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allteacher · 2 years

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In the shadow of the wing of her jumpship, hood hanging low over her eyes, Eris pulls on her rain boots.

The ground, after years of dry-dust Moonrock interrupted by stints of Tower concrete, has a strange give underneath her feet. Even the snow of Europa was packed hard, and solid beneath. The earth of Savathûn’s throne is like the rest of her: slippery, ready to give way any moment. Strange things lurking in the sawgrass. Eris is thankful that most of the Guardians have moved on, so that there is no one to see if she falls.

She grabs the wing of her ship and pulls herself up, spine cracking as it straightens for a moment, the bag at her hip rustling. She does not know quite why she has come here, but she wants to be prepared for it. She could go to the Altar of Reflection, maybe, but she does not know if it would speak. Would it tell her riddles about the egregore, or the Crown? The black hole of the future?

She imagines Savathûn’s dissected body rising from the autopsy table, Deathsinger chorus spilling like blood from her mouth. Eris has been having strange dreams: not the usual shadow-soaked nightmares of the Hellmouth, but a deeper Dark. Savathûn’s corpse held information like ripe cherries to be plucked. What else does her throne still hold, her lassoed Pyramid?

Eris trudges along the marsh, picking at a shard of osmium with scarred fingers. It seems that the Guardians are seeking entertainment where they can before the world ends, fantasies of blind robbery and the goodness of pure violence. But she has work to do, if she can figure out what it is and where it hides.

The osmium chimes like a hundred discordant bells. She sighs, tucks it into her satchel. In the ravine below her, an impatient Scorn sends up a rifle-crack of purple fire that scatters light and noise across wet stone. Eris leans away, hides herself against an outcrop for a moment. Before her slopes the green-brown of reforged landscape. Some days the exhaustion settles in her joints and her molars, the fatigue growing worse after the long weeks bound to the Crown. When her campfire ceases to warm her face, she considers returning to the Tower for the final act— seeking sanctuary, after so many nights abroad in the pure Dark. But she will always be needed in the wilds, whether or not she is willing to go.

The bells ring again, undercut by a deep hum pulsating through the ground and up into the soles of her boots. Always these games, even without their overseer…

Eris, warm rain dripping from her pauldrons, considers. Even dead, Savathûn has a talent for sublimating everyone into her schemes, sending Eris tripping across the board.

Something buzzes above her and she cranes her neck with a muscle memory never forgotten even after years in the sunlight, wincing at the near-sensation of rain striking her blindfold. A Hive Ghost lets out a yelp and darts back into the rocks.

“I don’t have anything you want, I swear,” it says from its hiding place.

“You have no tidings?” Eris asks, wry. “I thought you were a spy.” Or maybe a scout, or a canary; something with less finesse. She noticed the missing flange, after her instinctual urge to reach up and squeeze. The existence of the Hive Ghosts makes her uneasy, paranoid like she hasn’t felt since the Tree. Who can use them as a keyhole, unespied?

A green eye peeks between two jagged rocks. “Oh,” Fynch says. “I thought you were— you know.”

“You have no allies among the Hive, then.” How strange, to see the Light transformed into this— something emerging, looking up into the watery half-cast of sunlight. (But, she thinks, this thing does not garner so many whispers, nor quite so many stares.)

“Yeah, but having allies in the Hive was worse,” Fynch grumbles. Eris knows: a memory of that hellish place-between-worlds, Savathûn reaching out, Child of the Hive. As if that was her inheritance. Her distaste turns over in her stomach.

Fynch doesn’t notice the twist of her mouth, continues, “Anyway, what’s brought you out here? I’ve heard about you, obviously, but I thought you hung around on the Moon when there’s no Hive gods to kill.”

“There may yet be mysteries to decipher. And you, little gravedigger,” Eris says, “Ikora has told me of your… participation in deposing the witch. What else have you seen in the dark?”

“Uh, like…?” Finch tries, spinning anxiously. At Eris’ silence, he says, “Savathûn’s still dead, Immaru’s still MIA, the Pyramid’s been— weird, but not since the whole Calus thing ended. I mostly just keep an eye out for trouble. Ready to sound the alarm, I guess.”

“A strange life.” Eris shifts her weight, and the bells chime again. “You act as the Guardians’ scout, yes? Do you know the paths that the Scorn and Hive do not take?”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve got routes to every corner of this place. I’m, like, a master of stealth now, I hardly ever get shot at. You don’t have a HUD, do you? Dumb question, I know. I can—” he bobs upwards to glance at the pathway leading up to his meager station— “yeah, there’s never anyone around these days. I can show you?”

Eris is not afraid of this swamp nor anything lurking, alive and dead, within it. She is sharp-eyed and ready, but she is also dressed for hot humid marshland; without her gloves, Stasis numbs her arms up to the elbows. And not all pain is necessary, not when so much is coming.

More importantly, she knows that there are strange eyes peeking out from the dusk of the Pyramid. She may do well not to venture forth alone.

“Yes,” she answers, after a moment. So many strange Ghosts flitting through her life, lately.

“Great,” Fynch says, though there’s an odd shake to his spin as he cartwheels through the damp air. “Any idea where we’re going?”

“I suspect that our journey will end in the Pyramid. For now, we go where we are led.” She moves down the slope and hears a noise like a child shaking a wind-chime. For a moment, the rainfall turns to mist.

Fynch asks, “Did you hear that?”

-----

“I’m glad I don’t have feet,” Fynch attempts after an hour of silence broken only by the strange noises of a stagnant throne. “It seems so… wet.”

Eris listens for bells. Something sulfurous sloshes around her feet, dead grass poking through the green haze. She stops at a crossroads, faces west, east, south. Something tolls when she turns northward, the Pyramid’s shadow already bearing down across the long stretch of mud.

“It seems the Pyramid’s store has not yet run dry,” she says. She wonders when it will.

Fynch, shaking off a sheet of drooping lichen, says, “I hate this place.”

A shard of glass held up like a mirror: “Then why do you stay?”

“I don’t know, someone has to.” He sighs, the sound buzzing. ”And I don’t really know what would happen if I just left my Knight’s body lying around. If someone would steal it or something, I mean.”

“Are Hive Ghosts not afforded the opportunity of a new charge?” The Ghosts of Warlords were impressed into changing their minds. Maybe the Hive, novel heresy turning to dread, will face a similar reckoning.

