Happy Halloween, all! Whether you're going to a party, trick or treating, or sitting at home and reading fanfaction—have a good night and be safe.
Warning: non-graphic bestiality and rape ahead. But this is meant to be funny and fluffy, so don't let that scare you. No, seriously. I made it work.
-Trickery on All Hallows Eve-
In a public park on the outskirts of the city, two figures were making their way slowly south. One supported the other, bowing under the weight of someone nearly twice his size while the other gestured expansively.
"Seen it with my own two eyes, bro."
"Only thing you've seen is too many bottles, man." He couldn't pat his friend's back for fear that the other man would slip and crack his skull open, but his tone was pandering enough to make up for it.
"Swear on my life! And the life of my kids."
"You don't even have kids."
"Mmph. Fine. On my dog then."
"What you saw was prolly a dog, in all honesty. No way there's a werewolf loose in the streets."
"The papers don't lie! There was even a pic... A picture."
"You keep reading that tabloid crap and it'll rot yer brain, you know. They publish the same shit every year around this time to scare idiots. Last year was some kind of hair witch and this year it's werewolves. What's next, demons that will rape our skulls?"
"I wouldn't doubt it! There's some crazy shit out there. Just cuz we haven't seen it doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
The smaller man sighed, aware that arguing against drunken logic was futile. "Let's just get you home, big guy."
The larger man settled down, at least for the moment, and the two walked on in silence. Perhaps the crispness of the late night-early morning air was helping with the sobering-up process. The streetlights were few and far in between, but he knew the route well and the full moon's baleful gaze illuminated their path as well as any man-made light.
Then: "I gotta take a wizz."
"Seriously? I'm not helping you with that."
"I'll juss be a minute."
There wasn't a bathroom for another mile or so, which just left the woods. The smaller man unhooked his friend's arm from around his shoulders and watched, tapping his foot impatiently, as the larger man slouched off into the brush and out of sight. He could hear the quiet sound of urine splashing onto the earth, but above all he noticed just how eerily silent the night was. There were no crickets chirping or bats squeaking—not even the far off barking of dogs in the city. Nothing.
He swallowed thickly, the fine hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end. The clouds had crept across the moon and the soft, unearthly glow coupled with his surroundings was the perfect setting for a horror movie-esque supernatural event. He didn't believe in witches or werewolves, but standing here right now made those creatures that went bump in the night seem almost plausible. Almost.
"Oi. You comin'?"
The smaller man jumped a foot, fright turning to relief when he realized his friend had returned to him. Then, relief turned to horror when he saw the crimson splotch that had spread thickly from the man's shoulder to his ribs. That definitely hadn't been there before.
"Bro! T-there's blood on your shirt!"
"Where?" It would have been comical to watch him spin around like a dog chasing its tail had there not been blood present. As it was, the smaller man began to back away from his friend, hands up as if to keep some evil force at bay. "H-hey, where are you going?!"
He didn't know, nor did he care—he just had to get out of here. The smaller man took off running in the direction they'd been heading, towards the lights and safety of civilization.
"Last time I do something nice for somebody," he muttered as he hauled ass, his heartbeat pounding in his ear. He heard panting and footsteps behind him, and his blood ran cold, but a glance over his shoulder revealed that the sound was coming from the friend he'd left behind. His longer legs allowed him to overtake the shorter man, who soon saw the cause for his mad dash: a tall, hulking, furry werewolf was loping across the grass, its slavering jaws and glowing red eyes the very image of malevolence.
"Holy fucking Christ."
"RUN!" The larger man bellowed, nearly tripping over himself in his haste.
And run they did, sometimes on two feet and sometimes on a single hand and two feet as they slipped on the fallen leaves that had accumulated on the ground. Eventually, the larger man ran so far and so quickly he disappeared out of sight over a rise, leaving the smaller man to shout after him. The smaller man vaulted over a fallen tree, landing more heavily than anticipated and tumbling down the incline, where a boulder brought him to a painful stop. Winded and bruised, his head spinning, the man groaned and slumped.
And in the next moment, the beast was upon him. The man flinched, expecting to feel the agony of teeth rending flesh, but it never came. Instead, long fingers grasped his shoulders, surprisingly gentle despite the claws that tipped them, and lifted the man into a standing position.
