thoughts on nymph!lottie/nymph!yellowjackets?
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ââ NYMPH!LOTTIE MATTHEWS & HUNTER!READER
â summary: nymph!lottie x hunter!reader hcs.
â warnings: implied dark content - cannibalism & âspellsâ. blood/mild gore. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.
⊠nymph!lottie who has been watching you long before you ever saw her.
you think of yourself as the hunter, yet you have been the hunted for far longer than you realize: long before your eyes ever caught the carved symbols in her trees, before your feet wandered too deep into the forestâs grasp, she had already seen you: lottie has watched you move through her woods, a mortal with hands steady on the hilt of your blade, with eyes more attentive than sheâs ever seen. she watchedyou track the movements of deer and felt the tension in your muscles as you pulled back your bowstring on your hunts. the others, the men who come to her forest, do not leave. not as men, anyway. she turns them into stags, forces them to run, to feel the snap of their own houndsâ jaws at their heels. itâs only fair. itâs what the wilderness wants.
you are different, though, and lottie finds herself lingering in the shadows of the trees a little longer whenever you pass by.
⊠nymph!lottie who carves symbols into the trees just for you.
those who stumble too far into her domain and find her by accident are rarely granted a way back, however, for you specifically, she makes an exception. instead of hiding from you, lottie lures you to her pond with a subtle symbol carved into the bark with a fingernail. not a map, that would be too easy; it is a challenge, for the nymphâs entertainment. a hunter like you should recognize a trail when you see one.
as lottie expected, you do.
the first time you notice, it is etched into an old oak, half hidden under thick ivy: a triangle, with a circle resting atop its peak, a curved hook at its base, and a single line piercing through its heart. you run your fingers over the grooves, feeling the precision of the mark. you can tell it is not the work of a knife, but something thinner and sharper. inhuman. still, you follow.
⊠nymph!lottie who lets you find her pond.
the path extends longer than it should: the deeper you wander, the stranger the surrounding forest becomes. trees that seemed familiar shift into odd shapes, their branches reaching as if to keep you from turning back, and the sunlight darkens despite the absence of clouds. even time feels unsteady here: what was once an hour of walking could be moments or an eternity. just as doubt creeps in, the trees before you part for a clearing. rays of light filter through the canopy above, reflecting in colorful shimmers against the glasslike surface of the pond that sits at its center. and her.
the nymph stands in the shallows, bare and ethereal, water lapping at the curve of her waist. droplets cling to lottieâs bare skin like jewels, her hair slick against her shoulders, darkened by the water. she is more creature than woman, something not meant to be witnessed by mortals, and yet, you cannot look away as she emerges. suddenly, you understand why men have died for less.
⊠nymph!lottie who catches you watching her.
even though you donât mean to stare, you simply cannot help yourself. she is unlike anything you have ever seen, an impossible thing, beautiful and terrifying all at once. the stories warn of this, of men who wander too far & look upon things they were never meant to see. those men, you heard, were turned into prey, torn apart by their own beasts. your hounds are close, hiding away beyond the trees. they do not move, waiting for a signal you will not give.
lottie stands in the pond still, unmoving, water reaching just below her thighs, where nothing except for soft skin and coarse hair covers her. despite her nudity, she doesnât shy from your gaze or tries to conceal herself as any mortal woman might. why would she? this is her forest, her water.
âi was wondering when you would find me,â lottie murmurs without turning to fully face you.
⊠nymph!lottie who moves with the breeze, who might look like a woman, but isnât your kind.
one moment, she is across the pond, the next, she is beside you. you never see her move. there is no splash, no sound of footfalls against the damp earth. thereâs only the shiver that runs through you, as if your body understands something your mind has not yet grasped. bare feet sink into the mossy ground to your left and you feel the warmth of the nymphâs presence before you dare to look.
