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ancientoptimism · a day ago
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Hektor did just that, he sailed by following seagulls and riding the storms he was forced to face. He battled through devastatingly rough waves and applauded himself every time he escaped the clammy hands of the ravenous sea. Time after time, he found himself clutching the sides of his boat; hoping that on the other side of this wave would be land. Hektor wasn’t afraid of being disappointed when there was none. The thing he truly feared, was that there never would be any.
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meg-moira · 6 months ago
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The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind
Sequel to Eindred and the Witch
In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.
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Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.
“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”
Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.
“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”
And that was that.
By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.
His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.
He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.
Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.
Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.
I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.
He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.
At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.
He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.
He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.
When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.
“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”
The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.
The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.
“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.
What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.
“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.
What if you don’t want to?
Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”
People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.
“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”
When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.
He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.
Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.
She died within the day.
Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.
He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.
During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.
It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.
By the time he arrived, the battle was done.
It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.
Instead, it was a man.
Just a man.
The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.
Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.
The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.
The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.
“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”
Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”
Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.
The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.
Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.
Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.
Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.
Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?
As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.
Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.
By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.
Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.
In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.
After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.
Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.
Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.
He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.
One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.
A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.
When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.
I am here. I am here.
Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.
So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.
In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.
“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.
By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.
When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”
The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.
Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.
For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.
And then, the skies erupted.
He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.
When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.
The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.
He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.
Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.
Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.
The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.
Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.
Severin did.
The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.
He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.
It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.
It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.
“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.
The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.
“And if these things do not happen?”
Then your soul will fade from the earth.
Severin felt torn in two.
The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.
“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.
No, none, the wind agreed.
“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.
The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.
The blade struck.
It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.
When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.
It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.
And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.
Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”
For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”
It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.
It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.
The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.
The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.
Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.
Months passed.
Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.
One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.
The barbarian had returned.
Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.
When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.
When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.
It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.
Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.
By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.
By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.
He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.
He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.
Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.
When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.
Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.
When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.
Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.
Eindred, was his answer.
Eindred.
Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.
Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.
Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.
It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.
Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.
Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.
Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.
Confused, Severin drifted closer.
May your every loved one die screaming in pain.
I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.
You will never know happiness.
Your existence will be suffering.
It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.
May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.
And,
May you live a life of safety and peace.
And Severin understood.
When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.
And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?
But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.
Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.
Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.
And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”
Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.
“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”
Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.
Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”
You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.
“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”
There it was.
His greatest enemy.
Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.
Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.
The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.
Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -
White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.
Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.
Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.
“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”
Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.
Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”
“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.
The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”
Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”
Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.
Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.
“Home, of course. Where else?”
“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.
And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.
By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.
“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.
Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.
“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”
“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”
Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes. 
He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.
“That’s better,” Severin said.
The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.
When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.
“I don’t plan on stopping.”
Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.
“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”
Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”
Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”
And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”
“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”
Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”
“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”
.
.
EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)
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xochmagoch · a month ago
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Her Baby
She rolled over, her head resting against his chest, moving around a little more to get comfortable.
“Morning, J.” She mumbled.
“Kiss.” He demanded tiredly, his eyes still closed.
She couldn’t help but smile, placing a soft kiss on his jawline. “Better?” She asked.
He nodded slowly. “Much.”
She took a deep breath. “You know what time it is, J.”
He groaned. “No.” He turned over but quickly turned back to bring her with him.
She squealed as he turned over with her in his arms. “JJ.” She laughed. “We have to get up.”
He smiled. “No.”
She pulled his head down and kissed him. “You’ll get more of that if you get out of bed.”
He quickly got up, almost tripping over his feet as he stood beside her bed, he held his arms out and did grabby hands at her. “More.”
She happily obliged, getting over to him on her knees, careful not to get out of bed, and she pulled him down to kiss her by his beaded necklace.
He smiled into it. “Mmm.” He hummed. “I love you.”
She laughed. “Come on lover boy, we’ve got to meet everyone at the beach.”
He pulled her over to where his surfboard was happily, admiring it with her close to him. “Check it out.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the masterpiece in front of her. “You did that all yourself?”
He nodded proudly. “The colors and all.”
She looked up at him. “Good thing everyone’s go a get to see how beautiful it is.
He grinned down at her. “They’d be too busy looking at you, baby.”
She laughed. “I doubt that, J.”
He twirled her back to him when she tried to walk off. “Well I don’t. You’re absolutely beautiful.”
She blushed but tried to cover it up. “Come on, J, we gotta get ready.”
He winked. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
She smiled, watching him walk out of her bedroom before she changed from her sleep clothes to her beach clothes. She was so happy he understood she wasn’t comfortable and didn’t try to sneak a peak at her when she wasn’t paying attention, she only knew because she had her mirror facing the door just in case, and she was so happy when she realized he was there for her, not for her body. He genuinely loves her and she knew it, she also knew he’d be willing to do anything for her, which both terrified her and excited her. And she knew she loved him back, which made everything so much better for her because she got the man of her dreams and she didn’t even have to work for it.
She clicked her tongue. “I’m the one taking the pictures that don’t have me in them.”
He turned to look at her. “Baby…” He looked at her with a sad expression. “That’s barely the case for your room, this has no excuse.”
She looked down, ashamed she lied in the first place. “It’s nothing to worry about, J. Let’s just go.”
He nodded, taking her hand in his and walking over to the car she loved so much, keeping a hand on her thigh the whole ride there, even when he was setting his surfboard in the back he was holding onto her.
They walked down to where the rest of the Pogues were, taking a spot beside them, JJ pulling his girl on his lap to claim her just in case anyone was confused on what was his.
His hands stayed on her thigh and waist, holding her firmly to make sure she didn’t go anywhere.
John B grinned at JJ. “You coming?” He got up and ran over to the waves with his surfboard, leaving Sarah alone talking to Kie.
JJ looked down at her. “I’ll be back, baby.” He kissed her forehead before setting her down where he was sitting and running off after John B with his surfboard.
She looked to Pope, who was snickering. “What?”
He grinned at her. “‘I’ll be back, baby’.” He mimicked JJ. “Dude has seriously got it bad for you.”
“I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, but yeah.” Sarah chimed in.
She laughed. “Oh come on, guys.”
“He loves you.” Kie said giggling.
Pope laughed. “So, when are you going to tell him?”
Kiara and Sarah stopped giggling and looked to her. “What is he talking about?” Sarah asked.
She glared at Pope. “I’m not ready yet.”
“Are you pregnant?” Kiara asked. “He wouldn’t care if you were, he’d be super happy, honestly, and probably a little scared, but he’d get over it. Like seriously, seriously he’d get over it.”
She laughed. “No. Absolutely not.”
Sarah furrowed her eyebrows. “Then what is it?”
She sucked in her cheeks. “He says the L word a lot.”
“And you don’t?” Kiara asked confused.
She nodded. “Yes. I can’t physically form the three words, it’s just… it’s like i’m not meant to say it or something.”
