#baring fangs with a rabbit's heart

[thewolfisawake]

how pure r u

"I--"

"The machine has spoken."

Aspis sighed, "I don't know if I'm flattered or tired."

[florencebirdsong]

Wolf Hunt

Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Rio needs to get out some of those animal instincts

Tags: primal play, biting, Rio has fangs and claws you’re welcome, strap on (r receiving), predator/play, wolf Rio, prey reader, 

Authors Note: I definitely didn’t make Rio a wolf because Death is a wolf in puss and boots. It was absolutely not a deciding factor. Ahem. Anyway, short and not so sweet

masterlist | ao3

You feel her before you see her. Her heady presence fills the small clearing and you eagerly look into the dark. The fire has ruined your ability to see far but the sound of shifting dirt points to where she’ll pop up. You resist the urge to get up when you can make out her silhouette. Being too eager means you’re more likely to get stuck away from the warmth of the fire.

You tilt your head curiously as she stops outside of the firelight. Her hood isn’t up and the flickering fire light shows that it’s not her skull face. She smiles and you smile back. It takes you a moment to notice the shine of her teeth. Of the fangs poking past her lips. 

You freeze. Her smile widens. Your eyes drop to her hands which are now tipped in claws. You bolt like a rabbit. Her deep laugh echoes behind you.

Branches claw at you and roots try to trip your feet as you run. You can’t tell how close she is and you don’t risk looking back. A wolf howling behind you turns your racing heart into a gallop. You take a wild turn and then another. There’s a river that, if you can get across it, you might be able to use to lose her.

You try and zigzag your way towards it. Unpredictable moves giving you an edge in your race against Death. But they’re also a risk. 

Another sharp pivot puts your foot into a tiny shrub. You crash to the ground but use your momentum to roll and shove yourself up again. The precious seconds cost you. Huffing growls fill the air behind you and you try to force down the panic. She’s gaining with every step. Your shoulder catches the trunk of a tree and you stumble. She’s so close you swear you can feel her breath. You prepare yourself to hit the ground. The shock is always what does you in. It comes a second later.

She tackles you but you’re quick enough to wriggle out of her grip before she can cage you in. You think you’re free until her claws wrap around your ankle and you slam into the ground. Her hands are quick to find your legs and hold them down.

You try to kick her off of you but it’s too late. She kneels where her hands were. She slams your shoulders onto the ground. Her claws dig into your skin. Trying to shove her off is useless so you go for her elbows. They don’t bend. She growls and moves one hand to push your head back, baring your neck to her. Your hands move to her shoulders to get some leverage as you try and buck her off. Then you try to unbalance her by shoving her chin up. She growls and bites your fingers. You yelp and pull back instinctively. She huffs a laugh. You bare your teeth at her but stop when she does it back. Her fangs are so much sharper than yours. 

You grip her wrist to try and free your head but she pushes until you feel a strain and you have to stop. Your hands hover, unsure what to do next as her eyes run over your captured form. You decide fuck it and jab at her throat. She chokes at the feeling but Death doesn’t need to breathe. Your hands are forced down beside your head and she growls in your face. 

You growl back, but it turns into a whimper when she sinks her sharp fangs into your throat. You don’t attempt to push her off, knowing ripping her teeth out of you will only hurt worse. Your body goes limp. She growls in satisfaction. 

Her hips grind against you and you whimper. She’s got her teeth into you. There’s no escape now.

She ruts against you and the sharp ache in your neck makes it take too long for you to notice the hard thing hiding in her pants.

She finally releases your throat and you whimper at the fresh sting. She tries to pull your pants down and growls in frustration, ripping them open with her claws instead. You flinch but they don’t snag you. She lines up her strap and fills you with one thrust before her hand returns to your wrist. You hadn’t even thought to move it. There’s no thoughts now.

Rio doesn’t give you time to adjust or work you up. She ruts into you like the animal she is. Grunting and growling as you whimper and mewl below her. Her nose in your neck constantly nudging the wound on your neck, her hot breath doing nothing to soothe it.

You sloppily meet her thrusts as the stretch turns from painful to delicious, breathing heavy as pleasure floods through you. She bottoms out every time, skin slapping yours as she chases her own high. 

She grunts and bites you again, right above the first mark. A sign she’s close to coming. You whine and struggle against her hold. You aren’t close enough yet. Her jaw clenches tighter, her nails dig into your skin and her thrusts turn punishing. One hand leaves your wrist and finds your clit, pinching harshly. A high-pitched sound leaves your throat and you arch into her, sharp pleasure crashing into you. Her hips do that stuttering thing that shows she’s coming and you fall over the edge together. She’s no nicer, taking what she wants, but you’re too full to care. 

She stills, still inside of you, before laying down on top of you and nuzzling your neck. The movements zing along the lingering pleasure.

Panting, you lay there as the waves ebb out of you. Rio nuzzles and licks over her new marks, knowing it takes you longer than her to come down. You whimper when she hits a particularly tender spot. You can feel her purr. 

Her tongue pokes and prods until you’re limp under her. Satisfaction rolls off of her in waves. You won’t be about to run again and she’s marked you for all to see. You’re hers until the next hunt, when she’ll need to prove her claim all over again.

[animasola86]

🦇 FANGS TO REMEMBER

m!vampires x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 3.6k

On your way back to the party, you come across a graveyard. Unbeknownst to you, you are trespassing onto someone's property, and they are not happy about it. Or are they?

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Vampires! Noncon/dubcon! Threesome! Spitroasting! Biting! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: This is part 5 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7 This is the continuation of OPTION 3/PART 4 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene:

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and after drinking a strange drink, you decide to get some fresh air, running into a werewolf who instantly decides to knot and breed you, and after that ordeal is done, you flee from him, and come across a graveyard...

ADDITIONAL WARNING: This one is very dark. It's more noncon than dubcon, so if you don't like the themes, you can skip it (imagine something dark happening) and read the next part here.

You look around, but there's only one way forward: through the graveyard. It's too dark to see anything else, no maze, no garden, no house, you can't even see the cabin anymore you just left. The night is eerily quiet, no critters, nothing. Even the wind seems to take a break for now.

Inhaling deeply, you hug your arms around your body and take a step through the large wrought-iron gates, looking left and right at the rows of crooked tomb stones. A strange mist wafts close to the ground, giving off an otherworldly glow. The moon is long gone it seems, the sky too cloudy to show any stars, but still you can see the various shapes around you.

You're not easily spooked, usually, but being alone in a cemetery at night makes your imagination run wild, wilder than it has been all evening. The slightest movement makes you flinch as you tread carefully along the path, goosebumps rippling over your exposed skin whenever something brushes against your bare legs. The shirt is soft and warm, but in the end not long enough after all, no matter how hard you tug at its hem.

A sudden shuffling sound makes your blood run cold and you freeze on the spot, your heart beating out of your chest, cold fear gripping your limbs. It came from behind one of the larger tomb stones, decorated with a small angel statue. You stare into the darkness, pressing your lips together to keep the noises from spilling past them. Probably just an animal. Your mind is surely playing tricks on you.

But when the same sound comes from right behind you, you whirl around with a shriek, stumbling back as you see a large black shadow blocking your view. You expect to fall onto your butt, but something keeps you from it, another shadow – and this one has hands. Hands that grip your arms, holding you tightly. Another scream rips from your throat as you thrash about, trying to get away, before another hand finds its way to your mouth, muffling all the noises you want to let out.

Your eyes are wide when the shadows around you form into the shapes of two big men, pale in the eerie light, tall and muscular, dressed surprisingly well for creatures that lurk in the dark.

“What do we have here?” the one with his hand on your mouth says, tilting his head, giving you a smile that makes his handsome face look almost diabolical. “A little rabbit? In our cemetery?”

“Did you get lost, little one?” the other man, the one behind you, whispers as he leans his head closer, rubbing his smooth cheek against yours. It's cold to the touch.

You stiffen, unable to do or say anything. Maybe you're still dreaming, or again. But the way these men grab you feels too real. They are strong. Intimidatingly so. You swallow hard, gasping when the one behind you gives you a deep sniff.

“Ugh, she reeks of dog,” he says with a drawl. “Had some fun with the beast, didn't you?”

Suddenly you feel a hand between your legs, a cold touch, coaxing a muffled yelp out of you as you feel probing fingers right against your warm crotch. “Huh, yeah, he got to her alright. Filled to the brim...” He pulls his fingers away and raises them to your face, and you can see the thick substance coating them. “Too bad, really, I was looking forward to ravaging that sweet cunt...”

You glare at him, both in shock and indignation. He pulls his hand from your mouth and shoves his soiled fingers between your lips. A muffled grunt of protest slips from your throat, but your attempts to get away are futile as the other man still holds your arms tightly. A bitter and slightly salty taste fills your mouth, but with how the man presses his digits onto your tongue you can't do anything but flick it around them, licking them clean.

“At least she seems quite obedient,” he muses with a menacing tone, watching you closely, moving his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“We can still have some fun with her,” the man behind you says quietly, his nose nuzzling your neck. “He hasn't marked her yet. She's fair game.”

“Splendid,” the other replies with a laugh and pulls his fingers away with a wet popping sound. You quickly swallow the spit gathered on your tongue and lick your quivering lips. “So, little bunny, do you wanna try to run? I would die for a little hunt... if I wasn't already dead,” he adds with a reverberating laugh that makes you shiver deeply.

You just stare at him, your chest rising and falling faster. “I don't think she'll come far,” the man rubbing his hands over your arms retorts. “She seems weakened. The beast clearly got her good. Let's just enjoy her until her heart gives out, hm?”

You gasp at the implication, immediately silenced by a hand reaching out to grab your chin. “Fine. It is already enough to hear this beautiful beat,” the man in front of you whispers as he leans closer. “Are you scared, rabbit?”

Your eyes dart over his pale face, and when he bares his teeth and licks them slowly, you stare at his pointy canines. After having just met a real werewolf (or so you think, it's all so fuzzy in your head right now), you shouldn't be surprised to meet actual vampires, in a graveyard no less, pale and cold and strong, with sharp fangs and insatiable appetites, but your body still reacts as if you were indeed just a bunny cornered by two predators. A tiny whimper escapes your throat. “Please...”

“Hmm? Please what? Use your words, darling!” the man behind you snarls, rubbing his nose against your neck before you feel his lips on your pulse, nibbling teasingly.

“Please let me go...” you press out.

“Not going to happen, sweetheart,” he replies, his low voice muffled. “You came to us. Walked right onto our property. It's our right to do with you whatever we like...”

You squirm in his hold when he laps his tongue up your neck. The other man watches you, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip before he suddenly leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours. You gasp, staring at him. “You won't regret it, little one,” he breathes against you. His skin feels cold, but the close proximity makes your cheeks burn up badly. “We'll give you a good time, don't worry your pretty little head!”

And suddenly you are being lifted, nausea rolling over you as you find yourself somehow floating in the air. It's all a blur at this point. Footsteps crunch over gravel and dead leaves, thump against stone plates, old hinges screech as a door is being opened. The fresh air becomes stale and dusty, the light even darker. You move down a set of stairs, but you can't move, your head is swimming, your insides tensing up in a way that borders on painful. You can barely breathe, and you have no idea why.

Candle light flickers to life when the men take you through a large wooden door. Your eyes blink into focus slowly. You seem to be in some sort of mausoleum, old looking, corners full of cobwebs, aged statues lining the walls. In the middle of the round room, there are two stone coffins, both of them open, their heavy stone slabs pushed to the side. You swallow hard, trying to see this as a scene, a decorated room fit for an elaborate Halloween party.

But somehow you doubt this is part of it.

“Excuse the mess,” one of the men says as he walks to the coffins. “We didn't expect company tonight...”

He raises a hand – and as you're being set down on your feet again, you witness how the heavy slab moves seemingly on its own or by a strange unseen force, leaving you even more confused. Both coffins are closed now, and before you can question anything else, you are being draped over the short side of one of them, stomach pressed to the cold stone, arms and legs hanging off the edges. A groan escapes you.

“Let's clean her up first, I can't stand the stink of wolf,” one man says as he steps behind you, pushing your legs further apart. You feel a strange coldness rushing through your body, like water, but not really wet, a sensation that leaves you choking on your own spit. “There, better. Don't you feel better too, darling? No longer stuffed full of disgusting beast semen? Well, I don't want to kink shame or anything, maybe you are into being bred, but we do like our holes squeaky clean – for us to soil all over again.”

You squirm on the stone slab, your hands trying to find purchase on the smooth surface, your legs kicking helplessly, but before you can do anything, the other man steps in front of you, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up. You find yourself face-to-face with his throbbing cock. They don't seem to waste any time, huh? He presses his thumb and finger into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You issue a groan of protest that is quickly muffled by his surprisingly warm member. You have no choice but to close your lips around it. (Even if you wanted to bite down on him, you couldn't, his hand is still holding your jaw open.)

“Good bunny, you know what to do, hm?” he tells you, slowly rolling his hips against you, his tip scraping along your gums, teasing at the back of your throat. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you feel the need to swallow it before it drips past your lips. When you do, he groans quietly. “Oh, yes, like that. Do that again.” Somehow his words seem to encourage you, and you swallow around him once more, straining your throat enough for tears to fill your eyes.

Behind you, you feel two cold hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gripping them, pulling them apart, before they slip up your rear and push the large shirt out of the way. “So I assume after your little werewolf ordeal, your poor little cunt is a little tired, wouldn't you agree?” he rasps teasingly. “Good thing you have another hole, huh, my sweet?”

You let out a series of muffled cries around the cock in your mouth when you feel probing fingers between your ass cheeks. “Mhmmnngh!” you croak out, thrashing on the stone slab, trying to get away. A sudden slap on your soft rear makes you howl, but ultimately stops your fidgeting. Your skin burns and throbs horribly. “Shh, relax, rabbit. You can take it. See?”

