#Magic of Ruefell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostsofruefell · 4 years ago

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The Other World in the Woods

Hello, I was in a big magic mood the past few days and felt like writing about something happening in a different part of the MoR world, so enjoy this erotica about a Fae and a Witch (approx. 5k words under the cut)

The air is thick with the feel of unreality as the trees part to immerse you within the bubble where the magic is heavy enough you can feel it upon your skin and even deeper weighing down your soul. The trees form a perfect circle around this abode, not even a twig protuding over an invisible line drawn in the grass. The complete, utter silence in this clearing is a pulsing in your ears.

Before you is a house, although some might contest that description, sitting atop a tiny hillock in the center of the perfect circle. It looks like nature has reclaimed it, or it was always a part of nature. Like a massive tree trunk, bark is its skin. Roots all twisted up feed into the ground like veins. Gnarled branchs burst from the walls just to twist and turn back in, hugging the body they come from. The circular window you see is half-swallowed by the bark and so covered in grime you're not sure you could see inside if you were close enough.

The moon, full as a dinner plate, looks almost too big and seems to reflect the sun's shine directly onto the house like a mirror-made spotlight.

Doing your best to steel your nerves, you step up to the first stones. Like a moat, the hillock is surrounded by water. Even the grass is soft and wet, squelching as your boots pull themselves from where they're sunken into. This "moat" looks man-made, lined with purposely cut rectangular stone, and the crystal clear water lets you see the moss creeping up between.

It's only deep enough for the water to come up to your ankles, but you don't fancy ruining your boots anymore than you have with this journey into the forests and so you opt for the stepping stones leading an uneven path to the other side. You hop from one large, flat stone to another and, as your feet touch down, you swear you hear in your head a little chime play, like a piano key hit with every step. The pleasant, yet simple melody leaves you wondering if that's just a childish part of your mind or if it's actually real. Maybe this place still has some whimsy, after all.

The door is before you before you know it, but rather than knock, you stop.

Your heart is thundering against your ribcage, so hard you're starting to doubt your decision to come here. Your hand raises to rest tentatively on the door. If you thought the radiating magic was choking enough, your palm feels, beyond this dark, dark teal wood, an even greater magic flows in and out of this reality and the next, like a torrent you realize you're about to unleash.

There's a knocker.

It's disturbing, a gold-painted, ornate square and, protuding from it, a gold-painted hand, upside down with palm facing out like you're taking someone's hand if you want to enter this home.

But it's a knocker. That means... you're welcome to knock, right? That's what it does. That's its sole purpose as a knocker.

You swallow the rambling thoughts alongside the lump in your throat and slide your hand into the knocker's, doing your best not to let yourself notice the almost-living warmth that fills your palm as you do so. Wrapping your fingers around it, you rap its knuckles against the door. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then you step away.

You stand there for what feels like a quarter of an hour, but you rationalise must have been mere seconds, and just as you're about to turn and retreat with your tail between your legs, there's a click of a doorknob turning.

The door creaks open, the sound almost like an ominous croaking in someone's throat. But you realize that might just be the anxiety saying that.

There's nothing but darkness beyond the threshold. Or so you thought.

As your eyes adjust, you see the figure seeming to glide from the darkness. You can barely make out any features but a chance of light glances his face, revealing only half of it, but still not enough to put any logic to the formation of his visage.

A pearly, pupilless eye looks you over and you get the distinct feeling it trails down and up from head to toe before finding your face again. His expression sours.

"Witch," the deep, gravelly voice spits. "I've told your fellows I'm no longer donating bones. The regrowth has slowed too much."

"Witch...? How did..." The words spill breathless from your mouth without a thought.

You see the shift of shadows proving wry amusement crinkling the skin by his eye.

"The Call of After crackles upon your skin." His smile widens enough you see the full lips pulling outward at the edge. "But, the Father Fae, its voice is weaved deeply inside of me, so of course I can see that."

