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spring’s blessing

synopsis. what starts as a curious night encounter quickly darkens into a sinister seduction. rafayel, an ambiguous being of pale beauty and a toxic, possessive longing, uses his charm, his nectar-laced touch, and his otherworldly powers over water to strip away his visitor's will. he is of the spring and so will you.

pairing. nymph! rafayel qi x mercenary! reader

content/mdni. fantasy/medieval era. non-canon. DUB-CON (coercion/aphrodisiac). fem!reader, mercenary!reader, strong!reader, nymph!rafayel, YANDERE!RAFAYEL, possessive!rafayel, pervert!rafayel, obsessed!rafayel, not-right-in-the-head!rafayel, aphrodisiac-like saliva, a lot of solo masturbation (m receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, tit stimulation, MONSTER-FUCKING (long tongue, webbed hands, ton of cum, big cock), pussy eating, tongue-fucking, teasing, dirty talk, praise, pet name (human, my female human), tummy bulging, water manipulation, kind of public sex (the nymphs might be watching!!), MATING PRESS, raw sex, creampie, a lot of cum, CHOKING, kissing, A TON OF PLOT (sorry i had fun).

word count. 7.4k

a/n. this idea bloomed thanks to @yuunileb and our nasty talks about supernatural beings. rafayel is kind of spoiled and doesn’t understand humans that well here. also, it’s not an accurate portrayal of nymphs, so don’t read too much into it! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the first thing rafayel knew was the water of the spring — a womb of liquid sunlight and silver bubbles, hugging him tightly and motherly. his small infant body formed from the very essence of the water. his skin, the pale hue of moonlit lilies, was brushed by the hum of the spring, carefully parting around him to reveal his birth.

he burst forth from the spring’s embrace one afternoon, in a high-pitched giggle.

“a new nymph!”

rafayel’s first memory was of his sisters’ hands — dozens of them — cradling his tiny form, their voices whispering like rushing water.

“ah, gods, is that–?”

“male? male.”

rafayel became the only male nymph the spring had ever produced, a curiosity in a world of females. despite his… uniqueness, he wasn’t shunned or marginalized.

the loving nymphs welcomed him with open arms.

his sisters swarmed him instantly, their hands soft and curious as they touched his blushy face, his chubby arms and legs, plucking him from the birthing waters of the spring and twirling him up in the air.

“he is so beautiful.” one whispered, her voice like the haste of rivers over stones. “his hair is like wild irises.” another chimed in, caressing his short strands of hair with admiration.

the nymphs raised him in a world of unrestrained adoration.

when he was just a toddler, stumbling on plump legs, his sisters would clap and cheer, their laughter like tinkling stream stones. they’d place wildflowers in his silken purple hair, kissing at his round cheeks with joy each time he took a step unattended.

“raffy, our cutie nymph!”

his sisters cherished him. they would sit him by the water’s edge, their laps full of flowers picked from the banks. the oldest nymph would take a wood-carved comb and gently untangle his long hair, her fingers gentle yet sure against his amethyst locks.

“you are special, rafayel.” she whisper-sung, her breath cool against his temple. “the spring has never made a male before.”

another sister would adorn his hair with a flower crown — he could wear it comfortably now that he was older — weaving white water lilies and blue bells into it. “you are our precious little brother.” she said, her eyes shining with love.

“the prince of the spring.”

as a child, he would actively participate in his sisters’ activities. rafayel’s slender fingers, tipped with a faint pearlescence, would move with a mesmerizing grace. he’d weave stems together, his touch causing the buds to unfurl obediently, their colours deepening.

“a crown for you, my dear sister.” he would sing-song, his voice the sound of water slipping over smooth pebbles, still soft and delicate. he’d place a circlet of dove-grey hellebores upon one head.

“and for you too, tara.” this one of violets so deep they were nearly black.

he saved the most vibrant for last, crowning his own twilight hair with a riot of primrose and celandine, mirroring the sun he truly loved and adored.

in his adolescence, the spring was his canvas.

with a laugh that rippled the surface, he’d splash at his sisters, the droplets hanging in the air like scattered diamonds before falling. he would press his palm flat against the water and draw it upwards in a shimmering, impossible arc, a liquid sculpture that held its shape for a breathless moment before collapsing with a sigh.

he’d trace spirals and lazy, intertwining patterns on the surface, symbols that glowed with a faint bioluminescence before fading, as if the water itself was fainting at his command.

life itself came to him.

ducklings, a fuzzy, cheeping convoy, would paddle fearlessly between his legs, quacking at him to join the waters. he’d submerge himself until only his strange pink eyes were visible, watching them round around the spring with their tiny, webbed feet, following behind in low strides.

swans, those haughty monarchs, would bend their necks for him to stroke. sometimes he’d even challenge them, disturbing their peace with one of his games. he’d surge from the water, scattering light, and race them across the water-meadow, his feet leaving no imprint on the tender grass, his laughter mingling with their harsh, musical cries.

he was faster, a streak of lilac and pearl blooming in his wake, but he always let them believe they could win.

just so they would return to play with him.