Before you can react, you feel a strange pressure against your sphincter, a teasing touch but unrelenting, and suddenly you have a finger in your ass. Your tight muscles clench around the thick digit, and you wriggle in your compromised position, almost gagging yourself on the dick between your lips when you push yourself against the man's groin and his cock deeper into your mouth. A jerk goes through your body, your hands fruitlessly trying to hold onto anything.

You don't feel in control of your limbs anymore, it's strange. You can feel everything, but you can't move, only rock back and forth on the coffin. The man behind you pushes his finger deeper, then pulls it out and replaces it with two. The stretch hurts, and you let out a muffled wail. Your noises seem to encourage him when he moves them in and out faster, deeper, a hard press against your protesting muscles.

Meanwhile the man holding your jaw increases the pace of his hips slamming against your face. His cock pushes deep, and you gag violently when he breaches your throat, your body convulsing, spit filling your mouth. He pulls back slightly, allows you to breathe and cough and swallow, but then repeats the motion, and you gag again, and the cycle continues. Your head is spinning by the fifth time he forced his length down your throat, and you feel too weak to protest anymore.

Not even when you notice that the man playing with your ass has added another finger and is plunging his hand hard against your rear, a dizzying rhythm, forceful, stretching you for whatever comes next. You can guess and it scares you. But there's nothing you can do as he suddenly pulls his fingers out with a wet pop and you feel his cockhead pressing against your slightly gaping hole. A deep grunt escapes him when he rocks his pelvis forward, sinking into your depths without mercy, carving his way through your impossible tightness.

Your muffled scream is overpowered by loud gurgling noises as the cock in your mouth pistons in and out fast, always pushing deep, bulging your neck, his crotch slapping into your face with each thrust. You are pushed and pulled, rocked back and forth, impaled front and back, cold hands holding your head up or digging into your hips as the two men use you for their pleasure, their grunts filling the space around you.

Despite their rough handling, you feel a strange heat growing inside you, and you realize that with every slam into your ass or snap into your throat, you are rubbed over the rough stone, and your clit quickly feels raw and swollen from the added stimulation. Moaning into the rapidly moving cock in your mouth, you focus on the good feelings, not the burning friction in your rear, not the rawness of your throat, the lack of air or the helplessness, just the bliss that tries to fight through the pain and discomfort.

But before you can even imagine any edge to fall over, they suddenly slow down, languid strokes that push deep until they stop altogether, one cock buried deep in your ass, the other pushed all the way down your throat as pubic hair tickles your nostrils. Your eyes roll back, your lungs burn, your body spasms fruitlessly. Groans echo in your ear.

“Let's turn her around,” one says.

“You wanna switch places too?” the other replies, almost a little breathlessly.

“Sure, I bet she doesn't mind a little ass to mouth action, huh, sugar?”

A loud slap against your bruised rear makes you gag violently, and as spit fills your mouth and tears stream down your face, you are being rotated on the cold stone slab, arms still hanging limply to the ground while your legs twitch as they're being pushed up and against your heaving chest, opening you up further. Cold air brushes over your exposed skin, and for a short moment they let go of you, cocks pull back, leaving trails of stickiness all over your face and crotch.

You are lightheaded, barely able to function, and that moment of reprieve is short-lived. You didn't even get the chance to swallow or breathe properly before a cock is being shoved back into your mouth. Hands curl around the back of your head, holding it up as the stiff and slimy length is pushed straight into your bruised throat. You can only croak out a muffled grunt before a heavy pair of balls slam against your nose.

“Tongue out,” the man above you orders, and you comply, hoping it'll be easier with your mouth wide open and your tongue extended to guide the throbbing cock in and out. “Good. Just like that. Look at that neck bulging. Ugh,” he continues, groaning as he rams deep into your throat and rests there, cutting off any air flow you may have had earlier. You squirm on the coffin, limbs twitching helplessly.

Before you drift off into unconsciousness, he pulls back and slaps your cheek. The pain drags you back immediately. “No fainting, rabbit, we need you awake for this.” You cough hoarsely, spit and precum flying through the air. You're too weak to open your eyes, and it doesn't matter anyway. His hand is on your neck now, squeezing slightly. “Ahh, yes, listen to that frantic heartbeat,” he rasps, slowly slipping his cock back between your lips. “Are you afraid to choke, hm? Or does that turn you on?”

You gag when he presses into your throat slowly, your whole body jerking against the man on the other side, who's holding your legs open and pressed to your chest. You are allowed to cough and swallow before it happens all over again, again and again, and while one man fucks your throat with reckless abandon, the other rubs his cold hand down your mound, teasing at your swollen clit, parting your puffy labia, but then he dips his finger into your ass, completely ignoring your hungrily clenching cunt.

There's no further preparation, and a moment later he shoves his cock into your tight hole, making you wail against the dick in your throat. He lets go of your legs, causing them to flop about wildly with each thrust as he starts pounding into you hard and fast, then you feel his long fingers on your burrowed shirt. You barely register how it's ripped open, but you do feel those cold palms pressing onto your soft mounds, pebbling your skin, your nipples hardening instantly. The touch is almost soothing among all the other things happening to you.

It's a whirlwind of sensations, the lack of air and strain to your throat and jaw on one side, the rough friction and burning heat and hard pummeling on the other. You are moved back and forth on the stone surface, a limp body to be used. You don't know how long this is going on, but these guys seem to have incredible stamina. They just won't stop.

Whenever you feel as if you're slipping into the welcoming darkness, you are slapped and brought back, your cheeks burning and throbbing, but it's only one of many aches by now. You can't decide which is worse, the suffocating stretch when a cock buries deep into your throat, or the rough pummeling of sore muscles when the other cock rams into your tight ass. It's all a blur in the end.

The men are groaning and grunting, snapping their hips against you, uncaring of your discomforts. They're chasing their own orgasms while you remain teetering far away from any sort of release. The room is filled with loud squelching noises, gurgles and slurps, slapping of skin against skin, a soundscape that seems to be your only form of stimulation. Not even the cold hands on your breasts push you further to the edge, they are just there, holding you, groping hard, anchoring you as you are pushed back and forth.

At least they have a rhythm now, in and out in an alternating way, almost like a seesaw, in goes the one in your throat, out moves the one in your ass, and then it's the other way around. And somehow you find comfort in it as you lie there, held in place, unable to move, your eyelids fluttering, tears and snot drying on your sweat-slick skin.

It's then that you feel cold fingers brushing down your quivering belly, down, down, until they rub against your clit, and you arch your back, inhale that cock in your throat, jerk your hips against the one pounding into your ass, and you come, clenching down hard, stiffening, eyes rolling back, bliss exploding through the veils of darkness.

You feel like floating, leaning into the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you let it all happen. And as you do, the men's motions grow jerkier, rougher, faster, and they come too, almost at the same time. Cum shoots down your throat, and you'd expect to feel the same sensation in your ass, but the man there pulls out and empties himself all over your mound and stomach, all the way to your neck. The pressure in your throat loosens then, and similar spurts of wet warmth hit your face.

Raspy breaths make it past your soiled, swollen lips as you lie there with your eyes closed. Strong hands move you until you're lying fully on your back, legs outstretched, arms put at the sides of your body, head supported by the hard stone slab beneath you. Cold fingers trail your skin.

“I wish we could keep her,” you hear a quiet voice that barely makes it past the cotton in your head.

“I'm not risking another war with those savages just because of one puny human...” says a different voice. “We'll find another one.”

“Let's feed and get her back onto the path.”

You blink your eyes open, noticing the two men, the two vampires, standing over you, staring down at you from both sides of the coffin. Their teeth are bared, fangs glistening in the swaying candle light, and before you can do anything, they lean down, one goes straight for your neck, his pointy canines sinking deeply into your skin, and you feel it, despite your fucked-out state, you feel the cold crashing through your veins.

The same sensation happens between your legs, on one of your inner thighs as the other bites down into your soft flesh. You whimper soundlessly, throat hoarse and sore, body too weak to move against the assault. They suck your blood noisily, like the thirsty monsters they are, and you just let it happen, again, what other choice do you have? Your head is spinning as you feel the cold spread through your trembling limbs.

And the world fades...

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

End notes: The last part is here!

By the way, this is a nod towards my standalone Vampire oneshot Down the Rabbit Hole which also has dubcon elements and more than one vampire, but isn't as dark.

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[kingkatsuki]

Like just thinking about the first time you actually actively seek out Dragon King Bakugou inside his castle. It’s always been him coming to you, demanding you stop being a brat eat dinner or bathe when you’ve refused because you do not want to be here.

So as you’re walking barefoot through the cold, stony walls you can hear his harsh voice in his study. Shouting at his men as they talk about their plan of attack on another village nearby who has been trying to kill their dragons by putting poison beneath their chicken feathers.

And you almost turn back around and head back to your room, the rumbly boom of his voice sends shivers down your spine and you’re almost frightened to knock as you let your hand ball into a fist. Giving two barely there knocks against the wood as you hear a harsh “enter!” from the other side.

And its like his entire expression changes when he sees you, eyes softening as he blinks. Once. Twice. As though he can’t quite believe what his eyes are seeing as you stand there in your nightshirt, fingers folding into the fabric as you shuffle nervously.

“If it’s a bad time I can come back—”

“No!” He growls, fangs bared as he turns to the other men in the room, “Leave.”

And Bakugou can’t quite stop the way his heart hammers against his rib cage as he’s left alone with you in his study, and for the first time in his life he’s nervous to step towards you. As though he might startle you like a frightened rabbit and he’ll have to watch you flee. Because this is the first time you’ve sought him out, the first time you’ve come to him—

[littlefireball]

ᴡʏ|ᴡɪʟᴅ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ (ᴀ/ᴍ/ꜰ)

ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ʙᴜɴɴʏ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ (ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ)|ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ|ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ|ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.9ᴋ

"Let us out!" Despite your relentless pounding on the metal door, there was no response from outside, leaving you to vent your anger into the empty air. Your fists throbbed with pain, a metallic taste of blood lingering in your throat, and a wave of powerlessness washed over you.

"Hehe~ You won't be able to shout for long." A taunting voice echoed from beyond, grating and unsettling. "I'll see what happens when a carnivore with its biological nature aroused looks at a bunny like you."

Your heart sank, and your rabbit ears dropped in fear. Gas seeped into the warehouse from all directions, a swirling purple haze mixed with hints of red that swiftly engulfed Wooyoung's sanity.

"What...Wooyoung...!" Wooyoung's face contorted in panic, a reddish hue painting his features as he struggled against the invasive thoughts. He clutched his forehead, brows furrowed in a desperate attempt to resist.

"This is the consequence of offending a gang~" Tasked with investigating a missing persons case linked to the town's largest gang, you and Wooyoung infiltrated the enemy warehouse at night, only to be discovered. In the chaos of your escape, Wooyoung was injured while trying to shield you from the guards.

"Tsk..." You called for backup from headquarters, hoping for swift assistance. But Wooyoung's condition demanded immediate action.

"Y/N...run..." Wooyoung gasped, his voice strained. But where could you flee? With the warehouse sealed shut, windows barred, and no means of escape. "No...Wooyoung..." Your emotions for him transcended mere camaraderie or friendship, how could you leave him behind?

"I don't want to harm you..." His words were a struggle, each syllable a testament to his dwindling strength. "No, Wooyoung, I won't abandon you." The resolve in your voice surprised even yourself. What options remained?

"The reinforcements will arrive soon..." "No...no...!" His hiss cut through the tension, his grip on reality slipping. Lunging towards you, claws extended and fangs bared, he attacked. You narrowly evaded the first strike, but before you could react, he lunged again.

With your passivity and the unfamiliar environment working against you, you found yourself cornered. "No!" Wooyoung charged, knocking you to the ground with a forceful blow. "Please!" You cried out, but he remained unresponsive, his grip bruising your wrists.

"Is a rabbit! How delicious!" "Please, Wooyoung!" Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he sank his fangs into your shoulder, the sharp pain causing tears to well up in your eyes. Instinctively, you pushed him away, but he lunged at you once more, his primal instincts taking over.

Desperate to stop him, you realized there were only two options: either give in to his bloodlust and let him tear you apart, or try to quell his aggression through a more intimate connection which meant letting him knot you. The latter option, however, came with its own set of risks and uncertainties, especially considering the differences in your races and the potential backlash from society.

But in this life-or-death situation, you had no choice but to take a chance. With a deep breath, you grabbed his face and brought his lips to yours, tasting the metallic tang of blood as you kissed him. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of revulsion and arousal as his fangs grazed your lips, drawing more blood. Your face turned red as you felt like you were about to run out of oxygen and pushed him away. But he kissed you again just after a moment of separation.

Surprisingly, his aggression began to wane with each kiss, his movements becoming less frenzied. His kisses, though wild, carry a passion that ignited a fire within you. Your heart raced, your body responding to his touch, your mind clouded by a heady mix of desire and fear.

Your breathing quickened, and the sound of your heartbeats echoed through the lonely warehouse. He took the lead, roughly prying your lips open and entwining his tongue with yours, sucking on your lips and greedily exploring every part of you.

"You smell so sweet," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The heat between you intensified, your arousal took over your mind as he explored every inch of your being. Not knowing whether the loss of blood or the ecstasy of the heat, your limbs were weakening and vision was starting to appear as black spots while your consciousness was blurring.

"No, it's not enough... I want it all." As he lost himself in the scent of you, his actions grew rougher, biting harder and leaving visible purplish-grey marks on your chest that speak of his possession. "Hmmm...woo..." Your clothes were torn away in a frenzy of need, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, your desire for him consuming your every thought. The sound of the fabric being torn apart didn't make you have any intention of resisting but just led you to become more divorced from reality. Your heat has already taken over your mind and you only want him to fuck you, breed you, knot you.