In just an instance, all trace of amusement and civility drops away. His voice rumbles.

"Now. Leave.”

The door trembles, ready to be slammed.

"I'm not-" you find yourself stammering, taking a step forward with a hand outstretched you've resigned to the risk of being broken with this incredibly stupid, risky movement.

Yet, it seems to have paid off, as the door remains open and a certain curiosity eases his expression

You swallow and try again. "It's not bones I seek. I don't plan to use you for an elixir or... anything else."

The hint of a face you'd been trying to make out vanishes and it takes you a second to realize he's tilted his head. Silence follows but he doesn't leave you wanting long.

"Hm," he hums.

And the door swings wide open.

The darkness that engulfed the interior was a falsehood as the opening reveals gas lanterns mounted strategically along the walls to illuminate the living space just right. But that's not what you're staring at.

The man, the Fae before you is easily a foot taller than you. In a battle between the warm, flickering orange of candelight and his skin, somehow the blue iridescence of his flesh is winning. His hair, pulled into a half-down style, flows in soft, pearlescent waves over his shoulders and down his back. Ears lengthened and pointed to the ceiling hug the sides of his head. Dark, stiff clothing covers the details of his muscles, but is tight enough on his broad chest and thick biceps to let you know they're there beneath.

His handsome face, with a straight nose, full lips, and well-manicured eyebrows, is marred on the side that hadn't been revealed to you. A massive scar that seems to have lost the iridescence of his skin tears itself down from his forehead, over his eye which seems just a touch narrower than the other, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, all the way down to his chin.

You're shocked away from drinking in his mesmerizing appearance when he speaks.

"Come inside, witch." His voice isn't so welcoming, but he glides to the side to allow you by.

You hesitate for a brief moment, but noticeable enough that his eyes twitch narrower and that alone startles your feet into carrying you past him, even as you nearly choke transitioning from Out to In.

The door slowly swings closed behind you, without physical input, sealing you within the Fae's home.

The interior is much larger than the exterior of the house betrays. It must be a trick of reality. Candles lining the path he walks ignite with the perfect timing of his footsteps, like a trail of fire following him as he leads you deeper into his dwellings.

That torrent of magic you felt outside must be responsible for this space and that's why that pressure in your chest tried to kill you as you forced your way within. Now it's settled around you, no longer an oppressive force pressing in on you, but just the soft swirl of magic in the air like scattered petals picked up by a stray breeze.

It's almost... a comfort.

Until something moves on the shelf beside your head and your attention snaps to that. It's contained in a jar, but the spiky, shifting, dark mass inside tumbles over and over as if trying to find something past those glass walls it can never again get to.

Beside it, your curiosity piques, something is hidden beneath a velvet cloth but that's not enough to smother the light whatever it is is emitting. You can only imagine how bright it'd be, were it uncovered.

Your gaze is drawn forward again as the short hall opens up to a circular room. The shabby, unrefined exterior of the building was more than a farce. Smooth, detailed, carved and polished wood and the hard edges of a sophisticated influence make up the architecture inside. But you care more about the chaos before you than the interior design.

It's like a library but one made to fulfill every witch's dream. Shelves upon shelves of oddities to be studied or used in elixirs. Glass bobbles of beauty belonging to the night hang from shiny, delicate threads. The desk that sits in the center is overflowing with the scatter of papers and the magic scholar within you jolts with excitement at the very idea of being able to read what After-related secrets they might detail. The knowledge of the Fae... how you wish to devour it to your heart's content. Isn't that every witch's wish? Think of the spells...

A clearing of the throat snaps you out of your awe. The Fae has drifted around you to stand between you and his treasures. Sheepishness overcomes your demeanor but he just seems amused. You idly wonder if he's invited many witches into his home and witnessed the same wonderment as your eyes zero in on the spiral staircase over his shoulder, leading up to another floor. You definitely pegged this as a one-story cabin from the outside. Curiosity pricks the back of your mind again, not at what that second floor might be and if there's any others, but at how much power must be used to create a space like this.