It was then that he noticed the big, red erection dangling between the beast's legs. All the blood drained from his face and he tried to scramble away, but he was caught between a rock and a literal hard... place. The beast sneered, lips curling over horrifying teeth.
"HELP!"
The beast lifted him easily, as though he didn't weigh a solid hundred and eighty pounds, and the man grunted as he was placed face-down atop the boulder. The air was driven from his lungs as one hand pushed him down against the boulder, while the other tore at the seat of his pants. The cool autumn air kissed the man's backside and he began struggling in earnest—doubly so when a long, rough tongue snaked out and coated his pucker with saliva.
The man held his breath, hoping against hope that the beast would back off, but then he felt something hot, hard, and throbbing against his buttocks. With a firm push, the head of the werewolf's manhood went somewhere it shouldn't have.
"HEEEELP!"
The scream faded, but the pain didn't. The man whimpered, trembling like a leaf as he tried not to move. He almost would have rather been eaten than defiled and when the beast leaned over, blanketing its furry body over his, he wanted to cry.
"Now that's something you don't see every day."
Two very tall, statuesque women had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. They seemed incredibly blasé despite the presence of the monster and, more importantly, what it was currently doing. The man opened his mouth to shout again, only to release a strangled groan when the beast thrusted its hips forward and another inch slipped inside.
"Do you think he's enjoying it?"
"I don't know, it looks like it hurts."
"Not if you do it right. Want me to show you?"
"Bugger off."
The woman on the right was buxom with long dark hair. She laughed and the sound was like velvet. "You're no fun, love."
The woman on the left was dressed in crimson and her hair was an unusual silver colour that glinted in the moonlight. "Yet, somehow, I can't get rid of you..."
"You love it."
The werewolf seemed to have run out of patience for the slow, careful pace and the man's screams could be heard all the way in town as the beast began to move its hips in earnest.
"Should we let the poor thing finish before we send it back to Hell?"
"Would. You. HELP. Me?!" the man yelled, desperation making his voice crack.
"So demanding," the dark-haired woman tutted. She raised her hands and, suddenly, she was twirling a set of bright red pistols. "Reminds me of you when you're in the mood."
If her companion said something in response, it was drowned out by the thunderous sound of a single gunshot. He felt the body above him tense. Something warm and wet dripped onto his back and he gagged as a metallic scent enveloped him. Then, the werewolf's dead weight crushed him beneath its inert form.
"He sure does make a lot of noise," the silver-haired woman remarked, wrinkling her nose at the panicked din the aforementioned man was making. She reached out and, with alarming ease, hefted the huge beast off of the man. "There. Happy?"
"Add it to the pile and let's go, Jeanne. The night is still young."
"Mhm."
The duo turned their back on the man, who had curled into a fetal position, his arse possibly ruined, and disappeared into the night without a backward glance.
"Every year you make a mess. Every year. Last year it was giant spiders, this year it's werewolves." Jeanne made a distasteful face as she recalled the way their carapaces had exploded into sticky viscera. "What's next?"
"I've got to amuse myself somehow."
"And I always end up helping you clean up your mess." Jeanne shook her head, perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawn together and full lips turned down at the corners. She couldn't stop the way her eyes, the same stormy gray as her companion's, shone affectionately. "You're a pain in my ass."
"And I appreciate you for it, babe. Want me to kiss it better?"
Jeanne rolled her eyes, only to raise an eyebrow when a rift opened and out loped another werewolf—this one larger than the others. She opened her mouth to warn the other woman, but Bayonetta had already lifted her gun and pointed it over her shoulder— then fired without looking. There was a heavy thud as the creature dropped to the ground, shot through the skull. It rolled a little ways down the hill, settling into a pile of similar corpses at the base.
"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to interrupt?" Bayonetta said calmly, returning the pistol to the dimension between worlds where she kept all her "toys."
"And didn't yours teach you not to meddle?"
"You know damn well she didn't."
Fair enough. Jeanne clicked her tongue. "What's the score?"
"567 to 570."
"Like hell it is." Jeanne drained her wine glass and rose fluidly from her seated position.
