Wet With Dew

Multimuse written by L, 25, she/her. bornofbloodandwater sideblog

[druchtphointe]

PRIVATE INDIE OC, OISÍN MAHER

WRITTEN BY L, 21+

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Please read rules and about before interaction. All info is here in my Carrd.

If you follow I expect you to be 18+ as I write mature subjects here. I run mostly off of plotting but if theres solid ideas for interaction floating around at first contact I’m happy to begin with memes.

Personals will be blocked unless attached to sideblogs. No set schedule or queue.

|| Carrd || Memes ||

[druchtphointe]

Coire: Open

“Tell, beastie, what wud’ye want from this’un if ye’d be asked a wish?”

The tiny triangular face moves in expression but the mouth is wrong. Too slow for the words sometimes, too fast others. Regardless of their diminutive size, the voice is clear, echoing, as though spoken from a pulpit of ancient stone.

Great, wide, chiffon-like wings beat in fluid gusts. Butterfly limbed. The only disruption to their spring-bud green body is a set of four ice-white eyes.

“An’ don’t tell me nuffin’, cuz a know ye’d be lyin’. Where there’s want there’s I.”

[xanaxfarts]

Yoshitaka Amano: Candy Girl

[angelicdewdrop]

[jacquesbonhomie]

David Hockney

‘The Arrival of Spring, Normandy’ 2020

[druchtphointe]

Recognise them? There’s familiarity, sure, but they’re unreadable. Crude shapes carved in stones and light. The pulsing glow soothes his anxious mind, calls for intuition just as The Herald does. Bright eyes flicking between each symbol searching for anything familiar. Something in the shimmering of a SPIKED rune to his left feels familiar. There’s an energy he knows well, but it is far from his own. If Viktor thinks he can do it, he can do it. He can reach forth to what calls him, a blind thrust upwards.

They’re reminded of a magnet pulling at a steel ring before it snaps to his palm, fingers clamping around the electric heat of RESOLVE. Every muscle tenses in a ripple across their body. Viktor’s fine hand gripped almost too tightly for a shuddering moment. Around their outstretched arm, a group of further runes order themselves in a softly spinning helix. As soon as the wave of tension passes, a great peace settles down to their very bones. A held breath leaves Oisin in a sob of relief.

Finally lifting their eyes from the rune, they can’t help but notice the soft green haze around them both. Bringing their choice close for Viktor to see, to help them understand. “I feel…” It doesn’t feel right to say, but there’s no other word. Despite the shame of it, he feels- “Powerful.”

[niratias]

"Good." Viktor's eyes are bright and golden- so very different than the metallic swirl of their physical world. He's a bit younger here, too- healthier, less hollow in the cheeks, less darkness in the circles beneath his eyes. The white hair accentuates the iridescence of his skin. "Very good- that is enough to start. Shall we return back to our compatriots before they grow altogether too worried at our absence?" Viktor seems to have a grasp of how much time has passed, though he's not about to share that here and cause undue panic. Instead, he simply squeezes Oisin's hand again in reassurance. "From here, everything changes. I hope that you feel you have the fortitude. And if not...we will cultivate it for you." He's so gentle about this bombshell that it's almost as if he were not mortally injured at the start of this awakening- almost as if this entire event were designed for Oisin to find their way to the arcane.

Maybe there's some truth to that, as uncomfortable as it might be to learn.

"Your choice today need not be final. If you are ready...it's time to wake up."

[druchtphointe]

A new confidence burns in their chest. A belonging. Watching the runes shift and spin brings a feeling of ease Oisín couldn’t have known was missing. Not without Viktor. “I’ll follow any instruction you see fit, weather any challenge y’set. You’ll get tired of the words, Yes Sir, after a week.” Casting a cheeky wink at the younger man with a squeeze of the hand. Though, I’d never tire of you calling me, Sir.

“Yes, yeah, I suppose we should get back.” Guilt seeps in through the euphoria of this new light like a strike to the back of the skull. You asked her to kill for this man. He’s going to have to reckon with that on their return.

Wake up.

Their body is vibrating. Buzzing from head to toe with a sensation they have never felt in their life. They could swear their blood is neon. Weightless and radiant. Eyes immediately searching for Viktor. Finding him only a foot away on a separate bed. Their hand reaching out for his. A sense of being untethered without the grasp. When did they lie down? When did they change clothes?

“DADDY!” They’re almost tackled off of the bedroll at the force of their daughter’s leaping hug. “Niamh? Are you alright, petal?”

