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bloodlust-1 · 3 months

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You’re too sweet for me ₊ ⊹ part 1

Halsin x fem Tav (dark urge) — Explicit 18+

Summary: Tav takes a dip in the river to calm those pesty dark thoughts, hoping it'd help settle these murderous urges. But things turn interesting when Halsin finds her, offering to keep her company in the water. If only he knew just how pure he was in her eyes, a shame it'd be to destroy such an image.

TW: SMUT!

Note: I like this power dynamic. Halsin’s no match for this attitude. This isn't proof-read yet so pls don't bully me :')

AO3

Lovely photo by @moonslittlestar

Tav pushed back the droplets of water with her palms, fluttering her wet eyelashes against the moonlight by the riverbank. Its light reflected white against the ripples of water Tav bathed herself in.

The cool water was almost therapeutic to her, settling those dark urges so late at night. It'd be a shame if another Alfira incident happened again...

A smile crept on her lips.

Whatta shame for the poor bard.

With a menacing giggle, she ran her fingers through her wet hair, enjoying the sound of the silence of night. It was so calm compared to the rapid evil thoughts that tainted her mental.

Tav knew she had to be a good girl.

At least for now.

A crunching of rocks and sticks startled her, and she quickly wrapped her arms around her bare chest; turning her head towards the sound.

Startled, Tav turned to see Halsin approaching quietly. His tall figure was outlined against the moonlight, and his eyes held a gentle warmth as he looked at her.

“Oh - Tav...I didn't know you bathed around this time. Is it alright if I join you?” he asked, his voice carrying over the gentle sounds of the flowing water.

A mischievous smile played on Tav’s lips, meeting his gaze. “Of course, cause that isn't weird at all,” her tone laced with sarcasm as she nudged her head at him.

Why not? If it was anyone who didn't find this weird, it'd be Halsin.

The air between them seemed thick with unspoken desire while Halsin turned away, undressing each article of clothing off his body.

Tav's eyes trailed down from the bare muscles of his back all the way down to his toned ass. A smirk crossed her lips, turning away to leave him to his privacy as he walked into the water.

What can she say - he was beautiful.

Total eye candy.

With a graceful ease, Halsin stepped into the water beside Tav, the coolness of the river enveloping him. The closeness between them felt electric, their gazes locked in a silent pull.

"It's a peaceful night to indulge ourselves." His eyes traced over the contours of Tav's face and into her collarbones, stopping at the plump of her breasts that hid in the water. His lips parted slowly, "I assume you've been here for some time now?"

Tav caught his lingering gaze and nodded with a small smile, "For only about 15 minutes before you showed up." Tav circled around Halsin, cupping water into her hands and pouring the cool water over his shoulders, "I'm happy it was you who found me."

Tav's hands draped over his back, rubbing the water into his skin, "I am a bit of a lone wolf, but your presence is always welcomed." The coolness from her breath hit against Halsin's damp skin causing him to chuckle at her perfumed words.

"Nature spoils me with someone of your bountiful looks." He leaned back slightly, allowing Tav to run her hands up his back, neck, and then hair with water.

"Have you given thought about what I've said the other day?" He spoke with confidence and Tav let out a laugh.

Oh yeah - that.

Halsin confessed his feelings for her some time ago and she never got back to his proposition. Halsin wanted more than just lingering stares. He wanted to feel her, touch her, please her.

The only problem...He was too nice for her.

These evil thoughts and bloodlust for murder made Tav hesitant to pursue something more with Halsin.

He was so pure and she was the darkness of his shadow.

"Oh Halsin." Tav gently scraped her nails down his back, leaving behind faint red streaks on his skin, "You're too sweet for me."

A chill ran up his back before Tav submerged herself under the water, and Halsin turned his head back, looking around the find her.

Just then, Tav slowly rose up from the dark water in front of him, the water rolling off her body like the softest petal of a flower. Her eyelashes battered with water droplets and it rolled off her bare nipples for Halsin's pleasure.

Tav was an absolute tease. A beautiful mess of a woman who gnawed at his deepest darkest fantasies. Halsin never experienced someone like her and he was practically begging for Tav's attention.

His eyes consumed every detail. Every scar and the faint stretch marks on her breasts. Halsin's eyes gleamed at the soft pudge of her love handles when he noticed them. Tav's body was a piece of art; nature's purest gift.

Tav tilted her head, watching Halsin’s eyes dart around her wet body and then back to her lustful eyes. “You couldn’t handle someone like me,” she teased, a mischievous glint playing in her eyes. “Trust me, I would destroy any innocence you think of me…and maybe it’s best to keep it that way.”

Halsin hummed to her words. Captivated by Tav’s boldness, he felt a wave of desire but masked it with a seductive charm. His voice was smooth as he replied, his words dripping with honeyed persuasion.

“My love,” he began, his gaze intense yet inviting. “Innocence has its allure, but the fire in your eyes tells a different story...Perhaps it is not about handling you but rather embracing the chaos you bring."

He continued, leaning closer to her, his hands resting on her hips, "Even nature's most dangerous of predators has its beauty. You have hunter eyes -" Halsin brought one of his hands to rest on her cheek, bringing her body against his in a tight-knit, "Piercing. Dangerous. But beautiful."

Her breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest and it brought a fever across her cheeks. The sweetness in Halsin's voice was enough to make Tav question her better judgment.

Tav giggled and tickled his muscular arms with the tips of her nails softly, "Mmm, you're so tempting, druid." Tav gently peeled herself away from him. She clutched onto his hands, leading him deeper into the river until the water reached her shoulders.

Tav splashed a handful of water toward Halsin, causing him to chuckle as he playfully splashed back. Laughter filled the night air in this innocent water fight.

Suddenly, Halsin dove underwater briefly, only to resurface moments later in a swift movement, scooping Tav up into his arms, her laughter ringing out.

Tav held onto his shoulders for support as his strong arms wrapped securely around her thighs, locking her in place. Their eyes met in the dim moonlight, their laughter faded into a comfortable silence.

Tav’s gaze drifted down to Halsin’s wet hair and face, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon above. Her fingers traced over his brow, dipping into the crevices of his scars.

She couldn’t help but admire his rugged charm. Had Tav not felt like such a bad influence on Halsin, he would have already been hers since the night of the tiefling party. It’s not like she didn’t already try.

But he denied her.

Oh how the tables turn.

Without hesitation, she leaned in closer, teasingly hovering the plump of her lips over his. Eyes like daggers bore into Halsin, and he shifted her down enough for Tav to hook her legs around his waist.

Tav hummed with her voice soft in a whisper, “I bet you want to kiss me so badly right now, hmm?”

Halsin chuckled deeply in his chest, clicking his tongue softly against his teeth. “You’re making me feel like a young Druid again…I’d chase you like bait on a fishing line.”

Tav wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head gently against his nape and purring into his ear, “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to bite the bait then.”

Halsin crooked his neck to meet Tav’s gaze. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled up at him playfully. Tav pressed her thumb over Halsin’s bottom lip, grazing the skin in small strokes, “Remember what you said to me at the tiefling party?”

She dragged her thumb down, pulling his lower lip seductively until it dipped back up into place. His face went hot and she could feel his muscles stiffen.

Halsin closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before nodding his head to the memory, “I do.”

Tav traced small circles into the nape of his neck, feeling the goosebumps caress her skin as she planted a single kiss on his neck, “And what did you tell me?”

Halsin shamefully answered her with defeat, “That I will not keep you all to myself.” He tilted his head away, exposing more of his neck to her.

“A shame, really.” She scuffed. Admittedly, Tav still held that against him. Rejection was something she never really experienced when it came to sex.

He was the first.

And to see him now, crumbling at the smallest touch satisfied her deeply.

“Now tell me, Druid…” Tav leaned her head up, coming face to face with Halsin, “How are we going to fix this problem?”

She nudged her hips against him, feeling the tip of his hardened length poking at her inner thighs under the water.

“Allow me to take you out of this river and I’ll show you, bratty love.”

Her lips tugged into a smirk at the word "bratty."

Tav's eyes gleamed, and her hands cupped his jaw, forcing his face closer to hers with a tug. A breathy chuckle left her lips before crashing them against Halsin's.

He hesitated at first from her force, but then slowly melted into the kiss, hugging her tighter than before. The drive in her kiss startled him, and he could feel all the emotions spilling out into a sweet kiss on his tongue.

Tav nibbled down on his lower lip, dragging her sharp canine across his delicate skin; causing him to wince softly as the small cut began to bleed.

His blood tasted bitter and warm, but the druid only encouraged her by mixing the flavor between their tongues.

Finally, Tav pulled away with a soft gasp. Her chest rose up and down with lustful eyes, “You talk a big game...I wonder just how well that tongue works..”

Halsin planted a kiss on her jawline, his voice strong and assertive, “I can show you.”

She lifted an eyebrow, “And risk someone catching us out in the open?”

He nodded with flushed cheeks. His eyes fell hazy as the blood on his lips smudged across his skin. The sting of his cut only bothered him for a moment before it all melted away into pleasure.

This painful pleasure was...intoxicating.

She's such a bad influence and he didn't even care.

Tav’s voice was low and husky as she leaned in closer to Halsin, her breath warm against his skin. Her eyes sparkle mischievously, “Very well…but - you got to earn it,” she murmured teasingly with dominance. “Show me, just with your tongue, and maybe then I’ll reconsider your…proposition."

Halsin’s hands instinctively found their way to her hips, fingers kneading gently into the plush of her skin, "A fair bargain. I would have more faith in me, however."

She pressed her index finger across his lips, hushing Halsin. Leaning into him with charm in her tone, "Tongue, not words."

Halsin nodded.

Next part here

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #halsin x dark urge #halsin fanfic #halsin smut #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin #bg3 smut

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bonefall · 10 months

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What Revelation did each leader get?

Gray Wing coming down from Heaven to bring revelations to the founders

To each founder, xe admonished the flaws that had lead them there on that day. Xe warned that if they did not change their ways, it would be the undoing of themselves as well as their Clan.

To Thunder Storm...

He had never heard the sermons of Gray Wing in life, and yet, he knew xeir teachings better than any of the cats many years his senior. He was already a leader when he should just be leaving his boyhood, and he'd gotten to this position by challenging that which he had been told, and acting in righteous fury when others held their tongues.

So for him, Gray Wing the Wise tells him that he is about to enter a new era. He will not be an underdog, but a powerful warlord, and he must must be weary of the line between justice and revenge.

"The flame that cooks creates, but beware the wildfire that burns away the wood. When you act upon your rage, you must be sure it does not act upon you."

To River's Ripple...

You have only ever acted on pleasure. For passion of your friends, for love of food, desire of things that shine. Like a petal on the river, you have let the flow of life lead you. It lead you into the claws of Clear Sky, your father and his army here to save you, and a dozen cats into their graves tonight.

Though you've tried to avoid it, you must realize now that the lazy river ripples with power in every muscle. Your people will look to you now, just as the water flows through the canal it has carved.

"The peace within you is unique, and meant to be shared with those around you. This is a strength; it is your truancy that is a weakness. Accept the responsibility of being the river that flows, or your own weight shall wash away your kingdom."

To Tall Shadow...

This is where xe began to get angry, but the black-furred leader bowed her head humbly.

Gray Wing laid into how she had used xis name to justify her own ends, putting clan-interest above forest-prosperity, making outsiders out of cats xe had commanded to enfold. She had turned cats into pawns for bargaining, and lost sight of their lives in the process.

"You have failed to break your own legacy, and will watch as someone you love is broken upon it. This is not a threat but a warning; make your heart a refuge for the lost and weary, for you will be judged on how you pick up the pieces."

(TN: "Dark Heart of the Forest comes from a translation quirk here, xey tell her to 'shade her heart' which in Clanmew means to make it a relief from the hot sun.")

To The Wind Runner...

Ambitious, opportunistic, and vindictive. She united many cats who had broken off from the River Kingdom, but only invented a brand new cage for them all. The Wind Runner was out for herself and her own family-- total self-interest.

To her, Gray Wing was furious but simple; "You came for a taste of war and now you choke on it. If you keep treating your cats as tools for power, you will find hounds behind you. It's time for you to serve them instead of having them serve you; let go of grudges, open your mind, grow."

To Clear Sky...

Lulled into a sense of smug security, he had relaxed. After all, at the end of the day... it was all their fault for trying to take what was supposed to belong to him. He was just trying to make sure his cats never go hungry; his littermate would see that.

"LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT"

"This all comes back to you, Clear Sky. You did this."

"What?! They were the ones who--"

"You killed our brother, Jagged Peak! Rejected a sign from your ancestors and twisted my words to suit yourself! Tried to kill your own mate and son!"

"I WAS JUST TRYING TO--"

A final clap of thunder shook the clearing. Perhaps Clear Sky could shout down anyone else who tried to stand up to him in the past; but not the Ancestors. Not at a graveyard of his own making.

"Never before have you truly listened to another person, nor changed your mind once you'd made it up. Do not take our mercy as foolishness, you will decide if my words are warning or prophecy. Your greed will split the sky in two, but the more you grab, the less you will hold. Greed will make all the gifts we will give you rot beneath your own pelt; Unite or Die, Clear Sky."

Before xey finish, they repeat it to all of them. "Unite or die."

After this, they explain that their next task is to properly bury all of the victims of the fight. As reward, each leader will be given nine lives to lead their people, and explore that which was revealed on this night.

Each revelation ties into what the leader will be doing next. Most are prophecies, some are just guidance. Like Gray Wing said; it is up to them if the words are warning or prophecy.

#BB!DOTC #Thunderstar's Justice

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achaotichuman · 1 month

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My Faery Lord

Forgive me for my lateness, but here is Day 1 for Feylin Week!!! I am very excited to share this!!

Prompt- Art & Music.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

“Fuck!” Feyre clamped her mouth shut as her cheek skidded across the dirt. Scraping a thin layer of skin away, fire spread over her limbs and exploded in her ankle which had twisted from the root her foot had caught onto too.

A groan escaped her throat as she tried to push herself up onto her elbows. Failing as she fell back down into the rocky ground underneath her with another pained moan. Eventually she got to a semi-sitting position, twisted around to see her ankle in a sickeningly unnatural position.

Mother damn her and Cauldron boil her.

Leaning over, trying to ignore the flames in her muscles, she cut her foot free of the root with the dagger strapped to her thigh. Checking her surroundings, she knew the manor was at least a half hour walk from here.

Two options, she figured out, biting down on her tongue. Wait until Lucien figured out she had strayed from the group of sentries he and herself had been walking with, or crawl on her hands and feet towards the manor.

The sound of Lucien’s snickering laughter combined with the image of him throwing her over his shoulder as he made way too many remarks about her human klutziness made the idea of crawling towards Rosehall and hoping Alis found her first much more appealing.

So dagger back in its sheath, hands grazed and ankle on fire, Feyre pulled herself into the general direction of the manor’s grounds.

Even though it aggravated her injuries, her stubbornness and the hope of saving her pride burned much hotter than the twisted ankle.

But after fifteen minutes of crawling, Feyre and her damning human body gave out.

She slumped onto the floor, panting. Rolling onto her back and wincing as a rock pushed against her spine, she stared up at the blue sky through the tree branches.

How stupid. She had asked Lucien to see what the sentries did when they patrolled the area, and he had let her come. After two hours of conversation, Feyre had a rude awakening that patrol was far less exciting than what she originally thought and had snuck off.

Of course, she had heard what in her head at the time sounded like a monster but was in hindsight more likely a deer or bird in the tree. Broke out into a sprint and hurt herself.

With a resigned sigh, Feyre started thinking that perhaps waiting for Lucien to find her was a better idea.

She laid there, eyes closed and breathing in and out, trying to manage the pain pulsing through her.

A note struck through the air.

Her eyes shot open.

Her body went taut.

It was followed by a symphony. A string of notes that poured out one after the other. Turning to a river of music that flowed through the forest like waves of the ocean. Shocking through her body, filling some strange empty place deep in her soul.

A strange, full body sensation that had her sitting up, barely of her own awareness. Her head turned towards the source of the sound. Somewhere deeper into the forest.

Like something else was guiding her. Feyre moved towards it, the pain of her injury somehow lessened, as something more akin to bliss called to her from the source of the sudden song.

Somehow managing to make it past the next few trees. She saw a lake. A lake so quiet and blue. Without a ripple, still as glass. The shine of the sun and sky reflected in it, a mirror image cast out.

Across the lake. There was a ledge that hung over the water below. Eyes widened to take in more of the image before her. Her jaw must have been open but she didn’t take in much of herself in that second.

His foot, covered with a black boot, swung over the edge of the cliff. Blond hair unbound with vines and flowers weaved in through the waves. Green threaded jacket tossed across from him, white shirt only covering the expanse of his chest. Tamlin held onto his fiddle, eyes closed and face blissed out as he wove a series of music that called to her very soul. Something buried deep under years of cold winters was suddenly brought up to the edge of her person. Sucking in greedily the picture of the Faery Lord.

He did not see her, too lost in his own art to notice. For which Feyre was glad, because it meant he kept playing.

It was artistry in making. She could see it before her, a river of colors like a rainbow, the river that had sung her name, it had blues and greens and yellows and pinks and purples and reds. Wild and untamed, the music flowed with no bounds

Underneath her fingertips, where they touched the damp soil, she could feel the paints, the colors, what she would use. How she would weave them across the blank canvas. It etched in her mind before her, each stroke and how she would bend them to her wants. How she would turn that blank white into all she wanted.

She would turn it into what she saw before her. The Faery Lord. With the gold in his hair and the spark of green in his eyes.

The spark of green in his eyes.

He stopped playing and Feyre went rigid as she stared at him. Splotchy red spreading over her face. Tamlin blinked as he put the fiddle down, in a second, his form flashed in and out of reality and in a second he was right in front of her. Causing Feyre to yelp and suddenly thrash back, aggravating her injury.

“You’re hurt.” Was all he said as he immediately spotted the twisted ankle.

“Yeah, I… It got caught on a root.” Feyre explained, turning her eyes down to the ground. Refusing to look him in the eye.

A soft displeased sound left his throat, and Feyre rolled her eyes.

“It’s not broken,” she muttered, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Tamlin said, reaching out a finger he gingerly touched the fiery injury and Feyre hissed lightly.

“I can heal this,” He murmured, voice so quiet Feyre swore he was saying it to himself. Though he then turned his eyes to her and asked, “Let me?”

She shrugged as she adjusted to stick her foot out before him, “Be my guest.”

He hummed as his head nodded. He sat down on the grass beside her and took her foot gently in his lap. The slight jostling of movement caused pain to spark but Feyre just managed to keep the pain to herself.

Putting both hands on the injury, a warm fuzz began to flood her body, before it turned to a deep kind of heat, bordering on slight pain, but nothing she could not handle. It spread up her leg and blocked the sharp twist of fire as Tamlin pushed her foot back into position. She hissed only at the sight as it was unexpected.

“Let that rest for a moment.” Tamlin said, moving his hands away to press into the grass and support him from behind. He did not, however, move her foot from her lap. A small smile curved on her face as she took that as permission to move her other foot into his lap. Tamlin looked over and raised an eyebrow, a grin curving on his mouth too. She just shrugged and he moved a hand to lay on her leg, rubbing slow circles into the muscles. Her eyes closed as her head tipped back.

“You were playing.” She hummed.

“I was.” Tamlin said. Feyre lazily opened an eye to see him staring out at the lake. She glanced over at it.

“What were you playing?”

‘It was beautiful.’ She wanted to say, but worried it made her look like a snoop. Despite that being exactly what she was.

Tamlin took a while to respond. Feyre was about to ask again, thinking he had not heard her, but as she looked over she caught him looking at her. Green eyes with a strange softness to them, watching her face as she tilted her head to the side.