“I screwed up so badly the first time, I don’t know if I deserve to. Or, you know, if I deserve to leave. Even if Ikora didn’t blackmail me into staying.”

Eris runs her hand along a stone glowing with strange runes. Water pools in the hollows of the carvings. “The Sword Logic hinges on the language of deserving,” she says. The bells chime and she moves forward, counting her steps as she goes.

-----

At the gate to the Disciple’s Bog, there is a Knight wreathed in fire. Its Ghost hovers predator-still over its shoulder, assessing.

Fynch mirrors the other Ghost’s position as he makes an inarticulate noise of dread. Eris stands unmoving a few hundred yards away, studies her targets. She has not yet killed one of these Dark-shelled Ghosts. She wonders: if she cracked its hollow middle and watched the green light drip out, would it feel like some vindication of Brya? Would her Ghost cry out at the loss of so much Light?

The Knight raises its shining sword. Eris snaps at it in Broodspeak: The Witch-Mother has sent us. Do not rip a hole in her fine-spun cloth.

The furnace heat dies back as the Knight gradually resumes its sentry position. The Ghost watches them pass, but says nothing. The wide-angled door slides shut just as they pass through it, leaving them in the insect-buzz of the Pyramid’s approach.

“Clever,” Fynch offers. “Why do they listen to you?”

“Time among the enemy is valuable,” Eris says, footsteps echoing on shining black stone. “Some things can only be learned alone, and then imparted.” Mara’s most important truths had only come after months of death’s-head silence.

Fynch flies up to get a better look at the unnaturally-edged Pyramid. Even at this distance, it radiates shadow. “What is there to learn in there?”

“You came to this throne before anything else. Why?”

“I don’t know, curiosity? A sense of adventure? The Light was somewhere it had never been before. I just wanted to know what that meant.”

“Before the Guardians killed that awful disciple, no Light had entered this Pyramid. We must follow in their tread and see what tools remain.” She adjusts her cloak. “Curiosity does not serve us here. Choose clarity of purpose instead.”

“Ghosts love purpose.”

“So I have learned.”

-----

Inside the Pyramid is a silence more consuming than any void Eris has been in. The animal-instinct that kept her alive in the pit tenses her muscles, freezes her fingers, says run run run run. She hears Fynch’s internal processes shut off as he throttles into a quieter mode. She realizes that the silence is being created: all noise is being swallowed as soon as it is made. Vibrations are killed in their cradle.

She moves slow across the polished floors. The doors refuse to open for her but in their place are drilled holes, shimmering Hiverock to bridge gaps, what might have been air ducts if this had ever been a place of life. Tucked away in corners, only centimeters wide, are glowing green witch-glyphs.

Eris knows when she is being taken by the hand and led like a child. After an hour her shoulders burn with hauling herself onto ledges and through barely-there gaps in walls. Her Ahamkara bone sits heavy against her side, but she suspects no amount of teleporting would show her the final room of this labyrinth. Some things must be worked for.

She drops from a ledge and lands neatly in a long room, empty even of bones. At one end is a Hive portal casting sickly green light.

Once, in the outskirts of the Flooded Plains, Eris saw a ruined fire-bell carefully balanced hundreds of meters in the air, wide enough that she imagined a whole fireteam crawling up around the clapper. It rings now, in this silent place, and the noise echoes and reverberates and cannot be contained.

“Do you know what’s on the other side of that?” Fynch asks. The question hangs in the air for a second before vanishing.

Eris stands before the portal. She does not trust it, of course she does not, but she knows where she stands. “It is her nature. One final mystery.” Something she would never have wished to consider, ten years ago: there are things more ancient and more dangerous than the bloodiest Hive.

The Stasis coiled through her hands responds to the environment; she feels it twitch. Some tools can be reclaimed for a nobler purpose.

She is not a Guardian, has not been since Crota carved the Light from her body, but she still understands the value of decisive action. She steps through, and the world inverts.

-----

They are still in Pyramid-space. Eris thinks that they are still in the throne’s Pyramid, but this deep inside there are few ways to be sure. Dim light shines from somewhere above, illuminating a humming plinth.

Fynch floats a few feet away and scans the objects hanging shrouded from the walls, though he’s careful not to stray out of reach. “This is an armory,” he says. “But these weapons are new.”

Eris approaches the plinth, half-ready for some shambling horror to rise revenant from its operating table. The carvings match the conduit on Mars, as does the long line of sleek metal lying in the groove of the stone. She raises the staff to the light, cautious as she tests its heft.

“It is a glaive,” Eris says, “or it was. Someone has altered it.” She thinks she knows who. Wheels within wheels, ever turning.

Fynch hovers closer. “Huh. There’s a gap in the handle. Wait, I think…” He dips underneath the glaive, tucks neatly into the space between grip and blade. Eris sees the faint outline of an extra flange, a hole in space.

Eris takes a careful swing. “A cooperative weapon.” She resists the obvious metaphor, can still hear the witch’s laughter echoing down the line.

“I’ve got some directional control in here.” Fynch tilts the curve of the glaive up, just enough to be noticeable. “It’s harder with the missing piece, but I can make it work. I think this would hurt a normal Ghost, but a Hive one like me— we're good for weapons, I guess.”

“You will find that self-pity serves no one but the enemy.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know.” The blade spins in a neat figure-eight, and Eris raps the handle with her knuckles. “Sorry. Why are these here, anyway?”

“They are…a gift. Some may call this a token of goodwill.” Eris huffs. “I would not.”

Fynch squirms out of the glaive like one of the Tower-cats trying to squeeze through a barred window. “Does transmat work in here? I can dump them all back in the Quagmire.”

One by one the room empties, though Eris keeps the last glaive tucked in the crook of her arm. She has seen the video-feeds of Guardians called for a practical demonstration after they have discovered some new weapon, and will not be caught unawares.

She reaches for her Ahamkara bone, extends her other hand. “Come,” she beckons, touching the orb to her forehead. Fynch settles in her palm, warm in the still air of the Pyramid.

A sudden plummet, the sound of a million fires extinguished at once: she turns and lands on half-solid ground, mud sucking at her boots, a slowly-decaying Knight a scarce few inches away. The rain has stopped.

Fynch’s iris cycles, flickering blue before settling back into hellfire green. He shudders, surveys the cache of weapons just visible in the mouth of a small cave. “What do we do with these?”