In a haze of passion and desperation, you surrender to him, giving in to the primal urge to be taken, to be claimed. The world fades away as he fulfills his desire to possess you completely, to mate with you in a primal, raw union that leaves you breathless.

"Woo, I want you...I love you." Perhaps knowing that you might never have the chance to express your feelings, you mustered up the courage to say what was in your heart, watching Wooyoung tear all your clothes into pieces and lie naked in front of him.

"You are so beautiful." He unzipped his pants and pulled out his hardened and reddened cock that was covered with pre-cum. Without warning, his cock entered your cunt in one powerful motion.

The sensation of a foreign object penetrating you in a way you've never experienced before heightens your sensitivity, causing your body to produce even more fluid. "Oh, god!" He growled passionately, thrusting with intense fervor. Each movement felt like he was striving to reach the deepest parts of you. "Ah!" You gasped, closing your eyes and arching your back, the unfamiliar sensation causing a mix of pleasure and pain.

He placed his hands on your head, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, leaving you unable to do anything but emit a soft whimper. Your legs instinctively bent in response to his movements, your moans muffled by his lips pressed against yours. "I need deeper," he whispered in between kisses, suddenly sitting up straight. With both of your legs draped over his shoulders, he delves even further inside you, eliciting a mix of pleasure and discomfort. "Please..." you plead, the intensity overwhelming you.

As you struggled to adjust to his relentless thrusts, the sensation became overwhelming, bordering on painful. You kept sucking him in and the warm fluids wrapped around his cock. His words, "You're sucking me in, huh? So fucking good," sent a chill down your spine, his eerie laugh adding to the unease creeping over you. Desperately, you wished for him to regain control of himself. His arms wrapped around your knees, and each forceful slap against your ass intensified the sensation.  "Ah...Hmm!" Your mouth formed an 'O' shape and a high-pitch moan left your lips. With each deep thrust, his balls collided with your bouncing cheeks, his moans mingling with the sounds of your pleasure and pain.

As he gazed up at you, reveling in the softness of your skin, a wave of heat washed over you with each precise movement that sent tingles through your body, leaving you dizzy with desire. "Gosh!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of lust and satisfaction. The pain began to merge with pleasure as his tip kept hitting your different spots, creating a whirlwind of conflicting sensations that left you gasping for breath.

"I'm gonna fuck you harder!" he declared, releasing your legs and pulling you up while he was lying down. The deeper penetration brought a mix of pleasure and discomfort, causing you to moan in response to his firm spanks. "Move." It was your first time, and you were unsure of how to move, but his actions left you with no choice. With a swift movement, he lifted his hips and drove himself deep inside you, causing a surge of sensations that left you trembling with a mix of joyful and anticipation.

"Oh!!! Fuck!!!!" He placed his hands on your waist and pushed in with all of strength. Your screams became intermittent, your head bobbing uncontrollably, your breasts marked with his hickeys bouncing up and down, dried blood staining your skin with crimson, not to mention your long, fluffy, wobbly ears swaying. Such an art piece. Suddenly, you felt his cock become incredibly bigger and blocked your deepest part. Intense pain spread throughout your body, as if every inch of your muscles were being stabbed with knives.

"No more..." your cries were drowned out by his insanity as he kept thrusting, with no intention of stopping. Your body and mind were completely drained, the pain destroys your consciousness and you finally let the darkness consume you.

"Fuck!!!Fuck!!!Fuck!!!" Wooyoung was too preoccupied with his own orgasm to notice that you've long since passed out, and he cummed inside you several times before he stopped, the effects of all that smoke finally wearing off.

You collapsed on his chest, and he shook his head as if he's just woken up from a nap, his eyes not fully open and panting heavily. He stroked down on your head and tentatively called your name. "Y/N?" Silence. "Y/N??" He carefully picked you up and found you bloodless. "What....I" What he did to you just now came into his mind like a tsunami.

"I'm sorry. I'm terrible...please stay with me," he whispered, his voice filled with regret and desperation. Before he could say more, the door of the warehouse was suddenly forced open, and several troops entered with guns, the slow soldiers you had requested.

"Let's go home, Y/N. Everything will be fine," he said softly, holding you close, afraid to let you go for fear of losing you forever.

—--

Wooyoung sat by your hospital bed, the monotonous sound of the life support equipment filling the room. You had been in a coma for three days, and guilt weighed heavily on wooyoung's heart as he looked at you.

"Please, Y/N. Wake up... I can't bear the thought of losing you. It's my fault, I'm sorry for what happened. If only I had kept control, you wouldn't be in this state," he choked on his words, tears welling up in his eyes. He kissed your hand, silently praying for your recovery. "If you leave me... I'll follow you."

A faint voice interrupted his thoughts, "If you do that, what I did would all be in vain." He looked up in surprise as you finally opened your eyes. "Y/N!!!" Tears streamed down his face as relief flooded over him. You wiped away his tears with a sigh, tears of your own falling freely. "I'll make it right, I'll take responsibility." Your heart was torn between fear of his past actions and love for him.

"Give me some time," you requested, and he nodded in understanding. In the days that followed, he cared for you diligently, shielding you from harm and the prejudices that surrounded your relationship. Despite the challenges, his warmth and love gradually erased your fears, and you found solace in his unwavering devotion.

Maybe that night of madness wasn't all bad.

—---

Bonus

"Y/N, do you think this dress looks good? I think it's so cute!"

"The baby is not born yet! There are so many clothes that they fill several closets."

"It doesn't matter. We will have so many pups." You rolled your eyes back and smiled helplessly.

"Hey, how about this toy?"

"What if the kid doesn't like it?"

"Then I just use it on you." *wink*

"Yah!" You hitted him shyly but he just smiled lovingly.

[huh-i-guess]

Instinct

(Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader)

Summary: Miguel prefers to do some things instinctively rather than logically.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, mean Miguel, literally no plot just porn

Word Count: 532

Song Inspo: All Mine by Kali Uchis

“Oh fuck baby. Why do you have to be so impatient? Huh? I told you to be patient and wait for daddy’s dick and you wanted to be a little slut and play with this little pussy. I told you to be still and shut that pretty little mouth. Now you’re over here whining like a bitch in heat. You love to make everything a challenge don’t you baby?”

Your mind was so lost on his cock that you could barely even process what he was saying to you. The only thing you could feel was Miguel and his delicious length surging in and out of you. You think you could feel his hands on your hips, helping move you on and off of his cock. You wanted to cry at how hard his hips were hitting your pelvis. His hair fell and draped over his perfect face and all you could see was his fangs poking out of his mouth as he huffed over you.

“I’m sorry daddy. I’m- I- please” was all you could spew as he ravaged you. He slid his clawed hand up your body and pushed his thumb into your mouth. “Shhhh cariño. Let daddy take care of you now. I’m home now. Let me treat you right. Huh? You want that?” You moaned as you sucked his thumb between your lips and groaned as he angled his hips upwards, hitting that sensitive spot so deep inside of you.

He had only been away a couple of days but the two of you often fucked like rabbits. I mean why wouldn’t you? Look at him. He gets so mean when hasn’t had the opportunity to fuck you silly. And it’s always like this when he comes home… but this time he caught you fingering yourself.

His hips shuddered as you clenched around him and it took everything in him to not cum right then and there. You tried to work your tongue around his thumb but all you could do was pant around it as he sunk his cock in you over and over.

Miguel is a very tense man. He works an incredibly difficult, logical job where everything must be thought out. When he comes home and buries himself in your pussy, he only functions on instinct. His instinct right now is telling him to do something very dangerous.

“What if I put a baby in you, pretty girl? Huh? What if I made you all mine and fucked you full? God you’d be so pretty. Can I do that? Make you all mine?” He rambled.

The thought of having Miguel’s baby sent you over. The thought of him filling you to the brink and keeping him in you had you reeling. Your body tensed and clenched down on him. Hard. Your orgasm launched him into a downward spiral. His cock pulsed and flexed so deeply inside of you. Both of you had entered a state of euphoria and could barely catch your breath.

Miguel collapsed on top of you as you came back down to earth. The dopey smile Miguel gave you warmed your heart.

“I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too Miggy”

[spidercookie18]

your heart was pounding. it felt like it was seconds from beating out of your chest. your legs instinctively moved forward. not willing to turn around. not willing to stop moving.

your breath was so loud in your ears. it only served to make the fear in your belly grow bigger. the fear of how loud you were being. you were sure he could hear you. the adrenaline made you nauseous. or maybe it was how hard you were running. what would happen when he caught you? you didn't want to know.

it was rare to say that the boys scared you. they were trusted souls that you spent much of your time around...but they were still wild animals at heart. beasts with an appetite that could not be satiated by mortal standards. they could eat, and devour, and gorge til their hearts content. they didn't always eat for sustenance, but they always ate their fill of flesh.

as you ran through the woods, the trees snagged your clothes. the rocks and thorns cut through your skin. the thin branches whipped across your cheeks as you pushed through a thicket. trying desperately to flee from what was hunting you down. you could feel the warm blood and tears trickle down your face. they chilled your skin as they cooled. it was a sickening feeling that drove you forward. there was little you could do to guide yourself through the night. the moonlight barely shone though the canopy of the forest. blinding you. trapping you. you were a mouse running in his labyrinth. he was toying with you. and you knew it.

if this brunet beast wanted to catch you, he could have easily done so by now. he was enjoying this. you couldn't have imagined your fling with Paul the other night would drive Dwayne to this. he was livid that him and the others had to stand off to the side while you had your way with Paul. you were having innocent fun. well, not so innocent. but you didn't think his jealousy would make him go absolutely mad.

he lured you to the woods in the night. with promises of passionate moonlit love making. soft, sweet, gentle love and the warm embrace that Dwayne was best at. you had pictured his big strong arms wrapped around you. keeping you safe, sweet nothings of hiding you away from his brothers and making you his.

but this was nothing like you'd imagined.

you waited for him, in the cold and the dark of night. you waited almost to the point where you thought of leaving. the sense of unease in your belly.

something was watching you

you had no idea it was the gentle giant you knew and loved. mad with envy. he finally appeared when you called him. his phone ringing in the tree nearby. he landed in front of you. the quiet sound of his shoes touching the ground was a reminder, in the back of your mind, that he was a hunter. you only knew he was there, because he wanted you to know. when he stood, and walked to you, it made the hair on your body stand on end. something was wrong. very wrong. you tried to call out to him, but your voice left you the second you noticed his gleaming eyes. they looked like they were glowing as he moved towards you in the night. you felt your body shiver. was it from the cold? or from fear? he chuckled. it was darker than you'd come to know. Dwayne was going to prove a point to you.

something to be feared, and not toyed with. he was a predator, a monster, a vampire. and he was going to have you, whenever he wanted you.

"It seems you've forgotten your place, rabbit." his voice boomed in his chest. you felt your heartbeat pick up. you moved a foot behind you. your body instinctively getting ready to flee from danger. "run, rabbit," that sickening laughter left the cavern of his sternum again. from the dim moonlight you could see Dwaynes fangs peak through his smile. "run."

that was all you needed. maybe it was his thrall, or how he acted. but you were afraid.

afraid didn't even begin to cover it. you felt a pure, primal fear etch its way through your veins. it settled into your bones and tore through your muscles. it screamed and shouted like a siren going off in your brain. and it told you, like Dwayne had, to run.

your next step took you by surprise. the ground was further down than you anticipated, and you tumbled to your knees. you hit the cold, wet dirt hard. your palms were scraped, and gravel and dirt stuck to your hands. you sucked in air through your teeth. your body ached. a thousand thoughts raced through your mind and you knew this was an opening Dwayne would not hesitate to take advantage of. you heard his deep laugh in your ears; like he was right behind you. and you flinched. there was no one there.

he was in your head.

you shut your eyes. trying to focus on what was happening. this was not a break you could afford to have. with a cry, you willed yourself to get up. your legs buckled as you tried to stand, and as you found your bearings, you were knocked back to the ground.

Dwayne blindsided you. he tackled you from your side, full speed, and you bent as he hurled you both across the air. when you finally hit the ground, you felt the wind be knocked from you. his weight was unbelievable. the dense muscle structure of him and his vampire brothers made them incredibly heavy. you kicked and screamed, but you knew it wouldn't help. you tried to push him off. you clawed at him and at the ground. anything you could think of.

his nails gripped into your sides, and Dwayne turned you onto your stomach. you tensed. waiting. preparing. for the pain of him. to tear your flesh like paper. like you'd seen them do to others. you could feel the vampire's breath on the back of your neck. the anticipation of Dwaynes fangs brought tears to your eyes. you tried to tense your shoulders to hide your neck from him, but he easily gripped the back of your head and moved it to make a space for his mouth. you could hear the wet of his mouth as he prepared to devour you. you felt a sob come from you. involuntary, and the last thing you did before Dwayne came down on your skin.

"Got you."

his voice was calm again. smooth, and warm like amber, with a hint of sadistic humor in it. instead of the sensation of his sharp fangs, it was a gentle kiss to your ear. the sound and feel of his lips against the shell of your ear was a shock to you. "w-what?" your voice came out meek and confused. "I got you, haha." Dwayne was amused. he shifted to the side and got off of you. he gently helped you up to sit on the ground in front of him. you were still in shock. your mind went blank. the adrenaline of fleeing for your life, and the unknown threat of Dwayne's foreign behavior, juxtaposed to his kind smile now was a shock. the way he looked over you. he was plucking the leaves and twigs from your hair. gently straightening out your clothes.

"you were really scared weren't you?" Dwayne laughed. "I can hear your heart beating sooo loud." he retracted his hands from your hair, and sat on his haunches in front of you. his large brown eyes bore into you. they looked over your form, and they finally settled on the cuts along your palms, and your cheeks. "oh, babydoll, let me fix that." he took your hands in his and turned your palms up towards him. he rubbed his thumbs over the dirt to wipe it off, and with the flat of his tongue he licked the blood off your skin. the sting of the abrasions in the meat of your hand slowly dissipated. his tongue was cool, and wet, it helped soothe the last of the pain.