“I wrote it.” He eventually said, “Just recently.”

She blinked, but smiled softly, “Am I the first to hear it?”

He opened his mouth, but had to bite down on his lip as a sudden smile exploded on him. He huffed a little, before saying, “Yes you are, quite fitting.”

“How so?” Feyre asked, eyebrows knitting together.

Tamlin turned his gaze back over at her, a strip of red across his pale face. He looked through his eyelashes as he said, “Well it just so happens that song is about a human.”

Now Feyre was thoroughly confused. Scrunching her nose, furrowing her brow, “A human?”

“Yes, a human girl.” He hummed.

Something immediately rivaled with the confusion at those words, something vastly more bitter, one that caused her gut to ache as she stared at him. Thoughts running rapidly through her mind at who he was talking about. What other human girls he knew.

“Who?” She asked, the word leaving her throat barely of her own accord.

“How many human girls do you think I know, Feyre?” He asked.

“I have no idea.” She remarked, voice snapping, “I just know you know me and…”

She slumped back as all traces of… jealousy. Yes, that was jealousy she felt. All traces of jealousy disappeared and she stared at Tamlin with a new emotion. One that felt all entirely different from any other she had felt before.

Something like awe, and joy and relief all at once. Like some more euphoric form of happiness.

“The song is about me?” She whispered.

He ducked his head, as he released her leg, “It is.”

Feyre let out a slight laugh and when he turned his gaze back up to her, scrutinizing her reaction, she quickly reacted. A hand going out, and grazing his shoulder. She froze in place, but still the smile did not break from her rosy mouth.

“It was beautiful, Tamlin.” And she meant it, meant it with every single brushstroke of her soul. Though the words themselves were as customary as one could get on commentary to their works, the sheer joy and… love, she realized, this was love. The sheer love in her words echoed through to Tamlin and clearly struck him as his whole face turned completely red and he immediately looked away.

Lucien found them not long after that. Bursting through the woods with sticks and leaves in his hair. Pure panic etched on his face as he shouted at Feyre for nearly sending him into a heart attack. Feyre rolled her eyes a great many times on the walk back home, so many times she became almost concerned they would get stuck in the back of her head and she’d never paint again.

But as luck would have it, they did not and she did paint again. For the next two weeks she painted from dawn to dusk on one sole image. By the end of each day her bathwater came out gray from the colors scrubbed away from her skin, but each redraw of the water and grumble from Alis was worth it as Feyre stared at her creation in the sunlight.

She saw him, and she saw the colors alive again.

“It’s beautiful, Feyre,” a breathless voice beside her murmured. Feyre looked up at Tamlin who echoed her words from that day beside the lake. Eyes wide and mouth open, in an expression of awestruck like she was sure hers had been.

She had thought over the title of the painting many times. Always coming back to what she had thought that day. The Faery Lord. In his lands and at peace in his home.

But as she took his head and tipped her head onto his shoulder. The title came to her like the pollen floating on the breeze.

My Faery Lord.

@feylinweek

#acotar #feylin #pro feylin #feylinweek2024 #tamlin #feyre archeron #acotar headcanons #acotar au

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valyrielwrites · 5 months

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As The Heavens Move - Chapter VII

Chapter 7/9 (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Zhongli (Genshin Impact) / AFAB Reader Word Count: 4387 Summary: The Archon war rages across Teyvat, leaving untold chaos and destruction in its wake - as you earn the ire of a Chi that has stolen your home and all you hold dear, you take solace in a contract that the Lord of Geo offers. Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes

Pink and amber hues stretch along the horizon while the wind gently carries you through the skies above the river, an unusual quiet settles across the landscape as if the world already knows of the impending battle to come.

You sit atop Morax in his dragon form, the fingers on one hand woven loosely through his dark amber mane whilst your other hand softly strokes circles against the smooth scales of his neck, the mountains growing ever more distant behind you as the Adepti finally approach your stolen home.

“I will leave you a short distance from the boundary line, and go on ahead,” He tells you as he begins his descent. “The Chi will not notice if you enter on foot whilst I trespass the skies above. Remain here until I signal otherwise.”

“Be careful.” You warn.

“I ask the same of all of you.” He replies.

“As always, My Lord.” Skybracer gallops elegantly through the air beside you with ease, as if the clouds themselves were solid stepping stones and not just swirling mists. He keeps pace, despite carrying Madame Ping on his back. “We shall find Cloud Retainer and bring her safely home.”

Unease settles in the pit of your stomach as Morax lands at the centre of a large ruin a short distance from the road that lined the shore, your legs shaking as you slip down from his back and feel the rubble of a collapsed wall crunch beneath your boots. It hits you then, just what you’re getting yourself into - that the safety you felt at Morax’s side was not guaranteed, that you might be returning to find that there was no longer a home to return to…

People had lived here once too, you thought. Families, friends, neighbours.

Would there ever be a time when that could be possible again?

“We shall cleanse the path as we go,” Madam Ping’s voice pulls you from your trail of thought. “Look for any signs of a struggle, things on the path that are out of the ordinary - Skybracer and I shall protect you, but you must flee if we command it.”

“Yes,” You nodded. “I understand”

Your chest tightens as Morax leaps into the air without a second glance, the fear that this might be the last time that you ever saw him gripping you so tightly that you could barely bring yourself to breathe or think beyond his ever shrinking figure in the distance.

He flies low across the water. A threatening hiss ripples from his throat that seems to shake the very earth beneath as he crosses the boundary of Qingce’s domain.

You take a few steps forward, craning your neck to see the end of his tail follow the bend in the river before he disappeared from your sight completely.

“He will be fine, Mortal.” Skybracer says. “He is the strongest of us.”

You had seen him broken before, yes, but undeterred - and he had swore to you that the Chi would be destroyed. You had given him so much of your heart, your body, your admiration… What good would a God of contracts be if he did not keep his word?

“I know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and accept that no matter what, fate will have its due.

An unnatural thick black fog obscures the air as Morax makes his way along the shoreline alone, almost as if it were clinging to the still waters in order to mask his approach - or to conceal something that dwells in the depths below.

The familiar taste of old ash lingers in the air, the scent of ancient blood and dirt that sullies the lake, it triggers the muscle memory of a thousand battles that he has won but is destined to repeat if he wants to see his dreams realised by the heavens.

Morax lets his power flow freely as he flies through the smoke, releasing a threatening growl and heavy huffs of breath in order to attract his opponent, his righteous fury sending shockwaves through the stone in challenge.

He takes a moment to think of you, to imagine your family and friends that he has never met, the common people of your home… what may befall them if he fails as he did at Guili, what may happen if he does not live to face Osial one last time.

He does this for them now, for Liyue, for you.

The rumble of thunder beckons him deeper into the Chi’s lair, passing the battered bamboo lined path where the two of you fatefully met, towards a break in the fog that reveals a small island in the middle of the lake. A long shadow snakes around it beneath the surface of the water, twitching, distorted by the waves as it begins to thrash and jolt when it finally breaches the surface.

Qingce screams as it sees Morax, its jaw unhinging itself wider as it dives towards him, the hunger as insatiable and all consuming as the unending void behind its blackened eyes. It had spent too long in the corruption, picking on the flesh of the fallen and rotting, to resist the urge to claim the prime of Adepti as its next meal.

But Morax would not flee.

The Chi’s needle-like teeth crack against the barrier that Morax summons, black blood oozing from its festering gums as it screeches and bellows again and again, slamming its head against the golden screen of light as Morax simply hovers above the water and watches.

“You have terrorised these people for far too long.” He hisses. “This ends now!”

Just as he wills it, the silt and earth below bends and breaks, a dozen stone pillars jutting up beneath the beast to scrape its slimy grey scales as it struggles against the land like a caught fish desperate to escape back into the water.

He would trap it here, make things quick - or at least he hopes to.

But Qingce lets out a blast of hydro against the rocks from its foul mouth, cracking them under the pressure of concentrated water and giving itself enough room to wriggle free and slip back into the river - diving underneath the barrier to burst forward and lunge for Morax.

A foul wind whips past as he barely manages to move away in time, his heart racing as he quickly summons another barrier at his right side and sails out of reach to try to trap it again - letting out a frustrated roar when the creature simply dodges and weaves past his defences and attacks.

There's no time for this, He frets. Cloud Retainer could be in serious danger, the people of the village could be caught in the crossfire, but if he couldn’t save his power to spare them in the clash how would he be able to kill the Chi fast enough?

He soon realises that he has no choice but to stay and wear the beast down, or put events into motion quicker than he would’ve liked - for an easy victory is nothing compared to the lives of all that he cares for.

Morax shakes his tail at Qingce as he flees, taunting, tempting him to follow as he swerves to avoid torrents of hydro shot in his direction, slowing his pace just ever so slightly to ensure that he keeps its attention before he whips his body around to catch Qingce’s neck between his own teeth and claws - ripping and biting, desperate to tear through to the flesh as he ascends.

The distant screams and the clash of battle makes your stomach turn, remembering the way that it had looked when you saw Morax fight for the first time, your imagination filling the gaps with each terrifying roar that echoed from the north.

“Look!” Skybracer lifted his antlers toward the heavens, his little nose pointing in the direction of a comet that flashed across the horizon. “That’s our signal.”

Your sense of awe briefly cuts through the fear you felt - the marvel that the man, the God, that you cared so deeply for was able to do something so beyond yourself… you wish that you’d get to see this again, see him again… that you would have the chance to learn the very limits of every wonder that he could do.

“Let's make haste.” Madam Ping says, and that is what you do.

The three of you make your way out of the ruin and head up toward the road, watching closely for any signs of Cloud Retainer’s presence along the path, taking care to watch for any monsters or areas that are corrupted.

The thick fog that covers the landscape is easily dispelled with a ring of the cleansing bell, although the darkness fades not an inch further than the sound travels, you know that home lies on the other side of it - that Morax does too.

“Adeptus Cloud Retainer?” You call out as loud as you dare, although you doubt that Qingce would hear it over the battle that rages on ahead.

“She is nearby. I sense it.” Skybracer confirms.

“Alive?” You ask.

“Yes - although her aura is faint.”

You pause. “Do you know where exactly?”

“The fog is distorting everything!” Madam Ping lifts the bell high again and whips her arm back down as if to ring it as hard and as loud as possible. “I’m struggling to pinpoint Morax and the Chi as well. It's almost as if it's intentional.”

“It wasn’t like this before,” You explain as the fog shrinks again. “There was some smoke from the other side of the river but the rest of the area was clear.”

“She must be using it to disguise herself from the Chi.” Skybracer concludes and then gallops on ahead.

You and Madam Ping jog behind, calling out for Cloud Retainer and scanning your surroundings until you come across the shallows where Morax had fallen that day. Half washed away blood still stains the shore in some areas, but all other traces of the two of you seemed to have been swept away with the current.

“This is where you found him?” Madam Ping asked.

Perhaps not all traces then, perhaps not the ones that the Adepti could still see.

“I thought he might die.” You whisper, shuddering at the memory of his charred and bloody body lying in the silt.

“But he didn’t,” She reminds you. “He won’t.”

“Thanks to you.” Skybracer bows his head and you suddenly feel yourself choke up.

You avert your gaze for the briefest of moments to collect yourself, looking toward the bamboo culms that line the path ahead until a small flash of white catches your eye against the sea of green.

“Wait.”

You alert the Adepti and step forward, carefully following the breeze that coaxes you along until you reach the edge of the cleared fog, crossing the stone bridge to see a single dirty white feather stuck to the side of a rock as the stream gurgles below.

You reach down to pick it up, fingers trembling as you touch the quill and gasp as a disembodied voice fills your mind.

“Help…”

Your head snaps up toward the nearby waterfall, to the hidden cave where you had tended to Morax, and your heart begins to race.

“She’s here!” You yell as loud as you can, leaping from the bridge to land on the rocks and clamber your way up the entrance. “Adeptus Cloud Retainer!”

Within seconds the two Adepti are already at your side, crashing through the veil of water to find the Crane lying in an awkward and unnatural position - her coat of feathers soaked through with dirt and blood.

“Wing… broken.” She wheezed with what little strength she had left.

“Don’t speak.” Madam Ping hushed and knelt down beside her.

“There’s things that we can use as bandages in the back.” You rush toward the crates, pulling out a stretch of fabric and tossing it towards the pair.

You watch as she tends to Cloud Retainer, wrapping her wing and transferring some of her power to speed the healing up, and feel a wave of relief wash over you. Morax would not lose another friend today.

“She’s strong enough to move?” You ask. If she could leave, she ought to.

Although this cave had provided Morax with a safe place to recover, you weren’t quite sure that Cloud Retainer would have the same luxury of time and space whilst the battle raged on downstream, and her condition seems much less dire than his had.

“Soon, once the bones have set.” Madam Ping said as her careful hands hovered above the Crane’s body.

“I shall remain here and accompany her to safety,” Skybracer began, “If you wish to find your people Mortal, now would be the time.”

“But the fog-”

A deep rumble in the distance interrupts you, shaking the foundations of the earth so suddenly that for a moment you believe that the ceiling might cave in as dust cascades from above.

“Go with this one’s gratitude, ____.” Cloud Retainer did not make an attempt to move as she addressed you by name now, but slowly extended her wing to confirm that the healing had worked. There was warmth and recognition in her usually cold blue eyes. “Save your people as you have already saved Rex and I.”

Madam Ping stood now, breathing deeply as if to recentre what was left of her energy, and turned to you one last time.

“The fog can be cleansed, but it is you that must forge the path ahead.”

You feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and confusion washing over your exhausted brain as you blink and try to mask the emotions on your face. You had always thought of your contributions as nothing more than trying to make the best of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but they meant something.

Your choice to leave the village that day, to stumble across Morax - to help him, to trust him, to fall for him … Your small human choices have made all the difference and brought you all to this point.

“Then we go now,” You would not waste your chance. “I shall see you again when my people are free.”

Cloud Retainer nods in approval as you bow deeply and make your way out of the cave.

Morax finds himself reeling as he crashes into the dark waters, Qingce dragging him below the frigid surface as he thrashes and resists under the weight of the Adepti’s locked jaws. All of the light and joy in this world is suddenly gouged from his soul, leaving behind a gnawing void that was empty, wrong and endless.

For a moment he forgets himself and what he was meant for, forgets his light and ambition in the face of the intoxicating nihility on offer - there would be no more loss, no more fighting if he gave himself over to it - but the distant toll of that familiar bell cleanses his mind of all doubts.

He feels his blood heat as he clamps his jaw down harder, ignoring the pained screams of the creature he is desperate to destroy, and uses all his strength to throw his opponent back against the jagged rocks that line the far shore.

Qingce let out a terrific wail as the stone shreds its sailfin and rips through scale to cut into its flesh again, a thick cloud of festering black blood pooling around it in the shallows as it wriggles away to recover.

Morax violently shudders as he rises, his celestial body itching and caked with sludge as the filthy water drips off him with every laboured breath.

He’s tired, and can feel the pollution lingering on his skin, but it isn't over yet.

In the distance he can sense the panic of the people, their frantic footsteps in the earth as they scramble in their homes, he can sense you running through the bamboo forest with fear at your back and purpose in your heart.

The water that promises oblivion could never give him the peace that he longed for.

It was nothing to the man that was everything.

“Morax!”

You stop and scream his name until your voice is raw but he does not turn his gaze to you as he hovers still against the water. You want to tell him that you found Cloud Retainer, that she is alive and safe, that you believe in him, but his focus is still fixed on Qingce.

He can’t afford to be distracted just yet, even if the news might strengthen his resolve.

You take a moment to brace yourself, to catch your breath, to trust that he knows that your hopes are with him until the end, and when the cleansing bell rings you start again - racing towards home.

The clouds burst open at the breaking of thunder as you find yourself back in your village.

You had left Madam Ping behind with Morax to focus her efforts on stopping the fog from spreading, although it now seems as if the skies themselves have joined you in wanting to wash away the last of the filth and ash.

The rain feels fresh against your skin, cooling the sweat that soaks your brow as you double over and let out an exhausted groan when a dull pain shoots through your side. You have never run so hard and fast before, pushing your body to its limits just to make it to this point - with no thought of what comes next.

Nobody notices your arrival in the panic - the usual hustle and bustle of the market increasing tenfold as some of your neighbours frantically try to load carts to chance an escape, whilst others search for their loved ones so that they might spend their final hours together.

Nothing is how you left it.

“Mother?” You call out, voice breaking toward the end as it's lost amongst the crowd. “Mother? Father?”

You frantically scan your surroundings for your family, for anyone that might know where they are, but can barely register who any of these people are through the worsening wind and rain. They look haggard - at their breaking point - as it begins to pour relentlessly and the sound of fighting grows closer and closer.

You force yourself to push forward, attempting to weave through the crowd to your home at the centre of the village but your boots lose their footing in the mud. You slip and fall into someone, stumbling to the ground with a pained yelp as your wrist bends at the wrong angle and takes the full weight of the impact.

“Are you alright? Wait -” A familiar voice speaks as you feel a pair of strong arms slide around your ribs to pull you up. Your uncle brings his muddied hands up to cup your face. “____? You’re alive? My sweet child, we thought you were dead! Your Mother is beside herself!”

“I brought help!” You immediately sobbed, the pain in your wrist and your reunion less important than making sure that everyone makes it out alive. “Where is she? Where is Father?”

“At the shrine on the mountain, making offerings to the ancestors… to you -”

Relief shot through you like lightning as the storm continued to rumble overhead. They were safe.

“Gather everyone! We must leave now - to higher ground before the village floods.” You explain. “Morax has come to free us from Qingce.”

His face pales. The Prime of Adepti’s reputation as a God of war precedes him. “Morax? You brought him here?”

You hear screams as the river bursts its banks, water rushing across the market to wash over your ankles, submerging your feet in filth and sludge.

“I don’t have time to explain - Uncle, please… help me get these people to safety.” You plead that he sees reason, that he lives long enough to see all the good in Morax that you have come to know. “I made a contract with him to save our home.”

The ground shakes as Morax and Qingce crash around the bend in the river, wrestling and clawing at each other again as they come into view. They’re so close now. Dangerously close. There’s no more time to delay.

“Everyone!”

Your voice strains as you push away from your uncle and make your way towards an abandoned cart that has caught in the mud, heart pounding as you pull yourself up with your remaining good wrist and clamber on to gain some height.

“People of Qingce village, Listen to me!”

You scream over the panicked wailing, stomping your feet against the wood to make yourself as loud as possible despite the fear that has infected the crowd as they wade through the rising waters.

“____ has returned!” You feel the cart shake as your uncle joins you with his bellowing male voice. “Stop panicking and listen!”

“Leave your belongings, head to the mountain shrine,” You roar over the sound of the torrential rain. “Any able-bodied man must carry the sick and injured - if you want to live, go now!”

Qingce releases an ear-splitting shriek as a blast of hydro intended for his opponent comes careening toward the town, cleaving through the rockface of a nearby cliff - uncaring as the stone comes tumbling down to crush the people below.

A wave of screaming goes up to the heavens - but the rocks never come down.

A screen of golden light suddenly illuminates the sky above, flashing with every impact as the rockface collides with, and then bounces off, the barrier that Morax managed to summon to protect the village.

Your heart almost gives out in relief - but not for long. You were all lucky that he had been able to react in time, and there was no guarantee that it would happen again.

Your presence here was a distraction from the fight and now Qingce knows it.

“Rex Lapis protects us so that we can make our escape!” You call out again with a newfound resolve. “Everyone must leave now, while we still can!”

