#her power and restraints are a prison but a needed one!!!

[ptanalo]

Ah I wanted to rant more headcanons abt neon and her gear as a type of insulators for her powers even tho it’s not that deep

[d-z20]

Resistance is Futile (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually

- OR -

They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows

Words: 4.4k

A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req

AO3 | Masterlist

You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.

Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.

Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”

Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.

Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”

—

Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”

You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.

“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”

Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”

Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”

But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.

—

A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.

It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”

Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”

—

The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.

It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.

“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”

Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”

“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.

Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”

Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.

Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.

Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.

“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.

Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.

Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”

Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.

“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”

“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.

“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.

You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.

Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.

Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.

"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."

Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.

“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."

Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”

Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”

You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.

“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.

Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”

Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”

You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.

But they don’t stop.

Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.

“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,��� she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.

With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.

Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.

Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.

“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.

At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.

“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”

Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.

Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.

With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.

“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”

The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”

Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."

Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.

“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”

Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.

“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.

Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.

But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.

When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.

Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.

Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.

Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”

All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”

Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.

Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. “Come here, my love.”

She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.

Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”

Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.

By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.

“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.

Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.

And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.

-----

I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤

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Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0

[reasonsforhope]

Paywall-Free Article

"In one of its first big decisions, Britain’s new Labour government on Friday [July 12, 2024] announced the early release of thousands of prisoners, blaming the need to do so on a legacy of neglect and underinvestment under the Conservative Party, which lost last week’s general election after 14 years in power.

With the system nearly at capacity and some of the country’s aged prison buildings crumbling, the plan aims to avoid an overcrowding crisis that some had feared might soon explode.

But with crime a significant political issue, the decision is a sensitive one and the prime minister, Keir Starmer, a former chief prosecutor, lost no time in pointing to his predecessors to explain the need for early releases.

“We knew it was going to be a problem, but the scale of the problem was worse than we thought, and the nature of the problem is pretty unforgivable in my book,” Mr. Starmer said, speaking ahead of the decision while attending a NATO summit in Washington...

Under the new government’s plan, those serving some sentences in England and Wales would be released after serving 40 percent of their sentence, rather than at the midway point at which many are freed “on license,” a kind of parole.

The even earlier releases will not apply to those convicted of more serious crimes, including sexual offenses, serious violence and terrorism. But Mark Icke, vice president of the Prison Governors’ Association, told the BBC that the plan could remove from the system “between 8,000 and 10,000 people,” providing “some breathing space.”

[Note: And more importantly - breathing space for thousands of people who have been unjustly imprisoned for minor offenses, as well as their families.]

Despite some early releases under the previous government, the strain on the prison system has been relentless. In England and Wales, the prison population stands at 87,505 — very close to the maximum capacity of 88,956 — according to the latest official data...

In its first week in power, Labour has said that it is grappling with a difficult inheritance after years of restraint in spending on public services under the Conservatives. In one of her first acts in government, the new chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, has ordered a review of Britain’s public finances.

Before Labour had won the election, it identified the strain on Britain’s prisons as a potentially major problem. The issue was cited on an internal list of key concerns; others included the strain on the overburdened health care system and financial pressure on municipalities and universities.

The prison population of England and Wales has doubled over the last 30 years, despite a decline in crime rates, and it has increased by 13 percent in the past three years...

Rory Stewart, a former Conservative prisons minister, said that Britain had incarcerated too many people, including for minor crimes such as repeated failure to pay council tax, which is levied by local authorities for municipal services.

According to Mr. Stewart in remarks to the BBC, imprisoning people for minor crimes “doesn’t protect the public. It doesn’t help these people get away from offending. And it creates these violent, filthy, shameful places which our prisons have become today.” The Conservative and Labour parties, he added, had “competed with each other on being more and more ferocious in demanding longer and longer sentences.”

Mr. Starmer has raised hopes among those who want to change that policy by appointing a prominent advocate of overhauling the prison system, James Timpson, as prisons minister. Mr. Timpson, a businessman, has a record of employing former prisoners in an effort to give them a second chance."

-via The New York Times, July 12, 2024

[saphig-iawn]

Enwraptured

This doll and I have been on many a journey and adventure together.

I've turned her into a statue. I've turned her into a pet and clicker trained her. I've sealed her inside a painting. I even have her orgasms under my ownership.

But sometimes its the smaller things that can truly give a spellbinding experience.

She already has a particular spell for hypnotic restraint, but I wanted to weave something within her that was truly powerful.

She has so often told me of her kink experiences in our aftercare, of all the things she has done and wished to do, and so I had a little idea to bring one to life, with a little Miss Saphi twist.

She has felt my green ribbons before.

She's felt them in her mind. She has felt them around her joints. She has felt them around her dolly parts. But I wanted to completely immobilise her with them.

Mummify her in my words from head to toe.

Every sentence was a new rotation around her body.

Sweet compression and helplessness with every breath.

She was whimpering and moaning so much as I bound her in my ribbon.

Every passing moment saw her body stiffen and almost fold into itself. She was feeling every wind of the ribbon.

The cherry on top was when the ribbon reached her mouth, her moans stifling behind hypnotic satin.

She was so lost in the bliss of my bondage that I only needed to speak of climax and she began to feel that sweet ache beginning to build between her legs.

Seeing her squirm and thrash in her ribbon bondage as she came was just so adorable.

And even now, after all this time, she came out from trance like it was her first time, like her horizons had expanded right before her eyes.

I know for certain she is reading this with her bottom lip held prisoner in her teeth and her hand at her chest near the hypnotic collar I've woven into her.

(This writing is about a real hypnosis session with real hypnosis and real people. If you would like to see more writing like this, then please support me over at https://ko-fi.com/saphig, where you can also commission 1-on-1 hypnosis sessions and have your own piece of writing just like this!)

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel. 

AN: It’s the final one! Day 5/5 stories for 500 followers. Thank you to lillithathecat for requesting trope 2. Amnesia, and thank you to anyone who followed this journey or who joined along the way 💕

Warnings: Violence, torture, injuries

Words: 2,232

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Part 1 ∇

Poison coursed through your veins, burning as it raced through your body. Screaming, you jerked against your restraints. Your mind was reeling, and you couldn't tell if this was a dream or a waking nightmare. Flashes of white, the memory of someone yelling your name, and the same male reaching for you over and over again.

That male – there was something about him. His hazel, almost golden eyes, the peaks of wings that reached above his handsome face, the pure panic in his voice as he reached for you…

Oh gods, it wasn’t just any male, it was Azriel. He was your mate!

Your heart leapt as your brain screamed at you to remember him, to fight for him. “Azriel!” you screeched, gasping as you were bought back into the dark and damp setting around you, thrashing against the leather bounds at your wrists and ankles.

“Give her another shot,” a cold voice spoke.

“No! No, please!!” you begged, trying to blink through your hallucinations and tears.

“Now remember, Y/N.” The voice drawled closer now. “This is what you will feel when you think of him. This is how much he can hurt you. The only way to stop it, is to kill him.”

“He’ll find you,” you seethed. “He’ll find you and kill you all!” Your were feral, thrashing again as you spat in the direction of the voice. Howling at the sharp sting at your neck, your eyes rolled back as another round of poison rushed through your bloodstream, the pain all consuming. Your veins were on fire, and you drooled through clenched teeth as your body spasmed this way and that. Heart pounding with adrenaline and fear, you succumbed to another round of torture.

It had been weeks, or maybe even months since Hybern’s army had stolen you in the night. Instead of killing you, they had taken to torturing you, hijacking your mind and using poison to turn you against the Night Court, your family, and your mate.

Everyday they tied you to that chair, and everyday they injected a poison while manipulating your visions, coaching you to become the enemy of your own home. You were terrified of what they would do to you, but even more terrified at the monster you were becoming.

The bond between you and Azriel frayed a little further each time, and you felt yourself slipping away. You're only hope was that he would find you before you completely disappeared.

————

3 months later

Azriel grazed his fingers over truth teller, his leathers strapped more firmly than they had ever been. He tried to calm his breathing, at least for the sake of his shadows, that now lashed and whipped uncontrollably. But it was no use.

“It’ll be alright brother,” Rhys said, placing a sure hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We’ve found her, and we’re getting her out.”

“Let me join you.”

“No,” Rhys said tightly. “I know the urge to protect your mate, to kill for her. It’ll make a mess of things when we need them to go smoothly. You’re to stay here. That’s an order.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he felt Rhys’s power course through his words. He’d be here – waiting. He had no other choice.

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian chimed in, checking his leathers and stretching his arm across his chest. “I promise you brother.”

Azriel nodded tightly, unable to convey any gratitude over the gnawing anxiety and primal desire to burst into the prison and ripped the heads of every guard in sight. There, in that building, was his mate. His mate, who had been stolen from right under his nose, and he hadn't been wise enough to stop it. His mate, who’d been missing for months, and no matter how many sleepless nights he spent slaving over maps and records, he still couldn't find you. And every time you were hurt, he could feel you slipping away, the bond weakening every so slightly. He didn't know what state you’d be in, he only knew what he felt – the very last fragments of a withered bond, calling him from inside that building.

Rhys and Cassian gave Azriel one final nod before winnowing to the prison, leaving him in the silence of the night. A cold wind howled as he watched from the darkness, his shadows begging to follow his brothers inside. It could be minutes, it could be hours – every second was torture for the Shadowsinger.

————

Asleep in your cot, your ankle was chained to the metal frame as you slept completely still from exhaustion.

Each day ended like this, and they all blurred into each other. The guards would throw you into your cell, sliding a tray of greyish food and stale bread on the floor before chaining you to the bed. You were often too tired to eat, and while your first weeks had been spent clawing at the door, screaming and throwing your food in protest, you had weakened so quickly, and it now took everything you had to haul yourself up onto the thin mattress.

Tonight was as cold as the rest of them, the thin stained covers barely doing a thing to warm you. You shivered your way through a nightmare, the poison still active in your blood. A winged creature approached you, it’s hazel eyes glowing as claws grew at it’s fingers, it’s snarl ripping into a roar as it lunged for your throat.

Jolting awake, you heard sounds of commotion outside your cell. Your heart thumped as you pulled the covers over you tightly. They’d be here soon, to claim you from your bed. Then the pain would start.

After a few yells you heard a large thud, and then footsteps. They were getting closer and closer, and you curled up into a ball, clenching your eyes shut, begging to be anywhere else.

“Y/N?” you heard a male ask. Your body jerked at the sound of his voice, refusing to raise your head or even open your eyes. An uncontrollable shake quickly overtook your whole body.

“Y/N, is that you? Hang on doll, we’re going to get you outta here.”

You heard the male grunt as he pried and forced the cell door open. “Rhys!” he called, and you could now note two sets of footsteps. The sound of the metal door grinding open filled your ears, and you had no choice but to face the threat that awaited.

Sitting up in your cot, you clambered to the end of your bed, as far away from the males as you could get.

“Oh Y/N, thank the Cauldron you’re alive!” A male with dark hair wore a broken smile, his body sagging in relief as his purple eyes glowed in the darkness of your cell.

You used your legs to push yourself further back, unable to stop the quiver in your voice. ��L-leave me alone.” It was not a voice you recognised – instead it was raspy, broken, and a little sick sounding. You wondered when the last time you actually spoke was.

You saw the purple-eyed male exchange a look with the other, his red siphons glowing as he stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Y/N, it’s us, Cassian and Rhys.”

A white light filled your eyes then, clouding your vision as your ears rang. Furious visions filled your mind at the mention of their names, and a headache so painful pierced through your brain that you had to clutch at your head to stop it. You let out a howl, blinded by dangerous and violent visions. They must be the people Hybern had warned you about – they’re here to kill you.

You leapt from your bed, scrambling as far back as the chain would let you. You knew how you must look – hair a mess, eyes wild, your tunic stained and dirty as you shook like a meek animal. “Fuck off,” you spat, trying to sound as aggressive as you could.