"you-," your mind was ablaze with an array of emotions. Dwayne ignored you. he sat forward and his wide, slimy tongue licked across your cheeks to your ears. Covering the length of the thin cuts in your face in his saliva. getting the last of the blood off of you. "you fucking asshole!" You shoved your hands into Dwayne's chest. "you scared the crap out of me!" you punched his shoulder. angry that he did this just to mess with you.

you were pissed. and Dwayne was laughing again. "oh come on, I wasn't going to do anything," he snickered.

you huffed, "you hurt me!"

"no i didn't," he scoffed.

"I'm bleeding!"

"well, not anymore"

"you tackled me!"

"oh yeah, i forgot about that,"

he reached a hand out to you, apologetic in his nature; but you, still angry, pushed him away. "fuck this, I'm going home,"you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. he lied to you, and made you run though the woods. your nice outfit was cut up and filthy now. there was no point in sticking around for whatever he actually had planned.

Dwayne watched you stand and turn to leave, "if you do that, I'll just bring you right back here."

you flipped him off, still walking away from him. having no actual idea where you were in the forest you picked a direction and started off.

"Y/N, I'm warning you," Dwayne called after you.

"fuck you!" you tried to feel for your phone in your pocket. praying you didn't drop it somewhere under a log or something. luckily, you found it. you decided that you were just going to call one of the other boys to come and get you. that would really piss Dwayne off, but you wanted to get even with him. deliberately trying to get under his skin. as you were about to start dialing for one of the other vampires, you felt the ground leave from under you. Dwayne came up behind you. he simply picked you up around the waist, and walked you right back over to where he had tackled you. you flailed against his hold, and he placed you back on the ground. your feet felt the safety of the dirt below, and pushed him off. you grunted, and turned around to leave. He stepped in front of you. "Dwayne, knock it off," you turned again and started to leave. Dwayne scooped you up in his arms and walked you back. "Dwayne! I'm serious!" you shouted at him. He still had you cradled in his arms.

"I'm serious too. I'll just keep bringing you right back here." he gently squeezed you in his arms.

You pushed your hands to his chest, "put me down you jerk!"

"okay, fine" he opened his arms, and you fell five feet to the ground.

you hit the ground with an 'oomph'. your ass and back were hurting now. you hated imagining the way the mud looked on the back of your pants. you shifted to the side to rub the back of your hip where you fell. Dwayne was looking down at you. half sorry, and half irritated with you.

thats it. you were done fighting him. you grabbed your phone, and with your muddy fingertips you swiped at the screen.

"what are you doing?"

"I'm calling Paul to come get me," you crinkled your nose at the brunet.

Dwayne laughed. "What's Paul gonna do? He's not gonna take you away from me. He doesn't even answer his phone!"

"He does when I call him,"you stuck your tongue out at him. the phone was ringing. after a moment, Paul picked up. you both could clearly hear his jovial voice through the speaker. "Paul, I need you to come get me, Dwayne's being an- aah!," Dwayne scooped you up without letting you finish your sentence. the fast motion of him grabbing you almost made you drop your phone. you were fighting to get out of his hold, but after you realized how high up you were, you clung to him. "D-Dwayne put me down!" You tried to sound fierce, the faux threat of what could happen if he denied your request. "Poor choice of words, Y/N," you could feel Dwaynes hold on you slip. "WAIT!" you clung to the collar of his jacket. anywhere you could get your hands.

you both could hear Paul's worried voice through the phone.

'y/n? what happened?'

"You are being a fucking brat!" Dwayne snarled in your face. "You're being a bigger brat!" you wiggled and grunted against him. "

Will you stop?!" Dwayne held you easily by one arm around your waist, and with the other he gripped your chin; forcing you to look at him. "I'm sick of your attitude!" Dwayne's face was in a hard scowl. He looked down at you through his glistening eyes, but you tried your damndest to keep from looking at him. he dug his nails into your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. "Look at me!" he growled. there were tears of frustration threatening to break over your waterline. you stared defiantly up at him. the redness in the tip of your nose beginning to grow as you tried to hold back your tears. your breast heaving against his chest. the furrow in your brows. even with all the anger in your round, little face, Dwayne couldn't help but think you looked adorable. you, this small, angry creature, covered in mud and still vaguely smelling of blood and perfume. you hated him in this moment. with all the passion your body could hold, you hated him. but that passion turned into something else as Dwayne pushed his lips against yours. the hate and anger in you morphed into heat. heat in your face. in your chest. all though your body you felt hot. you kissed him back, still desperately clinging to him. his lips were so full and soft against yours, though he kissed you with feverish want. you couldn't help but moan into his mouth. a soft whimper left you as he moved to kiss down your throat. he snatched the phone from you and turned you around. you were disheartened to feel the absence of his kiss on your body. Dwayne still had his arm around your waist, and flew you both over to a nearby branch. your body was thrust into the branch. it hurt like hell. you could feel the wind be knocked from you. your legs dangled freely in the air. it was evident from the deep pain that there would be a harsh bruise across your abdomen when this was all over. Dwane slid the phone across the branch til it was just out of your reach. you tried to pull yourself up and across the branch, but a large hand was pressed against your back to hold you in place. Dwayne hooked a finger into the hem of your jeans, and ripped the seat of your pants open. the grating sound of the denim ripping was enough to make Paul start screaming worryingly into the phone again.

'y/n! are you okay? what's happening??'

"Paul ju-," you tried to reach for the phone to hang it up, but the vampire nearest you had no intention of letting you get it. Dwaynes fingertips dug into the plush of your hips. his claws leaving harsh red lines as he pulled your ass up towards him. your phone just out of reach on the branch. you didn't dare try for it again for fear of losing your grip on the tree. you could feel Dwayne's breath on you again. this time, it was lower, much lower. he gave a teasing lick across your bare slit and you yelped. poor Paul on the other end could only listen to your cries. he had no clue where you both were, and even if he did, Dwayne would just drag you away to a another hiding place. you could feel your brunet captor give another teasing lick across your cunt. this time, it dug lightly between your folds. he pressed his wriggling muscle further and further into your warm slit. his tongue was sitting fat in your cunt. it wiggled in and out of you. dragging across the ridges of your pretty pink pussy. you bit your lip, trying to keep your moaning to yourself. you didn't want poor Paul to have to listen to that. Dwayne knew you were trying to be quiet, but he wanted to punish you and Paul. he wanted his little 'brother' to be jealous. both that he was enjoying the taste of you, and that he wasn't part of the mix. Dwayne started twisting his tongue inside of you. He latched his lips around your sopping cunt and sucked on your needy little bud while his tongue worked you over. "Oh fuck! Dwayne!" your voice sounded so whiney. it was such a horny sound you were making, and you tried to burry your face in your forearms.

Dwayne was satisfied with your reaction, and slowly pulled his tongue out of you. He watched as your feet kicked desperately at the branch below, trying to find something to stand on to no avail. He rubbed himself through his jeans, and teasingly rubbed his thumb and forefinger across your slit. he undid his fly and button, he lazily massaged your aching nub. he heard your breath catch in your throat, and your desperate little dance of trying to find something to stand on only grew as you looked to find a way to get more pressure to your nub.

Dwayne licked his lips. the smell of your want in the air was enough to drag low growls from him. he wanted to take you then and there when he first caught you, but he was worried he overdid it. he wanted to get your hear racing, but he still wanted you to enjoy yourself.

your vampire lover was languidly stroking his cock. he lined himself up with your entrance and dragged his tip up and down your slit to collect some of your love. he bit his lip in anticipation. Dwayne looked over to the phone screen, that was still lit with the call screen and Paul's contact name. "Hey Paul," Dwayne called out. His deep voice echoing through the treetops. "I want you to listen. real closely," the brunet poorly stifled a chuckle. you gasped loudly as he pushed slowly into you. your breath hitching in your throat. the sharp cry of a wounded animal; being pierced by this beast. Dwayne watched as your should blades shifted under your clothes, watching you paw at the tree. not actually trying to get away as you wanted him more to devour you. he savored how you opened for him as he pushed further in. and you could feel your eyes cross as he continued to stretch you.

it was always a feat to take Dwayne.

it was a tight squeeze. you could feel your walls gripping the life out of Dwaynes member. even with the extra lubrication from Dwaynes slimy tongue, it was hard for him to move. your nails dug into the bark of the tree. you could feel the tears beginning to pick the sides of your eyes. Paul was on the other end, still listening to you gasp for air. the high pitched, broken whines in between your panting. Dwayne finally settled against your cervix. if you weren't pressed flush against the tree you were sure you'd be able to see the bulge of him through your skin. he gave a gentle push further in, wishing so horribly that you could take his last inch. you winced. it was almost painful, and he hadn't even started moving. Dwayne pulled back,

s l o w l y

dragging his heavy tip through the ridges of your tight cunt. it was agonizingly slow. you half wanted to turn around and beg him to hurry up and fuck you. his tip sat just on the inside of your entrance. almost all the way out of you. he tugged his hips backwards and with a loud POP, your cunt released him. "oohhh, fuck," he growled. he gripped himself around the base, and wiped his tip across your clit. he gathered more of your love that was beginning to drip down you, and eagerly shoved it back inside. "ooooh, Dwayne,"a breathy moan left your throat. he pressed through your walls again, and pressed himself against your ass. he was as flush against you as he could be, and he gripped the rest of your jeans and ripped them further apart. he half pulled himself back. his fingers laced themselves through the loops on your pants and slammed himself back in you. he pushed you forward against the branch. he started an eager speed. it wasn't overly fast, but it was firm. he fucked into you with a steady pace. all you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked into you. the wet sounds coming from you two. the sloppy sucking sounds of your cunt as it enveloped Dwayne. "oohhh fuck that's good" he grunted. you were embarrassed that Paul had to hear that. why hadn't he hung up by now? you couldn't reach the phone to hang up, you just waited for Dwayne to finish having his way with you. "m'sorry Dwayne, I'm Sorry!" you tried to focus your vision on the dim light of your phone screen. anything to keep your mind off how good your lower-half felt. "I know you're sorry, babydoll" Dwayne laughed. his thrusts were painful. every push felt like he was trying to break through your cervix. and every pull felt like he was dragging your organs out. "you're sooo sorry, you just needed to be fucked, nice and good didn't cha?" he accentuated his thrusts on his words. he was grunting. trying to remember how mad he was with you and Paul. he'd almost forgotten about Paul.

he wasn't just fucking the brat out of you, he was putting on a performance.

Dwayne adjusted his hold on you. he wrapped an arm around your belly, still keeping you up while your legs were dangling freely in the air. and with his other, he spat on his fingers and reached around for your clit. you let out a wail when his wet fingertips started rubbing quick circles around your nub. "Dwayne!" you were mortified to be moaning his name so loudly.

"you hear that Paul?" Dwayne spat. "she's begging, for me!" he felt you clench tighter and tighter around him. it felt like you were sucking him in. when he pulled back, you only sucked him in further. "come for me babygirl," his skilled fingers easily brought you over the edge. and you felt the release come in waves. Dwayne felt your warm wet cunt pulse around his length, and you screamed. you screamed like it was the last sound you'd ever make. like it was your saving grace. your legs shook, and you continued to milk Dwayne's cock for everything it was worth. "mmhp, fuck," Dwayne grunted. he continued to piston his hips against you, riding you through your high. it was euphoric. you felt like you were on cloud 9 as your vampire lover continued to use you as a fuck toy. you fell limp against the tree. if Dwayne wasn't still holding you up, you'd have surely fallen. the brunet thrusted one more harsh move against you, and forced his extra inch down into your cunt. you cried out, and he spurted his cum deep inside you.

Dwayne was bent over you. his long hair coming across your face. his forehead was pressed against your back as he finished painting your insides white. he kissed your back gently, and listened to the soft breathing from your lungs. he pushed himself up and gently started to pull out of you. when he saw his come immediately start to drip out, he pressed himself fully back into you. he didn't want it dripping out of you on the way home. and he'd completely ripped your panties off along with your destroyed jeans. he chuckled when he realized he was going to have to take you home, fully sheathed in you. he leaned across you and picked up your phone and spoke into it, "we'll be home soon. see you then." he hung up on Paul and put your phone in his jacket pocket. "now... how the hell am i going to do this?"

[newtabfics]

Can I request a spicy fic of reader suggesting to Astarion that they should play a 'prey and hunter' game in the woods, Astarion gives reader a head start. Eventually he catches up & he can't hold back his need to feed from his little love.

"Run. Rabbit, Run."

Triggers for prey/predator style roleplay? Blood drinking. Brief breeding kink. Come swallowing. Squirting. Very rough on Astarion's part but it's all good cuz safe words have been established :p

Note: Just know my simp ass is thriving. I'm sorry. My tism-hyperfixated on a white-haired anime boy again. Also I absolutely wrote this as Ranger!Tav x Astarion.

Astarion raised a brow at her suggestion. There was an undeniable thrill in his body. His voice lowered as they stepped into the woods. "Are you sure? I am…faster than you."

His eyes darted to your neck, licking his lips eagerly.

"Which is why," Tav chuckled, stepping slowly from his hand. Her steps took her back towards the trees as she faced him. She was just as thrilled and excited about this game.

"You're going to give me a ten-second headstart," She finished with a grin.

"Or," He cooed, stepping closer. "A minute. One. Two."

Tav darted into the trees, disappearing into the fog. Astarion's count echoed tauntingly through the trees. She couldn't help her gleeful giggle as she began to tug at the buttons on her shirt.

"Fifty-two…Fifty-three," He hummed almost lazily.

Astarion could hear her heart thudding. He could hear her blood rushing. He could hear her feet trying desperately to be quiet as she darted over the foliage.

His heart thudded with excitement.

