploded, multiple giant red-black rings adorned with symbols and images creating a circle, expanding a larger and larger surface area, crackles of red lighting and tendrils of black smoke shooting everywhere. It consumed everything, bleeding into every nook and cranny of the throne room, saturating the air with summoning intent. It was happening far too quickly for the Devil to stop, the ground splitting and black chains shooting out, surrounded by a deadly ice-silver signature of the kind of magic you don’t bring home to your mother.

“Fuck–!”

That was Jungkook.

“Ah.”

That was the Devil.

The black chains snapped around their bodies and bound them in an instant. Jungkook snarled and fought with all of his power, black wings flaring out that were instantly crushed and shredded by the enchantment, his curved black horns protruding from his head and being forced back by the power. In contrast, the Devil merely sat there. Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop it, not this kind of magic, if it could even be called that, so he didn’t try. He let the chains wrap around him and shackle him. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tried to trace the source, tried to find the purpose. In order to defeat an enemy, you must be informed. Yoongi lived by this philosophy, which was why he was the Devil.

He could not trace it.

That was very disheartening.

But he didn’t need to worry earlier, because the red-black summoning circle was closing in, and he would find out very, very soon who it was. He had nothing to worry about.

Yoongi was the Devil, after all.

You inspected your nails.

Matte black, pointed. You had just done them. You liked to look nice for your guests.

“Hm, the Devil works hard, but I work harder,” you chuckled.

This was not what the Devil expected.

Yoongi expected a dark cave, a crowd of hooded figures, lots of candles. Maybe a Bible or a Koran. Devil worshippers, Satanists, cultists, or whatever they liked to call themselves. He fully expected to fight, to kill, to maim, and to fucking enjoy it, because he was the Devil and he served no one.

That was the whole fucking point of leaving Heaven in the first place.

He did not expect this.

You.

“Oh? A new development.”

Yoongi had seen many things in his time. He thought he could no longer be surprised.

He was wrong.

You stood over the two figures chained to the ground, peering curiously at them. A plain black dress with a flared skirt and a lace high collar. Long-sleeved with small ruffled cuffs at the end. No socks or shoes, just long, beautifully sinful legs and pretty feet. Pointed, matte black fingernails at the ends of lovely hands. A single nail was on one of your full dark lips, small amused smile dancing on that pouty mouth.

Your nail pressed into your flesh.

Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that mocking smirk.

Sharp, distinctive eyes. Unforgettable. Yoongi would not forget the eyes of the fool who summoned him anyway, but your eyes… They were different. They held no malice. No innocence either. No, your eyes were the greatest mystery of all.

They were an enigma, revealing nothing to the one who could tell everything.

Yoongi did not like this. He did not like how him, an all-powerful being, one who could poison the minds of all other beings, was being confronted with a human who seemed very not human.

You were holding something on the crook of your arm. He narrowed his eyes. A black plush goat-man with horns and an upside-down red pentagram stitched on his head. It had little leather hooves for feet and hands. Black leathery wings as well. Another common misconception of the Devil. As if he wanted to be an ugly goat for all eternity. Hmph. But there was something about the way you held it that made Yoongi think it wasn’t an homage to him.

No, you held it close to your breast, next to your heart, squeezing the plush goat-man’s little arm lovingly.

It made him ache with longing.

They were in a bedroom, on the floor next to the bed. Black sheets, fluffy blankets with white stars all over them. Black walls with posters all over them, cute animated characters, haunting imagery, various musical artists, sinful and innocent, a vast plethora that told him nothing of true intent. Modern, sleek furniture. A high-end desktop with multiple monitors. A nice flat-screen television. Many soft plushies of adorable and strange characters, stacked on shelves and in corners, both popular and niche.

Who was this person?

With every passing second, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

Jungkook was beside him, disheveled and disoriented, chained down with black. The demon sat up, growling in his chest, trying to exert his power.

“Who do you think–”

“Ah, little Satan, they shouldn’t talk until I allow them, isn’t that right?”

The Devil was not a fool. You were not talking to him. You were talking to the little goat-man in your arms. Yoongi heard a choking sound and he turned his head to see a very large black ball gag ramming itself in between Jungkook’s teeth, snapping closed with a black chain strap behind his pretty head. Jungkook looked livid, trying to bite through it, but Yoongi doubted he could break it.

You smiled at him.

Yes, indeed, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

In some ways.

Seeing Jungkook in a ball gag was a pleasant image.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out this way. I was aiming for him first,” you said to Yoongi, lowering the little goat-man and holding him by a hoof. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip apart the plush or be it. He decided that wasn’t important right now.

“Ah, well, this might be better,” you mused nonchalantly. Jungkook was still fighting his restraints, but neither you nor Yoongi acknowledged it. You crouched down, a delicate flash of inner thigh and black velvet panty in his view. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. You cocked a brow, smirk widening. “Two birds with one stone, no?”

You set the little goat-man in front of him.

Sat down, spreading your legs to squeeze the little goat-man with your inner thighs.

There was no question now.

Yoongi wanted to both be the plush goat-man and rip him to shreds.

“I’ll let you speak to me, Devil. You seem polite.” Conversational, calm. Not condescending, which somehow made it worse. At least if you spoke to him with hostility, he would know how to turn it against you.

“You have magic that doesn’t belong to you, human,” he said softly, a raspy renounce in his voice. He festered it with sweetness and warning at the same time, accenting it with a discerning stare.

You grinned.

Even he, the Devil, was unsettled.

“Nothing belongs to anybody. You only borrow it for a short while and then the powers far beyond even you take it back.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop and race at the same time. As he suspected. This was not the work of his father or some a wayward demon. Magic, power, illusionism, these were all words to describe things that could not be described. Entropy holds no bounds and there is no meaning behind it. It exists only to cause anarchy. For some reason, perhaps simply chaos alone, you, a human, was in possession of something even he could not control or understand.

Shit.

He stared into your eyes and they reflected his expression back to him. He tried to search for it, the desires within the heart, the small tendrils of pain that asked to be soothed, the soul begging to be freed. An ordinary demon could be fended off by a strong-willed human for a while, but Min Yoongi was no ordinary demon.

He was the Devil, even if he was bound by your chains.

You tilted your head at him, hair curling around your cheeks and lashes.

Yoongi could take even the weakest flame of desire and stroke it into a blazing fire. Even the holiest of saints could not fight him. Everyone wanted something, even if it was, disgustingly, in the name of his father. And humans, well, they were the masters of wanting things they couldn't have. Easily manipulated, even by each other. The Devil hardly needed to do anything at all. It was only a matter of whether or not Yoongi cared to do it and, most of the time, he didn't give a single shit.

You tilted your head the other way, smiling.