The purple-eyed male stepped forward then, slowly making his way over with his palms raised. You pushed yourself against the chain, your ankle throbbing in protest. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you as the male knelt down, and you pulled your knees up and hugged them, your last attempt to protect yourself.

“It’s ok, we’re not going to hurt you,” the male said gently. He was close enough that you could smell him, his scent familiar, yet disarming. Your clenched your eyes shut, the headache piercing through again. “We’re here to take you home.”

Snapping your lids open, your eyes darted between the violet ones before you. Home. You didn’t remember having a home, you didn’t remember much before this.

“You’re lying,” you hissed, cowering into your filthy tunic. The male’s brow clenched in what you thought might be sympathy, and he cast another glance back to his counterpart.

“I assure you, you can trust us. How about we get you out of this chain?” You stared wide-eyed as the taller-male walked over, kneeling at your ankle and pulling a large knife from his side. You cowered at the sight, swords, knives and sharp things were all too familiar.

“It’s ok,” the long-haired male soothed. “I’m just going to cut the chain here.” You stared as he raised a strong arm, before swinging it down against the metal links. The chain broke immediately, metal clinking to the ground, and the male returned his weapon to it’s sheath.

“There we are,” the purple-eyed male said, and you remembered he had called himself Rhys. “Now we can get you out of here. Do you think you can stand, Y/N? Or perhaps you might let us carry you?”

Another flash of white filled your vision then, and as instinct took over, you found yourself clawing for the males face, trying to hurt him in any way possible. Rhys stepped back smoothly, his brow pulling in concern as Cassian quickly caught your wrists, pulling folding them over your own chest as he held flush against him, likely stopping you from hurting yourself more than anyone else. You continued to scream and thrash, trying to break from his hold.

“Put her out of her misery, Rhys.”

Rhysand shot you a soft look before gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead, his hand cool to your clammy skin. “I’m sorry Y/N. But it’s for your own good.”

It was the last thing you heard before a ring struck your ears, and the world melted to black.

————

He scented you before he saw you. Winnowing in front of his brothers the moment they arrived, Azriel’s body froze as he took in your lifeless form.

“Oh gods, oh gods, is she–?“

“She’s asleep,” Rhys answered, his wings disappearing as he caught Azriel by the shoulders, pushing him up as his brother sagged in relief.

Cassian handed Azriel his unconscious mate, your body slack with painless sleep.

Azriel’s couldn’t help his tears. “Oh gods, oh Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he cried, weeping into your neck as he rocked you. “There’s nothing left of her,” he claimed, noting your weak and disheveled figure. How light you felt compared to the last time he held you.

“We’ll get her the help she needs,” Cassian reassured him, clasping a tight hand on his shoulder. “She’s with you now, she’s safe.”

Azriel couldn't help the sob of relief that racked through him. He breathed in your scent, and while it was changed, underneath there was a hint of you. It was the scent he had longed to breath in for months now, the scent that had faded from your home, your clothes, your bed. Azriel’s wings flared as he soaked it in, pressing you tighter to him.

“She should see the healer. Let me winnow her back to our base.” Rhys reached for your body, unthinking of what he might be asking in a moment like this.

Azriel’s cries were immediately replaced with a predatory snarl as he stepped back from Rhys, snatching your sleeping body and pulling you closer to his chest.

“I just got her back,” he growled, his voice low and animalistic. You were the only thing stopping him from exploding, from launching at his brother.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look before Rhys gathered himself, raising his palms. “I know, Az, I know. I’m not taking her away, I can just see your emotional, and thought you might want to deal with those who remain in the prison.”

Azriel’s eyes glowed at the suggestion, the instinct to rip each and every guards head off was almost as primal as the one to keep you pressed against his chest and to never let go. His voice was thick as he stared past Rhys, straight at the prison. “I will be the one to see to my mate’s wellbeing. Round up the survivors. I want them alive and in my chamber.”

Cassian nodded at that, turning to do the work for his brother.

“Feyre’s called the healer to your tent, they await your arrival,” Rhys said.

Azriel steadied himself as he ran his eyes over your bruised and ashy face, bringing a gentle scarred finger to run down your gaunt cheek. “Let’s get you home,” he said softly, before evaporating into a winnow, Rhys close behind him.

--------

Part 2 >>>>

AN: Suuurrrprise! It’s time for another Azriel series. While I fully intended for this to be a one shot, I’m so excited to explore the idea of a brainwashed reader. Think Hunger Games Peeta being tortured by the Capitol (in fact, that was my direct inspiration). 

I so so hope you liked Part 1, please let me know if you’d like to join the tag list for this series in the comments. And as always, I love you, thank you for reading/liking/comment/reblogging or following – all of it means so much.

Tag list: Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars

[toadletthefirst]

Rant about prisoner-cage

While talking with a friend, I suddenly came up with this artistic monologue about why I relate to the cage so much. And they said I should write it down. So here it is! Might be helpful for writing characters with similar mindsets or to anyone in a similar situation.

TW for mentions of self-harm, medical issues, and violence 

Prisoner-Cage narrative as an allegory of self-harm and its consequences

At the core, there was always a dynamic in you. Your legs were ready to run, your arms were raised in an attempt to defend yourself, your eyesight was sharp and widespread to see the danger. But there was no movement to use it. There never was a place to flee. There was no one you could fight. And all you could do was watch.

Trapped in solitude, your mind raced in search of salvation, while the body kept screaming in need of escape. Here it is: suddenly, there was no you. It's you and It, together. And It can't survive since it can't flee. It was being destroyed by its own irrelevance: legs got weaker, arms became fragile, eyes were blackened by tears, and jaw was broken by pleading, but there was no mercy from the danger. The hazard looks back. It doesn't know the language of the pitiful. 

[the construct influences the princess, which makes her a threat even before TLQ sees her. Since he took the knife, there is no point in showing sorrow—the world is already unempathetic to you]

So the mind takes control over the body. You observe the pattern, you learn the language of the threat, you speak in an unknown manner to please any visitor in hope they would become your savior. Cries, and rage, and everything that was alive in you never helped, so you turn it off. And sometimes, the public listens. 

[how prisoner appears after talking to the base princess: she only uses her voice, knowing that any physical action can trigger change in TLQ's attitude]

 You draw the conclusion: if restraint of your physic helped you to survive, then the physic itself was the root of the problem. Your mind can be at peace in any conditions, and in the perseverance find a path to escape - but your body never could. It never came up with answers, only with constant longing in the tight cell.  It was the prison. You'll do your best to make it fit your requirements.

[This idea is confirmed even more by the narrator taking advantage of TLQ, whose perception builds upon this revelation, strengthening it even more in the next chapter]

In this moment of realization, you become the vanquisher of the body. All these years, It was the one who caused the pain. It might not have been the reason, but it surely was the beginning. It was the obstacle keeping you from the escape. With this knowledge, you thwart any attempts at rebellion. You are not your body, and you are not with your body, but you are against it. 

One might say you literally cut your head off. You clear your mind of any presence of the body. And you do it by harming yourself directly. 

In this power you find the freedom you wished for. Now you're the one to punish, and does it really matter who is the target if you are the one holding the strings? So you do all it takes to stay in control of this weak changeable substance, to achieve the goal of salvation. And you find your resolve. And you finally break free.  

But the freedom it gives is temporary.

And at one moment, It strikes back. That's when the cage starts.

Suddenly, you can't make it do anything anymore. No matter how much you push, it declines to work. You can't think clearly anymore. You can't decide anymore. You are not in control anymore—the body is. And It is relentless. Not because of the hate or the vengeance, but out of the simple deterioration. You can't ignore it anymore. Because it starts to act without you. It decides when to faint, indifferently to your wish to stand, and when to panic, no matter how you're sure of the safety, and, the worst one, when to ache. Desperate, prolonged pain throughout all your nerves, making it impossible to think.

How can you outsmart It now, when It dictates all your course of thoughts?

You always knew how weak your body was, but you could always compensate for it with your sheer will. Now you can't. Now it's far stronger than your mind. And you are getting weaker.

You start changing for It. You give up on fighting. You start caring—something you should've started a long time ago. But who are you, if not this will encroaching for the sake of freedom? You've become something littler. You are the routine your body dictates to keep it alive. You are once again that trapped victim you were before. And at this time, not because of the circumstances, but because of yourself. The only path to escape you knew was ruined, because even in your mind there is no peace anymore.

That was basically the state I was in when seeing the cage for the first time.

That's why seeing the "no escape" ending was so therapeutic for me. Of course there is no exit from the cycle. There is no harm without continuation, and no action of my own could be outside of the paradigm since no deed could be outside of the self I'm linked to. Once hurt, it hurts back and gets hurt again. But maybe there is a peace in that. Maybe I can never stop the swinging of the metronome, but at least I can find peace in its rhythm. After trying to be the winner, I came only to a tie, so I might as well agree on it before putting more effort into violence. I'll never be as ingenuous as I was, and I don't want to be as imperious as I tried to be, and it's fine. I'll make my peace by being patient. It can ache, and I'll ache with it, but it's fine. I won't try to be something bigger. I'll love some littler things. It's finally time to rest.

***

So, just to make myself clear, a quick recap of how self-harming behavior falls under the narrative of this story: Your natural reactions failed to provide safety, so you silence them and develop a strategic voice of reason—[the hero and the princess pre-prisoner]. Then you start seeing your body as another obstacle to freedom, and in trying to deny its impact on you, you hurt it— [the prisoner cuts her head off]. And once you've reached the point of destruction that is too great, you finally start seeing consequences of what you've done, and now the sick body starts to dictate its rules of how to stay alive. And you are in a trap once again— [the cage].

Of course it's not the only way to view this route, and it's not the only theme it covers. But this reading is very important to me, so I'll be glad if you enjoyed it just as much

So let me know if you read it till the end! Any discussion is appreciated

[zeroducks-2]

You know there really is something poetic about the fact that Flash and Reverse keep bringing each other back intentionally. Like they’re not each others lightning rods so they have to try and bring the other back. At this point Reverse seems to have won if you really look at it. They’re two sides of the same devoted coin and Barry Allen needs Eobard Thawne the same way Eobard needs him.

Sweetheart, they very much ARE each other's Lightning Rod.

Eobard is the only one person in the whole multiverse who was able to bring Barry back after Barry had been dead for 23 years. Iris (who by the way is the reason or at least part of the reason why Barry died in the first place), didn't even FEEL that Barry had returned once Eobard had brought him back. Wally, who keeps saying he is Barry's Lightning Rod, was never able to pull Barry out of the speedforce.

It is kind of subtle because there is no moment in which Eobard uses the words "Lightning Rod" and I don't think he likes the expression, but that's very much what happened in the Rebirth Mini. He did the unthinkable (made himself the NSF), physically walked into the Speed Force and pulled Barry out. And Geoff Johns, being as subtle as a brick, had a panel of Eobard standing next to a huge lightning rod lol.

And when it comes to Barry? Well, Barry very much uses the Lightning Rod expression. And at the end of Finish Line he does accept/admits to being Eobard's Lightning Rod.

When it comes to how they need to actively WANT to bring each other back, I think it's partially due to the fact that these are not "just" speedsters; Barry is the Speed Force personified, and Eobars is the Negative Speed Force personified, and this again is explained pretty well in the Rebirth Mini. So yeah, they are very much two sides of the same coin and it makes SENSE that they're each other's lodestone.

But it's not always intentional anyway. Barry did not consciously brought Eobard back to life at the beginning of Running Scared. He was feeling guilty because he didn't manage to save him in The Button, and apparently he wanted him back. Same thing happened when Barry summoned a lightning storm that very precisely hit Iron Heights and again very precisely crushed Eobard's cell and his restraints, without hurting him, in order to set him free - Barry did not do this knowingly, he was worried because Daniel had been taken from Iron Heights and brought to Belle Reve, and subsequently he had died in a Task Force X mission, and in his fear that this could happen to Eobard too, his powers manifested and broke him out of prison.