Kiara clicked her tongue. “Well, he’s not expecting you to say it back. He knows how hard it is for you.”
She gulped. “But if he can say it, then shouldn’t I?”
Sarah shook her head and laughed. “No. You’re clearly not ready for that and he would never push you to do something you cannot say. He totally understands.”
“Does he?” Pope questioned, pushing himself back into the conversation.
Kie rolled her eyes. “Of course he does.”
She looked put to see JJ surfing, looking at her to see if she was watching him and saw the wave he just rode. He waved and smiled, blowing a kiss to her before going back.
Sarah’s lower lip stuck out. “That was so cute.”
She laughed. “That’s just JJ.”
Pope smiled at how she fawned over JJ all the time, he was so happy and proud of his best friend to finally get over all those commitment issues and put herself put there for JJ. He was also proud of himself for putting them together because, well, he did a fantastic job at matchmaking and he knew it.
After the beach thing, JJ clung to his girlfriend as she prepared food for them both. “Baby?” He asked after a while.
She glanced down at him. “Hm?” She hummed.
He tapped on her thigh nervously. “How much longer until the foods ready?”
She laughed. “Just a minute longer.”
He clicked his tongue. “Did you need help?”
She shook her head. “No, you can stay where you are.”
He smiled. “I love you.”
She bit her tongue. It’s now or never. “I love you more.” She said softly.
He looked straight up at her before standing up and kissing her. “I knew it.” He said happily. “I knew you did.”
She laughed. “Well I didn’t start dating you for a silly little crush, J.”
He kissed her again. “I still knew it.” He pulled her into a hug. “I knew it all along and you didn’t even have to say it.”
She looked up at him laughing. “Can I get back to making our food or…”
“Oh yeah, no, go ahead.” He went back down to holding onto her legs.
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bunniesofsteel · 2 months ago
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Monster Universe- Chapter 2: Minotaur
Your meeting with the werewolf comes to an abrupt end when a supposedly extinct minotaur arrives- and carries you off to his underground library.
Pairing: Minotaur x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.5K
Rated: M! 18+ ONLY! NSFW!
Warnings: Minotaur sex, size kink, monster sex, p in v sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, smut, smut, smut.
*Author's Note: Guys, there's some monster smut here. Don't read it if you ain't into it. Tumblr won't let me tag NSFW, so here's the warning once again: NSFW.
The cool breeze caresses your heated skin.
The werewolf that had just claimed you lowers to all fours, snarling at the mystery behind the brush.
Now that there isn’t a monster cock pounding into you, you can feel the vibrations in the ground as something large makes its way towards you.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Fear begins to grip your throat and you push yourself up with a wince. The milky deposit from the werewolf squelches out of you as you shift and you groan as the warmth seeps out. You begin to shiver as the cold air hits the sweat coating your skin. You stand on trembling legs, cum slipping out of you in rivulets and dripping onto the grass between your bare feet. Vaguely you wonder when your shoes had come off during your time with the werewolf. Not that it mattered- it’s not like you can walk home in the dress hanging in tatters from your shoulders.
Still, you’re unsure what to do. The vibrations in the ground are growing louder and when you glance over your shoulder, you see the home the party was taking place in; it’s quiet and dark and you wonder what happened to your comrades. Perhaps called off to the next battle? But no, it’s so late and there were no messengers out this far- that’s why they chose the place.
The wolf’s snarling grows louder and suddenly, he rears back on his hind legs and howls at the moon, calling your attention back to the beast before you. You take a step back, heart racing, and place a shaking hand to the side of your flushed cheek. Reality starts to peek through the fog of arousal and you shake your head against it, feeling torn.
What was happening?
The vibrations in the ground are pulsating so greatly the trees are shaking. You nearly lose your balance before you throw your arms out and brace yourself.
The leaves shudder in the trees and the werewolf takes a step back, snarling.
Through the darkness, two curved horns emerge first through the foliage. You think for a moment it’s an animal that’s escaped from a nearby farm, perhaps. A very, very large... bull?
You crane your neck back to look up at the beast that emerges.
The head of a bull stares down at you, but it’s disfigured in a way that makes it almost human. Your mind blanks for a moment as you take in the broad, sun-kissed body of an incredibly large man before your gaze drifts down. Where you expect thick thighs and a decent sized appendage dangling between them, you instead see coarse, reddish-brown fur on the hind legs of a bull sticking out beneath a thin loincloth. Something swishes from behind him and you’re shocked to see a thin tail swinging around with a tuft of dark fur at the end.
Your mind scrambles for a moment to catch up to what you’re seeing.
It’s a minotaur.
But, you think, feeling both panicked and fascinated. Minotaurs were supposed to be extinct. This shouldn’t be possible.
Your mind races and you tremble again as a breeze rolls through. The minotaur gives a snort as your scent hits him and movement from below your line of vision has your gaze darting down. The loincloth twitches and your eyes widen as you watch the bull-man become erect.
There’s movement to your right; suddenly, the werewolf that just fucked you dumb is standing in front of you as though…
As though he were protecting you.
You’re touched by the notion, but confused. Sure werewolves were territorial, but they also knew when to avoid fights if they weren’t with their packs. The fact that this one hadn’t scampered off the moment the much-larger minotaur stepped through the trees has your mind spinning with the implications.
With a tremor in your hand, you reach out hesitantly. When your hand lands on the furry shoulder of the wolf before you, it turns its head so quickly to look at you that you flinch back. Clearly, everything you knew about werewolves was wrong- he wasn’t trying to devour you, he wasn’t running.
You glance up at the night sky. The grey clouds skim over the glowing moon and true darkness settles over the three of you.
Something about this darkness feels wrong, but you feel dumb and overstimulated, and can't pinpoint why.
A pleasant hum settles in your lower belly, and you shake your head once more, closing your eyes against the sudden contrasting feelings. Warmth sparks in you as you open your eyes to peer at the two monsters before you; the werewolf reared back on its hind legs, the minotaur standing tall- both aroused, both sniffing the air before turning to look at you.
Want pulses through you and a small whimper unfurls in your throat.
The minotaur takes a heavy step towards you, grass crunching beneath his hoof. Your gaze lands on the loincloth, which is doing nothing at concealing the creature's erect member. It sticks straight out, the cloth laying atop it though it trembles and slips off the side when the minotaur takes another step towards you.
The werewolf growls in warning, though you can see its golden eyes darting between the approaching monster and yourself; almost as though he can't stay focused on his enemy.
Your own focus is on the pulsing, pink-red cock of the minotaur. You cannot stop staring. It's huge, much larger than the werewolf's, and you wonder how you'll take it. Images flash in your mind as you picture sinking down onto him and your hand drifts down your front, skimming over your breasts, stomach, and searching out the sticky mess of your cunt. You touch yourself and gasp, breath catching in your throat at the slick you feel between your legs.
