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thecampjuicebox · 9 months

Note

*Ahem*

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael and/or Haarlep - you decide). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and who also has a collar attached to a chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav would be down with being in the fiend's bed like this, she just would have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here)

Incredible idea! I think we need a lil Haarlep AND Raphael showing sweet little Mouse some fun 😈 Thank you for your submission, I hope you enjoy the filth! 💕

Wrapped With a Bow

Pairing: Raphael x Haarlep(m) x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 3rd Person

Warnings: Angst, smut, bondage, use of a collar/leash, CNC, domination, fingering, double penetration

The still morning air of the House of Hope sizzles with devilish magic as red sparks and hellfire swirl around the portal room, two large winged cambions appearing in the middle of the circle of enchanted frames. Servants and debtors alike greet the visitors with dulled eyes and forced smiles. The strong scent of sulfur and cinders alerts Raphael and Haarlep of the intrusion, Raphael stirring from his boudoir to assess the situation with a heavy sigh. "Who disturbs me at this hour?" he mumbles, palms rubbing the sleep from his half open eyes. One of the cambions bows gracefully, a letter pressed between his outstretched index and middle finger. "A gift from Mephistopheles." he says, voice deep and booming. A gift? Raphael reluctantly plucks the parchment from the fiend's fingers, tearing open the envelope with ease, eyes scanning the page as he reads.

My son,

As I know you are still infuriated by my actions, I am sending this gift to you as a peace offering. Use her well, she was near impossible to wrangle. A strong one she is. I hope you'll find her suitable.

Your father,

Mephistopheles

"How thoughtful." he hisses. Irritation seers in his throat as he waves a hand at the two fiends, showing them toward the boudoir to deliver the gift, and hopefully, get the hells out of his home. He follows, hands smoothing his hair back as he thinks back to the letter. A poor attempt at forgiveness. Shaking his head, he rounds the corner, eyes moving from the fiends to Haarlep, and back again, watching as they wrestle something to the floor, little yelps and squeaks of struggle perking his ears up. Just as quickly as they came, the two fiends blink away in another flurry of red magic, the sparks settling in the air to reveal his gift sat pretty on the marble floor. An woman, artfully wrapped in black silk ribbons like a Midwinter present, legs and arms bound to restrict any struggling. Around her neck sits a red leather collar, thick chain attached to a silver O-ring secured at the front. A delicious looking gift, indeed.

From across the room, Haarlep purrs, wings fluttering behind him, tail swishing side to side in an obviously aroused manner as he approaches the cambion and his new pet. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" he mumbles as he places his hands on Raphael's hips from behind, pressing his half-hard cock to the devil's backside. "Very pretty indeed." a smirk forces itself onto Raphael's lips as he kneels in front of Tav to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'll be put to such good use, little mouse." Tav spits at the devil, earning a quick grip of the jaw. Raphael's fingers hold onto each side of her face, squishing her cheeks together, a smirk forming on Tav's lips that he did not expect. She enjoys this? Haarlep gasps in excitement, swaying his hips side to side as he runs his own nails down his torso, one hand grasping at his now full erect cock beneath its thin leather restraint. "Let's play with her.."

Tav's eyes meet Raphael's. Sparkling and wet from tears, lashes dusted with little water droplets like fresh snow on pine trees. He sighs at the sight. So beautiful, so sweet. So ready to be destroyed. The look she gives him is one of surprising lust. She breathes a sigh of desire when he trails his fingers over the sharpness of her jaw and down the side of her neck. A shudder rattles her bones from his warm touch and she innocently blinks up at him. "So lovely.." he murmurs to her, fingers inching their way toward her right breast. Featherlight touch traces the shape and his eyes never leave hers, searching for permission to continue. She gives him a slow nod of approval. He circles the nipple with the tip of his nail, earning a moan from Tav's lips, her eyelids fluttering at the sweet mix of pain and pleasure. Careful fingers reach for the restraints and Haarlep quickly leans down to grasp at his wrist. "Release her there and she'll surely run. Let's move her to a much more comfortable destination."

The incubus and the devil help Tav to her feet. She stumbles from the tight restrains around her legs and Haarlep groans impatiently, scooping her legs up from beneath her, Raphael holding onto her top half as they carefully lie her on the plush bed. "Perfect. You do the honors, Haarlep." Raphael leans against the wall, his hands traveling over his torso and over the front of his thin robe, cock twitching behind the fabric, desperate for release. Haarlep grins and leans in to grasp at the bow in the ribbon with his sharp teeth, giving the silk a gentle tug to release the ties. Tav remains perfectly still. Lids low. Bottom lip caught in a death grip between her teeth. She's perfectly naked beneath the ribbons, cunt already soaked and ready for whatever the two men have in store for her.

Raphael palms at his erection slowly. His lower back bows off of the wall and Haarlep pauses to watch him, a low moan rumbling in his throat at the sight of his master exciting himself. "Such a tease." he groans, reaching down to rub at his own erection momentarily. A quick tug removes the ribbons from Tav's body and she sighs at the relief, legs falling open to reveal the mess between her thighs. Little red marks cover her skin from the friction and tightness of the silk. She sits up and turns her head toward Raphael to watch him, hips unintentionally rolling forward at the filthy thoughts swirling around in her head. She's ready for him. For both of them. In one swift motion, Haarlep reaches for her hips, flipping her over and shoving her face into the velvet duvet beneath them, a primal growl raising goosebumps all over her soft skin. His hands search her body. Every curve and crevice. Every freckle and bruise and imperfection.

Raphael still watches as Haarlep's hands roam Tav's back and ass, squishing the supple flesh between his fingers, kneading and groping and squeezing. One hand gathers Tav's wrists and forces them behind her back. He shoots a look at Raphael. "Some help?" he hisses and Raphael moves toward the bed to retrieve the ribbons Tav had been released from not moments before. He circles her wrists with the silk carefully, tying a bow at the top to finish off the restraint and he leans back to admire his work. The chain still connected to Tav's collar glimmers in the candlelight of the boudoir. An invitation. Raphael reaches down to grasp at it and give it a gentle tug, earning a muffled whimper from Tav as she struggles to lift her head from the bed. Hot fingers swipe up through her folds, Haarlep using his knees to keep her thighs apart as far as her hips will allow in this position. He lifts his fingers to show Raphael her slick, spreading them apart to windowpane the wetness between them in a thin, sticky layer.

"Little Mouse.. So wet for us." Raphael grunts. The devil leans forward, eyes fixed on Haarlep, tongue flicking out to clean off the incubus' fingers. He sucks the digits between his lips, tongue swirling around them thoroughly, Tav's sweetness making his cock grow even harder. Haarlep pulls his fingers away with a satisfying pop and works them through Tav's folds one more, eventually pressing the two fingertips to her entrance. She accepts them with ease. Surprising ease, even for herself. Haarlep begins a torturously slow pump of his fingers within her walls and she rolls her hips backward against them, chasing friction, release, anything. She's desperate now. Desperate for more. To be filled to the brim. His thumb presses to her clit and Tav nearly comes undone in that moment, the pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves enough to start her legs trembling.

The pumping of Haarlep's fingers continues as he uses his free hand to palm at his cock again, the angry red tip weeping with a shiny bead of precum. He pulls it from behind its leather restraint and leans down to rub the head between Tav's ass cheeks, playfully pressing it against her tight hole. She lifts her head and yelps. "Such a good girl." Raphael coos, giving the chain another tug, this one much rougher. A quiet choked noise escapes her and she licks the drool pooling at the corners of her lips, turning her head to fix her eyes on Raphael as Haarlep ruts against her backside. The devil hands the chain to the incubus and unties his robe, instructing Haarlep to pull Tav up onto her knees. He obeys, fingers leaving her cunt reluctantly. She keens at the emptiness and pushes herself back against the incubus as he reaches a hand around to find her aching clit once more. Her head falls back against his chest in relief, little moans of pure pleasure pouring from her lips like a song.

Raphael crawls up onto the bed and settles himself on his back in front of Tav. She smiles down at him in between moans, Haarlep's fingers still working furiously at her clit, the other hand winding the chain tight around it to keep Tav's body pulled close to his chest for complete control. He mumbles filthy words into her ear, drawing her closer to her end with each circle of his fingers. Raphael takes his cock into his hand and strokes at it slowly, Haarlep gathering some of Tav's slick on his hand to reach out and smooth over Raphael's erection for lubricant. The devil groans at the sensation and his hand quickens. "Careful, Raphael. We know what happens when you become too eager." Haarlep teases. With a groan, Raphael flattens himself against the bed and drops his hand to his side. "Bring her to me." he grunts. Haarlep obeys and shifts Tav forward. She adjusts her legs to straddle Raphael's lap, cunt pressed firmly to his cock as it lays against his stomach.

His hands find the globes of her ass and without hesitation, he guides her hips in a grinding motion against him, the friction enough to earn a strained moan from the devil's throat. Tav grins and presses her chest tightly to his as she follows the movements he pushes her hips into, her slick dripping onto his pelvis with each thrust. A delicious mess of sticky clear fluid and precum coats their skin. Haarlep lines himself up behind Tav carefully, nails digging into the plush meat of her thighs. He gathers spit on his tongue, allowing it to fall in a thin rope onto Tav's tight asshole, his thumb rubbing the saliva into her skin before pressing the tip of his cock against her. She grits her teeth and hisses at the burning sensation as he pushes himself inside. "Oh g-gods-" she whines, head falling into the sweaty crook of Raphael's neck and shoulder. He holds her steady to allow her time to adjust before lifting his hips and allowing his cock to easily slide into her cunt.

Tav sobs into Raphael's neck at the heavy pressure in both holes, her hips still. Raphael coos to her quietly, smoothing her hair down against the back of her head. After a few moments of reprieve, Haarlep begins the thrusting first, nails still hooked roughly into Tav's thighs. Little rivulets of blood bubbling up and over the indentations. Raphael begins his movements next and Tav nearly crumbles to ash as both men pick up their pace. Hips crash against hips, loud squelching and slapping noises filling the boudoir like a filthy symphony. "I can't wait to pump you full of my seed, little mouse. Make such a mess of you." Raphael groans. Haarlep gives her chain another yank backwards. She coughs at the restriction against her windpipe, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as the two men continue to furiously rut into her aching holes. She can't take much more.

Raphael falls apart first, loud moans ringing in Tav's ear. He ruts up into her one final time, hot ropes of cum spewing deep within her walls. She presses sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest as she continues to ride him through his orgasm. The friction of the silk ribbons rubs her wrists raw and she wines as she tries to tug them apart. Sweat beads up on Raphael's forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the blissful overstimulation of his cock. Haarlep is next, muscular body toppling over Tav's, pressing her tighter to Raphael as he forces his hips into her a few more times. Heat boils up in Tav's belly and she settles into the cambion beneath her. A content sigh escapes her lungs. She tugs at the ribbons once more. Both men remain inside of her, cocks pulsing from their climaxes, Tav's walls squeezing around them with the beat of her heart. They lie there, a sweaty pile of heat and sex. All too tired to move. Haarlep chuckles quietly to himself and presses his head between the space in Tav's shoulder blades, his fingers releasing her wrists from the ribbons, chest heaving.

"Your daddy should bring us gifts more often, Raphael."

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #fic request #raphael x haarlep #raphael x haarlep x tav #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #haarlep smut #raphael smut

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elryuse · 5 months

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*cough cough* yandere Lily showing you the wedding band meaning you're her husband now. can I request a yandere ex-gf Lily?

Dangerous Melody!

YANDERE LILY X MALE READER

The faint smell of bleach stung Lily's nostrils, a counterpoint to the metallic tang that clung to the worn chopping board. She stared down at the discarded blonde hair, the vibrant color now a dull, lifeless mess, mirroring the hollowness that gnawed at her. Minnie, another pretty face removed from the equation.

Lily used to mock Y/n's obsession with K-Pop. Now, she was the one consumed by it, living through his memories, fueled by a twisted jealousy that had curdled into a horrifying obsession. Y/n, her Y/n, the nerdy guy who used to stammer compliments about her singing voice, was now a rising star. He was surrounded by a glittering constellation of K-Pop idols - (G)-Idle, Kep1er, ITZY - each a potential threat.

The initial thrill of revenge, of watching them fall one by one - a "clumsy" fall for Miyeon, a "sudden illness" for Chaeryeong - had morphed into a chilling emptiness. The closer they got to Y/n, the further he seemed to drift, withdrawing from the public eye, a ghost haunted by fame.

One rainy night, Lily found herself huddled in a doorway opposite Y/n's old apartment. She'd become a stalker, her once carefully curated social media presence abandoned, her life consumed by the flickering glow of his window.

A lone figure emerged, his silhouette obscured by the downpour. He moved with the slumped shoulders of a defeated man, the rain blurring the lines of his tear-streaked face. Y/n. Her Y/n, a broken shell of the boy she used to know.

Anger, raw and hot, pulsed through her veins. All this suffering, all this scheming, for a man who didn't even fight for her? He wasn't worth the effort, the thrill of the chase. But a cold, unsettling voice whispered in the back of her mind – he was hers. He'd always been hers.

The next morning, Lily stood before his building, a manic glint in her normally cool blue eyes. The security guard, a young man who'd always fawned over her fleeting visits, stammered in surprise.

"Miss Lily? But Mr. Y/n doesn't want guests."

Lily's lips curved into a chilling smile. "He doesn't have a choice anymore, does he?"

The fear in the guard's eyes was a balm to her frayed nerves. Her fingers closed around the handle of a heavy duffel bag, its contents a terrifying promise.

Y/n didn't notice the rustle of movement outside his window until a bloodcurdling scream pierced the night. He threw it open, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of Lily, her face streaked with a mixture of rain and something much redder.

"Lily?" He whispered, his voice thick with terror. "What… what have you done?"

Her smile was predatory, devoid of any warmth. "Oh, Y/n," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "Just making sure there are no more distractions. Now, come here."

Before he could react, Lily lunged, dragging a rusty chain with shackles from her bag. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so petite, the cold metal biting into his skin as she secured them.

"We'll be together again," she crooned, her voice a chilling melody. "Forever this time."

He struggled against the restraints, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and loathing. "Lily, no! You're insane!"

"Insane? Perhaps," she conceded, her eyes glinting with a terrifying amusement. "But only for you, my love."

Ignoring his pleas, she hoisted him onto her shoulder, his screams swallowed by the sounds of the rain. The once vibrant city lights blurred past in a dizzying kaleidoscope, a cruel reminder of the life he was being ripped away from.

Their destination – a secluded cabin nestled deep in the woods, a place she'd inherited from a distant relative. There, in the heart of isolation, a twisted love story bloomed. A love bound by fear and obsession, where Y/n became Lily's captive, a broken idol trapped in a gilded cage of her own making.

The K-Pop world mourned their missing star, whispers of foul play turning into cold acceptance. But for Y/n, trapped in the suffocating darkness of their love-turned-prison, there was no more music, no more fans. Only the horrifying reality of his ex-lover, now a monster, and the chilling words that echoed through the lonely cabin: "Forever, Y/n. Forever with me."

#nmixx #nmixx lily #lily #yandere roleplay #yandere blog #yandere stories #yandere #yande.re #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader

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ladylorem · 29 days

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First Meeting: Lovejoy x Nightcrawler

Warnings: Imprisonment/Restraint, mentions of torture, mentions of violence, body horror, strong language

Author's note: First ever fic publicly posted, I'm a visual artist first and a writer second. Also, this isn't edited.

Word count: 1603

Divider by @cafekitsune

A heavy silence hung over the Xavier Institute as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the expansive grounds. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, burdened by the recent events that had shaken the team to its core.

A new mutant had arrived at the institute, but not by choice. Known only as LoveJoy, they had been a formidable adversary, unleashed on a killing spree under the control of the sinister Mr. Sinister himself. It had taken the combined efforts of the X-Men to subdue them, with Rogue delivering the final blow by extracting a mysterious red gem embedded in LoveJoy's forehead, rendering them unconscious.

Now, confined within the institute's secure holding room, LoveJoy was restrained by a straightjacket and a power-inhibiting collar, their dangerous abilities temporarily neutralized. Their body was a canvas of scars, each one telling a story of pain and survival that none of the X-Men could fully comprehend.

Kurt Wagner, known to many as Nightcrawler, stood outside the reinforced door, his golden eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and compassion. He had volunteered for this task, believing that perhaps he could reach LoveJoy where others had failed. Taking a deep breath, he teleported inside with a soft bamf, the smell of brimstone briefly filling the room.

LoveJoy sat on the edge of the simple cot, gazing out the window at the fading daylight. At the sound and sudden smell, they turned sharply, their glowing pink eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"I told Hank I didn't fucking want visitors," they grumbled, voice rough but carrying an undertone of exhaustion.

Kurt offered a gentle smile, trying to ease the tension. "Well, he and Scott thought it might help if I tried to talk to you," he replied, his German accent softening his words as he took a seat on a nearby chair.

LoveJoy rolled their eyes dramatically and leaned back against the wall, the chains connected to their restraints clinking softly. "I already told them I don't remember anything that happened with Sinister. That crazy quack drilled multiple holes in my head, and you're asking me if I remember anything..." They let out a bitter chuckle, a smirk twisting their scarred lips.

Kurt nodded slowly, understanding the frustration. "I know it's difficult, but sometimes talking can help piece things together," he said gently. His gaze drifted over their numerous scars, each more haunting than the last. "We don't even know your real name. The files only had 'LoveJoy'."

There was a pause as LoveJoy considered him, their eyes scrutinizing his every feature. Finally, they spoke, voice softer but guarded. "... It's Haven."

Kurt's smile widened slightly. "Haven. That's a beautiful name."

LoveJoy shrugged, dismissing the compliment. "Doesn't mean much nowadays."

Trying to steer the conversation forward, Kurt asked, "Do you recognize me at all?"

A furrow formed between LoveJoy's brows as they studied him more intently. After a moment, they shook their head. "Did I try to attack you too?"

A light chuckle escaped Kurt's lips. "Yes, you did. You tried to convince me to let you go so you could, and I quote, 'have fun' with me."

Surprise flickered across LoveJoy's face before it melted into a mischievous grin. "Oh, well, that's actually not that surprising," they admitted, a faint blush coloring their cheeks as they let out a soft giggle that seemed out of place in their current predicament.

Kurt found himself smiling wider at their unexpected reaction. "You really don't remember what you said, do you?"

"Nope," LoveJoy replied, popping the 'p' playfully. "But I bet it was way too vulgar and very distracting." They wiggled their eyebrows suggestively, clearly enjoying the banter.

Kurt laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Oh yes. Extremely vulgar and distracting."

LoveJoy's grin broadened, their demeanor far removed from the violent individual the X-Men had battled. "Well, I'm sorry for my... odd behavior when I was being controlled. I usually don't talk to strangers like that unless they pay me," they quipped.

That revelation caused Kurt's eyebrows to raise in surprise. "Oh really?" he hummed, leaning in slightly with intrigue evident in his eyes.

"A mutant on the run has to make a living somehow," LoveJoy explained with a casual shrug. "And let's just say my powers gave me an additional advantage in the job. I went under a different name to avoid the law—Cleopatra. But Remy's probably told you guys everything about that..."

Kurt's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Remy. "He did mention some things," he confirmed, noting the slight tension that arose at the mention of Gambit.

LoveJoy's gaze drifted back to the window, the playful spark dimming slightly. "I'm sure he yapped about how I tricked him and used my influence on him to do my evil bidding, like I'm some witch with domination fetish powers..."

There was a pause before they continued, voice softer and laced with regret. "But once I used the influence on him and I saw his mind, what he kept in it... My influence can't override someone's genuine feelings. Someone else was already taking up that spot in his heart. So I let him go."

Kurt listened intently, feeling a pang of sympathy for the troubled mutant before him. He hesitated before reaching out, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

LoveJoy glanced down at his hand, then back up at him, their eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. Finding none, they relaxed slightly, allowing the gesture.

After a brief silence, LoveJoy spoke again, their voice barely above a whisper. "He told me he could fix me, and I believed him."

Kurt's brows knitted in concern. "Sinister?"

LoveJoy gave a small nod, their shoulders sagging under the weight of their memories. "That was weeks ago. The last thing I remember is waking up here."

Kurt didn't speak for a moment, absorbing the depth of their confession. It was clear that Sinister had manipulated and abused them, preying on their vulnerabilities. "God... you really didn't know what he was doing to you, did you?" he asked softly, his tone filled with empathy.

"Well... I do now. I know I didn't originally look this fucked," LoveJoy replied with a bitter laugh, gesturing with their restrained hands towards their altered features. Their once-human appearance now marred by fangs and black, glittering claws—a twisted transformation courtesy of Sinister's experiments.

Noticing their discomfort, LoveJoy quickly added, stumbling over their words, "Not that having physical mutations are a bad thing... I just, uh..."

Kurt chuckled warmly, trying to ease their embarrassment. "Hey, it's okay. I get what you meant," he reassured them, his golden eyes soft with understanding.

LoveJoy looked up, relief evident in their gaze as a small smile tugged at their lips. "Thanks."

A comfortable silence settled between them before Kurt leaned back in his chair, his curiosity piqued once more. "I do have a question."