Finally your eyes slide back to his patient face, prompting him to speak.

"What is your name?"

Your lips part.

Then shut again.

That twinkle of amusment in his otherwise pearly off-white eyes returns, his own lips thinning to a wry smirk.

"I'm no Faerie, witch. I'm not asking you to give me your name. Or your soul." He practically scoffs at the notion. "I'm an Omni Fae; I don't need it. Just share this knowledge and I will return it."

Your instincts say this is a bad idea. But, they've been saying that since you left your house and you've been ignoring them this whole time. So, you do. You tell him your name with just the slightest hesitance weakening your voice.

To your surprise, his smirk fades to a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his harsh features suddenly seeming so friendly with just the one gesture. His voice softly echoes your name and it's never sounded more magical resting on anyone else's tongue.

He turns to the desk he was leaning against, fingers with an inhuman grace fluidly sliding crooked papers back into their neat stacks.

"My name, witch, is Yewfie Frosthart," he speaks with his back to you and from this angle you finally take note of the thin, blue tail spouting from beneath the back of his coat, hanging down past his knees with the slightest sway. It ends in a tuft of fur that same pearlescence as his hair. "However, certain comrades call me Needle."

He slowly raises his head, then straightens his shoulders like something's clicked.

"Or, I suppose, I can say that..."

He spins on his heel so fast you jolt. His rough voice booms with the authority of a Rakian General.

"Kneel!"

Your mettle snaps within you like no more than a pitiful twig. You can feel it, like an arrow shot straight through the base of your skull. Your knees buckle and you don't even flinch at the pain as they hit the wood floor.

"Huh." It comes out more like a huff of amusement from his lips, which open to a loose smirk, almost like he wasn't expecting that to work as well as it did. "I see you have submissiveness inside you. Quite bold, then, for you to have stolen that power you wield as a witch."

Your vision shakes, as do your cold hands as you stare up at him in awe. He knows too much without you saying anything. He can do too much. This Fae is far more powerful than you were told and this was a bad, bad idea... right?

His biceps bulge as he crosses his arms over his hard chest. He shakes his head, hair moving in shimmery waves, as if reading your thoughts—but that's impossible, right?

"I'm not here to pass judgement, submissive." His voice has softened once again as he leans over, but doesn't take a knee, in front of you to brush his calloused fingers along the line of your jaw. "Just tell me what you seek and I might be able to provide."

Your voice catches in your throat, nothing more than a broken moan making it past your trembling lips. You swallow, as difficult as it is, and try again.

"Kn... knowledge," is the whisper that breaks past the oppressive dominance radiating off this Fae towering over you. Your arm feels heavy but you force it to lift, to reach for him. "I... I seek knowledge."

"Knowledge..." He tastes the word thoughtfully. "Knowledge has a price, you know."

His eyes narrow at you. "And I don't think you're ready to pay my price."

Your hand shoots out before you realize, the heavy burden that weighed it down completely forgotten in your desperate instinct to reach for him, keep him with you. Your other soon follows and your fingers latch on the leather belt wrapped around his hips, leverage as you shuffle forward on your knees.

"I prepared myself," you say almost like a plea, and it must show in your eyes too. "Before I came here, I prepared myself."

That causes him pause, a pregnant pause that hangs between the two of you as his muscles barely shift, the slowest turn back to you. The look on his face... like a shark that's smelled blood. And then his large hand lands gently atop your head.

"Prepared... mentally? Or physically?" He smiles with the words, a dark glint in his eyes. Your fingers tremble.

"...I prepared myself," you repeat and his fingers curl, gripping your hair.

His other hand reaches to his belt.

"Very well, witch."

***

The candelight has dimmed significantly, either through his will to set the mood or the passage of time. Your jaw is tired by now, but you're pushing forward.

It doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like a rite. You can't stop until he's pleased. The taste that fills your mouth, layers on your tongue, is unlike anything you've experienced before. It's musky, it's masculine, it's sexual, but it's also inhuman, pleasant, and powerful. Your tongue craves it, lavishing the underside of his lengthy cock and worshipping the blushing purple head now shining with a mix of pre and saliva. Your hands move on their own, weighing and massaging his hefty balls, those delicate orbs that contain the source of your sweet craving, and sliding up and down the part of his shaft you can't cram down your throat, making sure not a single inch of his incredible cock goes unattended.

He sighs in pleasure, graceful fingers playing through your hair to pull it out of your face. His length jumps in your mouth. His abs shiver like he's feeling it. But he's not cumming.

You pop off, panting like a dog, and take to filling your hand with his cock. Soft and wet skin, it slides through your fingers with the movements of his hips, the franticness of his pulse, brought on by multiple hearts, twitching against your palm.

He curls a lock of your hair around his finger. "That's good, little witch," he murmurs, the growl of his voice having dropped enough to a deep something almost soothing and sweet.

"Is it?" you pant.

"Yes..." He smiles. "I seldom have company as good as you're being right now. I can sense your eagerness. It energizes me."

Then why aren't you good enough to make him cum? His cock feels hot as you press your lips to the side of it in a kiss too loving to be given to something so lewd. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, you let your desire leak out in a whisper, "I want you to cum..."

His eyebrow quirks, eerie smile unmoving. "Is that so? This was just foreplay. You are very good at it, however..." He grasps the base of his cock, bouncing it against your willing tongue. "Then, keep going. I'm close. I'll let myself this time. Go on."

You need no more prompting. Revitalized, your hand redoubles its efforts, closing your fingers around his shaft like a makeshift cocksleeve for him to fuck. Your mouth kisses and sucks gently at the skin of his sack, willing the churning balls contained within to let loose already.

His fingers move from your hair to curl around the nape of your neck, encouraging you to lavish the base of his cock with your tongue. His ombre claws scratch your skin as his grip tightens ever so slightly, a grunt escaping him.

You can't get enough of this taste. You wish you could force his length down your throat, but you know you'd choke on his size, so you have to settle for lovingly polishing his shaft with your mouth and feeling his intense pulse fluttering like a hummingbird shot up with caffeine squeezed between your fingers.

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning back on one hand. "Oh... So good, little witch. Don't stop," he moans. You can't tell if he's putting you on, or if this is what it means that he's letting himself feel it this time.

Two of his fingers press against the pulse behind your ear and, as he whispers for more, you realize you're moving your hand in ways you hadn't thought of, reacting to what he wants without him having to say it, like the remaining half of his soul is reaching deep within you to connect with yours, encourage to slow down and speed up, tighten your grip as you slide your hand up and loosen as it falls back down, to tease the underside right below the head with your thumb. You're rewarded with copious amounts of shimmering pre, the involuntary twitching of his cock, and his breathy groans that send shivers down your spine.

"Like that," he gasps. "Keep going- n- ah- oh Gods." He releases your nape to wrap his hand around yours, tightening your grip for you, and forcing your hand to pump faster and faster. His lips pull back in a snarl, eyes shutting as his head tilts back. "Gods- yes- yes- y-"

His whole body jerks, hips jumping against your hand. He groans, stilling your hand at the base of his cock. It twitches in your grasp and you watch in awe as a couple shots of his dark blue, semi-translucent semen fly free and the rest begins to leak down his length, thick and warm sliding over his and your fingers.

After a moment of tension, he finally relaxes and releases your hand, letting you pull it back and stare at the blue cum coating your fingers. He lets out a long breath and looks down at you again.