Yoongi did not find a maze or a barrier preventing him from the soul. He found the soul within seconds. It was there, all right.

The Devil just didn't know what the fuck he was looking at.

Why was your soul just you sitting there in the abyss, looking up at him with the same smile you were giving him right now?

And why did he feel nothing emitting from it?

He pulled back, looking into your eyes again. He did not like this.

You leaned forward and touched his horns.

His eyes widened as your fingertips brushed against the large curved black-red horns against the sides of his head. He hasn't even realized they had protruded. How? His horns were a sign of his power, a symbol he used for fear, for appearance, and for the moments of when he was exercising a great deal of his influence. Your fingertips brushed against the second set, the ones that bloomed upwards into wicked black-red spikes. Both sets? His soul-search had him reflexively procure both?

Shit.

He started into your eyes, seeing himself reflected back. Min Yoongi was the Devil. Emotion was no stranger to him. He harnessed it all, consumed himself in the passions and wonders of emotion. There were ones he felt less, simply because of who he was. For instance, there was not much that made him afraid.

You smiled.

Fear. He could feel it rise within him.

Yoongi grinned back.

Was this what he thought it was? He had heard of such things, rumors and whispers, even amongst the angels themselves. The hidden truth that Heaven and Hell belonged in a specific dimension or realm, Order. That there was another realm, the mirror, the reflection trapped, the unknown.

Disorder.

His kind, the high-above, and those between angels and insects, the humans, none of these belonged in the realm of Disorder. There were rumors that Order was merely a concoction of Disorder and that their realm could collapse any moment, erasing all of existence without a trace. Entropy was waiting for them all.

Yoongi understood now.

This was chaos.

The Devil was a master of desire. And a master of deliberately doing exactly what he shouldn't. He should not be tempted by a glimpse of chaos. His father would warn him to stay away from it.

His father could fuck right off.

Yoongi leaned forward, still bound, his horns disappearing. The chains clanged around him, his power rattling underneath. He wasn't doing it to fight them. He wanted to feel it. To understand what could not be understood, to touch the untouchable, because it was there, there right in front of him and he wanted it, he wanted it, and the Devil feeds off desire, even his own.

He wanted those lips.

You backed up.

The denial only made his desire stronger.

You left the plush goat-man sitting there right in front of him.

Jungkook was pissed.

Absolutely furious, jaw and head aching from this ridiculously large ball gag, fuming that he had no idea what was going on and that a single human was doing this bullshit. There was no way you were working alone. There had to be other beings behind this. He couldn't figure it out right now, but he would and he would tear them apart, right after he fucked your pathetic human body and tore you apart.

You must be a fool, thinking you could shackle him, Jeon Jungkook, the right hand of the Devil himself, the epitome of pure sin and free will.

He continued fighting the magic, trying to exert his strength, rattling the black chains, ice-silver lashes beating him back down. He tried to release his wings, but they were ensnared, pain shooting up his back. Jungkook cared not for pain. He had felt pain for millions of years. A few seconds was nothing. He tried to release his horns, but he could not, as if the very air neutralized him.

He was enraged.

Maybe would simply kill you so he could spend an eternity torturing you for your insolence.

Then the Devil's horns appeared.

How did he–?

Then you touched the Devil.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

He did, deep in his chest, muffled rage, jealousy, hate, all at once, and both of you ignored him, your fingers grazing Yoongi's horns, fucking smiling, looking unflinchingly into the Devil's eyes, and Jungkook wanted to erase you from existence, destroy every single shred of your soul for not groveling at the feet of Min Yoongi.

The horns disappeared and your hands hovered around Yoongi's head, fingers splayed out around the black hair like a shining halo.

Ironic.

The Devil leaned forward.

Don't you fucking kiss her, hyung!

But you moved away, backing up, gaze lingering on Yoongi before closing your eyes and reopening them slowly, a gradual shift to Jungkook's face.

He snarled at you through the gag.

He had you now. Eye contact and Jungkook could exert at least part of his power, the soul-search to find your deepest desires, your hidden gems, the calamity within that would call to him. He would find it and manipulate it, bend you to his will, turn you into his puppet. Play with you until you begged to die, only to find yourself in his arms once more, his plaything for all eternity.

All he had to do was find it.

You slid to your hands and knees, crawling to him. He felt it inside his chest, his own desire, watching the curve of your back to ass, his cock twitching at the sight, his mind conjuring images of your pretty body on a leash. Jungkook didn't have preferences when it came to bodies. A body was a body. In his hands, all bodies became prettier. You already had the base and he already had the wrath to want it. You stopped in front of him, the black skirt of your dress flaring out. He could see parts of your bare body.

Legs, knuckles, knees.

A small, amused smile on your lips.

Eyes that Jungkook searched valiantly, looking for malice, for innocence, for desire, for the darkest shadows and the lightest light.

Why couldn't he see anything?

This must be part of your magic. No matter. Jungkook had other ways. He was creative and cunning. You would break under his hand. He wouldn't stop until it was done. He was a demon that saw things through, even to his detriment.

His jaw was suddenly released from its prison, ball gag disappearing, fading into ice-silver smoke. He coughed, snapping his teeth, glaring at you.

"You dumb bitch," he hissed, violent resonance in his voice, oppressive and intense. "Do you think you humans are above us with your tricks and schemes? Kneel before those who invented such things."

You tilted your head.

Yoongi chuckled beside him.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. What–?

Your body trickled down like liquid, laying against the dark wood floor, looking up at him. Jungkook froze, maddening desire rising, infuriated at your face looking up at him, plush dark lips parted, hands on your chest, fingers spread out and molded to your flesh under the plain black dress. Sinking in, making him clench his jaw.

Your smile like a Cheshire Cat, eyes reflecting his rage.

Jungkook wanted to straddle your face and shove his cock into that smirking mouth, bulge your throat and cheeks with his girth.

"Is he always like this?" you asked, still not looking away.

"He pretends to be nice when he wants something out of you," the Devil answered calmly.

"Isn't that you?"

You still didn't look away from Jungkook. Why couldn't he find what he needed from your eyes?

"I'm always nice."

"That means you always want something out of someone."

Yoongi laughed, raspy and deep, the sound echoing in the bedroom, filling it up with his sound. Why couldn't Jungkook find it? His rage began to become infested with something else. Your eyes reflected only him.

Like a mirror.

No matter. The demons had other ways.

"Come here," Jungkook purred.

"I wouldn't do that."

That wasn't you. That was the Devil.

Your body lifted as if it was on a string from the center of your chest, fingers and black fingernails trailing against the dark hardwood, head tipped back, the line of your neck hidden by the high collar of lace, shielded from his hungry gaze. Legs curling up, skirt pooling around your thighs, his rage molding with carnal need, festering with something else.