“I will alert Ikora. There are still Hidden studying the relic on Mars.” Hidden who will have questions for her, no doubt.

“I can keep an eye on these until they get here. I think that’s all the excitement I’m getting for the month.”

“This place may be instrumental in winning the coming war. Until then, it must be stewarded.” Eris dips her head. “It is a responsibility. And I must attend to my own.”

Fynch turns to glance at the dead Knight, then wheels back around. “Keep one of those things, yeah? It might come in handy.”

“Repair your shell, little bird,” Eris says, and begins the long walk back to her ship. For a moment, sunlight illuminates the dead-reborn world.

#destiny the game #eris morn #fynch #my fic #what is sav's throne but one big treasure hunt

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paarthursass · 5 months

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vtmb!aurel absolutely was down bad for nines and beckett both. but he 100% would have smooched mitnick as well. mitnick is sweet. mitnick is cute. and (as a bonus, NOT the primary goal) it would have pissed gary off sooooo much. gary would have tried his "do i Disgust you, you dirty shallow ventrue" thing and aurel would have been like "i've been sticking my tongue down mitnick's throat on the regular. i just hate you because you're a creep who tries to sell me nude portraits of my female friends."

#sophie.txt #oc: aurel #aurel would have Treasured mitnick but being able to then one hit KO gary with a 'you're ugly on the inside too babes' would be a plus #also we should be able to let jeanette vv damsel and ming xiao hunt gary for sport im serious #aurel solves the conflict with the kue-jin by giving him and ming xiao a common enemy (gary golden resident creep)#i should write a fic of aurel smooching mitnick now. mitnick doesn't have ANY fics on ao3 i need to remedy that

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lush-specimen · 2 years

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anode/Lug (Transformers), Anode & Swerve Characters: Anode (Transformers), Lug (Transformers), Swerve (Transformers), Solus Prime Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, Treasure Hunting, Swearing, TF Big Bang, Self-Discovery Summary:

When the Lost Light moors for a week of shore leave on an unexplored planet’s tropical beach, Anode and Lug find a strange artifact washed ashore.

Anode had been searching for the legendary Forge of Solus for ages, collecting bits of maps and deciphering old songs for clues. All of her research pays off as she and Lug find themselves tracing the steps of Cybertronian history. Although finding the Forge during their beach vacation seems highly improbable, everything must be somewhere. Right??

Check out this super fun romp I wrote for the TF Big Bang 2022! Featuring an amazing artwork by MalachitesRest (Chapter 2) and ShenaniSketches (Chapter 5).

#maccadam #my fic #mtmte #lost light #anode #lug #lugnode #swerve #solus prime #tf big bang #treasure hunting #so excited to share this fic!!!

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wanderingjedihistorian · 1 year

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Treasure Hunt

Saw this a few weeks ago and decided it seemed like a fun thing to do. Rules require leaving a comment on the fic, not just kudos.

Thanks @thehighfiveproject for the neat idea!

Here are the fics I read for it!

Fic Less Than 1000

Arranging a Marriage by GingerAnn

Star Wars – Jango/Obi-Wan

<1000 Hits and <100 Kudos

i swear on all the gods by apollotaire

Star Wars – Cody/Obi-Wan

New Fic

Our First Winter by Bluebellstar

Star Wars – Cody/Obi-Wan

Underrated Fav

Alderaan Silver Moon Tea by TheShinyLizard

Star Wars – Cody/Obi-Wan

Old Fic

Shoot First, Ask Later by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)

Tin Man- Wyatt Cain/DG (Note: E rated)

New to You Author

move my feet towards your body (i can hear this beat) by Siderea

Star Wars – Jango/Obi-Wan

Free Space- Podfic

[Podfic] Whispering Pages and Time Gone By by Yuurei

Star Wars- Jaster Mereel & Jango Fett

Fandom Classic

Little Steps by Etharei

The Hobbit- Fili & Kili

Fic More Than 10,000

All Those Little Things by kj_feybarn

Star Wars- Cody/Obi-Wan/Rex

#Fandom Boost Bingo #fic recs #Treasure Hunt

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ncdover1285 · 1 year

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Title: Take the Money and Run

Fic: A03 Art: Tumblr

Author: ncdover1285

Artist: petraamia @deancodedcastielenby

Beta: tfw_cas @punk-is-notdead

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 27109

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ruby, Benny Lafitte, Castiel, Bobby, Karen, Nick, Bela Talbot, Crowley

Relationships: Sam Winchester/Ruby, Sam Winchester/Benny Lafitte/Castiel, Benny Lafitte/Castiel, Bobby/Karen, Bela/Benny mentioned, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte if you squint

Triggers/tags: drug use mentioned, runaway Sam, Bobby dies of old age, multiple pov, believed character death, but it's not, sort of polyam but it's kinda not, size kink, threesome, M/M/M, Sam/Benny/Cas, M/F relationships, M/M, deepthroating, oral sex, anal sex, Sam's a bit drunk for the threesome, character death, Crowley dies, everyone is pretty much just using everyone at some point, mutual blowjobs, anal fingering, minor character death, Bela dies, pirate ships, sword fights

This is based on the movie UNCHARTED, and is written for the @spn-mediabigbang I had the wonderful honor of working with @deancodedcastielenby and the art they provided was absolutely amazing! you should definitely go check them out if you haven’t before!

#pirates #destiel #sam/cas/benny #treasure hunt #movie fic #bangfic

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mxmia · 2 years

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lepenya (fifth)

Rating | Warnings; G | No Warnings Apply Relationships; Gen | Findis & Faniel Characters; Findis, Faniel

“I can teach you some games, if you want. I asked uncle Ingwë to teach me the oldest game he could recall.” Findis explained, and Faniel let out an excited squeak. “Yes yes yes!!” She said, and Findis smiled, pulling a chair next to the bed and sitting. “Well, Uncle Ingwë said it was called lepenya…” Findis said, and Faniel nodded, shifting slightly on the bed—not without a hiss of pain—so she could face Findis better. [Or, Findis and Faniel spend the afternoon playing card games.]

Read on AO3!

(or below the cut)

Notes;

For more thoughts/hcs on Faniel, check my post here: The game, lepenya, is a copy of the Spanish game of cards "Cinquillo (Little Five)"; the names of the suits are also copied from that. Here, it's a Vanyarin game that Findis learnt from Ingwë. Quenya Glossary: - Nésaya = (My) sister, sis - Lepenya = Fifth

Findis entered the room and walked towards her sister, who was lying on her bed with a very unamused look on her face. The blankets around her seemed to be perfectly tucked in, so their mother had probably left a few minutes ago. Upon seeing her, however, Faniel’s eyes lit up.