"Like I said..." He pauses to bring his hand to his mouth. His white tongue slides out and he drags his fingers down it, catching the taste of himself. His tongue then flicks across his lips, like he's savoring it, a lewd sexiness you never expected from a Fae scholar. You squeeze your thighs together a little tighter, the excitement that's been brewing between them finally reaching the point of unbearable neediness. "You're an eager one."

"But," he continues. "This was just foreplay."

Not bothering to tuck himself back in his pants, he simply bends over, gripping you under your arms. "Up we go." Rather than hauling you to your feet, he lifts you up, catching you easily with his hands on your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He steadies you with one hand on your back, but otherwise seems to have zero trouble holding you up.

"Let's go upstairs, to my bed, so I can love you properly," he whispers in your ear and begins to pepper your neck, jaw, and cheek in kisses. All you can do is hold on tight as he carries you up the spiral staircase, not even having to look at where he's going.

It's an unceremonious drop, but the bed that meets your back, that bounces you once then lets you sink in, is soft and comfortable, welcoming you with the feeling of safety and, beneath you, a handmade quilt that surrounds you with the distinct, puzzling essence of a mother who loved her son.

The fleeting feeling is gone in an instant as his weight presses you down into the bed. For the first time, his lips meet yours and sparks the sweetest of feelings deep within you.

Instinctively, you take his face between your hands, holding him gently as you move your mouth against his in the rhythm dripping with ardor that he leads you through. The softness of his lips, the faint scratch of his stubble, the taste of his mouth, and the air from his lungs filling yours, you lose yourself to the haze, like sinking slowly and warmly into the spring of Nothingness. Your fingers find his hair and take the ribbon holding his locks together with them, letting those waves flow down to frame his face and brush ever so softly against yours.

He breaks the kiss and his shadow falls over you as he sits up. His hands find the ties at his side and then his top is coming undone, tossed into a heap on the floor followed by his dark undershirt. You were right, those clothes hid so much of his hard, toned, scarred body.

You reach a hand out, your fingertips desiring to feel the uneven terrain of those well-maintained abs, but one firm word from him—"Stay."—and your hand snaps back to its place on your chest.

He shuffles forward, parting your thighs to fit his hips in between them. His hands make quick work of your clothes and you let him, giving yourself over to the feeling of his palms lighting a fire up the silhouette of your body as your back arches off the bed to meet his touch. A smirk plays at his lips as your top comes off, but as soon as he's slid your pants off your legs, he leans in again to seal his lips against the column of your throat.

His hand dives between your legs, fingers finding your wet heat and you sigh in pleasure. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest.

"So you did prepare yourself." His breath fans your skin and his teeth scrape you in a small nip at the V shaped muscles in your neck. "Good... Because I can't wait anymore."

Another shift and he's pushing your legs up. His forehead meets yours. You can't see where his eyes are looking but you're pretty sure, right now, it's directly in your own eyes.

"Is that okay?" The question catches you off guard. He's paused against you, but the eagerness he teased you for previously is now radiating off of him. Not trusting your voice, you nod emphatically, trying your best to brace yourself and calm your skyrocketing heartrate.

He reaches one hand between the two of you, lining himself up. Just as his hips push forward, his lips capture yours.

It's unlike anything you've felt before. The way his girth splits you open, stretching your sensitive walls to welcome himself inside, driving ever deeper and filling you, filling you until his hips meet yours. You prepared, but not for this. You're melting around him, whimpering into his mouth. He pulses inside you, feeling just as connected to you as you are to him.

"Just breathe," he breaks the kiss to whisper against your lips. "Don't hold your breath. I've got you."

You whine in response and he seals the sound in again with his lips. His body rocks against yours, barely pulling out before sliding back in. You don't feel empty for a second. You feel full, so full, and you let yourself melt completely into it, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. His tongue sweeps through your mouth and you slide your tongue along his, tasting the sweetness of whatever berries have satiated him today.