Fear.

You rose to your knees, in prayer position in front of him, almost as if you were about to reach out and touch faith. Jungkook furrowed his brow, watching your presence near, wanting it, ready to coax or rip your desires from your lips themselves. It didn't matter if he was bound, it didn't matter if his black suit was torn up and ugly, it didn't matter if he was bleeding from his efforts to escape this magic.

You were still a human.

He was a demon and he would taint you.

Closer, your lids lowering, entranced by his spell. Jungkook smirked. Too easy. Humans were so, so easy. He craned his neck, lips parting, the palpable lust of his breath exhaling. So close to those pretty, dark, fuckable lips.

"You're really falling for it, hm?"

Jungkook paused. His eyes shifted to Yoongi. The Devil had turned his body to watch, clad in a tailored black suit. In contrast, Yoongi's was unmaimed, as he hadn't fought his restraints. The Devil had black hair like him, parted slightly, with shadowy dark brown, cat-like eyes that glinted with something sinister. Pale skin, almost luminescent. Exposed neck, elegantly laid black silk tie, unlike Jungkook, who preferred not to wear one. Lips that demanded you to plead for your life.

A body that made Jungkook want to sin for him.

That was the power of the Devil.

His eyes shifted from Yoongi to you, who had stilled in front of him. Hands beneath you and knuckles pressed to the floor like an obedient pet. What was Yoongi talking about? He had you right where he wanted you. And yet, he hesitated.

Then you spoke.

Delicate and calm, with no resonance. Human.

"I thought demons had free will?" you whispered. "That not even the Devil could control a demon."

Or was it?

Jungkook watched your lips form the words.

"If he is powerful enough, that is."

Yoongi didn't bother warning Jungkook anymore.

The Chaos knew what it was doing.

Clever girl.

Jungkook growled, leaning back a little, letting the passion of emotion course through him, wrath, lust, pride. Fear. All of it. Drawing from it, his power pulsing, singing through his muscles.

"Come here, human."

You had to crawl into his lap, his thighs against your thighs, hardness against softness, bringing your lips to his, sudden and sweet with your legs, knuckles, knees. Jungkook smirked, white teeth and canines flashing, urging you to him.

"What a good little girl,” he breathed softly. “I can be anything you desire. All you need to do is tell me."

Your eyes locked with his.

"A kiss, please."

He groaned at the small plea, finally getting it out of you, finally, and he would make you regret doing this, sow every seed of desire within you and reap it all, turn you into his pet on a leash. All he had to do was kiss you.

Jungkook kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours, ravenous to consume what you had, eager to claim his offering.

You smiled against his lips, a small, amused smile.

It was instant, his hunger to your plushness, the rush euphoric and wild, immediate lust and power dominating him and now he could taste your tongue and fling open the doors, clawing for the soul within, the moment so close he could taste it, taste your moan sliding into his throat, his favorite treat, intoxicating in the way you sucked in his breath to fill your longs.

Jungkook arrived at the last gate, tearing through the door. Looked down into the abyss, triumphant.

You looked back up at him from below.

A small, amused smile.

A nothingness like he had never felt before.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the reflective glass of yours, his chest constricted. He had never felt this. Your lips still on his, tongue flicking, taking his breath, and then he felt a strange kind of compression, like everything was being pressurized, tighter, tighter, suffocating, and he gasped in your mouth, recoiling.

The kiss broke, your eyes still on his, lips shiny with his saliva. Your hand was outstretched, hovering in the air, fingers coated with black tendrils mixed with ice-silver, right above his chest.

Your eyes, void of anything but himself.

“What…” Jungkook breathed, hard cock straining against his slacks. “Are you?”

He didn’t understand. You were only a human. Only a human who had done a very stupid thing, summoning the Devil and his right-hand demon to your bedroom. Just a stupid, foolish human. You tilted your head. Lowered your hand and placed both hands on Jungkook’s thighs. He tensed. You pressed your fingers into his slacks, kneading the firm flesh underneath.

Where was your fear? Your malice? Your innocence?

Where was your desire?

He could only feel his own, rising, rearing its beautiful head, teeth bared and ready to strike as your fingers drummed against the fabric of his pants. You had tried to take something from him in midst of the kiss.

Part of his soul.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed, forceful and direct.

You stopped moving your fingers. He wanted to scream in dismay.

“Only a small thing.” Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “A token to remember our fateful meeting.”

Now, only now, did Jungkook not like this.

You removed one hand from his leg and Jungkook clenched his jaw, watching it rise, nearing his heaving chest, the black chains spreading apart, links snapping with ice-silver sparks, but he was still bound, still chained, and he did now know why and not knowing infuriated him. You stopped, right above his heart, the heart he forgot was there sometimes.

The true irony of this world was that angels gave up their hearts to serve the one above and demons kept them to serve themselves.

Jungkook felt it again, the compression of his insides, making his breath hitch and his teeth grind, the sensation unbearable. Your expression remained the same, the small, airless smile. Eyes reflecting his terror.

“I could take it just like this.”

Not a threat, only a statement. Only a testament to the power within you, a power that Jungkook was beginning to think wasn’t something he knew or understood. The Devil could take souls. He could reap them, he could tear them, he could wring them dry. But not like this.

“I will give you a choice,” you murmured, hand retreating, releasing him from the uncomfortable pressure. “Because everyone deserves a choice, don’t they?”

The chains were lessening, slowly slipping off Jungkook’s body.

“I’ll let you give it to me willingly.”

Your hand on his pants caressed the fabric.

“If you have the power to take it,” Jungkook snarled. “Why not take it?”

Your other hand found his other thigh, squeezing lightly, sparks of heat flying through his veins. The chains slid off him, clashing into the hardwood floor and turning to ice-silver liquid that faded to nothing.

“I do not want to take.”

You stopped your touches and Jungkook wanted to scream.

“It will feel better for you if you give.”

He raised on eyebrow. “Considerate of you.”

You smiled wider. He stared into your eyes and only saw himself.

“What do you think, Jeon Jungkook, the Devil’s right-hand man?”

He felt the tendons on his neck tense, expression twisting into anger. You shouldn’t know his name. You were a human. You would only know if he told you directly. Someone else was behind this. Someone who wanted to kill him and the Devil, thereby putting Hell itself in imbalance.

“How do you know my name?” he seethed.

“You told me.”

What?

“When you looked into her eyes, you told her your name,” confirmed a deep, cavernous voice.

Jungkook started, whipping his head to the Devil beside him. No longer chained, simply sitting lazily on the ground, one knee raised to rest an elbow on it. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Getting soft, Jungkookie?” the Devil taunted.

How…? Was he so absorbed in his own lust and deceiving you that he did not realize? He looked back at you. Your eyes lowered to his slacks and then back up to his eyes.