“Are you alright?!” Her arms squeezing tight around his chest. “I’m grand, mo leanbh. Although, look.” Raising their hand with a crackle of green sparks. “Y’wouldn’t belie-!” The CRACK to the top of their head has Auntie Aine’s cackling echoing in their mind like a cheered ghost. “So yer tellin’ me I’ve been worried SICK for two days and ye were learning magic tricks with yer fancy boyfriend?! Just you wait til I tell Xio.” The young woman stomps away shouting back about getting him something to eat. There’s that pang of guilt again.

“I don’t feel like I deserved that.” There’s no argument on the boyfriend comment, they know she’s just trying to make them get flustered. It certainly worked though. The blush on his cheeks is answer enough. “Did she say two days?”

[druchtphointe]

They couldn’t have imagined that they’d end up like this. Flushed, panting, unleashed. Viktor doesn’t have to ask. Since the day they felt his lips kiss their fingers, the pierce of submitting silver eyes have laid in wait for Oisín, alone in the dark.

Every night they’ve fantasised that Viktor could touch them through the arcane, through their mind, through their dreams. Straddling their hips, lips parting to beg, to moan. A leash wrapped around his fist and-

They answer the request without pause. “I know exactly what you need.” Spinning Viktor to mount the desk edge, both wrists caught tight behind his back in one hand. The shadowing curve of Oisìn’s body looms over the slender man. The other great hand resting, promising, at the Herald’s throat. Teeth cut at the opposite side, waiting to claim what they crave.

Pressed tight to his ass in aching tension. Barely able to keep from grinding desperately for more contact. Forbid, a moan from the darling of the aether. Their breath practically steaming over glittering skin. “I know you’d let me ruin you,” the words so low they’re felt more than heard “But just how much control is my Little God willin’ to lose?” There is a blessing being laid at his table and Oisin is not one to waste. He will feast til exhaustion demands he stop, but he needs to know what’s his to devour.

[niratias]

Viktor lets himself be guided. Lets himself be pinned, nipped at, whispered to. He shivers, fingers curling, remaining pliant in the grip holding him down. He considers what he'd like to say to them, considers how much he needs to outline, and decides to use all of his wordplay and cement this wonderful, blossoming thing between them before there can be any room for doubt.

"How much," he says quietly, a tease, a taunt, "do you truly think you can take?" For this, for these moments? Most of it. Maybe not all, but most. He grinds back. Let there be no mistake- he wants exactly what Oisin knows he needs. The hand on his throat is the most tantalizing tease of all. A great being, of hard-won power and sacrifice, and he's put himself willingly into the hands of an inexperienced mage. "You are to ruin me- today is not to be a one-off. I want you to make me feel." No small feat- not when he's so shut off from most sensation now. Their shared connection, that magic pull between them- it's all there and primed for pleasure. It will feel good- good in a way few others could manage. "I want you to fuck me until I cry. I want you to remind me that I was once mortal and fragile. I want to feel that way again." He's not shy about these demands, nor afraid to make them, even here, captive by choice. That's exactly how Oisin knew what he wanted- what he needed.

He grinds back again, more insistently, robes so very easy to move aside, with nothing beneath. His skin is pliant and cool, though bears none of the softness his flesh once did. To some, that might be even more enticing.

"I want you to fill me. I want you to claim me. I want you to overstimulate and overfill me and make a mess of me. I'm no blushing virgin, you know..."

[druchtphointe]

“So many demands.” Tightening the grip on Viktor’s throat. “Y’ll get what yer good enough t’receive.” Releasing His wrists to caress up The Herald’s inner thigh. Slick at the peak. He is sublime. It takes all their willpower to not sink to their knees and devour Him. Feel Viktor grind Himself on their tongue, shining fist wrapped in their hair. Though, they can’t deny each roll of those hips inches them nearer to delirium. Flash hot desperation to sink themselves within. Releasing the hand at His throat when His pulse starts to push insistently against their fingertips. “Don’t worry, pet.” Oisín’s thumb brushing tenderly across Vitya’s now pink cheek. “Never took ye for the blushin’ kind.”

Automatically grinding the thick line of them into Viktor’s ass in response to His hips’ insistence. Oisín reaches for their belt. “I want to see every glorious inch of you.” A smile in their voice. In an easy glide, they cut the robes from Viktor’s body with their grafting knife. Shifting their weight back to stand silent for a moment, awe in their eyes. Oisín takes in the man they are blessed to behold. Delicate in appearance only, beautiful in every manner of the word.