"Fifty-nine."

He could smell her arousal.

"Sixty."

Like a whip, he darted through the trees. He found the trail of her scent as his feet barely touched the ground. His eyes locked onto a branch as he ran by.

Her shirt was hanging from it, as well as her undershirt. 

Astarion couldn't help the smirk as his pace increased. Her scent filled his senses. His mouth watered as he closed in. He barely saw her before he had her pinned to the forest floor.

Tav grunted when she was slammed to the ground, a hand sliding under her head to protect her from harm. He was on her, pressing his body into her as she stood with her torso bare to the world.

She let out a laughing sigh as his fangs latched onto her. His legs were keeping hers spread over his lap, grinding into her as he drank deeply.

His moan filled her ears. He pressed himself into her as his hands fumbled to undo her trousers and yank them away quickly.

Astarion quickly pulled his fangs away and licked at the wounds as her trousers bunched at her thighs. He folded her legs back and bent his head, tongue finding her folds.

"Fuck, Star!" She moaned quietly, writhing.

"Down, little rabbit," He snarled eagerly. "You're my hunt. Now I'll devour you entirely."

His tongue shoved into her needy hole. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back at the assault as she writhed on the forest floor, letting him take control of her.

Astarion's hands clutched the backs of her thighs, keeping her in place as he ate her out. He moaned as he tasted her, enjoying the flavor of her before his fangs found her leg.

Tav let out a low moan as she shook and rocked her his down. He drank from her leg before pulling away. His tongue lapped over the wound before returning to her cunt.

"Oh gods, Astarion," She moaned, arching off the ground.

His chest swelled in pride as he listened to her moans. It was like she fueled his hunger. He couldn't tell which he was starved more of; her blood or her essence.

Astarion pulled away, quickly shoving down his pants. "My darling," He groaned as he stroked himself.

He slid in slowly, relishing in her soft moan as he held her to him. "That's it, Darling," He groaned, feeling how tight she was around him. 

They stayed like that a long moment, relishing in the feeling of their connection. He was pressing deep into her, watching her pant and moan lowly.

"That's my good girl," He whispered, cupping her face and kissing her as he began to thrust slowly.

Tav's eyes rolled back as she arched off the ground.

"Look at you—such a good girl. You tried to run," He chuckled softly as he made sure to steady his movements. He relished in the way she writhed under him. "Darling," He growled, almost in warning. "What's the magic word?"

Magic word. Their rule. If she so much as uttered the word, everything would stop. She established it after they became a couple, insisting the word was for his use to ensure his comfort and safety.

"Stake," She whispered, cupping his face. "Star, please. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

How could he say no to her pathetic whining face?

"So good for me," He praised as he began to thrust hard into her.

Astarion grunted as he moved hard against her body, relishing in the way she writhed under him and moaned his name. Her eyes kept fixated on his as he watched her expressions.

She was completely lost in him. No longer was she the guarded ranger who composed herself to fight their enemies. Here in the forest, beneath a vampire, she was a woman in love with him.

"Fuck, I love you," He moaned, kissing her as he grinded into her. He smirked as she could only stutter and whine his name against his lips. "That's it, Darling. My good girl. Just let go for me."

He smirked as her eyes rolled back before hiding her face into his neck. He loved the way she lost herself in him. She always let him take control, always let him be the dominant. He just loved the way she submitted to him entirely, allowing him to treasure this vulnerability of hers.

"I-I love you too," She rasped out, shaking under him as he dragged out her orgasm. "I love you so much. Fuck, Star! Fuck, fuck, fuck." Astarion growled as he rutted into her, reaching down and rubbing her clit. He smirked as she began to squirt over his pelvis.

"That's a good rabbit," He praised. "Oh feel so good. So fucking wet," He moaned, angling his hips. He smirked as he bent, lips against her ear. "You know what little rabbits are good for? Hm? Do you, my good girl?"

She panted and moaned, cheeks hot with embarrassment as he began to taunt her. He was always a devil when it came to his words, she knew.

"I-I—Ah!" She gasped as his thumb kept rubbing quick patterns.

"Breeding," He snarled into her ear as his fangs gripped her neck again. His teeth claimed her as he kept fucking into her, listening to her yelps of pleasure. "Fuck, Tav!" He groaned into her neck.

He thrust hard a few more times, dragging out her pleasure before quickly pulling out. His hand pumped a few times before her body moved. He was shocked by her swiftness but couldn't stop his moan as her lips wrapped around his cock.

Astarion quickly gripped her hair tight and thrust into her throat. "Fucking good girl," He groaned, biting his lip as he finally began to orgasm.

Tav's pupils were practically consuming her irises as she drank down his seed, bobbing her head and sucking eagerly. Her hands cupped her breasts, using them as a way to catch the drops that dripped down her chin.

Astarion shuddered and looked down at her. "Gods, look at you. So fucking perfect," He muttered affectionately as he smoothed her hair with his hands. "My good girl."

Her cheeks warmed as he pulled away, letting her swallow the last bit of his seed before panting and sitting on her heels. 

His lips found her forehead before kissing her lips gently.

"So depraved," He muttered, smirking down at her. Her body was shaking as she knelt on the forest floor, pants bunched around her soaked thighs as his cum dripped onto her chest from her chin. "Such a messy girl."

Tav whimpered as his thumb swiped up his seed from her chin and pressed against her lips. He sighed happily as she sucked his thumb clean.

"Gods, I love you," He said happily, cupping her face. "Perfect little thing."

She smiled as he kissed her again. "I love you too, Star."

[justsalpals]

Kinda a spiritual successor to this post.

Tula is not clever.

She looks into the bright eyes of her children. Knows the cunning bearing of her sister. Trusts the violent willpower of her mother.

Tula is not brave.

The man she loved was bright and cunning and willful, until everything beautiful in him was snuffed out. Until his heart took its final beat. Until he went somewhere that she did not follow.

Her heart does not beat.

Not could not. Did not.

Tula is not clever. She doesn't have the wild solutions and dreams of her husband, reflected in the charismatic speeches of her sister's own partner.

What Tula has are claw and fang. She is a stoat, after all. She digs into life the same way she would the throat of a rabbit, fang tearing through flesh and mouth flooding with hot iron blood. She is scared, she is tired, but a hunt is a hunt and there are children to feed. She does not let go.

Tula is not brave. She cannot carry the same righteousness of her family, eager to take down the world should it dare to bare its teeth at them. She cannot afford to. Not when her children, her sister, her mother, her nieces and nephews that have yet to even blink in the light of day or feel grass under their little paws, still walk and breath and exist in this world that seeks to do them harm.

It seems an impossible task, to protect these few remaining parts of herself that Tula calls her family. How could she possibly be brave, when it takes everything she has left to be kind?

Her mother throws her to safety.

Her mother falls to the light.

Her mother crawls her way back to their sides.

Ava's heart does not beat. She will not follow Kenji just yet.

Like mother like daughter. They've always shared a stubborn will.

[rotworld]

4: Game of Chance

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

if you bring the prince of flowers an offering, he might grant you good fortune, a year of bountiful harvests or a magic seed that will sprout into a sprawling orchard with the most succulent fruits. he might just kill you where you stand. all godlings are fickle, but he is worse than any other. if you want to come back from this alive, you'll have to find out why.

->original work. explicit; contains noncon (transactional/extreme power imbalance/aphrodisiacs), murder, implied necrophilia, terato.

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She must’ve tried to run. You saw the fabric scraps, bits of woven shawl and the ragged remains of a dress caught in the thorn-claws of the forest. You saw her tracks, too, deep heel gouges where she ducked and spun, where she fought as hard as she could against something she was never going to beat. There’s a smeared spot, the telltale last stand. Like the final featherlight prints of a rabbit seized by a hawk. Like the place a deer stumbles, where a wolf pack descends with all their viciousness and hunger. She fell and flattened the grass, screamed and flailed and raked her fingers through the earth leaving desperate handprints and broken nails behind. The rest of the trail is wet and red. Still fresh, it glistens like dew.

You find what’s left of her in the heart of the forest. Eyes shut and lips slightly parted, she could simply be sleeping if not for where she’s been wrenched open and unraveled, torn more neatly than fang and claw should allow. Her ribs have turned to garden arches, small white trellises coiled by grasping stems. Wildflowers sprout in the fleshy seedbed beneath, heart and lungs tenderized into slick, veiny soil. Skin sloughs away and soft tissues vanish the lower your eyes wander until there’s nothing left but scattered bones. Plump, shiny berries grow on either side of a partially-buried spine. Mushroom bulbs peek through the spaces of a pelvis. 

You glimpse snaking movements. Squirming in the organic mush of her chest. Slithering shapes where she still has skin, the slow, worm-like crawl of something bulging in her throat. Dark briar tendrils wind possessively tight around her, thorns biting deep. 

There’s a terrible, stomach-churning noise, so quiet you wouldn’t have noticed if the sight of her hadn’t frozen you completely still. It’s a muffled gurgling. Choked, squelching rasps. A drowning death rattle. “Hhhhhnghgk…nnnnnhguuuuhh…” Bile crawls up your throat when her eyelids flutter and one finger twitches. 

“Oh my. Another one?” 

You tear your eyes away from her. You see him watching you where the trees cluster close and the flowers are always in bloom, where the stone-speckled path you’ve been following ends. Cherroveth, Prince of Flowers, smiles softly. 

“So many visitors today,” he muses, leaning against the trunk of an enormous tree. “So many gifts.” 

Like all godlings, he is breathtakingly beautiful. Earthy brown hair spills over his shoulders and down his back, adorned with spring blossoms and sweet-smelling summer petals. His pointed ears are pierced in several places, strung through with gemstones and a dangling, golden chain. His eyes change in light and shadow; sometimes graying pine, sometimes vivid shamrock, sometimes shimmery basil leaf or deep moss. He wears little, allowing you to see the squiggling lines and spiral markings adorning his divine flesh. Loose, flowing sashes tied around his waist barely conceal his toned backside, every movement threatening to reveal the apex of his firm thighs. 

You quickly return your gaze to his face but it’s too late. His eyes arch in amusement and his smile widens. “Won’t you come in?” he says. “You’ll have to wait. There are many who arrived before you. But I am eager to see what you’ve brought me.” You nod, clutching the burlap sack you brought all the way from the village. You haven’t offended him yet, it seems, and you think he’s in a good mood. Maybe you’ll survive this after all. Cherroveth slips between the trees and you follow, led to the shade-dappled ruins he calls home.

This place might’ve been a temple once. Some crumbling stonework remains, green with moss and climbing vines. The ghosts of greater structures linger in shattered plinths and disembodied arches, a half-sunken bas-relief wall depicting figures worn down by the ravages of time. A small crowd of supplicants welcomes you with wordless nods and commiserating glances. They come from distant villages, from port towns, from the halls of castles and humble farmsteads—all places touched by the forest where the Prince of Flowers holds sway. All clutching what precious treasures they could scrounge together in the hopes of earning a blessing.

Bones litter the ground they stand on. Scapulas. Smooth skull fragments. Whole skeletal hands, partially buried and scattered by animals. The flowers are thick wherever something has died. You join the others, listening to their whispers. He’s killed at least seven today, maybe more. The person who’s been here longest only saw three of them but she says there’s more bodies in the underbrush. He let an old woman go even though he scowled at her while she hobbled up to the altar and her bag of offered birdseed ripped open, spilling all over the ground. A shoemaker brought him animal bones and was dragged away screaming but an apprentice from a magic school gave him the same thing right after and was thanked for it. 

You ask each other questions, trying to solve a puzzle with no answer. Is it the gift? The quantity? The quality? The intent behind it? Is it the reason one comes here, the magnitude of what they ask for? Is it the age of the supplicant, their job, their means, whether they’re rude or kind? You can’t agree on a pattern. Everyone has their guesses and rituals. It matters if he’s smiling or not when he greets you, they say. It depends on the weather, the day of the week, the phase of the moon. 

At the center of everything, the altar waits. Cracked pillars and limbless statues surround it. The tangled canopy of three hunched trees casts a shadow across its flat gray surface. It might have been shattered once, some pieces missing. A crack runs down the center and the carvings in its sides, ancient symbols and floral patterns, don’t quite match where the halves meet. Blood, both old streaks and fresh trickles, stains every inch of it. A faded mural depicting a garden scene stretches behind it, chunks missing, the colors washed out. 

Cherroveth walks to the altar and all conversation ceases. He beckons one of the supplicants closer with the curl of his fingers and a trembling man steps forward, carefully setting a carving of a bear upon the stone. Cherroveth hums in consideration. He walks in a wide circle, examining the offering from different angles. When he passes behind the nervous man, his hand drags across his shoulders, slow and sensual. 

“Lovely,” the Prince of Flowers says, delighted. “Did you make this yourself?” 

The man hesitates only a moment before shaking his head. “No, I…a friend of mine, he makes these.” 

“Hm. And what would you like in exchange for it?” 

“A blessing for the fields, my lord. If that’s alright. Not much grew last year.” 

“Gladly.” Cherroveth’s hand slides from the man’s shoulder to his face, catching his chin between graceful fingers. He kisses him, long but chaste. He pulls away with a mischievous smile. “Thank you for your gift. You may go. Your fields will prosper like never before.”

The man bows low, nearly sobbing with relief. He rushes out of the ruins, leaving the rest of you wondering in his wake. Was it his honesty? His quickness to admit it wasn’t his own creation? Cherroveth plucks the carving from the altar and vanishes for a moment, sauntering away to some hidden place among the trees and stones. He returns soon after with a frown and furrowed brows, sighing deeply.

“Next,” he mutters. 

The next supplicant is wary. She whispers a prayer before she approaches. Her offering is half of a stone cracked open, the swirl of magic frozen in each jagged geode crystal. Cherroveth stares down at it disinterestedly. You wonder what soured his mood so badly. 