LoveJoy straightened slightly, smirk returning. "I might have an answer," they teased, eyes glinting with renewed mischief.

Kurt's smile mirrored theirs as he asked, "Your age. You're 26. I thought you would look older."

"Oh... well, technically yes, I'm 26. Essex froze me for ten years after confirming I was too dangerous to keep awake because I kept... escaping," LoveJoy explained, a hint of embarrassment coloring their tone. "You're lucky I'm even saying anything. Asking a pretty person their age is rude!"

Kurt laughed at that, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, technically, I was correct then. You are 26."

Kurt feigned a pout, his eyes sparkling. "Too dangerous... and too pretty."

"Well, at least we agree on that," Lovejoy replied, their own grin turning playful.

The room seemed lighter now, the earlier tension dissipated as the two mutants shared a genuine moment of connection. For the first time since arriving, LoveJoy felt a glimmer of hope—a possibility that maybe, just maybe, things could change for the better.

As Kurt continued to engage with Haven, their conversation taking unexpected turns from somber to flirtatious, the scene shifted to the monitoring room. Hank and Emma Frost were observing the interaction on a large screen. The tension in the room was almost as palpable as the conversation happening on the monitor.

Emma leaned forward, her frustration evident as she watched the screen, her eyes narrowing at the unfolding interaction.

“What the hell is he doing?” Emma snapped, her voice sharp with disbelief. “I tried to extract information from that... thing, and they bit my hand like a rabid dog. And now they’re flirting? Is this some kind of joke?”

Hank, standing beside her with his arms crossed, glanced at the screen before turning back to Emma, his expression calm and contemplative. “Kurt’s trying to build a connection,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ve exhausted every other method. This might be the only way to get through to them.”

Emma scoffed, clearly unconvinced. “A connection? It looks more like they’re on a date. This is a waste of time, Hank. We need answers, not... whatever this is.”

Hank shook his head slightly, his gaze returning to the screen. “Sometimes, unconventional approaches are the most effective. If Kurt can reach Haven, even just a little, it might give us the breakthrough we need.”

Emma huffed in frustration but didn’t argue further, though her skepticism was clear. She turned her attention back to the screen, her eyes narrowing as she watched Kurt and Haven continue their conversation.

“I hope we didn’t make a mistake bringing them here,” she muttered under her breath, her irritation turning into slight fear over what the mutant known as Lovejoy was capable of.

#oc x cannon #x men fanfiction #my ocs #lovejoy #x men 97 #xmen oc #fanfic #nonbinary character #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x men comics #my fics #x men

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shes-some-other-where · 4 months

Text

June of Doom Day 10, Day 12, Day 17

Fear | Dehydration | Struggle

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Contains: royalty whump, restraints, death mention, murder mention, fantasy drug/potion, gag/muzzle

WC: 560

Trapped

Waking was always a struggle. To come out of the visions that plagued his sleep was to wrench himself from the iron grip of a thousand other lives, each one sinking barbed thorns into his mind—leaving, he was sure, scars that would never fully heal. To come out of the enchanted sleep that blocked his abilities was to claw his way out of an almost-grave, a silty riverbank, a bog—oblivion still sucking at his boots.

The taste of dirt lingered in his mouth, although he’d taken no food in hours; his parched lips stung and ached for water to quench his thirst. Slowly, he opened his sleep-crusted eyes.

He blinked, heart hammering in his chest. He was . . .

He was in a vision right now.

But that was wrong. He’d taken the medicine, the potion. It kept the visions at bay. So, how . . .

Unless it wasn’t a vision at all.

The seer grappled with his deadened limbs, but they moved sluggishly, still caught in the lull of false sleep. He gasped, terror seeding in every puncture wound the visions had ever left in his psyche and soul.

What is going on?

He was trapped, trapped, caught in a vision of—of what? His own peril? His own impending demise? Never before had he seen himself as the subject of a vision. So, then . . . Who? What?

His thoughts spun, returning again and again to the suspicion that the potion had not worked, that his curse had spiked through to his weakened mind like spears into battlements, jeopardized and poised to surrender. That this was a vision, because it had to be, because if it wasn’t, then he was in a great deal of trouble.

Except . . .

Everything was wrong, everything was unfamiliar, but it didn’t feel like a vision.

He was mad, then.

The seer had known it would steal him someday, his life or his sanity, and it had.

But if he was mad, how could he know he was mad?

He tried to move again, tried to shout for someone, anyone, to rouse him, wake him, help him, drug him, kill him and put him out of his terror and misery.

No. Sensation was returning, slowly and yet still more quickly than he would have liked, because it hurt. This was real, it was real, but it couldn’t be, it couldn’t—

He squeezed his eyes closed, praying the scene would be different when he opened them again.

It was not.

Iron chains circled wrists that were secured behind him, heavy enough to make his bones ache when he tried to move. Fettered, too, were his ankles—two heavy manacles linked and fastened to a something heavy—a cannonball? A ball and chain.

Fettered, shackled—he was trussed up like a prisoner—

A prince, the prince, the crown prince, bound in chains—

He tried to call for help, or at least for answers, and found that something blocked his tongue from moving. It was fitted between his teeth, stretched to the corners of his mouth, and fastened out of reach.

He writhed against the humiliating restraints, half-screaming.

Why?

How?

And . . .

What of the others?

The drug was strong—too strong, he realized now. Whatever had happened after he fell asleep, he had no recollection of it. He’d slept through his own imprisonment.

The seer became cognizant of voices then.

Drawing nearer.

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

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rad-hound · 8 months

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A hobby that seems so typical of Monsoon

I could name a few, actually, that I feel would best suit his... stature, as well as his personality, or... the fragment of it which is present within Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, of which is already quite transparent. But, for the sake of sustainability, and because I may end up creating a masterpost soon enough, here are a select few that come to mind when I see him.

"Rain-bathing," or willingly soaking himself during a torrential rain / flood:

Given Monsoon's moniker / namesake, as well as his somewhat naturalistic views upon life in its entirety—the ideology that nature will simply run its course, and the strong will prosper off of the weak's own negligence—I find it's only fitting that he finds himself otherwise taken, perhaps 'seduced,' by rainfall. As evident by his words, "Come to me, rain, wash it all away..." Perhaps viewing it—rain, and by default, nature in its entirety—as one of the only things in existence that could be above him, above his coworkers / consorts, upon such a... naturalistic 'food chain,' as it were. To Monsoon, such is simply his natural environment; he simply will not thrive if he presently isn't being waterboarded by a flood, and I feel he likely would actively seek excuses to stow away from any sort of venue, particularly if it takes place indoors. I believe a similar sentiment is shared in regards to the Japanese garden that is present within World Marshal; if not unfettered, unfiltered nature by itself, then a mere reflection of it shall suffice, no matter how tacky it may be.

Sparring, both enemy & consort:

I find that, outside of his almost eloquent manner of speaking, and his androgynous appearance which may suggest otherwise—when he's in the mood for it—he is a very rough-and-tumble type of man, of which was very apparent during his fight with Raiden / Jack the Ripper. Having appeared almost too eager to... 'sink his teeth in,' in a way, also evident by how fervent he was to taunt Raiden during their initial battle. Even within the contents of the base game's Jetstream DLC—while Monsoon appeared to exercise restraint around Sam, likely knowing that his boss would want to deal with him later on—even verbally, he garners this kind of teasing demeanor about him that is rather difficult to miss. As though he were itching, perhaps aching, to find a reason to fight Sam, but knew better than to 'jump the gun' at that very moment. Likely viewing Sam as an asset, rather than a piece of meat. Though, after that entire debacle—given, if the Winds of Destruction don't simply interact with each other as a means of performance, and rather, interact with one another out of genuine interest than hidden contempt—I do believe in the likelihood that Monsoon sparred with several of his consorts, probably more frequently, over no particular period of time, as they gradually became more accustomed to one another's presence. Likely viewing battle as one of his only means of expressing his emotions—contempt, anger, interest, so on and so forth—given how such a means of violence was simply something he'd grown up with; forcibly removed from any sort of prior security he once knew, only to find comfort within such violence. Or, rather, the illusion of it. However, with those he may view as an enemy, he may believe that no restraint is needed, and that it's free game. Not that Monsoon seems like the type to, again, 'jump the gun,' were one of his own allies to inadvertently displease or disgruntle him, given how casually he and Armstrong appear to converse with each other within the Japanese garden. Even feeling so bold as to openly disagree with him, perhaps feeling more comfortable with the established security that he was on the Senator's 'good side.' One core testament as to how his humanity is portrayed within the game.

Writing / performing oratory speeches, conversing:

As evident by his encounter with Raiden, joined by the very brief phone call he has with Sam in the base game's Jetstream DLC, it feels almost ignorant to believe that Monsoon would be anything but an oratory and literary genius, of sorts. Even with the very distinct flaws within his own ideology, Monsoon's confidence within his own belief appears to be unwavering, intact, even when faced with certain death; towards which he may interact with utter terror, entirely dependent upon how Raiden goes about fighting him. We've all heard it, and we all know one thing for certain; Monsoon's 'meme' speech is a cultural landmark, and its relevancy—alongside that of Armstrong's own speech—remains unwavering, and will likely retain its relevancy until time itself collapses. Even outside of its core and subliminal messages, how Monsoon himself likely intended for Raiden to have taken it, it's rather obvious that the man has a talent for speech, or, at the very least, stringing words together on paper. To the extent where I truthfully would not be shocked if Monsoon wrote his own speeches, or, rather, wrote speeches for others to perform on their own behalf. And, given Armstrong's admission of, "[not] writing [his] own speeches" during his battle with Raiden near the climax of the game, I wouldn't be surprised if Monsoon had even a tinge of involvement in crafting it. If not him, then likely some poor bastard in the PR department. (Given, if Monsoon himself isn't already part of that department, anyways.) Even outside the realm of professionalism for a moment, I simply find that Monsoon—with all of his quirks and his flaws—can't resist the temptation to simply speak, and let his mind be known. Even if those around him may not necessarily know what to say in response to his words, perhaps the reassurance that some people—some against their own will—are actually hearing him out, after what may have been decades of Monsoon feeling... 'trapped in his own head,' so to speak, bestows upon him a twisted feeling of reassurance he likely hasn't known for a very long time. Not to say that Monsoon was never outspoken about his own beliefs. That, and I believe that he might just enjoy talking down upon others, as evident with the in-game implication that he and Sam 'shit-talked' about Raiden prior to his arrival in Denver. Haters gotta hate, I suppose.

This is—for the most part—the gist of it, since the rest of my presumptions / assumptions of what I would believe to be Monsoon's hobbies may begin dipping into headcanon territory. But these are the primary few which I believe best align with the image of Monsoon we're given within the game, or the image of him we're meant to perceive, from the very little screentime he is bestowed.

But worry not! Eventually I'll make a masterpost, as mentioned above, so hopefully there will be more Monsoon to come in the near future. ^_^ So thank you, again, to @miz-orque for this ask, I'm having quite a blast answering these.

#text #rambles #ask #miz-orque #metal gear #mgr #metal gear rising #mgrr #metal gear rising revengeance #monsoon #mgr monsoon #character analysis #headcanons #(I love thinking about Mr. Magnet...)

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

who's running this game, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don't play with the misfits

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: Oh, Min Yoongi. You've made a mistake, haven't you? And yet you still can't bring yourself to lower your head to your stepsister that would gladly be on her knees for you. These misfit toys are trapped in their own game. Heh, but the funny thing about people is, everyone thinks they run this game, but not everyone knows the weapons in their arsenal... or the players playing.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! implied sexual abuse (no direct actions are described); children of equally wealthy and shitty parents; name calling; lies and deceit; certain people appearing in v convenient places hmmmm; stepsiblings; intense smut stepsiblings still fuckin (fem reader, D/s (switches and ???), m and f-receiving oral, use of a makeshift cock ring (fingers), cock-and-ball torture, face-fucking, fucking in Yoongi's music studio, (literally) ripping clothes off, fingering, cumming on reader's ass, a latex gimp suit, restraints, use of an inflatable gag and a vibrator wand, handjob, overstimulation, face sitting); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft protective, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between your, JK's, and Yoongi's POV

“Where’s your brother?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just stared at the open window, out into the blue sky and sunlight. The heated rays cast over half of the bed. The scene of the crime, alight. Over the headboard, the rumpled pillows, and sharp scraps of torn condom wrappers. Your undergarments were merely slivers of shredded lace amongst the luxe white bedsheets that stunk of sex.

“Master?”

You looked away from the window, body wrapped in the obsidian silk robe that was tied securely at the waist. Glanced at the wall, then down at the carpet.

A switchblade with an engraved black tiger laid there, abandoned.

You turned away and stared out the window again, seeing nothing despite the city below honking and screaming with life. You sat at the end of the bed, the side with no sunlight. He even took his cut-up boxer briefs. Not even a single dyed-orange strand left behind. White-hot anger crawled through your stomach, coiling like a starving python. A presence approached, standing beside you.

A tattooed hand on your left shoulder.

Your head jerked, shifting your gaze down at it.

The tail end of a black snake tattoo was sticking out of the cuff, ink slithering up the back of that tan wrist.

You reduced your breathing to nearly nothing.

The strong fingers squeezed your shoulder lightly, reminding you of their grip.

You turned away from the hand and breathed out normally again, only disturbing the air in front of you. The security guard said nothing, because it was not his place to say anything. Still, you were reminded of many things now. Grounded yourself to your senses. Remembered what people are capable of. What you were capable of.

In this world, everyone shot everybody.

And this?

This was just information.

The side of your lips ticked up.

You raised your left hand, accompanied by a new weight of a platinum chain bracelet with black glass beads.

Placed it on tattooed knuckles and stroked them, memorizing the roughness of that skin, listening to the bit-back gasp above you, recognizing the tremble of those fingertips as soon as your touch completed.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, Master?”

Your fingers stilled.

Then you jammed your fingernails into the back of that tattooed hand, growling in your chest, the white-hot anger stabbing through your nerves. For his part, Jeon Jungkook made no noise except the slight flinch of his fingers, and yet he did not recoil, even as you dragged down, almond-shaped manicure clawing downward. You turned your head again, giving partial attention to the sudden red-hot lines on the back of your security guard’s hand.

Some of the black ink was hiding thin scars underneath.

You had felt them as you scratched him.

“Sorry about that,” you breathed, letting your warm exhale wash over the inflamed skin, your lips barely moving. “I’ll add a bonus for today.”

Your hair shrouded your vision, not allowing you to glance up at his face. You didn’t look up anyway, transfixed by the lines of pain you inflicted, feeling a sudden sense of serene.

“There’s no need,” the guard replied gently. “I’m trained to be tough.”

Now you felt yourself smile.

“What about a gift instead?” you murmured, tilting your head a little more. Brushed your hair against the hidden snake tail, leaning closer to the hand so those strong, trembling fingers could feel your delicate sigh. You raised your right hand gracefully and pointed your index and middle fingers together, drawing all other fingers back. Extended your arm straight out. Swept it in an arc, from the window, to the headboard, to right behind you, the wall.

Pointed down to the carpet.

“You like knives, Jungkook?”

A second of silence.

“I love knives, Master,” was the answer.

You grinned.

Jeon Jungkook worked as a security guard for a gentlemen’s club. Five days a week, with two consecutive days off. Occasional rotating weekends if a special event was happening. There were also scheduled days off for all staff. He could take vacation whenever he wanted with notice two weeks beforehand and clear communication to the rest of the team. If he was sick, he was advised not to go to work. If he had to work overnight, he would receive an extra day off as well as compensation pay. The hardest part of the job was throwing out drunken old men with lost dignity once their ill-advised advances were rejected.

A surprising amount of strength could be conjured once one’s pride was injured, Jungkook learned.

Like everyone else working there, he liked his job. The girls were hot, the bartending staff gave them free drinks on their breaks, and everyone worked together to create a safe environment. If you got lucky, one of the girls would take a liking to you and you could get banging sex out of it too. Still, everyone kept all relations surface level. There was zero-tolerance for slut-shaming on any side. The owner of the club, who everyone called Master, didn’t allow for childish drama. It was bad for business if co-workers disliked each other over a long period of time. It was almost better to blow-up and physically fight – a lot of issues could be resolved that way, man to man, woman to woman. But that passive-aggressive shit, no, that lead to petty bullshit and wasted time.

The Masters would not allow that.

The old Master was a cunning bitch, despite looking like an airheaded, doll-like bimbo. She counted every cent and herded her girls well. Any other staff was automatically viewed on a lower tier to her innocent working ladies. But above all, the cash flow was more important than an employee’s personal affairs.

Like he said.

A bitch.

Jungkook didn’t bother with taking any of the girls home or being too close with his co-workers. He came to work to make money, not to get into tangled situation-ships or accidentally make friends with the wrong sort.

He had dragged more than one of his co-workers to the emergency room because of a drug overdose.

It wasn’t a normal job. He saw some shit. Did some shit himself. It was better to keep those kinds of things separate from his personal life, he decided. If he didn’t talk about them constantly, they wouldn’t be synonymous with himself as a person. Better for his mental health to dissociate from certain things he had to do on a dark night.

Nothing personal.

Just part of the job.

Anyway, those things were a rare occurrence lately. The old Master was gone more frequently now, and so the young Master, her daughter, oversaw most things presently. Unlike the old Master, who primarily hired based on looks, the young Master had a keen eye for people. I can pay for anyone to look more attractive, the young Master used to comment after interviews when she would collect the staff to discuss the new hires. But I can’t pay for a good head on one’s shoulders. People don’t learn lessons overnight. Jungkook appreciated that she involved the team even if they didn’t have any say in the final decision.

It felt more open and honest.

Jungkook turned his new switchblade in his hand, kicking his feet up on his travertine coffee table.

He slid the blade out.

The mechanism was smoother than any other he had ever touched.

He looked up to the tip of the blade, seeing his high square-footage, high-rise city apartment sprawled out before him. Elegantly furnished with quality brands, the diffuser on his bookshelf giving off a light, clean vanilla scent. Because of his job, he could afford this easily. He turned the weapon in his hand, sunlight gleaming off the edge.

The young Master had instructed him to go home after he dropped her off at her condominium.

His apartment was only a few blocks away.

Jungkook opened and closed the knife repeatedly, seething.

He looked down at the back of his right hand holding the blade. The pink lines were gone now, of course. He healed fast and, besides, she hadn’t been able to dig her nails in that deep.

Unfortunate.

Jungkook closed the knife and held it tightly in his palm, squeezing it so hard so the ridges imprinted into his skin.

Breathed out slowly, remembering last night.

His back against the hotel wall, in silence, holding the keycard to her door. He had waited a long time. A long time, but he was patient.

It was important to be patient.

He had heard the loud clatter and then the sudden rhythmic smacking of wood on wallpapered drywall.

Jungkook did not like the young Master’s stepbrother.

He actually didn’t like any of her family. Not that that cunning bitch she had for a mother; not the charismatic, sharp-faced, self-centered, who-knew-what-number husband mockingly called Papa; and especially not that scowl-faced, self-centered fuck that the young Master called brother. He didn’t have to like them to work for them. To be honest, they never did anything in particular to him. They were far too concerned with themselves to waste time looking down at him. He wasn’t important enough to be demeaned.

But the young Master.

It was not that she seemed greatly different from this chemical disaster of a family. She lived in luxury and used her sexual prowess to get whatever she wanted. She had a ruthlessness to her too, and did not allow anyone to question her final decision. There was something not quite right happening behind those eyes. Jungkook didn’t have the education to dissect exactly what that was, but it didn’t matter that much. He was just supposed to protect her when it was his turn to do so. He wasn’t supposed to ask questions, only answer hers.

Yet Jungkook was sometimes there when she called Min Yoongi, brother, and he saw the way Min Yoongi turned away from it every time.

Her tone was teasing and clearly aimed to provoke her stepbrother.

But her eyes.

Jungkook released his grip on the switchblade and turned his hand, letting it roll solidly to his fingers.

He had been with her when she purchased it.

He had asked her who it was for. Out of curiosity, with not much intention.

“It’s for Yoongi’s birthday.”

He looked up to his wide-screen television, seeing his own reflection in the black. His furrowed brows, set jaw, pursed lips, and lazy home clothes, oversized minimally printed long pajamas, holding Min Yoongi’s birthday present that he had picked off the floor and pocketed, given to him as additional compensation for today.

Jungkook sometimes wondered why the young Master’s eyes looked like a child’s, begging for someone to help, and he wondered why no one ever noticed.

But that was none of his business.

He had a thin, side-leg pocket on his uniform pants. A perfect place to slide the clip of the switchblade into, with the outstretched paw and snarling head of the engraved black tiger clearly visible.

Jungkook got up from the sofa.

You slid onto the wooden stool by the easel, picking up the pencil.

There was little room left on this canvas yet, and there were many thoughts in your head, swarming like flies over rotten meat.

You raised your hand and wrote carefully this time. Neatly, with attention to each line and curve, making sure the characters were clearly legible, as if you were a young child learning how to write. It was a stark contrast to the quick, aggressive scrawls beside it. You took your time. You had lots of time. There was no need to rush. In the silence, in the forced dark of blackout curtains, in the red glow of this otherwise sterile bedroom, you breathed out, letting the words come.