Reaching under the Herald’s hips, the gardener spins Him onto His back. Tearing away the rest of the robes hiding His body from their devoted gaze. Firm hands caress a sure line from throat to thigh. “You.” Guiding Viktor’s thighs about their waist. “Are.” Thick fingers finally, teasingly stroke the wet heat of Him. “Immaculate.”

They find themselves caught on Viktor’s eyes. There’s sweat beading in the hollow of Oisín’s throat, pink flush from ear to ear, pulse striking like a hammer in their neck. Belt undone and bearing over the younger man like a panting beast. “You say you want me t’claim you.” Guiding Viktor’s hand to the ache of them with a low sigh, eyes locked. “Do y’think you can take me, mo réaltín?”

[druchtphointe]

@silcosys continued from x

The Madam stares a long while. “Do not flatter yourself that Sevika ever passed as your beard, Silco. Bodyguard, certainly, but wife?” Her eyes say it all. Surely not even the imbeciles up top believed that.

Standing icily from her chair to rise above Silco’s eye. “I’ll entertain your proposal.” Other than the knowledge of what Silco is doing in Piltover, there has to be some motivation. Why ask her and not simply pay for a few hours of time from one of her girls?

“You’d surely be more polite if you were asking a favour, so what exactly are you offering in return?”

[xaoca]

[pisces-core]

[druchtphointe]

❝ i know we don’t know each other that well but if you wanna talk about it… ❞ (to Hilda)

Wet cheeks, unswiped. No shame in crying. Hilda takes a drag that can only be described as languid. Exhaling in slow tendrils from her nose. A pale dragon.

“Some anniversaries are worsened by the weather.” Staring out at the snow shuffling softly across the street outside the venue’s open back doors. The trees desperate to bloom, held back by the cold. “It is nice of you, to ask.”

[niratias]

@druchtphointe || Oisin

"Easy," Vitya teases, tugging on the chastity cage one more time, just to draw a stronger reaction. He takes immense joy in this- knows exactly what freeing his lover is going to mean for him. They've somewhat planned this night, all necessary toys available and ready for use. Clean bedding, not that it will stay that way. Restraints already buckled into place, too, for when and if Oisin determines his little God needs them.

Enough playing. His throat's a mess of bruising kisses already, his clothes half ripped off of him, fingers already having slipped into his core. He made Oisin watch him use a vibrator on himself right before this- no penetration, simply clitoral stimulation, until he arced up and moaned in pleasure- pleasure Oisin did not give him and was not allowed to take with him, either. A mild punishment, to be sure, but one meant to increase desire and make sure Viktor feels this once he's been thoroughly fucked.

There's a real key tucked away for safety. Vitya doesn't need it. With a flick of his hand, the mechanism gives way. It's up to Oisin to free himself now- and take what he wants, too.

[druchtphointe]

The arc of them poised over their little God. Robes torn, balled in their fist, and still he teases them. Comfort and age have rounded the lines of a life of hard labour. Firm, aching, bare body glistening from the strain of holding back from their lover as ordered. Promised release. The more Oisín is permitted to touch his divine body, the more growl-inducing pain springs from the unrelenting metal.

The groan that follows the tug is animalic. Seizing the younger man close enough he can feel Oisìn’s heat panting across his lips. “Fuck, I’m gonna get you back fer that.” They’re pent up enough without the cage. Their cock cradled in Viktor’s slender fingers, barely able to feel the ease of his touch. Torture. He knows precisely how to ensnare their every thought. All day they’ve been immobilised by lust. Waiting and ready for The Herald to free them for worship. “I’ll make you regret every second you keep me from your sweet cunt.”

The cage hits the floor with a heavy thud. Firm hands already gripping behind Viktor’s knees. Handling their slender darling with ease. Pale thighs heaved about the gardener’s shoulders, powerful arms coil about hips pulled high to their starved mouth. Resting in their lap, cradled aloft to the altar of their tongue, thrust deep within. The pulsing girth filling fast enough between their thighs. Oisín can’t help but groan at the ache, rumbling against Viktor’s clit in ecstatic relief. Verdant eyes watching every shiver and twist down the spread expanse of him. Feasting on every soaked inch.

They’ll hold off fucking him as long as they can manage. Not long, but perhaps long enough that Viktor will beg them to ruin him. “You want me to fuck you, you can wait fer that teasin’.” Reaching down to slip two fingers into the slick of The Herald’s mouth. Insisting as deep as they can reach.

[druchtphointe]

@niratias continued from x

They could lean further. They could flatten their palms on the desktop. Threaten a strong hand. Tip their chin up and smirk down at him. It’s unnecessary. Proximity and an earnest question is enough, but so challenging to keep steady. The throb that radiates from his jaw to his thighs begs him to act. There’s no need for bravado. True hunger lifts far more.