It's the same thing as when lightning strikes and saves August's life by turning him into a speedster. Or when it keeps striking and turns some hundred people into speedsters because baby feels lonely. Barry doesn't do this consciously; as he hasn't accepted that he is the Speed Force, his powers come out following his desires or his fears.

That being said, there is a very important component of reciprocity when it comes to lightning rods. When Linda forgot about Wally, Wally was unable to leave the timestream because even if she very much is his Lightning Rod, she couldn't be that for him at that time, because she didn't remember him. It's not an automatic thing: if tomorrow Linda stopped loving Wally, she wouldn't be his Lightning Rod anymore despite how much he loves her. Which leads me to believe that despite not fully realizing it in a conscious manner, Barry and Eobard know and they look for each other subconsciously, and they keep each other grounded to the timeline.

Again you are correct, Eobard very much won. Barry didn't care about him ONE BIT back in the Silver Age, Eobard was just a nuisance with superpowers. And now Eobard is his lodestone, the darkness to his light, and even the voice of reason sometimes. Like when in Knight Terrors he's pretty much the only one telling Barry "this is a nightmare, wake up".

[biteofcherry]

happy new year's eva!! for the babe lottery, i have to go with my fave man steve rogers 👀

♡ @witchywithwhiskey

✨✨✨

Tilting your chin up, you mustered all of your self-restraint and pride not to react at the judging sneer of the officer.

You had a reputation, not because of your actions, but because people were narrow-minded and afraid of anything they couldn't control. They viewed you as the villain, despite you didn't even have a single driving ticket.

Curse breakers were usually treated with distance. However, you were considered the most powerful one, since your magic in that department didn't come only from academic studies and practice, but because your power was of the curse casting.

You didn't need incantations, nor complicated rituals to weave a curse. It spilled from your fingers like invisible threads.

Yes, it made you incredibly dangerous. There were some people, who would love nothing more than to put you in prison just for mere existence. Just in case you turned to the dark side and murdered people, like they all feared.

Fortunately, the law, while shaky and often crooked, was still protecting you from that happening.

The officer you approached and gave your name to seemed to be of the kind who would love to arrest you for the crime, though you had all the needed alibis proving you were nowhere near the scene.

More power than the alibi, however, seemed to be the presence of someone else.

He approach from the other side of the police tape. Tall and broad, wearing the aura of power and control unapologetically.

Steve Rogers wasn't a lethal curse weaver like you, but his offensive and defensive magic was considered to be leveled as one of the three most potent in the world.

He could be among the highest mage world council members, be he still chose to work in the law enforcement. A peculiar man.

He was also the one who didn't listen to his superiors, who would definitely prefer to hire a regular curse breaker for the case than let you anywhere near. Steve called you himself and asked you to consult the case.

"Let her pass." Rogers ordered the officer harshly. "And keep your judgment for after hours."

You quickly dove under the police tape when the officer moved. As you straightened, you looked up at Rogers curiously.

The officer hasn't said anything beside saying you were unauthorized to enter. Judgment was only in his eyes, not his words. Were the rumors true and Rogers could read minds?

As you peered at him, he didn't flinch. But he didn't make any indication suggesting he read your unspoken question.

Hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention. Your instincts told you that whatever unfolded from this case, could develop into a mess hard to untangle yourself from.

[snowblossomreads]

Day 22- Shivering Certainty

Pairing(s)/Character(s): The Interrogator x Fem!Reader

Summary: In where the Interrogator acts on the solution he has given his prisoner. Continuation of Day 14 - Deceptive Kindness

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Smut ( Restraints, oral - fem receiving, overstimulation, coersion/dub con, electric play, begging, 'no means yes'), abuse of power, slut shaming

A/N: I hope ya'll didn't think there wasn't going to be a part two to this because why would their not be LOL. This man is uhinged and we need a little bit of something from him of course. : ) Be free my friends and enjoy the teasing from this man.

When she had agreed to play his little game, she didn't think she would end up like this. Spread eagle on the table that had been extended to accommodate her height, and then cuffed down onto it by hidden manacles that came with the piece of furniture. Granted it was more like a piece of equipment than furniture.

Not only that, but he then pulled out an interesting little device that had two wires extending from a black box. When she inquired about it, he told her not to worry too much about it. That it was just something he thought she might enjoy as he set it up, placing the box on the table by her legs.

Once he had set it up, she felt his hand roaming all over her thighs, stroking up her legs until he reached her bare cunt. A soft whimper left her lips as she felt him attach something sticky to each side of her folds. And instead of questioning him, she just kept silent, letting him pet her. His fingers stroked the outer edges of her cunt, before he moved over to caress her wet silt that quaked at his touch. 

It wasn't the only thing that was quaking when he pulled away from her either. Her whole body was ablaze with a want and need she didn't know she had as she watched him walk back closer to the top of the table where her head lay.

She also didn't expect it to excite her so much either as she watched him slowly roll up his sleeves. Folding the pristine white fabric up his forearm methodically, one crease at a time as his eyes hovered over her body. One which was only covered with a thin baby doll dress that was now bunched up at her mid-section. It left her upper thighs, arms, and collarbone all exposed to the cold air of the room, yet she wasn't cold at all in the present moment.

Quite the opposite as she had warmed up quite quickly from the cruel words thrown at her that turned into her allowing him to…

She quickly dismissed the thought. Telling herself that it was all in the name of self-preservation.

"Now, now that's enough thinking." 

His command came in low murmur, as she felt his fingers suddenly brush against her cheek lightly. It caused her to let out a startled gasp as he trailed his digits down her face, and towards her neck where he placed his entire palm against the area before squeezing it lightly. 

A whimper, mixed with fear and something else escaped her lips at the pressure that constricted her airways slightly, and the smirk that flashed across his lips told her that he had enjoyed the sound of it.

"It's what got you into this mess in the first place."

He finished his sentence by giving her throat one more squeeze before letting go of her, and she sucked in a harsh shaky breath as he stared at her with amused eyes. His fingers continued their travel down her front, and her belly was taut with nerves as he brushed over her collarbone before gliding lightly over the stiff peaks of her breast. 

Even with the fabric covering them, his touch still shot a surge of desire through her belly as curious fingers circled lightly around the flesh, before he was pinching the pert nubs. Rolling them in his fingers, before tugging at them harshly, causing her to let out a loud squeak, her hips jolting upward slightly at the treatment.

"Oh, you like that?" He purred, noticing her reaction, and testing it again, pulling at the sensitive skin with even more force. The sound she made caused his eyes to light up like the star on a Christmas tree, and she truly wondered what she had gotten herself into. "You like pain."

It was more of a statement than a question. Yet she felt the need to shake her head.

"N-no I don't." She stuttered out, even as she tried to suppress the mew that wanted to leave her as he pinched the sensitive nub one more.

That answer seemed to dissatisfy him, and a frown appeared on his lips as he peered down at her from over his glasses. The look sent a chill of fear down her spine, and for a very good reason, as she watched him reach down the table for the device that he had placed.  

'What is he-.'

"AH!"

A sharp scream pierced the air just as a wave of electricity shot through her lower half and down her legs. The burning pain of it had her writhing away on the table as the feeling knocked the breath of her. 

"Now, now what did I say about dishonesty?" He questioned, his voice becoming hard suddenly as he turned off the machine. Her muscles instantly relaxed, and the forced contractions stopped, leaving her body tingling with pain and her mind racing. "It will get you nowhere, no matter how charming I think your lies are. Remember, I am your guide, and your only hope is through me. Now tell the truth. You like the pain don't you?"

She hesitated, watching him and when he began to move back to the device, she nodded furiously before letting out a panicked,

"Y-yes."

A groan left his lips at her answer, and the sound somehow soothed the pain he had inflicted on her. God what was wrong with her?

 "Oh you are going to be a troublesome one, but," his voice dropped almost a whole octave this time as he practically pressed his nails into her breast, causing her to let out a whine. "I know how to deal with all sorts. Your kind though? Your kind are my favorite."

Dread filled her stomach instantly at his words as he continued his travels down her body. Walking down along the edge of the table to explore her. What did he mean by that?

Her question wasn't left unanswered for long.

Once his fingers reached the edge of her dress, he trailed the ends of the fabric before sliding his palm up her thigh grabbing at the skin, pinching as much flesh as he could reach. She let out a soft whimper at the pinches, her body reacting positively to it as the urge to rub her thighs together to calm the pressure inside of her grew. Yet with her tied down basically, she could only endure this teasing while he explored her at his own pace. 

It was torture as he dragged his blunt nails against her heated skin on his way towards her cunt that was crying out for him. And she was ready to do that same thing, wanting him to touch the ache that had grown quickly in her. 

"Needy are you?" He chuckled lightly, looking at [Y/n] whose chest rose and fell erratically as his fingers finally found their way to her damp opening that throbbed the moment he brushed against it. "Already so wet. Just from a few touches and a little bit of pain. A sign of a true whore," he chuckled darkly as he began to stroke her warm flesh.

Her breath hitched at the touch, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she sighed out a moan as he touched her. And he took his time, too. Unhurried feathery strokes against her core that begged for more.

"P-please," she whimpered, her body aching for something more than the delicate strokes he was giving her.

"Oh? Does the little whore want something?" He asked, a smile on his lips, and his eyes shining with glee which was so off-putting. 

Yet her mind was too focused on the pleasure, or lack thereof to even care at this point about the name calling. He could call her whatever, but she needed more than what he was giving her and she nodded her assent. 

"No none of that," he growled, the cheerfulness in his eyes switching to darkness in a dizzyingly fast manner. And then the pain came again.

Just as fast as his emotions switched, the shock of the device pierced her once more. Her body stiffened, and a loud gasp was ripped away from her again. But before she could even realize what was happening to let out a scream, it was off again and he was speaking words that her mind was trying to wrap around.

 "Confess it with your mouth. Admit that you're just a little whore whose only crime was wanting to be fucked. Come on, the faster you do it, the more of this you'll get."

The squeal of pain she was meant to let out, morphed into one of delight the moment he said that, as he took the chance to push his fingers inside her with no warning. His thumb joined in on the teasing by rubbing her clit and sending a jolt of pleasure down her body as he teased her. It didn't last long though of course, as he stopped the moment he felt her wet hole clench around his fingers as her insides tried to suck him deeper.

It caused a desperate whine to leave her and he only chuckled his amusement.

"Come on, confess little whore," he urged, his thumb lightly flicking her bead that quickly swelled with pleasure at his devious touches. "Confess and I'll give you everything those other people couldn't give you, we don't have much time. Once I leave this all stops."

And stop he did, his fingers pausing the teasing of her clit, and she swore out loud before letting a desperate cry leave her. 

"Please! Please I promise I haven't done anything," she cried, warm tears brimming at the edge of her eyelids as she struggled against the manacles, needing his touch but getting nowhere as they held her down. "I just…I just."

"Almost there, you can say it, don't be shy now. Don't you want this?" He stroked her clit one more time, and she knew it was her downfall.

"Oh god!" She cried out, the tears that she tried to hold back streaming down her face, blurring her vision and the dark predatory look on the man's face. "Please I promise! I promise I only met them because I needed to be fucked," she confessed, "Mmm just a whore for them I didn't do anything please!"

"Good girl, very good girl!" He praised, his demeanor changing back to the kind man that she had first encountered at a dizzying pace. Yet he kept his promise. 

His thumb placed a delicious pressure on her clit as the fingers he had buried in her wet heat began stroking her insides with expertise that had her lips parting yet no words left them as he stretched her open. "So wet little whore, oh so wet. Did those men ever make you feel like this?" He asked, thrilled at the way she writhed from his touches that elicited sobs and moans from one end and wet slickness from the other.

"N-no!" She whined, shivering with certainty that she had never felt so hot, so turned on, in her life.  

"What an honor little whore," he purred, "maybe I should give you something else for being so honest. Would you like that?"

"Y-yes please, please more fuck me please."

"Oh I will sweet whore, but not until I get a taste of you. Not until I see how much this cunt can take, then," he purred, his face inches away from her heat that glistened with her juices. The scent of her made him lick his lips as if he were about to devour a most delicious meal. "Then, I'll fuck you, make you my little whore."