You cradle your wrist as you jump back down into the water, wincing in pain as you and your uncle go to gather the people and shepherd them toward the mountain path. This time there’s no hesitation as the villagers rapidly move into action, picking up stragglers as you all march ahead with little more than the clothes on your backs - helping each other, working together to make sure that elders and children alike aren’t left behind.

The further up the mountain you climb, the more intense the fighting below becomes. Eventually, you steal a glance over your shoulder to see Morax has pulled back, dodging Qingce’s blows rather than attacking - as if to try and avoid causing further damage to your home, or to buy you more time to get as far away as possible before he loses his edge in battle.

But you can’t bring yourself to leave him, to not see the outcome, especially after that first time you had seen him fight and fall so broken against the shore.

So you step to the side of the path, allowing your friends and neighbours to pass you as you turn your whole body to face the rain. This is not like last time, you tell yourself, But if it is… I’ll be there to find you again.

You watch him dance through the air to avoid each strike, to lure the beast onto land, but with every passing moment the waters rise to wash more of the earth - more of Morax’s advantages - away. He had expected this though, prepared for it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope that he wouldn’t have to take such a risk.

But your words on Mount Aocang echo in his mind, and he knows what must be done.

If it won’t be pushed from the water, he thinks, I shall have to drag it out kicking and screaming.

So that’s exactly what he does.

He knows that you watch him from the side of the mountain, he knows that you see him as he rears his proud head back and surges forward, claws outstretched to grab his opponent one final time, wrestling with and snapping his jaws shut around its neck as he leaps up into the air.

Qingce’s screeching intensifies as Morax climbs back up towards the skies, soaring higher and higher until he passes through the torrential rain and cooling mists, stopping only when they reach the space above the cloudbank.

He struggles against the Chi for a moment, biting down harder as if to stifle its violent convulsing, but then he feels it… a small spark in the distance that fills his entire being with fire when he closes his tired eyes and allows it to flow - a single dream that you had entrusted to him, now echoed across Liyue in all of the hearts of people below.

“You’ll build a more peaceful and prosperous Liyue as an Archon,” You had told him once, and he was determined for you to see it.

Qingce stills suddenly then, its strength finally failing as Morax uses that borrowed power to pour elemental energy into its broken body, submitting only when its scales begin to calcify and its insides turn to stone - frozen in every aspect.

Morax’s jaw opens at the same time as his eager eyes, releasing the defeated Qingce as he looks toward Celestia and makes his triumphant vow.

“To build our safe harbour, I will be the law of everything in this land,” his commanding voice echoes out in every direction, travelling through the earth and skies as easily as he breathes, “And as the heavens move, everything in this world shall bow before me.”

Half a heartbeat later he descends beneath the clouds, pursuing the petrified creature as it plummets to the earth, the air cracking in his ears as he whips his tail down and strikes the stone with all the strength he has left.

Radiant heat bursts forth from the impact, releasing a gilded light that evaporates the rain and fills the sky with brilliant gold as Qingce’s form shatters into a thousand scattered pieces on the wind.

#zhongli #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #morax #rex lapis #genshin #genshin impact #原神 #dragon zhongli #part dragon zhongli #afab reader #reader insert #my writing #as the heavens move #athm #ao3 #ao3fic

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fantasyinallforms · 11 months

Note

Hello fellow bagginshield enjoyer and fantastic author of fanfiction! I offer you part of my nonexistent soul (Bagginshield took it all years ago) for "Roadtrip" for the summer writing prompts, if you feel so inclined. If not totally fine with me!! Much love, -E 🍻

I DO FEEL VERY INCLINED! Thank you for the prompt. 🥰 I took some liberties with the road trip prompt, but I'm very happy with the results, and I hope you are too! It ended up being just shy of 2k.

This was for the FOTFics Summer Prompts event!

~~~~~~~~

Title- Wrong Path, Right Choice {T}

Bilbo sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. This was not at all how he wanted this trip to go. His GPS told him this was a shortcut through the wooded area. After driving for over an hour and not seeing any sign of…well, anything, he knew he was in trouble. He was only on this road trip because four months of intense writer's block had put a dead stop to his next novel. His editor recommended he take an adventurous holiday to get the juices flowing. Well recommended was a strong word. His editor and cousin Prim had a car and cabin in the mountains booked for him in under a week of his tentative agreement. He had started coming around to the idea as the trip approached. He didn't mind driving, and the scenery between Michel Delving and the Misty Mountains was beautiful. However, 30 hours in a car is still 30 hours in a car, and a lot can go wrong in that time. Like right now as he sat at the side of the road in a steaming car that would not start. Not that he wanted to try after the sound it made right before it died. The icing on top of the cake…no cell service.

Bilbo got out of the car and did a cursory inspection of the vehicle. He couldn't tell you what he was looking for, but it seemed better (and maybe safer) than sitting in the car. Eventually, he just kicked the tire and sat on the trunk with his head in his hands. He had surprisingly little time to wallow in his misery when a beat-up dark blue truck pulled up behind him. Bilbo tensed.

"Hey, are you alright?" He was not expecting to hear a low, gruff baritone voice, and it temporarily shocked him out of his suspicion.

"Yes, I'm fine. I don't know if I can say the same for the car." The man stepped fully out of the truck, and the look of him made Bilbo falter. He was very attractive. He had long silver-streaked black hair currently spilling out of a messy bun. He was big with broad shoulders and a stern disposition. Very fit but not in a bodybuilder way, more in a practical way. Bilbo looked back at the still-steaming engine to hide the shock and blush on his face.

"Have you called a tow truck for it yet?" Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just not a conversationalist. He sounded very matter-of-fact. He waited to hear Bilbo's explanation of no cell service before ducking his head back into the truck. “My name is Thorin Oakenshield, by the way.” He placed what looked like an odd walkie-talkie in his lap and walked to the front of the car to pop the hood. Bilbo was distracted by the way Thorin’s muscles seemed to ripple under the very thin shirt he was wearing. He sat there stupidly for a moment until he remembered himself.

“I’m Bilbo…..Baggins! Bilbo Baggins. Thank you for this?” He held up the little phone. “I’m not sure what it is or how to use it, however.” He felt the weight on the car shift as Thorin walked back around.

“It’s a satellite phone. You should be able to use it like any regular handheld phone.” Bilbo was getting a little agitated by the man's clipped tone.

“Well, thank you, but I don't have the number for a tow truck memorized.” Bilbo held the phone back to him with perhaps a little more attitude than usual. This was already a trying day, and his patience was thin enough already without being made to look the fool.

“Press and hold three, that should call the forestry service. Tell them you’re half a mile past road marker 14 on the River Running Crossroad.” Thorin returned to his truck as Bilbo made the call. Twenty minutes and a frankly ridiculous amount of money later, a tow truck was on its way. The ETA was two hours. Bilbo let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned back onto the car's back windshield. He heard Thorin laugh for the first time since meeting him and sat back up. His annoyance overcame his manners, and he snapped a little.

“I very much appreciate your assistance Mr. Oakenshield, but I’m not in the mood to be laughed at.” Bilbo hopped off the trunk and pushed the phone into Thorin’s chest. “You can go back to wherever it is you live and pat yourself on the back for your good samaritan work for the day.”

“Let me guess. It’ll take two hours for the truck to arrive, and it costs three times as much as you thought it might.” Thorin sounded very sure of himself.

“I…Yes,” Bilbo replied sourly.

“Well, come on then, you might as well wait in the back of the truck. Better than standing around.” Thorin started walking back towards his truck.

“Wait! You’re not leaving?” Despite his outburst, there was a pinch of relief in his voice. He was surrounded by dense trees on both sides of him, and if he was being honest, he had absolutely no idea where he was.

“It’ll be dark in less than an hour. Would you rather I left?” His voice conveyed he knew exactly what his response would be, and he scrambled over to the truck bed. He looked at it wearily. He had just met this mysterious mountain man and was apprehensive about climbing into a truck with him, regardless of how unbelievably attractive he was.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve noticed there are not a lot of people on this road. Why were you on it?” Thorin had the gall to look amused.

“What were you doing on a forestry road? When Bilbo didn't answer, he replied to his first question, “Look up and northeast of here to your left. That’s a fire watch tower. My tower. You’re not the first to turn off on this road and break down. Most people stick to the Greenway, but an unlucky few split off.”

“Wait, so you live up there?” Bilbo had to admit a place in the middle of nowhere with peace and quiet for weeks sounded like a dream. It intrigued him enough that he made to climb into the truck only to realize that no matter how you sliced it, he was far too short to climb into the back with any level of grace. He looked nervously at Thorin, who lost none of his previous amusement. In one effortless swoop, he picked up Bilbo by the hips and sat him on the tailgate before climbing in after him.

“I live there half the year. I’m a fire lookout.”

“Doesn't that get lonely?”

“Not on days like this when I have people to rescue from their own bad decisions.” Thorin winked and reached into what Bilbo thought was a toolbox. “Soda?” Bilbo took the offered can and broke into a laugh.

“Arnt you supposed to offer me a beer in a time like this?” He popped the tab and was grateful for anything to drink. He was incredibly thirsty, and this was caramel-colored gold.

“Can't drink on the job,” Thorin replied, opening his own can and settling against the cooler with his legs stretched in front of him. Bilbo fiddled with his can. So was helping because he was obligated to do so. He had to admit he found that a little disappointing. They just sat and drank in comfortable silence, listing to the sounds of descending night. Soon it was pitch black outside, with the only light source being the stars overhead and the sliver of moon that could be seen in the sky. Bilbo leaned back and marveled at the sky. The last time he had seen so many stars was at his childhood home. He could still remember his father pointing out the constellations and his mother telling him their stories. He could almost forget he was sitting on the side of the road. Almost, until Thorin moved to sit next to him, the hard line of his body pressed against his side.

“The stars are clearer here than at home. Like someone painted them across the night sky.”

“That sounds like it came from a book,” Thorin commented.

Bilbo chuckled, “Maybe it will one day if I have something to say about it.”

“So you’re a writer then?” Thorin asked. Bilbo shook his head yes.

“Fantasy novels. Nothing so interesting as your job, but I love it.” Bilbo kept his eyes on the sky as he said it. “You must meet a lot of people in half a year. Do you make it a habit of sitting with all the people you rescue until the tow truck comes?”

“Only the cute ones.” Thorin teased. Bilbo’s face turned scarlet, and he was grateful the darkness covered the blush on his face.

“I bet you say that to all the cute boys you rescue.”

“I do,” Thorin replied. Bilbo tensed a little involuntarily. “Which would bring my grand total to one.” When Bilbo turned his head to look at Thorin, and found his face incredibly near. “Unless that’s a ridiculous thing to say, in which case we can just go back to looking at stars.” Bilbo was not someone who took spontaneous leaps, but isn't that what this road trip was supposed to be about? He was starting to grow a sense of adventure. Hoping this wasn't a mistake, he closed the distance between them. Thorin made a surprised sound and quickly recovered until his hands were wrapped around his waist. This man was a good kisser. Bilbo had never been held more gingerly and solidly than in this moment. His hands found their way into the mane of hair on Thorin's head, pulling it out of the tie used to pull it back. He was practically in Thorin’s lap, now enjoying being lavished with deep kisses and soft touches. They made out in the back of the truck for about 10 minutes before the blinding light of the tow truck illuminated them. Bilbo groaned in disappointment. Thorin chuckled and affectionately smoothed the curls that had fallen into his face behind his head. He gave one last little peck before getting up and helping him out of the truck. Thorin went to speak to the truck driver, and Bilbo got all his necessities out of the trunk.

“Alright, here is a receipt and a number to call tomorrow. Let me know if you’re riding with me or your friend here.” He took the receipt and walked back over to Thorin.

“Thank you for all your help and for…. He fumbled for the right words, and they never came. Here’s where I’m staying and my number if you’re curious or….” Bilbo was getting frustrated with his inability to form sentences. “Thank you for passing the time with me.” He decided to leave his embarrassing fumbling to that and turned to leave. A hand caught him around the forearm, and he stopped.

“It takes two hours to get to the service station and only 45 minutes to the fire watch station. It’s getting pretty late, and you haven't even had dinner. I could take you to the service station in the morning. If that’s something you want?” Thorin’s face looked so hopeful, and Bilbo’s chest swelled. He shook his head in agreement, and Thorin beamed. The duffle bag in his hands was taken from him and thrown into the truck bed.

“Hey, Bofur!” The truck driver looked up. “He won't need a ride!” The driver just gave a thumbs-up and a chuckle. They watched the tow truck pull away into the distance, and Bilbo climbed into Thorin's pickup.

So what if he never ended up making it to that cabin Prim booked. This was a much more interesting adventure.

~~~~~~~

I might post this one on AO3, idk yet. All of my drabbles will get posted at some point.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thilbo #thorin oakenshield #bilbo x thorin #summer stories #fotfics #FIAF(me)fics

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abyssalpriest · 9 months

Text

Conversations with Leviathan #9, Apotheosis 27/9/23

A conversation about where I'm personally at at the moment.

Sat in a black room, told to turn the lamp off. Nothing but me and the ever-present black of the room that works as a scrying mirror I've been submerged into. I know Lev is in here, in the Astral I see him throwing in his encompassing aura strange colours that meld like nebulous galaxies, patches of oranges like the shades of Jupiter amongst unplaceable calmer, darker colours; I can't tell if it's some sort of light projector... No. Firmament-bound. It's him.

Words are brimming at my lips: Something about a rebirth, a naming ceremony, the other side of a gateway. From screaming out of the womb to the soft blanketed arrival into the new house - old house, for isn't a baby, borne of the parents who made it, just as aware as I am in this vision that its cells came from this house? Aware that it lived here in another form?

The atmosphere is dripping with the gentle tones of his voice, but he isn't speaking. The air itself has become his words in the way that an earthquake is a hummed melody from shifting plates. On my mind is a piece I wrote long ago, one I titled "An Application for Apotheosis".

"Sit, and think." He says, the one set of words out of the flurry of back-and-forth conversations of doubts and reassurances we just had that he says to write down.

I ask if I'm supposed to do what comes next while writing - I'm suddenly remembering (reminded) that I wanted to record what we did last night in the Astral that left me so exhausted.

20230926-OTH-DB

Running, running, wolf paws on ground but we flow like a raging river. I catch in the same glimpse beside me to my right... Someone else, in wolf form too, fur rippling over muscles and fixed expression, and the glint of the morning Sun as it fights the trees for a chance at blinding me. Who this wolf is I don't know, but I know, the Wolf has overtaken me and I see him absent of human gender and descriptions and names and instead they're dressed in pheremonal and animal unspoken names, the ancient names-before-names. The morning dew surrounds my feet in the form of pungeancy - the smell tells me direction of travel as much as eyes, it tells me it evaporates upwards - and of moistened sticks and leaves, I am surrounded by the fecund soil and bacteria and musk and roots and - the scene is so fast, but also nothing. We're gliding through Time itself. I float, etheric slithering, and when I look to my right, presumably that is Lev runniing with me as a wolf but I think the memory sinks into an abstraction because now there is no Lev and I, there is no human language, there is the thrumming topology-esque collective patterning of the Wolf, and the mycellium network that bleeds from the word "packmates"... I think when I look at him I'm thrown back into reality. Look forward: The Sun is ahead of me somehow, all is mercurial silver, unreal, all slides, scents play as if they were little fae. Look right at him: Visceral, real, the beating sound of huffed breaths and breaking twigs and beating heavy footsteps, and air that whisks past yet makes barely reaches the nerves through thick fur.

I don't feel like a wolf, and I think that's part of the point. I sank so deep into the suit of the Wolf Spirit that I was barely aware of identity. The Law of Rhythm takes over, experience becomes a hands-off ride. The words echo in my head as I write, as if I need to be the one to say it: Isn't this what godhood should be?

A significant song begins to play. Isha, O' Isha...

"Do you know what to do, then?"

I awaken from memory to the same impulse as I had before I began writing, which is spreading out black tentacles into the blackness around me, something I feel myself in. He, gentle as nearly touchless fog, slides into the vicinity of my body like hands under mine to take over, entering to offer to take control so that I can concentrate. No, I can do things well enough in the Astral. i compartmentalise, I divide myself, too much and too often. What's the point being incarnated if all I do is over there... A questioning side-eye, Astral is important to, self is self even if I don't remember... But no, I want to be able to choose which body I put what, where I do what, and at current my real only choice is the Astral.

He tells me to go to Tumblr for a second. I'm immediately brought to the Your Tags section where I'm greeted with a picture of the Sky, and then I go to the Following section to see yet another of the Sky.

"Isn't that (the blue Sky) where you store your power?" 'Store' is an interesting word. Why 'store'?

Oh, his smirk and energy burn with pages of information that he has to say on the topic, I see glints of arcane (to myself) diagrams of workings, memories, it seems, of his own libraries. He notes that he can show me those own libraries if I visit in the Astral, how I'd love to. But regardless: What do you mean 'store'?

I think I know, hence the smirk - "You do." Of course I do. Reflection, amplification, magnetics, expressions of God, language and the nature of the echoing of sound. I suppose I just wasn't expecting it to be about storage -

"You're not going to expect any of this." His voice is the colour silver itself, no metaphor, there is no sound that comes from him, there is only silver exuded. "You are going to learn new things, and you are going to remember. There will not be expectations, only those two."

I see in my mind his stomach in human form, tanned skin; he shoos me away from describing the physicality with a wave of his hand to get me back on track, and yet the metaphor escapes me. Skin, the firmament, what's the diffference? His voice overlaps and entwines mine: Tanned leather over the sphere of God's playground.

What is the difference between storage and - he stops me.

The information he tells comes in the abstraction of sliding, overlapping tongues; wide eyes in a head haloed by the Sun; the writhing of endless, sleepy human-esque bodies, many of which who are not chopped up but nonsensically joined to other things like dolls played with by bored children, a torso attached to a snake's midsection but the girth of both are inorganically mismatched, another torso whose arm extends off into a worm-like structure... Crowns of deer's antlers on one mannequin-esque visage and a body with one foot a bird's claws and the other - I can barely see any of this, the entanglement is intense, obscuring most individuality with the veil of collective natures. A thousand - possibly infinite - bodies all mismatched, all melded together like sleeping lovers post-orgy.

"In this instance, then, the human body is an idol of God. What is God doing mingling with His creations like that? The lesser animals?"

I'm not - I'm just - I am overcome with the smoothness of warm honey milk, I want to make you some, I want to give it to you, I want it to slide down your neck inside mine and I want to be the shivlinga that decorates you. Why? I know why.

Ah, the ceremony of water and ash. I remember, or more so my body remembers, a time when it saw me in the Astral while someone else was controlling it to have a shower. Who was it over here possessing me? Aisha, probably. Oh, vividly I was in or next to a forest, I was wearing the three equal lines on the forehead and hair like yours in a ceremony this body still doesn't understand. I want to say we were hunting, we were. You say: "It was for a special pelt," and I know what you mean by that is not a literal pelt but a smooth energy in the facade of one: a veil - this was the Mental, not Astral? The mindspace? Yes, you say. I want to wear it.

The words that pour into my mind from myself are not English. They weigh more than English words, and they're of a language you're been teaching me. I can't quite hear myself though -

Leviathan said:

Ka: p-g-n dahnerr gha vaiin nya artha gho herrn.

Pronunciation:

Kha (Not pronounced): Parjanya dahn-ERR gha vay-EEn nya AHR-tha gho h*ern

Notes:

Parjanya: Your name, obviously.

Rolled Rs.