You thought you were spent when the wolf finished with you. But now you feel revitalized and eager, and the minotaur is right there-
"Do you want my cock, little one?"
You startle at the baritone voice that washes over you and it takes you a moment to realize it was the minotaur that spoke. You peer up at him, gazing into his black eyes.
You don't think he means any harm.
There's a question in the back of your mind, prickling at your senses, but it's overwhelmed by arousal and the need to take more cock.
"Yes," you choke out as you dip two fingers into the warm wetness of your pussy. "Please, yes."
The minotaur moves swiftly for someone so big. He approaches, ignoring the werewolf that lunges at him; he sidesteps so the wolf goes skidding where he'd been standing a moment before.
Before you realize what's happening, the minotaur is bending; he scoops you up, tossing you over his broad shoulder so you're looking down at his long, swishing tail. You cry out, fumbling to straighten yourself automatically. A large hand smacks suddenly against your backside, the sting of the hit causing you to squeal. He keeps his enlarged fingers clutched against your thigh, holding you against him so you don't go careening over his back.
The minotaur turns and you get a little dizzy with the motion as you watch the ground move under you. He begins to walk back the way he'd come and the werewolf growls, golden eyes watching yours as the minotaur stomps away with you over his shoulder.
Again, you're struck by the intelligence you see there. You wonder why this werewolf is so different from what you've heard about its kind. This one seemed so… human.
Your thoughts stutter to a halt when you feel the minotaur reach up with the hand that had smacked your ass; his fingers find your exposed vulva and he inserts them almost casually, digging into the cum-soaked walls and thrusting slowly.
"You stink of mutt, little one," says the minotaur in his deep voice.
You cry out when he inserts another finger, arching up and clawing against his back as you struggle to steady yourself against his moving fingers.
"Do not worry. I can remedy that."
You work your hips against his hand, desperate to feel more inside you, but the minotaur doesn't seem to care to move any faster. He keeps the pace steady, inserting and withdrawing his fingers as he walks further into the forest. Your feet dangle down his front, toes skimming the base of his cock. He huffs out a puff of air through his nostrils, a groan rumbling in his chest.
You whimper in response, not liking that your ass is bouncing from his heavy steps and not from him slamming into you. You lift your head to look at the trail of pressed down leaves and grass he's leaving in his wake- it's completely dark in the trees, save for two yellow eyes peering at you from a distance.
Something chokes you, makes you groan and cry as you watch the werewolf glare at the minotaur shoving his fingers into you. You want him to watch, or join, but the wolf is keeping his distance.
Suddenly, there's a heavy sound of rocks and wood, shifting and scraping. You try to look back, but all that does is pull a muscle in your neck. The minotaur's fingers leave you for a moment and the absence stings. His hand squeezes your thigh and he grunts as he begins to descend down stone steps. You watch the werewolf step out from behind a nearby tree.
His eyes glow as he watches you disappear down into the ancient underground entrance the minotaur has brought you to. You swallow as you peer up at him, hand reaching out for the cursed wolf before you realize what you're doing.
The heavy wooden doors close on their own and the werewolf disappears from your view.
Torches are alight in the damp stone hallway the creature takes you down. His hooves click loudly against the floor. You glance around as well as you can from your position, arms growing numb as your blood circulation slows. The hallway the stairs led you down was dark and humid, with torches set in sconces every few feet; it is wide enough for at least three of the beasts to walk side by side in, but your minotaur walks directly down the middle of the path, huffing the further he carries you.
You wonder vaguely why he's carrying you at all when you're perfectly capable of walking, when his free hand comes up and kneads your ass cheek suddenly. You melt as his middle finger inches closer to your folds, but wince and gasp when he abruptly swats at you again. You wiggle in his hold. "Please," you whisper. You aren't sure what you're asking for but he seems to know.
"Do you like it when I do that?" He seems amused as he asks the question. The minotaur gives another experimental slap, making you bounce against him with a groan. It stings but the closeness of his palm to your weeping cunt has you sobbing with need. "Yes," you tell him, breathless and arching. "Yes, I like when you do that!" Perhaps if you tell him as much, he'll be willing to do it more.
He chuckles and the sound is surprisingly human. The short fur of his thick neck rubs against your side as a coarse reminder that he is anything but. Something about that makes it even more delicious.
The humid air grows cooler and based on the echoes of his hooves against the ground, the hallway has led to a wider space. The further in he takes you reveals more to your limited sight.
When you notice high shelves built into the stone walls of the circular room filled with old tomes, you gasp. Books fill every inch of the walls you can see; it's an underground library. High up, close to the ceiling, clear panes of glass let in the moonlight peeking through the clouds and treetops.
The minotaur stops and before you can prepare yourself, he's pulling you from over his shoulder. Legs and arms numb and tingly from being slung over his shoulder, you wobble on your feet. It takes you a moment to realize the ground below you isn't the cold stone you expected, but a soft, thick fur. You glance down and are surprised to see a humongous white fur pelt laid out. There's light flickering behind you, casting shadows on the rug. You turn and see a fireplace, big enough for a person to step into comfortably.
You take in the room quickly. A large desk, made for something larger than a man, sits further in the room with a perfect view looking directly out of one of the high windows. You feel strange being underground, looking up and seeing grass lining the bottom sill of the window. Moonlight filters through dimly, landing on the large beast and outlining his still form as he observes you.
The chill from earlier quickly leaves you as you shuffle closer to the warmth radiating from the cackling flames in the fireplace. The shreds of your dress cling to your skin and the remnants of your favorite panties are still wrapped around one thigh. You shed them, pulling the once lacy fabric down your legs. The zipper at your back gets stuck and you huff as you try to maneuver it down.
Too-large hands replace yours and you jump when the zipper is yanked all the way down, ripping the remaining fabric. The dress falls from you.
The minotaur stands nearly a foot behind you, but his cock is so large it prods at your spine without him having to move closer. You tremble, feeling warm and ready; you turn to face the beast, eyes alight with eagerness.
"I've never seen a minotaur before," you prompt politely, gaze drifting down to the reddened member brushing against your belly.
"I awoke a fortnight ago from my slumber. I discovered that 100 years have passed. I do not know what woke me, but I will not pass up the chance to fuck the first willing woman I have found since I've risen. On your hands and knees, little one." The minotaur's mouth moves oddly over the words, but he's still easy to understand.
Something about his small explanation pulls at your mind, but you're so wet and warm that you can't be bothered to give it the focus it deserves.
Instead you obey, turning towards the fire and giving the creature your back. You lower yourself to your knees before bending forward, bracing your hands against the smoothness of the fur beneath you.
Your breathing picks up in anticipation.
You expect him to push his gorgeous member into you; what you do not expect is strong arms to wrap around your waist, hoisting your ass up to his face as he kneels behind you, nor the puffs of hot air against your exposed cunt as he breathes you in. Your upper body collapses and you scramble for a moment to find solid ground beneath your feet. Your body makes a V-shape with his actions and you whimper when his inhale leaves you cold. "Have you been fucked by anyone but the mutt?" His words reverberate through you.