It was the last thing he said to her before he dived forward, his tongue tracing her inner folds as it joined his fingers in drawing out the most delicious cries from the woman below him. Her legs shook and tensed, and the urge to shut them against his head was incredibly strong, but she was forced to stay open for him as his tongue dipped into her.

A noisy growl escaped his throat as he tasted her sweet cunt which only provided more of her wetness for him. Wetness that he eagerly lapped up noisily, wanting her to hear how good she tasted to him, which only made her stomach knot up even more as she felt the rush of pleasure invading her mind.

The sounds of her cries increased as he increased the speed his fingers were fucking her, and it was no surprise that when he went and wrapped his lips around her swollen clit and sucked it harshly. Tongue darting out to lick her, before he scraped his teeth against the sensitive bundle did the pain and pleasure of the action send her over the edge.

Her body arched as much as she could being pinned down, and her insides clenched so much that it almost became painful.

She let out a loud, long, and watery cry of, "FUCK!" That filled the air as he continued to suck at her, his fingers only slowing down as her insides clenched around them in an attempt to draw them in deeper.

Truly the cunt of a whore. He grinned at that, yet he didn't stop his assault on her body as he happily licked at her bead, his touch turning painful as she writhed underneath him.

"P-please too much too much," she sobbed, yet her body seemed to want more as it pressed against him, and the dark joy he felt was tremendous as he pulled away from her cunt, his fingers still stroking her even as she begged him to slow his movements.

"Oh no little whore," he grinned madly, watching tears stain her face as she cried and wriggled helplessly. "Weren't you listening to me earlier? I'll stop when I think you're done. And you are not done."

A distress noise left her lips as he dragged his fingers in and out of her. Yet it wasn't long before those noises morphed into ones of pleasure again. The cycle starting once again and lasting until he wanted it to end.

A/N: no regrets and now i wanna write all the unhinged smut with this man.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere alphabet for Princess Celestia, please? 🦄

I can try my best, sure! Here's more Princess Celestia content :) Not fully proofread, there may be mistakes.

Yandere Alphabet - Princess Celestia

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Isolation, Manipulation, Deception, Abuse of power, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Imprisonment, Deception, Restraints, Forced companionship/relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Celestia takes on a mentor-like role with her darling no matter her intentions. Many ponies look up to her and trust her. This allows Celestia to get away with her obsessive tendencies.

Celestia can come off as intense at times due to her manipulative tendencies. However, the princess is extremely affectionate with her obsession. She'd pamper and spoil her darling... no matter what they think about it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Celestia has no need for violence, she prefers to use her influence. So, her white hooves stay pristine for her darling.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Celestia would want to pamper her darling. She's a princess... of course she can decorate and gift things to her darling! The best food, clothing, and care money can buy!

She wouldn't mock you unless you tried to expose her obsession or something.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

She has the power to do so, but it depends on your behavior towards her.

She can be forceful... but hopefully she doesn't have to.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Celestia can be rather honest about her feelings. She isn't very vulnerable but she can be open with you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed more than annoyed. She really thought you would be better than this...

But this can always be corrected.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Not really and she'd feel disappointed. The only time it's a game is when she realizes no pony believes your claims on her obsession. In that case, she's teasing.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Her punishments I assume. For the most part Celestia is lowkey and doesn't hurt you. Yet when you don't cooperate...

She locks you away, a chain on your back leg, and no pony else to talk to...

Not even her for who knows how long.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

You being by her side somehow. Be it as a friend, student, adopted sibling, or a romantic partner. Her intentions dictate which one you fall under.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes and I feel Celestia starts petty, trying to cope in her own way. But soon her tolerance runs out... leaving her to lash out more.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Manipulation, Suffocating, Obsessive, Possessive/Protective, Caring, Mischievous, and occasionally Strict/Disciplinary.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

You could work under her, be a student, or a younger princess she took under her wing. Her intentions dictate the way she approaches you.

Celestia starts very subtle with her obsession. Subtle care, subtle favoritism. You can barely tell something is wrong.

That is until you begin to be isolated and no pony listens to you...

By that point Celestia has you where she wants you.

Yes. No pony believes her intentions to be dark... just you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation and restraints. You're essentially in a gilded prison cell with no contact until she feels you've "learned" something.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Not many depending on your behavior.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

She may not move on or take a long time with it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Not really and maybe with a guard or two.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity... but maybe childhood if you think about it. It's lonely at the top.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

She'd try to comfort you the best she can. Although she views your outbursts as "temper tantrums", she'll help you through it.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Reciprocating, or at least playing along with Celestia, will get you some useful privileges.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere but would go to great lengths to keep you in her castle and under her care.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If she did pine, maybe for a year or year and a half.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Six. Somnolence)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist

Chapter warnings: trauma, A/N: This is literally half of what I planned on for this chapter. Soooo. Yeah. One of the teasers for this chapter applies to chapter seven, lol. But the wait will be worth it! Thank all of you who've stuck around. <3 You are all dears and deserve big cups of tea and cuddles. Dream’s creations brought him stories.

6: Somnolence

They groveled before his throne by the dozen, sharing tales of the child Aisling – in need, protected by his arcana as she moved through the mortal plane, jetsam in the wake of a better life she should’ve lived. Hundreds more, many of them nightmares, told epics of the woman Aisling – tearing their anchors from the dreams of innocent mortals, protecting the most fragile dreams from harsh reality in quiet corners of the world where fantasy still thrived.

His creations brought these stories to trade for forgiveness the subject of their tales had already secured. Only a few shared their memories because they cared for her. They wanted their lord to see her as they’d found her, and how could the Prince of Stories not love a timely hero in a grand tale?

Some told him what they thought he needed to know. Facts about the mortal with his name and power etched in her soul.

He had his own story, one of a cage and a strange woman with true sight and curious magic. A woman who looked too hard at all the wrong things and freed him without promise or threat.

When he first saw her from his prison, when his restraints shattered and he could see properly for the first time in over a century, hope and loss nearly consumed him. He’d been aware of the place in his essence where a mark might grow before Earth gathered into a planet. Every time he fell in love, he waited for the name to appear. Trapped in his glass prison, cut off from anything that made him more than a fragile facsimile of a human shape, he hadn’t felt anything fill the empty space. He lacked the awareness.

How had he imagined meeting a soulmate? Not like that. Not as that – a nameless monster in a cage. She fled the moment she found him, and he imagined he could see Nada’s footprints in the sand as his true soulmate’s steps echoed over stone.

Perhaps it was for the best. The quaint hell of Burgess’s basement was no place for introductions, and he brought all his bereaved fury to bear in his escape. Even as he found his freedom, he found yet another treasure the magus and his son had stolen from him.

She had been hurt. Badly. And he had not been there. If Alexander Burgess hadn’t already earned his punishment, seeing the crude letters cut into Aisling Hunt’s heart over her own mark clinched his doom.

When she finally slept, he showed himself as everything he was not upon their first meeting. Her clever eyes, blinded by fear and expectation, did not see him. Did not know him.

Though he ached to be with her since the moment he truly saw her, though he yearned to repay her for ending his captivity, a hundred years of helplessness festered like a dark canker in the depths of his passion.

When she did not recognize him in that first dream, he did not rush to correct her ignorance. He welcomed it, and with her oblivious naivety, he took control. In the second dream, it was even intentional. So long as she did not know him, he was… safe. So was she. Or he liked to believe so. Safe from fear and confusion at the clear weft of their wyrds knotting them together through actions she believed entirely her own.

But now she knew him.

She’d seen his face, and the budding trust he’d savored as she came apart under his hands and tongue shattered like the finest glass. He imagined it like shards coursing through her blood. He’d seen as much in her eyes as she looked up from the hand of her captors, brought in silken chains to her monster, the entity she’d readily freed from Fawney Rig. Her growing faith, possibly even affection, cut her from the inside out, glittering in her eyes as she fought against the pain his face brought her.

Once again, he was shown to her as a monster, as a frightful king who might accept such a gift from the unseelie court. His lip curled at the thought.

He could not bear it. Though the two parts of him stood at war – the lover and the wounded king – neither exalted in her fear. Deep within, the mark cut him, too. Soothing her pain when she fell into his hands in their first dream together was far from selfless.

He wanted to chart her, like a star-filled sky, or an endless ocean reflecting those stars. He could sense the elements in her, the base reality of every living thing bound up in her tattered mortality. Wildfires and oceans. Sweeping winds and green fields.

And beyond that? She’d done more with the powers the fae cursed her with than he would’ve thought to ask. A touch of eternity beyond anything human tangled so deep in her soul he could never take it back, not without killing her.

He wanted to do terrible things. To pluck out her heart and wear it in a locket, sundering her from the waking world forever. To wrap her up in splendid charms and spells to make her forget anything she might miss outside the bounds of the Dreaming. To pull her deeper and deeper into himself until they were truly one, until she became a part of every aspect, even if it would destroy her. His desire ached to maul her in some way, to sate his hunger and leave a mark even mortal eyes could see.

At the same time, he’d gladly hand his nightmares the broken remains of any other – mortal, god, or angel – who threatened so much as the ease of her smile.

He yearned for her entirely, and he was not all light.

She felt so right in his grasp when he caught her up in the throne room. safe at last in the circle of his arms. But he was not free to hold her. He required her permission, her clear consent, a reciprocal yearning in word and deed, and until he had that, he must prove himself. He could not fail her again.

And so Lord Morpheus, dread King of Nightmares and ruler of the Dreaming slouched low in his seat, watching Aisling Hunt breathe, at rest in the perfect silence of oblivion as he waited at her side.

He hadn’t brought her to the rooms he began crafting as he rebuilt his kingdom from ruins. The bed was no less grand, the space fit for a goddess, but it was a thoughtless grandeur. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want her fear to spoil the joy he’d hoped she’d find… in her home. He did not want her first memories there to echo with terror and doubt.

“My lord?”

Lucienne hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and brow furrowed with care. Though he wanted to close the doors and keep these quiet moments entirely for his own, his librarian had been the one to remind him of his soulmate’s fragility, and although she often provided insights he did not like, they were all the more invaluable for his distaste.

“I do not know what to do.” He looked from his love to his librarian, nearly as lost as he’d been when he first returned from his imprisonment, sitting below a throne governing nothing but broken glass and crumbled stone. Then he’d had a course to follow, a realm to repair, even if he hadn’t known where to begin. “There is no quest to fulfill. No correction to make. She is not even mine to repair, even where I am at fault.”

His former raven watched, shifting in place, but never taking her eyes from her master and the mortal he would love.

“Perhaps…” She paused, and Morpheus looked to her searchingly, grasping for hope in the wake of this latest failure. Taking it permission, she continued delicately, handling her ruler like the delicate pages of the library’s oldest tomes. “Perhaps a king is not what she needs at this time.”

He already knew that, but he could not accept it.

“Is my name not carved on her heart?”

“Morpheus, my lord.” Lucienne offered the correction like a balm to a blistered wound. “Not Dream of the Endless. You assume you know what her reaction will be when she wakes, but how can you predict someone you barely know? She knows even less of you, and I’m sure she has plenty of assumptions.”

He bristled. He already knew her, as he knew all dreamers. The facts of her life flowed through the Dreaming, but he only understood them as a mortal would know printed words on a page. They’d shared precious little time. Three dreams.

Would she ever trust him like that again, or had he lost her entirely in his carelessness?

He didn’t wish to agree with his librarian’s suggestion, but he had no ideas of his own, and he would not fail his little hero once again. Could not.

“What do you suggest, then?”

Drawing herself up, Lucienne unclasped her hands and folded them anew in the front, clearly itching for a book or ledger to occupy herself. “I don’t know her any better than you do, sire, but there are some who do. Why not… invite them to share their insights?”