•••

as he grew, so did his beauty. his hair fell like a waterfall of mauve down to his torso, shimmering in the dappled sunlight. his eyes, the color of blushing roses, contrasted strangely against his now piercing masculine features.

as he grew, so did his manly body.

he had no longer a soft and squishy flesh, like his sisters, but a hardness and sharpness unfit for the gentleness of the spring. his height tripled, his shoulders broaden; his chest and hips never widened, but something else beneath his loins disrupted the order.

he loved his sisters and the spring, the welcoming flowers and the occasional animal companions stumbling into their part of the forest.

but sometimes, in the quiet of evening, loneliness crept in like mist.

why did the spring birth a male nymph like himself?

why did his reflection look less and less like his sisters’ as the seasons passed?

why did he feel… unfit for the world he adored?

the water did not answer. it only held him, shimmering, silent.

•••

his body began to change drastically at around the same time the first blood-blossoms of a cherry tree burst from its bark. rafayel, now what the forest would have called an adult, felt a strange tightness in his lower belly, a throbbing heaviness beneath the leaves and water lilies that covered his hips.

he had worn them since birth, as all nymphs did — not as clothing, but as a part of themselves, a living crown of foliage that wrapped around his body on its own accord.

one afternoon, while basking on a sun-warmed rock at the spring’s edge, he ran his hands over his stomach and pressed.

“a-ah.”

the tightness in his tummy was worse: it felt like a knot of rope, hard and hot. he pushed the leaves around his crotch aside, curious about his uneasiness.

beneath, his body had transformed. where there had been only soft, flaccid flesh before, now there was a rigid, swollen length of pale flesh, stiff and unyielding. it was heavy. it was wet at the tip, a gleaming pearl of slick moisture beading there and drooping along the underside veins.

he touched it, and a jolt — electric, painful and pleasurable — shot through him. he jerked his hand away, breath hitching.

“what is this?” he whispered to the empty air.

he touched it again, more lightly this time, and the jolt returned, a warm feeling spreading up his spine. he decided to stroke it, up and down, up and down, trying to get out the strange sticky substance.

perhaps he has been poisoned.

but the warmth in his belly intensified. his thighs, too, tensed the more his hand moved on it, jutting the shaft up into his fist with vigour.

“oh-ooh–”

he felt his heart beating in his ears, as more and more creamy liquid seeped out of his mushroomy tip. the painful pull in his groin became a pressure, a craving he had no name for.

he needed to investigate further.

•••

that night, he slipped away from his slumbering sisters, drifting to a hidden nook of the spring, shielded by willow trees. the moon was a sliver of pearl overhead, mirroring the beads of precum still pumping out of his slit.

as he sat in the shallows, water lapping at his thighs, he took his swollen, throbbing flesh in his hand once more.

“ah…”

he tugged, tentative at first. then harder. the pleasure-pain flared, and his breath hitched.

he pumped his hand, fisting the hard, aching length in a rhythm he instinctively craved. his whole body bunched tight, muscles flexing. the tightness in his groin built to a peak, a torrent of heat and need. he felt on the brink of something — some release — so he kept fisting, harder, faster, until his knuckles ached and the skin of his cock turned raw.

he panted, eyes squeezed shut, as ropes of that sticky substance finally splashed away into the rushing waters.

“w-why?” he groaned, letting go abruptly, his softening member dropping heavily against his thigh. “what is wrong with me?”

his question was to receive an answer sooner than he’d have expected.

•••

it was his sister tara, the one who twisted lily crowns for his hair. she was taken by a man — a human hunter who stumbled upon the spring one rainy twilight.

“she has been… enchanted.” his oldest sister said, her voice careful as she recounted the incident. “the man loved her beauty, so she has gone with him.”

“enchanted?” rafayel asked, the word strange on his tongue.

humans possessed such magical abilities?

“a tie that binds. a wanting that is not adoration, but… lust.” her eyes filled with sadness and shame, as if the topic itself make something inside her twist in pain; she knew she’d never see tara again. that’s how it usually goes.

“he wants her to be his alone.”

a hole tore itself open in rafayel’s chest at his sister’s sorrow, understanding the heaviness of the situation as she hugged her own stomach unconsciously. that enchantment she was speaking of must have a connection with the weird coil his own body was fostering in his belly.

poor sister tara.

but beneath the grief, something else sprouted inside rafayel — a hunger, thick and hot.

that night, in his hidden spot, his hand on his cock, he didn’t jerk off to relieve the pain. he pumped his fist, his eyes closed, and imagined.

he imagined a human woman. he had never seen one, but his mind built her after the few men he’s observed, focusing on the soft, warm flesh. you would stumble into his spring, your skin pearled with sweat and sunlight, seeking fresh water for your journey.

then you would see him and not look away.

you too would be enchanted.

he pictured your blown-out eyes gazing at him, hand reaching out, touching his hair, his face. “take me!” you would plea so beautifully, your human voice contrasting with the sound of the spring.