You shake your head as best you can with your cheek pressed into the fur, feeling a little dizzy. "N-No, not… not recently. Only… only humans before." You aren't sure if that's something he wanted to know, but best to be upfront with the sentient, well-spoken monster, right?
He hums thoughtfully. Then, he leans his snout into you and licks up your cunt. You cry out in surprise, hips bucking towards the tongue swiping at you. His tongue is hot and flat as he laps at your swollen folds. A deep growl rumbles in his throat, pulses against your heated pussy as he curls his tongue inside of you. You writhe, mouth open as your upper body is pressed into the fur beneath you. His tongue- it’s so long. It reaches deep into you effortlessly, swirling inside of you, pressing against your walls as though feeling its way around.
Your eyes roll back in your head.
The minotaur eats you out, snout huffing out hot bursts of air against your perineum. Your voice trills in time with his thrusting tongue, raising in pitch as wanton fire courses through you. Your temple becomes damp with sweat against the fur, your toes begin to curl. All the while, the beast never lets up. Your voice hits a pitch you didn’t know you were capable of, and suddenly you’re howling and gushing around the bull’s tongue as it prods inside of you, its taste buds brushing against something deep and forbidden in your body.
The minotaur groans aggressively and drinks your arousal down, keeping his snout shoved against you. You tremble and cry when he continues licking, though his tongue is no longer shoved inside of you. Instead, the appendage flutters against your pulsing cunt. The stimulation quickly becomes too much and you shriek, legs flailing and body jerking away from the bullish face worshiping your soaked slit.
He hums in delight, releasing you carefully at your unspoken need for pause. You lay face down on the fur, twitching with the aftermath of your orgasm. Your toes are pleasantly numb. Behind you, the minotaur moves away. You hear the scrape of something across the floor. Before you can raise yourself enough to peer over your shoulder, the minotaur has strode back over to you. He lifts you easily in his arms, though the action has you scrambling; you throw your arms around his broad, furry neck, chest still heaving from his earlier attention to your body.
He walks you over to the desk and deposits you there gently. The wood groans beneath your weight and you fear for a moment it won’t hold you despite its size. The minotaur doesn’t seem to be worried though. He positions you oddly atop the workspace; your body is flat against the surface, breasts pressing into the wood uncomfortably, but your knees are pulled up on either side of you, leaving only your toes, backside and cunt hanging precariously over the edge. You grip the other side of the desktop, having to reach your arms all the way out just to curl your fingers around the opposite edge.
You don’t have time to question or think or prepare- the pretty pink cock you’d been waiting for is pressing into you suddenly.
You gasp and whine at the intrusion. He is… so big. So big. Just the tip pressing against you and already you wonder how this will work, wonder if he’ll rip you apart.
He growls, the sound so different from the werewolf before; it comes from deep in his chest and bellows out of him, baritone and bell-like all at once. You arch into the desk as he begins to slide in. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, walls squeezing around the thickness of his tip. He pulls out briefly, then eases back in. He does so a few times, setting an easy pace, but pressing a little further each time.
You are grateful.
He’s being surprisingly tender with you. Perhaps he’s scared he’ll break you- you can’t say you’re entirely unconcerned about that.
You think he's got to be almost in by now. You lift your top half, arch, and crane back to look. A gasp sticks in your throat.
He's only….
He's halfway in.
A moan blooms in your throat at the sight of the wide appendage throbbing, only half encased in your heat with so much more to go. You see the veins crawling along the reddish member, watch as they throb with the blood pumping through them.
"You take my cock well, little one," grunts the minotaur.
You preen under his praise, cheeks burning with pride.
"How much more can you take?" He huffs, voice tight with barely-there restraint. He presses in and the feeling of being spread further makes your mouth fall open around a shrill cry.
Your fingers dig into the wood beneath you, desperate to claw as you fight the urge to pull away. It's painful, but good; forbidden and taboo and delightfully wrong. You want more. You gasp it out, your voice sounding far away to your own ears.
The minotaur's heavy breath hit your back as he curls over you and then he thrusts-
You shriek, back arching up as you throw your head back.
"I'm not done," he murmurs, and the sound is so human that for a moment you forget that it's a creature fucking you and not a man.
You let out a choked sob, unsure if it's from pain or want.
"You can take it," he decides. It almost sounds boastful. He holds your hips down and slides into you, the base of his cock nearly there. He grunts out, sounding suddenly animalistic. "Pretty cunt- pretty snatch spreading open wide for me. What a good little woman you are. Letting me fuck you while your pet watches. Taking my big cock like a proper slut." He groans it all in your ear, snout pressing to your cheek as he holds you down and moves.
When he first pulls out, it's nearly all the way; just the tip sits inside of you and the gaping emptiness you feel is torture. But then he rolls his hips and soon you're screaming as he shoves his fat dick inside you once more, this time all the way. His balls hang heavy against your sex. You collapse forward, thighs trembling as you fight to hold still. It takes some effort to get used to having him in you. There's a slight sting on the outside, where he's stretched you farther than you've ever been before.
A bit of drool pools out of your mouth, settles into the wood of the desk where your cheek is pressed to it.
The minotaur pulls out again, then thrusts harshly, the force of it moving the entire desk against the ground. He does it again and again and again, moving quicker and deeper and snarling all the while.
"You." Thrust
"Are." Thrust
"MINE." Thrust
You sob in pleasure, the roughness of the wood scraping against your clit with his movements. "I'm yours," you agree readily. "I'm yours." You're so close.
Your agreement has him roaring and before you realize what he's doing, he's pulling you up. He keeps himself buried in you while he grabs your thighs and lifts- he has you suspended against him effortlessly, though you wrap an arm around his thick neck to keep your own balance. The beast spreads your legs wide and you look down.
You see him. Splitting you apart, buried inside of you. You're glistening.
The minotaur shifts and you watch in awe as more of his cock is revealed while he pulls out. Not all the way- never all the way. He thrusts back in with a sinful "squelch" and you let your head fall against his broad shoulder, a panting cry leaving you as you chest heaves.
The room that had seemed too cold before is suddenly sweltering. Sweat drips down your neck, trickles beneath your breasts, trails down your squashed tummy as the minotaur rails you standing up.
"Look at your pet, little one," he pants out.
Your gaze trails up and your stomach clenches when you see the piercing yellow eyes of the werewolf, gleaming through one of the windows high above. His words from before come back to you and you realize that your werewolf has been watching all along.
"Mmm, you like when he watches?"
You whimper, not sure how to respond.
"I can feel you clench around me. You like it, little slut. Do you want your pet to watch me fill you up? I'll get rid of any trace of him. You'll be leaking my cum for days, pretty darling."