“Findis! Nésaya! I didn’t expect you to come!” Faniel said, and Findis threw her head back with a laugh.

“Ai, you think so lowly of me, Faniel? I wouldn’t miss my sister’s begetting day!” She replied, showing her the box she was holding. Faniel gasped.

“That’s for… me?” She asked, and Findis nodded, giving her the box. She knew Faniel would like her present no matter what—because she was here to give her a present, unlike other years—but she hoped she’d chosen correctly. Faniel tucked a strand of pale-blonde hair behind her ear and opened it, revealing a set of cards. They were quite worn, but Findis knew how much she appreciated historical things with use, and this was exactly the case.

“I can teach you some games, if you want. I asked uncle Ingwë to teach me the oldest game he could recall.” Findis explained, and Faniel let out an excited squeak.

“Yes yes yes!!” She said, and Findis smiled, pulling a chair next to the bed and sitting.

“Well, Uncle Ingwë said it was called lepenya…” Findis said, and Faniel nodded, shifting slightly on the bed—not without a hiss of pain—so she could face Findis better.

“Fifth?”

“Yes. You must put all the cards in order, starting with the Fifth of Coins. The cards are the same as the ones in the Vanyarin deck, the ones we have are just older. From Cuiviénen, actually.” Findis said, before adding, “They somehow survived the Journey!”

“Woah! That is— Amazing, thank you, Findis.” Faniel said, wiping her eyes dry with the back of her sleeve.

“Hey, I’d do everything for my little sister.” Findis said, squeezing Faniel’s hand until the girl smiled.

She cut the deck in half, handing some to Faniel to shuffle and shuffling the other herself until she was satisfied. Then, she shuffled the two halves and dealt half the deck to Faniel, keeping the other to herself.

“The one who has the Five of Coins has to start, then we have to build up by adding the Four or Six or putting another Five.” Findis explained, and at Faniel’s slow nod she continued, “Such as the Five of Cups, or Swords—”

“Or Wands. Alright. What happens when you finish a suit?” She asked, voice more cheerful than Findis had heard since Faniel had come back from Estë’s Gardens with no apparent remedy to her pain. She could only imagine in how much pain her little sister was, but she knew she’d do anything to remedy it.

“Nothing, actually. The one who finished the last one is the one who wins. You can skip turns to mess with people, though.” Findis said, grinning.

Faniel’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Ohhh, I’ll definitely ask Lalwen to play with me next time she comes. Oh, and Ara!” She said, and her smile was incredibly wide.

“But before that you have to learn how to play, little lady! Come on, let’s start.”

#findis #faniel #silmarillion #house of finwe #finweans #tolkien fic #my fic #my writing #fellowshipofthefics #fotfics treasure hunt #+2 points #the silmarillion #silm #lepenya (fifth)#finwëohíni

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krys-loves-otome · 10 months

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🎢🛠🌞🦅 for the ask game! <3

Fanfic Writer Emoji Asks!

🎢-Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

It's hard to say as my fics, at least what I think of them, they tend to be on the calmer side, no hard hitting action or crazy, off-the-wall shenanigans, or really the creation process behind most of them is a pretty calm and normal affair.

At best (and probably just me being vanilla), my wildest fics are probably the smut ones. The Experiment has my character Houki with IkeSen's Mitsunari and she tries to find out just how unaware he is when he goes into his reading trances. Happy Birthday Vincent was me being unhappy with Vincent's 4th birthday story and wanting to do his CG justice (cunnilingus for that one).

Outside of the smutlings, uhhh… probably A New Resident as there is a birthing scene and Comte cuts his arm open (it's not too heavily graphic, but yeah, mind the tags on that one).

And outside of smutlings and mutilations… Probably Reunion, my MidCin fic. MC had faked her death and Alyn had been searching for her. There's a chase scene in it and Alyn does do some breast biting, so… tame, but a little spicy, if the above ones are a little too much to handle.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

Onenote! It’s a note-taking program that I can use between both my laptop and my phone if I wanna write things. Though, when I wanna do some editing, figuring out what the wordcount is, and sending it off for beta-reading, I'll use google docs then.

🌞Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

When I can get around to doing it, honestly. Sometimes I can work during daylight hours and have it be nice and coherent. Then there are also times I wake up at 3 am with an idea and have to write down before I go back to sleep. This is specifically how The Red Shawl (my Jonah von IkeRev fic) was written as well as Family (Arthur von Ikevamp's fic)

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Majority of the time, it's by the seat of my pants. Just first draft it, then edit later, no planning a lot of the time, just brain dump and go.

That aside, I do outline my IkeSen long fic A Second Glance, as by its nature (multi-chaptered) and I need to have a plan so that the plot can flow nicely.

I have posted this before on my writing blog, but here's the mostly worked out rough outline for Chapter 5 of Second Glance for a glimpse of my outlining style (when I actually do outlining that is!) Major spoilers blotted out in green!

Thanks for the ask!

#ask me stuff #meme thingys #looking back over the answers #New Resident probably is my most unhinged fic of my most recent stuff #once upon a time I did do a crack fic #now buried in the depths of ffn #no I'm not looking for it to post #go treasure hunting on your own #after that #some of my ygo stuff has a few unhinged characters so that was fun to write #Like an antagonist that was a clone of one of the heroes kidnaps one of the heroines and tortures her #twice #in two different fics #they are companion fics #so this means the potential for wild rides may be low #but it's not zero #like my writing body count #tis low but it is not zero #:D

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diejager · 5 months

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Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.1

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, trap, luring, mention of breeding kink, protective König, mention of partial nudity, hunting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 4K

I got inspired by @konigsblog ‘s post.

You enjoyed the sun as much as any other betta fish mermaid, laying on the warm rocks and bathing under the bright, yellow sun. You lived in a school of fish that moved near the shores of a tropical island a few generations before, building houses under the coral reef and rocks where newly placed branches would grow and work as a natural shield. The world you lived in - the part of the ocean you called your home - was bright and colourful, the shallow waters clear and gleaming under the warming sun.