Consonant followed by H is similar to sanskrit.

h*: This letter is not used in any language you know, likely not able to be pronounced by your tongues. it's a palatal consonant, "h" will do

This is like a mantra. It is cyclical. It has no beginning or end. Trancelike. It is a blessing, meaning something along the lines of "(I, Parjanya) have passed the gate, I have become the (one who has passed/become the gate)" - effectively it leads into itself, a less literal but more illuminting translation to highlight the cycle might be: "(I am) the one who has passed the gate, by right of being the one who has passed the gate, (etc)"

That's a bit of a misdirection, though, what I just gave is not a translation. The actual meaning stays between us.

#edit: realised I should probably put under read more so have a description but... idk how to describe it #leviathan //#channellings //#conversations //#ramblings //

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breath-of-eternity · 1 year

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Chapter 7

Around midday, the cliffs began to descend. Amaia had to lower the raft gently on the rocks, then choose each foothold with care as she made her way down. As she gripped a mossy rock, the world wavered and she soared into the sky, spying down on the diminutive figure clinging to the cliff, and she felt herself falling backwards, backwards. She snapped awake and pain ached through her fingers from the strength of her grip. The fall wasn’t enough to kill her—most likely—but the last thing she needed was another litany of agony.

Finally, she stepped onto a stone and water splashed up to her ankle. She bent and scooped up a handful and it was real, it tasted like dirt and metal, but she drank. The fog cleared away from her mind and she sat and shut her eyes. The steady shush of the river sounded almost like someone breathing.

She filled her water skins and tied them on the raft again, checking the knots, shaking the skins, retying when one felt loose. Now it was time to scrape of the layer of mud dried onto her body, and more than a little blood. By the time she finished, her skin was tinged pink and the sun had disappeared behind the top of the cliffs.

She picked up the raft and stepped into the river. The water only went up to just above her knees, but the force was enough to smack her into a giant rock. She pushed off and widened her stance, bracing the raft against the water flow. Something squirmed against her back and the resulting yelp drowned out by the river. It was not so deep that her head went under, but each step was a fight.

The water dropped to her thighs and then her knees, then she stumbled out dragging the raft behind her. The muscles in her legs burned, but the real pain twisted in her midsection. In the glory of finally having something to drink, she had forgotten how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

She didn’t have a net or a pole, but spears were easy enough to make, and she didn’t need to keep all of the tent poles. She took out the knife and sharpened one into a point, rough but serviceable. Crouching in the shallows, Amaia poised the spear above the rippling water until a dark shape wiggled by. She thrust it forward and… completely missed. She heard the groan of her stomach over the river. A shuddery breath escaped her, and she positioned herself to await the next.

The fish she managed to spear were half the size of her palm and the raw, slimy meat made her grimace. Now the shadows were deepening, and she hunted up and down the riverbank for a place to spend the nice. Hollow under the roots of a tree—no, not more trees. Burrow—she could squeeze through, but when she poked a tent pole in, it hit dirt almost immediately. Farther upstream was a cave just big enough to crawl through, smelling of the air after a rain.

“I’ll be cornered,” she said.

It’s your best option. You still have daylight. Grab some branches from an evergreen. It should mask your scent. The river will help, too.

Good advice, she hoped. The branches were faint with the minty bite of pine, and when she got back to the cave, she scattered them around the entrance to the cave. Her hands were sticky with sap. Needles were plastered to her skin. There was no reason for her heart to be beating this rapidly. They wouldn’t find her. She’d be safe.

She left the tent poles with the branches and crawled inside. The cave tapered quickly, and she had to shove the pouch forward while she squeezed over the rocks. When it got to the point she could no longer fit, she twisted around so she could see the opening, which she could now cover with her thumb. She wrapped herself in the tent skin, rested her head on the pouch, and sighed as sleep crept over her.

All this was a nightmare. She woke up back with her people, crying to Father about how horrible it had been, and he assured her it was over now. They reached the lake, where they could fish and forage for more supplies, and have bonfires at the shore to keep the monsters away. It was a shame they couldn’t stay longer, but their rafts couldn’t survive the storms of winter and spring, nor the droughts of summer. Once they tied the rafts together, a handful of the others rowed their supplies down the river while the rest of them took the easier route over the plains. Then she opened her eyes and she was still in the cave. Her head hurt and her stomach hurt and she was all alone.

Where is everyone?

Amaia could not bring herself to consider the answer.

She crawled out of the cave to a gray, rainy day that turned the river into choppy froth she would never be able to find fish in. She made her way over the rocks, one foot slipping off the slick surface coming down hard on the river bottom, and pain shot up her leg all the way to her lower back. The water benumbed her so she could not be sure she hadn’t cut herself until she sat down on the shore and examined her foot for injury. Dirty, callused, aching, but no blood leaked out that would draw the monsters. Relief should have flooded through her. But she was empty inside.

On days with such thick cloud covers, hungry monsters might venture from their in search of prey and only receive a faint sizzle to their tender skin. Amaia only remembered one such attack in her lifetime and that was over ten summers ago, but the others were firm, the wisest course of action was to stay in your camping ground and maintain the fires as best you could. Not that it helped Amaia right then. She had no one to help her keep watch.

Her stomach panged and she put her hand on it, as if she could brace it and keep it from hurting. She filled her water skins and put them in the pouch, then headed into the forest in search of food.

The white flowers that grew in bunches were good to eat, a sweet flavor with a bitter finish. One tree had berries Father cautioned might taste good, but you would spend the night doubled over in pain. The ground grew soft and marshy, and though it smelled foul, the plants with the pointed leaves were edible. A field had leafy plants with long, brown-orange roots. She ate one straight away to make sure it was the right kind, and pulled up a few more before she noticed how even with the glimmer of sun behind the blanket of clouds, it was dark enough that the roots in her hand were almost black.

It was too dangerous out here. As quickly as she could, she made her way towards the river, her chest tightening when she couldn’t hear it over the rain. It had to be in this direction, she was following her own muddy footsteps, damn it. A scream lodged in the back of her throat. Not much further, not much further.

In between all the mud, the ground grew stony. Her entire body was slick and cold, and she might not have realized she was ankle deep in water if she hadn’t tripped and slammed down on her knees, clutching her bag before she lost all her food. She blinked water out of her eyes and walked along the shore, climbing over rocks and around trees.

The sun was sinking behind the tops of the trees. She couldn’t remember what the cave looked like. That one was too tall and thin, that one too big, a monster could easily crawl inside. There was even a moment she wondered if it had been real.

She poked her head into the darkness, no, no, no… wait, maybe. She boosted herself over this edge before, and had to almost wriggle to get herself down. Then her hand brushed over the skin. Wrapping it around herself did nothing to drive out the cold.

For now she had food, water, relatively safe shelter. Leaving was too much to bear with no one to share the burden. Into the rock face she carved a skull with an arrow pointing back the way she came, and the next few days, with the rain coming down in sheets and her injuries scabbing over, there was even less reason to move along.

The third day dawned cold enough to see her breath. Even if it burned off before the sun cleared the trees, Amaia knew it was time to move along. It was easier to hide and say she was waiting for her people to catch up, but when a real cold came, the tent skins would do nothing.

She carved in an arrow indicating her direction. Her bag stuffed with food, she draped the skins over her shoulders and headed southeast. She headed into the forest again for an easier walk, but never far from the river, from water, from caves.

The first few nights, she was able to find places to hide in, even when it meant wedging herself into spaces she could barely exhale in. But the river began to spread out and the cliffs receded, and when she walked into the water, the bottom was soft enough for her to sink into. It wasn’t far to the lake, a day, maybe two.

“That doesn’t help me tonight,” she said. It was the first time she had spoken in days. She put a hand to her throat and spoke again to make sure her fevered mind wasn’t making the whole thing up.

She went back into the trees, tall and fragrant evergreens and those with their leaves starting to fade to yellow. When she couldn’t find a burrow big enough, she rested her hand on a branch and lifted her leg to climb up before remembering the monster shrieking as it searched for her, ramming its head into trunks in an attempt to knock her down.

Shaking her head, she backed away. There was time before sunset. She would keep searching for a burrow.

It won’t be any better hiding underground.

“I can’t sleep up a tree,” she told the Father that lived in her head.

But you did survive. It might be better—

“By chance!” she snapped. “I came a breath from it leaping up to get me, or maybe just knocking the whole tree over so I’d break my leg and it could pick me off at its leisure.”

A burrow won’t be any different.

She prodded her stick in a hole and heard a furious chatter. Too big to be a rabbit. Maybe a fox or coyote. Not something she wanted to spend the night with, at any rate.

“Maybe one will find me,” she said. “It’ll kill me and I won’t have to be afraid anymore. I won’t have to be alone.”

The next holes were too small or too shallow. She found another that she dismissed at first blush before she looked up and found the sun almost at eye level. The surrounding earth was thin soil that came down in showers when she prodded it, but when she tapped the inside with her spear, there was a faint thud indicating some space. Whatever animal it belonged to was long gone, but it had been smart enough to make its home deeper than a monster’s reach.

She cut down some fragrant branches to leave outside and hopefully mask her scent. She tossed in her bag and wedged the raft in the front, and even if she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, it actually felt safe.

“Father, I really miss you,” she said, shivering in the skins. “I’m doing what I can, but I’m just so tired. I block it out of my mind, but every night I just want to stop. Stop walking, stop running, stop everything and wait for them to find me.”

There should have been some admonishment from the voice in her head, life was precious, survival was everything, the loss of even one of them diminished the rest. There was nothing of course because even if the voice sounded like Father, it was just a part of her. If Amaia wanted to give up, then so did the voice.

“You’re not here!” she shrieked. Her arm flailed out and into the ceiling of the tight burrow, and dirt showered down on her.

She wept, going on long enough that her throat hurt and she stopped because it reminded her of being ill, and she did not want to give herself a cold even though the grandparents always insisted it did not work that way.

The grandparents weren’t here. Father wasn’t here. No Krist and Biana, who they shared a tent with since last summer. No children to mind, to tell scary stories to and then return them to their parents. No fetching fibers for rope, no fixing snares to check tomorrow, no fishing with metal hooks scavenged from Ancestors’ ruins.

“Father, I can’t be alone anymore,” she said. “I’m tired. I miss you. I can’t do this anymore. Please…”

There was nothing but dirt and darkness.

#fiction #post apocalyptic #post apocalyptic fiction #Last novel #writing #despair #writers on tumblr

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littlefreya · 4 years

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Dirty Henry

Summary: A picnic in the rural forest turns into a steamy game of profanities as Henry decides to demonstrate how he would persuade you to be his.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (2nd person POV)

Word count: 2K

Warning: 18+, smutty smut, oral sex - female receiving, lewd, descriptive profanities that will make your ears burn,praising, outdoor sex, gentle rough sex, creampie.

A/N: This was requested ages ago: messing around with Henry duri picnic. The dirty talk was inspired by a chat with Wendy. Beta’d by the one and only queen @agniavateira. The Mythology quotes of Apollo and Dapne are based on Wikipedia. *No permission is given of reposting, copying my work or ideas and parts from it and claiming it as your own*

Feedback is welcome, comment and reblog if you enjoyed.

Title: Dirty Henry

Honey-coloured leaves floated in the air, flapping tenderly like frail butterflies that danced frivolously in the wind. Lying on your back over a blanket, you watched them as you listened to the rustle of leaves and the water flowing down the small stream nearby.

Henry’s head rested on your thigh; his smooth baritone stroked your ears in the most satisfying melody you’ve ever heard as he read to from his book.

“...Offended by Apollo’s remarks, Eros has decided to take vengeance on the god. He shot him with a golden arrow, causing him to fall intensely in love with Daphne, the fair river nymph, which he then shot with a lead arrow, imbuing her with pure hatred toward Apollo.”

A small grin peeked at the corners of your lips, your hand reaching to find the dark bundle of curls on his head and began coaxing them around your slender fingers.

The forest smelled of evergreen mist, mushy lichen, and tranquil tree stumps that had new lifeforms growing on them. On the tip of your nose, you caught Henry’s distinguished scent. His earthy musk called you by your name.

Henry wiggled slightly on your thigh and cleared his throat before he continued reading.

“Apollo chased the virginal nymph through the thicket, all the while declaring his undying love. When all seemed lost, Daphne cried out and begged her father, Peneus, to save her from Apollo’s unwanted courtship.”

“When a guy is so annoying that you have to turn into a tree in order to get rid of him for good,” you teased while inhaling the alluring scent of the forest.

Henry chuckled lightly, his head bobbing on your leg. He turned on his side and looked at you, his cut cheeks rose to a playful smile. “Well, perhaps all Apollo needed was a chance to show her his true affection to persuade her.”

“Oh, is that so?” you tilted your head to gaze at Henry with amusement, noticing the spark of mischief that shone in his cobalt eyes. He placed the book down on its belly and flipped onto his haunches, planting a kiss on your exposed ankle.

“Perhaps…” he uttered, the soft pads of his fingers running up the path of your leg like tongues of silk. Your leg jolted at his touch, breaking down to the ground feebly. Henry leaned down, nudging your other leg aside, his mouth was hot and wet around your inner thigh. “...all she needed was for him to show her.”

You nibbled your lip, watching Henry’s dark curls shine between your knees in the scattered daylight. His broad back flexed, taut muscles moved in synergy as he worked through the path to your hidden garden.

“Sometimes, you just need to eat her pussy properly, and she’s yours.” he said huskily. You flushed at his profanities, your cheeks tingling as blood rushed to your head. He had a way with words; they didn’t just sound dirty; they were sin itself, and his rich British accent made even the most sacrilegious statement deeply romantic.

Henry was well aware of your embarrassment, teasing you for your false chastity. He used his mouth in many talented ways, whispering lust against your enticing flesh to make your ears burn.

You stared coyly, hugging your breasts like a shy lover, watching him explore you as if you were uncharted territory.

His tongue embarked through the vale of your body, leaving a wet trail that chilled your skin in the October breeze. You threw your head back and hissed to the canopy of leaves that hid the two of you from the sky. Every touch of his fingers against your flesh set feverish ripples through your skin. Possessive hands grasped at soft the hills of your breasts and squeezed tightly while his lips marked their way below your navel.

He enjoyed this, making you feel so powerless. His deep blue eyes pierced sharply as your head went from side to side like a scared virgin, biting your knuckle as excitement blazed between your sweaty inner thighs. His greedy fingers gripped at the meat of your hips, folding your legs up and splitting them while his head dived in-between.

The soft curls of his hair tickled the naked skin of your apex. Lush and tender kisses dotted the line that led to your core.

“Henry, please,” you begged, out of breath. His fingers stroked the shape of your womanhood, rimming the gates of your garden with the soft pads of his finger. He laid a kiss on the silk shawl of your clit and an amorous hum spilt from him, appeased at the lusciousness of your skin.

“I love your cunt, so much.” his words slurred with sultry haze, emphasising the one word that made your muscles sear with embarrassment. You threaded your fingers through your hair and tugged at it as frustration and tension grew across your nerves.

It was astonishing how vocal he was whilst roping simple words with sinful actions.

He kissed your cherry, tongue lapping around it slowly before his lips suckled longingly. A deep moan vibrated through the pit of his mouth, making you mewl with blissful little jolts of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Henry murmured as he broke from your clit and moved his lips against the sweet petals of your cunt, his hot breath caressing your succulent fruit. “I’m going to lick every inch of this marvellous pussy, and then fuck you with my tongue.”

The air vaporised in your lungs; moans didn’t even meet their end, becoming hoarse wheezes, shuddering through the threads of your sinew. Violent tremors made your legs jitter in his grip, had he not held you forcefully they would have fallen aside.

A low chuckle escaped him as he hooked one of your knees over his shoulder and moved a hand to manipulate your folds. His fingers unwrapped you, pulling your valley open to allow his tongue taste the nectar of your arousal.

Your entire body arched as if possessed, your spine levitating over the surface, desperate howls sent to the sky above. His tongue lingered through your seams, collecting every drop attentively.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll shove my cock inside you.”

Speech was another one of his powers, enchanting you entirely. You whimpered as his hips bucked against yours in a desperate demand. He would never just fuck you, no, Henry loved to take his time. Foreplay would go for hours if he felt like it, playing with your body until your throat went dry and ached and your bones melted away.

“You like it, don’t you?” he asked as he ran the snake in his mouth all the way through your swollen crease. “Me going deep inside your sweet little cunny, splitting you open, shooting my load inside you.”

He expected no answer as you couldn’t form any, but you cried out and ripped turfs of grass in your hands instead. His large tongue sank inside your cunt, invading as deep as possible between the velvet walls. He curled it skillfully, savouring on the taste with a delightful moan.

Pleasing you gave him just as much bliss. You were made to believe you were ambrosia which he feasted on.

His mouth mapped your insides, knowing every spot, lavishing it on repeat while your moans increased, turning into hopeless cries. This man has read the language of your body. He knew when you were close and he knew how to prolong his torture- to make it last, to make you scream.

And scream you did, with tears rolling down your temples, eyes squeezed shut as the stimulation became too much. He sucked on your cunt and plunged his tongue, getting you close and then far again.

The pleasure bundled at the edge of your core, knotting your muscles from your orgasm. In despair, you squirmed, frustration making you seek for any means to breach through heaven which was just a kiss away. Waving from side to side, you pleaded, but Henry’s large hand slid onto your lower torso, pressing you down to be grounded with nothing but slight force. He limited your movement as he ate you out profoundly, his tongue singing hymns in your depth.

“Henry!” you wailed, unable to withstand his torture. His chin chafed you, his tongue squirmed between your lush lips and just when you thought you were to blackout, he thrust the tip of his into the spot that made you see stars. Your dam broke, your head lifted from the ground as ecstasy spasmed through every nerve, lighting it with an electric charge.

Untethered gasps fell from your mouth, chest heaving up and down as euphoria lingered by. Henry was impatient, his wide waist was already pushed between your spread-open thighs to fulfil his promise. The metallic clanging of his belt was sharp enough to pull you back down, followed by the giant hovering over your small frame and driving into your still-convulsing cavern, sliding in veins and ridges.

And you felt it all.

A duet of moans played into the forest as your bodies collided. Henry ran deep, bottoming inside and clutching your jaw to the side, praising your neck and cheeks with earnest kisses and grunts that reverberated in your ears.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he rocked above you back and forth, his thick shaft pulsated blazing-hot amidst the fight your walls put against his invasion. They never stood a chance, he was iron in velvet expanding them with every shove.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he breathed as he slipped in and out in a steady rhythm, “I’m going to come inside you, paint you with my seed.”

His hands seized your face again, his bulging biceps caging your head while he uttered words of praise entangled with obscenities. The threats of what he planned to do with your body, of how good it felt inside you made you wail in an embarrassing pleasure.

“Yes, take it. Take my cock,” he snarled breathlessly. He was heavy above and inside your body, every slam forcing your legs to jerk helplessly in the air and your behind to ache as it mashed beneath the weight of his body. You cried in ecstasy, feeling his entire length pumping in and out. Long, rasping plunges spiralled inside with tingling little tremors that danced in your essence and continued to spread further the tighter he got you.

Feeling the tightness grow around his shaft he snapped his arms beneath your knees, spreading you wider so he could fuck you vigorously into oblivion. You screamed his name in despair, his grip making you no more than a fucktoy to which he jostled his cock into, back and forth, wet and quick.

And you loved it, you loved feeling like you’re nothing but a slit for him; your entire essence shattered, destroyed by his body, consumed by your love for him. The new position made his sac thud lewdly beneath your slit, and your clit repeatedly ground into his pubic bone.

The merciless ordeal was too much, seeing Henry above you and herding his moans was too much.

“Henry!!! Fuck! I...” You were broken in, sobs of pure bliss cracked through your throat as you came undone, bursting with love. Your head rolled back on the ground, and your body locked him in with zeal. Henry groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he felt the suction in you, pulling him deeper like a siren drowning a lost sailor. Your convulsing walls begged for the rich milk of his loins as he fought to delay his pleasure, but lost to the turbulence that overwhelmed him.