Bayonetta watched as the other woman mowed a bloody path through an oncoming wave of furry hellions. One managed to get past her, rushing the table at which the Witches had been sitting, and the dark-haired woman didn't miss a beat, summoning a whip with a flick of her wrist and winding it around the beast's neck. There was a sickening 'crack!' and that body, too, joined the pile.
"What's the score?" Bayonetta asked mildly, refilling the glass Jeanne had set down.
Jeanne nodded her thanks and took a sip before saying, "593 to 571."
They were on their last bottle and the sun had begun to peek over the horizon. They needed to clean up this mess, lest the tabloids have a field day with the supernatural anomaly currently afflicting their city. They probably already were: sitting on their little laptop computers, their beady little eyes shining in the florescent light as they downed coffee and worked themselves into a frenzy—but who would believe them?
"First to 600 wins?" Bayonetta asked.
She was stripped bare as Madama Butterfly appeared as giant fists that took hold of the night sky and tore it open. Both Witches glanced skyward as that rift allowed scores of monstrous lycanthropes to come clawing their way out of another dimension.
"You're on," Jeanne returned.
The duo separated, their bodies blurring with the speed at which they were moving, and the sound of gunfire rang out across the hill—punctuated by the occasional yelp and snarl.
"Better make that 800!" Bayonetta called, the pistols strapped to her heels firing off as her legs windmilled. "And do try to keep up, love~"
Jeanne scoffed, her own guns also blazing as she flipped, kicked, and blasted her way through scores of enemies. The acrid, metallic scent of blood coated her senses and a haze of red filled the air. Things had been so quiet and peaceful of late, Jeanne hadn't realized how much she actually missed the chaos and violence until just now. Her focus shifted, caught up in the nostalgia of the moment, and one particularly large, white-furred brute broke through the ranks of its allies and managed to smash into her like a ton of bricks.
The Umbra Witch went reeling, the momentary twinge of pain overshadowed by her annoyance at herself. To top it all off, Bayonetta caught Jeanne up in a princess hold before she could hit the ground. Annoyance turned to embarrassment, and that unfamiliar territory made Jeanne bristle.
Bayonetta's usual cheekiness gave way to concern as she looked her lover over. "Are you alright?"
Ba-dump. Her heart always did that—no matter how many centuries they knew each other or how aggravating the younger Witch tended to be. And probably always would. Jeanne would never admit it, though. "Let me down, you lummox."
Bayonetta did so, wisely without comment, and Jeanne took off running. She leaped, shedding her human form in mid-air, and landed on the broad back of the werewolf that had assaulted her. She snarled, digging her claws in as the beast howled and begun to buck like a bronco. It couldn't shake her off, try as it might, and Jeanne sank her fangs into its thick neck. With firm pressure, she tore through flesh and muscle, severing the jugular and sending blood splattering onto the earth. She landed neatly, returned to human form, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she straightened, her eyes still wild.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side," Bayonetta quipped.
"Tch." She blinked and the feral light faded. "When aren't you?"
The dark-haired Witch winked and blew a kiss as she sauntered away, a katana braced across her shoulders. "Let's get this over with. I'm ready to go home."
A few minutes later, their body counts had climbed into the thousands. They waited for further spawn points to manifest, but the early morning remained still and quiet. Just in time, too: the city was awakening in the distance as the sun rose higher.
"Now that that's sorted..." Bayonetta reached out and gave Jeanne's ass a squeeze. "Let's fuck."
"How romantic," Jeanne dead-panned, still feeling vulnerable as she pushed Bayonetta away from her.
"You know seeing you get vicious like that gets me hot and bothered." Undeterred, Bayonetta grinned, catching Jeanne by the wrist and spinning her around before lowering her into a dip. "Pretty please?"
Jeanne made a soft sound as full lips travelled the curve of her jaw. She was powerless to stop her lover from doing what she always did: whatever she damn well pleased. Her "asking" was just a formality.
Jeanne sent Madama Styx skyward and, smirking, Bayonetta did the same with her own contracted demon, Madama Butterfly. Their clothes stripped away, flowing into the air and joining together in a hellish vortex that blanketed the area in darkness. The corpse pile stirred, and a few of the bodies on top began to lift away. More quickly began to follow suit—and then, a corpse landslide began.