You liked all things bright and colourful, either big or small, you decorated your part of the cave with things you found while swimming around your territory. Be it a golden coin shining on the ocean floor, or a shard of coloured glass, you picked it all up and stuck it around your room. Sometimes, you found pretty things near the limits of your home, and other times, you ventured closer to the edge of the darkness when something shiny caught your attention.

Over the ridge of sand that drew the start of the darkness, that deep and menacing slope down to the deepest part of your ocean, where darker, meaner and cruel beings born of cruelty and madness lived. It was somewhere all mers were warned of, to stay far away from the darkness and never stray from the light that fed and protected you. You thrived in the light, your body absorbing the warmth from the sun that made your scales vibrant and feeding from the fauna and flora that lived beside you: seaweeds and small fishes.

Your kind grew up with stories of horrifying monsters and cruel creatures that lived in that abyss, lingering near the shallow to catch a pretty, little mer for their hoard. Whatever became of the taken was still unknown, once a mer was taken by One, no one would hear from them from then on. Your parents had warned you about straying too close from the shallow, daring fate when you swam over the ridge to collect those pretty gems you fancied so much.

“Don’t worry,” you’d grin at her, fins flickering behind you. “I’m a fast swimmer, mom!”

You were a fast swimmer, slipping between rocks and corals, hands cradling your little shells while you fled from the dark, twisting over the ridge and vanishing between the corals. That’s what you did most days, picking up people’s trash to make it your treasure, fingers cleaning the sand off the holes and crevasses before sticking them to your walls. You also tinkered with metal creations you found, a silver fork or a rusted-looking instrument.

Granted, you joined in hunts, catching sardines and herrings, claws digging into its scaled bodies and teeth ripping into its flesh, the only other taste being sea salt, or bathed under the sun, but you preferred scavenging for loot. Although mers hunted alone, most found it easier to do it in groups, swarming shoals of fish and catching in a group of a dozen at a time for your little colony. So when you were fed and rested, you were back out, treading the line between the shallow and the abyss.

You swam slowly, head turning left and right for anything that would catch your attention, for that small glint hidden under a thin veil of sand or a long metallic object sticking out from the ground. You already had a few things in your arms, a few shells, human objects thrown overboard or floated into the sea, and small treasures: white pearls. You picked things up from both sides, mind in a comfortable and pleasant space, prideful of your catch so far that you were oblivious of the eyes following your colourful body.

His pale eyes wandered over your puffy cheeks and sweet lips, those squinted eyes in mirth as you searched for more. He went down the curve of your shoulders and the swell of your breasts, perky nipples covered by pretty shells, over your soft stomach and that bright, colourful tail of yours that first caught his attention. Every scale glistened under the sun, reflecting the light on the sand while you swam, your fins curving with the twist of your tail.

You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, an angel collecting treasure, just like he did. He saw the batch in your arms, clutched between your breasts when you dove to pick something up on his side. You were as adorable and innocent as you were pretty, your action oblivious of his predatory eyes, dipping into his territory without fear of retribution on his part. He liked that bold and daring attitude of yours, fitting for someone so courageously bright and flashing your bold colours to him.

If he were to drop something closer to him, would you still swim towards it or ignore it for something closer to the ridge? If he hid until you were close enough, would he be able to wrap his limb around you? To feel your soft skin and coarse scales under his slimy arm. He was glad he decided to hunt today, searching for both prey - mer or fish, he isn’t picky about what he ate - and treasure. Hidden under a couple of tentacles, he dropped a golden coin a few feet away from him, his veil and the darkness helping him hide from your sight.

His heart soared when he saw your eyes widen, a smile curling at the corners of your lips when you saw his little coin, diving towards him with enthusiasm. You were so close to him, hand stretching to grab the object with small, clawed fingers. When you held it in your hand, appraising it, he felt pride bubble in his chest, rising to his mind as he took this occasion to get his arm around you. You flinched when he wrapped the tip of his tentacle around your tail, squirming around in terror. In a panicked struggle to escape him, you dropped everything you’d collected and fled from him with a cry.

He watched you swim away from him through saddened eyes, hearing the thudding from the things you dropped, even the coin he gifted you. His eyes never left your fleeing body until you jumped over the edge, your tail the last thing he saw in that moment of self-deprivation and sadness. He hoped you’d come back, forgetting the fear of his sudden attention and daring fate once more.

He came the next day and the day after that, but you weren’t there, your precious smile and happy eyes were a memory in his mind, a fleeting moment in his gloomy world. He came back every day, hiding in the darkness, on the line between pitch darkness and light shading. He wished you were there every day, his eyes bleeding with optimism and hope for a single smidgen of bright colours.

He hadn’t seen you in the following week. His shoulders slumped and caved into himself in sadness every time he came by, his blue eyes dulling bit by bit, that hopeful thinking drowning under realistic thinking and a pessimistic mind. Then he caught a glimpse of colour against the white sand. Before long, he saw arms filled with shiny items, trailing nearer to your side than his, but still chasing for treasures.

If he wanted to approach you, to touch your soft-looking skin and run his arms over your scaled tail, he’d have to find a way to lure you in. He watched you the first few days, his tentacles curling on itself and burying himself in the sand, the hundreds of suckers searching for buried treasures to leave for you. When you turned your back to him, his unwinding arm left the things he found near the ridge for you to find and take. Little gifts for you, courting gifts he left and gifted you in an attempt to woo you.

You were skittish and fleeing but took all his gifts with shaky smiles and grateful eyes, you knew he gave them to you. Of course, you did, you were his brave and smart little mermaid, approaching his offerings with apprehension - he felt hurt you feared and got nervous around him, but he understood you, his kind ate yours - and scanned the sand around you for any danger before crossing the line. He felt giddy when you added them to your stack, his mind-blowing with dreams and thoughts of you decorating your little cave with the things he gave you. On the ceiling, against the wall and on the ground or surfaces, you would use the things he gave you for your home.

It sent him up the walls of his caves with joy and excitement, his limbs curling to rearrange his home to prepare for you, to accommodate your arrival to his big, lonely home.

It took a week or two - or so he thought, his perception of time was and had always been warped in some way - before you became comfortable enough to approach him, to let him curl his slimy tentacle around your tail and up your body. He could finally feel you and it made him ecstatic - he was over the moon every time he got to touch you. Little pokes, fleeting squeezes and feathery bites from his suckers on your flesh, all things he let himself taste before your coupling. A coupling between the prettiest and the cruellest beings in the ocean would unwind the seams that made your worlds, pulling the string that separated the beauty and the beast in this cursed universe.