“What do you want?” he asks. 

“My father,” she stammers, flinching at his harsh tone. “He’s…he’s very sick. If it’s alright, my lord, if you don’t mind…” 

Cherroveth seizes her chin before she finishes speaking. He tilts her head, pressing his lips against hers. You see her relax, eyes falling shut. 

There’s a sick sound, wet and crunching. Her eyes fly open and she makes a choked sound. Cherroveth steps back and she falls to her knees, gasping, convulsing, clawing at her own throat. Something long and thin presses against her skin from inside, bulging in her neck. She tries to scream but only makes a shrill wheeze like a dying bird. Blood trickles from the corners of her mouth as she retches and heaves, a slow trickle to a thick, gushing torrent. A thick, thorn-studded vine slithers from the underbrush and wraps around her ankle. It snakes higher, over her calf, her knee, her thigh, leaving small, bloody punctures everywhere it touches. You can’t look anymore, sick to your stomach, but you hear the sounds she makes when another vine slithers around her other leg, and another around her torso.

Cherroveth picks up the geode and holds it away from his body like it’s sick and rotten, his nose wrinkled, scowling in disgust. He takes it away. The unlucky supplicant is dragged away soon after. The sounds of slow, agonized death as the thorns tear her apart from the inside gradually fade. Several minutes pass before Cherroveth returns, smiling brightly once again. 

It goes on like this for some time. A supplicant will approach, present their offering, and receive a kiss. Each encounter lasts no more than a few minutes, mere seconds for the most unfortunate. The Prince of Flowers is mercurial. Sometimes he will inspect an offering carefully and sometimes he will pass judgment with barely a glance at it. Sometimes he will call for the next person with a smile and a laugh. Sometimes he will stare listlessly. A young woman openly weeps when the kiss ends with the promise that her lost cat will return home safely this very evening. An older man staggers to the mural coughing and crying blood, leaving a red handprint on the stone as he topples over. He’d brought a carving, too. 

He stares, unimpressed, at a handmade toy meant for a child. But then he picks it up, turns it over in his hands, and his icy demeanor melts into a small smile. The woman who offered it is given a handful of magic seeds when she only asked for one, looking as though she might faint from surprise.

You watch the crowd in front of you dwindle with growing unease. There must be something. Some explanation. Some hint. You look at the ruins, the decorative arches, the patterns carved into old stone. The Prince of Flowers is depicted everywhere you look. His face in profile smiles serenely upon the walls at the ruin’s entrance, mirrored panels gazing at the spot where supplicants arrive. Little remains of the statues by the altar, one missing a head and arms, the other nothing but a lower half clad in a loincloth, but maybe it’s him. They match, the tilted stance mirrored but otherwise identical, the delicate curl of a flowers and vines wrapped all the way up each.

The mural, you notice, is not one image but two. Like the altar, there is a fissure down the middle dividing the paintings. You see supplicants depicted in the fashions of an ancient civilization, their arms raised to present colorful cloths, live animals, gold and gemstones and crystal figures. They approach from opposite directions, lined up before the Prince of Flowers who stands at the center. In one panel, he is smiling and surrounded by roses. In the other, he frowns, wrapped in thorns. 

Your eyes flick down to the altar. The crack in the stone. You look back up at the altar, Cherroveth shown in both of his extremes. Your mind races. Could it mean…?

“Next,” he says sharply. 

Your heart races. You’re the only one left. The ruins are empty and silent. Shivering, you look down at the bag in your arms. Fresh fruit. That’s all you brought. You find the godling glaring at you, tapping his fingers impatiently upon the altar. In the sunset, his eyes are soft and bright like the inside of a lime. You glance at the mural again. When was the last time someone noticed? “You might not like it,” you admit. 

“Let me see it. You’ll find out quickly,” he says.

Hesitantly, you step forward. You open the sack, setting the fruit down right on top of the crack splitting it down the middle. “Nobody really knows what you like. We’re all just guessing,” you tell him. “I heard you like the first fruits of the harvest, but maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s the other one who likes that.” 

His hand freezes, hovering over the offering. He looks at you, wide-eyed with surprise. 

“Oh? A clever one,” you hear. Cherroveth—another one, identical to the first—comes out of the trees. This is who first greeted you in the forest. Those are the same graceful footsteps, the same half-lidded stare and sweet smile. He stands on the opposite side of the altar, picking up a peach and turning it over in his hand. “You heard right. I do love the first harvest best. My brother doesn’t appreciate food offerings, unfortunately.”

Twin godlings. You look back and forth between them. They’re impossible to tell apart unless you look beyond their features and clothing. One stands taller, straight-backed and confident while the other hunches.

“I am Cherroveth,” the smiling one says. “Prince of Flowers.” 

His twin stares at you, entranced. “Therrovech,” he murmurs. “Prince of Thorns.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” you ask them. “The offerings would be better. We’d bring enough for both of you.”

“We did tell you. Humans forget things quickly.” Cherroveth shrugs, biting into the peach. He moans, his eyes fluttering shut as clear juice runs down his chin. “Mm! Just lovely.”

“The ones we told are probably dead,” Therrovech muses. “It was a long time ago. To them, at least.” His smile is different than his brothers. Smaller. Almost shy. He takes your hand, tugging you closer. “It’s nice to be noticed. What would you like?” 

“What? You’re letting them go?” Cherroveth’s smile falls and you struggle to tell them apart again. They’re both tense, eyes narrowed, bristling with anger. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Therrovech insists, grasping your hand tightly. “It was my turn, anyway. They gave their offering to me. I get to decide.” 

“You don’t even like what they brought you!” 

“I can bring you something else,” you say quickly. 

“You already did,” Therrovech says. This smile is the same as Cherroveth’s, warm and wide. He shoves you back onto the altar, scattering the fruit across the ground. His hand lands heavily on your shoulder before you can sit up and then he’s crawling on top of you, straddling your legs. You wince when he starts tearing at your clothes with claw-like nails. Were they that sharp before? He nicks your skin and it makes him freeze, watching blood bubble to the surface. To your horror, the sight of the small scratch makes his eyes glaze over. He licks his lips. 

“Now you’re being petty,” Cherroveth argues. He stands on the other side of the altar, next to your head. “You just don’t want me to have them.” 

“You get everything you want all the time.” Therroveth unties the cloth from around his hips and drops it carelessly, leaving him completely exposed. You’re shocked to find him smooth like a doll between his legs, but it doesn’t last. His skin ripples like moving water. His flesh parts and peels, unraveling like unspooling thread. He’s nothing but thorns. Thick vines and thin, snaking tendrils, stiff and wooden, green and flexible, every inch of him is sharp and prickling. You watch the transformation in speechless, horrified shock, seized by his larger vines that hold you down against the stone. He ties your wrists together and your legs apart, the restraints biting into your skin painfully. 

“But they would be so pretty, Therro. Just imagine it.” Cherroveth kneels, his hair curtaining your vision as he strokes your cheek and smiles at the expression of pure terror on your face. “This neck. This lovely chest. Imagine, all of your thorns and all of my flowers. Inside them, Therro. Don’t you like how it feels to kiss a sacrifice? Such a fertile garden they’d make.” 

“They’re mine,” Therrovech growls. He slaps his brother’s hand away and hunches over you, covering your body with the writhing mass of his thorns. They couldn’t look more different now. His skin looks stiff and wooden, pitted with thin grooves and speckled with lichen. His upper half comes apart like the corpse you saw in the woods before, his chest open, his ribs, covered in spines, on full display. Everywhere he touches you burns and stings. “I always have to share with you. It isn’t fair. Maybe I want something all to myself for once.” 

“Fine.” Cherroveth scoffs. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand one last time, a lingering touch that makes you shudder. “I’ll make sure none of our supplicants are lost in the woods. But you’ll change your mind, brother. Or you’ll make a mistake. I know you will. I’ll be more than happy to take them off your hands when you do.” 

He moves quietly. You have no idea he left until Therrovech shifts, no longer crushing you in his sharp branches. You see a cautious smile. Eyes like emeralds. Roses of all colors in his long, leafy green hair. He looks nothing like his brother but he’s still beautiful. The vines around your wrists are loose enough for you to reach up to touch his cheek. It’s softer than you expect, the wood spongy against your palm. Therrovech holds your hand there and nuzzles against it. 

“He’s wrong,” he whispers. “I won’t change my mind and I won’t make a mistake. I want you just like this. I like soft things. Warm flesh. I like that you saw me. I’ve wanted to be seen for a long time.” His hands frame your face and you squirm nervously, trying to get out from under him, but his grip on your limbs is too strong and painful. Even flinching makes the thorns dig deeper. “Don’t be afraid. You’re no sacrifice. I just want a taste. Just a small one.” He’s going to kiss you. You pull against the vines despite how much it hurts but it just makes him hum in disapproval. He cups your jaw, forcing you to open your mouth. His lips are warm against yours. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as you feared. His lips are soft. His teeth are like daggers and his lips are sandpaper rough but he’s careful, mindful of where he’s sharp and abrasive. He licks into your mouth gently and moans, his whole body writhing around you. It feels strange but you find yourself kissing him back. When you stroke the rose petals in his hair, he shivers and makes an almost wounded sound. 

Something warm, firm and bumpy grinds against your thigh. You can’t see it but Therrovech’s vines slither restlessly every time it slides against your skin. He breaks the kiss, hot puffs of breath warming your swollen lips. “Stay,” he begs. “Stay with me. See me. Talk to me. Cherro won’t have you, I won’t let him. I’ll give you anything you ask for. Anything at all.” Another vine wraps around you and then another, thick like snakes. Therrovech kisses you again and this time he tastes sweet. There’s something in his mouth, some kind of nectar, honey-thick and intoxicating. He pushes his tongue into your mouth. His thumb massages your throat, insistent. He doesn’t let up until you swallow the cloying sweetness filling your throat. 

“What…whu…” You try to talk but all that comes out is mindless noise. You feel dizzy and overheated, floating or falling or something else entirely. 

“Open up to me,” Therrovech whispers. His vines wrench your legs apart and up, as high as he can get them. “I’ll be all yours if you’ll be all mine.” That thing, that hot, pulsating organ, slides against your entrance. Your body fights it, your muscles tight and unyielding. Therrovech tilts your head and leans over you, something gold and dew-shiny sparkling in his mouth. He dribbles more nectar into your open mouth and your eyes roll back in your head. It’s good. Tastes good. Feels good. Makes your skin all buzzing and warm. Makes him feel good everywhere he’s pressed into you, nipping your veins. 

The vines quiver. Therrovech presses into you again and this time you let him. Not thorns, at least, but it’s thick and hard and studded with dull barbs that catch and pull on things inside of you. It shouldn’t feel good but the nectar makes it heaven. Therrovech’s body undulates, a strange, worm-like quiver rather than the thrusting mating motion you expect, but the result is the same. He throws his head back and groans as he fills you. You shudder in ecstasy. 

“More,” Therrovech whispers. He leans in close, his strange body pressed against yours. He kisses you feverishly. He pours nectar into your mouth and it’s more than you can swallow, sticky saliva dribbling down your chin. 

Sharpness jolts you out of your haze momentarily. It was a small, fleeting pain, just a pinprick. A thorn scrapes behind your teeth. You open your eyes and Therrovech is losing what little cohesion he has in his upper body, a spiked tendril unfurling from one of his cheeks. He could hurt you badly. He might not even notice. You pull away and he whines, surging forward, more nectar already on his tongue. You push weakly at his chest and he grows around you, trapping your hands against his warm, throbbing center.

He said he wouldn’t make a mistake, but godlings are creatures of impulse. You try to hold onto the fear, the clear-headedness, searching for a way out, but Therrovech’s vines constrict and he drives into you harder. A spurt of thick, creamy nectar fills your insides and every thought you have is obliterated. Nothing matters. Nothing but having more of this. You drive your body onto his organ and take everything he has to give. You’ll stay. Stay forever, if that’s what he wants.

Your head falls back against the altar and you see Cherroveth, upside down, standing against the mural. Embarrassment heats your face at being seen like this, but it’s quickly forgotten in the churn of heat and sensation. The Prince of Flowers smiles softly. He’s undressed, his fist wrapped around a thick cock, stroking himself into hardness. He’s waiting, you think. Waiting as for the Prince of Thorns to do something he shouldn’t. To lose himself. To unfurl sharpness into your body. To fill all the space inside. 

Therrovech nips at your lower lip just a little bit too hard and you taste blood. He sucks at the wound hungrily and all of his vines tighten at once. 

You wonder just how long Cherroveth will have to wait.

[thewolfisawake]

It always feels like anything sweet I do with him is either actually bittersweet or ends up followed up with sads. Wonder how that happens.

I have been and still am working with what is up with Aspis. There hasn't been much about the curse because Aspis himself doesn't know much about it. All he knows is that he was at a point of dying when he was about eight from creatures that were not human and were ferocious. He, near drowning at that point, had made the wish that 'I do not want to die.' Someone had acknowledged this desire but that he would have to pay for that wish. To that point, his memory is fuzzy. There are flashes of his parents, his grandfather and flame that seemed to ignite his entire island.

His next memory is being in a hospital bed and promptly blacking back out because of this searing pain throughout his body. Consciousness hurt and he basically kept knocking out from how much it hurt. The best he can surmise is that he got acclimated to it to be conscious but many tasks felt enormous. He spoke softly because it felt like he was breathing glass. He was clumsy because it felt like he was walking on blades. His range of motion even within his hands to grip and write was terrible as it was like they were constantly banded.

Aspis did get used to it all with time. He noticed that it does feel like it 'ramps up' every few years or so but he is used to the tricks that it doesn't incapacitate him anymore. But he isn't perfect with it and he doesn't think he'll ever be with it. His main pitfall currently is his lack of registering what should be uncomfortable and awareness of injury. These are things like not moving his hand off a hot stove, getting straight up poisoned and going about his day, and the 'oh would you look at that, I've been impaled.' He usually plays it as he wasn't paying attnetion but honestly, he doesn't know what it's like truly. Because none of it registers any worse than what he feels passively.