“Pants can always come off.”

Jungkook raised a hand, running it through his black hair, jaw set. “You are too greedy, human. Do you even know what you’re doing?” he sneered.

Your hands jerked down a few centimeters closer to his crotch, making Jungkook hiss. Your tongue slid out, feathering against the plush dark mauve of your lips. His cock throbbed with need, demanding to abuse the mouth presented. You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, welcome weight that Jungkook wanted all over him. He was a demon, after all. He was no stranger to carnal desire.

“I do,” you murmured softly. “You and me and the Devil makes three.”

Jungkook sharpened his gaze. “You couldn’t handle that, human.”

You said nothing.

You simply removed your heat and turned to the Devil, where Yoongi held the little goat-man plush by a single hoof, dangling it next to his lap, making your crawl into it to reach the doll. It was almost an innocent gesture, the way you took it and tucked it into your lap before looking up at Yoongi’s face, lips parted slightly, nearly curious, childlike awe decorating your features.

Jungkook growled like a hurt animal.

Your eyes shifted to him, looking at him under lowered lashes. Dismissive, vacant gaze.

“Yes or no, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

The thin black string between you and him darkened, searing with ice-silver, a contract made. He didn’t even know the terms. He didn’t care. No human could outsmart him. And you, you must have been human once.

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t know if you were human anymore.

Yoongi watched your eyes return to him. The little black goat-man plush was tucked between your legs, pressed against your core. Slowly but surely, he was understanding. The original vessel was human, now tainted by someone, something, or simply bad luck. It made you something else entirely. You were a creature from the realm of Order polluted by the realm of Disorder. How long could this last? Would you die eventually from it? When you died, what would be left? Was the soul still there? Would he be able to collect it? Contain it? Study it?

Yoongi didn’t know the answers to these questions.

He wanted to know.

“Your turn,” you whispered to his chin, warm breath against his skin. “What is your answer, my Devil?”

Yoongi chuckled. “A shard of soul is all you ask for?” he purred. “What for?”

You tilted your head. “I want to complete my collection.”

The Devil doubted that. He doubted you wanted anything. Something was driving the entropy in a direction, a purpose given to the original human you long ago, and now you did it because it was the only thing left in the shell, a memory of a purpose, the human determination so strong that it could not be killed or erased, even though this body was now only a container for the power within.

The Devil had spent a lot of his time lately doing nothing. Nothing fun, nothing exciting, nothing worthy of his attention. Yoongi already knew everything there was to know about humans. He cared not for those above. But this.

This was new.

This was different.

This was something he wasn’t supposed to know.

He raised his hand, fingers tracing your jaw, staring into the eyes of Chaos. The Entropy. The Vessel.

You.

“I’ll be part of your collection, little one,” Yoongi purred.

And you will be mine, he vowed as the black string between you and the Devil glowed, ice-silver magic contaminating it with the power of Disorder.

part ii the collection. if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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slaughterjaw · 4 years

Text

Origins: Left for the Ghouls pt. 2

"URGENT - THE FOLLOWING ORDER COMES DIRECTLY FROM RANGER-GENERAL SYLVANAS WINDRUNNER. THE DIRECTIONS WITHIN OVERRIDE ALL PREVIOUS ORDERS REGARDLESS OF RANK:

All units are to immediately traverse South to aid Ranger-general Sylvanas Windrunner in combating the undead threat. Disregard all other enemies and cease all other operations and patrols. An army is at our Elfgates and threatens to invade Silvermoon and put the Quel'dorei to the sword. Quash this enemy before they can even taint the Forest with their rot."

CONTENT WARNING: Blood, gore, violence, implied death

[Part 1]

Lieutenant Summerveil thinned her eye at the letter as she offered the last bite of her breakfast bread to the messenger bird. She ran her gauntleted fingers across the cursive Thalassian and folded the paper back onto itself, analyzing the blue bow and arrow wax seal. The order seemed legitimate. Though by the described danger, the lieutenant herself would have preferred it fabricated. There was no room for disobedience her despite her resistant junior ranger that continued to be a grating thorn in her flank who tested the lieutenant's patience to even be in the presence of.

It was time to suit back up. Summerveil had doffed her usual silver and blue chainmail in favor of the more comfortable padded tunic, trousers, and boots for sleep. The pieces were still moderately protective, and it was even easier to move in should an ambush come in the night. Fitting all the pieces in place and tightening all the straps alone was normally a slow process, but it was one she had a century of practice in, taking a mere five minutes before finally looping the message into her belt.

The lieutenant hopped in place several times, getting the blood flowing through the limbs, as was her usual morning routine. Snuffing the candle by her bedside, she knelt and extended a hand toward under the cot, where her saber usually resided, but she grasped nothing but stalks of dry grass.

Lieutenant Summerveil thinned her eyes, tilting her head into the small space. An indentation was visible in the flora. The lieutenant swiveled on her feet, fingers wrapping around the dagger at her hip and pulling it from its leather sheath with a rasp. The farstrider positioned the blade at her side, and the empty hand extended out as a shield, reaching for the tent flap.

She brushed it to the side, and her sharp blue gaze scoured the surrounding trees. Cautiously, she stalked through the encampment. Both ears perked up to hear all sounds that weren't the surrounding morning birds or the ground crunching under her metal boot. Her eyes locked onto the wooden post her junior ranger had been shackled to. It held no prisoner, only red flecks of blood dotting the bark and grass.

"Fireblood!" she called out, tone demanding that the ranger show herself.

Nothing revealed themselves save for the birds fluttering out from the surrounding orange-leaved canopies.

"Don't tell me you died before you could apologize! Apologize to me before you repeat it to my mother in the afterlife!"

crack

Her right ear perked as the lieutenant's head darted to the side at the noise of a small cracking branch. There was a pause in the forest as if every critter within momentarily halted and ceased breathing. All was quiet, not even the wind.

"Tell her yourself."

An arc of metal gleamed in the eternal spring Sun, slashing toward the lieutenant's face. Summerveil barely dodged, the edge cutting a red line across her chin as Celaryn's battered and dirtied figure emerged out from the tent's side, gripping the lieutenant's curved blade in her muddy palm.

"Color me surprised. Looks like you're not an armchair superior." Celaryn spat off to the side as her opponent smeared her chin red from the cut.

Summerveil growled, facing her stance toward Celaryn, keeping her gauntleted arm extended as she held her dagger in an icepick grip. "I thought you better than a traitor, Fireblood."

"Only traitor here?" Celaryn laughed, rolling her wrist with the saber and stabbing its end into the dirt. She leaned her forearms on the round pommel and tipped her chin toward the lieutenant. "That's you, peddling that you're better than someone because of that silver spoon jammed so far in your mouth that you can spread honey on bread with the end extending out your ass."