Granted, you hesitated to cross into the pitch darkness of the abyss, dancing just a few inches from his abode with an armful of trinkets from König. Your slow and steady breath, words you blessed him with when you muttered to him, calling out to know if he was there and your grateful grin were a common, yet welcome sight in his daily swim. While a bit reluctant to join him on the other side, you eventually swam across, your eyes melting into the black before you. You were unseeing as much as you were blind, if not for the guiding palm of the Eldritch creature that you befriended and the shine of treasure you saw around him.

You wished you could see anything but the gleam of treasure and the black mist of the abyss, your hand wandered over his, searching for his body, to feel the one who’s been gifting you treasures. Your fingers trailed upwards, feeling the tightness of his muscles, the curves and hardness of his arms were sinful. You truly wished you could see him at this moment, but you kept at your advance, clawed fingers moving slowly with unbridled curiosity. When you reached his broad shoulders and well-pronounced chest, it rumbled, a purr coming from König. Its deep sound shook you with need, your tail enthusiastically moving back and forth as you listened to him.

“Are you happy, Schatz?”

His voice was even better than his soft purrs, in a way that made you want to melt into his arms and never bother moving if he kept talking to you, the sound of the creature that gave you gifts and affection. König’s spine-chilling voice seemed like a mix of many voices, both soft and raspy, and both deep and smooth, but it was something you enjoyed, that you found yourself liking a bit too much.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes travelling skyward, towards the source of his voice.

Your breath caught in your throat, choking a gasp at the prettiest blues you’d seen staring down at you. They were majestic, gem-like with a pretty sheen that made them glow like a beacon of light. You wondered why you’d never seen them, seeing how bright his eyes were. They lit up his face, or the veil he wore over his face, showing the pale streak of makeshift tears down the incision he made for his eyes. You shamelessly admired him, unbothered by the lost puppy-like stare you gave him in your glowing beauty.

You’d crossed a threshold, where a creature of light never dared to cross, stepping into the arms of an Old One and embracing their madness. Although you were oblivious to his intentions, the loud proclamation of his courting rituals and attempts of crying out his love - the Old One’s rituals and cultures were much of a mystery to those who didn’t study them, much of a taboo for anyone outside of delusion and greed - he hadn’t refrained from his deliberate show that would be nearly shameful and embarrassing to others of his kind.

Some wouldn’t bother with such frivolous acts: confessions from the deepest part of their dark soul, proclamation of love and undying adoration, or having to scavenge for gifts - offerings - to the subject of their attention. His kind took and took, reaching for that small glimmer of hope and beauty and corrupted it, bending it to their liking and building something from the ashes. It wouldn’t - would never - be the same as they were before, but that was how the Old Ones liked it: control, corruption, ruin, madness and power.

König wouldn’t do that, he wanted to cherish you, add to what you were and watch it bloom like those bioluminescent creatures in the abyss; even against his creator’s wishes. He’ll put you on the highest pedestal he has, eternally imprinting the image of you as his most precious treasure into his mind. You’ll be a thing of miracles, a thing of blessings, a thing of new beginnings. He wanted all and everything with you, but he’d have to take it slow, to coax you into this redundant pattern that ensured your trust and comfort and have you follow him of your own volition.

He doesn’t mind waiting, he’s had hundreds of years of sitting and waiting, patience was a virtue he grew to learn, to hold in his giant palm and clutch like a gift from the ever-growing, chaotic universe. He can wait and plan, so he will, König will lay down his plan and wait until he can bring it to reality.

Wait he did, for you to grow comfortable enough to follow him deeper and let him pull you in from your side. It took you a month of back and forth, squirming around your infatuation with König and exchanging trinkets, words and fleeting kisses with him. He adored your little giggles when he traced your sides with a bolt tentacle, curling under your plush tits and the tip sliding under your strap. He loved the pretty shells you gave him, cleaned from sand and any barnacles, it showed him how much time you spent on it for him. His heart bloomed and swelled to impossible heights when you pecked his lips, giving him shy and gentle kisses that he grew addicted to.

You were so sweet and so soft, your lips the taste of heaven for a creature of madness. Your hands were gentle like a cool balm over a burn, soothing his wild thoughts. Your little gifts for him - reciprocating his affection - were currently the most important things in his cave, a sign of your love and devotion. It made him wonder what would you let him do once you gave yourself to him. Would you succumb to the everlasting pleasures he could give you, or would you demand to help him take care of his own in a mutual haze? He couldn’t help himself, letting his chaotic mind conjure the most absurd and erotic dreams, his body vibrating with excitement; and now, at the peak of your trust in him, he watched his plan - a well-placed trap - come to fruition.

“Come, Schatz,” he beckoned you forward, his burly arm stretching to coax you to follow him, holding out his open palm to you. “I have something I want to show you. Pretty things.”

Without a thought, to question his intentions or to ask why he couldn’t have bought them for you like he usually did, you took his hand and let his fingers curl over yours, intertwining your smaller digits to his as he pulled you to his chest. His embrace was as safe and pleasant as the last one - yesterday - and caused a flurry of emotions to erupt in your chest, he was warm in the cool darkness, loving in all the ways you could think. You could close your eyes and imagine a smile rippling across his face with joyfully squinted eyes peering down at you.

Held against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your waist with a firm squeeze of his hand where your skin turned to scales. He whispered sweet promises, words of encouragement to see the way to his home and excited explanations of what awaited you. Pretty things, he said, you knew what he meant - at least you think you did - you shared much in common, and pretty things were something you both agreed on: shiny metals, interesting trinkets, shimmering shells or finely-minted coins. All things humans valued before throwing away; one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

How unfortunate that you couldn’t see in the dark, yet how fortunate you wouldn’t know the way back, it was something he relied on heavily to keep you, if you didn’t know how to navigate in this utter blindness, there were no risks of you trying to escape his caring hand. You were smart, you wouldn’t simply venture off without knowing where to go and how to see, especially with how vast his territory was and how dangerous it was. He shared his home with other simple-minded animals, sharks, fishes, eels and any other abyssal creature that lived and depended on the dark to live.