The duo waited until there wasn't even a tuft of thick fur left on the ground. Then:
"Shall we?" Jeanne offered.
Bayonetta hooked an arm through hers. "I thought you'd never ask."
...
The canopy bed in the centre of the room had been Jeanne's idea; Bayonetta didn't care either way what they slept on. It took up entirely too much space, but it was the one piece of furniture that always travelled with them when they moved from place to place to avoid the unnecessary questions that arose as a result of being immortal and possessing preternatural abilities. As heavy and solidly built as it was, it had withstood both fighting and fucking—two activities that the Witches (particularly Bayonetta) took part in as frequently as possible.
"Told you it wouldn't hurt," Bayonetta chuckled, returning to the bedside after having washed her hands.
Bottles of lube and an assortment of toys were strewn around the bed and, amidst them, the curvaceous form of her lover.
Jeanne merely grunted. She was flat on her stomach, the pale skin of her backside tanned red. The handprint-shaped welts throbbed every time she shifted—a pleasant sort of pain that made her inner muscles twitch in remembrance of their latest romp.
Bayonetta made a pleased sound that was akin to a purr as she climbed back into bed and ghosted her fingertips along Jeanne's spine. She came to a stop at the small of Jeanne's back, then began drawing nonsensical patterns that made the woman shiver. "Round four?"
"I counted six" Jeanne corrected, without thinking.
The Cheshire grin that curved Bayonetta's lips was very much at home on her face and the older Witch rolled her eyes. The only thing Bayonetta liked having stroked more than her pussy was her already sizeable ego.
Rather than let her gloat, Jeanne rolled over and pinned Bayonetta to the bed. She kissed that smug look right off of the other woman's beautiful face, and relished in the faint red flush that coloured Bayonetta's cheeks as a result of her growing excitement. Shapely thighs spread eagerly as Jeanne cupped her sex, fingers seeking her entrance. Bayonetta moaned throatily, the slickness of her sex allowing long digits to penetrate deeply, and Jeanne claimed her lips again.
I love you, Jeanne thought, her stubborn pride refusing to let her voice it. Every fight, both physical and verbal, fed that stubbornness, but they didn't know how else to communicate—it had been like that for centuries. If she couldn't say it, she would damn well show Bayonetta.
The dark-haired beauty looped her arms around Jeanne's neck, pulling her in so that their sizeable busts were pressed together. She could feel Bayonetta's heartbeat, their hearts beating as one, and that closeness made Jeanne feel incredibly vulnerable. To counterbalance it, she increased her pace, fucking Bayonetta roughly.
Not that the younger woman minded, if her moans were anything to go by. Bayonetta had never been shy when it came to voicing her approval. Her cries reached a sensual crescendo as orgasm swept over her and Jeanne slowed her pace, satisfied that she hadn't revealed her weakness.
"Feel like I need a smoke," Bayonetta drawled, limbs akimbo.
Wordlessly, Jeanne retrieved a cigarette from the nightstand, lit it, and handed it to her. Bayonetta accepted the cigarette with a smile and took a long drag. It wasn't something either of them did often, but Jeanne knew Bayonetta liked to indulge when she was feeling particularly content.
"I'll admit... Today was amusing."
"My word, are you actually becoming fun?" Bayonetta said, mock astonishment in her parted lips and raised eyebrows.
"Mm. Maybe you're rubbing off on me."
Bayonetta finished her cigarette and flicked the butt aside. She disregarded the annoyed look Jeanne shot her and pulled the woman into her lap. "Speaking of rubbing off on you..."
Jeanne snuggled into her lover. "You're insatiable."
"You love me."
"..." Jeanne frowned.
"..." Bayonetta smiled innocently, refusing to look at Jeanne though she knew exactly what she'd done.
"Yeah," Jeanne said at last, burying her face in Bayonetta's throat.
She half expected Bayonetta to make a fuss and was pleasantly surprised when she simply kissed the top of her head. It was silent again for a time, their shared warmth lulling Jeanne into a state of sleepiness.
"So... I was thinking vampires next Halloween."
Jeanne groaned, stirring. "You never learn." But no matter how she protested, Jeanne would go along with whatever ridiculous thing Bayonetta came up with—this year, next year, and every year for the rest of their lives together.
-End-