Morpheus closed his eyes, calling to mind the many subjects who flocked to offer pieces of Aisling’s story. Most clasped nothing but small gems, scattered fragments of a grander jewel. But the ones she called friend, that walked the Waking world beside her…

He opened his eyes and looked through the Dreaming, reaching to the shores of Nightmare, where a beast with pretty manners turned at his call.

“Fine Gentleman. I summon you. Come to me.”

The nightmare followed his order, appearing in the room at the foot of Aisling’s bed as the shape of the realm bent to accommodate Dream’s will. Despite his decades in the Waking world, the nightmare had taken up his old duties admirably, and Dream expected Fin, as so many called him, would return the loyalty Aisling had shown him. She risked her freedom to safeguard the nightmare’s path home, after all.

Fin knelt, bowing to his king, but his eyes flicked to the bed, and Dream dismissed his respects. “Rise. You have leave to speak. There are answers I would have of you.”

The nightmare didn’t need to be told twice. Back on his feet, he gingerly touched the edge of the blue coverlet, and asked, “It’s true? The unseelie, they – Is she alright?”

“In body, yes.” Lucienne approached the far side of the bed, closing a semicircle around the sleeping mortal who’d caused so much concern. “But she had an attack of some kind, and none of us are sure what to expect when she wakes. Perhaps you have some experience with similar episodes?”

“I do.” The nightmare kept his attention on Lucienne and his hand a few inches from Aisling’s feet. History and affection bound them closer than oaths and debts. Rot green ghosted through Dream’s thoughts, and he wrestled the specter away as the nightmare explained. “She hasn’t had one in a long time, but she used to have panic attacks when she was younger. Bad ones.”

“And how did she treat them?” Morpheus demanded his creation’s attention. It would do the nightmare well to remember whose soulmate he’d been called to aid. It would do him well to remember his king.

Nothing of the beast faced the King of Dreams, only the gentleman, and though he kept his head down, his gaze fixed on Morpheus with iron determination.

“My lord, I have a suggestion you won’t like.”

There was much in the past hours Morpheus had not liked. He’d cut his throat to ease her thirst if need be or burn every star in the Dreaming’s sky to keep her warm. Sitting up in his chair, he prepared himself to bleed.

“What is it? What does she need of me?”

The nightmare didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

“Your distance, sire.”

Morpheus recalled the scene in the great hall. His destined soulmate. Alone, collapsing on his throne room floor, shaking and afraid. He wouldn’t have it.

“I will not leave her. She will not be alone.”

Her friend, the nightmare, shook his head. “She wouldn’t be alone. Any of us she knows could stay and mind her, but…”

Ah. Morpheus sat back in his seat, expression cooling as he realized they had only just reached the part of the suggestion he would not like.

“Speak.”

The nightmare took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and forged ahead like a soldier facing down a dragon.

“She was never afraid of you because you were powerful. She lived in fear that you’d take her choice.”

He gave his king a moment to consider the revelation, though even in his brief acquaintance, Morpheus had learned that much. But it was only a reminder, and he spooled out deeper knowledge like a bandage he could pull his friend together with.

“When she wakes up,” he said, “she’ll need to feel in control. Even in the Waking she took space for herself – to find the truth, redraw the borders around what she’d chosen and what she’d been told to choose. The greatest gifts you can give her are time and space.”

Drawing his hand back, letting his fingers drag over the covers, the nightmare bowed. Morpheus read more than respect in his creation’s bent spine. This was the obeisance of a supplicant, one begging for grace rather than offering fealty.

“She’s resilient, but give her a chance to find her feet before you ask her to be brave again.”

Dream of the Endless did not smile down on his creation. The nightmare had been right. He did not like this plan at all, but he had asked, and the nightmare spoke truly. As a true friend.

Loathe as he was to banish himself, he would abide by the counsel of one who knew his soulmate well in the hope that he, too, may someday be allowed to know her.

“Very well.” He rose, and the chair crumbled to sand. “You and those of your choosing will serve as companions, guides, aides. The One Beneath will guard her.”

The nightmare took his orders and departed to gather his fellows. Lucienne waited for her lord, offering him silent company and support as he pulled himself from his little hero’s side.

He craved her faith. Her willing trust and all that would follow. It seemed, however, that he must first give her his own.

“When she is ready, she will come to me.”

.O.O.O.

She roused from the dreamless ocean to meet a crush of memories.

The fae delivered her. Morpheus took her. And now she woke in a bed she didn’t recognize.

He’d watched as the fae threatened to strip her of her own mind. And he’d – he’d always been –

She ripped the sheets back and fought her way off the plush mattress. Not awake enough to land on her feet, she fell to all fours, and the impact jarred her knees, sparked little agonies up her wrists. She dropped flat, belly-down beside the impossibly soft sheets and a blanket that looked like rolling waves caught the threads. She looked at the wonderous bedding with dull eyes. Then closed them, so she wouldn’t have to.

Everything here was his. Even… even she was. Now. Maybe.

She hated every beautiful thing in the room, but she hated herself more.

It was her fault. She let herself believe she was safe, and she paid in flesh and scars.

How many years of her life would she voluntarily trade to the fae to erase the past… however long they kept her, from the moment she passed through the mirror til now? And how long was that? Did she sleep for a few hours? Days? Had the Waking world seen a hundred years as her monster bundled her up in his castle?

Her breath caught like a sleeve on a doorknob, sudden and jarring.

It hadn’t really happened.

It had.

He’d promised her he wouldn’t steal her away or exploit what she offered. He helped with her pain and brought her pleasure, and she’d –

A cold hand with scabby skin and broken nails wrapped around her fingers.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize Jeff.

She rubbed her thumb along an exposed tendon to assure him she was alive, and he squeezed back to prove he was listening, that he had her, that he would stay. That everything was alright and nothing truly terrible had happened as she slept.

That all was still as she remembered.

Despite what she’d seen.

Maybe it meant something that her monster let her oldest friend comfort her instead of demanding the burden of care himself.

But if the first promises had been lies, and his excuses for the mask must’ve been, then she couldn’t trust any peace offerings, either.

The nightmare held her hand, but he couldn’t ground her. She refused to settle in her skin. She knew what would happen when she did. Whole people wore skin – filled with pain, and regret, and longing. Nothing hurt more than that.

She’d been here before. Not on this floor, in this plane, within her monster’s domain. But a floor, and in the end, polished marble or scratchy, threadbare carpet, it didn’t matter once she landed. A floor was a floor. She became hollow enough to forget she was alive, bleeding from a war no one else could see or save her from.

She had to get up. Had to move. Had to save herself. No one else could, not even Jeff, or Fin, or Gault, or

– Morpheus.

The floor had warmed under her cheek, proof of a beating heart she didn’t want to feel, and she turned to press the other side of her face to a new, cooler patch of marble. Maybe the stone floor could leach enough heat to freeze her mind. Numb it. So she could forget.

Forget his face. His expression when she broke the seal in the basement of Fawney Rig and the way he looked down from his throne as the pansy swung above her eyes.

Forget his careful, beautiful hands, and how it felt to dissolve with him between the stars.

Forget the smell of earth. The feel of claws. Of spider silk… The dress. She was still wearing the damn dress.

Inspiration couldn’t lift her from the floor, but fear and disgust launched her upright as she sank her fingernails into the delicate lace and pulled.

The left sleeve tore from her shoulder like tissue paper. Just as it was meant to. A pretty thing for her soulmate to rip off her body. Titillating scraps of fabric that wouldn’t impede a lover. That offered even less protection than she’d thought.

She froze again. Her breath caught on a lump in her throat as visions of another destiny crept like a snake through her thoughts. One where the graceful fingers she was coming to adore destroyed the dress. Where she’d lost herself entirely. Where her monster became everything she feared.

She blinked furiously. Her wet eyelashes stuck together. The air in her lungs turned thick with agony she wouldn’t voice, and the elegant room turned to a blur as she crashed to her knees, clutching her arms close to keep from shaking apart. To protect herself. To hide the body the fae tortured into gleaming perfection for a monster’s pleasure.

She wanted the dress off.

She couldn’t stomach the thought of baring any more skin.

She couldn’t think beyond the tearing pain in her chest.

This is what came of leaving the floor and becoming a person again.

Hands cut through the fog, urgently curling around her shoulders. She jerked back, shouting wordless protest, and a voice reached out to find her where the hands could not reach.

“Aisling, you’re safe. We’re here. Can you hear me?” The voice plucked on memories. Dust and sunshine and green stains on her skin from cheap jewelry stewing in sweat.

“Gwen?” She only realized she’d asked when she heard her own voice. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.

“Yes.” A smile behind hands offered in support, palms up, begging to be accepted. “It’s just me and Jeff. Can I – Are you…” The dream looked her like she was holding a knife to her lover’s throat. “Can you tell me what you need?”

No. She really couldn’t. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t know.

But the fucking dress…

She pulled at the fabric. Carefully. Trying to express herself as words failed to coalesce.

“I want it off. I feel…”

She felt like she needed to scrape her skin off all over again, but even in her confusion, she knew Gwen wouldn’t help that far.

But Gwen knew her, and Gwen knew how to listen, even when dreamers struggled to speak. “I’ll draw a bath and find you something to wear.”

Aisling knelt where she’d landed and swallowed down rising bile. Even she forgot, on her better days, how physically painful fear could be. Jeff took her ankle, so she knew she wasn’t alone as Gwen swept out of sight to do as she’d promised. Her most loyal nightmare.

She didn’t mean to scare him.

Her chest ached with an old burn, and she knew she couldn’t turn to the same cure that soothed it last time.

Gwen returned swiftly, before Aisling even had time to miss her, offering her soft hands again for her friend to accept.

She still couldn’t stand the idea. Jeff was different. Jeff needed the comfort as much as she did, and there was no mistaking his hand for anyone else’s.

She found her feet on her own, still hugging herself, eyes on the floor. Her stomach ached. Her skin crawled under the sticky lace. As she followed Gwen into a side chamber, she couldn’t help noticing the view outside the great, arched windows. A whole world stretched beyond the glass – worlds upon worlds, even.

Her ordeal wasn’t over.

She couldn’t just jump in her van and leave the Dreaming. Boundless as the fears and fantasies of every living thing, aware of her presence as its monarch, it would hold her until he gave her permission to leave. As she walked through her – ostensibly – private rooms, she might as well be sitting in her monster’s palm again.

Gwen showed her to a sunken tub behind a screen, an indoor pond that scented the air with clouds of lavender. An indistinct set of clothes sat on a low table beside a stack of towels, and a small collection of soaps and bottles stood within reach of the water.

Gwen wrung her hands, fighting to smile. “Would you like help? I can wait outside if you prefer.”

“I’ll be fine on my own. Thanks.” Getting the dress off would end in a fit. Big, ugly tears and hacking sobs. She just knew it. She couldn’t stomach someone sitting beside her, trying to comfort her as she came to terms with everything the fae had done.

She had to wash this new skin alone. She needed to mourn. She needed to figure out which way to swim before she drowned in aimless grief, and worrying what she looked like or how she made a loved one feel would only pull her deeper. Fortunately, Gwen understood.

Her friend left. She stood alone in the opulent ensuite, pulling apart what was meant to be her dreaded wedding gown, trembling as she tried shielding herself from eyes that simply weren’t there.

She took her bleeding heart into the bath, and the warm water tried to swallow her pain. Washing and scrubbing until she couldn’t feel the faeries’ touch under her raw flesh brought a little relief, but missed her scars. The little marks on her fingers from careless accidents in the kitchen, places she cut for spell work, and a hundred incidental bumps and nicks. It looked alien now. Too smooth. Perfect in a way even a birth-bruised baby’s wasn’t. Her true sight detected residual magic that wouldn’t fade in her lifetime from the unicorn’s horn. It made her beautiful. The kind of beauty she could use as a weapon if she wanted. If she was dealing with a lesser creature than an Endless.

When her cuticles bled, she gave up trying to erase the potion’s effects.

And she cried.