Your innocent curiosity about the things he deemed pretty enough to hoard made his heartbeat, that addicting feeling he got from touching you, kissing you and speaking to you. Even if the deeper he went, the colder it became, you never once complained, your wide eyes and grinning face were the only thing you gave him. He was truly relieved to know that you were patient and understanding of his home, not one hiss or pout while you shook and clung to him, depending on him for warmth. He liked that, to see you rely on him so much.

“We’re here, mein Liebling,” he hushed, cradling your face as he dove down, through the entrance of his cave. He shielded your fragile body with his many arms, protecting you from the rush of water current flowing against him. He chose this one to build his nest, using the strong current as a natural barrier against weaker creatures.

When the waters calmed to a still, he loosened his hold on you, unravelling his arms to let you explore the many passages and alcoves in his home. To accommodate you, he strung up bioluminescent flora, using them as light to find your way around, with silken algae over a few rocks to mimic the beds mers slept in and a few other things that he thought you’d need: a mirror, a few floating plants to add to its mystical beauty and clusters of soft materials in nearly every room.

He let you wander, your tail flapping back and forth to lead you down the long hall and explore the many rooms. He used a room to sleep, one as a pantry and storage, and another one to hold his hoard, but he had a lot of empty and unused space, more than enough for you and your children to thrive. He wanted to let you roam at your own pace, but he had something to show you, something he was proud of making.

He pulled you from your little cloud of joy, wrapping an arm around you, his sticky suckers latching onto you as he coaxed you his way. Only then had you taken the time to admire König under blue light, cheeks warm with a burning flush and doe-like eyes staring at the naked expense of his hard abdomen, stomach sculpted to perfection that had Adonis shying away. His arms were big and round, muscles straining the scarred skin with delicious appeal.

Downwards, following the sharp dip of his navel, were dozens of dark tentacles lined with round, pulsing suckers. Like an octopus, they were covered in a slimy sheen, every limb flexible and able to move independently. The lower ones were thick and soft, acting as a cover for whatever he hid beneath them, while some were thinner, whose source came from under his veil. Those, however, were a mix of normal and horrific tentacles, some had eyes replacing the usual suckers, tinted in the same colour as his irises, that glowing, pale blue.

It made your body heat up, fingers tingling with nerves - or was it? When faced with something you found appealing, it’d be natural to feel flustered, no? König thought so, that’s how he spent the first days reacting to you, heating up to a bothersome flush to everything you did. He watched your awed stare, that daydreaming haze in your eyes when you looked him over, his whole body clear under the gentle light in his cave.

“This way.”

Without making your gaze leave his figure, he drew you in, heading towards his biggest room where he caught and strung everything to fit his pleasure and mood. It was somewhere deeper into the system with walls strong and sturdy, and the round ceiling higher than the other rooms. On one side was a pile of golden objects of all shades, light yellow to a darkish gold, nearly bronze; on the other was a mix of pretty silver things and metallic black objects, rusted by age and the salty ocean; and on another, the smallest of them all, comprised of a few dozens of colourful shells and corals frozen in time that you’d given him.

He saw your chest expand, your smile growing brighter and brighter at the pile of gifts you gave him, your bubbly laugh as you swam towards it, twirling around it proudly. You looked around the room, admiring his large collection and how it seemed to spill down every pile in an attempt to reach the other one, forming a protective ring around your presents, but always coming back to the bright pink, blue and yellow shells. You were happy and appreciative of the time he spent working and arranging his hoard. If he could, he’d preen and purr to you, to show just how much your proud smile meant to him, watching you appraise his work was satisfying.

He already felt like things were falling into place perfectly, he could see the life he had envisioned with you coming to life, the little intricacies that popped into his mind seeming too appealing. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality, the things that he could only imagine were now tangible to his hands, and the future he salivated at was so, so close that he could sink his teeth into its flesh.

He knew it. He knew it when he watched you swim to him with that big, adorable smile on your face, that it was in his hands. He could see it now, how his lonely cave would be filled with life and laughter, children with a mix of your beauty and his madness chasing one another between the many openings and your round, swollen stomach welcoming another of your children to the world. That was all he could think of while he cradled you in his arms, his tentacles latching to your tail and back.

“You’re happy, ja?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @0alk0msan

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arkhammaid · 8 months

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ OF DRAGON BEHAVIOUR AND OLDE TRADITIONS.

fandom. genshin impact

pairings. neuvillette, zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings. sfw + nsfw, MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, heavily influenced by 'dragon' behaviour (is a bit leaned on a/b/o), 5 + 1 fic type (the + 1 is nsfw), possessive neuvie/zhongli, sfw: collaring, scenting, marking, nsfw: nesting, both of them have big dicks lol, talk about breeding, not edited/proofread, written in lowercase

word count. 1.8k

notes. i'm so down bad...

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ flaunting.

once a dragon is mated, they like to show off their mate proudly. to enhance their physical aspects and to proclaim their trust in them, mates get draped in the dragon’s treasures. treasures this mythical beast usually hoards with jealousy. the shinier and bigger the treasures, the higher is the mate in social standing.

neuvillette is less lavish with his treasures, simply because his priorities in his riches lay elsewhere. this is why you often where the brightest pearls, adoring your neck or shiny shells around your wrists. he enhances your beauty much subtler, but nonetheless you’re still worthy to be called his mate. after all, he’s a dragon of water, it’s only right for him to drape you in the gifts of the sea.

zhongli prefers you in the finest silk and your skin adored with gold and other treasures found in the rich land that belongs to him. as a dragon of earth and especially as geo archon, all the gems are crafted in the most beautiful jewelry. everything to enhance your beauty. he especially likes you in cor lapis, a jewel in a color that he claims as his— and seeing you in this soft hue of orange swells pride in him.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ collaring.

collaring can be seen as a step further of flaunting. the dragon creates an individual collar for their mate, to not only protect one of the weakest points of their body, their neck, but to also immediately signal that they belong to them. it signals protection and ownership, which is why mates rarely part with their gifted collars,as they’re also the first gift they receive as a dragon’s mate.

neuvillette knows that collars, by human standards, are not something normal. this is why he takes great care to create a collar that not only shows his strength but also fits within the domain the two of you move. this is why your collar is not a traditional one, instead resembling a tight necklace adorned by pearls and silver. it’s just enough to calm his instincts but also a fashionable item— one for which you’ve received many compliments.

zhongli on the other hand has crafted a collar of which his elders would be proud of. it’s heavy on your neck, made by his own hands and not your usual jewelry. despite that, the collar is made by the best gems and jewels zhongli could find, and of course in his colors. and to ensure you’re comfortable wearing such a heavy collar, the inner side is embellished with the most expensive velvet he could find.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ acknowledgement.