That soft catch of breath. Oisín’s right arm flexes, nails biting his palm, against reaching to snatch Viktor by the fine column of his neck. Pin him against the cool metal and devour every inch of him. The force of the huff from the gardener; a trained dog holding back for reward. Their patience is fraught. They will be his. The command breaks the spell.

Oisin takes Viktor’s face in both hands, the kiss, starved. Enveloping the smaller man in his stance. The hard line of their body pressed seamlessly to Viktor’s. “Y’don’t know how long I’ve dreamt you sayin’ that.” No distance to speak, their lips slip through the confession. Powerful fingers tightly pulling back The Herald’s silken hair. Oisin musters the strength to lean back and look into Viktor’s face, panting with need. “I’ve been yours fer months.”

[niratias]

Yes. This is exactly what he needed. He could break this hold. They both know it. He could blow a hole straight through Oisin's chest. Could force him back, force him down, turn the balance of power with barely any effort.

He does not. Cool, imperious eyes remain fixed on Oisin's face, face tipped from the hold in his hair. He's come to like it longer. Now he knows he'll certainly be keeping it that way. There's flush on the parts of his face presently unchanged by the arcane. His lips are parted, that kiss leaving him craving more and not wanting to be shy about it.

He could do all of these things and take what he wants. Instead?

"I want you to give me more. I need you to understand what I need. I think you do." Someone who knows this language- not violence, not really, but the innate understanding that he wants to feel this and wants to be reminded he was, once, human. That he is, still, quite a small man, despite his larger than life powers and reputation.

He needs Oisin to be that partner, unafraid to take what he, too, desires, and still respect Viktor when it's all said and done. It would be so inelegant to say I need you to be my dominant, but it's what he means anyway.

[druchtphointe]

They couldn’t have imagined that they’d end up like this. Flushed, panting, unleashed. Viktor doesn’t have to ask. Since the day they felt his lips kiss their fingers, the pierce of submitting silver eyes have laid in wait for Oisín, alone in the dark.

Every night they’ve fantasised that Viktor could touch them through the arcane, through their mind, through their dreams. Straddling their hips, lips parting to beg, to moan. A leash wrapped around his fist and-

They answer the request without pause. “I know exactly what you need.” Spinning Viktor to mount the desk edge, both wrists caught tight behind his back in one hand. The shadowing curve of Oisìn’s body looms over the slender man. The other great hand resting, promising, at the Herald’s throat. Teeth cut at the opposite side, waiting to claim what they crave.

Pressed tight to his ass in aching tension. Barely able to keep from grinding desperately for more contact. Forbid, a moan from the darling of the aether. Their breath practically steaming over glittering skin. “I know you’d let me ruin you,” the words so low they’re felt more than heard “But just how much control is my Little God willin’ to lose?” There is a blessing being laid at his table and Oisin is not one to waste. He will feast til exhaustion demands he stop, but he needs to know what’s his to devour.

[pastart]

Hard Cider (2020)

[myfairylily]

Foxgloves | niki.at.the.cottage 

[druchtphointe]

@niratias continued from x

They could lean further. They could flatten their palms on the desktop. Threaten a strong hand. Tip their chin up and smirk down at him. It’s unnecessary. Proximity and an earnest question is enough, but so challenging to keep steady. The throb that radiates from his jaw to his thighs begs him to act. There’s no need for bravado. True hunger lifts far more.

That soft catch of breath. Oisín’s right arm flexes, nails biting his palm, against reaching to snatch Viktor by the fine column of his neck. Pin him against the cool metal and devour every inch of him. The force of the huff from the gardener; a trained dog holding back for reward. Their patience is fraught. They will be his. The command breaks the spell.

Oisin takes Viktor’s face in both hands, the kiss, starved. Enveloping the smaller man in his stance. The hard line of their body pressed seamlessly to Viktor’s. “Y’don’t know how long I’ve dreamt you sayin’ that.” No distance to speak, their lips slip through the confession. Powerful fingers tightly pulling back The Herald’s silken hair. Oisin musters the strength to lean back and look into Viktor’s face, panting with need. “I’ve been yours fer months.”

[druchtphointe]

What Are You The Patron Saint Of?

Oisín, Patron Saint Of Martyrs

the patron saint of those who died to be like you. maybe you died to be like them too: but at the end of it, you weren't like them. patron saint of tragedy. saint of saints. it's you who holds the hands of the holy dead, and you who has to answer: what do they do if they regretted it?