He knows.

There was no need to worry.

I can still feel his skin under my nails.

There were aches over your body. Scratches. Bruises.

It’s not about knowing what he’s thinking. It’s about directing his thinking to where I want it to go.

Still, it was good. It meant it was real.

I thought he would take a little more of a chance, honestly. Is he not aware of all the weapons in his arsenal? Or just afraid to use them? That might be it. I felt his fear.

It meant you were alive.

Don’t be afraid.

The sound of graphite on canvas was the loudest noise here, louder than your own breathing.

I’ll bring out the worst in you yet.

You raised the pencil from the canvas. Placed it on the floor, and then cracked open the can of black paint, paintbrush sitting on the drop cloth beside it. Picked up the wooden stick and began to stir, the noxious fumes penetrating the air.

You would open a window after.

Min Yoongi stepped out of the shower and nearly collided with his stepsister.

Thick layers of ivory, plush Turkish cotton was suddenly between their bodies, his wet one and her clothed one.

She smiled, amused.

“I think you forgot the staff are on vacation because Papa and Mother aren’t here,” she hummed, pressing the towel to his chest. “No one has restocked the linens. You were too careless to check, weren’t you?”

The steam curled around them. Water ran down his back, and yet Yoongi did nothing but stare into her eyes, the gears in his core click, click, clicking, remembering last night. Fingers tangled in each other’s hair, flashes of pain, eyes locked and hips flush, shared shaking breath between fierce kisses, forbidden pleasure abundant and overflowing.

“Aren’t you lucky I decided to stop by the house?”

She took his hand off the shower frame and placed it on the top of the towel, the edges of his wet knuckles dripping water onto her blazer. A tailored black suit with a white shirt. Everything pressed crisp. She stepped back, and he saw the jacket was cropped, exposing the way the slacks molded to her shapely thighs and the curve of her hips. In the mansion, the bathrooms were large, so the mirrors did not generally completely fog up.

Yoongi glanced at the mirror, seeing her perky ass that begged for his open palm.

He darted his gaze back to her, but she was already giving that view, turning away and heading to the bathroom door.

He barked her name to her retreating back.

She paused, ticking her head to indicate he had her attention, but she did not turn enough to look directly at him.

For some reason, that hurt.

“Stand in front of me again.”

A moment of mute, terrified silence.

Then she turned, luscious hair pinned back one side flaring out. Step by step, lush lashes lifting, and he stepped out of the shower, flicking off water, his dyed red-orange hair damp and sticking to his face, pushing it away so he could stare back into those eyes that were no longer glittering in the dark, but bright under bathroom lights and approaching twilight.

She stood in front of him again, and he faced her.

“What’s wrong, Yoongi?”

The corner of her lips quirked upwards.

He closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers, breathing in her perfume and scattering more water onto her pristine suit. Hand rising, fingertips gliding across her jaw, pulling her head close, deepening the kiss and nicking her lower lip with his teeth, making her smile and lean into it, unbothered by the water, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth.

“So you are glad to see me,” she whispered, sucking away his inhale.

He narrowed his eyes, digging his fingernails into her scalp.

“Get on your knees,” Yoongi growled.

He yanked the towel out from between them, but she caught it, deftly flipping it open with one wrist flick, and then she pulled back, using both hands to bring it up and over his shoulders, cloaking him in soft Turkish cotton.

Smiled, amused.

“Don’t want you to get a cold.”

She should have called him, brother, but they were way past that now. Especially with her dropping to her knees on his command, right at the soft bath mat at their feet, and obediently opened her mouth for him to shove his semi-hard cock into. He sucked in a breath, suddenly enveloped in hot tightness, holding his chin high and looking down.

She looked back at him, curling her tongue around his balls, coating them with saliva.

He involuntarily shivered, then locked his knees, not allowing it, but those eyes only sparkled with mirth, swallowing him all the way to the base. No hands needed. Licked from his balls to the thin skin underneath the tip, up and down and getting him hard fast, so quickly he had to bite back his hiss, tendrils of dangerous ecstasy travelling all over his body, turning his damp cold skin into shimmering heat from his rushing pulse.

Her hand shot up and gripped his spit-covered balls, locking them in a knuckle cage.

“Fuck–”

A jolt of pain, and then his chest rippled, her head immediately moving back and forth, soft lips grazing the sensitive head of his cock and then ramming it into the back of her throat. His shaft swelled, increasing in girth in a wave of lightheadedness, the agonizing ecstasy unavoidable, overwhelming, all-consuming, his left hand flying back and gripping the metal shower frame, the towel falling down his back, skimming his ass and the back of his hard, tense legs, his peripheral vision clouded by slices of blood orange.

Gasping.

Her free hand lifted, gently stroking his trembling hip as she sucked him off.

He steeled his breathing, throbs shooting up his core, and lowered his head, seeing her steadfast hold and plush lips closed around his cock, her gaze immediately flickering upward once he redirected his attention. No wasted time.

Mocking him.

He clenched his jaw and forced his right hand forward, gripping the back of her head and thrusting into her mouth deeply, deliberately, and slower, reclaiming the pace. Her knuckles pulsed, sending another wave of almost pain to his already hazy judgement, but Yoongi did not let himself balk, keeping his hold on her head and rolling his hips forward at his own rhythm. He would not fall to the anger. He was going for his own pleasure, and his own pleasure did not rely on causing pain. He was going to use her for every skill she had. What was the point of being skilled if he couldn’t exploit them?

So, Yoongi did just that.

He fucked his stepsister’s face and flicked water all over her suit, messing up her hair with his grasp, panting hard.

Her tongue circled him and added unpredictable sensation to his thrusts, curling around his girth to become a tighter sleeve, pushing him up to rub against the roof of her mouth, flattening so he achieved a better angle of depth, all the while running the fingers of her free hand over his tingling skin, keeping his balls in an almost unbearable cage of her knuckles. He did not care. Was going to cum whether or not she was going to make it harder for him, not deterred by this obstacle, actually made stronger by it, his core tightening, winding, pooling deep inside. Breathing shallow, eyelids fluttering, staring down at her, her name torn from his raw throat.

Her eyes narrowed, glinting below him.

He grimaced, orgasm colliding into his moment, jerking his head back and shooting down her throat, each hip flinch mirroring his cock twitching, pumping cum down her throat mercilessly. Her throat closed in and she swallowed, causing him to swallow back a tender hiss, his sore muscles reminding him of what he had done less than twenty-four hours before.

The hand around his balls unlocked, releasing him.

She licked all around his softening length, turning the afterglow into a wet, warm caress.

Yoongi breathed out slowly, sensing the quiver in his exhale.

“Get…”

His heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Get off me.”

She popped her mouth off him and kissed his inner thigh. An icy itch slithered down his spine at the contact. His wet cock flopped out and hit her in the cheek. She stood up as if this scene was normal, being covered in shower water, saliva, and traces of his cum, still composed despite being disheveled by his forceful hands.

She smiled, amused.

“I came to get my passport. See you, Yoongi.”

She waved and turned away, going back to the bathroom door, leaving him there to catch his breath, suddenly cold.

“I forgot my knife in that room,” he yelled to the empty hallway.

“I don’t have it,” she called back, and then her head appeared over the edge of the doorframe, holding up her passport. “You should check the lost and found at the hotel. Or I’ll buy you a new one, if you like,” she added with a smirk.

A surge of annoyance. He bent down and snatched the towel from the ground, scowling.

“Don’t bother.”

Stopped.

The imprint of her knees on the white bath mat, right by his feet.

Yoongi looked up again, but his stepsister was gone.

“What happened?”

You turned, startled at the deep voice. Someone was coming out of the employee lockers, wearing all-black. Jeans and a t-shirt, both loose and baggy. Too informal for the gentlemen’s club. Large brown eyes and long black hair, free of his usual uniform hat, the small mole underneath his lower lip peeking out from under the center of shapely, parted pink lips.

One arm was bare skin, unmarked.

The other was heavily inked, splashed with color and bold black lines. An entire sleeve done by a skilled artist. The man was holding a thick black leather wallet in his right hand. He noticed you glancing at it and he raised it, bowing his head slightly.

“I forgot it. Because I accompanied Master last night.”

You tilted your head.

Jeon Jungkook looked sheepish. “Oh… I usually eat whatever the cooks make, or you pay when we leave, so I always felt it was safer to leave it in the lockers.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Ah, my phone.”

He slipped his hand under the hem of his shirt and pulled out his cell phone, showing the back of it to reveal the card slot in the case.

“Has my IDs in it. For driving and stuff.”

He put it back in his pocket, nodding awkwardly. Made no move to put his wallet away, which is what a normal person would do, but then you noticed his inquisitive eyes were on your suit, honing in the details of the slightly darker spots in the crisp black fabric. He looked up to the ceiling that was nothing but maroon paint and overhead lights.

Jungkook frowned. “Is it raining?”

You told the truth.

“No.”

The guard off-duty lowered his gaze, looking back at you with confusion. “I heard someone almost running. I didn’t think it would be you, Master.”

The service elevator was at the end of the hall. It led up to the other floors, but it also was the only elevator that accessed the top floor. The top floor was a single room. The head office, which was sharply and lavishly decorated for very specific meetings for top clients or investors. It was a display of power and it did its job well. You didn’t keep much in the desk, since you shared it with your mother. She cluttered it with her perfumes, alcohol, and money from her travels. There were big wads of cash in those locked drawers. She wasn’t going to miss any.

Bitch couldn’t even remember her body count.

You didn’t need to take her money, but it felt fun doing so.

Jungkook’s frown deepened, his brows knitting together. “Did something happen? I know I’m not working right now, but I can help the guys out if someone did anyth–”

“Jungkook.”

He immediately shut up. Alert, all attention on you.

“You are not obligated to do anything related to work during your off time. Any disturbance is none of your concern.”

“I know, I–”

Your eyes narrowed.

In his casual clothes, with his hair down, Jungkook almost seemed young. No, young was the wrong word. When he was working, you noticed he was focused and intense, not allowing anything to escape his observance. But now he was standing before you, unguarded. An open book. The was muffled, chaotic noise below your feet. The club in full swing. Alcohol, dancing, depravity. Secrets created every day. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. Scrutinizing him, from his sudden self-cutoff to his right hand clutching his wallet, to his large dark eyes and open mouth, as if he forgot what to say in the wake of your abrupt shift in demeanor.

You found the correct word to describe his current, visible disposition.

Innocent.

Your high heel stayed on the floor as you turned the pointed toe, directing it right at him.

Directed your command to the question in his eyes.

“Say it.”

The slightest tuck of his chin, causing his black hair to fall over part of his big brown orbs. How strange. He was much more direct in his guard uniform. Or was it because he felt exposed in front of you as a civilian? That shouldn’t be true. Your difference in economic class still existed regardless of what he was wearing or doing.

“You… You seem distressed, Master,” Jungkook voiced, bracing himself for your reaction.

There was a lot of noise below but, in this tension, you could hear a pin drop.

You should have told him that you were fine and to go home.

Instead, you said, “You have the next few days off, don’t you?”

Jungkook blinked rapidly.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, I do.”

You held up your passport.

“You want to come to Taiwan with me?”

He had never flown first-class before. It was such a short flight too, only a little over two hours. He had so much space to put his legs. He asked how much the ticket was, but the young Master just smiled at him, amused. She was still in her suit. A couple hours had passed, from him throwing together a duffel bag and her waiting outside his apartment. She drove. Had valet take her car. It was already late at night, so security was a breeze.

By now, her clothes were completely dry.

He didn’t want to bring up that he noticed the knees had been particularly wet.

“Were you going to go alone?” Jungkook asked when they were seated, getting ready to take off.

His boss ticked her head.

Looked at him pointedly.

“Mmmm, yeah.”

His breathing stilled, startled by the playfulness of her voice. A stark contrast to the measured, sharpened tone she used for work. Almost childlike in conduct, even though she was dressed in formalwear.

“Why?”

The young Master sat back in her seat and shrugged.

“Can’t take it anymore, I guess.”

Jungkook felt an icy itch slither down his spine as he witnessed her calm expression.

She perked up abruptly and reached for her briefcase. It was black leather, from a high-end brand, but with gunmetal clasps. Normally, they would be gold, or at least that was what Jungkook had seen in stores. This one must have been customized for her. She reached inside and pulled out a big, thickly padded envelope.

Jungkook’s eyes widened.

She placed it in his lap, patting it.

He stared at it like it was on fire.

“Spending money. Do you know my mother likes to carry cash overseas? Isn’t that insane? Maybe she wants to get mugged. A gangbang is probably on her list of top fantasies. What am I saying, she’s probably done it by now. Guess she must have enjoyed the experience. Anyway, saves you the trouble of any bank fees, am I right?”

He jerked his head, gawking at her in disbelief. “Master, I can’t–”

Her finger shot forward and hovered right over his shaking lips.

Not touching.

Above, the intercom dinged, asking passengers to stow away their items and put on their seatbelts. The plane was to take off shortly. It began to move, a mechanical monster lurching around the crowded, unmindful passengers.

“It’d be a bit strange if you called me by my work title on a pleasure trip, wouldn’t it?” the young Master whispered, low and dirty, as if it was a big secret they shared. “I’ll let you call me by given name, just this once.”

She winked, the side of her lips ticking upwards.

Jungkook found that he couldn’t breathe.

“Try it.”

He shook his head. She turned her head the tiniest bit, clicking her tongue. Wagged her finger, like he had done something naughty. Seconds felt like hours. Then her fingertip wandered, and landed on the silver ring at the corner of his lips. Daintily patted the piercing.

A flickering caress, like the brush of a forked snake’s tongue.

“I can wait, Jungkook.”

The attendant came to check and instantly her hand shot back, clicking her seatbelt into place and smiling at the young lady as Jungkook fumbled with his, his heartbeat roaring in his ears and rattling in his ribcage, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Min Yoongi nearly flung his cell phone into the wall.

Instead, he crushed the empty water bottle in his other hand, narrowing his eyes at the screen. A quick Google search was all it took and there his stepsister was, splashed over tabloid articles that complimented her impeccable style, oh, and blatantly reminding everyone of her single status. The latest news, snapped just this morning.

In the streets of Taipei City, Taiwan.

He stared down the photo of her in a cropped white puffer jacket. Thin black scarf. Low v-neckline fuzzy white sweater. Black cargo pants slung low on her hips with clean black-and-white sneakers. The smallest peek of midriff appeared when her hips swung during her stride. The paparazzi got the perfect shot, naturally. Light makeup. Clean girl aesthetic, the headline read.

Yoongi hurled the crushed water bottle into the far wall of his studio with a vicious snarl.

Of course. He checked the fuckin’ brothel, sorry, gentlemen’s club, stayed at the family house longer than he wanted to, even breezed past her condo, and this bitch was in fuckin’ Taiwan. Not Japan, which is where he checked first, in spots the family often visited, partaking in over-the-top luxury hotels and other equally pretentious places, pretending they were bonding but actually just ignoring each other and fucking hopeless hopefuls.

Not him.

He just sulked in lowlife bars and drank until he couldn’t think.

Now she was in Taiwan.

Doing what?

Sucked his dick and flew to Taiwan by herself for fuckin’ what?

Yoongi jerked his head and threw his phone onto the desk, where it clattered and spun, landing facedown and into a pile of balled-up note paper. This bitch. Acting like she could run off and do whatever she wanted. Hah. It wasn’t like he had anything to do either. He bet his switchblade was in her condo too, sitting on her damn bookshelf. Obviously asking the hotel staff had done nothing. They had no clue what he was talking about.

She would keep it nearby, because it was his.

She had it.

She must have it.

Yoongi tucked his tongue in his cheek and spun back to his computer monitor, going back to his music.

“You ever been to a night market in Taiwan, Jungkook?”

“Uh… no?”

You smiled. “You would like it. Lots of food, just like Korea. They have these fatty red sausages they grill on sticks. The outside is crispy and the inside is still greasy and juicy.” It was already nightfall after a full day of prowling the luxury shops. Streetlights were on, casting shadows over dark and dirty corners. Around you, the elderly spoke in their local dialect, while the younger adults and teens spoke in Mandarin Chinese.

You stopped, pointing up a rickety, half-collapsed building.

“My mother used to work there for a couple years, when I was barely in elementary school.”

A smile, and there was no amusement.

Only dried contempt.

You lowered your hand and turned back to the wide-eyed man in a leather jacket, not elaborating. He followed your hand and then came up to your eyeline. Lips parting, wordless question.

You nodded, and then turned away, walking again.

“That’s why I know a bit of the local language, although I’m quite rusty now.”

“I can’t tell the difference.”

Your smile changed, taking a moment to glance at him. “You’re funny.”

Jungkook looked hesitant, and then he smiled back.

You let him have that moment and then followed the streets. They were different, but the same. A long time ago, this area was less run-down. Still plain, still nearly forgettable. A perfect place for someone to hold a secret meeting, just outside the city. Not too much travel time, so a clueless housewife wouldn’t be too suspicious. If you raised your head just right, you could spot the boarded-up building that used to be a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

You still remembered running down these streets.

Remembered the feeling of clutching coins and medicine bottles cutting into your hand, running up flights of stairs, lifting your unconscious mother’s head, shoving pills down her throat and crying for her to wake up.

After a while, you stopped crying for her to wake up.

You just shoved the pills down her throat and waited.

Sometimes the men lingered.

You cut the thoughts off and reached out, the chain bracelet with the glass beads clinking with your rapid movement, closing your fingers around a solid wrist.

“It’s down here.”

Turned. Through a narrow alley crammed with boxes and, all of a sudden, lights.

Blaring lights. Yelling. The strong stench of animal fat in the air, thick and heavy and clinging to clothes. Alive, swarming with curious teenagers and anxious children, loudly asking for a pork-filled steamed bun or soup dumplings as the high-pitched jingling of arcade machines rose through the noise, annoying enough to turn heads. The food stalls were crammed together, surrounding plywood tables and colorful, wobbly plastic stools.

“W-Woah!”

“Heh, hasn’t changed,” you chuckled, diving into the chaos.

She stared at him.

“I tried to call room service and I… I couldn’t figure it out. The translations provided were in English. Even after you went through the trouble of asking them to keep a Korean translator on standby for me,” he managed to get out, pointedly staring at the young Master’s face and not the lace-trimmed black slip clinging to her body. At least she was wearing the plush white hotel bathrobe over it.

It was still wide open though.

An eyebrow raised. “You want more food?”

Actually, no. Jungkook was so full at this point that he felt like an overstuffed teddy bear. He had eaten so much. Fried sausage on a wooden skewer. Crispy fried squid too. Soup dumplings. Marinated pork belly stuffed into a white bun with ground peanuts, crystalized sugar, and pickled mustard greens. Small buns filled with yellow leek and pork. Chow fun noodle soup. Rice noodle soup. This insane fried pork and mushroom thick-broth soup that went amazing with a clear liquor she served him, the name which completely went over his head. He just ate and drank until she was satisfied.

He shook his head quickly, holding up an empty water bottle.

“I ran out of water. I wanted to ask for another one.”

Her eyes darted to the clear plastic in his hand. “Ah.” She opened the door wider, tipping her head into the hotel room. “You can have mine.”

“S… Sorry for the intrusion.”

She had, of course, booked two separate hotel rooms. One for him and one for her.

She did not, however, give him an extra key card to her room.

He wasn’t working right now, of course.

Jungkook shuffled in with the complementary hotel slippers, looking around. The layout of the space was the same as his, only mirrored. This meant the dresser and desk were on the shared wall, but not the bed.

There was nothing playing on the mounted television.

He picked up the water bottle from its predicted spot on the dresser and turned around, nearly colliding into the young Master.

She tilted her head at him.

His eyes immediately avoided hers, even though they were the brightest thing in his vision, gleaming in the low glow of the sconces next to the bed. She had not turned on the overhead lights or the bedside table lamps. There was no spike in hostility or aggressive stance. Her arms were not crossed. They were simply at rest by her sides.

She leaned in.

Jungkook immediately tilted his torso back, fixating on a spot on the wall behind her head, knowing full well her cleavage was right under his nose.

He shallowed his breathing, not wanting to exhale on her face.

“Remind me again what reception said…”

Her voice was husky, smokey, haunting.

“Jungkook?”

His heartbeat pulsing in his neck, choking him.

“T-They… They said their Korean translator went home for the day…” he forced out, lightheaded, clutching the water bottle tightly.

“Ah.”

Her head bobbed, nodding under his vision.

“That’s right.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Long agonizing seconds ticked past.

She stepped back.

He finally let a breath out. Lowered his eye line, and she was standing in front of him still. Small smile, amused. Might as well have been holding a knife to his throat. Jungkook swallowed, thinning it out so it wasn’t so obvious, staring into her eyes, not looking away further down. It might have been a short time. It might have been a long time. He didn’t know. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t working right now.

There was no obligation to be professional.

Her smile widened, just a tad.

She quirked her head to the door.

“R-Right. Sorry for bothering you,” he apologized again, gripping the water bottle and taking a step, circling around her. Her eyes followed him, almost unnerving. That smile stayed, lingering. He got to the second step, the point where they were shoulder to shoulder, their eye contact now broken.