You moan against each other, his grip on your waist gradually tightening as his short thrusts grow in force until he's tense. His tail lashes against your legs in frustration. He grunts, slamming his balls against your butt at this point, trying to find a stimulation he seems to be lacking. Finally, he can't take it anymore. He breaks the kiss again.

"Hold still," he growls.

Twitches seize your muscles as he sits up and takes your hands in his, his tail curling around your ankle as you loosen your legs from around his hips. Lacing his fingers with yours, he slowly pulls out. His hands squeeze yours and then he thrusts forward with a force that drives a loud cry of pleasure from your now unburdened mouth.

He molds your inner walls to the shape of his cock, stretching your insides around every contour of the thick, lengthy, hard shape spearing into you; you'll never feel the same again.

He doesn't give you a break and you wouldn't ask him to, pistoning in and out like it's what he was made to do. The sound of skin smacking against skin mix in the air with the sounds of your non-stop moans and desperate cries. His own groans escape unbidden from his mouth as his head tilts back.

Pleasure rides like tsunami-level waves up your body. His hips beat against yours, fucking up into your stomach so hard tears spring to your eyes. But you don't beg him to stop. You beg him for more. He calls your name, for the very second time since you met him, your name shapes his voice. And you see it.

The air sparks with magic and you finally see it; the white flame that surrounds his aura, emerging from his incomplete soul. The black fog that creeps up behind him, like eyes watching over his shoulder, seeing all your vulnerabilities.

The Call of After crackles upon his skin. It's weaved so deeply inside him he'll never be untethered. Never free of Father Fae.

The flame that licks down his arms flows into you and you feel Power.

That split second where the sensation of sex faded away slams back into you full force. Your nails dig into the backs of his hands, your hips move on their own, bucking up to meet his every earth-shattering thrust.

You beg him not to stop, never to stop, crying out your pleasure, calling for the Gods that abandoned this world, anything to work this feeling out of you, the feeling that makes your body move on it's own, that makes you want to scream your head off. Jolts rock through your body, sparks firing off in your brain. It's building. The tension grips your muscles. Control is snatched from you completely. The power bundling up in your core expands into every crevice of your body, shooting up your spine, straight into your brain and then-

You throw your head back, a scream tearing claws up your throat as you climax explodes through you, from this reality to the next.

Your insides' frantic spasming around his cock proves too much for him, too, triggering his own orgasm, but you barely get to see his reaction before everything goes black.

***

A weak moan escapes you before your eyes manage to crack open. Your bones feel gelatinous as your bleary surroundings slowly come into focus, the darkness at the edge of your vision receding.

The vague feeling against your cheek sharpens to familiar stubble and soft lips placing kiss after loving kiss on your neck, jaw, and cheek. You then realize you're cradled against a warm, bare chest. And the clothes upon your body are not the ones you came here in. In fact, they're a size or more too large for you, though comfortable.

"Are you awake, little witch?" His voice rumbles soothingly.

"...Tired..." you mumble in response and he chuckles deeply. You really want to close your eyes and turn your face in to those sculpted pecs and sleep for the next century, but you force yourself to look up at him.

He smiles, all hostility from your initial meeting now completely vanished from his demeanor. He leans in to greet your swollen lips with two kisses. He then turns away and sits up on the side of the bed, leaving you lonely.

"Well then." He locks his fingers together, stretching his arms above his head and letting you see the way his muscles move and stretch in his back.

"...You owe me knowledge, Fae," you find the strength to shoot back, though your voice sounds as sore as your throat is.

He laughs lightly, snatching his discarded shirt from the floor and standing up. "Of course. I haven't forgotten." He coyly glances back at you over his shoulder as he wrangles his shirt back on. "Find your strength, witch, then join me downstairs. You've more than earned the knowledge you seek and I will answer all your questions."

His smile grows upon his lips.

"Tell me, do you like tea?"

#not safe #Magic of Ruefell #lore #Fae #Ghosts in the Gaslamp #Vainglorious Demons #worldbuilding #Yewfie Frosthart

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