He has noticed that it has changed as of late. Like it still hurts but that there's a different kind of hurt there. Maybe it was always there and it wasn't as rampant or to the threshold it has reached...Aspis can't say. However he has noticed that there is a fresh pain that comes to him in relation to his heart. Or rather when he experiences heartache. Not like he watched a sad movie but like experiences that we metaphorically say 'grips the heart' feels very literal to him and honestly feel like it plus it will rip him apart. By his luck it hasn't been experienced much with the latest time actually being from remeeting his godfather at the tournament.

Found by some variant of a certain event, both he and his closest friends (called by me and Kristen 'The Bastion Kids') are aware that Aspis has a sort of pseudo-immortality. His body can experience limits that should kill any human and it seems to shut down but always inexplicably restarts or never stops despite the implausibility. This doesn't stop Aspis from experiencing the horrors of his body literally giving up and coming back over and over in the situation. His mind does give the grace of like...not keeping him conscious for every bit of that or blocking it out after it has passed. However it doesn't look like he stops aging considering that he was eight when this started and he's well into his 20s at this point with no signs of that slowing.

What he isn't aware of--at least not fully--is that this curse goes all the way down to his soul. Take any way you want to manifest a soul. Flames, crystal, etc, etc. His is literally imprisoned by scrawl that work like chains and a brand. It douses, it creates a vise, it threatens to shatter its captive. And honestly? With time it likely would. It seems to be a curse that wants to prolong his existence while so very slowly extinguishing his very being. At least one that can view this sort of thing has told Aspis that they believe he could live a normal human life span. The problem is that by time he would reach that life span, every inch of him would have longed for release decades ago. Inferring that the curse will ramp up to a point that Aspis will not be able to keep up with it. And he will...for a lack of a better word, simply break. What that entails for him physically, mentally, and anything else, no one has any idea. HE has no idea and honestly? Probably doesn't want to find out either.

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

I saw you were still taking writing requests and your writing is very very good so maybe 5 or 11 with Joel and Jimmy?

Joel bumped his head against the stone wall of the hill side. He wasn't sure how long he's been sitting here, but it seemed like hours. It could have just been a few minutes, but with both of their heart rates high it was slowing down the time significantly.

"Jimmy," he sighed, the first words said in those minutes, "Why are you still afraid of me?"

He couldn't help but peek down into the crevice, the one that Jimmy had smushed himself into. He had though they had gotten passed this.

Getting trapped on a random modded server hadn't been ideal. They were still trying to figure out how to get off it, even after several days of pushing at the boundaries, but it wasn't like either of them were very knowledgeable in this kind of thing. The origins that had been forced upon them had only increased the difficulty, throwing them into instincts they had no clue how to navigate.

Joel had become a fox origin, something that he felt he would have been familiar with given he's had wolf traits forced upon him during life series seasons. He quickly learned, however, that having fangs and ears was nothing close to being part fox himself. His need to forage and dig and steal was dialed up to an impossible to ignore level. It made the serious work they had to do hard to not sabotage by pure instincts.

Jimmy had it worse. A bunny origin. Barely half a block tall now and the twitchiest he's ever seen him. Jimmy had never been an overly nervous or cautious person; honestly, he was prone to taking on battles he couldn't win more often than not. Now he could barely get Jimmy to stand in the same room as him.

It had gotten better over the last few days. Jimmy no longer ran for the nearest hiding spot the second he saw a flash of Joel's red tail or heard him grow at certain challenges.

Except for today it seems; and today was worse. Joel had growled and yipped at a grizzly bear, a bloody custom mob on this forsaken server, and the combination of two predators had sent Jimmy's rabbit heart into a frenzy. He had ran off and dug himself into the smallest hole he could find.

It took Joel ages of panicked searching to find him. He thought that just telling the bunny origin that the bear was gone would be enough to get him to climb out himself, but the moment Jimmy had seen the shine of Joel's eyes he had scrambled to push himself further into the hole.

That brought them to now. Joel had sat back for a few minutes to let Jimmy relax, but the quiet wasn't working.

Jimmy shifted, which Joel heard more than he saw due to the fact that the space he had shoved himself in was so small.

"I don't know," Jimmy finally answered Joel's question, "I'm just... I don't want to be. It's hard. I've been this small before, you're well aware of that, but this is different. Everything feels so big this time. It's like I'm the smallest guy in the world everything wants to kill me for it."

"I don't want to kill you," Joel said, trying to keep his voice low.

Jimmy went awfully quiet to that.

"Jim?"

"Are you sure you don't want to kill me?" Jimmy asked, so quiet Joel was pretty sure he only heard it because of his increased hearing.

"What is it going to take to get you to trust me?" Joel asked in response, trying and failing to push down the absolute devastation he felt at those words. Jimmy had been so afraid of him these last few days, Joel knew it was bad, but he didn't realize just how scared his friend had been of him.

Jimmy took a deep breath, "Do you... have a carrot?"

It took all of Joel's restraint to not bark out a laugh right then and there, managing just to only snicker as he dug through his inventory. "That's all you need?"

"No," Jimmy answered honestly, "But it'll be a start."

Joel nodded and pulled out a carrot, dangling it in front of the hole. Jimmy crawled out and he had to take it in both paws, it nearly as big as him. He slowly sat next to Joel, leaning against his side, and Joel did everything in his power not to shift.

It was a start.

[hedwig221b]

Breathing heavily, Derek turned around and marched out of the room, trying to rein in his wolf. He knew he lost control over his appearance: the skin on his face tickled with growing fur, sharp points of deadly fangs dug into his lower lip.

Derek had to see him. Right now, to make sure none of them got to him, to see for himself that Stiles was safe and whole. That the boy was his, still.

Not a day has gone without him dreaming of Stiles. He was a constant presence in the wolf’s mind, driving him insane with want and longing.

No, Derek would never leave him, never give him over to another’s dirty hands. He’ll fight for the boy till death. Tear apart anyone who had the misfortune of touching him.

The door opened after three loud thuds. Derek didn’t have any space for guilt in his heart at waking the undoubtedly tired Stiles up, all of it taken by irresistible want.

Stiles’ eyes were wide open in surprise and just a tiny bit of wariness. His hands were clutching the soft white nightgown, keeping it closed over his naked chest. Derek’s gleaming red eyes followed the tantalizing length of his neck, stopping at the sight of his bare collarbones, peeking out of the gown. A pink sleepy blush adorned his cheeks, cupping his soft half-opened lips.

They ought to have the sweetest taste.

Both of them stared at each other in silence. Stiles was probably too shocked that Derek approached him again at such a late hour, nonetheless; Derek, however, lost any train of thought upon seeing this exquisite being, so teasing in his innocent softness and naïve trust. Anger left him all at once, leaving him breathless at the sight of the angel.

“Don’t open the door so readily,” Derek’s mutter was akin to a rumble. “You’re too beautiful for that.”

Stiles’ breath hitched and his heart started its quick rabbit pace again. He frowned a bit as if Derek’s compliment somehow offended him; he probably didn’t even realize his lips formed into the cutest pout. The most delicious prey was in front of Derek, and he couldn’t even have a taste. Not yet.

He wanted to kiss the tips of Stiles’ long fingers, bite into the soft insides of his thighs, leave marks all over his neck and trace the helpful path of his moles leading to his devastating lips to kiss and claim and take.

But Derek couldn’t do that for fear of spooking him. It was too early. But how could he possibly leave him right now?

Derek gently took Stiles’ slack hand, his heart stuttering at the sight of it, small in comparison to his wolf’s one. Miraculously, Stiles didn’t pull away. Derek lifted his soft hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then on the inside of his wrist, before inhaling.

The bright red of his eyes reflected in Stiles’ soft brown ones. The blush on Stiles’ pretty face deepened and traveled down, calling to Derek’s predatory instincts to follow, to lick and bite.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. The wolf in him howled at the sharp scent of arousal emanating from his body. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

“Lock the door,” he said, forcing himself to step away. “Don’t open until the sun rises.”

Once again, Stiles said nothing. He blinked as if coming out of a stupor, then gave a tiny nod, before slowly closing the door, casting inquisitive glances at Derek. The door shut with a soft thud; a heavy lock slid into place with an unpleasant scrape.

Derek leaned towards the door, knowing that Stiles was probably leaning on it to eavesdrop. Curious kitten.

“Good boy,” he murmured and laughed soundlessly at the shy squeak on the other side, followed by hastily retreating footfalls.

The smile felt unfamiliar on Derek’s ferine face, and he lost it quite quickly. This precious boy made it so easy to feel joy again, almost uncomfortably so.

If only Stiles chose to never leave his side, the wolf would bring him the freedom he craved. It will be his final courting gift. Stiles had no idea what he got himself into by allowing Derek’s name to fall from his lips that fateful day a year ago. He would soon learn the true power of being under the wolf’s protection and possession.

He’ll never have to fear and pretend ever again. His sweet boy. His Stiles.

Read the whole story on ao3

[rjthirsty]

I asked a friend to give me two characters for a random writing prompt. Gilbert and Chevalier from Ikemen Prince were chosen. I asked my wife to pick a number 1-100, and #37 was chosen from this list.

I present to you, "Stop talking or tomorrow won't come." Starring Gil and Chev.

"You've frightened the Little Rabbit, you know." Gilbert's voice was heard before he was seen, coalescing out of the darkness. A black shadow that faded into the deep shadows of the night. Chevalier hadn't even felt his presence, but he was used to that by now with Gilbert. He wasn't wrong. Just moments earlier, Emma fled from him after seeing him at the riverside.

"Covered in blood, showing her the beast you are, that was not the move I thought you would make." Gilbert continued. His cane made a muffled thump as he moved closer, rhythmically sounding out with every step, like an even heartbeat. He was attempting to rile Chevalier up - a foolishly childish ploy.

"If you wanted to be rid of her, there are kinder ways. You really are a villain." Gilbert's voice was cheery despite the admonishing words. Chevalier could see his smile in his mind. He didn't need to turn towards the man to know exactly the way he was gleefully leering at him. How annoying.

"It must be heartbreaking for the object of your affections to run from you. It's so embarrassing. The Brutal Beast bares his fangs and claws at the one he wants most to absolve him of his inhumane nature. Ahaha. I can solve that problem for you."

"Ridiculous." Chevalier muttered. Gilbert surely intended to offer to run him through to solve his problem. It wouldn't solve anything.

"Wouldn't it be better for her to weep over your corpse than shrink away in fear from you?" Gilbert was right next to him, now. He stopped, and Chevalier could see Gilbert tilt his head as if he expected an answer from him.

"Stop talking. Or I will ensure that tomorrow won't come for you." Chevalier leveled an icy glare at Gilbert, frosting the air between them. He had spent the day purging traitors near the border but was still able and ready to take Gilbert on by himself. Just one more word, and Chevalier was ready to start their first and final fight.

Gilbert simply smiled. Whether he took Chevalier's threat to heart or not was not clear, but the Obsidian prince said no more. Giving a shrug, Gilbert turned and strolled back the way he had come. Cane beating a steady rhythm muffled by the grass. Disappearing back into the shadows like they had swallowed him up. Chevalier's cold eyes staring the direction Gilbert went long after he had vanished.

[astarionspointyears]

It’s been written a thousand times before, but here’s my take on Bite Night.

Hunger had always been the worst part of being a vampire spawn. Well, not the worst part, but certainly the most annoying. It was constant. An ever-present ache in his stomach that never let him forget what he was, even for a second. Astarion had become accustomed to it over the years. But that was when he was only luring targets back for Cazador and not fighting for his life every day. The hunger he felt now was something else entirely. It was a sharp, all-consuming feeling. Every instinct he had screamed at him to hunt, to kill, to feed. He could think of nothing else.

The day had been especially long and difficult. Starting with a long trek to the goblin camp in which they fought off group after group of redhats, and then killing that useless Priestess Gut. Astarion could feel himself slowing down, making mistakes. The squirrels and rabbits weren’t cutting it anymore, he needed something more.

Astarion’s eyes passed over the camp. The night was hot with almost no breeze. All was quiet around camp, his companions were sleeping. Even Scratch was sprawled out near the dying fire, his tail thumping softly against the ground every so often. He supposed he could try biting the dog, but that was risky. Scratch was liable to smell him coming and would alert the others, or otherwise attack him. Anyway, Astarion was sure his companions would not take kindly to him making a meal of their favourite pet. So who would it be, then?

It couldn’t be Karlach or Gale. He valued his life too much to even try for Lae’zel. That left Shadowheart, Wyll, and Tav. Any of them would do - blood was blood, after all. If he was being honest, Astarion quite liked Tav. Sure, she was a bit naive and just loved to play the hero, dragging them into quarrels they had no business with. It was both annoying and endearing. Tav was also the only one who genuinely made him laugh, the only one who sought him out for conversation. Astarion thought he could make her like him, if he tried hard enough. So should he risk biting her and breaking what little trust they had built? Astarion’s head said no, but his stomach said otherwise.

With another glance around to ensure everyone was still asleep, he crept over to Tav’s tent. The flaps were open to try to coax in a breeze. Tav was wearing only underwear and lying on top of her sleeping bag. Astarion could both hear and smell the blood rushing through her veins just below the surface of her skin. A pang of hunger hit him and he had to choke back a growl.

‘Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking beings,’ Cazador’s voice echoed in his head, and Astarion paused. He was pretty sure he was no longer under Cazador’s control. Whatever the tadpole did to him, Astarion couldn’t feel the invisible leash that had tied him to Cazador for so long. But did that mean he would never be again? What would happen to him if Cazador found out he’d broken a rule? What new torture would he have to endure? Astarion swallowed the fear that threatened to rise up in his chest. He’d worry about Cazador later. He was leagues away in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion would have to deal with the tadpole first.