“you are mine.” he whispered back to the fantasy, his hand flying along his dripping length with hurried moves as he pictured himself dragging you down into the waters. “you came here for me.”

the pleasure that night was intense, primal. he groaned, his head thrown back against the willow’s trunk as he thought of you more. he imagined you arched beneath him, his body between your thighs, your heartbeat matching his.

rafayel imagined you begging him to release the ache in your own tummy. he imagined filling you, overflowing you, marking you with his seed.

“inside.” he hissed, hips jerking into his fist faster, biting his lips at the delicious image in his head. “inside you.”

his release burst in a white, hot stream that spattered on his stomach and the surface of the humming water.

once more, his cum was wasted.

but now, with an actual goal in mind… that was to change.

•••

after that epiphany, his whispers to the spring were no longer for flowers or playful ducks. he passed the meadow where his sisters would sit, and he would ask the sunlit water about you.

“when? when will she come?”

he watched the tree line, where the world of the spring met the mortal pathway.

he saw more and more humans — always men. soldiers in battered mail, their boots heavy with mud. hunters with bows, their eyes hard and scanning the trees for game. merchants, their voices gruff and filled with practicality. they traveled in groups, singly, or in pairs.

but never, not once, did he see a woman.

“why?” he asked his sister one evening, his voice thin with a longing he laid bare. “i see them. the men. but the women — they do not come.”

was his wish just–

“are there no human women?”

fingers paused in his hair, where his sister was weaving sprigs of crocus.

“there are.” she said, her tone gentle but unyielding. “but they do not travel the land like men, rafayel. their fate is different. they are kept, in their homes, in their villages. the world outside is for male feet.”

he recoiled at that, eyes full of bewilderment. “kept? like caged birds?”

“they call it protection.” she sighed, her eyes gloomy with disdain. “it is their way.”

the words should have cured him of this nonsensical desire. but instead, they fed the hunger bubbling deep down. if human women were so closely guarded, so rarely seen… then any woman who did stray near his spring would be more than rare.

you would be unique. just like him. the spring’s special offering.

he grew more... persistent. his jerk-off sessions, always in that same hidden spot, became rituals. he would close his eyes, take his aching cock in hand, and pray to the spring.

let her be lost.

let her fall in.

let her come to me.

his hand moved faster and faster, his release rippling through him like a peak of thunder. he spilled his cum into the spring every night, watching it spread like a perfect, ephemeral lily.

“come to me.” he breathed, his fantasy a painting bright in his mind. “stay with me. be enchanted by me. forever. be mine, and mine alone.”

the spring offered no answer, as usual. but the water seemed to hold his seed, to swallow it into its depths as if making a promise. rafayel smiled at that, his heart pounding with excitement — the spring did miracles like himself, so it will not ignore his pleas for a woman.

he would wait. he had all the time in the world. and when you do finally come, he would never let you go.

“come, my stunning human.”

his sisters would never understand. but you would. you would be his first, his only, his true treasure.

and the spring, and rafayel, would keep you for eternity.

•••

a few nights passed and something finally happened.

“go clean yourself!”

when the men’s voices carried over the hills, spiky with laughter and the smell of campfire, all the nymphs but one fled. they burst into a storm of echoing splashes and flashes of pale body, dissolving into the springs and trees, leaving no trace behind.

afraid to follow tara’s footsteps.

only rafayel remained embodied. he sank deeper into the spring, his purple hair floating above him like a weed beneath the surface, his pink eyes peering through the rippling curtain of water.

“go, the nymphs won’t mind a woman.”

woman?

rafayel first heard your footsteps as you approached, sensed your fatigue, your tension, the coppery tang of blood still drying on your skin.

and then you stripped right at the edge of the spring.

your loose shirt, bespoke with the smell of sweat and dust, slipped off your shoulders. your dagger, placed on a nearby rock. your hands — strong, scarred, yet undeniably feminine — moved to undo the bonds of your trousers, to let them fall to the damp moss. then your underthings, flimsy and functional, followed.

woman.

he watched, his eyes unblinking. he saw your bare back, the curve of your spine, the shadowy nipples and the soft curve of your breasts as you turned, scanning the tree line. he saw your legs, strong and cut with human muscles, and a new scar crackled across your thigh, a fresh red line of violence.

his woman.

your body was not like his sisters’. it was not a dream of pale silk and woven flowers. it was real. real and warm, flesh and sweat, dust and blood. your skin bore the stories of a life lived on the road — wind-chapped knuckles, a bruise blooming like a rose on your ribcage.

you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

he sank lower still as you stepped into the spring, water lapping at your ankles, then your calves, then your knees. you gasped, a sharp, brief sound that was picked up by his pointy ears.

the water was cold, and it made your nipples perk and your skin prickle with bumps.

so beautiful.