Shouting your name, he released himself, gasping hot against the corner of your mouth. You were stuffed full of his cum as he pulled out; he held your legs up and slid your panties back on.

“I want it to stay,” he explained, “I want you to carry me in your panties all day long.”

He crawled to lie by your side and reached his hand to the book. His finger went into his mouth to dampen it as he turned the page over as if nothing happened.

“Next chapter, Hades and Persephone.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #rpf #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfiction

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friendlyneighborhooddolan · 2 years

Text

Little Wing

warnings: This story has some descriptive stuff. Age gap (7 years). Sexual and graphic things, alcohol and drug use. Trigger warning for this part: alcohol

pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

summary: Going out and stealing Kylo's jacket? Yes please.

word count: 1.4K

Masterlist

Chapter two

Peaches and honey in the air. Ice-cream cones on the pavement, windows flung wide-open, an orchard of apricot trees with the wind-chime breeze through the leaves and branches shimmering with heat daze. There’s a timeless oil-painting or polaroid-worn-away-at-the-edges kind of beauty about this setting, and him, paint-spattered camera-flash on his skin, and him and him and him. She wants to live like this forever. Always trying to reach for each other but never quite touching. Light bathing the marble skin of his back, muscles rippling in the way that the river flows, softly, urgent.

Y/N took a sip of her cherry soda while reading a book and Kylo was lounging in the backyard with her because she asked him so sweetly if she could come over and use the pool.

He was reaching towards her, not touching her, but letting her know he’s here and he’s not leaving he’s here and he’s not lea–

She wants to kiss him, or love him, or something like that, something that happens in the pictures but she is so shy, and she blushes just looking at the miles of freckled skin on his back, but she knows that he likes wild tongue girls with green eyes who don’t have maple syrup in their hair. She snaps the rubber band on her wrist and squeezes her eyes shut and she’s still stuck in highschool, while he waits for her in his car.

“Kylo, I’m hot.” She stretched her hands above her head, stood up and walked down to the pool. Kylo followed.

“Are you ever thankful for all of the gifts life has given you?” A question spills from her lips so easily, it was as if she was making small talk with him. Her arms were resting on the edge of the pool, her chin resting on them. Her red swimsuit swirled underneath the water and Kylo was just dipping his legs in the water.

“Nothing in life is a gift, Angel. It’s all a loan. You pay for your life, with your own life,” he answered softly. She never thought he was this calculated – but she was glad he was contrasting her in that. His deplorable mania for analysis exhausted him. He doubted everything, including his doubt.

“I do not agree, Kylo,” she scolded him softly, “It’s such an incredible thing, to be alive. To smile and be rewarded back with one, to say “Bless you!” when someone sneezes. To laugh and laugh until your body forgets to breathe and scream because you can. To kiss and cry and eat dessert and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you’re happy enough. To smile at the server in a coffee shop, and get your coffee served hot. To let the car that got the lane wrong in front of you.”

Oh, to be alive is such an incredible and such a rare thing!

That evening, Kylo was sitting on his front porch, lighting a cigarette in his hands.

“Mrs. Y/L/N! Hello!” Kylo Ren smiled at the woman standing on the front porch of Y/N’s house.

She waved at him and smiled softly, “Would you like to have dinner with us?”

Kylo wanted to say yes, he really did – but he had some work to catch up to. He shook his head a few times, “Sorry, ma’am!”

“Too bad.”

When Kylo Ren invited Y/N to the club with a few of his friends, he didn’t think much about it. He knew she could get lonely in the summer – that much was obvious, she was without her friends who had all gone home during the break.

She’s in a car with a beautiful boy. She’s in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell her he loves her, but he loves her. And she feels like she’s done something terrible, like stabbing someone or robbing a liquor store or shoveled herself a grave in the dirt, and she’s tired. She’s in a car with a beautiful boy, and she’s trying not to tell him she loves him, and she’s trying to choke down the feeling and she’s trembling, but he reaches over and he touches her, like a prayer for which no words exist and she feels her heart take a root in her body.

In the city at night, the buildings gleam whiter than milk teeth. Buses pass them, packed full with people who today have laughed or wept or sang, danced around with the good news or carried their bad news with them into the day. They pass the river and street lights swirl in the water – like stars, and Y/N thinks about how beautiful it is to be free.

Kylo looks like someone straight out of a movie – concentrated on the road, as he effortlessly shifted gears. His hair was always messy, but in the best way, and his freckles were even more prominent in the fluorescent city lights.

There it was, the same song that played when she gave him her peach pie.

And Kylo smiled softly. When he looked at her, she was focused on the road – a strange look in her eye. His jacket too big on her – summer nights in June were always cold here.

He hummed along the melody, and her heart fluttered. She wanted to say something. She wanted to yell, to scream, to do anything, but instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt and pressed that little button that opened the sunroof – and just like that, her upper body was out of Kylo’s view.

“Y/N, get the fuck down,” he yelled out, slowing down. All he heard were her drunken giggles. She fucking giggled when he thought she would die. He remembered his words – To get born, your body makes a pact with death, and from that moment, all it tries to do is cheat.

She was giggling, and he would do anything to hear that sound again.

Not long after, she sat back down, buckling her seat as they entered the suburbs. She’ll be home soon, and she thought of her mother seeing her like this. That thought made her shiver.

“Kylo, go fast!”

He smirked, “Hold on tight, Angel.”

And they sped off.

In the morning, his phone notified him of a message.

Let me know when should I return the jacket I stole last night, it read

keep it angel.

No, it’s too expensive, and my mother would kill me if she knew it was yours

free in an hour or so.

work stuff.

She sent him an angel emoji. That was the end of a conversation.

Three knocks that notified Kylo she was here. Always three.

Other people loved to use the doorbell. She thought it was too harsh. Three knocks was just enough.

“Come in, it’s unlocked,” Kylo yelled out. It was muffled, but Y/N turned the knob, entering his home.

She called out his name.

“Taking a shower, be right out,” he answered. She sat down, putting his jacket down.

She heard the bathroom door open and close.

Kylo Ren was a sight to see. His gray sweatpants had dark spots from droplets that fell from his hair, and he bent down, drying it softly with a towel. His shirt clung tightly on the skin, and his arms rippled with muscles underneath his freckled skin.

“Hi,” he spoke her name out softly, smiling at her. The girl obviously felt effects from last night – she wasn’t dressed as usual, just a top and shorts. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her under eyes showing dark circles that were hidden by sunglasses as she walked over to his house.

Somehow, he preferred this version of Y/N.

She smiled softly, picking the jacket up, handing it to him. “Thank you, Kylo.”

“No need to.” He took the jacket from her hands, “Want to drink something?”

“Oh, no. I’m gonna go home and lay in bed. Too much to drink yesterday,” she mumbled.

“Okay, Angel. Care to join me for dinner tonight?” He fidgeted with a button on his jacket, too nervous to even attempt to appear calm.

Kylo was a great actor, but somehow, he couldn’t lie in front of her.

She looked at him, and she wasn’t sure if his cheeks were red because he asked her to have dinner with him, or because he spent too much time by the pool. She decided it was the latter.

“Kylo, is that a date?” She laughed, meaning it as a joke, but Kylo smiled softly.

“Only if you want it to be.”

She hummed.

“It’s a date, Kylo Ren.”

#kylo x reader #kylo fanfic #kylo x you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo smut #kylo x y/n #ben solo #ben solo x you #ben solo x reader #ben solo x oc #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fluff #kylo ren kiss

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suguwu · 2 years

Note

bee my beloved, i was going to pick getou but bc u opened it up to genshin i will shift to diluc with royal au and stranded due to inclement weather 👁️👁️

lori...your mind...i am so so glad you shifted to diluc bc i am living for this klsdjflsjdf and i may have gotten a lil bit carried away.

royal au & stranded due to inclement weather

f!reader

i would combine these two by having king's ward reader & lord diluc attending a winter hunt and getting separated from the rest of the hunting party as the snow flurries give way to a blizzard!

SNOWSTRUCK

The pristine snow crunches beneath your mare's hooves.

There's a slow drift of flakes swirling through the air; you think of the fluttering whirl of petticoats at a ball. The wind whistles, nips at you with cold teeth. You nestle deeper into the soft warmth of the heavy furs—from the thick-pelted beasts of the eternally snowy lands, gifted to you by the redheaded knight with the sweet, puckish smile and half-dead eyes—your ladies had draped you in.

Behind you, the hounds have started to bay, darting off, spry despite their heavily muscled forms. Only your alaunt stays, trotting beside you, waiting for your command.

There's a flare of crimson at the edge of your vision. In the snow, Lord Ragnvindr's hair is brighter still, like the glow of a crackling bonfire. He draws level with you, taking his usual space at your side, his handsome face practically carved from stone.

The other lords spur their mounts on. As he gallops past, Lord Alberich flashes you a brazen smile that makes your own lips tilt; your companion grimaces.

"My lady," Lord Ragnvindr says, watching the other lords disappear into the brush. He's brusque, your title clipped into something sharp.

"Lord Ragnvindr," you say lightly. "As pleasant as your company is, you needn't hover."

"Reconsider your attendance at the hunt and I won't need to accompany you."

You sigh and set your mare into a steady trot. "I suppose we'll be spending the afternoon together, then, my lord."

He huffs. It rumbles through his broad chest like rockfall, but he doesn't bother to argue. The king is soft on you, his favored ward, and thus his lords are too. Even the defiant, influential Lord Ragnvindr.

You ignore him, clicking your tongue to send Ursa into the hunt. She arrows off. You nudge your mare to pick up speed, keeping a hand on your bow.

Lord Ragnvindr keeps up with you effortlessly, as he always has. His high ponytail flows in the wind, the ends of it fluttering like guttering flames. He stays close but silent, his brow thunderous every time you dodge carelessly around the massive, slumbering oaks of the king's forest.

The snow is falling thicker now, settling crystalline into his hair and yours. The other lords appear and disappear—you see Lord Alberich's ocean-blue hair between a gap in the trees, rippling like the tide—as the hunt intensifies, the hounds baying as they pick up a scent.

Later, you won't recollect how you fell behind the other lords. You think it was a gradual separation, just as the storm built slowly.

Lord Ragnvindr recognizes it first, coming abreast of you as you slow in a small forest clearing, one big hand closing over your reins. He slings a thick arm around your waist to steady you as you yelp.

"Forgive me," he says, letting go as soon as you're stable. You wonder if it is the cold that pinkens his cheeks. "But we need to shelter from the storm. It's worsening."

"The others—"

"Are far ahead. And they are not my concern."

You glance around the meadow, blinking against the snowflakes caught in your eyelashes. The snow has swallowed the trees; they are the faintest outlines, hazed over like river ice. The wind howls. It sends the snow whipping, blurring the world even more.

"Shit," you say.

Lord Ragnvindr ignores your vulgarity to tie your reins to his saddle. It draws your mare close, until your leg is almost pressed to his.

"There are cabins throughout the king's wood," you say. "I've been to some before with Ursa, on other hunts."

"Can your hound find the way?"

"Yes," you say. "She can."

You call out for her. Your voice fades in the storm, muffled by the thick blanket of falling snow. Still, she appears moments later, barreling through the swirling flakes. At your second command, her ears perk. She circles your mounts before guiding you forward.

It's a slow journey. The snow grows heavier still, until it coats your furs. Until you can feel the chill even through them. Lord Ragnvindr bundles you into the cabin as soon as you arrive, his touch gentle but insistent before he disappears back out in the snow to see to the horses. The ghost of his fingertips lingers on the small of your back.

You shed your soaked furs. They've kept you mostly dry, at least—a testament to the harsh winters of Snezhnaya and the skill of their furriers. Your skirts have not fared as well, the damp creeping up your hems until the cloth clings against your legs.

You have a fire going when Lord Ragnvindr returns. You ignore his raised brow, feeding the fire as he sheds his wet outerwear.

He clears his throat. "We'll need to spend the night," he says, his tone brooking no argument.

Your face heats. "My lord—"

"It will be—I will keep my distance. I know it is—not ideal, my lady. That there will be talk."

You bite your lip, your mind whirling. The Lady Lisa will be an asset, as will the Lady Jean, the beloved Acting Grandmaster. A few of the lords will be useful, too. You know which whispers will lead to which ears, and if you play it well enough—

"Talk is of little consequence when you know how to hush it," you say firmly.

You wish you believed it.

He studies you for a moment, his keen gaze picking you apart. He inclines his head to you. Long has the court been your domain; he knows this as well as your ladies do. Perhaps only Lord Alberich can match you when it comes to such a command of the court's flux.

(As such, where you and the playful lord stand alters almost daily. Lord Alberich—Kaeya, he insists, as if you’re still children tumbling through the halls, grass stains bright on your elbows and knees—often knows too much.)

The wind howls outside; it whistles through the cracks in the wood, scratches at the door with frostbitten fingers.

"You're shivering," Lord Ragnvindr says.

"My skirts," you say. "The furs couldn't protect them, I'm afraid. They'll dry soon."

He stills. "They're wet?"

"Unfortunately," you say, spreading your furs in front of the fire to try and dry them. The night will be a cold one without them.

He coughs.

"My lady—"

Lord Ragnvindr's uncharacteristic hesitation garners your full attention. His expression gives away nothing, but there's pink blooming on the apples of his cheeks. You tilt your head.

"My lady, if your skirts are wet, you'll need—you'll need to remove them," he says roughly, glancing away. "They won't dry fast enough to keep you from catching a chill."

"Oh."

"I'll go to the stables again," he says. "Just until—until you're covered once more."

You think he says more, but you can't hear him over the echoing drumbeat of your own heart as it pulses in your ears.

"Diluc," you say softly, unthinkingly. You lace your hands together in front of you. It's been years now, but his name still tastes familiar. Maybe it's the red of his cheeks that's coaxed it from you, you think. The blush melts the stone of him. It reminds you of the boy you grew up with, before he drew away.

He stiffens at the sound of his given name on your tongue, his ruby eyes darting to you sharply. "My lady?" he asks woodenly.

You take a deep breath.

"I can't get my skirts undone by myself."

#🪴.ask #pluvi 🌧️#ask game #lskjdfljsdf i lost control #honestly this would need to be so much longer to be coherent but as it is i went way over what i meant to so #bee writes genshin #diluc x reader #genshin x reader

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putridsexobject · 3 years

Text

(Male) Shadow Monster X (Female) Reader (NSFW) (Part 2)

Warnings: Mature, Smut, Teratophilia

Word count: 3212

It doesn't return for a long time. A month has passed already and my previous state has returned full-throttle until I'm drinking 10 cups of coffee daily just to keep my head from collapsing into my cereal bowl. When it gets so bad that I wonder if I should use heavy-duty sleeping agents again, it appears. Its presence mute but identifiable by the air turning cold around it like a radiator polarity. Goosebumps prickle on my skin, stirring me from my very much needed nap. My thinking is sluggish but once I realize what's happening, I feel the wisps of its hands, brushing ever so slightly against my face.

"Wait!" I say. It stops in surprise before collapsing into a puddle of smoke with a hiss, probably thinking I were objecting again. "No! Don't go!" I call out to the darkness, sitting up in bed, "I-I want to stay awake...I want to see you." The darkness says nothing. I huff dejectedly, shoulders slumping. I slide down into my pillows and sit in disappointment. Until a figure steps out of the darkness and I see it in much more clarity despite the dark of the room. It's skin is matte black, permanently etched with shadow. There is no feature on its visage to be highlighted, not even ears or hair. It was like a mannequin had just climbed out of a chimney, covered in soot. Its skin so smooth it's statuesque, as though carved out of marble. Despite its apparitional nature, its body ripples with sculpted muscle in a skinless manner (resembling an anatomical portrayal of the human muscle at subcutaneous expense). It stands at a little over 7 feet, strings of mist like incense steaming off its skin as though it had just been put out of fire. The smoke-like body of substance is a grey compared to its vessel blacker than nothing. It has no eyes, not even hollows where they should be, yet it stares straight at me, taking in my eyes for the first time.

I hesitate on speaking, soaking in the shock of it, but once it had passed, I instead choke on awkwardness, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. "W-What...are you?" I ask, noticing a slight uneasiness in my tone. "I mean...what have you been doing to me? I haven't slept that well in, like," I scoff lightheartedly in an attempt to put my nerves under my sway, "forever," finalizing my inquiry with an instinctive grin. "I...give you...peace. And take away...bad things." It says each word as though with careful consideration, its voice uniform to its shadowy form; dreamy yet raspy, faint and low like the hum of an air conditioner. And broken, with soft edges, trailing off with a gentle blowing sound. "You can talk?" I exclaim in disbelief, eyes widening in surprise that it actually responded. It startles at my raised voice, a piece of its shoulder letting loose a fervent stream of smoke like blackboard erasers banging together to release powdered chalk. It doesn't answer for a moment, but then slowly bows its head once, in a preemptive manner. "Well...thank you," I say amicably, smiling to my eyes with genuine gratefulness. It merely stares; a blank unreadable slate. Silence ensues once again as I sit thinking of what to do next. "You...can touch me if you want," I say, awkwardly clearing my throat a little, "I don't mind. It's actually, uh, nice." It inclines its head slightly to the side, as though in recognition of my words. And slowly it starts to walk towards the bed, it's skin vibrating like the ripples in a river.

I feel a shudder start in my chest and echo down into my core as the air turns cold as it comes closer, unaware of the effect. It reaches the side of my bed and stops, before reaching out its fingers to set them against my thigh in a non-perverse action. I swallow in anticipation at how tortuously soft its touches are. I can't bring myself to fear this harmless thing that's been my walking melatonin inducer, can't even begin to feel anything other than this growing knot of arousal despite the objection of my shame. I see its hands clearly in the orange light: no fingernails, just wispy ends like a flame. It smells like an icebox, but also comforting, like the inside of my closet; dust, laundry detergent, and books. It runs into the crevasse of my inner thigh, probably unassuming to it having such an arousing effect. I spread my leg open on instinct, my quickening heartbeat pounding in my sex in excitement of such close proximity with its cold fingers. It tilts its head down at me in fascination. I look up at it from under my eyelashes, curling my toes and lifting my hips a little so that its fingers accidentally brush against the fabric of my night shorts. It seems to take it as an initiative to further its physical appraisal because it crawls into the bed.

Despite it's huge stature, it barely makes an indentation on the mattress. It looks like a right beast crouched with its shoulders hunched over. It curls over, its left knee against its chest, and begins to shamelessly runs its hands over my legs again, stopping ever so often to look up at me as though making sure I was still okay with it. "W... arm," it whispers hoarsely, the soothing, yet haunting sigh of its voice sending chills up my spine. I scoot closer to it, bending my knees, its hands limply pulling away as it shuddered, clearly unnerved by how close I was. I reach over and tentatively run my hand against its chest, feeling the smoothness and firmness like rock. It trembles uncontrollably in an excited fashion, smoke shaking off its vibrating body in messy curls. "Do you like that?" I ask curiously, unable to ignore the swell of pride in my chest at its strangely adorable reaction. It ducks its chin in a perfunctory way, and snakes it's hand over mine, pressing it harder against its chest, in response, a quiet blowing sound emitting from no known orifice. I continue the travel of my hand down the smooth contour of its chest, lower and lower, tracing the mound of muscle of its abdomen. I let my fingertips settle on the divet between the end of its abs and the swell of its pubic area, shifting into perverse curiosity.