You cry out, your muscles clenching in anticipation as your orgasm approaches. "Nnnn, yes! Please, please cum in me!" You cry out in pleasure when he shoves into you rapidly.
"That's it. Cum on my big monster cock. That's all you've wanted, isn't it? To feel me stretching you and ruining that pretty, tight pussy, hm?"
You nod, reaching down with your free hand suddenly to circle your clit. Your fingers give you the extra push you need and suddenly you're soaring in ecstasy. A keening cry rips from your throat and you shudder around the minotaur, thighs spasmodic as you cum harder than you ever have before.
The minotaur grunts and stills suddenly. And then…
A burst of white hot, sticky semen saturates your insides, balloons out your lower belly prettily as he cums and cums and cums. It lasts forever. He roars, throwing his bull-head back and you watch, feeling far away, as his balls shrink.
He gives you every last drop.
And only when he's satisfied that your belly is full of his seed does he walk forward and drop you carefully on the desk. You prop yourself up on shaking arms, ass and cunt still hanging off the edge as he'd positioned you before. He's still inside of you, still hard.
"You took my cock well, little one," the minotaur assures you, baritone voice smooth with affection. You feel his gargantuan hands run down your back, thumbs massaging along your spine. His hands drift and when he reaches your backside, he squeezes your cheeks playfully. You whimper and wiggle.
He hums thoughtfully. "It seems as though I'm not quite finished." As if to make his point, the cock in you twitches and you gasp. It feels as though there's no room left in you for him to move and yet you feel his member shifting inside of you amidst the mess he's made.
You glance up, your sweat-soaked skin quickly cooling in the underground, stone library. The wolf is gone and your heart pangs at his absence.
"I guess I need to improve on my spellwork," the minotaur growls. There's a soft clicking of nails on stone and you turn your head towards the sound, brain muddled and confused.
The werewolf stands at the entrance of the hallway, staring at you. Your heart quickens at the sight.
The minotaur grunts and shifts, making you gasp. "You really do want him- don't you, little one?"
The minotaur's question holds no vitriol, only curiosity. When you don't answer, he brings his hand down to smack your ass suddenly. You shriek at the sting it brings.
The werewolf snarls and steps forward.
The minotaur throws his head back and laughs; it's a big, booming sound that vibrates your entire body. "I feel your cunt tighten when you see him. I see the look on your face."
You feel yourself blushing at his words, but unable to deny them. You do feel… an odd connection with the dark wolf-man who'd taken you on the forest floor.
"Mm. Well then. Find a comfortable position, sweet woman, and we'll fuck you into rapture."
Your breath catches and you look at the werewolf, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Was this really happening?
The werewolf stalks forward and your heart jumps in response.
Yes. Yes this was really happening.
You were about to be fucked by a minotaur and a werewolf.
And you were ready for it.
To Be Continued...
Taglist: @clydesducktape, @necronomijon, @221bshrlocked
Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future works!
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brightgoat · 3 months ago
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Dr Chet “Sae” Saengarun
Chet Saengerun is a member of Promethean Society, and specialises in botany, biology and chemistry. Their thesis study was crucial to the Society's overall work, thus giving them the status of one of the main overseers of the bio and botany department.  They developed materials and tech that accelerated, altered and strengthened the reproduction of plant cells, now the Society wants to use that on human cells too.
They love plants (which they much prefer over people), nature, insects, and mucking around the lab and are occasionally found slacking off on work they're not as keen on doing. They're a big environmentalist and initially got into the science industry with the goal to preserve nature. They're often defiant, a bit jumpy, and they hate not being taken seriously. They also don't like getting snuck up on.
They can appear very jokey, short-tempered, and a bit mean at first, but sometimes that's just their way of being friendly.
They are somewhat dissatisfied with the direction the Society chose to push their work in, but don't have much choice.
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nymtea · 3 months ago
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Fins (49-56). I did not expect for the comic to go on past May. Time management is hard. Oh well :’D...
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sillyrabbit81 · 4 months ago
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Masterlist
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All stories are for readers 18+
Last Updated: 11th September, 2021
Henry Cavill and His Characters
Multi Part Stories:
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Tropesville (Complete)
Captain Syverson x Mikaela (OFC)
Parts Masterlist
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The Instructor (Complete)
August Walker x Female Reader
Parts Masterlist
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The Pull (Complete)
Vampire!Henry x Rowena (OFC)
Parts Masterlist
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Syverson & Vixen (Complete)
Formerly called "Syverson"
Captain Syverson x Vix (OFC)
Parts Masterlist
One Shots / Drabbles
Henry Cavill Masterlist
Captain Syverson Masterlist
Walter Marshall Masterlist
August Walker Masterlist
Geralt of Rivia Masterlist
Sherlock Holmes Masterlist
Other
(Asks/Headcanon)
Why are Men on Motorcycles so Hot?
Detective Grumpypants Fav Television Shows
My Perfect Day With Captain Syverson (smut/fluff)
Henry's characters finding out you got a tattoo Headcanon
Flat Pack Headcanon
Homemade Gifts Headcanon
Captain Syverson Breeding Kink Headcanon
Erectile Disfunction Headcanon: (with @henryobsessed)
Consensual Non-Consent Headcanon
Playlists
The Captain's Sexy Time Playlist: Captain Syverson
Detective Grumpypants Playlist: Walter Marshall
Solo's Sexy Swinging Songs Playlist: Napoleon Solo
Mike's Hellishly Hot Hits Playlist: Mike Hellraiser
Moodboards
Walter WIP
Gifs
Henry Cavill interview at Witchercon
Henry Cavill Muscletech teaser
Stories by ScaryRabbit:
Bitten: Zombie King Zeus x Female Reader
Original Characters:
Her Heavy Cross (Complete)
Parts Masterlist
Liam (OMC) x Lana (OFC)
Random Stuff
Gifs
The Princess Bride
The Wild One
Army of the Dead: Set 1 Set 2 Set 3
The Castle
Housos
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pbeltarts · 5 months ago
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The start of a crazy adventure..
Hello! These are some test pages I did for fun of a scene from the early part of my Seekers story. There’s no official comic, you can’t read it anywhere right now. I want to try out more experimentation with comics and stuff, try to find what I feel works for me best.
I think part of my hesitance in producing a webcomic comes from not being sure about my style or my limitations in the genre. I hope to do most test pages and stuff like this in the future to get more and more comfortable with it.
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codylabs · 24 days ago
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What is a Human?
And what makes them special, among all the peoples?
It's not an easy question to answer. Especially since every human would tell you that humans are pretty much normal. I suppose any true answer would depend on who you ask.