“oh, so relaxing.”

you sighed, letting the chill wash over you, and slunk deeper, until the water cleansed the dried blood from your ribcage, leaving it clean and smooth in the moonlight.

your arms moved over your skin, scrubbing away the dirt and grime of a week on the road. your eyes closed, a pleasured smile touching your lips as the water’s coolness began to soothe your aches. then you washed your hair, tilting your head back, your throat bare, your breasts breaking the surface of the spring.

offering him the image of a goddess.

so fucking beautiful.

rafayel watched, and his cock, hidden beneath the foliage at his loins, stirred. it swelled, hardened, became heavy and aching in the cold water. the tightness in his stomach returned; that hot, throbbing need called for you.

you were here.

you were real.

and he would have you.

he swayed in the water, his hair floating like a mantle of living vines. he began to move forth, sliding soundlessly through the deeper channels, gliding toward you. the water parted the flora for him, its undulation responding to his will.

his pinkish eyes were fixated on your captivating form.

you were standing waist-deep in the spring, your arms stretched towards your back, scrubbing at a stubborn spot, when a shiver ran down your spine. you stilled, your sharp eyes opening to scan your surroundings.

you stared at the water around you, then down, into the darkness.

you saw nothing but your own reflection, the sky above, the dark bottom.

“hello?” your voice came out soft, uncertain, testing for danger.

it was probably a curious nymph, nothing too alarming… yet you turned, slowly, your hands raising to your sides, prepared to equip your dagger. it was probably a curious nymph, but you didn’t know their intentions towards you.

he ruptured through the surface a few feet away, his hair pouring down his back like a waterfall of purple and silver. the moonlight glinted off his skin, off the foliage around his hips, off the slender plane of his chest.

you stumbled back at his appearance, sloshing the water, your dagger clumsily slipping from the rock straight into the waters. your eyes wide, your mouth opening to let out a breathy curse.

“fuck.”

there goes your protection.

you were bracing for impact, hands drawn to your chest, fighting stance ready. but then you saw his hair, his face — a strange, exquisite beauty, soft and yet sharp.

oh, what a fascinating nymph.

…you thought he was a woman. so your fear melted slowly, replaced by innocent interest, even a touch of awe. you’ve never encountered nymphs, especially not this up close.

“so mesmerizing.”

he smiled at your compliment, a small, gentle quirk of his rosy lips. he tilted his head, showing you the expanse of his neck, the fine bones of his collarbones. making himself look harmless and naïve by showing you his vital points.

he floated closer, the water moving with him, swirling in lazy, hypnotic circles.

“hello…” he said, his voice the melodious sound of a stream cascading over smooth stones. it was a sound that captivated, that soothed, that wrapped around your mind.

it did wrap around yours.

you did not run, you did not fight. you stayed, your heart beating fast with uneasiness, but your body deciding to trust. your hands dropped without a second thought, letting your arms hang at your sides, combat long forgotten.

“who… who are you?”

he was close now, so close you could see the fine droplets of water on his eyelashes, the pale pink of his lips. the way sharper teeth poked from beneath.

he reached out, his webbed hand trembling slightly.

not in fear, but in excitement.

he touched your cheek, his webbed fingertips as cool as the spring water, yet underneath them you felt a hidden heat. you shuddered, not because of the cold, but from something else. your skin prickled, your nipples tightening again. even your breath hitched at the contact of his soft skin with your warm face.

why was your body reacting like that?

“i am rafayel.” he cooed, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “i am of the spring. and you are mine.”

your eyes widened at the last part, the threat-like affirmation making your pulse spike. you tried to step back, but the water beneath you suddenly felt thick, like molasses. it held you in place, sweetly, cruelly.

“w-what?” your voice was but a gasp, trembling as you tried to free yourself from the clutches of the spring.

nuh huh, he won’t allow that.

he moved closer, his body gliding against yours underwater. the proximity made you suddenly hyperaware of this strange nymph… he was taller than you, his shoulders broader. you felt his chest against your nipples, noting the contrast of his flat, sturdy muscles against your soft, swelling flesh.

your nipples rubbed against him, and a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you.

wait, flat? could she– he…?

rafayel smirked, his mischievous pink eyes gleaming in the moonlight. he slid his hand down your arm, then up again, over your shoulder, to the nape of your neck. he tilted your head back, exposing your throat.