She cried so much she was surprised the water level didn’t rise. The bath stayed hot and fresh as she tried flaying herself, and she wondered if had some secret healing power. Hardly shocking, all things considered, but she wished it was plain water she could turn pink with her human blood.  

She stayed too long, cleaning her hair, her face, the spaces between her toes. Her intention worked the scrubbing into a ritual. Not all the magic would leave, but she banished the traces of her captors’ essence. She peeled away their staring eyes and casual violence.

She was her own self, and she would make it so.

At last, cleansed in body if not in mind, she climbed out and began the process of becoming a whole person again, with feelings and all. Feelings, and legs, and wet hair.

The towels were so soft she nearly cried again, but she felt ridiculous enough to sniffle down her hysterics and start getting dressed. Gwen had brought something like elegant loungewear. Better than any sweatpants or old t-shirt, they draped around her without clinging or threatening to fall off. Comfortable. Woven from some fabric she’d never touched before but maybe dreamed of, like the plush toy she slept with as a child and the silky ripple of a stream over her fingers. A shawl waited at the bottom of the stack, and she pulled the extra shield around her shoulders like armor. Everything fit. Nothing pinched, or chafed. It couldn’t be the most attractive ensemble, but it felt like a promise. Reassurance stitched into the loose fit that covered her so well.

It wasn’t for display. She wasn’t for display. It was consideration. Patience. A tender embrace offered from a safe distance.

And she was beginning to doubt Gwen had chosen these clothes at all.

She shivered, pulling the shawl tight across her chest, and returned to the bedroom. Gwen rose, uncertain but ready for anything. Aisling waved her down.

“I still… I’m going on a walk.” The world beyond the windows was all Dream’s, but she needed an open sky and a breeze on her face. The screaming child in the back of her head wailed the polished marble felt like raw slate and the close air smelled like soil and mildew. It didn’t, but she wanted to break the association before it took root.

Twisting her hands again, Gwen nodded, and Aisling didn’t wait for someone to tell her she wasn’t allowed, or that she really needed to stop and put on shoes, or that she should act like a delicate lady and keep to the garden. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So many of her friends told her stories about the Dreaming. She wanted to love it.

She would outrun her fear, literally if she had to.

[avatarkurukdefender]

Since the adhd brain refuses to cooperate and let me finish chapter two of A Literal Team Avatar...might as well talk about it instead

Specifically about the Boiling Rock arc

Aka the arc where I get to go full whump writer and torment the beloveds

:3

Kuruk and Roku are gonna get captured after the failed invasion during the eclipse (fpr reasons that I will not spoil)

And they are going to be taken to the Boiling Rock and will be there for about three weeks, maybe a month since that seems like how long that time period was.

That will be the worst time of their new lives

They will be separated almost immediately upon arriving, with Roku being taken to solitary confinement in the freezer (where he will stay for at least like sixty to seventy percent of his time in the prison) while Kuruk is taken deeper into the prison.

Ans the Warden will take EVERY possible precaution to make sure Kuruk cant bend. Because its one thing to hold a powerful firebender, just lock them in the freezer and they cant bend. No problem.

But keeping a WATER bender from bending in a prison that is literally SURROUNDED by water is a much more difficult task.

So Kuruk will be kept in a very hot, very dry room. Dry air will be filtered through at all times, he will be guarded at all times, there will be MULTIPLE locked metal doors before even reaching his cell, and most importantly

He will be heavily restrained.

Hands completely covered in metal cuffs, more restraints on the elbows, knees, and thighs and ankles, even a shackle around his NECK to really keep him as still as physically possible.

Oh did I mention that they will only give him the BARE MINIMUM amount of water needed to keep him from dying of dehydration (like once every five days)

They'll feed him even less.

Anything to keep him weak, prevent any chance of him breaking out.

Because Kuruk is definitely the most dangerous person in the prison and if he got out all hell would break loose

Meanwhile Roku is just gonna be left alone with his thoughts, with his guilt because this was all his fault, it was his fault that they got captured it was his fault that Kuruk was suffering and he was helpless to stop it, hell it was his fault that this entire war was even happening!

Because even thought he's in solitary, in the freezing cold, unable to bend, he's not actively being STARVED to death (even though he's only getting fed a bit more frequently than Kuruk) and being constantly kept on the brink of dehydration and close to heatstroke.

It will be such a relief when Sokka, Zuko and Yangchen come to rescue them and eventually Suki, Sokka's dad, and the other inmate guy whose name I cant remember.

The only reason Kyoshi wasn't allowed to join the rescue mission was because both her mentor and her former pupil being held hostage would make it be an absolute BLOODBATH.

It will still be a mass homicide when Yangchen sees Kuruk in his current state. Jst not as bloody, because she can just make people's lungs collapse, trap them in an airless void or just obliterate them with a close ranged scream.

Kuruk will get to drown people with boiling water, as a treat.

Zuko is gonna realize just how lucky he was that Aang is a pacifist because air nomads can become absolutely terrifying when "all life is sacred" goes out the window.

There will be three chapters before the actual boiling rock arc begins

One when Roku and Kuruk are first brought to the prison.

Another on how they're doing during the Sun Warriors arc

And a final one the night before the rescue trio arrive at the prison.

(The chapters will be titled "No Mind To Think." "No Will To Break." And "No Voice To Cry Suffering." Yes that is a Hollow Knight reference that game is a masterpiece, one of my favorite video games EVER and I cant wait for Silksong so bite me)

Why does this arc have to be so far away :(

Anyways enjoy

[noobiestnoober]

Shadows of Destiny (Part II) – Blood Ties (Kai x Reader)

This is a sequel to Shadows of Destiny. Read the Part 1 here >>>

Shadows of Destiny (Kai x Reader)

I hope you enjoy the story <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jo and Alaric were having a happy, celebratory wedding surrounded by loved ones. Everyone involved desired a fresh start and a peaceful moment. However, tranquility proved to be fragile and easily disrupted.

With wrath and resentment in his eyes, Kai Parker dashed into the ceremony. He launched his strike before the Gemini Coven could respond, with magic sparking through the air.

Trying to escape the lethal energy bursts, guests shrieked and dispersed. His twin, Jo, eyes wide with shock and resolve, stood her ground. Shaking, she begged, "Kai, stop this! Why are you doing this?!"

But Kai had no brotherly affection in his distorted smile. Ignoring Jo, he said, "You should know by now. I never quit on what I started."

As he lifted his hand to cast another attack, the hall doors flung open. Y/N staggered in with her gaze fixed on Kai, bruised, and worn out. Her willpower, pushing her on despite the agony, had allowed her to break free from her restraints.

She cried, "Kai!" as she hurried herself between him and Jo, "Enough already!"

As Kai saw Y/N, he paused, his gaze closing in. In a low, and deadly tone he muttered, "You… How come you were free?"

Y/N sprang for him, attempting to throw him off balance before he could react. Kai moved more quickly. With his power blazing, he turned and launched her across the room with his magic. Y/N flew into tables strewn across the floor. She flew so hard into them that her lungs were afflicted with formidable force and coughed up blood. All bloods were stained on her clothes.

Y/N’s besties Elena and Caroline raced to her aid, "No, Y/N!"

Fearful, Caroline sobbed, “Don’t die on us, please.”

Damon, who had developed a close bond with Y/N during their time in the Prison World, stepped closer and unleashed a torrent of anger. He yelled, "You messed with the wrong person, Kai."

Kai had little time to react when Damon tackled him, but with a flick of his wrist, he sent Damon hurling across the room and into a set of chairs.

“Damon, get out of here!” Kai yelled, “This is between me and the rest of the others.”

With a sneer on his lips, Damon got up to his feet. He spat, "Like hell it is," but Elena held his arm and stopped him before he could strike again.

“Damon, no,” she cried out, “You are going to make things worse.”

As he watched them, Kai's face faltered, something flickering in his eyes when his gaze turned to Y/N.

"Y/N, you shouldn't have come here," he added in a near whisper, “You should have stayed away.”

Y/N clung to her side as she staggered to her feet, "I could never let you do this," she exclaimed, "You're not a monster, Kai. There is no need to do this.”

Kai's fists shook with hardly controlled power, his mouth tightening.

"You persist in defying me even after I provided you with the chance to behave properly!" This was mostly targeted at his coven members, especially the former Gemini coven leader, Joshua Parker. He spat, "You must be so desperate to die." Fearful, the guests crowded together.

Elena moved forward, her face resolute. Despite the chaos surrounding her, Elena uttered firmly, "Please, Kai. Do not do this. Let everyone go.”

Kai's hold on his power became stronger, and for a split second, it appeared as though he would let loose everything. But Y/N's shaky voice broke the strain.

She whispered, "Kai," as she fixes her gaze on him, “Avoid turning into the monster they believe you are.”

He looked at her, his face tense between wrath and something else… something… human.

"You don't understand," he continued, his voice trembling, “I have to finish this. This is the only option."

Ignoring her wounds, Y/N protested, "No, it's not," and moved closer, “You are free to take another course. We can work out another solution together."

Kai's gaze wavered, and the fury gradually faded. His voice hardly rose above a whisper, "I don't know if I can," he murmured.

Stretching out her hands to him, Y/N said, "You can. You do not have to be alone.”

The guests' labored breathing in the entire room was the sole sound for a long, anxious time. Then, very gradually, the enchantment at Kai's fingertips vanished. With his face tense, he lowered his hand.

"You should be thankful," he says at last directed towards his coven, breaking the silence in the room, his voice breaking, “You get to live another day.”

Kai turned to go, but as he saw Y/N's strength waning, he hurried to her side, and lifted her into his arms. The guests watched in horror as Kai carried Y/N away; her blood smeared his clothing. Her eyes opened, a mixture of relief and bewilderment meeting his. Weakly whispering, "Kai, what are you doing?"

"Saving you," he said, sounding almost compassionate now, "Y/N, I can’t lose you. No, not in this way."

Kai disappeared, dragging Y/N into the unknown after one last, conflicted look at Elena, Caroline, and Damon.

______________________________________________________________

As night descended, remorse swept over Y/N. She would never have let Kai leave if she had known what Bonnie, Damon, and Elena were up to. Their plan was to trick Kai and keep him in another prison world. She had not acted on her intuition that something was amiss. She heard bits of their talk, their low voices, and their hurried murmurs just before Kai and the others went to the prison world where the Heretics were imprisoned. She disregarded her inner intuition, convinced that they were acting morally. She wished she had done something—anything—to stop this chaos made by Kai.

"I'm sorry, Kai," she said in a regretful and painful whisper, "I should have known. I should have stopped them."

“It's too late for that now,” he said, “Maybe, though, we can work things out together.”

The darkness drew closer, and Y/N nodded feebly. She held onto the belief that there was someplace, someway, a chance to put things right, to keep Kai from the darkness that threatened to swallow him, and to keep herself from the sorrow that was eating at her.

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

Read Part 3 here >>>>

Shadows of Destiny (Part III) - Redemption's Edge (Kai x Reader)

[tparker48]

(Contains light M/F)

Outside the gates of Tartarus, a vehicle arrived at the entry point, Suneater stepping form the car of one of the officers on duty. Fatgum said he needed help with an interrogation of one of the villains he managed to capture. The Minimizer, he called himself. His quirk held the ability to shrink anything he saw fit by a single touch. The more he read the report he filed, a gloomy cloud rose above him. How in the world did he catch him with a power like that?

"Fatgum is waiting for you inside the prison, sir" an officer interrupted ushering to the path ahead.

Always the first to head in, just like him. "Thank you.." he pulled his hood over his head, making his way past the mecha guards standing post at the gate.

He tugged at his cape as the panels hissed, wind escaping into the air as they opened to another set of mechas guards behind it. He met their cold stairs, standing at the central panel ahead of them before the floor raised ahead. He counted the seconds as the he looked to the outside glass, pressure building in his ears as the fish swam passed. this place would be a good place for solitude, if it weren't for the swarm of villains contained inside. reaching the ground floor, he walked through the cemented hallways, past the thin doors of the prison cells to Thick doors blocking the path. It was there, he saw the yellow jumpsuit of his instructor. Fatgum

"Hey, Tamaki!" he waved to him, "glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't it's a pleasant one, sir." he shrunk beneath his hoodie.