another important aspect between the relationship of a dragon and their mate is the acknowledgement of the hunt. once the dragon has successfully brought home the game, it is now up to the mate to appraise said game. only once they give their approval can the food be shared between them. this also includes all their offspring.

neuvillette is always very careful with the food he brings to you. he ensures he’s the only one touching it, as tradition demands, and satisfactory enough for your plate. to him, keeping you fed and happy is much more important than to take care of his own needs. even when you always scold him, when he neglects himself, in this aspect he won’t bulge.

zhongli himself has a very expensive taste and only the best is just good enough for his mate. no matter what you say, he will hunt on his own and pick all the herbs and berries himself, or else he wouldn’t even present the food. your approval is the highest praise, only one of the many reasons why zhongli takes so much care and time to honor this tradition.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ scenting.

scenting is one of the few habits and traditions that are more intimate. a dragon scents their mate for several reasons. firstly, it’s one of the final steps of their ‘ownership’ over the mate. clothed in their treasure but also bathed in their scent. secondly, the process itself is very calming for the dragon, almost meditative.

neuvillette likes to scent you when he comes home. it calms not only his dragon but also his mind. because of that, he never scents you in public, thinking it as a private matter and a treasured one added to that. it’s not something others should witness— you in his arms, pliant to his nosing, his gentle kisses and nibs on your skin and especially when he removes your collar to scent you on your neck.

zhongli, despite being an old dragon, behaves as if he’s freshly mated and a young blood when it comes to scenting you. he dislikes smelling others on you or any artificial scent that’s not you. he has no shame scenting you in public, but over the years living with you he has reduced to the almost scandalous behaviour to nothing more but scenting on your wrists and a quick nosing on your cheeks.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ marking.

marking is quite similar to scenting, only this behaviour varies from dragon to dragon. for some, a so called ‘mate-bite’ is enough, others like to add new markings everytime they couple with their mate. but there are even some dragons, who enjoy being marked by their mates, a most unusual behaviour.

neuvillette has always enjoyed marking you, but is very gentle with it. his mate-bite, another physical sign that you belong to him, is located on your right shoulder, a wound healed a long time ago. he much prefers when you mark him, your teeth sinking in his much sturdier flesh. it leaves him breathless, just the mere thought of you marking him making his head spin— he loves to leave his marks on you, but he even loves it more when you mark him, to tell the whole world that he belongs to you.

zhongli always loves to admire the marks his sharp teeth leave behind, trace his fingers over your reddened skin— he’s fascinated by your vulnerability and your eagerness to please him. but what matters most to him is that you love to wear his marks, never hesitate to show them off by not hiding them. social decorum would demand for you to hide them away behind draped fabrics, but instead you proudly wear them, as if they’re badges of highest honor.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ nesting.

as every other animal, be it mythical or not, dragons go through a cycle. at it’s highest point, their fertility is much more prominent. to ensure the increased chances of success in producing offspring, the biology of dragons demands them to nest during the cycle. if the dragon ignores this inner instinct, it grows irritated or even aggressive to everyone who is not their mate. nesting ensures the comfort of both the dragon and their mate and helps them to properly prepare for their coupling.

the moment the first child of the couple is born, nesting becomes a daily thing until said child passes the first stages of growth. the dragon builds a nest in their den, a different one from the ones in which the parents couple, and ensures that both mate and offspring are within this nest. the warmth and scent of both parents help the child to imprint on them and to recognize them later on as their sires.

neuvillette, when it comes to nesting, is very picky about it. his nest has to be ready before his cycle starts and you have to be in it as well, pliant and ready for him. if you’re not comfortable, he gets stressed and that doesn't end well.

for the most part, he has his instincts under control, but when you’re in his nest, naked and flushed, he tends to get feral. and once he lets go of that tight control he has over himself and his body, the dragon in him comes out.

his pupils turning to slits, fangs sharpening and nails becoming claws. scales appear on his skin, his horns grow— neuvillette lets go of his human skin and becomes the closest he can be to a dragon without hurting you. it always excites you, seeing your usual calm and stoic mate all excited about the thought of breeding you.

he’s an attentive lover, even if he could just slide into your hole and start fucking you stupid. instead he takes immense care to prepare you, hours even, lips and hands leaving marks on your skin while he makes you cum on his tongue several times.

and then, when you see stars behind your closed eyes, your thighs shake around his head and you try to calm your breath— then he slowly slides into you, his giant cock hitting you in all right places, making you scream again—

then, only then, when you’re pliant and open for him, a flushing mess beneath his massive body and moaning his name— only then he would truly start to fuck you.

zhongli is very attentive during nesting, but especially as your lover. he always puts your needs above his, simply because he finds pleasure when you enjoy yourself.

despite being mated for a long time, you’re always nervous about nesting, especially about the most intimate part of it. zhongli is big and it’s always a tight fit, even if he prepares you with his fingers and mouth. you’re never in pain, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he would make you cry, but you’re still understandably nervous.

zhongli doesn’t mind it, he understands and instead makes sure you’re distracted enough to not lose yourself in spiraling thoughts. it also helps when you’re breathless from the countless orgasms he has already given you, your hole wet enough, almost gushing, so the slide is smooth and painless for you.

and you can’t lie, you enjoy his big dick, but sometimes it’s too overwhelming. yet the many years together has taught him many tricks and especially things you enjoy.

you flush beneath him, when he starts praising you, his rich voice causing goosebumps all over your body. you whimper, when his fangs craze over your skin and moan when he actually bites you.

but you truly lose your mind when he starts fucking you, slow but deep thrusts, taking his time while you writhe beneath him. it seems so effortless, how he’s destroying you, as if he isn’t going crazy when his mate is in his nest, calling his name, clinging onto him, begging him to go faster, harder, begging for more.

taglist. @trailblazernet , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @verxsyon , @auraxins , @lupicalbestwolf , @the-dumber-scaramouche , @spiriteddreams , @kiiyoooo , @8-xnny , @spiriteddreams

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

ARKHAM MAID 2023

#neuvillette x reader #zhongli x reader #neuvillette x you #zhongli x you #neuvillette smut #zhongli smut #genshin neuvillette #genshin zhongli #genshin smut #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations #after dark <3

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