“Jungkook.”

He froze.

She leaned back, and now she gazed at him under lowered lashes.

“You know you can ask me for anything,” she said. No, purred, the tip of her pink tongue grazing her white teeth in the center of that open-mouthed smirk. His gaze flickered back up, away from her soft, pillowy lips, and he found hers were rising too, taking her time to lock eyes with him again. “Since you did me this favor of accompanying me on this silly little journey.”

If she closed a little more distance, Jungkook would have been able to feel her warm breath on his neck.

She stayed where she was.

Smirking.

“I…”

Thump.

Heartbeat pounding in his throat, choking him.

“I don’t think this trip is silly.”

Something rippled through her expression.

“We should all let loose sometimes,” he continued, his fingertips caressing the full water bottle, feeling its weight and solidness, staring into those beautiful eyes that seemed to cut right through him. “Don’t you think?”

The young Master was highly observant and had a keen eye for people.

This he knew.

In fact, he counted on it.

Jungkook let his lips form her given name and breathed it out, savoring it like a sweet.

Min Yoongi punched in the pin code in for his music studio and slid in, his hands still tingling from cold tap water. He hadn’t dawdled too long. Fuckin’ bathrooms here had the air hand dryers, making him feel like a damn idiot sticking his hands in them. And who the fuck thought it was the good idea to put a mirror right in front of it? Like he wanted to see how flattened his dyed red-orange hair had become due to the headset. He had broken it up with one hand before leaving the bathroom, reshaping the flexible gel so it was at least pushed back one side.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

Yoongi tucked his tongue in his cheek and looked up.

His stepsister was silently picking up the crushed water bottles around his desk and placing them in a recycling bag.

He recoiled, instantly on high alert.

“Who the fuck let you in?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes.

She picked up an empty bottle of vending machine tea and turned it in her fingers, her stunning profile in his view. Back to a tight black pencil skirt, although this one was shorter and had a very small slit in the back. White-and-black thick-striped dress shirt with a low, pressed neckline, complete with pearl buttons and tasteful puffed long sleeves.

Her long black coat was draped over his leather rolling chair.

Simple obsidian high heels, no ankle strap this time, stepping all over on his goddamn carpet.

“I asked the front desk.”

She tossed the bottle into the recycling bag and pushed aside the piles of balled-up paper, clearing the one side of the L-shaped desk that stuck out. An onyx pen rolled out, metal and heavy-weighted.

She stopped it with the tip of her index finger.

“What the fuck is the security here?” Yoongi muttered, crossing the distance in his slippers. “Stop touching my shit.”

She placed the pen into the stone tray under his monitor. “I’m only cleaning. Surprised you let it get into such a state here. I thought music was the most important thing to you.”

He scoffed, clenching his jaw, keeping his voice even and scathing. “It’s none of your damn business. Look at you, acting like you can go wherever you please. Taiwan, huh? Bet you didn’t given grab a bottle of that whiskey I like. Too busy having fun getting on your knees in a different county, hm?”

His stepsister plucked a plastic food wrapper out of the balls of crumpled paper and scooted it to the open trashcan under his desk.

“You should take better care of the things you care about…”

The individual slivers of anger closed in, twisting together, collecting to a single, sharpened instant, his breathing thinning, chest tightening, the gears inside of this misfit toy grinding against each other, click, click, clicking.

“Brother.”

His hand shot out and grabbed her left wrist, ripping her from his desk and spinning her around, snarl lashing out from his throat. Her done-up hair splayed out in an arc, her head snapping to face him, dark beautiful eyes immediately locking to his furious expression.

Platinum chain links and black glass beads dug into his palm.

He froze.

It was suddenly too hot, too hot even in his black t-shirt and loose track pants. Heartbeat roaring in his ears. Her eyes watching his every move, and now Yoongi understood that weapons were not just sharpened knives and words that cut deep, but also the accusation searing him from the inside.

Her eyebrow raised, tilting her head at him.

“What’s the matter?” she breathed out.

Soft, hazy, with the essence of a coiled snake in the grass.

His exhale jagged, torn-up by the way she looked at him.

“I told you,” Yoongi growled icily, lowering his head. “Not to call me brother ever again.”

His other hand bolted up, grasping her head and he kissed her, hard and bruising and shutting himself up before he could say anything more. Her free hand slid between them too, gliding over his jaw and drawing him closer, kissing him back just as intensely, just as fiercely, sliding her fingers into his hair and clutching onto him, her hungry tongue between his teeth.

She swallowed his erratic breathing, taking it away.

Lips like sin, his whole body on fire, her sweet saliva dripping into his throat.

Yoongi released her abruptly and twisted her wrist, forcing her body to turn around, and pinned her hand to the table, bending her over his now cleared-off desk. Her palm slammed down onto the wood, the loud smack cutting through the tense air between them, and then the vulgar noise was trapped within the soundproof walls of his music studio, unable to get outside.

Her name leaked out between his gritted teeth.

“You’re not a maid.”

She chuckled, slightly breathless and completely dark.

“Maybe you needed a reminder of who you really are. A spoiled rich kid sucking on the silver spoon in his mouth.”

Yoongi knew exactly what she was doing.

And yet the anger was so easy to swallow, so inviting, so decadent that he devoured it with greed.

“A slut gets treated like a slut then.”

He let go of her wrist.

Gripped the two sides of the slit on that pencil skirt, and ripped the seam apart.

She gasped, snapping her head around, but Yoongi shoved a hand into the small of her back and pressed her stomach back into the wood, glaring. Daring her to stand up. Her eyes narrowed, sparks of fury glinting under the overhead lights. He deliberately dug his fingers into the torn black fabric and pulled more. It easily gave into his force, the threads popping and snapping.

He completely tore it off and threw it into the open trashcan under his desk.

Ticked his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

His stepsister kept her hands flat on the desk, cocking an eyebrow back, as if this had happened to her before.

Yoongi hooked one of his fingers into the side of her black panties and pulled up.

She bit her lip, saying nothing.

He reached between her legs and sunk his fingertip into her heat. Followed along the slit to find the hard nub hiding underneath, soaking the silk undergarment and watching her expression change, pleasure snaking into the defiance. He did not force it. He stayed slow, careful, and with precision. Silent. Stroking her clit and twisting her panties into his fist, digging it in more, tearing the seams.

So wet.

It made his cock swell with insatiable need.

Yoongi licked the side of his mouth, swallowing his moan.

Her hands curled into fists, hips rolling back against him.

He kept rubbing, his fingers circling the slick friction, not reacting to her involvement to it. He wanted to draw her orgasm out. Coax it with his touch. He savored the feeling of her leaking juices and the smell of her desperate sex, memorizing every detail. The way her hips flinched, the way her lips parted, lush lashes fluttering, shoulders tense, looking back at him, his name on the tip of her wet pink tongue sliding out, panting softly.

Yoongi did not let himself be alone in this.

He was going to make her part of this madness.

“Y… Yoongi…”

He licked his teeth and pushed her to the edge.

There was a visible writhe of her spine and she gasped, tipping her head back, fists uncurling, nails clawing over the wood as he felt her trembling pussy throb under his fingertips, drenching the panties past usefulness and dripping down her tense thighs, her ass rising and stopped by his clenched, white-knuckled fist.

He could smell it, her sinful orgasm.

Feel it coat his fingers, his palm, his hand, sliding between her legs, his touch smearing it all over her inner thighs, leaning down as his other hand dragged her ruined panties down her shaking legs, sighing out hot breath onto the delicious, perky curve of her ass.

“Yes, that is my name,” Yoongi murmured, licking a long, sensual stripe all the way to the dip between soft roundness, inhaling the sweet, heady scent of her cum. He pooled saliva there, slathering it onto pampered skin.

Her gasps were slowly evening out, tension lessening.

“I’ll make sure you remember.”

Then he straightened, slowly, drawing his hand out from between her legs. No whimper from the predator below him, only a sharp gaze of stalking eyes. Always watching, but Yoongi was not afraid for he had nothing to hide.

He gripped the sides of his pants and underwear and pushed them down.

He saw the palm of her hand on the wood turn, ready to press down to lift her upper body.

“Relax,” Yoongi chuckled, letting the shared sin roughen his tone. “I’m not that stupid.”

Then he gripped his stiff cock and slid up against his stepsister’s ass, rubbing the sensitive head into the puddle of saliva he let at the base of her spine and jacking himself off with her slick cum still sticking to his hand. Her eyes widened, but he just smirked, open-mouthed and tongue between teeth, stimulating himself against the smooth skin, shuddering, relishing, letting himself be consumed by the wrongness of it all, his veins alight with wicked pleasure, heartbeat thundering in his ears to mix with the obscene, wet smacking sound of him thrusting into his own closed fist.

He bent over and increased the friction on the swollen, dark red tip, breathing hard, reaching out to close his fingers around her forearm.

“Squeeze you ass together for me.”

Sly smirk dancing on her lips but he mirrored it, already knowing what it meant, feeling her loosen from his hold and snake her arms down against her sides, pressing her chest to the desk and grabbing handfuls of her ass, pushing the malleable cheeks together and adding a gentle curve to the slick, slippery, saliva-covered tightness for him to rub against.

Yoongi groaned hotly into her hair, slapping his left hand down onto the desk, intensifying his grip, hot taut skin pulsating in his right hand. So hard he was lightheaded, thrusting into the top of her ass, fuck, so soft, fuck, leaking pre-cum to add to the mess of fluids in that glossy pocket, fuck, her ass pushing back against him, lengthening each stroke. Her name vibrated in his throat, his eyes slipping shut, sharp tips of his hair hitting his cheeks with every jerk forward. Couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, wasn’t going to stop until he came all over her ass and back, eager to soak that designer blouse of hers with his indecency.

He grinned.

The coil inside tightened, the back of his thighs straining.

His elbow hit the desk, loud and sharp sensation shooting up to his shoulder, but it didn’t feel painful, only added to the violent turmoil of sensations that burst, starting from his clenched jaw.

Yoongi snarled her name, pierced with lust.

His rigid cock jerked, orgasm spurting out in strings. He snapped his head down, directing and watching the thick, creamy lines dribbling over her back, catching the hem of her hiked-up blouse like he intended, pushing the aching, dark red head into her skin and moaning, husky and hoarse, painting her ass too, squeezing his twitching length so every single milky drop was forced out, decorating her with his desire.

Exhale.

It shook, disturbing the air with its fervor.

Yoongi dragged his fingers across the wood, finding her trembling shoulder, closing his callused grip around her throat.

Pulled his body up slightly, venomous lips against her ear.

“We are not the same,” he whispered, searing like smoke.

He did not specific who he meant by we.

Deep down, Yoongi even wasn’t sure if he knew.

Her body quivered under him. Almost undetectable, almost soundless, almost overlooked. He wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for his hand around her neck. Tremors of deep-rooted darkness, of blackout curtains and blank canvas, of days trapped in play-pretend as good daughter, of memories buried so deep they might as well have decomposed and decayed six feet under.

She snickered into the dead wood below her lips.

“Aren’t I a better slut than you thought, Yoongi?”

He flinched.

As if shot.

Lifted himself and gripped her shoulder, turning her around, and pressing his lips to hers, closing his eyes to avoid the accusation waiting there, speaking instead with the pressure and the intensity of the dance of his lips against hers, shuddering as he felt her smile against his bruising kiss.

Amused.

Yoongi’s hands were on the desk, one soiled and the other empty, deserving it.

His whisper was thin, barely there between ravenous lips.

“I can’t believe those bastards at the front desk let you in.”

She chuckled, nipping at his lower lip.

“I didn’t say they let me in. They only told me that the keypads here require a four-digit pin code.”

His entire body erupted in chills.

Her hands slid up his back, pressing his chest to hers, kissing him deeply, her moans slipping into his throat, his lungs, shimmering against his heart, flint against the fire, and Yoongi knew that his password was a date. A specific day and a specific month.

Her birthday.

“I’m sorry about how long I made you wait,” you commented calmly, shrugging out of your coat. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t find this important.”

There was no screaming.

Only blissful silence broken by ragged, heavy breathing.

“I only wanted to be prepared so I can give you the attention you deserve.”

You found the invisible zipper on the side of your skirt and teased it apart, letting the visceral sound echo around the stone basement. There were no security guards surrounding you this time. It wasn’t necessary. The man in a black latex gimp suit was shackled to a padded, heavy bench, wrists and ankles chained together underneath.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

You had the decency to place his head on a small, firm pillow, of course.

Your skirt skimmed past your hips, falling to the floor. You stepped out of it, walking towards the waiting body. Heel to toe, the click of your stilettos palpable and sharp. The top of your suit remained, a short dark pinstriped blazer with satin lapels, tightly fastened. No shirt underneath. Just the slightest hint of lace-encased cleavage if you were looking straight down, but nobody was doing that. The gimp suit only had slits for eyeholes. Barely a half-centimeter in height and three centimeters across.

You looked down at the latex-encased head so he could see your small, amused smile.

The encompassing mask had nose holes, of course, to provide ample breathing space. A zipper over the mouth, with a small silicone bulb sticking out of the zipper head. Inflatable gag. One squeezed the bulb to firmly expand the other end that would be in the wearer’s mouth, gagging them once their lips closed around it.

It had been done for you.

How nice.

You held up the wand vibrator.

The muffled whimper was reduced to a squeaking gurgle.

“It seems simple,” you agreed, stepping away and turning it on, the hum rising next to your ear. “But sometimes simple is best, you know.”

It was a little bit of a joke, but all jokes held truths. You circled around the trembling body, the cool air turning hot with the tension you created with every second, every moment, every breath of anticipation in the waiting. It was a long time coming, this moment. You savored it, a rare moment of allowing yourself to enjoy your achievement.

You earned it.

The black latex was covered in thin film of oil, making it look shiny and inviting.

You ran the vibrator along the inside of the covered thigh.

The reaction was immediate. Choked moan and shivering body, defined muscles flexing against the unforgiving fabric, the steady whirring sound intensifying due to contact with a surface. You let out the breath you were holding, chuckling, sliding the wand vibrator up and down, watching him squirm. The latex made sharp crinkling sounds as he moved, whines trapped behind plastic.

For his part, he kept his legs apart, desperate not to close them.

You turned up the setting, saying nothing, moving to the other leg. Up and down, each up moving closer, closer to the center of those joined legs. At the center was a thick, silver zipper. You admired it. Admired the way it shone in the low light of a single exposed bulb, stretching the little that it could while what was beneath it swelled, pushing, twitching, fighting to get out.

“You like that?” you purred.

A strained moan rattled in that flexed chest.

You lifted the wand for just a moment to rub it lightly against that chest, to the sides where you guessed hardened peaks awaited, smiling as the body below you writhed. There we go. Massaged those two spots nice and hard and rough, abusing his nipples, seeing the neck of the suit flex as the head tipped back, strangled cries frantic for release.

Although there was a lot of movement, he kept his body fully exposed to your sexual torture.

You praised him for it.

“A gentleman.”

His back arched, groan leaking past the gag.

“I like that.”

You traveled back down his flexed abdomen, circling his bellybutton, avoiding his crotch, making him whine sharply in dismay, going back to working his thighs. Focused on the inner parts, closer to that quivering bulge. Scooped down, making him sit on the vibrating wand for a bit.

His spine collapsed, quiet sobbing rising behind his confines.

“That’s it. Just give into it,” you whispered. “Give into me.”

You pressed the vibrations to the base of the zipper and his latex-covered balls.

The thick protrusion behind the majority of the silver zipper jerked, swelling even more. The breathing behind the gimp mask was labored and erratic. No sound except guttural whimpers and choked moans, all words snuffed out by the gag, although he wouldn’t have much to say anyway.

The pleasure of being controlled was too good.

You slid the wand up and down his trapped cock, teasing it mercilessly.

His hips thrust up into the punishment, small pleading noises begging for more. You gave in, smiling, turning up the power, the vibrations screaming against the plastic fabric, filling the stone basement with cries both human and machine. You saw his broad shoulders shake and his head thrash, powerful thighs closing and pinning the vicious sensations to his straining erection, the latex too thick to provide full agony.

You let him fuck himself.

It was fun to watch.

He was breathing hard, whining sharply, in the same rhythm and syllables of your given name.

“I’m thinking about it,” you replied, pressing your thumb to the button and pushing the thundering pulse to maximum.

You did.

Think about it.

He screamed behind the mask, the sound mashed into the gag.

You turned the wand off.

The thighs shot back, thudding against the bench and shaking badly, back flat against the bench, ragged puffs of breath rattling the sodden latex. Both sweat and condensation, probably. You let him have a moment of reprieve, although you limited it to a very brief one.

No sense in delaying what he so desperately wanted.

You pressed the head of the wand to his hip and held him down, gripping the heavy-duty zipper and slowly freeing his trapped cock.

The scent of sweat hit you, along with the dirty, delicious aroma of leaking pre-cum. He had shaved, obviously, to prevent any hair from catching. His cock sprang out, thick and erect and purple-red, weeping from the containment, prominent veins pulsating. It was probably this engorged due to the relentless treatment you had given it, reaching maximum girth already. You calmly reached in and scooped his shivering balls out, caressing them gently to wipe some of the sweat off.

You couldn’t see, but you guessed his eyes were rolling back into his head at your soft touch. It was obvious by the way his head tipped back and his stifled moan reverberated from his chest.

You lifted the wand and jammed it into his balls, mashing the ‘on’ button savagely.

He gasped and locked all his joints, everything in him to prevent him from flinching away from the pounding pressure as he wailed around his gag, the sound of teeth scraping against it cutting into the heavy, lust-filled air.

You removed it, smiling.

He whimpered, begging you to do it again.

“I know,” you purred sensibly. “But you’ll like this.”

You swung a leg over his torso and straddled his chest, wrapping your hand around his twitching, rock-hard, leaking length, and placed the wand vibrator directly into his sensitive balls, squashing them with thundering hardness, grinning as you felt his shocked moans travel through your body from your panty-covered pussy now firmly planted onto on his sternum.

“See? I told you you’ll like it,” you chuckled, grinding circles into his scrotum. “I don’t tell lies.”

Your smile dropped.

Your fingers slid down his length, slowly. Curled your index and thumb around the base, tightening, pinching, creating a makeshift cock ring with your hand as you slid the inescapable vibrations up, slowly, slowly, feeling it briefly shake your own hand, then up, up, up to the dark, dripping head of that thick cock whose owner was pleading, crying, hoping for you to abuse.

You gave him what he wanted.

Held it there and tortured him for long, excruciating minutes.

You did say he could ask you for anything.

You raised your hand and stroked the slick shaft, spreading the pre-cum and sweat everywhere. Not quite enough lubrication but you had manicured, pampered hands that you moisturized often, and besides, that edge of uncomfortable was part of this anticipated, desired pain. It was only the beginning of more, your hand strongly pressing the bulbous tip of the wand vibrator to the swollen, inflamed, dark purple head of this delicious-smelling, throbbing, masochistic cock.

You smiled, enjoying it.

Faster, rougher, moving your hand up and down.

He was losing it under you, thrashing powerfully, but you pinned him down with your weight, forcing him to the brink.

“You don’t wanna cum, is that it?” you exhaled. “Afraid this moment will be over too soon?”

Rubbing the punishing relentless vibrations all around, focusing it on the underside of the head where the skin was thinnest and the nerves most concentrated, making him moan in despair and beg for mercy. You pumped him decisively, grip tight, holding him still in the inescapable cage of your closed fingers.

“You should know this kind of hunger is not so easily satisfied.”

You pushed the power to max.

The man under you groaned, and the tension tore apart, violent shot of white suddenly in your vision and then splattered to your face, too close in your craving, your warm breath washing over his jolting, dribbling cock, each jarring thrust of shuddering hips weakening with a grateful sob, his cum spilling down your closed hand.

You pulled the wand away, fascinated.

Turned it off absentmindedly, staring at the dark purple-red head quivering, still squeezing out beading, milky droplets, your index and thumb locked around the base of that tender tip, his taut skin pulsing with each twitch.

Leaned forward and licked.

The body under you shivered in complete bliss.

Your tongue circled around that hot sensitive skin. Tasting sex and sweat, feeling him remain hard in your hand as you loudly and thoroughly sucked his cum off. Every sudden, uncontrolled flinch made the need in your core turn, winding tightly, the gears inside this misfit toy click, click, clicking.

He tasted good.

Like sin.

You let go, lifting your body off him.

Your panties were soaked, glistening juices stamped onto the black latex like a Rorschach print.

Bent down and pulled the useless undergarment off. Threw them aside, leaving the wand vibrator on the bench between the legs. Breathing hard, matching the pained exertion of the man beneath you, staring at the mess you made in this dark stone basement.

Small smile.

This high was addictive.

You reached over behind the head and brusquely lifted it without warning, gripping the zipper at the base of the neck and pulling. The internal, extra-wide flap of the gimp mask prevented any hair or skin from getting caught. You peeled it away, gripping the hem under the chin and turning it inside-out, the zipper at the mouth loosening, causing the inflatable gag to fall out of shaking pink lips, the small mole at the center underneath them quivering.

Long black hair flared out as you tossed the gimp mask aside.

