#liebling is a blackberry fae because shes sweet but hard to get | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghouljams · 7 months

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Reverse Fae!AU feat. Seer!König and Fae!Liebling

Alright, these dumbasses won the poll so here's their start. The return of Liebling's nastier habit and also me jacking up her impulse drive because it's fun. Fae!König would be terribly jealous of his human counterpart, what do you mean fae!Liebling is utterly obsessed? She's insane, I love her. (She's not trapped with him, he's trapped with her)

There's a man inspecting your branches. He's tall, leaning far down to touch your leaves. His eyes are darkly ringed, and in his back pocket there's a scrap of cloth, a mask. He scares and intrigues you in equal measure. He presses his thumb against one of your thorns, letting it break skin before pulling back. The red drop of it falls onto the soil as he presses the digit to his lips. You blink up at him through your thorns, the shield of it feeling more like a prison when faced with him. Your heart beats a little faster, heat flooding your veins as his fingers brush against leaves and gently pluck at the edges of your stems.

He holds a branch out of the way, fingers carefully avoiding the thorns, and reaches his other arm into the heart of your home. You hesitate before reaching up and wrapping your fingers around his. Curious, you've never had someone put themselves in such harm's way before. Not for you. Like a gun going off as soon as you touch him, he grabs you. His grip is tight, immediate and bruising. He pulls you from your home, dragging you through your lovely thorns before you can try to struggle. You yank at his grip, even as he holds you in the summer air, twisting to try and scramble back into your safety. He looks at you, he looks at you. You curl in towards yourself, trying to hide, your thorns reach for you and the man holds you up higher out of their reach. Pain shoots down your arm as your shoulder holds the brunt of your weight. You shout in pain and your thorns react.

They reach for him instead, whips that lash against his legs and dig their spikes into his firm muscle. He hisses, wincing, and wraps his arm around you to hold you against his chest. You push against him, your hands small against his broad chest, his grip unrelenting. Bigger and stronger than you. You switch tactics.

Your thorns wrap around his legs, root him to the ground as you turn to dig your claws into his shoulders, your teeth into his neck. The firm flesh gives under your teeth, blood popping bright on your tongue as you bite him. He flinches, his arms tighten around you as you hold him there. You growl, sink your teeth deeper, threaten to rip clear through his throat if he doesn't let you free. His grip loosens and you take the split second to dislodge your teeth, and scramble from his arms as he smacks a hand against his bleeding neck.

You thorns gather back around you, a protective shield against another grab from your would be captor. You press back on the branches, unnerved by the calmness in the man's eyes even as he holds his life bleeding under his hand.

"Stop looking at me," you snap, wrapping your arms around yourself, "you're not supposed to look at me."

"You're beautiful," his breath rasps, and you feel heat rush through your veins again. You squeeze yourself a little tighter, trying to quell the sudden rapid beat of your heart. This man pulled you from safety, kept you from your thorns, a spare compliment shouldn't make you feel so weak.

"I'm-" you swallow, eyes darting around the garden. He reaches a hand towards you and his fingers brushing your ankle, you pull your legs towards your chest. "I'll bite you again," you warn him. His eyes spark excitedly.

"That would be rude, this is my property you're intruding on," he grabs your ankle, and pulls you out of yourself, "my property, my garden, my thorns-"

"Blackberries," you grit, correcting him without thinking as you dig your fingers into the dirt to hold yourself against his pull.

"Blackberries," he accepts with a smile before continuing, "and my faerie, who is going to apologize for biting me." You're dragged back towards him, the clover littering the garden scrapes your skin and your fingers gouge the dirt trying to keep yourself in place.

"One bite is hardly-"

"One bite?" He laughs, clicks his tongue. A shiver drips down your spine, settles hot between your legs. "One bite," he releases your leg and you try to kick him. He catches it with his bloody hand, the crimson smearing over your skin as it soaks the collar of his tee. He drags his shirt up with his clean hand, his torso littered with half healed scratches, punctures from thorns, bites. "Liebling," he coos as your eyes dart away from him, "you leave your thorns in my bed and think I can't find them again?" His hands grab your hips and tug you up, hold you against his chest as your legs scramble to avoid falling over his lap.

He's so solid, so warm. His blood calls to you, your teeth ache to sink into him again, your lips to feel his skin. Your mouth waters as you press close. Waters the same way it has since he moved in, since you saw him in the garden and felt your heart race watching him pull his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. The shift in your weight drags your hips against his, let's you feel the firm heat of his rapidly growing hardness. You rock down against it as you lean to drag your tongue along his neck. He grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back, just as you get the first taste of blood. You press your fingers to your lips, press your tongue against them to feel the lingering tingle of seer blood.

Your hand is tugged away and replaced by his tongue sliding against yours, licking it into his mouth with a low groan. He sucks the taste of iron from your tongue, his big hands roaming your skin as his teeth scrape against the wet muscle. His tongue invades your mouth, pushes inside with an insistence that makes your eyes flutter closed, a purr starting low and rumbling in your chest.

"Du schmeckst so gut," he murmurs, grabbing your face to hold you in place, "Du schmeckst wie meine, meine Liebling."

"Yours?" You hope, fingers dancing over the warm wound on his neck.

"Mine," he growls. Everything in your chest lights up warm and golden, your thorns sharpen themselves excitedly. You're all too eager to dig your claws into this man, to make him yours in return, a reward for seeking out the sharp parts of you. You'll sharpen yourself against his rocks, and keep out anyone who'd dare try taking him from you.

"Give me your name," you whisper, feeling his lips dragging against yours, his smile.

"König," he lies, half lies. You can feel it piecing itself against your tethers, the hidden tendrils of his real name still locked up tight. You'll get it, your thorns aren't just to keep out trespassers.

They're for keeping your treasure in.

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