"I know, I wish we met up on better times too. Through here." he pressed his palm at a panel, before the thick doors opened. Officers were already inside, guns aimed at the plastic splitting the room as a man wrapped in an Asylum Jacket, smirked on the other side.

his eyes darted to the door. "Well well, didn't know the clowns did visiting hours for us. Gonna blow me a balloon, tubby?" he turned his gaze toward Suneater, the small hero ducking beneath his hoodie. "Who's the clam shell?"

"My partner." he stepped forward. "You know what we came for, Minimizer, what did you do with the hostage you had?"

"Ah that woman, she had a lot of fire in her eyes. Even gave me a scar" he tilted his neck, a streak of burnt skin rising to his right side. "But even candles can be snuffed out if you "shrink" their stem."

one of the officers gripped their fist, stepping from the others toward the smug villain in the cell. "You loathsome-!" A palm from Fatgum touched his chest, ushering him back.

"Don't let him get in your head." He said, his eyes never leaving the strapped villain.

"No no, please, let him come a little closer." Minimizer said.

Suneater eyed his instructor, looking to the surrounding officers before tugging his mask down. This environment is too much stress for him. He could be at home, eating a snack while watching herotube. He yearned they'd find the hostage soon, wherever she may be.

"Where did you take the hostage?" Fatgum asked again,his tone less welcoming than what he had outside.

The villain chuckled, dancing in his restraints. "Oh it's embarrassing just to tell you. It's all a blur really, she caused such a fuss I just had to put her in her place. Hmm.. where was that again?…" He shook around, humming to himself as he looked to the ceiling. a bulge pushed out below him, the lining of his belled cock shaping the fabric. an aggressive whimper pieced the hollow room. "Oh that's right, there." he grinned at the barreled hero."

Fatgum's gloves squeaked together. "Release her, now."

"You'll have to try harder than just barking demands. But you hero Types don't have the.." he shivered, his cock throbbing into the jacket. "mmm..drive to get the job done."

Suneater watched silently at his instructor, shifting toward the villain that stared back at him. it just had to be more difficult. hiding the hostage inside him? how were they supposed to retrieve her without hurting the villain.

Fatgum sighed, turning to the other officers. "Do we have the green light?"

"It just came in now." one of them said.

"Good, do you mind giving us the room for a moment?" The officers nodded, exiting into the hallway. Fatgum moved toward the side of the room where a tray rested, pulled the lid to a sizzling steak underneath..

He wheeled it closer between the three of them, and the villain bellowed. "What is this? A dinner party? That's how you're gonna bribe me?"

The hero cocked a smile. "Oh this dish isn't meant for you" he stuck the fork into the meat, hovering it to Suneater. "It's for my pal here."

Suneater blinked. "M..Me?"

"It's time we discuss your role in this bud, you're going to help with this interrogation. This steak is specially modified for this situation, gened by Mt. Lady herself." he handed the plate to him, his face still filled with confusion.

He shook his head. "Not like I have a choice." he took the fork from Fatgum, lifting the steak to his mouth as grease spilled onto the plate below.

He bit at the fat along its edge, salty fluid filling his mouth as a spark ran through his body, stretching to his limbs like lightning. He looked toward his instructor, who nodded in approval. He didn't know how feeding him would save the hostage, but he was too far in to stop now. He took another bite, and his limbs bega to bulge, stretching along the corner of the room.

His head bumped against the ceiling of the cell, his arms forced to bend. "Sir? I don't know what's happening."

"You're doing great, suneater." Fatgum said, unlocking the villain’s as he wheeled him between himself and Suneater. "You're going to get the information out of this villain"

Minimizer looked to the towering hero, watching him shrivel beneath his mask. "Him? Aha! You're going to send a brat to deal with me? What's that pipsqueak going to do? eat me?"

"That's exactly what he's going to do."

"What?!" Suneater and the villain shouted.

"You forced a civilian to endure your body. If you don't want to cough them up, then perhaps a taste of your own medicine will motivate you." he turned toward the giant hero. "Suneater."

The hero was hesitant, extending an arm toward the strapped villain. He hoisted to the air, his reflection shining through his mask. Was he really about to do this? Eat a villain and have him wriggle inside his body. He watched the villain flail in his hold, thrashing like a worm on a hook.

"You even think about eating me brat and I'll give you indigestion!" Maximizer said.

"Don't listen to him bud. Think of the civilian, and the danger she's in."

Suneater paused, looking at the villain as his fiery gaze stared back. Fatgum was right, a civilian was counting on them for rescue. He couldn't let them down, he couldn't let Fatgum down. He took off his mask, hovering Minimizer overhead. He licked at his back, and shriveled as his cologne eradicated his taste buds. He could have at least had a decent taste, he thought, scraping his tongue from his head to the tip of his boots.

the villain swung his weight around, knocking his head against his tongue. "Hey! I'm not seafood you damn brat!". Suneater glared at him as he thrashed, their body jerking from one finger to another.

“And you’re no sweet tart, but the sooner you calm down the better-” the fold of the jacket rppined off, sending Minimizer face first into the bed sized flesh of Suneater’s tongue. Suneater gagged at the sudden intrusion, mustache hair glossing along his tongue like a paint brush.

A different taste soon welcomed his taste buds, sour taste as the villain rolled around before sweetening. He didn't know if it was his mind losing it, or if it was the steak that he ate. He wanted to pull the villain out, tugging at the end of his jacket. but his tongue moved in the opposite direction, the asylum jacket slipping from his fingers and behind his now closed lips.

The wriggling of the villain was alien to him, saliva filling the chamber as the villain’s body floated from his tongue. The villain's complaints met his ears, sloshed from one corner of his cheek to the other before the tongue wrestled him to the middle. It was as if his mouth had a mind of its own, manhandling him before it threw him to the ceiling of his mouth and tossed his eager gullet..

Before he knew it, his throat muscles flexed upon the stationary villain, a faint bulge sliding down his neck, as their scowled softened into his collar bone. He snapped out of his trance, looking down to Fatgum who’s starry gaze looked to the center of shirt. a kick struck at his abdomen, suneater lifting his shirt to little imprints dancing at his slender stomach.

"What kind of hero eats someone?!" the villain cried out, punching weakly at the abdominal wall. "Security! Security!"

"Security won't be able to help you in there" Fatgum approached. "Not until you comply and release the civilian."

The villain shouted in a rage, twisted against Suneater's stomach. Softened features of his body pushed at the surface of his stomach, stretching like a goo monster as his skin pulled them beneath the skin.

"Sir, all this struggling is giving me an upset stomach" he wheezed, his gut tightening as fluid raced to his throat. "I think i'm going to hurl."

"Don't do that with me in here!" the villain squealed, pounding to the outside world. "Get me out of here!"

"You know the deal, Minimizer.." Fatgum said smugly, crossing his arms..

grunts and groans overcame the stomach, indents appearing from wall to wall as palms printed from its surface. After a moment of struggling, the villain gave his answers. "Fine, just..get me out of here!"

Fatgumgum nodded, giving the signal to suneater who still clutched at his stomach. he took a step back as he adjusted to his knees, heaving at his stomach as salty fluid blowing climbed into his mouth. A wriggling bulge traveled up his neck, his cheeks filling as muffled grunts returned. He spat the contents to the floor, the villain riding its tide to the far wall.

He flicked chunks of meat from his mustache. "You loathesome..insignificant-!"

"Enough games, Minimizer. Cough up the civilian, or we can put you back in."

He gritted teeth at the demand, but smiled as he stood up. "No you think I’m goingto just give up my prize, fatso, I don’t think so." he watched as the heroes gritted their teeth, his smile growing wider.

"Why I otta-" fatgum raist the sleeves of his suit, the villain hopping before he flexed his waist, and a whimper escaped.

“Ah ah ah, anymore movement and I’ll shrink this woman to molecule size. Just think of how long it will take for you saps to search for her through my seed. That wouldn’t be good now would it?” he said, watching Fatgum lower his fist. “ Typical heroes, always one step too slow to save the day. Now why don’t you tell your officers to ready a car for me, and don’t even think about playing hero-” a crimson glow came from beneath the leather, smoke simmering to the air.

"Sir?" suneater asked.

"I see it, and I think it's gonna blow."

it grew brighter, the fabric deteriorating into embers as flames arose, erupting in an inferno. Suneater raised his palm toward Fatgum, transforming it into a clam as he shielded him from its blast. He could hear the villain scowl among the fiery torrent, his eyes bulging as it spewed out from his waist. But it flickers as creamy fluid spilled onto the floor like lava,a thicker wad splashing to the ground before him.

It grew limbs, rising from the wad like a spawn as a woman stood up. "Can't believe I have to go through the likes of that. So filthy, I can hardly breath in there." she flicked her hair to the said, squeezing the ends as her palms heated them. She looked to the ceiling to the heroes looking back, cocking her brow. "Oh good, I was wondering when you were going to show up."

"You lousy tramp!" Minimizer yelled weakly, a burnt hole in his jacket exposing his thighs, and the now charcoaled cock as it flexed weakly. "You burnt me!"

"You're lucky that’s all I did for you what you put me through." she scorned, looking back to Fatgum. "Listen, I’m tired, damp, and would really like to enjoy a shower. So let's wrap up shall we."

"Uh, yeah of course. But first, we have to get one more thing for you. Miniimizer, return this civilian back to normal."

"Like hell I would do that! Especially after you threw me into that brat's stomach."

Suneater soaked, hiding beneath his hoodie. "It wasn't exactly ideal, you gave us no choice."

"I'd destroy all of you right now, especially you, tramp!"

Sparks flickered from her palm. "Tramp? let me tell you something mister." she approached. "I've been cooped up in your balls since we got here, put up with your senseless banters of conquering half the district." she scorched the bottom of the jacket, burning his legs free as she climbed to his crotch as he pinched at his cock. "So unless you don't want your cock barbecued, you'll give me my size back."

Fatgum tugged at his jumpsuit. "How'd he manage to get her like this?"

"He got the jump on me when I was shopping," she replied. " So what'll it be, chuckles?"

"f..fine."

She scoffed through her nose, her palm leaving a print along the bulbed head. She stepped away from the villain, he snapped his fingers as returned to size, the heat from her body overtaking the two heroes.

she stretched her limbs, tugging at her tank top. "Ah, that's much better. With that out of the way, I'll leave clean to you two" she moved past the two of them, opening the door to officers peeking in.

"I don't think so.." Minimizer said, his other arm slipping from the sleeve. "You think you can just walk away after this? You're dead wrong!" He lunged for the civilian, his speed catching the officers off guard.

The civilian raised a glowing palm, before Fatgum stepped in between, his arm spread out and his body exposed. The villain impacted against him, and was swallowed up, his punches absorbed into his muscle.

"You won't get that chance this time." he replied, hugging the villain into submission. Curling into his knees, he launched the villain back to his cell, cracking the cemented wall before they fell to the ground. The officers advanced, arresting the villain once more. "Let that be a lesson to you."

looks the investigation is over, Suneater thought to himself. He watched as another officer approached with another jacket, before Fatgum approached.

"Nice job as always, little bud. I knew I could count on ya." he raised a fist to him.

Suneater sighed, placing his fist against his. "Thank you sir. but now I have one more question that needs to be solved."

"What's that?"

"Can I go home?"

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 5: Oliver's Shower

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Restraints, slavery, non-sexual nudity, mind control

Apparently satisfied with the results of their medical exam, Cecily unhooked Oliver's leash from the pole. "All right, let's get you cleaned up," she said.

Oliver's breath hitched, not keen to be hosed down by vampires. "My hygiene is impeccable."

"It actually is, compared to many humans I've processed," she agreed. "But it's standard procedure."