"That's the nature of things, traitor. This is Silvermoon. There are rulers, and there are those ruled." Subtly, the lieutenant circled Celaryn, positioning the Sun at her back. "Not that you would figure that out with your rustic upbringing. Are all of you this stupid? Has your growth in the Row rotted your brain?"

Celaryn tilted her head, raising an eyebrow before actually laughing in the lieutenant's face. "So let me get this straight," she mimed wiping a tear from her eye. "Because you were born to privilege, that gives you the right to try to purposefully send me to die by acting as bait for the Amani, more often than not with just three arrows, a bow, and a skinning knife?"

The junior ranger pulled the saber from the ground and casually walked toward Summerveil without a stance, arms outstretched as if wanting a hug. "You're hilarious, lieutenant."

But rather than a hug, Summerveil lunged forward, empty hand extended out to grip Celaryn's sword hand as she drove her dagger toward the ranger's collar.

Red splattered the orange grass as the blade punctured through Celaryn's palm, the edge catching a bit of bone. Without so much as a grunt of pain, Celaryn twisted her hand, forcing the lieutenant's dagger grip to bend unnaturally at the wrist. Summerveil winced. Celaryn's boot rammed forward, slamming into the lieutenant's knee. The ranger felt the cap buckle and snap under her heel as the joint bent backward, sending her superior howling as she crumpled to the ground.

With a disgusting wet squelch, Celaryn pulled the small blade from her flesh. Red trickled down from the wound. Whistling, she sauntered over to her now immobilized lieutenant, balling fabric from Summerveil's blue cloak in her fist and tearing it away to wrap the stab wound.

"I take it back. You are an armchair leader that wouldn't have survived a year without your family's name."

Summerveil screeched out a blood-curdling noise mixed with extreme pain and raw hatred. The act earned a swift kick in the ribs, cracking several of them. The lieutenant's breath devolved into erratic and desperate gasps.

Driving her heel into her superior's throat, Celaryn reached down and plucked with the blue bow and arrow-sealed message from the lieutenant's belt, reading as she ignored the frantic pleas for air underfoot.

"Undead threat south, huh?"

As if on cue, the unnatural screams and moans of animated corpses howled in the distance. "Looks like those Elfgates failed," Celaryn muttered.

A malicious grin emerged over the ranger's cracked lips as she kicked the lieutenant again, rolling her onto her back and dragging Summerveil by her inner tunic's collar toward the very wooden post she had previously shackled Celaryn to.

The post's circumference was too large to hold one's arms comfortably around, forcing the shackled to be in a constant threat of dislocating their shoulders. The bark was unshaven, splinters constantly jabbing into the skin.

Celaryn slammed the lieutenant's back against the wood. The latter lunged an arm upward, grabbing at the hunting knife on the ranger's waist, the one Keenfaith had given Celaryn the night before. With the blade in hand, Summerveil drove the tip of it toward Celaryn's ear canal, but the tip met nothing but air as the latter stopped the strike at the wrist.

"Good idea." The ranger mused, hoisting the lieutenant's hand up and bending the index and middle fingers backward. Summerveil dropped the weapon with another howl of pain, but not before Celaryn forced the hand into the bark of the post and drove the tip of the knife through the palm, impaling the hand. With cold indifference, she repeated the process with the other hand, using the lieutenant's own dagger.

As the sounds of hungry ghouls and famished scourge neared the encampment, Celaryn gathered the saber off the ground, sliding it back into its scabbard. "You know what they say, lieutenant." She laughed, rolling her shoulders and beginning to amble in the opposite direction of the unnatural shrieks of the dead. "Leaders are the first ones in and the last ones out."

As the lieutenant's screams drowned out as she headed a mile away from the camp, Celaryn breathed a sigh of relief. A fiery sensation welled up in her bruised limbs. What was this invigorating feeling? She had no time to ponder before that familiar silhouette of Ranger Keenfaith, a basket of berries and fruit in hand as he was returning from foraging. As he realized her identity, he dropped the basket and came running up.

"Why are you still here, Fireblood?! You were supposed to be at the Enclave hours ago!"

Eyes directly locked onto his, Celaryn shrugged. "Got lost in the night. Came back to the camp."

Keenfaith swallowed, lips pressing together in a tight line. "And the lieutenant?"

"Dead when I arrived, ripped apart by those Amani hunters you mentioned.”

#tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #my writing #world of warcraft writing #wow writing #undead #forsaken

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jukeboxbutton · 5 years

Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A Conflicted New Home

Previous Chapter

Ship: Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: M

Kylo’s POV

His senses were delirious with adrenaline as he looked around, ground shaking and rebel pilots scrambling for their jets. Behind him, more of his men descended from the aircraft, their weapons poised in their hands and ready for combat. Each of them wore a mask similar to his, it’s black metal dented and scratched with sparring trials meant to train for this day.

“Kill every rebel on base you see,” Kylo commanded, his head turned to speak to those behind him. “But take the young women hostage until we find her.”

Someone cocked their weapon.

He paused, “And if you happen upon Luke Skywalker, bring him to me. I will finish him.”

* * * *

Your POV

Your body was completely ridged with fear and shock. You took a step backward, your mouth suddenly dry as you watched Kylo’s men descend upon the Rebel base. One yielded a lightsaber that looked as though it were just a flame, bursting through the dark sky as he punctured the chest of a resistance fighter. Another threw an orb at the ground, its contents exploding and shaking the earth beneath you.

You fell backward on a stone and onto the hard gravel, losing your balance. You held your stomach as you attempted to scramble yourself up. Someone took you under your armpit and pulled you up. You tried to run with them, but your legs felt like they had weakened and cemented to the ground.

“You have to walk, Miss [y/l/n],” Kavis, your patient was standing beside you, your ears ringing as he tugged at your arm. His eyes pleaded with you, “I don’t think I can carry you!”

Before you could take another step, a silver speck of light sliced through the air and caught Kavis just above his stomach. His grip let go as he fell backward, groping at his wound. His had pulled back, covered in crimson. His face was suddenly ashen. Your hand trembled as you touched your lips, shock overwhelming you to tears.

A hand was on your mouth, pulling you backward. You grasped at your stomach, protecting it as your heels dragged on the gravel towards the ship.

You screamed behind the hand that dragged you, pleading with them to let you go as you elbowed then and flailed your limbs. They had the wrong person! You weren’t the one they were looking for. You were being dragged back into a life you didn’t want. Surely Ren would find you now and he would discover you were pregnant. You suddenly had an overwhelming awareness that you didn’t want him in this baby’s life. You were going to fight to protect this child.

You struggled, breaking away and falling to your knees, struggling to stand up with the uneven weight of your belly giving you unbalance.