To the Fairies,
A Human is a creature of great power, and great intelligence. Too massive to trade their feet for wings, they walk in strides the width of cities, wielding great tools, leaving deep footprints, thinking high thoughts. Their lives are impossibly long; they are known to possess the knowledge and fortitude to survive entire winters, and have such an abundance of time that they can even waste it. Their childhood and even their schooling can last for years, and in their adulthood they do not die, but age like the trees. Humans are mighty. And yet, they must not to be trusted, for they are alien to these lands, and at a gesture and a whim, could destroy the forest and all the world. They have no mind for the good of any hive, and they care not for laws. Humans are dangerous.
To the Merfolk,
A human is a creature of weakness. They have no honor, and no honesty, and no pride, and really, how could they, when they know nothing of hardship? Nature has been unfailingly kind to them; their summers are warm, their monsters are small, and their winters are short. They stay in place all their lives in bright little homes, feeding ooze to soft children, while their men grow boney and their women grow plump, with never a need to migrate, and never a need to fight. They cannot swim. They cannot smell. They cannot wrestle. They cannot punch. They can barely eat. Still, a human cannot be blamed for being what it is, and they are not all bad. The very fact that they made it here, so far from their home, can testify to their daring, and their tenacity, and their ingenuity. And there are a few which are honorable, and a few which are honest, and most of them are friendly enough. People who have lived among Humans have found them in many ways quite like us, so that they even share our virtues and our flaws. Some have even intermarried. Noble, not so noble. Different, not so different. For now we share a common enemy.
To the Leviathan,
A Human is an industrious and willful little critter. Their short lives are spent in restless rush from task to task, with hardly a pause to eat or sleep. Their societies are large, complex and regimented, with each member serving a unique and specialized task, be it child rearing, farming, engineering, healing, or management. Their lives are short, so they must prioritize their education, work together, and find joy in brief destinies. Biologically, they are intended to move about across the surface of high-gravity planets, so their limbs are incredibly strong and their reaction time is nearly instantaneous. They lack thrusters, radio antennae, and proper eyes, so, when far from home, they must compensate with a plethora of outrageous technologies. Their language is incomprehensible, their flesh is poisonous, and their many needs invite heartbreak in those who care for them, so they are generally more trouble they're worth. But you will never find harder workers, deadlier warriors, or more playful pets, and they can be quite endearing.
To the Natives of the Abyss,
A Human is a short hissing fire, untouchable, blindingly bright, hungry, and loud, loud, loud. The souls which drive the missiles from above. They are fortunately flat, and their chaos does not last. They remember little.
To the Elves,
A human is a biped terrestrial hunter-gatherer, native to a high-gravity, low-oxygen planet of a distant galaxy. The nature of this environment requires a large portion of their body be devoted to oversized digestive and respiratory organs, and their limbs are rigid and inflexible. Their natural hunting method, in a long-ago forgotten age, was to pursue prey to exhaustion across plains, using their upright stance and elevated stamina. Even today this nature remains, seen in their horizontal living spaces and their ability to work long hours. In most other ways, however, they are quite like us. It is probably a good thing they live so far away and have made so little contact, as we love the same sorts of worlds, and would probably begin quibbling and warring over territory. They like the trees, even if they cannot live in them. I don't think we have yet seen the worst that humans have to offer.
To the Vampires,
A human is one. One mind, one will, one nature, one face. They have no wolf living in their gut whispering to them, their flesh cannot think for itself, and would never betray them except in sickness. A human never changes its form or its shape or its nature, but persists and endures as it is. They can always be true to themselves, and be honest to those they meet, which frees them to join together in vast communities, mate for life, form lasting friendships, and accomplish great works together. It is said they have even conquered hunger. But this nature of theirs is a curse as well as a blessing, for the guilt of their lusts, violences, and greed can rest nowhere but their own heads, and no matter where they go or who they mate or what great works they accomplish, they always carry their great sin close behind them, for all their lives, for all the world to see. They are not as tasty as the fairies, and do not hold grudges as long as the merfolk.
To the Dwarves,
Humans are terrible cooks, which is doubtlessly why they're all so thin and unhappy. But they're even worse carpenters; their houses are fragile, all above ground, covered in windows, and obsessively clean to a frankly snobbish degree. They should use all their fancy technology to turn themselves into birds and fly away and not bother people anymore. HA! I'm kidding. Humans are alright. They write a lot of books. They dig septic systems, which are good for the economy. And actually the real reason they're so thin is because their brains are up in their heads. The more you know.
To the Blessed,
A human is a vague and fragile thing of flimsy intelligence, too slow-moving, cold, vast, and fragile to earn any interest or concern beside the academic sort. It is a fortunate thing we have never met; they would be transparent and immovable glaciers to us, that melt so readily to the touch and burn so quickly at the sight that we would be hard-pressed to even observe them, let alone communicate. They have been documented at a distance, however, and books have been written detailed every fact to be known about them. There is not much to know. They are as round as the world. We did not intend to curse them.
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melancholymaz · 12 days ago
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Inner Demons
Pairing: Older!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Experiment!reader.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety, self harm, miscarriages, jealousy and hatred. Reader struggles with her demons and doesn't like Peter Parker. (yes that must be a warning cause who in the right mind hates Peter?)
A/N: I've been struggling heavily mentally lately, so this is just a rant angst Fic. Please proceed with caution and may you all please remember how loved you are, and how beautiful your body is.
Reach out if you're struggling.
!PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE ARE TRIGGERING!
Summary: Your anxiety is at an high, and intrusive thoughts get the best of you. Nat does what she does best and comforts you.
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Was it about you? it must be.
Clint, Sam and Rhodey are standing off near the kitchen, talking between themselves occasionally laughing. They each steal little glances at you every few minutes.
It makes you sweat.
It makes your hands tremble as you flip the page of your book.
Your mind is racing, Your eyes would be too if you didn't want to make it obvious that you were on to them.
They're laughing at you.
They don't actually like you.
You mentally thank yourself for not sitting on the chair with your back turned.
Wanda's sitting on the couch to your left with a frown, and you can see her eyebrow twitch slightly.
Was she mad at you? Are you annoying her?
What did I do?
if you had the guts, you'd ask.
But really, you didn't want to know.
"Hey Y/N, Hi Wanda, beautiful day outside." Peter Parker walks in, must have come straight for school.
"Hey Pete, how was your day?" Wanda replies happily, as if she didn't just wear a frown that would make anyone quiver in their boots. You don't reply, which Peter is now used to.
He knows you don't like him. He just doesn't understand why. You were only two years older, the closest Avenger to his age.
You didn't just not like him. You despised the poor boy.
He doesn't know that you share the same abilities. He doesn't know you are his alter-ego.
You didn't want him to know. You refused to be on missions with him, and Fury respected that. To Peter you were the Widow's younger girlfriend who went on the occasional mission.
HYDRA wanted you to be his exact replica. And you were. Just less nice and bubbly.
When HYDRA caught wind of spider-man, their creativity got to work.
And because of your natural athleticism, you were the perfect candidate for their experiment.
You were their perfect soldier for two years following the success.
You hated Peter for allowing Spider-man to exist. You felt bad, but the pain he caused just for existing was enough for you.