Astarion turned his attention back to Tav, who was still sleeping peacefully. He leaned over her, his eyes focused on the pulse point in her neck. His lip curled up almost involuntarily to reveal his fangs. Another pang of hunger hit him like a lightning bolt, and he made his decision. He was going to do it, Cazador be damned. If Astarion had a heart, it would have been racing. He leaned in slowly, teeth bared and ready to strike.

Tav’s eyes flew open. A glint of steel in the moonlight, and a dagger was at Astarion’s throat. He staggered back, throwing his hands up in surrender. “No, no! It’s not what it looks like!”

“Yeah?” Tav sprang to her feet, holding the dagger out in front of her. “What the fuck is it, then? Are you robbing me, or trying to kill me?”

“Neither, I promise. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just need…well, blood.”

“What?”

Tav looked him up and down. Slowly, as if she was taking in every detail. When she got to his face, Astarion saw her eyes widen and she took a step back. “A vampire? You’re a fucking vampire?”

“A vampire spawn,” Astarion said, as if it made a difference.

“I can’t fucking believe it!”

Astarion looked around to check if anyone had heard, but all was quiet. “Keep your voice down,” he pleaded. “I’m not some monster. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now, too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better.”

Tav’s eyes narrowed. “You’re asking to drink my blood?”

“Well, yes,” Astarion said. “Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Tav regarded him skeptically, her eyes searching his face for answers. Astarion could almost see her wrestling with herself as she took in what he’d said. Then, she lowered the dagger and tossed it to the side.

“I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Astarion sighed in relief. He’d live to see another day. The relief was short lived, though. He was so hungry, and being so close to tasting her blood made him a little wild. It took a lot of restraint for Astarion not to lunge at Tav right then.

“Do you think you can trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just lie down, and try to relax,” Astarion said. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Gentle,” Tav said with a laugh. “You’re about to drink my blood.”

In fact, Astarion didn’t exactly know how to be gentle. Gentleness was not something he needed to think of when he was living on vermin. But he didn’t want Tav to struggle, lest his teeth miss their mark and kill her inadvertently.

“As gentle as I can,” Astarion amended. “I won’t make it hurt more than it needs to.”

Tav sat down and laid back on her bedroll. “Not a drop more than you need,” she warned. “Or I’ll ram a fucking stake in your chest.”

“Understood.”

Astarion knelt beside her. Tav lifted her chin to expose her neck. Once again, Astarion felt the excitement rise in his chest. Instinct took over as he brushed his teeth against Tav’s throat to feel for the artery. He found it, then instantly bit down. Blood gushed forcefully into his mouth and he couldn’t help but moan with satisfaction. Tav’s blood was sweet like ripe summer berries. Astarion’s whole body tingled and buzzed - he felt almost alive. Something in his brain purred with pleasure as the hunger slowly receded.

“Astarion,” Tav whispered. She tried to push him away, but Astarion wrapped a hand under her head and held her tighter. He couldn’t stop now. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin as Astarion gulped down more and more. It was satisfying, invigorating, intoxicating. He drank deeply, savoring the taste.

“Astarion!” Tav said, a little louder. She shoved him hard in the chest and managed to twist out of his grasp. Tav scrambled backwards and away from him, one hand gripping her throat.

“I - of - of course,” Astarion stammered, breathless. “That - that was amazing.”

Tav didn’t say anything. She only stared at him with eyes wide as dinner plates. A long, silent moment passed between them as they both struggled to catch their breath. Finally, Astarion realized how much he’d actually drank. It was probably a little further than he’d meant to go, but gods she was delicious.

“Are you all right?”

Tav nodded. “I - I think so.”

“I apologize, I was swept up in the moment,” Astarion said. “But it worked! I feel good. Strong. Happy!”

“Does it always feel like that?” Tav asked.

“Like…like what?”

Tav shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Never mind. I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Astarion heard the uncertainty in her voice. There was something she wasn’t saying, but he didn’t want to press her. “It shouldn’t take long, so many people need killing,” he said as he got to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

Tav nodded and Astarion turned to walk towards the tree line. He really did feel amazing. His mind felt clear for the first time in centuries, his body stronger than it ever had been. Was this what it was like, to feed on thinking beings? Was this truly how Cazador always felt? The thought made Astarion hate him even more.

Though perhaps it wasn’t all thinking beings. Perhaps it was Tav, specifically Tav, that made Astarion feel that buzz. Her blood tasted so exquisite, it was as if she was made just for him. It was difficult to imagine anyone else being so…satisfying. Could he convince her to let him do that again? Astarion thought he probably could, if he played his cards right.

[veronicaphoenix]

fairy dust series — prelude | wc: 1.8k

Prelude summary: 8-year-old Ivy meets a fairy ೃ༄*ੈ Pairing: fae!oliver sykes x ivy (human ofc) x kitsune!noah sebastian

Tags and trigger warnings: ofc is a minor when she meets fae!oliver for the first time, there are no sexual innuendos or references; what's described is just pure infatuation, it's also implied that oliver has kidnapped children before but it's not specified for what reason, ofc is mentioned to have struggles fitting in and it's implied she doesn't have a good relationship with her parents or with her schoolmates.

→ part one, part two, part three | my works 🌙

This is for anyone who has ever felt out of place and still feels that way.

Prelude ೃ༄*ੈ

When Ivy was eight years old, she met a fairy. 

            It wasn’t the typical fairy she had read about in bedtime stories, no. This fairy was different. He was not small; quite the contrary. He wasn’t blonde, but a brunette. Nor did he have wings. Instead, his skin was covered in tattoos. 

            Ivy had wandered into the forest, ignoring the teachers’ strict instructions to stay with the group. She had never been one to follow instructions, anyway. 

            Before her, leaning nonchalantly against an ancient elderberry tree in the clearing she had stumbled upon, stood a man. Tall, stocky, with skin the color of pale moonlight, and a cascade of long, chestnut hair that reached his shoulders. His body was adorned with intricate tattoos from head to toe, and a single earring glinted in his right ear. He was barefoot, his chest bare, revealing designs that whispered of secrets and stories she was too young to comprehend. 

            He was whistling a melody that seemed to echo from the depths of her memory. 

            Ivy hadn’t realized she was staring until the fairy slowly turned his head towards her. As his gaze met hers, she noticed that his eyes were mismatched, one a deep sapphire, the other a vivid emerald. 

            Then, the fairy smiled, a slow, languid smile that revealed sharp, gleaming fangs—fangs that should have sent her running in fear.

            But Ivy stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide and her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. 

            “Well, well,” the fairy’s voice sang out, each word dripping like honey from a comb. “What have we here?” 

            Ivy blinked but remained immobile, mesmerized by the enigmatic figure before her. She needed no one to tell her what he was. She knew, not because of his appearance, but because of the way his eyes glowed with a mesmerizing, otherworldly light; because as he approached, he left a trail of shimmering, blue-tinted smoke, and because he exuded a fragrance that was an intoxicating blend of every flower imaginable, rendering him both enchanting and perilous. 

            “What are you doing here, little thing?” the fairy inquired, now just three feet away.

            His smile grew broader, more wicked, as if he actually knew what Ivy was doing there. At her tender age, she sensed the danger his smile implied. Yet, she didn’t want him to stop smiling. He was beautiful. And he was smiling at her.

            The closer he came, the more her feet itched, as if urging her to shed her boots and follow him wherever he might lead. She had to tilt her head back, higher and higher, until he was kneeling before her, resting one forearm on his bent knee.

            He leaned in closer. His teeth were immaculate and gleaming. Ivy felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his cheek, to feel the texture of his skin, to run her fingers through his hair, pet him like she used to pet rabbits. 

            “Are you lost?”

            “No,” Ivy replied, her voice steady. She felt no fear, only a sense of being utterly spellbound. 

            “Seems to me that you are,” he commented, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows toward the distant clamor of the other children’s voices. 

            Ivy should have been with them. That was what she had always been told to do. Ivy was a child and had to do what other children did, stay with the teachers, listen to her elders, and do her homework every afternoon after school. But Ivy had never fit neatly into the boxes others tried to fit her in. A child of her age shouldn’t wander alone in the woods, much less a child like Ivy, who believed in the existence of fantastical worlds where things were different, where she could be free and brave. 

            In Ivy’s dreams, she envisioned a place where stars would fall from the sky and land in her open hands, where raindrops would explode into glitter on her skin, where flowers would sing lullabies, and creatures would revere her without mentioning her human imperfections. A place where her perceived flaws, the ones her parents often reminded her of, didn’t matter. A place where she could face evil without being told it was a losing battle, especially for a child like her. 

             In the world Ivy longed for, her body was a temple, worshiped and revered as a source of strength and courage, for she was a little warrior. Her heart was resilient and determined and had room for both softness and the harshness of life, the bitterness of failure and the sweetness of victory. Her soul, despite the storms, never stopped searching for the light. 

            But, above all, it was a place where love existed, an unconditional and vast love, capable of embracing everyone no matter what, offering comfort and warmth to those who needed it and accepting the one she deserved. 

             “I’m not lost,” she asserted, her voice firmer.  

            Oliver’s smile grew slowly, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the conviction and resilience emanating from her. 

            “Are you sure?” 

            “I come into the woods very often.”

            She did; more often than not, truthfully. The woods felt more like home than her own house; the trees were more like friends than her classmates; the plants more like family than her parents.  

            The last time she had been caught by her mother roaming the woods, she had been dragged back home. Her parents had taken all her fairy tale books and hidden them away. Ivy had cried for hours, but it hadn’t deterred her. She knew that fairy tales weren’t just in books; they were out there, waiting for her. 

            “How so?” The fairy asked, his curiosity piqued. 

            “I like it here,” Ivy answered simply. 

            “And you come alone?”

            She hesitated, sensing the potential danger in sharing such information. But the allure of his presence was too strong.  

            “Yes. I like being alone.”

            Oliver’s smile remained, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his mismatched eyes. “You are brave for one so young,” he said, his voice a gentle melody. She wondered how it would feel to fall asleep to it. “The woods can be a place for both wonder and danger. I suppose you’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

            “I am,” Ivy replied, lifting her chin slightly. A butterfly had alighted on the fairy’s hair, and it threatened to steal Ivy’s attention, if only for a moment. She shook her head, reminding herself of the man—the creature kneeled before her. “But I’m not afraid.” 

            “Perhaps because the humans around you scare you more.”

            He was right, but she didn’t let him know. Instead, she sighed, a little dragon huff, and slumped her shoulders. Her small hands clenched into tiny fists, her backpack weighing heavily on her shoulders. Oliver’s eyes raked her up and down. She wore jeans that had been sown at the knees, and the corner of his lips quirked upward again. How many times must she have tripped in the woods, while chasing after goblins? 

            He would learn that number and so much more.

            Everything. 

            “What’s your name?” he asked, starting with the basics. 

            He almost made himself laugh with that thought, as if he hadn’t been eyeing the girl for the last five days, following her little steps the moment she entered the woods, watching her as she made flower crowns, as she sang to herself and talked to the plants with her feet soaked in the river, as she spilled her secrets and desires into the mist.

            “Ivy.”

            His eyes widened.

            “Oh, like poison ivy.”

            “I’m not poisonous,” she retorted, a little wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. 

            She looked adorable, and Oliver couldn’t help but feel his impish fascination with this little creature grow.  

            “You aren’t? What are you, then?”

            Oh, how he relished playing with her. 

            “Just…” she glanced around, as if suddenly uncertain, “a girl.”

            There was a note of doubt in her voice. 

            “That,” he poked her nose gently, causing her eyelashes to flutter. The butterfly in his hair took flight, its wings shimmering in the dappled sunlight, “you are. But I’m pretty sure you’ll be poisonous once you grow up. Deadly, even. Hence why I have to go now. I will return when you’re of age.”

            “Return?” she echoed, her voice a whisper of curiosity. “For what?”

            She wished for him to stay a little longer.

            He stood up, towering over her like a great, ancient tree. 

            It was a sacrifice to his own desires to not take her away that very instant, to restrain his appetite and greed from consuming him and doing the same thing he had done to many other children to Little Ivy. 

            “To take you away, of course.”

            A shiver danced down her spine. Her heartbeat quickened, caught between the twin flames of fear and excitement. 

            She took a step back, her brows knitted into a defiant glare.

            Little Ivy was unaware of the power she already had over him—over a folk creature accustomed to getting whatever he desired.   

            “And what if I don’t want to go with you?”

            “Oh, but you will want to, darling,” he promised, extending an arm to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger, twirling it enticingly. “Because the place I’m going to take you is the place you’ve been dreaming of. The things I’m going to show you nobody’s ever shown you before; the things I’m going to do to you nobody has ever done, and the things I’m going to make you feel nobody’s ever made you feel. You will beg me to steal you away.”

            Little Ivy had never felt her throat go as dry as it did in that moment, her breath caught in a gasp as the fairy gazed down at her with his charming smile, his fingers weaving through her hair like threads of enchantment.  

            What kept him from taking her away at that very moment? 

            She would have begged then and there, were it not for the tremor of fear and fluttering butterflies within her. 

            He assured her he would come back. In ten years’ time. 

            She watched him go. 

            As he turned and began to fade into the forest’s embrace, her eyes fell on the tattoo etched upon his back. It showed an animal, some sort of creature that looked familiar to her but not entirely. It looked like a fox, yet, it was adorned with nine tails unfurled in a sophisticated dance. 

            Ivy was already questioning how a fox could have so many tails when her thoughts stilled.

            The fox’s eyes had moved, its sharp gaze meeting hers, almost smiling.  

            She could be hallucinating, of course, but as she lay in bed that night, she replayed the moment over and over again, and she was convinced the animal had been looking straight at her.

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