Large brown eyes staring at your exposed, glistening lower lips. Tan skin shining with sweat, faint traces of talcum powder sticking to his hairline.

You smirked.

Jeon Jungkook shuddered, looking up at you.

You placed two fingers under his chin, tipping his head so he had a better view of your pussy.

“I knew exactly what you were doing the entire time.”

His eyes shifted up, breathing hard in large huffs. The key to his shackles was under him, right by his hand. However, locking the cuffs only required sliding together the mechanism, causing the latch to catch and click into place. A person could do it with only a few fingers even in a precarious position. The metal wasn’t too tight around the wrist, only enough to be inescapable.

“But, then again, you were hoping for that.”

You smiled, amused.

“Weren’t you, Jungkook?”

The corner of his lips ticked upward, the silver ring at the edge gleaming.

He knows.

An unpleasant, bitter feeling coiled around the base of your neck.

You paused. Frozen. Remembering words whispered to you in the dark, remembering strong hands holding you down, recalling apathy snaking all over your nerves, your body already knowing the signal to blank out the next moments.

Let’s make a secret.

You shook your head, cutting the thoughts off.

“The things I’m going to do to you,” you forced out with effort.

Looked down at Jungkook, into those clear brown eyes.

Your security guard smiled. Pink tongue flitting over his strained lips, the wet sound grounding your senses, the display of surrender bringing you a strange sense of serene.

“That's none of my business,” Jungkook purred, deep voice laced with indecent desires.

His lips formed your given name, savoring it like a sweet.

Accepting.

Your chest tightened, feeling alive.

You looked back to the wand, indicating to him that you were going to use it again, and then you stepped forward, Jungkook’s lips parting below you, providing a warm welcome to your dripping pussy, closing his mouth around your clit as you lifted the brutal instrument of sexual torture once again, turning it on to press to his shivering balls and wrapping your own soft, pillowy lips around the aching head of his still-hard cock, burning with pleasure as his tongue began to ravenously lick, hungry for your orgasm.

On the floor was his uniform, neatly folded.

The head of an engraved black tiger gleamed in the low light, the switchblade safely tucked in the side leg pocket of the pants.

continued in time to dig up those graves, m | myg, jjk

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #misfit toys au

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whumpty-dumpty-doo · 5 months

Text

We Are TroubleD - "A Breathtaking View"

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

Day 14 (my chosen prompts are bolded): Guilt / Chased / "I bought you time, use it!"

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Don't worry, you haven't missed the entries for days 6-13! For more info, please see the notes at the bottom of the post.

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Content warnings: Blood (minor), captivity, difficulty breathing, fear (and fear of death), inability to breathe, injuries (bruises, leg, minor cuts), loss of consciousness/passing out, manhandling, physical abuse (kicking, punching, slapping, strangling), potential character death, recapture, restraints, strangulation, struggling, swearing

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

The escape attempt hadn’t gone well for Darius. While Tristan had been able to slip out and actually get away, Darius… well…

Once his friend left, Darius had managed to make a decent dent in his ankle cuff by focusing on the strap that held the metal loop securing the chain. He had weakened the leather considerably by raking the scissor blades across the spot over and over, and finally, after a lot of yanking and twisting, it had popped open. At last, he was free from the shackle that tethered him to the wall. The cuff itself was still attached to him, but he could work with that.

He hastily stuffed the scissors under his mattress, then bolted into the main area of the basement and scanned around for the window that Tristan had used to escape. There was a chair pushed up to one of the walls, and he figured that was the spot.

His breath caught at the sound of floorboards squeaking above him. Shit, shit shit! His captor was awake! It was do or die now. No time to waste. He scurried up the chair, slid the glass open, hoisted himself up, and stuck his front half out into the world.

Cool morning air filled his lungs, so crisp and refreshing that his heart wanted to sing. He could see the sky again without a windowpane separating him from it. The sun hadn’t quite crested the horizon yet, but it was marching along. And the grass… God, he never thought he’d miss seeing grass.

The image was ripped away far too quickly though. There was no warning, just an instantaneous action– an unseen hand grabbed his ankle and yanked, violently jerking him back through the window frame. In a frenzy he grasped for anything he could find, but there was nothing around him large enough to latch onto.

Darius crashed to the basement floor with a howl of pain as he landed on his right leg. It cushioned him a little bit, but it was not a short distance to fall. He couldn’t even process what had just happened before his captor was behind him seizing his arms and holding them securely behind his back.

“THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!” he demanded.

Darius was aghast as he was pulled to his feet.

“Get off of me!” he threw his whole body to try to wriggle free of the man’s grasp, but that only caused him to be drawn in tighter and held against his captor’s chest.

A strong hand wrapped itself around his throat and applied pressure, not enough to choke, but enough to send a warning.

“STOP!” Darius shouted, tossing his head, but he was suddenly quite scared.

“How the fuck did you get free?!” the man squeezed his throat a little tighter and Darius stilled for his own safety, swallowing hard. He pulled in a few shallow gasps as he thought about his answer, his heart pounding.

“Dull tool… sharp wit…” he croaked. A small cocky smile pulled at the edge of his lips. It wasn’t the time for sass, but snark made him feel better.

“Real explanation, boy.” the grip tightened, so much so that Darius could no longer answer him.

Darius strained until the man’s hand loosened, allowing him to suck in deep breaths again. Unfortunately, there was virtually no time to recover before he was pushed toward the storeroom. He planted his feet, but his captor just swiveled him around and dragged him backwards. Darius growled and flailed again.

He was furious, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think this wouldn’t be a possibility. It had taken him a long time after Tristan had left to work through the strap. It truly was just a matter of time before his captor woke up and came to check on them. The odds of Darius being caught were pretty high. Still, he had that stupid little glimmer of hope in his mind once he was free. The second he stuck his front out the window and smelled the dew on the leaves… heard the birds chirping their morning melodies…

Darius grit his teeth, snarling, kicking, and thrashing against the man’s grasp. His intention wasn’t exactly to get away—though he would try to run again if he got the chance—he just wanted to slow the bastard down a bit and make it harder to pull him back into the storeroom… Anything to buy Tris more time to find help.

Why not poke the hornet’s nest a bit while he was at it, too?

“Mad you got outsmarted?” Darius taunted. “Yeah, I bet so, you piece of shit. I almost got away with it, too. You’re lucky I went for the window and not for your throat. I’ll get through both next time.”

A heavy fist collided with his skull and momentarily stunned him, but he quickly shook off the feeling with a smirk.

“Getting to you, hm? Can dish out taunts, but can’t take them? You’re pathetic.”

He was punched again, harder this time. It took him a little longer to bounce back from that one, but he laughed, a little weaker than before.

“It’s almost over for you and you have no idea. We won, bitch.”

His captor was probably about to indulge him by asking what he was talking about when they reached the storeroom. He took one look over his shoulder to navigate inside, however, and saw that both mattresses were empty. His nails dug into Darius’ arms.

“WHERE IS HE?!” the man bellowed.

Darius lifted his head, staring his captor right in the eyes as he flashed him a smug, shit-eating grin.

“Gone.”

The man roared and ripped something off of the wall- another set of thick leather cuffs. Darius was swung around and thrown to the floor where his wrists were shackled swiftly behind him. Still, he kept up his goading smile.

“Tie me up again, sure. You’re a one-trick pony. It doesn’t matter either way; I’m not scared, and you’re too late. Help’s on its way.”

A sharp kick connected with his ribs and Darius yipped, then groaned out a swear as he curled in on himself. It was the only thing that gave him pause.

“Shut up you fucking brat! Where did he go?!” his captor flipped Darius over to face him, and Darius, battered but still combative, pressed his lips together and shook his head.

He was slapped across the face. Darius might not have been scared in the moment, but the man apparently was.

Darius felt something dribble from the side of his mouth, and he licked at it. Blood. Huh. Imagine that.

“WHERE. DID. HE. GO?” another slap, but Darius stared defiantly back up at him.

“Get fucked.”

He only made a small gasp when the man’s hands were back on his neck, progressively constricting it tighter and tighter.

“You won’t… kill me…” Darius challenged, and he knew it was true. The whole point of his stay here was to be ransomed. His parents would have no reason to pay this asshole if he was dead.

The grip became more intense.

“Last chance, boy. Where. Is. He?”

Darius sputtered and quivered, his body fighting on its own to breathe. His thoughts were growing fuzzy, the need for air slowly beginning to overtake his loyalties.

“I don’t… know… He ran…” he choked out.

But the hands didn’t leave his throat… they only pressed tighter. Panic flashed in Darius’ eyes; He thought he’d be released after giving up some information. It was intentionally vague, but it was the truth. The threat had worked, at least a little bit.

Black dots danced before his eyes, and he gave another desperate shudder, frantically trying to suck in a breath to plead for his life. The links on his cuffs rattled angrily as he struggled and shook. The world was falling away.

No… It couldn’t end like this…

His vision tunneled, darkness encroaching on all sides.

‘Tris… I need you… please…’

Then there was nothing.

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

Day 14!

If you're clicking through these and wondering why you just jumped from day 5 to day 14, it's because I decided to post these in the order that made the most sense for my story chronologically. This whole escape scenario kind of blossomed far beyond what I expected it to and wound up becoming its own mini story, so here we are! I couldn't wrestle the prompt days in order to fit the story I wanted to tell, so that's why they're hopping around a bit. Sorry!

Entries for the other days are coming. To see the entries in event prompt day order, please see my event participation masterpost (coming soon, will be linked here when it's up).

If you have any questions, you can always ask me, but hopefully you can find everything I've written for this event in whichever order suits your fancy from the links up above!

Thanks for reading!

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Tag list: @gala1981

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bastetwastaken · 1 year

Note

I'd like puzzleshipping #2 and hope you're doing wonderfully!

Hey! Hi!

I'm so sorry this has taken so long for me to get around to and I really hope it was worth the wait. I'm doing good, getting through, I've just been struggling to find any time to write properly since work has been so busy but anyway!!

I hope this little Ancient Egypt AU, a little fill in your own plot type thing, finds you well <3 <3

2- "Stay your hand soldier, I'd like to keep this one."

....................

Usually his days as Pharaoh were dull, endless issue after issue with seemingly no end in sight but today….today was shaping up to be very different indeed and that was all because of the man kneeling on the floor of his hall restrained by two of his guards.

He shifted on his throne, leaning on one arm, hand propped under his chin as he looked over the situation he’d been presented with. The case was clear…or it should be. The man was caught trying to gain access to the palace, it should be assumed he meant Atem harm and he should be dealt with accordingly.

Yet he was struggling to shake the feeling that something about the man before him was familiar.

There was an energy around him which Atem felt he knew, and he looked closely at him. He took in the wild unkempt dark hair, the clothes which fit him so poorly, a face weathered by sun and sand… then he saw it.

Those eyes. He could never mistake them.

He brought a hand to his mouth in an effort to hide his amused smirk by looking thoughtful. He even hummed and forced a frown to add to the act.

The man on the floor shifted and the guard to his right raised his hand as if to strike him but Atem reacted first.

"Stay your hand soldier, I think I'll keep this one." He said, making sure his voice was strong.

The guard shot him a worried look but quickly bowed his head in agreement when Atem glared at him. He didn’t care what his men thought he wanted with the supposed assassin, all he cared was that he got him away from them as fast as possible.

He knew the man on his knees had caught his intention when their eyes met and he saw the smugness in them, the subtle change in him.

It took every ounce of restraint to refrain from laughing in front of his guards but he managed a command to have the man taken to his chambers.

He couldn’t follow immediately, but it wouldn’t be long before he would be satisfied with the knowledge that he was right about his identity. He caught the smile on the man's face as he was pulled to his feet and escorted from the room though and for now, that would have to do.

—---

He wasn’t surprised to find him standing freely in his room when he opened the door, not surprised to see the chains which had held him sitting uselessly in a pile on the floor, not surprised that he seemed so comfortable in this space rather than fearful of what may happen next.

The man turned to him as he stepped into the room, a smirk on his borrowed face and Atem fought the urge to laugh just long enough to dismiss his guard.

“You can drop the act.” Atem said as the door closed behind him. “It’s just you and me now.”

The glamour fell away before his eyes, leaving Yugi’s familiar face looking back at him, a smile tugged at full looking lips and Atems breath caught in his throat. How long had it been this time? Too long, that was for certain.

“One of these days I’ll manage to trick you as easily as I do your guard.” Yugi teased.

He laughed and shook his head.

"You know, if you wanted to see me so badly, you should have used the amulet I gave you." He said with a sly smile. “No need to get yourself arrested to gain an audience with me.”

Yugi shrugged and casually leaned back against the table behind him.

"I wanted to test the security of this pretty cage they keep you in." Yugi told him.

He ignored the term Yugi used. He knew the others' thoughts well enough by now. Knew how he viewed his lifestyle and everything that came along with it, even though he had once been a part of it.

The worst part was that he didn't disagree.

“How many of my guards did you harm this time?” He asked with a sigh as he walked over to the smaller table between them, peering into the jug there and thankfully finding it full.

“None.” Yugi shrugged and threw him a wink when he glanced up. “I know you don’t like me hurting them, and as much as I hate to admit it, they do keep you safe.”

“Wait, you actually did as I asked?” He said, feigning shock as he poured the liquid into two gilded cups.

“You say that as if I never took orders from you before.” Yugi laughed. “You forget that you always outranked me.”

He hummed as he picked up the now full cups.

"One of these days my guards may not be so kind to you." He said as he walked closer, holding out a cup to his lover.

"Why would I be afraid of that…" Yugi paused and took a cup, smiling sweetly at him. "When I know you'll protect me."

He sighed quietly then sipped his wine. He knew he would never truly get Yugi to understand the risks of their…relationship, even if the words he was speaking were true.

"I would try to, yes." He said softly. “But you know the position you put me in each time you attempt one of these stunts.”

Yugi laughed, shooting him a confident smile as his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I could put you in more fun positions, I’m sure.” Yugi told him, eyes dropping to move over his body.

“I don’t doubt that.” He replied, laughing softly as he stepped closer.

"Seriously though, you act as if anyone would dare speak against a living god." Yugi said. "The embodiment of Horus himself. The figurehead of society. The man who drove away the army from the South with the power of the gods themselves. The man we all owe our lives to."

"You speak against me." He said curiously, watching as Yugi rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the table behind him so they were even closer.

"No." Yugi shook his head and downed the rest of the cup Atem had given him, placing it gently behind him. "I speak against what you stand for. I do not speak against you."

"But what I stand for is all I am." Atem said.

"For someone so educated, you can be frustratingly dim." Yugi laughed.

"Well then, wise one, feel free to enlighten me."

"You may wear the crown, carry the symbols of the dynasty on your person and have your name carved on stone among the Pharaohs before you but you are not just this." Yugi said. "You may have the title of Pharaoh, but that is not all you are."

He said nothing but stepped closer, their chests almost touching as he moved to place his cup with Yugis on the table.

"How about the man who loves cats more than people? The man who hates spiders. Who is ticklish under his arms. Who has the voice of an angel but never sings loud enough for anyone but me to hear...who loves so loudly it is a wonder no one has noticed yet that you have fallen for a common outlaw."

"I would hardly call you that." He said with a smirk, Yugi's words brought butterflies to his stomach.

"Ah, well." Yugi waved a hand at him. "Perhaps notorious is better?"

"You're the most wanted man in all of Egypt." Atem laughed. "I think legendary would suit."

"Legends are what we become once we leave this world." Yugi said, placing a hand against his chest and smiling sadly. "We can't all be gods after all."

"Would you want to be?" He asked, leaning closer, his eyes moving down to kissable lips.

"Oh, most definitely not." Yugi laughed, the hand on his chest moved to cup his cheek. "I see how you suffer."

"You know me." He said quietly. He felt Yugi's hand push up into his hair, taking the crown he wore with it as it left him. "Me. Not the Pharaoh, not the man I have to be for the people."

"I do know you." Yugi said softly, tossing the crown onto the table behind them. "And I know what we can never be."

"I-" A finger was pressed to his lips as Yugi looked back at him sadly.

"We both know that we can't." Yugi said. "It doesn't matter what you tell them, what you say or do…they will not accept me."

"I wish it were different." He sighed. Yugi's hands moved to the back of his neck, easily unclasping the golden collar he wore and gently pulling it away, taking the various amulets attached to it off his collarbones and leaving his chest feeling lighter.

Yugi smiled sadly as the jewellery joined his crown behind them. Atem knew he missed his old life, although he would never admit it. He knew he wished that the events of the past never happened…that a certain item had never come into their lives.

"As do I." Yugi whispered.

He took the hint, followed the pull of Yugi's hands in his hair and pressed their lips together in a sweet kiss he’d dreamed about ever since their last meeting. Their complicated history never seemed to matter when Yugi pulled him closer, when his hands found their way under weathered clothing to rest against soft skin warmed by the heat of the day, when they fell into his bed and lost themselves…

—-----

"One day you will be caught for real." He said, rolling onto his side to look at his lover laying on his back next to him. "Then what will you do?"

"I'll know when the moment arrives." Yugi shrugged.

"Spoken like a true rogue." He teased.

"My ways have served me well thus far." Yugi said, then he smirked and held up the pendant he always wore around his neck. "I suppose carrying the power of a god helps matters."

"You'd better not be using that for nefarious purposes." He said as he moved closer, wrapping an arm around Yugi and pulling him closer.

"Me?" Yugi laughed. "Now would I do that?"

"Do not take me for a fool." He said, dipping his head to place a kiss on Yugi's shoulder.

"Never." Yugi sighed happily and melted into his hold.

"The guards are none the wiser yet?" He asked.

"No." Yugi’s voice was full of pride. "I must admit, I thought you kept better staff, but they seem completely unaware of even the simplest enchantment…"

"Magic is not their strong point." He said dismissively. “But I thought you would be glad of that.”

He listened to Yugi's soft laugh as he placed more kisses on his skin.

He may be a noble turned outlaw, possibly the most wanted man in the entirety of his kingdom, but he was no threat to him. They’d known each other for way too long, they were too close.

Only he understood the reasons Yugi had left his previous life, only he knew just how that escape went because he was there.

He’d been the one who fought off the people who wanted to hurt Yugi, the one who had hidden Yugi from sight, the one who had helped him make a place for himself away from the city and those who wished him dead.

Atem would have joined him had he not been thrown into power so soon afterwards.

He knew Yugi wanted him to join him, to run away with him and leave this life behind…but he also understood just why Atem had to stay.

They both did.

The darkness which loomed over their world wouldn’t ever be defeated if Atem left. He was pretty sure that his secret rituals were the only thing keeping the monster at bay.

Yugi knew that too.

Just as he knew that Yugi would have to leave shortly, Atem would have to let his guards take him to the cells below the palace, and he’d have to act just as shocked as he always did when the report came of Yugi's escape.

Then he’d have to wait with the uncertainty of not knowing when Yugi would return…if he’d return…but that was a problem for the future.

#puzzleshipping #fanfic #atem #yugi mutou #ygo dm #fanfiction #no I will not be taking feedback about historical accuracy this is a fanfic not a history exam k thx bye

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fragmentedlegends · 2 months

Note

“What if they kissed” for Astor but make it screwed up aksjsjdb

All their kisses are screwed up. This became a drabble lol

"Easy, now...easy..."

Master Kohga didn't tend to curse in the time that Astor had known him, but there was quite the colorful display popping off from behind that mask, like a dog snarling against its chains—which was a fitting analogy indeed, considering the malice that forced Kogha in place before him, keeping his hands well apart and away from the weapon previously aimed at Astor's throat.

It was all, "You bastard this," and "We trusted you that," and a good old, "I'll make you pay," thrown in for good measure. Astor sighed and waited out Kohga's breath as he shouted all the different ways that he intended to kill the seer, and my, some were quite creative. It was almost admirable.

"What a passionate display of outrage, Master Kohga," Astor finally got a word in edge-wise once Kohga had exhausted himself (temporarily, at least) and leaned against the little folded camp side desk behind him. "I see my time is limited, so I'll cut to the chase—I've spoken to Lord Ganon on your behalf, and he's still interested in your potential. In you."

"I swear if you don't stop talking—"

"Listen. You are angry, I understand, but you are missing a very big point—"

"Fuck you—"

"Lord Ganon is interested in you, your abilities, your history—"

"Fuck you—"

"You could work directly with him and secure for yourself an incredibly unique position in this new world—this is what you wanted—"

"I want my Clan back, you son of a bitch!"

Another sigh, less patient this time. Astor strolled the threshold between them until he was crouched down before Kohga, who struggled against his restraints, supposedly to wrap his hands around the seers throat. Astor propped his elbow upon a knee and rested his chin on the back of his fingers as he stared the man down, waiting, waiting.

There was a break in Kogha's trashing, and that was when Astor spoke, "You are a greedy little thing, Master Kohga."

"Shut—"

"You want so much, and yet, there's so little you're willing to give in return. If you want power, if you want everything, then you must pay for it. I paid my dues. Now you've paid yours. And if you can play it smart, you will be rewarded for it."

"They weren't on the table—"

"Weren't they?"