The sound of all five people in the kitchen apart from you all laughing and conversing makes your heartbeat fasten. You can feel the attack coming from a mile away.
You abruptly jump from your seat, causing everyone to go silent and watch in confusion as you rush down the hallway.
You pray your girlfriend is still training, you don't want her seeing you at your lowest.
As soon as you're in the comfort of your room you collapse to your knees crying. You're hyperventilating, your hands are shaking and you can't seem to grasp a single thought. You manage to open your eyes only to see your reflection through the tall mirror.
The sight of you on your knees crying like a baby makes you sick.
Why can't you do things right?
Why does everyone hate you? Don't you hate yourself enough?
You're useless.
Ugly.
She doesn't actually love you.
She's pitying you.
You look at yourself and cry harder.
Your unborn baby is lucky.
At that intrusive thought, you start punching yourself, hating your body for failing to do what it's made to do. You're so caught up in your inner demons you don't hear the bedroom door open and close, or the familiar arms wrap around you.
"You are beautiful my solnishko." Natasha never ceases to amaze you in her ability to read you. Nat always know's what's wrong without you having to say it. "The team loves you. They'd be lost without you, you make their days more brighter."
You wrap your arms around your girlfriend, hiding your face in her shirt.
"It's okay my love, we will get another chance."
That sentence is the one that makes you pull back and look in her eyes. You can see the tears in her eyes threatening to spill, and you can't help but kiss under her eye when one finally does.
"I should be the one comforting you." Is all the red-head says. Too numb to say anything, you rub her knuckles and look at her in a way only she would understand.
you do so without trying.
Nat gives you a gentle smile before gently kissing your forehead.
You don't deserve her.
"I love you so much, and can't wait to grow old with you, and only you."
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amalasdraws · 2 months ago
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Sunday
Aran loves to work on cars. He's always been interested in all things mechanical. And learned a lot about cars from a neighbor when he was a kid/teen. Tao is interested too and loves to hang out with them but his attention span is not as long when he isn't totally invested.
Finally was able between work and tackling art block to draw something for myself again!! A small birthday treat for myself and hopefully you too!!
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bunniesofsteel · 2 months ago
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Monster Universe- Chapter 1: Werewolf
It's a full moon tonight and you're all alone.
Pairing: Werewolf x F!Reader
Word Count: 2.4K
Rated: M! 18+ Only! NSFW!
Warnings: Werewolf sex. Monster sex. P in V sex. Non-con elements.
*Author's Note: So, I've debated on posting this for a while; I'm afraid it isn't one of my better works and also, I don't want to scare off any followers or mutuals with the content. But hey, that's what tags are for, right? So, if you're not here for some straight up, porno monster sex, then this is your warning- do not read further. If that's exactly what you're here for- enjoy.
Dedicated to @221bshrlocked
A cool breeze stings your cheeks as you lean against the decaying wooden railing surrounding the porch. The party inside was much too noisy and the music and laughter spilled out behind you, even with the door to the home firmly closed. Parties were never your thing, but the celebration of the defeat of the Naga was something your comrades greatly needed, and so you made an obligatory appearance.
The socializing was quickly draining your energy though, and you find yourself wanting nothing more than to start the long trek home so that you can curl up in bed with your new romance novel. Perhaps, if the novel was any good, you could take some time to relieve some of your pent-up stress using your fingers. You rub your thighs together subconsciously as you lean your arms on the railing. The lacy blue, sleeveless dress you wore raises and tightens across your backside with the motion, but with no one outside with you, you aren't too worried about your modesty. You shift once more, trying to ignore the pleasant hum that is beginning to make itself more known. You can feel the beginnings of arousal start to dampen your panties. The coarse black material of the lace rubs across your clit and you have to fight not to chase that feeling. You had just decided to go inside and bid farewell to your friends so that you could hurry home to begin your night with yourself when a motion in the distance catches your eye.
You squint in the darkness. The trees and brush surrounding the property are thick and tangled with each other, making anything beyond impossible to see. The small cottage the party was hosted in is right in the middle of a heavily forested area. Normally you would be wary of attending any gathering in such a secluded area, but you were among friends and had pushed those worries aside.
However, you are positive something had moved off to the side in the trees you were eyeing. You thought of the defeated Naga and frown. No, they wouldn't come this far inland. Not near a forested area. Perhaps it was a fox or a squirrel rustling about the trees.
A deep growl carries across the yard.
You freeze, wide-eyed. More raucous laughter from the house startles you and you glance over your shoulder to look at the front door. No one else would have been able to hear that growl. You look forward again, squinting into the darkness ahead to try to find the source of that horrible, deep-throated groan.
Yellow eyes stare at you from between two trees. You cry out, stumbling away from the railing, heart pounding with fear. Was that…
A werewolf?
You glance up. Clouds crawl across the sky until, for just a moment, the light from the full moon is revealed. You gulp.
Another growl caresses the air, carrying over to you. You shiver, nipples perking from both the sound and the frigid air. You turn your gaze back to the creature. It stands at the line of foliage at the edge of the property. Its eyes gleam as it stares at you. The light from the moon casts over him and you are suddenly intimidated by its height. It stands at 7 feet tall, at least. Coarse dark fur sticks out of its thick body, the fur growing thinner across its stomach, revealing dull, grey skin. Even from a distance, you can see its bulbous member twitch to life as the wolf stares at you.
You swallow the excess saliva that pools in your mouth at the sight of the creature's long, thick cock and feel your body flush with pleasure. You'd never been one to be attracted to anything other than humans before, though plenty of other creatures had tried. Now though, standing in the cool dark and being eyed by a werewolf whose member is so erect that it caresses his belly, your initial fear begins to give way to a heady ember of arousal.
Hesitantly, you make your way down the porch. The wolf's eyes follow you the entire time. Perhaps it needs help with something, you tell yourself. Yes, maybe it's hurt. What kind of person would you be if you didn't check? That's what you tell yourself as you make your way slowly across the yard.
The noise from the party grows fainter as you draw closer to the creature. How had you heard his growl, you wonder absently. As you come closer to the wolf, its eyes still staring at you unblinking, your heart begins to pound so hard that you place your hand over your chest, lest it thump out onto the ground before you. You stop a few feet from the werewolf and you are suddenly rethinking your rash decision to approach it. It was BIG. Tall and thick, intimidating in every way. You do your best to keep your gaze politely averted from his twitching cock.
Instead, you swallow against the lump in your throat. You want to say something, ask if it's alright or if there's anything it needs- but it begins to snarl. You take a step back, frightened. Its lips curl against its fangs, saliva dripping down, down, down. The wolf lowers his body, looking as though it's ready to pounce on you.
You squeal and turn to flee.