“Not today,” he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back. You didn’t have the strength you used to. This hasn’t been the easiest pregnancy, taking every ounce of energy your body produced. As the result, you felt your muscles weaken against the man's grip.

Without warning, you felt a pinch at your neck and the world fell away.

* * * * Your body ached. Your neck was sore as you blinked your eyes, trying to focus in the dimly lit room. You looked up, realizing your wrists were chained behind you. Around you, the rebel women of the base were in the same situation as yourself. You could barely see a few feet in front of you. One woman was awake, her sniffles of anger barely audible over the sound of the already hazy fluorescent light above flickering on and off.

“Where am I...?” You managed.

Your question was not answered. You attempted to move but soon realized the metal around your hands were the same as you had one the previous ship you were on with Kylo. Immediately, you knew where you were and the memories of what happened flooded back. Instead of fear washing over you, you felt malice consume you. You gritted your teeth, wishing death upon these men.

How could he do this? How could he be so senseless? Only here for power and nothing more.

Had you done nothing to help him? To reinforce to him that this was not the right path he should be traveling on?

You wondered how the General was combating this war on her turf. Was the base prepared for such an ambush?

It was only on occasion that you let yourself think of how this baby would grow up. Would he be like his father? Or would the Light is his grandparents oust the impulsive and reckless tendencies of his paternity?

More women began to rouse, looking around and crying out as their bones compressed with each movement, tiny shocks electrifying them from the shackles.

The door at the other side of the room slid opened and you gritted your teeth harder with anticipated anger. Two stormtroopers entered, weapons at a ready. You looked up, grateful it wasn’t him. You couldn’t bear another interaction with him. And to see him like this, deeper into the darkness than when you had left him, only caused you more anger that he hadn’t listened.

But then there he was behind theme his face bare just as it had been 6 months ago. The scar on his cheek that you had helped nurse was now covered with a silver bandage. He stopped in the middle of the room.

Your baby kicked you in the rib and you lurched forward. You froze in shock, it was the first time you had felt him kick. The metal on your wrists tightened, but you said nothing to draw attention to yourself. You bowed your head, hiding.

“Do you see her, Master Ren?” A stormtrooper inquired, looking about.

The door opened again and a putrid looking man in a gold robe entered. His face was scarred and mangled, looking as if someone had burned him and left him to die at one point in his life. You remembered him and a chill ran down your spine, the taste of fear in the back of your throat. You swallowed and glanced up. He sneered at the group, shuffling his feet behind Ren. Kylo didn’t move but stood ridged, his hands folded at the small of his back and his gaze straight ahead.

“She’s not here,” Snoke observed, his voice raspy and harsh.

“Correct,” Ren said, his throat hoarse suddenly.

“Thrawn predicted this would happen,” Snoke gazed around. You remained with your head bowed. “Your men are worthless. Just as you are, Ren.”

You glanced up, watching Snoke step forward and taking a fighter pilot’s face in his hand, gripping it hard. He stared deeply at her, his revulsion apparent. He pushed her against the wall, her head banging against the metal with a thud as she could do nothing to resist.

“Rebel scum,” Snoke murmured, kicking her foot. The woman spit at his feet and he ignored her. Snoke walked passed Ren, his golden garb billowing behind him. Ren turned to follow. With your head down, you could see Kylo’s black boots two feet before you as you glanced up. You could audibly hear Ren swallow. Could he sense you here?

“What should we do with them, Master Ren?” The stormtrooper inquired.

Snoke interrupted, “kill them.” Your ears picked up the sound of Ren’s leather gloves twisting behind his back. “I don’t want to look at them.”

You lurched forward again, this time with a growing sense of nausea and frustration overcoming you. Again, you were here. How did you keep ending up in front of death’s door like this? You rose to your feet as the stormtroopers charged their weapons, cocking them with an echo that bounced off the cement walls. Memories of what had happened on your last ship with Ren manifested themselves in beads of sweat dripping down your back.

One by one, the women stood, unable to move excessively with the shackles locked tightly around their wrists. Death by firing squad, their circumstances showed. Yet, none of them would let them win. Snoke disappeared behind the shifting doors. You swallowed, watching his back as he took a step out into the corridor. Another kick. The door closed.

Without notice, one of the women charged towards the Stormtrooper, nailing their helmet with the side of a fist and pushing them to the wall.

A surprise blast ricocheted off the ceiling and struck another trooper. Other woman protested and tried to fight back. You turned your gaze back to the ground. The stormtrooper yelled for everyone to get back against the wall, kicking them in the stomach to keep them away from their weapons. A blaster went off, striking an engine mechanic in the pelvis. She doubled over.

You couldn’t give up this easily. Not like this. You couldn’t let these other innocent women die. You couldn’t let your baby die, regardless of its paternity.

Without fully comprehending what your body was doing, you charged forward, head first towards the stormtroopers as their fingers squeezed the triggers. You didn’t know what you were doing. You were being foolish and reckless, but your instincts told you that you had to do something. Shots rang out as you rammed your shoulder into the harsh metal armor of the trooper, pushing them against one another. The metal scraped your shoulder, ripping your shirt open.

Then darkness.

A tiny click echoed in your ears and your wrists were free. You felt a grasp around your upper arm as your body was yanked from the scene and the shackles dropped to the ground. Commotion still went on behind you. The last glimpse you had as the lights flickered on was of the others realizing they were free too.

* * * * * *

A/N:

I’m going to try and finish this story soon. :) Thank you for reading <3

~ T

@shirukitsune

#Kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #the force awakens #the last jedi #star wars #Ben solo #Adam driver #space trash #kylo x reader #rey

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monstersdownthepath · 6 years

Text

Theme Bestiary: Ships in a Bottle

CR 2

Neutral Tiny Construct

Pathfinder Adventure Path: Skulls and Shackles: Tempest Rising, pg. 86~87

Construction Requirements: Craft Construct. Animate Object and Magic Jar. At least 2 ranks in Craft (Woodworking) are needed, but there is no Craft DC for making a Ship in a Bottle. At least, not one to animate it.

To create an animated Ship in a Bottle, first someone must create an actual, proper ship in a bottle. Not just any old ship will do--it must be a masterwork vessel, costing 100gp worth of materials and a DC 30 Craft (Woodworking) check to be made over the course of several days. They are rarely made for the express purpose of being animated; typically a hobbyist or a captain wishing to immortalize his prized vessel will make an expensive replica ship, which they’ll have animated out of curiosity or as part of a drunken agreement.

Once the ship is properly built and bottled, a ritual can be used to bind a minor water spirit to it.