Thomas unlocked the door, and Oliver had a brief impulse to try and bolt for it, but with Cecily holding his leash there wasn't any point. He had already vowed to himself to save his strength, but it was hard to squash down the increasingly frantic voice in his mind that wanted freedom, wanted to return to his life as though this had all been a nightmare.

Cecily led him down the sterile hallway to another door, which opened to a tiled shower room. It was neatly kept, with squeaky clean tiles, fat bars of peppermint pink soap, and towels piled up on a shelf. She attached Oliver's handcuffs to a kind of locking contraption on the wall, and removed his leash, giving him some respite from the uncomfortable collar.

Oliver closed his eyes as she turned on the spray. It was freezing cold, causing him to yelp, but turned pleasantly warm in a few moments. He took a deep breath, trying to derive some small enjoyment from the warm shower. Who could say when he'd have another?

Taking one of the bars of soap and a cloth in hand, Cecily began to scrub him from head to toe, all business, a bit rough but nothing that uncomfortable. She rubbed soap into his hair and rinsed it out again. Oliver said nothing, trying to block this humiliation from his mind as much as possible, trying not to think about how he was being washed like a piece of fruit for a vampire's snack.

One final rinse, and the shower was turned off, and he was being dried off with a big, fluffy towel. He stood there, shivering, for a few minutes, wondering what was going to happen next. The sudden, terrifying thought occurred to him that they might simply leave him naked for captivity and auction. That was when Cecily returned with a tape measure. 

"Stand up straight and be still," she said, taking his height. "It's so we can get you properly fitting clothing, so it's in your best interest to cooperate."

"I already had properly fitting clothing. You burned it," he said, nevertheless acquiescing to her command, relieved to be getting clothes.

She measured him tip to toe, from waist to foot, the length of his arms, and around his chest and waist. Then she walked away and hit a button on the wall. 

"This is Cecily in Shower Room One with Lot Seven. Need medium size uniform and one for backup."

"Uniform. Like a prison," he said.

"Obviously. You are a captive here," she said. "But we do want you to be in good condition for the auction, so you won't be treated poorly."

"Kidnapping me, handcuffing me and stripping me down is a strange definition of not treating me poorly."

"It could be much worse."

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? If you were actually once a hunter, then you know..."

"I don't expect you to understand," she interrupted. "I didn't, either, until I was turned. The hunger for blood. The power we hold over humans. It's either feed or die."

Oliver, naked and handcuffed, mustered up as much defiance as he could. "Then I would choose to die."

She laughed. "Many say that. Few actually mean it. I doubt you'd be any different," she said. "This auction is actually frequented by the more ethical vampires. Better to purchase a processed human fairly than violently ambush humans in the streets. Good humans are expensive, so it's in a vampire's best interest to keep their thralls in decent shape. There are exceptions, of course, vampires who buy humans to abuse them, but they're the minority."

"That's what you call ethical? Buying a human slave? Doing the bare minimum to keep them alive?"

"That's right."

"Then you're right. I don't understand. And I'm glad everyone here is going to hell. I only wish it were sooner."

"The auction house has been here since before you were born and it'll be here long after you die, so I wouldn't hold your breath on that," she said.

He didn't really doubt that she was right. "So how about you? Do you have a human slave, then?"

"I have two thralls."

"What do you imagine the difference between a thrall and a slave is?"

"A thrall has been properly processed and conditioned to serve a vampire."

"And that makes it better?"

"It's better for us."

"And what does this conditioning entail?" 

"You'll see soon enough."

Oliver groaned in frustration. There wasn't a shred of empathy left in her, former vampire hunter or no. It was disturbing how much she could talk and act like an ordinary human while casually discussing processing and conditioning him to serve a vampire. It was all so simple and easy to them, and the reality that he was next was sinking in deeper. There might be no miraculous rescue or opportunistic escape. They might simply process, condition, and sell him, his life turned into a commodity.

"So your thralls, do you imagine you treat them well?"

"Of course. They're my precious pets. They get plenty of food and sunlight and entertainment. They do housework, provide me with blood, and accompany me on trips. I dress them in fine clothes and they have their own beds."

"How lovely," Oliver spat. "A cross between a servant and a dog."

Before Cecily could respond, a burly man opened the door and shut it behind him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he was carrying a pile of clothes. He bowed. "The uniform you requested, Mistress Cecily," he said.

Oliver's eyes went wide. "Are you a human? A thrall?"

The man didn't acknowledge Oliver's question at all. "Yes, he's a thrall of the auction house," Cecily explained. "Now I'm going to remove your cuffs so that we can dress you. This thrall is instructed to stop you if you get out of line."

"You'd stop a fellow human from escaping?" Oliver asked the man, who didn't even glance his way.

"Well, thrall, would you stop a fellow human from escaping?" Cecily repeated. 

"Of course, Mistress Cecily. Preventing the merchandise from leaving is one of my primary duties. Any human would be blessed to be made into a high quality thrall by the auction house."

Oliver felt sick. This man had no free will at all, any mind he had left devoted to sending other humans to meet a terrible fate. Would this be him in a scant few days? A polite and mindless servant to the auction house? He couldn't let that happen -- but then, he had no doubt that this man had resisted as well, and here he was.

"Now then, please do behave," said Cecily, unlocking his cuffs. "Remember that I only gave you one chance."

Oliver fought down the urge to run, spurred on by his terror at seeing an actual human thrall. Any chance of escape was blocked by a vampire, a mindlessly subservient man twice his size, a locked door, and whatever other security the auction house had. And Cecily had threatened to drug him if he tried. He had to keep his mind as long as he could.

Cecily handed him soft cotton shorts and undershirt, a loose white blouse and blue slacks, and a pair of surprisingly comfortable thick woolen socks. No belt or shoes. He put it all on without a fuss, happy at least to be clothed again.

"Very good!" she said, clapping her hands. "If you continue to behave this well, I won't need to leash or cuff you."

"I'll behave," he said immediately. Better to stay unrestrained for now then pick a pointless fight.

"Then let's get you to a cell," she said. "Dinner will be served soon, and I'm sure you're tired after all of this."

Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "Sure." He was exhausted, but could hardly imagine sleeping in a place like this, and he had no appetite at all. It must be past midnight by now -- but that made sense as the time when vampires would serve dinner.

"Follow me," she said, and he fell into step behind her as she left the room, the man trailing behind him. They walked to the end of the hall, turned left, and arrived at a set of metal double doors, which opened onto a wide hallway lined with what could only be described as prison cells.

His new home for now, he supposed.

Part Four >> Masterlist >> Part Six

[pigeonwhumps]

Gagged

Kidnapped masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @ghost-whump @whump-tr0pes

@rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumpinggrounds @actress4him @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds

@a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

AI-less Whumptober day 8: rope burns | gagged | "you're so much prettier this way"

Brynn wakes up a prisoner.

1k

CWs: hero whump, immortal whumper, gag, restraints, stress position, revenge whump, former parental figure whumper, drugged, ableism, imprisonment

Brynn's surroundings are a blurry white blob when she first awakens. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks again. With every blink, the world comes more into focus.

It’s still very white. White tiles on the floor, walls, white wallpapered ceiling. Metal table. Camera in the top right corner.

Oh no. She recognises this place, she thinks. She has to get out.

She twists her wrists behind her back, feeling the rough power blocking rope tight around them. It bends but not enough. She tries to stand but her limbs are so drowsy, her legs like lead weights. Her head is like cotton wool too.

What did he give her?

Still, she has to move, she can't just stay like this, especially not now she suspects who has her. If she wasn't immortal he'd kill her, but as it is…

What’s he going to do?

Brynn scoots backwards on her bottom, back and back until she hits the wall, until she can dig her fingers into the edge of a tile and drag herself up, up, willing her feet to keep her upright. Come on, legs, stay strong.

They won't for long, she knows. The drug is far too strong for that. But she's not weak and helpless anymore, and she's going to meet Sovereign on her own two feet.

The double doors swing open.

Sovereign is…

She swallows.

He's big, looming, imposing. It's his territory, and he knows it, swaggering in. There’s going to be no stumbling, no looks of well-concealed panic, not here, not now. Not now Brynn can't double-cross him, doesn't know the environment far better than him. Here, she’s nothing, and they both know it.

No. No, she's not nothing. She's Brynn.

For whatever that’s worth.

“W-w-w-where’s H-h-Horus?”

“Alive. Unharmed. That’s more than will be said for you soon.”

He wouldn't lie about that, there'd be no point, and a weight lifts off her chest. But he's still keeping him hostage.

She's not going to ask. She's not going to ask. She's not going to give him the satisfaction.

She narrows her eyes as he stands there, eyebrow cocked, waiting. Waiting.

She's going to win this stand-off.

Eventually, Sovereign heaves a sigh. “I can see you are planning to be uncooperative. We will just have to proceed as planned regardless. You always have been a disappointment.”

And despite everything that's changed, that makes her heart crack, guilt attempting to intrude. She’s always hated disappointing him, even before he started hurting her. He always got this… look.

One he doesn't have now, as he reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a mask.

She freezes, guilt replaced by flooding, icy fear.

No. No. Not that.

“Yes.”

She stares, transfixed. She promised herself she would, but that was before… before… only for Kai. If he needed that to trust her again then she would. She'd take any punishment from her team, after she betrayed them so badly but they're still letting her back.

But not here. Not for Sovereign. She can't.

She ducks.

“You little bitch.”

“N-n-n-not y-y-y-y-yours.”

“You're my prisoner. And you still have the audacity to speak? You can't even do it properly, who would let you? It's disgraceful.”

Everyone she cares about would let her. Or they have so far. But she doesn't think she can say that so she stays quiet.

“I still know your measurements. Stay still or I'll make it so much worse for you. You deserve it, after what you did. Double-crossing me for those brats.”

“Th-th-they’re g-g-g-good p-people,” she retorts, surprised at how strong her voice comes out. Too good for her, certainly. She tries again to dodge but he grabs her hair, spinning her and pulling her head back.

“They're not coming for you, Brynn. Why would they? You're not worth their time. But you still betrayed me for them. And I don't need to hear your excuses, in fact I don't want to hear anything that comes out of that dumb mouth of yours. Maybe ever again. Certainly not when you can't even speak properly.”

Stupidly, tears fill Brynn’s eyes. She remembers a time when he was nice to her.

He wipes her eyes with one finger. “You should feel lucky. I've decided not to cover your whole face this time.”

Lucky. Sure. She still squirms, even knowing it’s futile, refusing to thank Sovereign for something that’ll cut and tear and shred.

Sovereign rolls his eyes, and pushes the mask over the lower half of her face. The mouthpart forces its way inside her mouth, tearing the soft tissue of her cheeks as it invades.

The stiff cloth covers her cheeks until it reaches just below her eyes, and over the bridge of her nose. The strap pinches at the back.

“Much better. Silence is better than stuttering, remember, Brynn?”

He drops her to the floor. She goes, unable to hold herself up any longer, knees smashing against the white tiles. She isn't– she isn't staying on her knees. She isn't. She slides her legs out, head down, refusing to look at him.

Sovereign clicks his tongue. “Come on. You've observed intake. You helped. You know what position I require of my prisoners. Because that's what you are, Brynn. You don't get the same luxuries you did as my sidekick anymore.”

Brynn forces back a sob-laugh. That’ll only hurt now. ‘Luxuries’. Does he mean a bed? Food? Shower? They’re luxuries to his prisoners.

He unties her wrists and then forces them above her head, retying them. When she tries to tug them there’s no give at all. He hoists her up and kicks at her legs until they’re back under her, and her body is screaming with the strain.

She wishes it'd stop. There's nothing she can do.

“I'll see you soon, Brynn. And I promise you, no matter how much you ‘care’ about those little irritants, it won't be long before the only thing you can think about is how you wish you hadn't double-crossed me.”

He stalks out, doors swinging shut behind him, and all is silent, all is pain. All she can hear is herself, and she really, really hates that.