A heavy weight collides with your back and you're thrown to the ground, chin knocking against the grass-covered dirt. You scramble against the ground, fingers pulling up grass as you try to find purchase on something to pull yourself away. You whimper when hot breath puffs against your ear. A singular, low growl emits from the werewolf and you twitch at the distinct feel of its member grinding into your backside.
Your breath catches as the weight pressing your chest into the ground lifts. You want to move, but you can feel the wolf hovering above you. It begins to sniff the air. You whimper when its wet nose meets your bare shoulder. Its sniffing intensifies and its nose leaves a trail of cool wetness as it moves down your back. You tense when it stops just above your buttocks.
Suddenly, its clawed hand grips your shoulder and turns you roughly, making you land hard on your back. You wince and cry out. The wolf is above you now, snout inches from your face. You tremble beneath him. Thick saliva drips down, landing on your cheeks. You turn your head away, squeezing your eyes shut. It lets out a snarl and you flinch and cry out when it begins to paw at your chest. You gasp, head snapping back. The wolf's claws scrape against the nipple of your left breast. You stare at the creature, horrified when you see its other clawed hand is currently wrapped around its cock, pumping quickly.
You peer up into its yellow eyes, astounded.
It lets out a low howl, making you wince at how close it is to your ears. Then it moves down your body, nose sniffing until he reaches your clenched thighs. With a growl, the werewolf lets go of its erection and uses both hands to pry your legs apart. The skirt of your dress strains against your thighs and you gasp when the wolf rips the fabric, leaving it shredded at your sides. You try not to think about how you’ll get home in your ruined dress. IF you’ll get home.
The wolf is suddenly by your hips, its snout pressing directly into your mound. Your back arches and you gasp again, eyes wide as pleasure zips through you. The wolf's breath is hot and moist as it presses his nose against your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth to stifle the keening moan spilling from you.
Teeth bared, the wolf lets his tongue loll out and he takes an experimental swipe up your slit. You nearly shriek at the wet heat that soaks your panties. It huffs and suddenly there's cool air hitting your overheated core when it decides your panties are a hindrance and rips them from your body. You don't have time to mourn your favorite pair of underwear because the werewolf is suddenly delving his long tongue into you.
You cry out, eyes wide and staring at the dark sky, the moon hidden once again by clouds. Even if you screamed, no one would hear you. The house was too far away, the party too loud.
You didn't even know if you wanted to scream for help.
The wet tongue is gone and you’re surprised as you groan from the loss. The wolf is above you then, howling lowly as it presses the too-long cock against your entrance. You panic then. It was huge. There was no way you could take-
His hips jerk and you see stars.
The monster cock isn't in you completely, not even close. But the length that is inside is girthy and hot. You want to weep from the feeling. It fills you so completely, stretching you so deliciously that you doubt you can ever go back to a human again. Your fingers would certainly never compensate.
The wolf snarls, thrusting, and you screech as he pushes deeper. The base of his cock is larger, bulbous. Is that part supposed to go in, you wonder. Regardless of whether or not it was supposed to, the wolf seems determined to get it in. You mewl when he pulls out before he's pushing back into you. He thrusts, again and again, your pussy making a sloppy wet sound each time, juices squelching with the motions. His fur-covered hips snap forward, faster each time. And each time you can feel the large bulb pressing against your entrance, working to make its way inside with every thrust.
The wolf is panting above you, snarls ripping from his throat. His teeth gnash together and you're grateful he isn't doing that against your neck. Though by the way his eyes are fixated on your pulse, you're sure he wants to. You're squeezing his cock, clenching around him as the feeling of fullness begins to usher you to the edge. You're panting too now, though you aren't doing anything but lying there, hands clutching the dirt at your sides. You whimper, but it's needy, wanton. A small part of you wishes a partygoer would come outside, would see you being fucked by a feral werewolf. See the gigantic wolf cock pounding into you, bulb now almost fitted inside. You feel your entrance widen against the intrusion once more before finally, finally the bulb is buried in you along with the rest of the shaft.
The wolf lets out a deep, snarling groan. He rocks his hips against yours, pressing you down into the ground as he does so. You let out a loud, long moan. You've never felt so full, so hot. You can feel your arousal coating your thighs. You move to grab the creature's shoulders, desperate to hold something substantial, but one clawed hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head. He snarls again and pulls out achingly slowly. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Every ridge of his cock scrapes against your insides until only the tip remains bedded in you. You squirm beneath him, whimpering.
"Please," you gasp out. You don't know if he can understand, but you pray he isn't through with you.
His yellow eyes narrow and you realize he absolutely understands.
You’re suddenly flipped over, chest pressing into the ground and ass pulled up. The wolf is gripping your hips, claws digging painfully into the soft flesh of your sides. You scramble to balance on your hands and knees just as you feel his cock align with your slit. The anticipation makes you tremble. You realize you’re sobbing, so overcome with pleasure that your eyes weep in time with your throbbing, leaking pussy.
He roars and then he slams into you, bulb and all. You scream. His cock is buried so fully that you can see the outline of it through your stomach as your head rolls forward in an attempt to get a glimpse of his dick filling you from this angle. The wolf begins a rapid pace of pulling out and shoving back in. Your chest heaves and grows flushed. You feel like you're beginning to lose your mind. You can feel the pressure building with each frantic thrust.
Your moans become high-pitched and breathy the closer you get. The wolf is now moving so quickly there's almost no time between thrusts and it all blurs together in one crescendo of fullness. You’re bouncing against him, breasts jiggling rapidly. The angle he works his hips against yours has your eyes rolling back in your head. His testicles slap against your clit and you find yourself enthralled with the feeling. The wet, slapping sounds are drowned out by your increasingly loud moans and the panting snarls coming from behind you. His claws are now digging into the globes of your ass and you squeal when he, impossibly, picks up the pace.
You feel yourself tipping over the edge just as the wolf buries himself once more inside you. His entire cock twitches so drastically you see the movement in your belly. He howls as you feel his release shoot into you. Rope after rope of hot cum coats your inner walls. You gasp for breath. He isn't done, you realize as you soar down from your high. He's still cumming inside of you. It’s so wet and copious that you feel as though your insides have been dunked in lava. It dribbles out of you, weeping out of your cunt in thick trails that are squeezed out from around his cock. After a few more moments, the werewolf finally relaxes. He growls before he begins pulling out of your wrecked pussy.
You whine at the loss before collapsing to the ground in a trembling heap.
The wolf stands above you, long cock now limp and hanging between his furry legs. You crane your neck and look at him over your shoulder, staring up at him through half-lidded eyes.
The cum pools out of you, creating a puddle in the grass beneath as it trails down your flushed thighs. It's so warm, even as it escapes you. You want to cry. You already miss the feeling. Your belly is bloated from the amount of jizz he'd deposited in you. You almost felt like you were glowing, with your raised belly and heaving chest, sweat making your hair stick to your neck and forehead.
Another breeze curls in the air and you shiver.
And then…
Something rustles in the trees.
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