Cost to Build: Building the actual ship is the hardest part of this endeavor, taking many days (or weeks) of painstaking, eyes-straining, steady-handed labor to fit every piece in its proper place. The ritual to bind the spirit is significantly less intensive, but brings the total cost of making one of the constructs to 2,600. Especially rich folk without the means to bypass the DC 30 Craft check may instead elect to simply buy a masterwork ship in a bottle to crew with a tiny spirit, increasing the cost to build by an additional 500gp, for a total of 3,100gp.

It’s perhaps more fitting to call these creatures Animated Toy Boats, because the “bottles” never last long. It’s also fitting to say that these may be among the weakest creatures on Theme Week 13, with their combat prowess leaving much to be desired and their utility next to none. They are, at the very least, whimsical little constructs which add a very interesting flavor to a campaign. This isn’t to say a Ship in a Bottle is harmless, no, they can give quite a few nasty wounds and potentially even kill low-level folk... But beyond level 2 they leave much to be desired, and by the time a party member has the means to actually craft one of these things, they’re much better off investing in massive slabs of stone for the Caryatid Columns or piles of leather for Skinstitches.

The biggest thing to note with Ships is that they’re intelligent constructs. Though they’re powered by an elemental spirit like a golem, a Ship’s own spirit is a free-willed being of sailing and seas. During its creation process, the spirit is molded to act like a sailor, commanding the ship as if it were its own, and is “programmed” to view the creator as its admiral. The ‘admiral’ has some measure of control over the spirit, who deeply respects their perceived superior, but like any free-willed sailor may one day come to disobey their admiral in favor of sailing away on their own. The spirit conjures up tiny, phantasmal crews and has an attitude similar to a child creating its own mythologies, even keeping amusing little sailor’s logs in the captain’s quarters that can be read with a magnifying glass and pair of tweezers.

There are few things more stubborn and frustrating than a child, though, especially one that has access to weapons. Poorly suited for assaulting actual people, Ships in Bottles make for terrifying foes when facing rats, invading birds, unwelcomed spiders, children, flies, and centipedes, and other such vermin, attacking by either ramming bodily into the target (1d3 damage) or by firing their tiny but fully operational and curiously harmful ballasta (1d6). With Flyby Attack and a 40ft fly speed combined with their Tiny size, a Ship in a Bottle can be a frustrating foe to actually hit as it keeps well out of reach, firing with its miniature missiles until its foes either succumb or flee. The spirit within the ship can conjure as much ammo as it needs to and can sail in impossible directions through the air, even upside-down, its phantom crew unaffected by gravity as they man the harpoons.

Remember when I said that they should be called “Animated Toy Boats” instead? Well this is because the actual bottles of Ships in Bottles tend not to last long. The instant they attack or are attacked, the bottle explodes like a grenade, spraying 1d6 points worth of lacerating damage 5ft in every direction with its Shatter Spray. Only spells such as Make Whole can actually restore a bottle shattered in this manner, and even then it requires the admiral to coax the spirit into holding still long enough for the bottle to be rebuilt. The Ship’s bottle shattering is usually the spirit’s first steps towards becoming fully free willed and abandoning their admiral in favor of sailing the literal ocean, bobbing across the waves or even floating above the water, adorably ‘raiding’ other vessels they cross like pirates, even ones several hundred times their size.

If the players happen to find one of these things besieged by terrible tuna or savage seagulls, they may earn themselves a tiny, adorable companion for a time. If they find themselves attacked by one of these things, negotiating with the “captain” is entirely possible. If nothing else, they make for amusing encounters on the high seas. Or on large lakes. Or on ponds.

You can read more about them here.

#Theme Week 13 #Monster Spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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ourladytamara · 3 years

Text

Amphora

Tamara 3/29/2021 - @_ourladytamara

cws: animal death (they shoot a bird to eat it,) Scythian musclebimbos, body hair

Wind licks the grasses. A cloudless sky transitions seamlessly into the verdant earth over the long, long plains. The sun hangs languidly in the sky overhead, golden rays cascading across the boundless breast of Api. Distantly, the Tanais roars, beyond a thin row of oak and pine leaning into the wind.

Gordanu picks up the bustard she’d slain, arrow still lodged clean through the bird’s neck. The large woman was one of the surest shots in the entire village, and this latest prize was no exception. Beside her, hunting-companion Perkha strips down one of her earlier catches, tucking the birds neatly into a leather bundle which she carried with a stick.

The two were Enarei, foremost servitors of Tabiti, and their figures displayed prominently their blessings from the Goddess. Other than their hair – Gordanu’s short and taut and Perkha’s tied into long, flowing braids – they were rather similar physically. As the others in their home village, they were impressively well-built, their bodies muscular and toned from an active life on the steppe. Both bore heavy breasts, laden with milk; Gordanu’s were the larger of them, much bigger than her head, whereas Perkha’s were far more modestly-sized and measured up to about twice her fist. Rippling muscles ran down their chests and backs, complementing the girth of their well-trained arms and legs. Perkha bore a much larger rear, something she was rather proud of – and something which Gordanu was starting to get tired of her bragging about. Both of them were rather hirsute, for somewhat obvious reasons; wiry chest hair covered the region between their breasts and ran in a long trail down their rippling abdomens towards their pubes proper.

Like all Enarei, at the base of their feminine torsos hung an enormous, vein-covered cock. It, like the rest of their figure, was a product of years of work and unspeakably-large flagons of mare’s urine, something which their caste were proud of. Each was easily almost a cubit in length, swinging with great density at every movement they made. Both preferred hunting in the nude; only in this way could they truly embrace Api’s bounty as it was laid before them, though the added awkwardness of so many bits dangling around added a bit of added excitement to their outings.

Every few days they’d hunt together like this. It was a way to get away from the business and urgency of civilization, growing as it was along the coast. Besides the freshness of the air and the exhileration of the hunt, however, the wild offered one a very special freedom indeed – freedom from modesty. Neither woman was “modest” to begin with, but therein was what tantalized them. Finally, they could cast off the last shackles of obligation – not to each other, but to society.

With a huff Gordanu pries the arrow from the bird’s neck and tosses it to Perkha to pack.

“Busy, I see! They’re breeding quickly this season.” says Perkha, looking up at Gordanu. “There’ll be extras for everyone, on top of the sacrifice.”

“Wish we could get this lucky every time, huh?” Gordanu replies, adjusting the floppy red cap on her head to keep the sun from her eyes. “Would’ve made last winter easier, eh?”

“Any time I’m out here with you I feel pretty lucky, you know.” Perkha returns. Gordanu blushes.

“Gods, you’re a charmer.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way, darling.”

The two paused and stared at one another; first at their partner’s eyes and then at their body. Gazes rolled across muscle and supple flesh like the wind in the grasses. Fluttering motions, almost hesitation – playful more than it was a true fear of their bodies. With a curt smile, Perkha lifts an arm and flexes, placing a kiss against her bicep.