Its broad shoulders fold over and smoke hisses off even more, like disturbed dirt. Flattening my fingers against the area where a human male's cock should be, a protuberant mound like a Barbie doll. A sharp whistle cries out in appreciation, before turning into a low humming like a car left on added with the muffler oozing gas. I smirk and bite my lip as its body convulses and it opens its thighs to allow me easier access. It throws its chin back to reveal its mouth for the first time. It's a slit across its face like a dog, a long wild tongue coils out of its maw in a loose ebony ringlet as though it were panting to match, jaw unhinging widely to reveal a collection of overcrowded fangs like upside down pear-shaped onyx gemstones coinciding with its dark complexion.

I pinch my fingers together, pressing my fingertips flat into the area to massage it in a circular motion, exerting a considerable amount of pressure in my excitement. The experience is foreign; rubbing a smooth hardened area to get the monster off. But as I continue my rapid massage, the waxen plot expands, like molded clay. Until an artificial cock emerges, just as monstrously intimidating as its host. It drips small puffs of smoke in loops out the top of the head, like some abstract version of pre-cum. The base isn't veiny like a human's, but smooth, the shaft sinewy and hard. I shudder at the sight of it, awed by this strange thing, and enjoying the alien texture as I wrap my hand around it and gently squeeze. I push forward onto my knees, tucking them in under me as I scoot closer in between the enigma. One of his long legs is bent lazily on one side of me, tilted open, the other hanging over the side of the bed. He leans backwards on his elbows as I quicken my pace, occasionally swiping a thumb over the tip to clear the string of smoke flowing out of it. And when I drop my head down to suckle the mushroom-shaped tip into my mouth, pursing my lips around it before opening and rolling my hot wet tongue over the sleek skin, then running the smooth underside of my tongue over the smoky discharge, he whistles in a decibel so high the neighbor's dog starts its howls again.

He bucks his hips into my hand, his cock throbbing in my hand like in one of those cartoons. I pull away from his cock and smile smugly, teasingly slowing my pace to a stop until he stops his wild humping and stares at me with what would probably be a pouting expression. "Needy, aren't you?...First time?" I ask devilishly, enjoying his desperate little twitches into my loose grasp that he attempts to stop. He says nothing, his expressionless face simply looking at me in response before he pushes off his hands and leans forward into me, his size terrifying, especially swollen burly with muscle. He pulls his unfurled leg from the floor and matches it in the position of the other, around me, as he pulls me into him by the hips. He looks down at me in the silence, before pressing his mouth area into my lips sweetly. I'm struck dumb as I feel his tongue dart out and wetly trace the outline of my lips, before withdrawing. My surprise quickly diminishes as I close my eyes and lean up into his mouth, opening my lips to grant his tongue entrance.

He tastes the inside of my mouth, pressing into the soft tissue of my cheek a moment before it entwines around my tongue, clicking his razor-sharp teeth against my own. I enjoy the absolute closeness of him, pushing forward and reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck before he slowly pulls away, a string of saliva connecting our mouths. He backs up and moves his hands from my hips to my thighs, lifting my rear up gently so that it's perched in his lap. When the thick of its cock is only a few inches away from my clothed sex is when he slides his fingers into the hem of my shorts and looks up at me in question. I push myself slightly into his cock, encouraging him to remove them. He runs his hands up my body before running them back down my sides until his thumbs hook under the elastic of my shorts and underwear, slowly pushing them down to my knees, never breaking contact. I lift my legs up as he pulls them off completely, the cool breeze on my newly exposed parts sending shockwaves of pleasure through my sex.

I chew on my bottom lip and watch him through my eyelashes. He opens the gape of his own mouth and lets his tongue slither out like some biblical serpentine metaphor for the lustful sins it were about to commit. He moves with unhurried grace and speed, descending his head in between my legs; the distance taken is astonishing as he lifts the lower half of my body up with surprising strength so that his mouth can reach me, determined to show me what he learned.

I feel his cold tongue prod my clit, rolling and pressing it with the tendril. I jerk my hips forward into his mouth. Not able to grab onto his head because of the distance, I settle on curling my fingers tightly around the sheets. "H-oly...shit," I gasp out, furrowing my eyebrows upwards and letting my mouth fall slack in a mute pleasure. He traces my slit with the tip of his tongue, swirling and flicking with brute force as though he weren't a novice to the pleasure of a human.

Before seeping his tongues back in between my folds, swirling around in my arousal to taste me. He prods my entrance, dipping slowly into me. I clench the sheets so hard my knuckles turn white with strain, my face twisted in pleasure mid-moan.

I feel my body shake, waves of lust coursing through me as I try to breathe through the pulsating bliss. His tongue lengthens completely inside me, first reaching so far it grazes my cervix then shortening to curl, hitting my G-spot. My toes press into my feet as the pleasure explodes through me, shattering me into a million pieces. I cry out and lift my feet onto each of his shoulders, pressing my toes so hard the nails graze his skin."F-uck!" I whine out, my eyes tearing up in pure unbridled ecstasy. He pulls his tongue out of me with a wet pop like a suction cup, only to slam it back into my with an unforeseen ferocity. It all builds up into this aching pulsating ball inside me, all my muscles tensing, my insides tightening around his tongue. I freeze, breath stifling and eyes rolling back into my head as an orgasm washes over me. He doesn't stop his violent lovemaking with his tongue, grabbing my hips and trying to take as much of me into his mouth without accidentally biting me.

My back arches as I let my hands lay limp around my head. I come down from my high, the monster slowly pulls his tongue out, giving me a final swipe up my sex as he straightens his back to its full length, hovering over me like a skyscraper. I must look like a mess; panting, chest heaving, cheeks flush, and strands of hair sticking to my sweaty forehead. He tilts his head again, reaching over to lightly stroke my cheek, over my heaving chest, and down my tummy before laying down onto me, putting most of his weight onto his elbows as to not crush me. He curls his back so that his face is in mine (barely), slipping his tongue between my lips as he wraps his hands in the pits of my legs, bending them to my stomach as far as they can go with my wet sex pressed against his stomach. We continue kissing for a few minutes, I slip off my shirt and wrap my arms around him, his chest pressing lightly against my nipples to create a delicious stimulation. His hand slides over to fondle my breasts in between his hands, kneading them like dough, before rolling the swollen nubs and reaching his tongue down to swirl around the bud. After a minute of this, he slips his other hand down in between my thighs and with slow strokes in my wetness for lubrication, pushes a finger inside me. I arch my back up, pushing my hips down as I slowly ground my sex against his hand, shoving my mouth back against his as I moaning into his throat.

I buck my sex into him furiously, signifying his finger isn't enough. He pulls his finger out and places it back in the divet of my leg, as he lines himself up in between me, folding his legs in half under him. He slowly pushes into me, leaning back over me to study my face and see how I react. I press my lips together, muffling a small grunt as his large girth stretches me. "A...Am I...hurting...you?" He asks evidently concerned as he cocks his head. I look up at him, smiling, "No, no, it's okay...just...a little big," I laugh. He stares back in response and then affectionately wraps his hand on the top of my head and around my waist, pulling in my body, small compared to his giant one. His chin is pressed against the side of my head, muscular body protective around my own. He's slow and sweet in its thrust, allowing me to get used to his size as it pushes deeper and deeper inside me, until at last it's to the hilt, nestled as far as he can go, that he stops. Waiting until it feels good for me. I buck up my hips and whine a bit, "More!" He listens and begins his sweet fuck. Slowly rocking back and forth, each swing forward slamming inside me in a way that feels like I'm tingling all over, pulling out almost all the way before slamming it back in.

I clutch his back and moan freely into his stomach. The room is filled with the sounds of my heavy breathing, his windy coos of appreciation, and the lewd wet slaps of flesh on flesh.

The familiar wave of euphoria builds up quickly inside me, a hotness so vehement I clench my teeth to quell the rushing of blood in my ears, and it crashes even quicker, my moans in unison with his rapid thrusts. I feel him tense above me and shake violently, like sand sifting through open hands. His skin so pleasantly cool against my hot burning flesh. He emits a broken whistling, as though choking on his saliva, and spills a liquid inside me so cold it was like Icy Hot gel shoved inside of me. I squeeze my thighs around him to make the feeling last as long as possible, squeezing so hard as though I could morph his body into mine to create some abominable ball of pure unfiltered pleasure.

His muscles relax as he curls over me to put all his weight on his front hands, stomach heaving in exhaustion. After a minute, when both our breathing has regulated, he slips off the bed to leave. I immediately sit up to grab onto its hand and jerk it towards me. "Stay? Please?" I ask, doing nothing to hide the desperation in my voice. He does nothing but turn his head to stare for a while and then look down at my hand pathetically clutched around his. My stomach churns and I feel my face flush, nervous that I'd made an idiot out of myself. I slowly drop his hand and place it on my knee, looking at the floor awkwardly. But then he tilts its head (for the thousandth time) and placidly approaches the edge of the bed, leaning down to pinch my jaw in between his fingers and kiss me in his messy animalistic way, before setting his knee onto the bed and then the other, deepening our kiss. Until he's back in the bed with me, trapping me in a cage of his limbs, and finally breaking our kiss as he turns to his side and holds me into his body in such a passionate need, "I...won't go...if you...don't want me to." The faint of his humming consoling me into a peaceful slumber.

#Mature #smut #shadow monster x reader smut #shadow monster x reader lemon #x reader #shadow monster x reader #monster x reader #female reader #fantasy #monster lover #monsters #monster #lemon #expophilia #terat0philliac #monster smut #monster love #shadow monster #love

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podiumdan · 3 years

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peach and honey in the air, ice cream cones on the pavement, windows flung wide open, an orchard of apricot trees with wind chime breeze through the leaves and branches shimmering with the heat haze. there’s a timeless oil-painting or polaroid-worn-away-at-the edges kind of beauty about this dream and you, paint-splattered camera flash on your skin. you, and you, and you. I want to live like this forever. always reaching for each other and never quite touching. light bathing the marble-skin of your back, muscles rippling the way the river flows, softly, urgent. call it love, call it anything you want. in this life, it starts raining the second we say each other’s names / in the next, the world stops breathing right before we kiss for the first time / in another, we jump into the river at dawn and never come up for air.

j.t. // italy, summer 1985

#a little soft moodboard edit for y’all 🥰#daniel ricciardo #f1 #formula 1 #f1edits #moodboard #this is probably an odd time of the day to post this but ohwell

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maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

Snare Me His Shadow

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit 18+

Words: 4.5k

Tags: Primal Play, Prey/Predator Kink, Fighting As Foreplay, Rough Sex, Biting, Choking, Dom/Sub Undertones, Come Swapping, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Fucking Outdoors, Storm Sex, Poetry As An Aphrodisiac, R18 Hide And Seek

So a million years ago, @howdoyousleep3 passed on an ask from her inbox that read:

[I dont know if you’re familiar with primal play, but it’s so fucking hot. Yeah, I know, Steve is all muscle and ability, he’s strong he’s fast, he’s smart, he is not prey. Usually. But Bucky - the winter soldier - is a hunter. The best, in fact. He loves a good hunt]

...This one possessed me. Please heed the tags, this is an entirely consensual and agreed-upon game between Steve and Bucky, but it is very much a hunter/prey type situation 😈

It’s electric, like this.

Barefoot on the damp earth, navigating by muscle memory more than sight, because darkness settles that much denser beneath the tree canopy.

Steve could move faster, could take this barely-worn path through the woods behind the compound at a sprint. But fast is loud.

Fast is leaves cracking and branches splintering, and the muted thud of footfalls on the forest floor. It’s eyes fixed only ahead so you don’t stumble, and nothing but the sound of your own exhales in your ears.

‘Fast’ gets you caught.

The in-rolling storm crackles humid in the air, sparking against Steve’s skin as he weaves through the underbrush. He throws his every sense outwards, searching and sifting through those faint currents of movement around him, those quiet signs of life. But it’s all life out here; birds and insects and creatures who can’t bear the light, all just playing the same game he is, and every last one of them pricks at his awareness.

Every last one of them kicks at his pulse and drip-feeds new adrenaline into his bloodstream, because experience echoes a warning way down in his cells - the apex predator comes silent as a spider.

There’s so many eyes on him, the weight of being watched pressing down on him from all sides. He digs the heel of his hand into his arousal and pulls in a lungful of air on the cusp of rain; feels himself splintering between his warring desires to put up a worthy chase, and to drop down belly-up in the dirt.

It’s a choice that will be made for him, eventually.

He might be strength, and speed, and strategy. But out here, he is prey.

Out here, in these weeping woods that stretch endless into the night, Steve is achingly, exquisitely outmatched by the hunter who lies in wait; biding his time, unseen, and slipping ever closer.

Dressed in black from head to toe, or skin bared to the shivering pulses of the forest; empty handed, or palms laden with the urge to grab and pin and possess…

The Winter Soldier is out there, and Steve’s blood runs so much hotter for the knowledge that he won’t see or hear or feel him coming until it’s too late.

He winds his way amongst the weathered trunks, hugging the shadows and pawing at the lines of his own body; stroking his thighs and pulling at his nipples, raking fingernails over the bare skin of his stomach. It’s rough and absent and frantic all at once, a weak precursor to what he’s evading.

The dissonance of it is dizzying, hiding from the thing he wants most. He wants to cry out, to make for the clearing in the middle of the woods and sprawl shameless in the open until he’s found, but he knows the rules - run, hide, don’t make it easy.

Pursuit is the purpose, and capture is a pleasure that must be earned, no matter how raw his skin is screaming for touch. And it is screaming - he’s a copper wire stripped bare, and he shivers for every stinging snap of branch and damp drag of leaf against his body as he picks his way through the darkness.

Hard limits apply, he’d told Bucky, the rest is up to you.

He shudders for it now, those words and the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened for them; the way he’d leaned in to kiss his sugar-laced threat right onto Steve’s waiting lips - I will find you.

It’s only a matter of time. The forest is vast, and countless months have passed since they last played this game, but Bucky is a blade that never dulls.

Bucky is razor-sharp, in wit, beauty, and battle; made up of midnight and silent strides when he so chooses, and he will find Steve.

He might have had eyes on Steve this entire time; ten soundless steps behind, watching Steve’s slow descent into desperation with a smile on his face, and the mere possibility has Steve’s cock weeping through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His fingertips dip beneath his waistband and sweep through the wetness beading at his tip; stroke that sensitive spot just beneath the head. His palm slips to press at the heavy throb in his balls and it makes his breath catch too loud in the confines of his chest, has a moan slipping out past his gritted teeth.

He knows it’s foolish, knows he’s only making himself easier to track. But every step he takes is winding the hunt toward its inevitable climax, and intellect is giving way to instinct.

His consciousness is beginning that steady downward drip, sinking from logic and reason to settle and swim with the dense heat pooling at the base of his spine. Soon, he’ll be nothing more than the urge rippling under his skin, the tight-squeezed air in his lungs and the thrum of blood between his thighs, and every brush of his own hands is permission to slip a little further to it.

So he doesn’t stop.

His feet and his fingers keep moving; his body acting now on his mind’s behalf to draw towards the river's edge, where his desperate sounds will be swept away by the unending rush of water over rock, because this is about preservation now.

It’s about surviving the voracity of his own need until he is found, until Bucky catches him, and then…god, then...

The rest is up to you.

The beginning of rainfall winds its way down through the tree canopy, and it does nothing to quell the heat radiating off Steve. He’s burning so hot for this, so hungry for it; his need only growing sharper as the atmosphere curls in thick and charged with the promise of thunder.

It’s rumbling in the distance already, too faint for non-enhanced ears but creeping closer; a rolling bass beneath the surge of the fast flowing river up ahead. He can see the diluted black of open space through the trees now, can hear the clack of wet-tumbling stones, and it’s nothing short of delusion, the way it feels like he’s headed for sanctuary.

Logic knows it’s a weak veil of auditory cover at best, and an outright plea for ambush at worst.

Steve knows, down in his gut, exactly which one he’s hoping for, and he sprints for it with the last of his tactical thought seeping out through the soles of his feet.

He breaks through the tree line, hitching a gasp as he stumbles out into the full force of the downpour. It’s coming down heavy, sluicing at the fever-sweat clinging to his skin, and he tilts his face up towards it; lets his eyes drift shut and his shoulders drop as he bares his throat to the purple-black sky.

His pulse riots for the sheer abandon of the gesture, of shifting his posture to one of invitation in the midst of evasion. It only spurs him on, makes him want to find out just how shrill that siren in his cells will wail when he refuses to curl in on himself.

He forces his hands open at his sides, turns his palms outwards and walks further out onto the exposed riverbank. He stands ankle deep in the river with his heart in his throat, soaked to the bone and all but shaking with the desire to drop to his knees in submission.

And that’s when he hears it.

The slow-whistled high note, followed by a low; the signal that shivers from the top of Steve’s spine to the cradle of his hips.

Found you.

It’s a question as much as a warning, that signal; a chance for Steve to respond in their shared language of gesture whether he wants the chase, or the fight.

As if he hadn’t made up his mind the moment they agreed to play tonight.

As if he’s not done for either way.

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his skin prickling with the presence he can sense now off to his left. Survival instinct begs him to open his eyes, to scour his surroundings and prepare for what’s coming, but he only shuts them tighter.

He grins up at the pelting rain, curls his quivering right hand into a fist, and beats it against his drenched, heaving chest.

Take me down where I stand.

Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the stones underfoot. Steve’s blood beats frantic in his ears, one heartbeat stumbling over the next, and he waits, waits for the blow he doesn’t want to see coming.

A foot to the back of his knees, an arm wrapped around his throat, a strike of unyielding metal between his shoulder blades...it’s never the same twice, and it’s always better than the time before, and he can’t stop the desperate whimper that falls from his parted, rain-slick lips.

“Bucky!” he pleads, hurling it into the current of the storm raging around him.

“Steve,” comes the answer from directly behind him; the word falling across his skin in the split second before teeth sink deep into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s nothing short of wanton, the way Steve cries out with it.

Five fingers curl a punishing grip around the column of his throat and a soaking wet body plasters against his back, and Steve doesn’t even try to hold his centre of gravity as he’s wrestled down to the riverbank.

It’s a messy takedown, raw force over skill; dripping all the same desperation that’s been twisting hot in Steve’s gut all night. Bucky pins him belly-down against the stones at the river’s edge, the full weight of his body draped over him, and Steve knows the tremor he can feel humming through Bucky’s muscles has nothing to do with the cold.

“The river,” Bucky growls; metal forearm jammed against the back of Steve's neck, “of course you came to the river.”

Steve squirms giddy beneath Bucky’s mass, beneath that deep-thrumming power crushing down on him.

The storm-swollen current reaches up the bank to wash shallow and frigid beneath Steve’s cheek, his chest; against his nipples and his thighs and his cock inside his drenched shorts. It’s cold enough to draw gooseflesh across the bared expanse of his skin, but fuck if that persistent rush doesn’t feel like getting tongued; like every single time Bucky’s ever slipped an ice cube in his mouth and sucked him off just to see him hit the ceiling.

“Buck...”

It’s the only word that makes sense anymore. Steve gets his elbows under himself and pushes his body up, but only so much as to feel the stifling weight of Bucky on top of him.

Bucky’s hand slips to the front of his throat and grips him tight up under the line of his jaw; tips his head back to get his lips and teeth pressed hard against Steve’s ear.

“Steven...did you even try?”

The rain and the river aren’t enough to sweep away the mockery in his tone. He’s shifting himself on top of Steve, putting scant inches of space between their bodies, and Steve knows this cue; grins bright and breathless for it.

He digs his hands in against the riverbed, plants his knees and shoves upwards. He heaves his weight forward and Bucky’s grip loosens just enough to let it happen, to let Steve crawl and clamber a few meager feet forwards.