The malice coiled tighter around Kohga until the man was unable to speak against the hiss of pain, and Astor took the silence for his own. "I told you this was a possibility, and you didn't stop. One of many futures, and this is the one we've wound up with. They weren't strong enough—easy," Astor commanded against Kohga's renewed struggle to reach him, "They weren't. If they had been, they would have killed the Princess and the Hero and they would still be here."

"I'm so sick of hearing your bullshit—"

"Master Kohga, I am telling you the truth, just as I did then. You willingly disregard it because it doesn't fit your preferred narrative—"

"Stop talking like you fucking know me—"

"I do know you," There's a whip to the words, and then, with a little pitch, Astor speaks in a fair rendition of Kohga's voice, "You see, Harbinger Ganon, I was merely infiltrating their ranks—" does that sound familiar? Bit of a novice, I know, but I did pick up a thing or two from our time together."

The heat from Kohga's glare radiated from behind his mask. Astor merely smiled.

"This is who you are. Deep down, we only care for ourselves. You would grovel at Lord Ganon's heel if he were here before you, because you know that you would not survive going against him. You only declare your intentions to kill me because you believe you can—which is probably true. Or would be, without Lord Ganon's aid." He glanced down to the malice constraints as though in emphasis.

"Why don't you let me go and we can find out?"

Golden eyes shot back up to Kohga with a hint of amusement. "No, I don't think I will."

"Coward."

"Kettle," Astor said, that smile never faltering. "I told you we were alike."

"And I told you—"

"That you're nothing like me, yes, I remember. The love of your friends and family prevails. Theatric as always. But the curtain is closed now," Astor tucked a finger beneath Kohga's mask and pulled up, "and it's time to see the man behind the colors and pomp."

Kohga twitched as though he wanted to attempt squirmming away, fruitless as it would be. But, unsurprisingly, it seemed his ego wouldn't allow for it, and instead he stayed perfectly still as his mask was lifted, revealing two red eyes burning with enough hatred to fuel blood-enduring curses of their own.

"And there he is," came Astor's murmur as he set the mask down beside them, cocking his head ever so slightly, "My. The things you could do with Lord Ganon's power. You could be a fearsome threat, indeed."

A smirk twisted into Kohga's cheeks. "Wouldn't end well for you. Maybe you're not so smart after all, tryin' to recruit the guy who wants you dead. So why not eliminate the threat? Ain't that your thing? Cut down anyone in your way, even your own team?"

Astor let out a muffled chuckle from deep in his throat. "I've wondered the same thing. I can't seem to decide whether you should live or die, my friend. Your death would be more convenient, but your life far, far more interesting."

"What can I say," Kohga spoke through a gritted grin, "I'm an entertainin' guy."

"Indeed," Astor shifted then, going to one knee while remaining propped on the other, waving a hand dismissively. "In any case, now that Lord Ganon has taken an interest, your life isn't mine to take—"

A loud, sharp laugh burst from Kohga's chest, head jerking back before he set Astor with another vile look. "As if you could."

A brow quirked on pale features, and Astor gestured to the malice once more. "I could. On my command, the malice could consume you. I assure you, even the Mighty Master Kohga would not survive."

Kohga gave a "tch," with his teeth and looked away with rolled eyes. There was a moment of quiet between them, putrid and mangled, before Astor forced Kohga's eyes back to him with a gentle pull of his chin.

"I don't know why you're fighting this so hard," he admitted, something curious in his eyes, "You don't enjoy prostrating yourself before the Princess. That little girl is the spawn of everything that took away your people's culture, and when they are done with you, they will discard you. Again. As they always have. Am I wrong, Master Kohga?"

In a moment of extraordinary rarity, it seemed Master Kohga would have nothing to say. Just as Astor was about to continue, however, the Yiga spoke, almost too quietly to hear. "It doesn't matter."

"Come again?"

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, louder, colder, "all that matters is them. I have to save what's left of my Clan, and if that means working with the Royal's to do it, fine."

"How noble of you," Astor's tone did not sound impressed. "So you don't want this at all, then? A place by Lord Ganon's side? The chance to be at the start of this new world? To be above everyone, even the Royal family and their blessed little light?"

"No—"

"Liar." The insult came casually as Astor's eyes peered down upon him. "You may be willing to sacrifice it for your precious little Clan, but you can not fool me, Master Kohga. You do still want this. You want everything."

This time, when the quiet grew between them, Kohga did not break it. He glared, sneered, balled his fists—but there wasn't a word of denial on his lips. Still holding his chin in hand, Astor reached forward to entangle his fingers in the back of Kohga's head, pulling strands and forcing him back.

"Greedy, greedy thing," Astor twisted the hair in his hold. "You just want it all, don't you?"

There was a twitch of Kohga's eye as he breathed and shifted, and it ignited a light in Astor's stare. The seer let out a soft, rumbled laughed.

"Even this?" He pulled the hair tighter and leaned in closer. "Even after everything, there's a part of you that still wants this?"

"You're the one getting up close and personal, three eyes." Kohga snapped back, but Astor knew all the little tell-tales of his body by that point, and they were betraying him at every turn. There was no response to his jab. Only a fresh twist of his hair and the ghost of a kiss before their lips melded in full, tasting of something bloody and drenched in the fermented sweetness of spoiled fruit.

For all the heat of his rage and hatred, Kohga did not jerk his head away.

Astor's fingers did not loosen their hold on black and white strands of hair even as their kiss came to a soft part. He paused against Kohga's lips and spoke into his breath, "I think I'd like to see you live, Master Kohga. I want to see just how long this takes."

"For what?" Came his reply, bitter but softened, seemingly dragged by something heavy. Astor's smile nudged up against his mouth.

"I believe you know."

He stood then, hands clasping behind his back as he turned his heel and began to walk away. "When you are ready, do let me know."

"Hey—hey! Three eyes! Hey! Get back here, you slimy bastard!"

Kohga's shouting continued long after Astor's back disappeared beyond the tents entrance, and it was sometime later that the malice finally released him. The first thing he did was wipe his mouth. The second was to put his mask back on. The third was to head after Astor with weapon in hand.

But though he looked high and low, the seer could not be found.

#charm of a bastard (astor)#choking on blood and kisses (Astor and Kohga)#Drabble (Astor)

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aquietwritingcorner · 11 months

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I Tend to Deflect When I'm Feeling Threatened

Title: I Tend to Deflect When I’m Feeling Threatened Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 18 Prompt: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened” Blindfolded/Tortured for Information/ “Hit them harder” Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 5921 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: M Characters: Donatello Warning: Torture Summary: “So then, my purpose is most likely bait, although I would assume that you’re not going to simply leave me in good condition,” Don said. “I’m glad to see we’re on the same page,” Hun said as he came back around. “It’s simple. All I want from you is some information.” Don’s eyes narrowed. “I think we all know that I’m not going to tell you that.” Hun’s smirk grew. “Oh, I know.” He reached towards the cart, picking up a blade. “I’ve recently taken an interest in various torture devices.” He turned the blade over in his hand. “I’ve not had too much experience in them yet, but I am looking forward to trying them out.” Notes: I barely proofread this. Let's hope its good :) AO3 || ff.net

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I Tend to Deflect When I’m Feeling Threatened

Well, this was not how Don had expected his day to go. He hadn’t had any particular plan in mind, but getting kidnapped by the Purple Dragons was not part of it, regardless. He was never going to live this down once his brothers found out. Of course, in his defense, these Purple Dragons were a lot tougher than the ones they used to face down. Hun had given them quite the boost after the Shredder was gone, and they were definitely more of a threat now. Not to mention, Triceriton tasers did quite a number on anyone. Don should know. This wasn’t his first encounter with them.

None of that, though, helped his current situation. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but it seemed to be a commercial building, at least in construction. The room he was in was the size of a small meeting room, with no windows, except for the one in the singular door. The door was a fairly standard building door. Probably a metal door, most likely hollow inside, with a long rectangular window in it, and a parallel door closer at the top. That would make it harder to break into the room or to vandalize. The room was well lit, with standard lighting, and the walls were the basic, default white. All in all, it was a fairly standard, nondescript room.

Except for one thing. Running parallel to the door, going across the ceiling, was a very strong, very sturdy metal beam. Attached to it were some chains with cuffs—cuffs that were around Don’s wrists. They were fairly heavy-duty chains, too, attached securely. Don had already tried pulling on them, although it did nothing. Fortunately, the chains were long enough that he could reach the ground and stand, although sitting was out of the question. Peering at them, it looked as if the chains were adjustable for various heights, which was a possible weakness that Don might could exploit.

Don was also suspicious that the metal loops that seemed to be anchored into the floor were another form of restraint that he hadn’t experienced yet. And he did have the feeling it was “yet.” There were already unconnected shackles on his feet, and Don was pretty sure that those loops were for hooking those shackles to.

So. That was the state of the room. There wasn’t much to use, especially since he had also been stripped of his gear. No bo, no bag, no shellcell, no belt, no wraps, no mask. He wondered if the tracker that he had placed on his shell was still there. If it was, then there was still a chance that his brothers could find him without too much fuss. Well, provided that the signal wasn’t blocked. But if they used the tracking program, then they would be able to trace him to the last place the signal was, if nothing else.

Don wasn’t sure how long he had been in this room. He had been unconscious for part of the time, so there was no telling how long he had been gone. Chances were, it was long enough for his brothers to notice, but if he was seconds away from rescue or days was not something that Don knew. So, although he had very little at his disposal, Don needed to be alert for any way to escape.

Since the room was mostly out of his reach, Don started with what was. The ankle shackles were the easiest thing to examine. He brought a foot up to his face, doing his best to look at the shackle. He could only see so many angles of it, but he was able to see most of the shackles by switching up which ankle he was look at. They seemed to be made of titanium, with a fairly standard lock. It was something he’d be able to pick, if he had the tools. At the moment, there was no getting those off.

From there, he examined his wrist shackles. He had to grasp the chains and lift himself up to where he could see the cuffs, as his hands were above his head, but that was doable. Again, they seemed to be made out of titanium, with a simple lock. The difference here was that they were attached to very strong chains. Don lowered himself back down to stand and gave another experimental tug at the chains. They seemed pretty strong and anchored fairly well.

The anchor was another interesting thing to look at. It was on the ceiling, but, again, that was something he could look at, with a little maneuvering. Don grasped the chains in his hands again, and pulled, bringing himself up off the floor like a gymnast pulling himself up. He moved himself up on the chains, alternating his grip until he was able to create a loop in the chains for his feet to rest in, and raised himself up to examine how the chains were anchored into the beam. The chains seemed to feed through a mechanism that could raise or lower the chains at need, but with a very strong locking mechanism. Small wires—control wires? —ran to the mechanism. It would be hard to break, although not hard to jam. Then again, jamming it wouldn’t do him much good.

While he was up there, he examined the beam. It was a very strong beam, anchored well into the ceiling. If Don had to guess, it was built right in with the construction of the building, not added later. That was a bit disturbing as it indicated that whatever was going to happen in here was something that Hun had anticipated doing.

Don stayed there for a moment, letting the blood flow into his hands now that his heart was higher than them, and contemplated his situation. He had very few options available to him. Most of them boiled down to “wait and see,” which was not his preferred choice, but that was all he really had available to him at the moment. However, having this knowledge? It might come in handy, depending on what opportunities presented themselves.

Don lowered himself back down and sighed. Looks like it was a waiting game at the moment.

Don kept his mind occupied by running over possible escape options and what would be required, from the absurd to the likely. He still had no idea what time it was, but his internal clock had been keeping track of time for as long as he’d been awake, and it was at least a couple of hours before he saw movement outside the door. He could see Hun through the window, unlocking the door, which was something that Don made mental note of. He watched as the big man came in, another Dragon coming in with him.

Hun smirked at him. “Well. Donatello. It was surprisingly easy to get my hands on you.”

Don hummed. “Should I feel insulted by that or honored that you were coming after me?” he asked.

Hun’s eyes narrowed a little. “Oh, any of you would have done. But I have to admit, having you is a boon.”

“I’ll make sure to let my brothers know that you have a ranking for us,” Don said. “I’m assuming that, with this set up, you have a reason for me being here aside from just capture.”

“Very astute,” Hun said, starting to circle Don. “Getting rid of you turtles is my ultimate goal. But it’s not as easy as just killing you.”

“Glad to know we still present a challenge,” Don said, keeping an eye on the man, or at least on his shadow, when he went behind him. “Since I’m not dead, I’m also assuming that this is about more that demoralizing my family.”

“Correct,” Hun said. “If I wanted to do that, I would have simply killed you and left your tagged body for your brothers to find.”

“So then, my purpose is most likely bait, although I would assume that you’re not going to simply leave me in good condition,” Don said.

“I’m glad to see we’re on the same page,” Hun said as he came back around.

“So, what is it, exactly, that you want from me?” Don said. “Aside from physical harm.”

Hun knocked on the door, and it opened, a rolling cart being pushed in by another Dragon. “It’s simple. All I want from you is some information.”

Don eyed the cart. There were a lot of tools on it that Don had an unfortunate feeling he was about to experience the use of. “What kind of information?”

“Information on your family, on your strengths, your weaknesses, passcodes and passwords. Anything that will help me to take out your family,” Hun said.

Don’s eyes narrowed. “I think we all know that I’m not going to tell you that.”

Hun’s smirk grew. “Oh, I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ve brought some incentives.” He reached towards the cart, picking up a blade. “I’ve recently taken an interest in various torture devices.” He turned the blade over in his hand. “I’ve not had too much experience in them yet, but I am looking forward to trying them out.”

Don knew a threat when he heard one, and he set his jaw. “From my understanding, it’s better to know what you’re doing before you use something that could possibly kill your test subject.”

Hun grinned. “I prefer a more hands-on type of learning.”

He gestured to the two Dragons in the room, and they moved forward to, Don assumed, shackle his feet to the ground. Don let them get close, and then he lashed out. He jumped, grabbing the chains in his hands and lashing out with his legs. He kicked one of the Dragons in the face, and felt the Dragon’s nose break, sending him falling back. He quickly wrapped his legs around the neck of the other, tightening them. He let go of the chains with one hand, and raised the Dragon up, reaching for the piercings that were on the Dragon. If he could get one, then he might be able to pick the locks. He ripped one out of the Dragon’s ear, and tightened his legs around the Dragon’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

But before he could do more, electricity ran through him, coming from the chains. Don jerked and cried out, the shock lasting a few seconds before it released. Don fell, limp, his weight jerking on his arms, especially on his right one, as he fell. The Dragon felt, too, coughing and sputtering as he tried to get air back in his lungs. The piercing slipped from Don’s hand, taking the only tool he had managed to get away from him. Don shook his head, trying to get his brain back in working order.

The door opened, and two more Dragon’s came in, grabbing his ankles and running chains through the shackles, attaching them to the loops in the floor.

“How do you like it?” Hun asked, tossing a remote up and down in his hand. “I’ve had those wired with electricity for exactly this reason.”

Don looked up at Hun. “Innovative,” he grit out.

Hun smirked and looked at the Dragons who were now picking themselves up off of the ground. He gestured with his chin at Don. “Why don’t you two soften him up,” he said.

The two Dragons glared at Don, and he could read that anger and desire for revenge in their eyes. This was not going to go well for him. The one whose nose he broke didn’t waste any time and hit him hard in the snout. Don had no way to defend himself, but there was just enough give in the chains that it let him rock back a little. His eyes automatically watered, and the Dragon grinned when he saw it. The other Dragon hit him in the head from the other side, rocking him in that direction. With grins on their faces, the two Dragons worked Don over, not sparing anything but his plastron and shell, probably more to spare their own hands and feet than for any mercy on Don.

By the time Hun called them off, Don was already in pain, snout bleeding, knee out of joint, and sides bruised, and definitely bleeding from more than a few cuts.

“How are you feeling, Donatello?” Hun asked.

“Been through worse,” Don said, doing his best to straighten up. He could still stand, and so he would. “You’d think after all these years, your guys would know how to hurt a turtle better.”

Hun reached down and picked up a blindfold. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll turn this into a lesson for them, too.”

Hun approached him, and Don instinctively pulled back, but there wasn’t enough give for him to go far. Hun forcefully tied the blindfold on him, pulling it tight. It was a thick cloth, heavy, and Don couldn’t see anything through it. It was, he knew, an intimidation method. When it came to torture, the anticipation of it was usually considered the worst part. The blindfold was meant to increase that, and Don knew it. Unfortunately, there was some truth to it, even if he wasn’t going to give into it.

“Let’s see what we’re going to start with,” Hun said. Don could hear a few tools moving around. “I’ve been wanting to try these.” Don could hear Hun’s footsteps move closer, in measured, heavy steps. Don could sense him coming up beside him, felt his grip hover over his hand. “Ah, you do have fingernails.”

Don balled his hand up. “I see you’re going for the intimidation factor,” Don said. “The limited movement, the blindfold, the rattling of tools, the practiced steps, the pauses, the hints at what you’re about to do. Very dramatic, Hun. I didn’t know you had a flare for drama, although I should have expected it, given who you used to serve, and his flare for it.”

Don suddenly found his head ringing as he was backhanded.

“Shut up, turtle,” Hun said, grabbing Don’s hand and forcibly uncurling it.

“Sorry,” Don said, spitting out a blob of blood and grinning. “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened. Analysis is a good way to do that.”

Don could feel more than hear the growl that went through Hun, and then he felt something dig under his nail—something he recognized as pliers.

“Where is your base?” Hun demanded.

Don pressed his lips closed.

Hun pulled, and Don sucked in a breath, as he felt his nail pulled from its bed. It hurt, but it wasn’t the worst pain Don had felt. He could make it through.

“Where is your base?” Hun asked again.

Again, Don didn’t answer, and again, Hun pulled a nail out. Don didn’t know if he should count it as a blessing or a curse that, if you counted his feet, he only had ten nails total. It was less of this pain than a human would have, but it also meant that he would move on to something else quicker.

Three nails down, and Hun let go of his hand and backed away. Don heard the pliers hit the top of the cart.

“Switching tools?” Don said, hearing the pain in his voice. “Guess the anticipation wore off.”

“You’re mouthier than I expected,” Hun said. “Let’s see if I can get anything useful from that.”

Don snorted, but he kept his ears alert. He heard the rattling of the tools, and then something being picked up.

“Blades are too simple,” he said. “You’re already used to those. I need something else. Something… different.”

Well, that didn’t sound good. Hun started back towards Don. He could smell something different. “Why don’t we try a different question. Tell me the frequency that you use for your defenses.”

Don pressed his lips together.

Hun moved, and he felt heat near the underside of his arm. “The frequency,” the man demanded.

Don didn’t reply again, and he felt the heat move in, Don jerked, letting out a strangled cry of pain as the hot instrument was pressed against his upper arm and slowly drug down, burning a path as it did. Hun let up, and Don sagged in relief. It was short lived, though, as Hun again questioned him, applying the hot tool every time Don refused to answer. His underarm, his thighs, his knee, his side, the base of his neck, were burned, and Hun even forced Don’s other hand closed around the burning tool at one point.

Don took a moment to catch his breath as Hun backed off. He heard the heated tool be put down, but he didn’t hear anything else being picked up. He did, however, hear Hun walk back towards him.

“You know,” the bigger man said. “I’ve been avoiding your shell because your skin is easier to inflict damage on. But I have to wonder,” he knocked on Don’s plastron, and then his shell. “Just how hard are they?”

That… did not sound good. In fact, that sounded very, very bad. “Somehow,” Don panted out. “I don’t think there’s a good way for me to respond to that.”

He could practically hear the smile in Hun’s voice. “You’re right. There isn’t.” The big man moved away again, back towards the cart. “I’ve been wanting to try this out anyway. This seems like a good time to test it.”

Don heard something be pulled out, although it didn’t sound metal. He only had a second to wonder what it was, before there was a crack and he cried out as his leg was whipped.

“I’ve had some experience with whips, although not a lot,” Hun said. “Let’s see how I do with this one. Now, tell me turtle—how do I find your home?”

Don shook his head, and the whip lashed out, this time catching him on his shell. It stung, but it didn’t hurt as badly as it did on his leg.

“What kind of defenses do you have in place?”

Don said nothing. The whip cracked again, this time wrapping so that the edge of it caught his face.

“Where is your home located?”

Again, Don kept his silence. The whip wrapped around him, catching his plastron. It hurt more than his shell, but less than his skin.

“How do you access your computer systems?”

This time, the whip caught the edge of his shell, and Don heard a crackling noise. Apparently, something caught Hun’s attention too, because the whipping stopped, even as the man moved closer.

“What was this?” he said, and Don belatedly realized that the whip must have caught the tracker he had on under the lip of his shell. “A tracer!” Hun growled out. His voice moved slightly, like he was looking back over his shoulder. “Get everyone on high alert! If they can trace him here, then they’ll come.”

Don suddenly felt Hun’s meaty hand around his neck.

“You. You were just biding your time, weren’t you? Waiting until your brothers came for you.”

Don gave him a crooked grin. “Maybe,” he managed to get out.

Hun growled and let go of his neck. The next thing he knew was pain as Hun punched him in the face.

“Hit him harder, Master!” one of the Dragons called out.

“No,” Hun said, anger in his voice. “I have a better idea.”