“do not be afraid.” he murmured, his breath a cool mist against your pulse point. “i will not hurt you. i have been waiting for you.”

“waiting?” your voice came out as a whisper, terror washing your expression with every word of his. “how?”

“the spring knows.” he said, his lips brushing your jaw now. “the spring wanted you here. with me.”

and with that, he kissed you.

it was not a gentle, tentative kiss. it was deep, possessive, wet with the taste of the waters and something sweeter. your mouth opened under his ministration, and he took advantage, his long tongue exploring you, tasting you.

feeding you his saccharin saliva and making you dizzy with want.

you felt yourself melting into the kiss, your knees growing weak against his rigid body as your tongue was wrapped in his longer wet muscle.

as more of his saliva was pushed down your throat.

mine, mine, mine.

your hands raised from your sides at last, but not to push him away, but to grasp his neck, your fingers digging into his bare skin and pulling him in.

“you’re mine.”

rafayel moaned against your nectar-coated lips, the sound low and rough. that fragile voice from before was replaced by a deeper tune, reverberating masculine and powerful. he pulled back just a smidge, his eyes half-lidded, studying your enchanted state. you were slowly but surely losing yourself, succumbing to pleasure and his otherworldly charm.

“…mine?”

you repeated, the word feeble and distant in your own ears. your mind was beginning to fog, the edges of reason blurring like a stream’s bank under rising water. his voice filled that space, sweet and irresistible — drawing you in and drowning you.

“you came to my waters.” he tutted, his mouth inches from your ear. “you stripped for me. you are mine now.”

he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his body. the allure in his voice became a physical thing, a heaviness in your limbs, a surrender in your soul. you didn’t resist as his other hand came up to cup your right breast.

“ahh.” your sharp intake of breath fanned across his own exposed skin, making it flush with arousal.

“just like that.”

he hummed, a low, vibrating sound that made your skin break out in another wave of bumpy awareness. his thumb swirled over your nipple, rolling the taut, hardened bud between his fingertips.

a jarring, familiar pleasure shot directly to your core, forcing that well-known coil of arousal to tighten just a bit.

“so sensitive.” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to watch his own touch. “so real. your heart is pounding like a flock of frightened birds.”

he dipped his head, and his mouth swiftly replaced his thumb. the wet, hot swirl of his monstruous tongue over your nipple made you cry out, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the silent grove. your hands, of their own accord, ran into his wet hair, the mauve strands coiling around your fingers.

“r-raf–”

he sucked, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, the scratch of his pointy teeth pinching at your skin and making you arch beautifully into him. your knees weakened with every tug of his lips on your chest, legs turning to putty beneath the spring.

the water suddenly moved, a slick current wrapping around your legs, holding you up when your own strength failed.

“that’s it.” he cooed, his mouth leaving your nipple with a soft pop, choosing to lay wet, open-mouthed kisses along your sternum. “let me support you. let me take care of you.”

his hand left your waist and dipped below the spring’s surface. the water beneath his palm calmed down, creating a perfect, clear medium that allowed you to see his webbed hand sliding flat across your lower belly.

“a-ahh.” you gasped, your abdomen clenching already in anticipation.

he hushed you with a shushing sound, then spread his palm, pressing down against your heated skin — right where he himself felt that knotty desire bubble.

“hush… you are so tense, my human. so filled with violence and vigil.” his hand slid down further, the water again obeying him, creating no waves or crease in his wake.

his fingertips skimmed the soft, puffy lips of your cunt, tracing from your swollen clit down to your gaping hole. you shook as if struck by lightning, the feeling of his touch too intense beneath the waters.

you wished to say something, but another sharp gasp emerged, this one cut short as he pressed two fingers inside you.

“so warm…” he breathed, his pupils dilating with something hungry and primal as the digits got swallowed so easily by your ravenous pussy. knuckles deep, he curled his fingers, the pads rubbing against a spot that sent another jolt of delirious fire through you. “and so tight.”

“f-fuckk…” your head rolled back at his intrusion, your mouth open in a silent scream.

the hum of the spring became louder, a roar in your ears that wasn’t just sound but sensation. your pulse thundered everywhere, singing together with the waters.

singing together with rafayel.

“look at me.” he commanded, his voice losing its sing-song quality for a moment. it was darker, deeper, imposing. your eyes snapped to his, glazed over with that honey-like colour of his nectar. and he smiled, a blessed, innocent twist of his lips that denied the predatory desire in his gaze.

“good, keep it like that.”

he stilled his hand abruptly, and then withdrew his fingers completely from your pussy. with a gentle pull, he dragged you closer, until your soft belly flushed against his own. you felt it then — the hard, hot length of his cock, partially hidden by the foliage, pressing steadily against your navel.