Steve knows it’s a false freedom but he laughs half-hysterical for it anyway, and even more so when Bucky’s hands are catching him again, clamping bruising tight at his hips and grappling him onto the flat of his back.

He winces at the battering strike of rain against his face, but it’s just as soon blocked by the cover of Bucky caging him in; replaced by the tepid drips rolling off Bucky’s perpetually warm skin.

Steve’s body reacts the way it thinks it’s supposed to, going through the motions of trying to throw Bucky off - strength funneled into a forearm arm pressing here, a knee striking there. But it’s pointless; sabotaged by the underlying truth that the only place Steve really wants to be is stuck exactly where he finds himself - pinned pliant beneath his predator.

He lets himself look, then; lets his gaze slip down between them to drag over the length of Bucky’s body. He’s bared to the elements just the same as Steve - not a stitch on him save for running shorts that barely hit at mid-thigh. His hair is pulled back, and he’s soaked to the bone, and when lightning splits the darkness in two and catches on the angles of his face, that raw perilous beauty strikes a blow all of its own to the center of Steve’s chest.

“You win,” Steve rasps, dragging his voice up from the pit of his billowing lungs.

Bucky’s answering laugh is darker than the wet-ink midnight pressing in on them, and it shudders all the way to Steve’s bones when Bucky sinks down to purr ominous against the vulnerable stretch of his neck.

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

The ravenous clamp of teeth on his throat sends Steve’s body bowing, writhing for that merciless bite that doesn’t break the skin, but makes purpled ruin of what lies beneath. Fascia and blood vessels and Steve’s sanity, all broken down in the transcendent grind of Bucky’s jaw, the heat of his mouth; all over Steve’s neck and his chest and his belly, and it’s so feral, the way Steve wants it.

He wants the shred of busted stitching and the shock of rain against newly bared skin as his shorts are torn from his body.

He wants the red welts raked down his rib cage, the kiss-split lip and the deep set imprints of Bucky’s teeth all up the insides of his thighs.

Bucky’s touch is heavy and he means it to be; his shifting, squeezing grip claiming handfuls of Steve’s willing flesh wherever he can get it. And he can get it everywhere - every last inch of Steve’s body splayed out for him in tribute to his prowess, and Steve wants him to take it.

He wants Bucky to make sacrilege of it out here under the split-open skies, until it feels like heaven itself is sobbing for it.

“Fuck me,” ruin me, desecrate me, arch-backed and bleeding-lipped in the dirt, “Bucky, fuck me…”

Steve begs with all of himself, legs split and arms thrown above his head; dripping sweat and storm and half-crazed surrender. Like he actually has to plead for this, like Bucky’s not already stuffing searching fingers up between his cheeks to grope for the base-end of silicone that says Steve’s body is primed for the taking.

Bucky bites taunting denial into his skin, over and over. ‘No,’ even as he pulls the plug from Steve’s body and replaces it with his fingers. ‘No’ growled against Steve’s body every time he begs now, and please, and I’m ready, just to fray that tenuous thread of Steve’s resolve.

Steve’s delirious with it, crying out high and sharp for the stretch of cold metal inside him and the drip of remnant lube. He chants Bucky’s name and reaches out with clinging, clawing hands that only get batted away; that get caught at the wrists and pinned down, and Bucky’s laughing at him.

Bucky is toying with him, leaving him empty and climbing back up over his body to graze teeth over Steve’s cheekbones, to whisper sweet mockery against Steve’s lips before he kisses them bruising-hard.

“Tell me you want it,” Bucky coos, clamping his hand over Steve’s mouth and pushing the clothed head of his cock up against Steve’s hole.

Steve sobs against his palm. He forces the words out wet and incomprehensible onto Bucky’s skin; again and again as Bucky tuts and tells him to speak the fuck up.

Tears are streaming free from the corners of his eyes and his legs are hooking desperately around Bucky’s waist, and he knows that Bucky wants this just as bad. He can feel Bucky shaking and shuddering under the strain of holding back and holding out, trying to push Steve closer to his breaking point just because that’s what Steve wants; devotion at its most deranged.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Bucky laps at the tears tracking down Steve’s face, letting up his hand from Steve’s mouth only to settle it heavy on his throat.

He slips his other hand down between them to shove at his shorts, fighting the clinging fabric down far enough to get his cock free, and then they’re both groaning for the rub of naked skin on skin.

“Buck,” Steve chokes out a half-strangled cry as Bucky sinks his whole weight onto him, dragging his stomach over Steve’s weeping cock and rocking his own into the crease of Steve’s hip.

“Tell me you want it?” Bucky says again, a question this time instead of a taunt.

Steve’s rasp of yes, fuck, do it barely makes it past his lips before Bucky’s cock is pushing into him.

There’s no hesitance, no pretense of patience to it. Bucky doesn’t finesse it and Steve doesn’t want him to - he didn’t spend half the night skulking through the woods in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm just to get taken the way he would be in the sanctity of their bed.

Steve came out here to get fucked vicious, and Bucky knows better than to pull his punches.

He shoves brutal and punishing into the tight heat of Steve’s body, knocking the air from Steve’s lungs and the sense from his psyche.

He’s tucking words up against Steve’s ear, something lilting and familiar, and the roar of Steve’s own blood and the groaning sky above don’t drown out Bucky’s voice so much as darken it’s edges; slip a rumbling bass beneath it’s baritone. Steve loses himself in the well-worn rhythm long before the words catch up to sink hooks into his ribcage.

“O Hunter, snare me his shadow,” Bucky hums, “O Nightingale, catch me his strain…else moonstruck with music and madness...I track him in vain.”

Steve would weep, if he had it in him to do anything other than lay there flat on his back and take it.

Bucky grinds in blinding-deep and stays there, rocks there; drips poetry all over the side of Steve’s neck like he’s not fucking him fit to kill.

He squeezes Steve’s throat until his eyes roll back, swats at Steve’s cheek and pulls merciless on his hair. He stuffs fingers into Steve’s gaping mouth deep enough to gag on, and hinges Steve’s jaw open so he has no choice but to set loose every raw, wrecked sound Bucky knocks out of him.

It’s fucking flawless.

“Give me one,” Bucky growls.

Steve needs no clarification beyond the spearing of Bucky’s cock into his prostate, and he reaches down between their bodies to jerk himself frantic and heavy-handed.

It should be pitiful, how little it takes. But it’s been mounting for what feels like hours, and when Bucky wrenches himself abruptly from Steve’s body to slap a hand down square over Steve’s balls and his slick, aching asshole, that orgasm crests with near-painful force.

“Fuck!” Steve’s wracked with it, shuddering and flinching from it like it’s not the makings of his very own flesh and blood.

Bucky doesn’t even wait for it to be over before he’s dipping down to lap at it; rubbing his cheek and his chest and his belly through Steve’s release on his slow crawl back up to spit it into Steve’s mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’ swallow it,” he warns, pressing his thumb to the seam of Steve’s lips, “I want it back.”

Steve’s body is sparking chaotic, crying too soon and too much just as loud as it’s screaming too good as Bucky grips him by his sodden hair and buries his cock back inside him; falling into rhythm like he never stopped thrusting in the first place.

He wants to moan, wants to cry out for that welcome knifepoint of forced pleasure building within him, but the desperate sounds creeping onto his tongue are every bit as caged as the come he can’t swallow.

Which is the whole point, Steve flushes submissive to realize - Bucky’s got him gagged without even touching him.

He twines his limbs up around Bucky’s body, groping and pulling at him like there’s still an insufferable distance left to close. The guttural moans Bucky’s spilling into the crook of his neck only render Steve’s own noises even more pathetic; huffing high and reedy the longer they remain trapped in his throat.

“Christ, listen to you...”

Bucky pushes up onto his elbows to stare down at Steve, to watch the play of desperation on his face.

He’s no less transparent himself in how affected he is, a lifetime of ceaseless want spelled out in his gaze; hunger and rapture and the kind of adoration Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever fully earn, not really.

But it’s all right there, in the way Bucky’s looking at him; the way he’s bearing the howling force of the storm against his back just to give Steve this, and Steve is sunk.

Steve is nothing more than the sweet ruin of his body and the near painful swell of his heart for the multitudes that Bucky contains. A death sentence if you ask the history books and still the better half of Steve’s soul, Bucky is the boundless shadow and blinding light of Steve’s entire existence; his every reason for being and doing and fucking trying, after all these years.

It would be terrifying, if Steve weren’t bone-deep certain that he’s the axis Bucky’s world spins on, too.

“You found me...”

The words are almost a sob hitching off Steve’s tongue, pitched fuck-drunk and slurred around his mouthful of himself.

He’s breaking the rules and he knows it; half hopes for the crack of an open palm against his cheek for it. But the look Bucky hits him with lands harder than any physical strike could hope to; taking Steve’s face firm between his hands and staring down at him like there’s never been a truth so vital, so dire.

“I will always find you, Steve.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The one thing their shared existence will always narrow down to. There’s nowhere either of them could go that the other wouldn’t tear the world apart to get to, and the scant inches of distance between them right now might as well be oceans for all Steve’s burning inside to cross them.

He cups his hands around Bucky’s neck and arches up, pulls him down; pleading with everything but words for Bucky’s mouth on his, and Bucky doesn’t make him wait. He meets Steve right there in the delirium with lips and tongue and moans that rival the swelling thunder; sucking the taste of Steve off his tongue and dripping a starved groan into his mouth in its place.

“I wanna make you come,” he says, like he hasn’t already dragged one out of him, “tell me you’re gonna come.”

“Fuck, I am, I’m gonna come...”

“Say it’s for me, Steve, tell me it’s mine.”

Steve nods so hard, he can feel a bruise bloom at the base of his skull where it grates against the riverstone. Of course it’s for Bucky, everything’s for Bucky; every breath in his lungs and every beat of his stricken, obsessed heart. The sensations within him are mounting too immense, too desperate to be named pleasure, but they’re careening all the same towards the one thing Bucky wants from him, and it will only ever be Bucky’s, this perfect agony of coming undone.

“It’s yours,” he sobs, voice weak and body shaking. "Just—fuckin’ take it from me, Buck.”

He gives up all conscious hold on himself; submits entirely to the relentless drag of Bucky’s dick against his insides and the wet rasp of rock against his back as Bucky drives deep into his surrendered body, chasing that climax for the both of them.

It burns so bright, when it hits Steve; wrenched from his core and rolling sharp through the splay of his trembling frame. He cries out with it, but the storm cries louder, Bucky cries louder; moving ceaselessly through the spasms of Steve’s orgasm and drowning in the give of Steve’s body beneath him.

“Fuck, Steve, I—”

“Do it,” Steve slurs, needing nothing more than the tell-tale shudder of Bucky’s body and the way he gasps Steve’s name like a warning. “In me, Buck. Do it.”

Bucky cusses sharp, pulsing his hips as he lets go inside Steve like he can bury that seed deep enough to stick. And fuck, Steve wants it to. It’s all raw nerve on the inside but Steve never wants this to end; possessed by the slick grind of Bucky’s twitching cock and the heaving half-moans of Bucky’s breath.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, reaching fingertips down to where their bodies are joined, where Bucky’s stuffed into him and leaking out of him. “Keep fucking me, just—just keep—”

Keep coming.

Be that monstrous entity in the woods who fucks me like it’s a haunting, ’til not even an exorcism would rid me of you.

He prods at the stretch of his swollen rim, drags his fingers through the warmth seeping out around Bucky’s cock. He wants it everywhere; brings those slick fingers up to smear over the pulse point on his neck, down the line of his throat, and Bucky heaves a moan dragged right from the marrow of his bones.

“I won’t stop,” he grits out through clattering teeth, rocking into Steve graceless and starving. “Not gonna stop, Steve.”

It sounds as much like threat as it does promise.

They’re both quaking with it, overstimulated and frigid cold and too achingly, crushingly lost in each other. For all the serum may have made them both to defy science and probability, to withstand war and stall the ravages of aging, it still couldn’t create a vessel vast enough to contain this - this raw, insatiable need for one another.

“Bucky…”

Steve looks up from the flat of his back; tips his head to offer up the stretch of his throat as he offers up a tremulous verse — a challenge — into the space between them.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep...”

Recognition sparks dark and joyous in Bucky’s gaze. He catches Steve’s hands in his and threads their fingers together, palm against palm in a too-tight grip.

“But I have promises to keep,” he grins, “and miles to go before I sleep…”

His lips are turning up wolfish; the roll of his hips turning to something liquid and long-haul, and the rain beats down just as violent as it ever did.

Steve lets his eyes slip closed, lets the final refrain slip from his tongue before he surrenders, smiling, to the slow closing of Bucky’s teeth around his windpipe.

“...And miles to go before I sleep.”

If you’re at all curious, the poems they quote are ‘In The Forest’ by Oscar Wilde, and ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost 😘

#steve/bucky #stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes

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rotworld · 3 years

Text

2: Centaur

it’s said that only pure virgin maidens can call a unicorn, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

->explicit. contains horse genitalia, weird sex magic to enable human-to-horse genitalia compatibility, dubcon/noncon, semi-public sex, implications of mind-altering magic, gore, murder, kidnapping.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

The meadow is in full bloom, a sea of brilliance. Here, a profusion of daisies. There, a carpet of poppies. Asters and yarrow and little clovers, flowers you’ve never heard of, colors you didn’t know existed, bloom as far as the eye can see. There are starbursts, blue as the sea, that smell of salt and sand, and cones of pink blossoms that glitter in the light. Petals dance in a gentle breeze like prismic rain, carrying a soft, sweet scent. It feels like a dream. You’re knee-deep in flowers beneath a cloudless sky.

“This is impossible,” you say softly, afraid to disturb the peace. Your fingers graze a curving stem, heavy with bluebells. “It’s autumn. The leaves should be turning. How is everything so green?”

The king’s men sigh tiredly, looking uncomfortable and terribly out of place in their clanking armor. “Unicorn,” they say, the only word they seem to know. Why are the winds so gentle here, spring-sweet and warm? Unicorn. Why is the water crystal clear and sparkling, the perfect temperature for both a quenching drink and a quick rinse of your dirtied hands? Unicorn. Why couldn’t you see the meadow until you crossed the river and passed a certain willow tree? Unicorn, obviously. They shake their heads at you like you don’t know anything.

“Sit here,” one of them tells you, pointing to a spot among the daffodils.

Another one stops you just as you’re kneeling in the grass. “No, no, wait, over there is better. There are lilies. Lilies are a symbol of virginity.”

“I think the roses would be best,” a third chimes in. “Seems very maiden-like, doesn’t it? That’s what a maiden would pick, I think, if a maiden were out here, picking flowers.” The other knights nod sagely. “Then it’s decided. Over there by the roses, please. Here, sit with your legs folded like this…”

You roll your eyes. You can’t believe how seriously they’re taking the stupid little details. This whole expedition is a lost cause. It doesn’t matter how much they pretty you up, dressing you in this flowing gown and making you wander barefoot among the flowers. You’re a sheepherder, not a waifish little girl. A unicorn can tell the difference. But the king must really be desperate, because the knights are insistent as they correct your posture, smooth out your hair, and inspect you from every angle.

“Good. Perfect,” one of them says, nodding at his handiwork. “We’ll get into position. Do,” he pauses, waving his hand vaguely, “maiden things. Sing songs. Braid your hair. Whatever it is maidens do.” You watch them clang and clatter away to the treeline, hiding poorly among the rocks and flower bushes. You relish in the space and freedom, flopping on your back in the grass. You couldn’t care less if a unicorn comes or not. The fields are yellowed and prickly at home, nothing like the beautiful softness of this meadow. Your cousin agreed to watch your sheep for the day, so you don’t have a care in the world. You close your eyes and let eternal spring wash over you.

You open your eyes to darkness.

You sit up slowly, groaning and groggy. You must’ve drifted off. Petals fall from your gown as you yawn and rub your eyes. Snoring drifts from the trees; the knights fast asleep. You stand up to stretch, only to find a new, fantastic landscape stretched before you. The meadow is tinged silvery blue in moonlight. New flowers, unopened buds just hours ago, bloom with a faint glow. A river of stars shines overhead. This must be the dream, you think, or maybe you’ve been dreaming since you crossed the river. Everything about the meadow is otherworldly, a place of beauty and gentleness unlike anything you’ve ever known.

And then you hear it. Softly at first and indistinct, but nearing, gradually louder. A rhythmic gait, too heavy for a human, too pronounced for fleshy feet. Hoofbeats. Your breath catches in your throat. You scramble to your feet and look around. Auroras shimmer above you, rippling ribbons of green. Night breeze blows across the meadow and the grass whispers at your ankles. You see him, trotting across the meadow. You see him and there are tears in your eyes. You realize you’ve never known beauty until this moment.

The unicorn is the color of night, black and deepest blue. His mane shimmers, woven with gemstones and glittering flower buds, and his horn shines like polished onyx. He is a man from the waist up, silver eyed and handsome. There are scars along his broad shoulders, puckered skin that healed a lighter gray. Beneath the waist, muscle twists and transforms into long equine legs. His gait is leisurely, a smile tugging at his lips.

“My oh my, what do we have here?” he says. His voice is velvety smooth and alluring. Your apprehension melts away even as he stops before you, his front legs bending so you’re face to face. A heavy, coat-like fabric rests across the back of his horse body, royal purple and delicately embroidered with intricate floral patterns. He reaches for you, slender fingers curling along your jaw. You’re sure of it now. This is all just a dream. The unicorn chuckles, a warm and rumbling sound that fills you with heat. “You’re wide awake, little one.”

“You can read my thoughts?”

“I can read more than that.” His smile widens and he stands to his full height. You fidget nervously as he walks in a slow circle around you, a hand beneath his chin. His hooves kick up petals and glittering pollen with every step. “Hmm, let’s see...a shepherd! How precious. What gentle hands. Ah, but a solitary life. You’ve not known a lover’s touch in quite some time.” Your face heats in embarrassment. His palm trails across your back as he passes behind you, squeezing your shoulder.

“I thought unicorns only came to pure maidens,” you say. His every touch sends sparks across your skin. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy, thin fabric of your gown. At that, his smile gains a sharp edge, almost predatory. It’s gone as quickly as it came.

“What a delight you are,” he murmurs. “Coming all this way was worthwhile after all.” He begins to walk and you follow without being asked. There are flowers all around you but you pay them no mind now, too entranced by the beautiful creature beside you. You don’t know if you go far or not, time and distance rendered meaningless in the dreamlike embrace of the meadow. He leads you to a large, mossy rock formation, the stone sheared away to leave an unnaturally flat surface. You look back over your shoulder, remembering the knights. Did they sleep through all of this? Should you say something? The unicorn’s hand cups your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. His breathtaking smile obliterates all thoughts of anything else.

“The stories are an exaggeration,” he tells you. He guides you gently, hands on your shoulders, to sit on the stone. His legs fold beneath him and he sits, his hands carding through your hair. The affection and desire in every touch, every gentle scratch of his fingers against your scalp, makes you hotter. “We appear to whomever we wish to appear to. But I confess, some of us do have a soft spot for virgins.” He presses a sharp kiss to your lips, nipping at you. “We enjoy teaching them pleasure,” he hisses, and pushes you suddenly onto your back. The gown is pulled from your body, discarded in the grass. Night air caresses your bare skin and you squirm beneath his wandering gaze.

Somehow, it only occurs to you now what his intentions are. The gentle caresses, the sensual touches and the heat in his gaze didn’t feel real. They still don’t, but now, naked and at the mercy of his hungry eyes, you understand. “You...you want me?” you say, your voice small in embarrassment. When you say it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous, but there’s no mistaking this. He rests his arms across your abdomen, gazing up at you with fondness and longing.

“I do,” he says. “Very, very much. Would you let me have you?”