Don hung there, limply, as he tried to get his bearings again. He heard Hun stomp over to the cart, the whip angrily hitting the ground. Something else—something else not metal—was pulled out, and Don could hear Hun whirl towards him.

“Let’s forget the questioning,” he said. “And see how your shell holds up to this.”

At the word “this” Don could hear movement. Before he could even register that, though, there was a crack, and then something landed hard on his shell, multiple points digging into it and then ripping out. Don cried out in pain. He didn’t even have time to recover, before there was another crack, and the whip with its multiple points of contact was wrapping around him to dig into his plastron. That hurt worse than his shell, actually managing to dig a little deeper. He heard Hun move, and the whip came at him from another angle, once again hitting his shell.

Again, and again the man hit him with the whip. It didn’t always get shell or plastron. Sometimes his hit skin, and he could feel it pulling the skin away when it was pulled back. The worst was when it got stuck in his side, and Don was certain that something broke off in the wound left behind. By the time the man’s anger was spent, Don was hanging exhausted and bloodied in his shackles, not even able to support himself.

He heard the whip get thrown across the room, clattering into the wall. Something else was pulled from the cart, and then, suddenly, Hun was right there. He grabbed Donatello with a hand under his jaw and pulled the turtle upright. Whatever Hun had in his hand was hot, Don could tell that much, but it wasn’t the same as the thing before.

“When this is over,” Hun said, laying a hot blade just below Don’s jawline and bringing it down, starting to skin part of his neck. “I’m going to fillet you and your brothers.”

He pulled back before he could hit anything vital, but Don could barely feel grateful for that though the pain.

“One last thing,” Hun said, and he brought the hilt of the heated blade down on Don’s already burned hand.

Don yelped as he felt his hand break, and Hun, apparently satisfied, walked away. Don was breathing hard through the pain, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t paying attention. He heard the blade get tossed down.

“Release his feet and then haul him up so he’s hanging. If his brothers get this far, I want them to see the damage.”

“Yes, Master Hun.”

Don felt the Dragons cautiously move in and undo the chains holding his feet down. Then, with a whir, he felt himself be hoisted up, all of his weight being put on his wrists. He groaned in pain, but the Dragons just snickered, and Don heard them move out of the door, it closing and locking behind them.

For a moment, Don didn’t do anything but just hang there. The pain was immense, especially where it felt like something had broken off in his side, but he wasn’t ready to just give into it yet. He had to do something. He couldn’t just wait here.

A thought occurred to him and, although it was going to be very difficult, it was better than nothing. Don listened for movement from the door, but he couldn’t hear anything out there. Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Don steeled himself. All of this was going to hurt.

Using what he could of his core muscles, he swung a little, just enough that he could give himself some momentum before he used his core muscles to give himself a small boost, enough that he could wrap his least damaged hand around the chain. It wasn’t a good grip, but it would do for the moment. He used that grip to painfully wrap his broken hand around its chain, and then used that better grip to maneuver his less injured hand to a better grip. Bit by bit he pulled himself up higher and higher like that, until he was in the position he had been in earlier, when he had looked at the way the chains were attached to the beam.

This next part was going to be very hard. The piece that was in him was on his right side. He would need to use his right hand to get it out. That would mean putting all of his weight on his left hand—his broken hand. But there was no choice in the matter. Steeling himself, Don released his right hand, grunting in pain as the weight moved to his left. Trying his best to ignore that and to keep his grip, Don ripped off his blindfold, and then dug around in his side. It took him a moment to find the object, but when he did, he pulled out a spike about an inch long. He grimaced. No wonder it had hurt so badly.

He put the spike between his teeth and, for just a moment, grabbed at the chains with his right hand again. It relieved some of the strain from his left, but Don could tell he wasn’t going to last long like this, no matter which hand he was using. Once again steeling himself for what was coming, he let go with his right hand, and took the spike from his mouth. As predicted, it didn’t take him long to pick the lock on the cuff. The cuff fell away, which also took away the loop Don had been “standing” in. Now all of his weight was squarely on his broken hand.

Fighting the urge to let go as that pulled more and more on his broken bones. Don put the spike back in his mouth and reached back over to grab the chain with his right hand. He let go with his left, and immediately felt a throbbing, pulsing pain run through it. Still, he only had so much time. He couldn’t stop now. Don pulled the spike from his teeth with clumsy fingers and began picking the lock on the right cuff. It was harder, as his broken fingers didn’t want to obey, but eventually he got it. He put the spike back in his mouth, and lowered himself to the ground, pretty much falling the last foot.

His left knee crumpled under him as he landed, an injury from the beatdown at the beginning of the torture session. For a moment he lay there, trying to catch his breath. The cart of tools was still in the room, as were the two whips. Don could see what had dug into him, and he grimaced, not sure he wanted to know what his shell looked like. He was pretty sure he looked bad, given the puddle of blood he was currently lying in.

Still, Don wasn’t going to just give up. Painfully he drug himself to his feet. He headed for the whips first, knowing he was going to need something to help him hold the weapons he was about to steal. He managed to wrap the first, less painful one around him like a belt, and then he made his way to the cart. Don pulled out anything he thought could be useful and that he could carry, and then he made his way to the door.

No one seemed to be outside of it, which Don found troubling. He picked the lock, and carefully put his head outside of the door. No one was there. But there was a long hallway with a door at the end, and Don bet that there were guards outside of it. Don sank down to sit on the floor. He wasn’t in any shape for a fight. He was barely in any shape for an escape. He had to figure another way out of here.

And then the alarms went off. Don sucked in a breath, certain, for a moment, that they were for him. But a voice came over some sort of PA system, directing Dragons to go to their assigned stations, and Don realized that the alarm wasn’t because he escaped, it was because someone was breaking in.

It was mostly likely his brothers. Don pushed himself to his feet, although it was more than a little difficult. Limping towards the door at the end of the hallway, holding onto the wall for support, Don made his way. The door, he found, wasn’t locked, as they, apparently, didn’t expect anyone to break out. Stupid move on Hun’s part, unless it was part of a plan.

Don could see the shadows of two individuals on the other side. Taking a deep breath, he thrust the door open, slamming it into one of the men on the other side. The other one he wasted no time on, taking the knife he had stolen and stabbing the man. He got lucky, and it went between the ribs, tearing into the man’s lung. He went down, as Don pulled the knife out.

Unfortunately, Don wasn’t as capable as he normally was, and the door trick had only addled the man on the other side of it. He came back before Don could react, catching Don in the shoulder and sending him to the ground. Don cried out in pain and surprise, only barely managing to roll out of the way of another attack. He scrambled back as best he could, but the third attack caught his injured knee, and Don let out a yell as he heard something in it pop. A fourth strike came down, catching his shell, and Don yelled in pain as it felt like something cracked.

Footsteps came from around the corner, and Don knew he wouldn’t last through an assault. But instead of more people beating on him, there was a roar he recognized and a thud as the Dragon above him was taken out. Frantic hands came to him, and Don hissed as they hit wounds.

“Donnie!”

Don looked up, his vision wavering, but he managed to make out Mikey looking down at him. “…Mikey…”

“Oh shell, oh shell, oh, Donnie, oh shell, Leo! Leo, Don’s hurt bad!”

There were more footsteps, and suddenly Leo and Raph joined Mikey. Don tried to smile at them, but mostly he groaned in pain.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Leo said. “Raph, carry him. I’ll clear a path. Mikey, bring up the rear.”

His brother’s nodded, and Leo took a second to lay a hand on Don’s forehead. “We’ll get you out of here, Donnie. Just hang on.”

“I’d really like to leave,” Don agreed.

Leo smiled at him. “I know. Now hold on. We’ve got to get you on Raph’s back.”

It hurt, getting him on Raph’s back, and Don couldn’t help the cries of pain that left him. Still, his brothers secured him, and they took off, running for an exit. Every step hurt Don, jostling something, and leaving more red behind to be followed. He could see the blood dripping, feel the wounds getting jostled about. It was almost too much, but he held on to consciousness through sheer force of will alone. He lost track of what was happening around him, but he knew the moment that they left the building, the cool night air hitting him. It felt good, even if nothing else did. His brothers didn’t stop running though, making straight for where they had hid the moving van. The doors opened with a familiar clang, and Raph was immediately kneeling to get Don off of his back. Leo jumped in the driver’s seat while Mikey closed the doors and moved to help Raph.

The van took off, and Mikey carefully laid Don down, Raph turning around to look at his brother as soon as he was able to.

“Don’t worry, Donnie. We’re gonna get you home and fixed up. Alright?”

Don wasn’t sure if he answered or not, but now that things seemed to be over, he was having a hard time saying focused.

“Donnie?”

“Don?”

“Don!”

…

“Don…?”

“Dona…lo..?”

“Don…tel..o?”

“Donatello?”

Don blinked his eyes open, having to take a moment to focus. His head felt fuzzy, and thinking was harder than normal. After a moment, though, his eyes focused and the worried face of his father came into view.

“Master… Splinter…?”

Splinter looked relieved. “Yes, my son, I am here. How are you feeling?”

“Um…” Don took a moment to think. How was he feeling? Everything felt kind of fuzzy, but underneath it he could feel pain. He meant to say that to his father, but instead what came out was “Fuzzy pain.”

He must have looked confused, because his father chuckled. “That would probably be because of the pain medicine.” Splinter’s amusement faded. “You have been quite injured, my son.”

Don blinked at his father, and then looked down at himself. He could feel a lot of the bandages on him, taped down, like over the wound on his neck, or on his burns, or wrapped around areas, like his thighs. He could feel a brace on his knee, and the tightness of stitches in his side. Both his hands were wrapped, although only one was in a brace.

“…My shell?” he asked. “My plastron?”

Splinter brought some water with a straw to Don’s lips, and Don thankfully drank. “Your shell was damaged,” he said. “There are many chips and scratches, but there are also some cracks and punctures. Your plastron also has injuries, including a rather large crack. Leatherhead has been to look at the damage. He thinks that with time the damage will heal, but he is also working on a temporary measure to support your body as it heals.”

Don nodded, then winced. Splinter ran a soothing hand over his head. “My other injuries?”

“Your burns have been treated and will heal, although they will likely scar. Where you were… skinned… is going to scar. Your knee is in a brace but will likely heal. We will have to see how the nails on your right hand grow back. Your left hand is broken and burned. Leatherhead has carefully set it and we are hopeful that it will heal correctly. Your side and several of the deeper lashes have been cleaned and some were stitched. The others will bandaged.” He paused. “What happened to you, my son?”

Don took a shuddering breath. “Hun tortured me,” he said, and at the words, he felt tears form in his eyes. “He tortured me, trying to find our home, how to get into our defenses, everything. I wouldn’t tell him, and so he kept going.”

“Oh, my son,” Splinter said as he ran his hand over Don’s head again “I am so sorry that you had to face such a thing. You have honored me and your brothers with your strength, although I wish that it had not been necessary.” He gave Don a compassionate smile. “You have a long path to healing, my son, but you will heal in time. And your family will be by you every step of the way.”

“I’m sure,” Don said.

Splinter smiled down at him. “Speaking of, your brothers have been most anxious to see you awake. Are you up to seeing them?”

Don let out a hum and nodded. Splinter gave his head one more rub, and then went to the door to let the others in. In short order, the room was filled not only with his brothers, but also April, Casey, and Leatherhead. His brothers crowded in ahead over everyone, though, hands reaching to comfort, soothe and help almost instinctively, and Don relaxed into it.

Yes, he had a long way to go in his healing. But he also had a family surrounding him to support him. He would heal. And then, after that, they would deal with Hun and the Purple Dragons.

#Whumptober 2023 #no.18 #lyric #TMNT #TMNT 2003 #TMNT 2k3 #fanfic #TMNT Donatello

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cherry-queens-blog · 8 months

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Werewolf Gyutaro

Here is part two of my fan fiction of full moon.

Warning: mentions of blood

Part one here: https://www.tumblr.com/cherry-queens-blog/740079653082021888/heres-my-werewolf-au-where-gyutaro-is-a-werewolf?source=share

FULL MOON PART 2

When tomorrow arrives, you get up early slipping on your hoodie and sweats since it was pretty cold outside. Grabbing your keys you head out, getting into your car while Gyutaro watches you from the window as you back out of the driveway and leave to go pick up the shackles and other things to lock him up with to keep him from hurting other people. You couldn't brush off the sick feeling in your stomach at the thought of what you have to do tonight all while hoping these things will be strong enough to hold him in the basement for these three nights. This situation was scary to be in since you don't have a clue how strong he really is when he turns, you only knew about how fast he was and the way he can tear into flesh like its paper but can he break through chains?. That was the real question that kept pumping into your head, setting off an adrenaline rush through your whole body, and it really didn't help that you knew nothing about werewolves, you just had to go off what you had seen in the woods that night, how aggressive and fast they can be, and from what Gyutaro said with having no control over himself when he turns just made it all so much more terrifying. Gyutaro was still looking out the window as you pulled up, watching you closely as you got out and grabbed everything out of the backseat while faintly grumbling to himself. As you walk in Gyutaro crosses his arms and looks away from the window as you shut the door and set the stuff down on the counter, picking up on your worry and sadness before letting out a slight sigh. A gloomy expression painted your face as he looks at you knowing you really didn't want to do this to him but it had to be done. Taking in a deep breath you grab the stuff and head towards the basement, hooking up everything and yanking on the chains just to make sure they were secure in the wall, while Gyutaro watches sitting on the stairs, letting out a slight growl of disapproval, not ready to be down here later in the day. Once everything seemed secure enough you grab the left over stuff and start walking towards the stairs passing Gyutaro on the way up before stopping.

"I'm sorry gyu" You muttered before leaving the basement. The sun starts to set in the sky and you were stuck doing your best to drag Gyutaro down into the basement as he whined, growled, fighting against you giving you one hell of a time getting him down there. "Gyutaro.. ngh!.. please can you... just... cooperate with me... ngh!... i know it sucks.. but please" You groaned pulling on him with all your strength you had. It took a good while to finally get him down stairs due to his fighting back and his strength outmatching yours. He didn't hit you or anything cause he does care about you, he just pulled back nearly pulling you to the ground non stop but you eventually got him down there, of course his fighting back didn't stop of course, grabbing your small hands tightly in his to make you let go of him only for you to wrap your arm around his neck and grabbing his shirt again with your other hand. It was a major workout but once you managed to get him down by making you both fall in the struggle in the basement, resulting in him landing on top of you which hurt a bit since he is bigger and weighs more then you do. You took it as an opportunity, wrapping your legs around his waist and keeping your arm firmly around his neck with a tight grip as he continued to struggle to get out of your hold on him. Grabbing the restraints as fast as you could, you manage to get the shackle around his neck, locking it around his neck as he growled non stop. Falling back while letting go of him, you gasped feeling a bit exhausted from all of that but Gyutaro didn't calm down much as he pulled on the chains trying to free himself.

"gyutaro... you said you would do this... stop struggling before you hurt yourself" You gasped out. You were tired and it was evident in your tone. Gyutaro stopped and looked at you letting out a sigh knowing he did tell you he would do this even if he did hate it entirely. "I know what I said Y/N but i still hate this shit" He growled before sitting down by you. "I know but it has to be done and you know that" You responded as the sun lowers further in the sky, getting up to leave only to look back at him. "you're not in the woods anymore and if i don't do this.... you might kill me and others" Your words had sunk in deep, hitting him hard with the thoughts rolling into his mind, these thoughts of killing you making him feel a good amount of self hatred as he watched you leave the basement. He had no intentions of hurting or even killing the one person he loved so deeply and he couldn't deny the fact that you were right, he could end up killing you and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for it. He sat there thinking, letting your words replay over and over in his head, feeling bad that he had put you through a struggle all cause he didn't want this but your safety is what matters to him and you being away from him was the best option. The moon rises in the sky and you could hear Gyutaro starting to howl from the basement, being quite loud but you couldn't but think he probably was getting ready for his transformation and with that in mind you grab your book, shut off the lights and head towards your room to get ready for bed. Slipping into your nightgown you climb into bed turning off the lamp and pulling the blanket over yourself as Gyutaro continues to howl before letting out a yelp that turned into yelling as his transformation took hold. His teeth grew out into sharp canines, fur growing in from his flesh, his limbs elongating, as the struggle for control strings up his heart in a thread of solid rage, letting out a loud growl before going crazy, yanking at the chains.

The more he yanked against them one of the chains starts to come loose on the shackle before snapping, allowing him to be free from the restraints. You were startled in bed after hearing a loud crash coming from the basement, quickly sitting up in bed with your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. "Gyutaro?" you muttered with a shaky tone in your voice while watching the door, slowly getting up out of bed walking towards it cautiously, getting ready to open it to see what's going on only to be met with him bursting through it, pinning you down on the floor, screaming as he's snapping his teeth at you. Out of instinct you do your best to fight back against him, putting your arms up only for him to growl and latch onto your arm, biting down, teeth sinking into your flesh, screaming out in pain as tears flood your vision, blood dripping down from his painful bite. His growling soon turned to a whimpering whine, his eyes staring down at you with harsh regret like he knew what he had just done. Releasing your arm, he backs away from you while anger boils his blood, poisoning his mind with such regret and self hatred that drove him crazy, backing into a wall only to slam himself against it, busting a hole through it only to do it again, hurting his shoulder in the process as you laid there watching with wet eyes as he continued to hurt himself, losing his temper completely for hurting you. "GYUTARO STOP!" You cried out while getting up and going to him, to help sooth his emotions, to calm him, but before you could he slams himself one last time only for his head to make contact causing him whimper and drop to the ground, whining as his breathing remained heavy as you get down to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. Though your arm still hurt badly you just couldn't care enough about it right now, you were more worried about him than yourself.

Running your hand over his arm, petting him gently as he stared off, drowning in his fight for control and the fact he had just hurt you, the way he really just hurt you out of the rage that had swallowed him whole. Slow moving his eyes to look at you, seeing your face. Oh how beautiful you were to him, how much you cared for him too, and he just, caused you harm, caused you pain, took from you, he didn't deserve you, he didn't deserve anything you had done for him either, he doesn't deserve the affection your giving him, he needs to leave you so your safe from him, so he can't do more damage than he's already done. With those thoughts flooding his mind he snaps, pushing you away from him before rushing off, making his escape through the window, running off into the night.

"NO GYUTARO!!!" You jumps up running to the window, looking out only to see he was already long gone. With tears soaking your face you turn around, rushing out of the room not bothering to get dressed, just grabbing your keys and a flashlight before running out to the car and hopping inside, starting up the engine and pulling out of the driveway quickly. Putting your foot down on the gas, speeding down the road knowing exactly where he's going and you're going to find him one way or another no matter how long it takes you, your not giving up on him. Pulling up to the old camp site where you lost your friends, you shut off the car, jumping out and running into the woods following the markers you left a week ago to find that cave in hopes he will be there and you can bring him back. Coming up to the cave you couldn't help but pray he was there as you ran as fast as you could using the flashlight for light to see, running as fast as you could through the trees. "please be there god damn it" You muttered to yourself as you got closer to the entrance, out of breath, you start slowing down a bit as your lungs burned. You get to the entrance only to find nothing inside except for the cold damp walls, your heart shattering like it was glass. You look out through the entrance using what breath you could breath in to scream out for him. "GYUTARO!!!!" You screamed out as loud as you possibly could, your voice echoing through the cave and the trees, gasping heavily in pain, and cold.

Falling onto your knees, lowering your head as you cried, begging to whatever god was listening to your faint prayers that were spoken inside your head to bring him back to you, knowing he needed you more than anything. Moving over, you lean against the cold wet wall feeling tired, overwhelmed, and hurt. You rip off a piece of of your nightgown and start wrapping it around your wounded arm, before closing your eyes to drift off to sleep in the freezing cold. After a few you had heard something by the entrance that sounded like rocks falling with the sound of footsteps approaching. Your eyes slowly start to open a tiny bit when you felt a wet nose push against against your hand a bit before laying it's head in your lap and letting out a slight whine, making your eyes shoot open to see Gyutaro laying his head on you. He was still a bit hurt from earlier from slamming himself against the wall as hard as he could out of rage for hurting you. Tears started forming again as you start to pet him "please come back... please... come back gyu" You whimpered, begging him as your lip quivered, getting choked up as you spoke to him only to get no response, he just kept his head and his claws on your lap taking in deep breaths before closing his eyes. You were the only person who could tame him, be this close to him, make him feel calm and not want to lash out. Your calming presence was enough to flood out his aggression, washing it away like a tidal wave, helping him find some control within himself that he wanted and craved so badly. Though it was still dangerous for you and he knew that which is why he always ran, wanted you to stay away from him, yet he finds you here, waiting for him, wanting him to come back. He couldn't understand why you came for him, especially after the pain he's caused you, taking your friends, attacking you, why would you come back?. It was a lot for you too since your not like him, you're not someone who turns into this raging beast every full moon, losing all control over yourself, slaughtering everything that crosses your path. Little did you know, you were everything he craved, everything he wants. To feel calm, to have peace instead of rage, to have that self control you had. That's all he wants and you had it, you were his peace that could sooth that fury and madness he struggled against, you were his calmness he craved to feel for so long and now he has it, he has you to give him that.