“you’re… a male nymph…” you whispered through the haze, the shocking statement slipping out more like a fact. you might have tried to flee the spring had you know from the start such a creature haunted it, but now it was too late.

your eyes, which should’ve been filled with terror, were chambers to carnal lust.

“i am.” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “i am the only one. just as you are the only one.” he nudged the tip of his cock against you, pushing against your belly button, the beady precum staining your skin. “we are special.”

“mhm...”

“and i will have you.” he said, not a promise, but a fact. “in my waters. on my land.”

he dropped under the water without further notice, a smooth disappearance that left you panting for more of his touch. you stood alone in the spring for what felt like ages; the curse fully upon you, your body trembling with want you never allowed yourself before.

then, fingertips — cool, wet, slightly rough — spread you apart.

“wha–” you started, looking down at your parted thighs. he was kneeling in the water, his long hair spread around him like a shimmering mantle. his pink eyes looked up at you, unwavering in their focus.

and, with a cheeky smirk, his mouth closed the gap with your cunt.

his long tongue first laid over your swollen clit, lazily, like he was tasting a rare fruit. your hands flew back to his hair, tangling themselves at the roots, holding on to keep him between your thighs.

“oh god.” you whimpered, the words strangled, mixing with the cascading water.

he hummed against your bundle of nerves, the vibration against your flesh driving you insane. then he prodded deeper, the tip of his tongue sliding inside you. you bucked, your thighs quivering shut, but the water wrapped around them — a slippery restraint that kept you open.

he kissed, licked, and sucked, building the pressure inside you with ruthless efficiency, as he was thrusting his tongue inside your gummy walls.

he was taking you apart, piece by piece, with his mouth alone.

your vision spotted. your breathing turned to ragged sobs. the tightness in your lower stomach stretched, coiled, wound too tight; your fingers mirrored it all, tugging at his hair harshly, pushing his mouth deeper into you.

and then…

“ra-af, noo–”

he pulled away.

you cried out in protest, a cruel, whimpering noise that sounded like music to his ears. he shook his head lightly, water spraying, and began to rise from beneath the spring. but he didn’t leave you hanging for long.

instead, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted your body from the spring. the water helped him, pushing you up and forward, laying you down nicely for him. you were now out of the pool, sprawled on your back on the cool, damp grass bank.

the moonlight filled your vision.

“better.” he murmured, his body now towering over you, pinning your thighs apart with his strong arms. “i can feel you better now. all of you.”

he lowered his mouth back to your cunt, and this time, there was no water barrier. he sank his tongue inside you with a teasing thrust, pushing as much of his monstruous muscle in, then moved back to sucking hard on your clit. flicking his tongue, laying it flat, rolling it into strange patters only known to him.

his fingers returned his ministration against your tight walls, now scissoring your weeping hole and making your arousal drip down your thighs and onto the meadow.

“ah-aa-hh.”

it was too much.

the pleasure, foreign and brutal, pounded through you, like a horse galloping relentlessly on a beaten path. you began to toss your head, the grass and flowers crushing beneath your pleasure and pain.

“st-stop… please…”

he didn’t.

he sped up, the movements of his mouth and hands losing all pretense of rhythm, becoming a raw, predatory feast. your hands grabbed the plants from the earth, uprooting them in your violent climax. your legs, pathetically dangling from rafayel’s shoulder, dug into his body, clamping around his head and burying him deeper into your cunt.

“i’m gonna–” you sobbed, the warning unheard by the nymph.

he only grunted, the sound vibrating against your sickly convulsing flesh, as he replaced his mouth with his thumb. pressing down on your clit as he’d rather bit down, just softly, on your inner thigh.

“ff-uuck.”

that was it.

the coil snapped.

the orgasm ripped through you, stopping your heart and your breath in the same instant. you stared up at the moon, mouth agape, no sound escaping. it was relentless, a tornado of sensation that stripped you of every thought, every memory, every time you had ever been anything but a bundle of nerves being milked by a nymph.

he waited, his mouth nuzzling into your pussy, slowly lapping at the spasms that wrenched you. he only pulled back when you slumped, when the fire had consumed your fuel.

when tears, damp and hot, tracked down your temples, mixing with the spring and the sweat. your sobs began in earnest, wrenching, shaky things that come only after an unbearable pain.

he waited until they subsided into a still, drained silence. then he crawled up next to your body, like a light being raised from beneath the water, and gathered you into his arms. he held you, his face nestled in the wet spot where your neck met your shoulder.

trying to prepare you with sweet words for what was about to come.

“shh.” he said, his voice pure and sweet again. “we’re almost done, my human. you’re almost mine.”

the calm did not last.

the nectar in his spit, that potent aphrodisiac, began to fade from your veins like a receding tide. the haze of pleasure and compulsion lifted, revealing the raw, horrified clarity beneath. you lay in his arms on the damp grass, and your body began to tremble.

not with afterglow, but with a primal, rising dread.

he felt it. he felt your heart begin to race with a different rhythm — fear, not desire. he stirred, his chin lifting from your shoulder. his pink eyes, a moment ago soft and lidded, sharpened.