“...I feel like we last longer than this, usually.” Gordanu remarks, her cock twitching. Perkha was truly gorgeous – a sentiment shared likewise.

“Not this time.”

Perkha leans over her sack and pulls out a small, earthen amphora. She… traded for it – it’s easier than explaining the truth – with some of the Greeks along the coast. Within, they said, was a special mixture of olive oil, sylphium, and exotic ingredients the two horsewomen had never heard of. It would fortify one’s lust, driving them mad with passion in the arms of their true lover – so said the man hawking it, of course.

She broke the wax-tied seal and poured a glug of completely-normal-looking oil into her hand – good thing she didn’t pay for this.

Gordanu removes her bow and quiver, stepping closer to her comrade. Sweat glistens from both of their bodies, carrying the warm light of the sun across them; glinting brighter is the amber oil as it spills from Perkha’s palm before being slathered across her half-hard cock, throbbing and twitching with the quickened beating of her heart.

The two women wrap arms around one another and pull themselves in. Perkha releases her cock from her grip and takes Gordanu’s, slathering the turgid length in the oil. She grunts, pleased; with a thrust of her hips she bucks into Perkha’s fingers. Droplets of pre leak from their tips, smearing into the lubricant and dripping onto the grass beneath. Not content to give her all the pleasure, Perkha lifts her cock with her off hand and slides the length back between her fingers. Their pricks press together, heavy balls tensing and pulsing with the slow crawl of ecstasy. They’re almost matched in length and girth, Perkha barely able to wrap her palm around both at once and resorting to a double-handed stroke while they frotted one another.

Gordanu leans in and takes Perkha’s lips. Their tongues swirl together, prodding and pressing in tune with the eager movements of their hips. The larger-breasted woman grips Perkha’s toned ass. Lube and sweat mix on her soft skin as her partner’s hand moves further and further down her body. Another grips a breast, tweaking her nipples just as Gordanu’s fingers tease closer to her opening.

“Fuck. Oh, Gods, enough of this,” Perkha gasps, red in the face as she breaks the kiss, “I can’t stand all this touchy-feeliness when I-”

“When you’re this horny, girl?” Gordanu shoots back. Her comrade is clearly flustered at her taking of the reins. “I can tell, don’t worry.”

With that, an oil-covered finger presses into Gordanu’s asshole, followed by another seconds later. Perkha loses her grip on the two cocks in her hands, tensing up and trembling while Gordanu’s grip in her solidifies. She yelps, squealing in surprise and delight. The girl’s like a woolen glove against Gordanu’s hand; fuzzy, warm, and inviting. Her middle and ring fingers spear her without mercy, and with gentle motions she coaxes Perkha to the ground.

She makes no effort to stop it, of course, and eagerly leans back onto her plush ass and folds her thick legs into the air. Gordanu falls to her knees and looms over her, cock pulsating violently, thick strand of pre hanging from her tip. Perkha’s asshole is tight and inviting, a delicious-looking pucker wrapping itself around Gordanu’s fingers. With a smirk, she slides in a third, her pointer finger. Screams of ecstasy come almost instantly, widening the dominating woman’s smile as Perkha’s voice cracks.

“J-Just get it in.”

Gordanu says nothing more and pulls her fingers from Perkha’s ass. Her entrance gapes open a bit, widened as the woman’s panting mouth. She readies herself as Gordanu grabs her ankles and hoists her legs up further before prodding at her loose entrance with the pre-slicked tip of her shaft. Her balls seize up, tensing in anticipation; she holds it there an agonizing second longer before forcing it inside.

Perkha roars in pleasure instantly, clutching Gordanu and wrapping her arms around her muscled shoulders. It stretches her like nothing else, spreading her inner walls wide and ramming with impressive force against her taut prostate. A spurt of pre lands against Gordanu’s chest from Perkha’s tip, drawing a chuckle wrought with pleasure and determination.

Typically, they were happy with using each other’s bodies in less invasive ways; Gordanu gave some absolutely amazing titfucks, and few could resist sliding their cock between Perkha’s supple thighs and cheeks. Today was different, though; blame it on the weather, the exhilaration of the hunt, or the supposedly-infused lubrication, but the result was the same: neither woman could get enough of the other.

Gordanu pulled her hips away until her turgid cock stuck halfway into Perkha’s hole. She wipes the sweat from her brow and removes her Phrygian cap, tossing it aside with the amphora, before reading her hips and slamming forward once again. Her balls slap against Perkha’s fat ass with wet, lewd sounds which echo across the empty steppe. She slams into her partner with reckless abandon. Perkha’s eyes well up with tears, barely able to comprehend the pleasure that is having her prostate pounded like grain in a stone mill.

“Fuck! Gods, Gods, slow down, I – hnn!” screams Perkha, roaring in ecstasy after Gordanu slammed into her with particular force. Sweat and lube clung to their sticky bodies, both of them looking as if they’d just emerged from a bath. Perkha’s braids undulate with her motions, breasts jiggling against Gordanu’s much larger pair. They were practically bound together by their shared weight and girth; Perkha crosses her legs around Gordanu’s back as she’s mating-pressed, pulling the bullish woman in closer and giving her better leverage to annihilate her asshole. The feeling of bristly body hair against one another tickles their skin and ignites the inferno of their passion ever higher.

The grip on Perkha’s ankles tightens. The bottom-heavy girl’s drooling on herself, now, eyes rolled back and lids fluttering with every mindshattering thrust. Gordanu grunts like an animal, bracing herself against her partner and the earth. Both pull closer together, locking lips once again. With a triumphant moan shared between the two women, Gordanu cums; her body seizes, tensing up violently in sync with the motions of her cock. A final, balls-deep thrust signals her orgasm. White-hot ropes of cum slam into Perkha’s back wall, filling her like she’d never been filled before. Thick as honey and as hot as warm soup; the feeling alone drives her to her own orgasm, mouth agape as she shoots creamy jets of her own sperm all over Gordanu’s stomach.

And with a final, breathy huff, they both collapse. Perkha lays down against the grass, Gordanu laying right atop her, still lodged inside her ass. For a moment, they breathe. The air is crisp, refreshing on their sweaty skin; a gust jostles the grass and forces a shiver from the nude-and-exhausted pair. Their breasts rub together, almost tangling the tufts of hair that dot their collarbones.

“G-Gordanu.” Perkha remarks, still clinging to her partner from beneath. Her face is red, slick with the same sweat covering the rest of her; Gordanu’s, likewise.

“Yeah?” replies the woman atop her, dragging a hand through her short hair.

“You should probably get more of that olive oil.”

She’d look into it.

#subscriber stories

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