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not-a-space-alien · 2 years

Text

K&J x MMSS 3: Kane & Valen Part 5

Chapter 5 of the third crossover with @whumpsday!

Let's see what our two chewtoys heroes can manage this time!

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

SERIES IS 18+ ONLY.

Content warnings: Burns, torture, restraint, references to off-screen noncon, misgendering of a trans character, mentions of suicide, major character death, blood blood blood

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

The experiment is coming to an end. Kane knows this. He's nearly fully-fed by this point: though his skeletal appearance still suggests weakness, his sunburns are nearly healed by the time Nick applies fresh ones. But he hasn't let his strength show at all.

Poor Valen's had to watch him be fed every day, back so burnt it looks like used firewood.

Kane knows this is his only chance. After this, Nick will stop feeding him, and the energy that flows through him will fade. He has to try. What does he have to lose, after all? All he needs to do is get close enough to Nick to overpower him.

His suspicions about the experiment are confirmed when Nick comes down at night for the first time since they started. No more data to mess up.

"Hello, sir," Kane croaks meekly, waiting for Nick to approach him.

All alone, in secret, at night.

Nick smiles wickedly. "It's good to see you again, Kane. Something seems different. Did you miss my afterdark visits? I suppose you might have. There's no sun this time, after all."

"Yes, I prefer without the sun, sir," he says quietly.

"Good." He dangles the silver key in front of Kane. He always enjoys watching Kane burn himself while holding it. "Now go take Valen out of the coffin. I've been imagining some fun things we could do with those burns. It's a pity yours are almost gone."

"Yes, sir." Kane feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He hasn't been defiant in a long, long time.

But he has to. If not for himself, then for Valen.

He takes the silver key, the familiar sensation of burning fingertips greeting him once again. He holds it securely despite the singe.

There's still time to change his mind. He could be good and retrieve Valen from the coffin, just as he's been told. But he doesn’t.

He drops the key and grabs Nick's wrist instead, finding his grip strong once again, stronger than it’s been since his capture. Before he has time to react, Kane pulls him to the floor, wrenching the arm behind Nick and digging a knee into his back to keep him there. His breathing quickens with panic at the irreversibility of what he's just done.

Nick's face drops into something he hasn't felt, or shown, in a very long time: genuine fear. "Kane, stop this at once! Release me!" He feels the strength in Kane's grasp, suddenly realizing how lax it had been to keep a full strength vampire the way Kane is supposedly contained, and to draw close while alone. Even though Kane is chained to the floor, getting within arm's reach had been a huge mistake. The grip is iron-tight. Kane could squeeze and shatter his bones if he felt like it. The sensation of being overpowered by a vampire triggers deep-seated memories, ones he'd pushed down and buried, and he's a boy of 19 again, helpless before a group of vampires laughing and playing with him.

His face twists into a snarl. No, he's the one in control here, not Kane. How dare this lowly leech think he can do something like this? Nick had thought both of his vampires would have been beaten into submission by now, lost their will to fight, especially Kane, who'd arrived deferent and scared and already trained like a dog. He switches tactics, hoping that if he just speaks authoritatively enough, Kane will get scared and go back to being submissive, if he can just trigger that part of the vampire's brain. "Research subject #2, this is not according to protocol."

Kane knows what he has to do. Nick's keys are all right there. All he has to do is make Nick not a threat anymore.

If he pushes his knee down with all the force he has, he'll crush the human's spine. That kills humans, he thinks.

But he's being disobedient, and that scares him, especially when Nick uses that voice. So he freezes: not letting go, but not finishing it yet, either.

"Wh-what else am I supposed to do, sir?" Kane starts to cry, his tears pattering onto Nick's arm. "I can't, I can't do it anymore, I just wanna go home!"

"You lost that right a long time ago when you decided to be a monster," Nick snarls. "You know this is what you deserve. You know you don't deserve to be free and happy. What you're good for now is being of use to humans. Now let me up, Kane."

Kane stays like that for a long moment. Then says, "You're right. I deserve it. But Valen doesn't."

He pushes his knee down hard, all at once. Despite everything, he wants to give Nick a quick death. There's a sickening crack. It’s immediately apparent that’s not enough on its own, and when he hears the scream, he targets Nick's neck next. Then it's over.

"I'm s-sorry sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he babbles, picking up Nick's keys with shaking hands. Many of them are silver, and his hands quickly become more and more burnt, but he feels more than ever that he deserves it. He unlocks his own restraints, picks the coffin key off the floor, and heads over to unlock Valen, still crying.

Valen watches incredulously as Kane kills Nick. This has to be a dream, right? A fevered dream his mind is conjuring up in his haze of pain to comfort himself. He'd thought about Kane just a little too hard as he fell asleep, imagined Kane taking care of him too much. He'd spent most of his time recently staring at Kane, either while the other vampire slept or as he prattled on and on while Valen couldn't respond. Loving him silently, his one comfort, and alternatively being afraid of him and hating him. Of seeing his strength grow, knowing how his hands could hurt Valen's vulnerable flesh, of how Nick would tell him to and he would do it, because Kane always does what he's told...

Valen whimpers, overcome by emotions, scared at the violence, disbelieving that things could get better, unable to trust the simple vision that he's seeing, of his tormenter dead on the floor.

Kane unlocks the coffin, dropping the key singing his hands. "I c-couldn't get my own cuffs off," he explains, having been unable to reach the keyholes with his hands bound. He unlocks Valen's, then holds the key out. "Could you? I'm sorry it's silver."

Eyes wild, Valen yanks Kane's hands towards Valen's head, where the muzzle is, emphatically gesturing for him to take it off.

TAKE IT OFF TAKE IT OFF NICK IS DEAD IT CAN COME OFF.

Kane tries to, out of sheer instinctive obedience, but he can't. "I can't reach. If, if you take my cuffs off, I can do it." He holds his bound hands out to Valen pleadingly. "I'm so excited to finally talk with you."

Huffing, still looking feral, Valen takes the key, and immediately drops it when it singes his hand, shaking his hands and whining. He keeps a hand on Kane's wrist and kneels down, bringing Kane down with him, groping for the key, finding it, and again pulling his hand away out of reflex at the burn. His eyes wheel around wildly, sobbing, and he finally manages to hold onto the key long enough to stick it in the lock on Kane's wrists and turn it, unlocking him

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Thank you, Valen." Kane reaches up, and finally, finally removes the muzzle from Valen's face, tossing it to the ground.

Valen's mouth is free. As soon as the bit slips out of his mouth, Valen shoves Kane unceremoniously away--or tries to, at least, Kane is much stronger than he is now, so all he manages is to push awkwardly past him diagonally, because he's going for--

He falls to the ground over Nick's body, his frame trembling with an explosive mix of emotions. He bites into the corpse's throat like an animal, savagely tearing it open and releasing the human blood. He laps it up feverishly, tearing away more and more skin like a lion on a kill, like a shark in a feeding frenzy, painting himself with blood down his neck and chest and up to his elbows, cracking bones and ripping limbs in his frantic mission to extract as much blood as possible from this corpse.

He gorges himself, well past his stomach's limits, and he leans over and vomits it all back up rather quickly, then immediately goes back to the body for more, in a haze of violence and blood and quenching the dark urges he's been unable to indulge for the past few months. He pants and growls, mutilating Nick's corpse almost beyond recognition, a pool of blood that his clumsy, uncoordinated feeding failed to capture spreading out across the concrete floor, soaking his knees and feet.

Kane is already fed. He's glad to see Valen able to sate her hunger now, the guilt having been eating him alive for a while. "Drink up. It's okay. You won't go hungry again. I'm going to take us home."

While Valen feeds, Kane goes over to Nick's desk, grabs a pen and paper, and leaves a note:

I'm sorry. I never wanted this. I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I just couldn't take it anymore. It hurt too much. Tortured during the day and raped during the night, over and over with no end, nothing but pain and misery. I just wanted to go home.

You would have done the same, if he was doing it to you.

Kane

He reveals Nick's secret as a final fuck-you to him. He can't be punished for it now, and he won't have to see the humans' faces when they learn what’s happened to him.

He then goes to sit beside Valen, waiting for her to finish.

Valen stiffens and crouches over the corpse, as though defending a kill from a predator, but then comes to his senses a little. He looks down at his shaking hands, dripping with blood, then back at Kane. His savior. "I-" he croaks. "I- I-"

Kane hugs Valen- not fully, being mindful of her severely burned back, but as much as he can without touching her injuries. "It's over." He pulls back so he can look her in the eyes. "Kane de Sang. Nice to formally meet you." He gives her a small smile.

Valen leans into the touch, gripping him like he's going to fall off the earth, smearing blood all over Kane. "V-V-V-Valen," he says. "Tha-ank-you."

"Let's- let's get out of here. Let's go home." He pulls off Nick's shoes and pants, putting them on himself, but both end up being too big, leaving Kane with a frustrated sigh. He tosses them back over to Nick. "Guess I'm running barefoot. It'll be fine. I've got the strength and speed, you've got the persuasion in case we run into anyone. Together we make a whole vampire. Do you... want to try the shirt?" It's covered in blood. "Considering, um," He gestures to his own chest with a blush.

Valen listens to Kane, trying to make his brain understand what he's saying. It finally clicks --the clothes, Valen hasn't thought of himself as a creature who wears clothes in a while, hadn't considered the possibility of dressing himself. Valen almost laughs at Kane's embarrassment at suggesting Valen cover himself. He'd almost forgotten he was topless.

He reaches over and pries Nick's shirt off his body; it's soaked with blood, and torn a little, and it slaps wetly against Valen's skin as he puts it on. It sounds like they’re going somewhere, so maybe he’ll suck on it later… as a road trip snack.

The shirt is far too large for him, of course, and it hangs down to his thighs like a short dress. "Where are we going?" he rasps. Even if he'd had the mental fortitude to be anxious about what Kane plans for him, he wouldn't have the strength to fight him off.

And....this is Kane. His Kane. It feels like he should be anxious, but he isn't.

"We could go to my parents- I'm sure my house isn't mine anymore, I'd have been assumed dead years ago. Or we could go to your and Priscus's home, if you give me directions?" Kane suggests.

"You-you think we can make it all the way to the border? What if, what if the sun comes up? What time is it? What if there are hunters?"

"I don't know. I, I don't know. I have no idea where we are," Kane admits. "If it's not cloudy, we can use the stars to get to vampire territory in general, since all we need is a general direction? We just... we just have to hope, about the sun. It can't be too far away, if there's a hunter base, right? They wouldn't need many hunters far away from vampire territory? I don't know how late it is. If there's hunters... you need to use persuasion. I can't." Kane becomes more and more visibly terrified of their task as he speaks. "It's better than staying here."

Kane's mounting fear starts to put Valen ill at ease again. Oh God, they have no idea what to do, either of them, and if they choose wrong it would be disastrous.

Kane kneels on the ground, facing away from Valen. His back is definitely burned, but nowhere near as badly as Valen's. "I don't want to hurt you by carrying you in my arms, you're so burned. Climb onto my back?"

Valen clambers up onto Kane's back, holding his legs out so Kane can loop his arms under them. Oh, this is nice, being carried. Maybe this will be all right.

Kane winces as he feels the crispy backs of Valen's knees. "I'm sorry. I can't think of a better way to do this."

He heads up the stairs and to the front door cautiously. He knows the building is empty- if there were more humans here, he would be able to smell and hear them, but he's so paranoid. Thankfully, it's not cloudy out, and he can see the stars well enough to navigate approximately. Unfortunately, the position of the moon indicates they only have about half the night.

"Fuck. We, we've got to go." Kane starts running, his feet quickly becoming scraped up, but he doesn't care. That's the least of his problems right now. He can't even go in a straight line- he has to avoid human settlements, sticking to empty stretches wherever he can.

Valen loves being carried, he decides. He loves finally being able to speak to Kane, to say thank you. It's the first time in months someone has been kind to him, and he feels so safe and secure now, with Kane strong again.

He doesn't know how far away they are, but as the night drags on and on, Kane gets nervous. He stops so he can speak to Valen. "The sun will rise in around an hour. We need to find shelter."

Valen whimpers when Kane points out the impending proximity of sunrise. "Y-yes. Yes, you're right, we need to hide. I just--I just hope no one stumbles across us and calls the hunters."

"We're hours away. It wouldn't be the same hunters. They'd..." Kane looks around, his thoughts escaping him as he takes in where they are.

The landscape looks familiar.

"Valen?" His voice comes out small and scared. "I- I think we're in the area my old hunters work in."

"What?" Valen says, aghast. "The-the ones who tortured you senselessly?" Oh, he would hate to run into any of them. Hate, hate, hate. They couldn't run into them, they just couldn't. They're so close.

Kane bursts into tears. "I can't do it again, I can't! We just got out!" he bawls. "W-what do we do? The sun's going to rise in an hour!"

Valen is also starting to panic. "We--we have to hide. And if anyone stumbles across us, I can use persuasion on them. We have to just hide."

But they catch vampires with persuasion all the time.

Kane doesn't say it. There's nothing they can do except hide. "O-okay," he says shakily. "We'll just hide. And... and worst case scenario, we can just- we could die. If they find us. Together."

Valen lets out a strangulated sob. He doesn't want to die, not really. But....based on the things Kane has said in the past... Maybe that would be preferable, if these hunters find them.

"Let's--let's just hide. They probably won't even find us. They're probably not even looking for vampires during the day. Let's just find somewhere to shield ourselves from the sun."

"Right. You're right, and if they find us at night, I can just run." That calms him down a little. He's not unprepared like he was the first time he was captured, and he's much faster than any human.

He manages to find a wooded area, where even if their shelter does fail, the trees will block most of it and they'll only be burned a little- and there are plenty of sticks around to offer an emergency exit. He sets Valen down and begins digging a hole in the ground, unsure of what else to do. "We can bury ourselves, and leave a tiny hole that won't shine on us so we can breathe and see when the sun sets?" Kane shakes with terror.

It occurs to Valen that he has to step up, now. Kane has a phobia of the sun, far above and beyond what all vampires feel, beyond even Valen's fear of the sun. He's been remarkably brave this whole time, even at the mention of dying, but Valen can see he's trying not to cry at the thought of the sun.

Valen gently takes his arm. It's easier to be brave for someone else. This must be the feeling that has been driving Kane. "It will be okay. You won't get stuck in the sun. If we get burned, we'll be able to move out of it. There are plenty of fallen tree limbs around. Why don't you gather up some of those, and we can make a lean-to? Or if digging would make you feel better, we can dig a pit. There are enough fallen leaves that we can pile them on top and block out the sun. Or we can find an overhang somewhere, and block it off."

Kane stops mucking about in the dirt, looking desperately up at Valen with tears in his eyes. For the first time in years, someone's helping. "Okay," he agrees quietly. "You're, you're right. There's no straps. We can move. Th-thank you." He starts gathering the materials and constructing a lean-to around Valen, quick and panicky as dawn approaches.

He sits next to Valen, then digs a shallow pit and covers his body in dirt, given his state of undress, just in case. Only his head and arms remain out. "Thank you f-for being here with me. I don't know if I could have even killed Nick if you weren't there too."

Valen lays down next to Kane and snuggles up to his side. As they'd done before, with Nick watching, but this time, there's nothing except the inside of their little shelter. "Thank you for saving me." He puts his forehead to Kane, closing his eyes.

Kane wraps an arm around Valen. "Of course. I'm so, so glad I could get you out of there. I can't believe... it's really over. It doesn't feel real,” he says in awe. "Um, can I ask... tell me about yourself? I've been talking your ear off for- weeks? months? But I know nothing about you."

Oh no, Kane wants him to talk. He doesn't feel the need to hide anything, but suddenly his brain locks up, forgetting every single thing about himself before he'd been locked in a cage. He wasn't good at making decisions. "Oh, of course...like what--what would you like to know?"

Kane shrugs. "What were you doing, before all this? Housewife duties, or something else...? What kind of music do you like? I feel like we've become... friends?" He says it hesitantly, in case it's not true, in case Valen doesn't see him as worthy of friendship. "But I don't know any of the things friends would normally know about each other.”

Valen's eyes are downcast now. "For a long time I was the mistress of the Kithrara estate, but my husband and I separated a while ago." Brushing over the disaster that'd been by calling it separated. "And since then I mostly-" Kane might think it stupid if he told him about his lofty dreams he'd been hoping to accomplish with the power of science, which he'd used to think could make anything possible. "I'd mostly pursued my own interests, which I'd been denied while living as a housewife. And as for music..." He snuggles closer. "I rather liked the kind you sang to me."

Kane smiles. "No one's wanted me to sing since I was a child. Since before... you know. My defect. I'm glad I could at least do a little something to make it better for you." He rests his head on Valen’s shoulder. She was extremely vague about her interests, but he won't push it. "I'm sorry about your husband. I can't presume to know what it's like... to be a woman and all, but I've had my interests denied too."

At the mention of being a woman, Valen struggles to decide whether or not to have that conversation with Kane. He doesn't want to lose what they have. Would Kane be disgusted by him? Would he patronizingly deny Valen's identity, or even worse, somehow accept it but then be disgusted that he'd been intimate with a man?

Still, Valen smiles softly. "Life is hardly a competition of who's been cursed with the worst situation, my dear Kane. But even if it was, I think you and I would be at a stalemate on that front." The smile fades. "It's a tragedy your family forced you to abandon your passions for some antiquated sense of family embarrassment. The world has been denied your beautiful voice.... You told me before about your friend Bellamy... would it be feasible to aim for his place? I rather like what you said about him, and...I don't think the two of us would be very comfortable either at your family's house or the Kithrara estate." Valen thinks that if he has to listen to captive humans, or even worse, will only be fed if it's directly from a human, he'll lose it.

Kane looks anxious. "He's not really... my friend. We haven't been friends in around a century. I don't even know if he would want to see me again. I was horrible to him." He thinks about it a moment. "But he did say... his door was always open to me. I suppose we could give it a try, and go to my parents' if that doesn't work out. I didn't know you and your husband were separated when I suggested that. Wait! Wouldn't that mean you have your own home? We could just go there?"

"Oh, I-" He blushes. "I did, yes. I do. I don't have the key, though. I don't have servants or anything there. It must look awfully abandoned. I do wonder if anything has happened to it."

"Okay, so we could possibly go there. Bellamy lives pretty close to the border though, so that might be more convenient. How deep into vampire territory do you live?"

"Well....Not close to the border. I would say Bellamy's house is closer. Although, if Bellamy turns us away, we could certainly make it." His flush reddens at the thought of being alone at home with a man, as though he and Kane haven't already had sex. ....that didn't really count, though. It wasn't sex, not really. It had been....something else. "I could--I could share my books with you, in that case. And I have quite a large, comfortable bed. Although, obviously you would be welcome to sleep separately. If you wanted to." Valen is secretly extremely desperate to sleep next to Kane, not having felt as safe as he did now while touching him in a long time.

"I would want to share." Kane says immediately. "I don't want to be alone. I haven't been apart from you since... my old hunters." He shudders. "If- only if you're comfortable with that, of course. I'd understand if you're not, after... what we were made to do. I'm sorry. I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry. I never wanted to be a- a rapist." His eyes flood with tears.

"Kane." Valen puts a hand on his cheek, wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb, then tilts Kane's face so they can make eye contact. "You did not rape me. Nick did. He just used you to do it. I know what being raped feels like, and how to identify who it is who's doing it. It wasn't you. It was never you."

"It wasn't?" His voice is small and fragile. "Nick- Nick said..." You will be in a few minutes. Those words have been playing in his head ever since that night. "Okay. If, if you say so, then it must be true." It feels like a giant weight off his shoulders. He relaxes against Valen.

"Nick said that because he knew it would hurt you. That was always what he wanted. I know there are grievous sins in your past, but as long as we've known each other, you've been nothing but as kind to me as circumstances allowed."

Dawn approaches. Kane stares at the blue on the horizon, whimpering, clinging to Valen desperately.

Valen keeps a strong grip on his hand. "We'll be all right. We are free to move around. If anything goes wrong, we can cover ourselves. There is no one here to make us stay in it."

The sun rises, and for once, nothing happens. There's no horrible, burning agony erupting across his body. Kane is in awe of it. He's still terrified, but somewhat less so now that it's actually happening.

"We should sleep in shifts," he suggests. "We can't both be asleep at the same time. You're the one who's injured worse, so, um, ladies first. I'll wake you if anything happens. I'll protect you, I promise."

Oh, they're definitely going to have to talk about that. Kane is one of those people who thinks he's being polite by acknowledging Valen's apparent femaleness. They can do that later, though. "Thank you. I could use some sleep. And at nightfall, I can ride on your back again. I like being tall enough to see further out. I’ll be the lookout, and you the noble steed.” He smiles. “Well, good morning." He wants to curl up into a ball, but that would aggravate his burns, so he simply lies flat facedown on the ground. He manages to get to sleep all right, surprisingly enough, tucked away in the safety of their cozy little shelter, up against each other.

***

K&J x MMSS crossover taglist:

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@secretwhumplair

@some-thrilling-heroics

@t0rture-me

@thecyrulik

@thejinglingcourtjester