“ugh–”

you made your move.

a jerking, desperate twist of your hips, and you rolled away from him. the cool moss slammed against your back. you crawled. your legs, jelly-like and trembling, dragged underneath you. the memory of your dagger, lost in the pool, was a phantom pain in your palm.

“h-he–” your voice was a ruined thing, rasped from screams. only one word escaped it. “–lp!”

you got to your knees, your nakedness exposed under the moon. the camp. you needed to get to the camp. to your peers. to your fellow mercenaries, their blades and practical decencies.

“he–”

you stumbled forward, chaotic, one hand grasping at the air as if for a weapon.

behind you, there was no sound.

then, a low, inhuman sigh. it wasn’t anger. it was immense and scalpel-sharp disappointment.

“you are leaving?”

his voice was a cloud of mist from the spring, chill and dense. the charm was gone from it. it was pure, leftover power. you froze, but only for a second. you didn’t look back. you began to crawl faster, your bare feet slapping against the cold earth. the tree line, the campfire coals — it was only a few yards.

“you are leaving me.”

this time, the words were closer. right behind you. a rush of air, and then a hand — cool, wet, iron-strong — clamped around your ankle.

you screamed. a short, guttural sound of pure panic. you kicked back, your heel connecting with his mythical flesh.

…it felt like kicking a boulder.

he didn’t let go. he yanked. the ground felt away from your knees, and you fell, your chin plowing a short channel in the mud, your jaw locking forcefully. and before you could gather another breath, he was on you.

his weight pinned you, his body long and lithe but immovably heavy. his hands — one wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head — felt like water-smoothed rock.

the other hand went to your throat.

not to strangle. not yet.

“you would run from me?” he hissed, his face inches from yours, long hair falling around you like curtains. the exquisite, androgynous beauty was gone, erased by a snarl that bared his teeth. a bit too long, a bit too sharp. “you would leave the only thing in this forest that cares for you?”

“get off!” you spat, trying to buck, to knee him. the grass and moss were slippery with dew and your previous sweat. “you’re a monster! you touched me! you–”

he clamped his hand harder on your throat, not cutting off your air. but… silencing you. his thumb pressed into the dipping hollow at the base of your throat, making your eyes bulge.

“i cared for you.” he bit back, his breath fanning the tip of your nose. “i cleansed your wounds. i gave you pleasure you could never fantasize. i welcomed you.”

“you–”

he brought his mouth down suddenly, forcefully. it wasn’t a kiss. it was a seal. an act of ownership so violent it tilted towards punishment.

his lips were cold and unyielding as he forced them against yours, prizing your jaw open with his own. you resisted, clenching your teeth, shaking your head. he growled, a deep, dark sound that made your gut clench, and then bit down on your lower lip.

“ah!”

the pain was sharp, a perforation of coppery blood flooding your mouth. you gasped, and he took advantage of it.

his tongue shoved inside, not teasing, not tasting, but conquering. it was larger than a human tongue, slightly rough as it passed your teeth and scraped the roof of your mouth. he spat within you, a flood of that same sweet, spiced nectar. it was hot this time, burning a little as it sluiced down your throat.

you coughed, choking, but he swallowed it for you, his throat moving against yours, forcing you to process the liquid.

the effect was near instantaneous: a drunken, heavy warmth spread from your stomach outwards. your limbs, tense with panic, began to go limp in his hands. your jaw slackened, allowing him deeper access down your throat.

and oh, he knew. he relished this new state of yours.

he drank your surrender from your mouth with vigour.

when he finally pulled back to admire you, a silver string of his nectar and your saliva connected your lips for a moment before breaking. your eyes were glazed, your breathing hitched and shallow, barely registering the man straddling you.

“there.” he whispered, his rage cooling into a scary, triumphant calm.

he released your wrists, but your arms didn’t move. they lay back in the grass as he had placed them, obeying his will. he trailed his fingertips down your arm, across your collarbone, over your marked breasts.

your nipple peaked under his touch, not with chill nor pleasure, but with a drugged, involuntary arousal. he leaned down and lavished a hot, wet kiss on the tip, earning a whine from your docile lips.

“so pliant again.” he murmured. “so perfect for me.”

he adjusted his position, his knees pressing your thighs further apart. you felt his erection — heavy, throbbing, the tip brushing against your clit. then down to the entrance of your sopping, trembling cunt.

the foliage that was previously there dispersed completely, choosing to tangle along his torso and legs.