You bite your lip, your body trembling as he slips a hand between your legs and just grazes your sex with his fingertips. The touch is teasing, too fleeting, and leaves you aching for more. You nod shakily and he hums, pleased at your acquiescence. “What’s your name?”

He looks rather charmed that you asked, warmth filling his gaze. “I am Myurva,” he says. You give him your name in return and the way he says it back to you, the lascivious purr, makes you squirm. The unicorn rests his hands on your knees, gently but firmly easing them apart. “Spread your legs for me, lovely. I want to see you.”

Myurva’s seduction is slow and patient even as you writhe and beg him for more. He opens you on his fingers, soothing your frenzied whimpers with sweet nothings and loving whispers of your name. You’ve never been treated with such devotion, such smothering lust and affection. He touches you like the love of his life, kisses tenderly and messily, drags his hand along your side and savors the way you move for him. “So very worth it,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. He has two fingers inside you, caressing your walls and curling just right to reach the spot that makes you shriek. “How fortunate I am to have found you, lovely. I want to keep you. I want to spoil you each and every night.”

You’re keening for him, sobbing with need, when he flips you onto your stomach. You hardly notice. You spread your legs when you feel his hands on you, kneading your ass. Everything is hot and electrifying, hazy with pleasure. Then his front hooves land heavily in the grass near your head and something enormous rubs against you. “Wait,” you say shakily. You hear a chuckle above you. The fleshy end of Myurva’s cock slides against your ass, smearing precum along your spine. Your heart skips a beat feeling the sheer size of it against you. There’s no way. It’s impossible. You try to push yourself up on your elbows and one of his hooves stamps dangerously near your head.

“I thought you wanted me, lovely,” he says. He thrusts again, the length of him slipping between your thighs and grinding against your sex. “If you move, I’ll have to chase you. You won’t get far.”

“You won’t fit,” you tell him, voice pitched in desperation. Trying to squirm just makes him rest his weight against you, crushing you between the stone and the bulk of his body. “You’re going to break me!”

“I’ll go slow,” Myurva purrs. He demonstrates with a slow grind, a gradual roll of his hips. His heated flesh feels so good against you. “I’ll be so, so careful with you. Don’t you remember the stories? I enjoy virgins. I haven’t harmed a single one. They wander the woods in search of me, begging to feel my cock again.” You hear his back hooves shifting, repositioning behind you. He lines himself up and his cock prods against your opening. “Let me show you,” he urges. “Let me bring you pleasure you’ve never known.” He grinds against you again, hot pressure building as he begins to push inside. You gasp his name, beg him to wait, to go slow, to give you a moment to collect yourself, but he chuckles and presses harder.

Your nails rake against the stone and your vision whites out. The burn of the stretch becomes a tingling sensation, numb at first and then blindly pleasurable, lighting sparks in your belly. It shouldn’t be possible but you feel the head inside of you. The pain is a dull ache but every movement chases it away, pleasure washing over you. He rocks his hips and the steady, shallow thrusts push him deeper. True to his word, he fucks into you agonizingly slowly, panting and moaning

“How do you feel, lovely?” he asks, his voice strained. He’s holding back, you realize, his hooves stomping restlessly as he makes small, unconscious thrusts to feel you wrapped around him. “Let me in deeper. Let me fuck you properly. You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think he can get deeper. You try to tell him as much, but a hard thrust knocks the breath out of you. The fullness makes your head spin. You feel yourself pushing back against him despite all of the sensations, the ache inside of you, the impossibility of the whole situation in the back of your mind. He makes a breathy, choked sound and then laughs, fucking you harder. “Ohhh, that’s it. Just like that. I knew you’d love this.” You can hear his cock slamming into your body, can feel the weight of his heavy balls slapping your ass with every thrust. You feel like a cocksleeve, a snug toy for him to fuck. The force of his thrusts drags you back and forth over the stone, scraping up your chest, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure he gives you.

Someone is screaming, crying Myurva’s name into the night. You barely recognize your own voice, the needy pitch, the tremor in every word. You’re so full, so unbearably stuffed with cock, no longer trying to meet his thrusts but letting him move you, ruining you for any human partner. Your knees bruise on the stone. Your toes curl. Your cries build to a frenzied crescendo and you cum impaled on his enormous cock, shaking, panting his name.

“Lovely,” he moans, an obscene sound leaving his lips as your inner muscles clamp down on his cock. “Gods above, darling, I’m going to fill you.” He fucks you wildly, no rhythm, no caution, his whole cock slamming into you as hard and deep as he can get. You can’t move. The whole world turns white-hot and blinding. You go limp, gasping weakly as Myurva begins to grunt, his cock pulsing, his whole length crammed inside you.

You thought you were full already, but then he cums. You feel him straining on top of you, his whole weight thrown forward as he fucks ropes of thick cum into your body. It foams up around his length and makes obscene, slick sounds. You feel it overflowing, trickling down your thighs. It feels like it goes on forever, his moans, his deep, straining thrusts, his cock pouring more and more cum into your body until his balls empty and he finally, with a satisfied sigh, pulls out.

You make an undignified sound at the sudden emptiness, and the rush of cum that follows. You’re grateful for the stone beneath you, cool against your sweat-soaked skin. Your legs are jelly. You don’t know if you’ll ever walk again. Myurva’s front hooves lift, stepping back from the stone. His human hand caresses your cheek. “You’re truly something, lovely,” he says quietly. “I spoke in jest of keeping you, but now...it’s difficult to resist the temptation.”

You try to speak but only manage an incoherent murmur of noise. He chuckles and strokes your hair. Distantly, you’re aware of other noises than the two of you. Shouting. Footeps. Clattering steel. You remember suddenly that you aren’t alone out here, arms struggling to lift you. The knights. How could you forget? Shame heats your face. How long have they been awake? How much did they see? How much did they hear? Myurva shushes your protests, pressing a gentle hand on the small of your back. “Rest,” he says. You don’t think you’re capable of doing much else, anyway.

You hear a commotion behind you. The knights, shouting in outrage, drawing swords. Are they going to hurt Myurva? Your eyes widen and you try again, uselessly, to lift yourself and see what’s happening. The unicorn gives you one last gentle caress and leaves you, his hoofbeats stopping somewhere between you and the knights.

“At last, you show yourself!” the knights exclaim. You manage to roll onto your side, craning your neck to see them surrounding Myurva, but he doesn’t look concerned. He glances around, examining each of the men.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. “Subjects of King Cornelius. And you want…” The corner of his lips twitch in amusement. “A hostage? Is that right? Your people have no claim over our mountains. A hostage will not change this. My king does not negotiate.” His words are ignored. The knights are wary but they do not back down. You feel like a fool. Why didn’t you ask them what they wanted the unicorn for? You assumed it was something trivial, a silly princess who wanted a pet. Nothing like this.

Myurva glances back at you. His silver eyes catch the moonlight and glint dangerously. Those are a predator’s eyes, you realize. A thing that hunts and stalks the night. “You worry for me, lovely?” he purrs. “Your every emotion is so tender. I really must keep you. But, alas,” he chuckles, turning back to the knights, “business first, my sweet.”

You hadn’t looked all that carefully at the fabric across the back of his body. You hadn’t noticed the sword sheaths hanging there, hidden beneath the drapes and tassels. You hear steel scraping steel as he unsheathes twin blades, long and curved, as strikingly silver as his eyes. One of the knights tries to say something. “Come quietly,” or some other meaningless thing. He never finishes speaking. You hardly see Myruva move. A flash of silver, a rush of air; that’s all it takes. The knight’s head falls from his shoulders, and his body sinks to the ground soon after. The others begin to scream and scatter, but they’ll never get away. There’s no outrunning a unicorn.

Laying there upon the stone, you see everything. Prey fleeing and predator giving chase. Swords clashing. Flesh pierced and mangled. Myurva tramples one of them, snaps the man’s ribs with glee in his shining eyes. Their armor does nothing but trap them in slow, awkward shells, easy prey to catch and dismantle. The unicorn moves like a whirlwind across the meadow, death his shadow. Blood soaks the soil and splatters the flowers, almost black in the night.

You’re on your knees when it’s over, hunched over the stone with your legs in the grass. You can’t stand. You can’t run. You can’t do anything but turn and see Myurva standing there, fresh blood dripping from his swords. He smiles at the sight of you, the shivers wracking your body. “You didn’t know,” he assures you. “I can read you, remember?” He wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them at his side once again. You flinch when he comes closer, sitting in the grass beside you. You smell the carnage on him. The fingers that tuck your hair behind your ear are wet and warm. “Pleased to meet you,” he purrs. “I’m Myurva, the royal spymaster. And you are the loveliest little human I’ve ever seen.”

You protest weakly when he scoops you up in his arms, standing suddenly. You’re vaguely aware of moving, of being carried somewhere. You fight to cling to consciousness, but it’s slowly slipping out of your grasp. “Hush,” Myurva coos, kissing your forehead. “We’ve a long ways to go and you’re in no condition to ride me just yet. But, eventually…” He chuckles, one of his hands cupping your backside. “Eventually, we’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we like, won’t we?”

#rotpeach writes #teratotober #i feel like ive ascended to a whole new level of deviancy with this one #this is the prettiest and most Aesthetic thing i'll write all month and it has horsecock in it

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cannibal-witchh · 3 years

Text

Reader(Fem) X Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 1)

Written by cannibal_witchh

⛓Trigger Warning⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes:

I am not the most confident writer so bare with me if theres some flaws floating around the story. I also have very minimal general knowledge to Alcina right now due just demos only being out. Please, be considerate that there's only so much information released on her so most of what I'm writing is not canon. Let's keep it positive and real, we all are thirsting after Lady D so here's a a fanfiction. Also couldn't condense it in one story so going to make this adleast a two or three parter.

It can get confusing with a lot of female characters so the reader is of course:

Y/N - your name

Her/she- i wanted to refer to the female reader in italics and bold

Y/L/N- your last name

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Thunder echoed along the well decorated corridor walls . Hints of lightning occasionally flashed between fluttering curtains. Beyond the curtains was an open window, below that was a critical drop into snow and shards of large rocks. That was definitely not worth risking. Y/N had been held in captivity for what felt like a legitimate eternity. Confinded to a small well kempt room, it seemed as though it had once been a guest room according to the furnishing. All the basic necessities of a bedroom were present here. The fabrics that dressed the bed were of a fine quality, and the boards that held all of it up were of incredible carpentry. Gentle embers flickered from the candlewicks that rose tall on the golden girandoles. Despite captivity the room was comfortable, it was illuminated with warm colors, although still dim and feint.

The door swung open, a black swarm of insects swirled infront of the door as it begun to quickly form a figure. It revealed a small vampiric woman, hooded with golden locks peaking from under it. She flashed her teeth with an enthusiastic smile, as she revealed blood stained teeth, lips, as well as her chin. " Oh, goody! You are awake. I always feel bad feeding when someone is asleep.", She shut the door as she advanced closer to Y/N. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins, hair on her body standing up, and her palms perspiring. She was covered in scabbed bite marks, and bruises - it didn't take long for her to recall the abrupt painful puncture of teeth break through her skin. The old bites began to twitch with pain at the idea a new addition would be welcomed. " I just prefer blood thats been in shock, y'know, awake? It gives it a nice acidic flavor, plus,", she towered over Y/N breathing in her aroma. " It smells wonderful.", she giggled in soft whispers. "Enough.", Y/N demanded as she attempted to cease her trembling. Her body was returning to anxiety because it was clear what was about to happen. A feeding. The vampire didn't seem to express offense, strangely her face bore amusement. "Oh ok, how about this!", she excitedly brought out her sickle and swung at her. With one swift swing the sickle hooked right under her knee cap. A shriek was released from Y/N's lips, agonizing pain radiating everywhere, and blood began to river out from the site. The vampire dragged her with the sickle through the corridor as everything seemed like a blurr from the shock. Hallways seemed like a stretched out haze, and noises seemed to be loud echoes one would hear in a juvenile cafeteria. "Whe-where are you taking me...?", she barely mustered as she felt the sickle dig through muscle and actually brush against the back of her knee cap. Fuck. The sickle was released quickly from her skin as she heard the sound of blood fly onto the ground. That abrupt removal felt worse for minutes compared to the weapon actually being present in Y/N's knee. The monstrous woman lifted the sickle to her crimson stained lips, inhaling the aroma deep, and then proceeding to lick the sickle of the blood it had collected. Sounds of ecstasy escaped her satin black lips, her eyes darted over at Y/N as she felt like she was on the verge of fainting from shock. " I love blood that has some acidicity to it. It gives it a nice kick. You know how that works? For example, your blood could still have more of that taste. One who is in a flight or fright scenario, where they are in absolute fear and adrenaline kicks in...thats when the meat and blood have a sour flavor. Mmm, thats why we are going to play a game." , she licked her lips as her eyes flickered with hunger and passion. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her body gasp from the fevered pain beating in her knee. " I propose we play hide and go seek! You already know who's hiding. I will give you to the count of 100." , her eyes shimmered from this fucked up idea, she quickly turned her back and covered her eyes. Slowly the sickle in her hand vanished within dark smoke, damn it, Y/N within fading in and out had thought perhaps of stealing that and killing her there. Not anymore. She rose up with wobbling knees, just like a new born dear barely capable of using its legs, she began to hobble as fast as she could away.

"Oh, and I can smell your blood. So hide well, Y/L/N."

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Y/N consistently looked back, watching if the vampire had cheated the game. She was indeed honoring the game, that was adleast something about this blonde one she liked. She seemed to honor things she said, " 89...70...", her voice echoed loudly through the halls. The numbers lowering as Y/N felt her adrenaline spike even higher.

Y/N managed to find a door unlocked in a different wing of the manor. She adleast went through 10 locked doors before fleeing to another location of the manor. With pure luck, she discovered this door, it was unlocked and she took her gamble and entered quietly. With trembling gore soiled hands, she locked the door, and sunk to the ground. Very little energy existed in her, she anticipated for dear life the blonde vampire wouldn't smell her here.

The sound of gentle humming danced along the walls of this room, very melodic, sad, and eerie. Lonely, perhaps. With Y/N's quick realization, this resembled a garden bath house. The windows stretched tall in this room, revealing bleeding light from the full moon, there were plants of vibrant emeralds surrounding the large mass of water that centered the room. The water was decorated with rose petals and red spider lilies. The room was architecturally structured with several stones of marble, and looked almost like a Greek bath house . Gentle sounds of rushing water followed between stones which flowed into the big pool of water. Little ripples scattered across the water causing the red flowers to bob up and down.

The humming persisted as Y/N felt her heart drop, she quickly scurried to the nearest marble pillar to conceal herself. The humming was growing louder and louder, could it be the hungry vampire? She wasn't certain if it was worse but it certainly felt like it, Lady Dimitrescu emerged from the shadows of the room, and strided to the water. She was only wrapped in the finest silk, a tight sheer white robe that hugged tightly against her hips. She definitely had a full figure, the robe delivered a silhouette of her motherly figure. It certainly complimented, the low cut of the robe teased her deep cleavage, the sheer silk revealed faint color and the shape of her puffy areolas. Even in the predicament Y/N was in, it was still hard not to appreciate Alcina's physical beauty.

Alcina continued her melodic hum for a few more moments as she admired the undulations of the floral water. " Y/N Y/L/N, you believe me to be foolish?", she broke from her tune as her eyes looked directly at Y/N. She gulped hard as she submitted to the acceptance Alcina would more than likely kill her. She continued to lay her back against the cold pillar, one hand applying pressure to her bleeding knee, the other containing the fear that was trying to escape her lips. " I could smell that delicious blood from here.", she chucked lightly, "Come here, now.", she demanded with her arms crossing. Y/N did not obey the command, she remained quiet behind the pillar. For minutes it consisted of painful sharp silence, only the sound of her terrified heart beats could be heard. Her ears burned and rung, it desperately needed the assurance Alcina was still idle. Did Y/N dare look beyond the pillar? She peeked over and Alcina was no where to be found. Consternation filled her as there wasn't even a trace of evidence to signify the direction Alcina went. Unexpectedly, Y/N felt a hard blow and collapsed on her side. Her hands releasing themselves, and a gasp of air evacuated her mouth. " Oh, I see. ", Alcina had kicked her, her foot pressed hard against her side. Her smooth leg exposed, tracing all the way to her innermost thigh. Her skin looked smooth like porcelain, but certainly felt the weight of heavy boulders as it rested on her. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her foot dig deep into her. "Bleeding out on my perfect floors. Oh, what a mess. Although, it does certainly smells of of tart berries, yes, what a wonderful aroma.", Alcina breathed in the cold air, inhaling hints of Y/N's blood. She moaned in intoxication to the alluring smell of fresh blood. Alcina removed her foot from Y/N, she gasped for air in relief, and tried to attempt to sit up. Alcina quickly lunged forward without even a blink, and her long hand wrapped around Y/N's throat. "No, I don't think so.", Alcina smirked as her hand squeezed around her throat. She fell onto her back, the large vampress towering over, her large hand pressing into her throat.She was capable of breathing but it was incredibly taxing especially with the critical condition she was in. Desperate wheezing filled the air, it burned and stung inside of Y/N's throat. Alcina stared into her eyes, a long red smile stretched upon her pale white face. "Hmm, this is quite boring already. I am quite famished too.", she released her grip, ascended and brought her arms to her bosom to cross them. Y/N began to violently cough and gag as proper air flow returned to her lungs. After several minutes of constant heaving, she finally managed to collect herself. "Come.", Alcina ordered as she turned on the balls of her feet and waltzed to the bath. Y/N submitted, too exhausted to resist any longer. She barely could stand but managed, she approached Alcina with her eyes fixed on her every move. " My little one lacks control. Just as I would suspect with her age. If she doesn't stop stabbing you, you'll die. And I really have grown addicted to your flavor as well. I really would hate for you to bleed out one day because of her reckless actions.", she expressed with a sigh of annoyance. Suddenly, a knock interrupted her rambling, " Lady Dimitrescu,", it was the blonde vampire. Alcina let out another sigh in annoyance. "Yes?", she responded with a disinterested tone, as she crossed her arms a little more snug. Revealing a distracting amount of cleavage being pressed together. " Is Y/N in there?", she sniffed loudly as she strived to rattle the door knob open. " Yes, but I require her. I will discuss with you later some important matters. For the mean time, please do not disturb me and I'll return to you soon.", Alcina said sternly as her fingers drummed the top of her arms impatiently. "Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. ", the blonde vampire responded with pure disappointment in her tone.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've decided you will become my little feeding pet. My daughters do not know how to handle food without killing it. So you are now only mine. Clear?", she lowered herself and grabbed Y/N by the face. Turning her face side to side to examine the condition she was in. Y/N nodded to the best of her abilities, and quickly, Alcina released her. "Good. I'm glad you are willing. I want you to undress now." Embarassment flooded Y/N's mind, her cheeks buzzing with warmth. Why would she even demand that? " I intend on drinking the blood thats already spilling out of you. But I won't drink it while its been dragged around by a rusty sickle and pressed against the dirty floor.", her refined side was definitely exposed. She was different from her daughters, she wanted her meals much more virtuous. " Oh, now, now. I will even join you. They say when two are bathing they are equals.", she added as she disrobed herself. Gently she slide the robe off her shoulders and down her large breasts, as the robe began to flutter down to the marble. Her naked body exposed, and remarkable. Her large breasts sitting perky, her puffy areolas a light grey, and her waist down was incredibly curvy. Absolutely, a full figured silhouette. She dipped her feet in and followed by submerging her body into the bathwater. She let out a sound of relaxation as she smirked and beckoned Y/N. "Come, now."

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To be continued...

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