“i would fuck you right here.” he breathed, his voice rich with possessive lust and restlessness. “in the grass. where any of the forest could see. and i would. but…”

he looked down at you, at your half-lidded eyes, the tears tracking through the dirt on your cheeks and chin. “you might make a sound. your peers… they might come.”

he frowned, a childish, sulky dip on his brow. “i don’t want to share.”

with that, he shifted. he kept his weight on you, but pushed away with his arms. he propped himself between your thighs, his cock pressed against your sticky folds.

using one hand to guide himself, while freeing the other to clamp over your mouth.

“don’t.” he ordered, his eyes narrowing. “not a sound.”

then he pushed in.

there was no further preparation, no care for your tenderness. the nectar had relaxed you, made you slippery, but the sheer size of his inhuman cock made you choke — it was like being rammed open by a tree root.

you arched your back, a silent scream slashing your soul. your nails scraped at the earth, digging tiny graves in the soil.

he sank in one swift motion, up to the hilt, then paused. his eyes were closed, his breathing uneven. he was savoring the feel of you, the tight, hot clench of your warm human body around his.

finally…

“mine.” he breathed, and then began to move.

his thrusts were not the graceful glides of a lover. they were possessive ruts, deep and measured, each one aimed to mark you from the inside. he used his whole body, leveraging his weight to drive himself as deep as possible.

the sound was a wet, slapping cadence that tore through the night.

“see?” he hissed, leaning down to nip at your ear. “see how we fit? you were made for me.”

you couldn’t answer — from pain and pleasure. your eyes rolled back, washed over by tears, fixed on the branches above. the world tilted more and more towards an otherworldly reality.

“f-fuck.”

he grabbed your twitching legs, his hands slippery against your skin, and hoisted them up. he folded you as he pleased, pushing your knees up towards your chest. your ass lifted from the grass, and this angle — deep, made for breeding — made his penetration feel even more profound, more punishing.

he lost his rhythm completely, his thrusts becoming a series of brutal, tumbling drives as your hungry pussy devoured every inch of his cock.

“you’re mine.” he growled with each push, a mantra of irrational possessiveness spoken into your flesh. “mine. mine. forever. i will keep you here. in my spring. in my embrace. you will never leave.”

his pace became punishingly fast, a piston-drive of carnal lust. the pleasure, relentless and bred from pain, began to coil again inside you, thumping into your lower tummy. your body, soaked in his nectar-like saliva, started to clench around him harsher, drawing him deeper.

milking him of everything he got.

he moaned, a high, sorrowful sound. “i’m close… i’m… no, not yet…”

but his body overruled him. he drove into you one last, teeth-clattering thrust, his chest collapsing against your folded legs.

spilling inside you.

it wasn’t a climax as mortals knew it. it was an overflow. a river of him, hot and copious, flooding your insides. it kept coming and coming, each pulse laying another claim on your hot mortal flesh. you felt it filling you, washing against your cervix, pressure building inside your abdomen.

“ah-ah…”

when he finally stilled, his body heavy and limp on yours, your lower belly was swollen, bloated outwards in a soft, impossible way. he slid a hand down between your bodies, parting your pliant legs, and pressed a palm down on your stomach.

you moaned, a low, guttural sound of satiation. of fullness.

“yes.” he whispered, rubbing his webbed hand over the slight bulge. “yes. imprinted. filled with me.”

he slowly, carefully withdrew from you, and the only thing keeping his cum from cascading out of you was the plump, heavy weight of it in your belly.

he lay next to you, propped on an elbow, and watched you.

he watched as his cum leaked out of your ravaged hole, a pale, pearlescent stream on the grass. he watched as the plants of the forest, drawn by his own essence, began to grow. tendrils of ivy, fragrant jasmine, and delicate, creeping black roses sprouted from the earth beneath your body. they coiled around your limbs, fine vines wrapping your ankles, blossoms blooming in the hollow of your collarbone.

they too were marking you, blending you with the forest, making you part of his territory.

“you see?” he said, his voice soft and enchanting once more. he plucked a blossom of moonflower and twirled it between his fingers. “the forest already claims you. in one week, you will forget them. in a month, you will forget there is anywhere else. your world will be this grove. your skin will smell of my moss, your hair of my rain. your womb…”

he trailed his hand down to your belly again. “your womb will always keep a trace of me.”

he leaned down and kissed your bloodied lips, tongue prodding at your heavy-lidded eyes to gather the salty tears of your demise. it was gentle, almost apologetic — at least on the surface.

“sleep now, my mortal love.” he murmured. “your life has yet to start.”

he gathered you in his arms, cradling you like a precious trinket, and he disappeared with you into the darkened shadows of the grove. the only sign that remained of the encounter was a patch of crushed, blooming grass, the pearlescent pool of his essence seeping into the soil.

oh, and the distant, growing light of a mercenary campfire — a light that would never guide you home again.

tags: @yuunileb

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