âcurious thing,â she purrs. youâre not even sure you see her lips move. her voice is a noise like the wind in the surrounding trees. it does not sound spoken so much as carried. âdo you always spy on creatures you do not understand?â
⊠nymph!lottie who decides to keep you.
you are not prey. what use youâll be, sheâs not sure yet. a guest? perhaps a pet? lottie only knows that you are not meant to leave. not now, maybe not ever. thereâs a reason why the forest has brought her such a precious, strong-minded human.
when you open your mouth to utter an apology she tilts her head, unimpressed (and still unfazed by her own nakedness). âlook at me,â lottie commands, amused. you obey, though your face burns and everything within you screams at you to avert your gaze.
âyou are not the first to find me,â she says, stepping forward. âalthough you are the first who has not run,â her touch is featherlight as her nails graze the pulse point beneath your jaw from behind. âyou are not afraid, are you?â
⊠nymph!lottie who lets you live, only because she knows you will return.
without warning, she closes the space between you, her fingers curling at the nape of your neck as she presses her mouth to yours. this kiss is not meant to be sweet or gentle. it is consuming, hardly even a kiss to begin with, more a claim.
lottie tastes like fresh spring water, cool and crisp, but beneath her superficial tenderness, thereâs something else, something sharp. a hint of fangs, perhaps, grazing your lip just before her tongue slips past, parting your lips.
for as long as her lips are on yours, you are no longer yourself. your mind bends beneath the nymphâs touch, your thoughts unraveling, each flickering behind your eyelids. lottie is shifting through you, turning your memories over in her hands, peeling back the layers of you as though she has all the time in the world. she sees your longing, your wants & your fears. she drinks in the way your body aches for her, even as you tremble in place.
then, just as quickly, lottie pulls back, a soft giggle escaping her. âgo,â she says, stepping back into the water, her arms spreading as she sinks into its depths. âyou will return. iâve seen itâ
⊠nymph!lottie who is right, because you do come back to her.
at first, you try to resist. you tell yourself it was a trick of the mind, a fever dream conjured by exhaustion. you even try to convince yourself you imagined the way she kissed you, the way it hollowed something out within you and left something else in its place.
and yet, you are not the same. there is a pull now, a string wrapped around your torso that tightens with each passing day away from lottie.
you dream of golden eyes watching you through the trees and water licking at bare skin. of lips that take without asking, hands that claim without shame. you wake breathless, aching and soaked, fingers clutching empty sheets for something that is not there.
it is not a choice when you return to the forests, surrendering to the urges sheâs planted in you. you follow the path without thinking. your feet know the way better than your mind does, as though you were always meant to walk it, even in your feverish trance. when you arrive, your nymph is waiting, lounging on a sandbank not far from the shore. âi was beginning to wonder when youâd stop fighting itâ lottie hums, stretching lazily.
⊠nymph!lottie who knows youâll come back time and time again.
she does not hold you captive, not in the way mortals might expect. there are no shackles or chains, no desperate pleas to keep you in the forest. lottie doesnât need them: she smiles whenever you say you must go, watching from the waterâs edge as you step back, hoping sheâll tell you to stay. she never does. âyouâll be back,â lottie only says, dragging her fingers across the surface as if already growing bored of your leaving. âyou always areâ
and itâs true: you constantly end up wandering off to her pond. you even sneak away at night to find her sprawled in the moss, drenched in moonlight, or wading through the shallows, unbothered by time or the chill in the air. sometimes, she watches you amused by your devotion, others, she barely acknowledges you at all, humming softly to herself as if you were always here, beside her and not an intruder.
⊠nymph!lottie who blesses your land and hunts in your abscence.
you donât notice at first. not until the third, fourth, fifth time your arrow finds its mark too easily and your traps are always full, like the forestâs animals walk willingly into their fate. there is no logical reason for it, no shift in the seasons or stroke of luck that could explain why everything in your life has suddenly bent in your favor. only your nymph could be responsible for it.
âdid you think i would let you starve?â lottie murmurs, lying in the dying light one evening, taking in the last rays of sunlight before it sets. when you donât immediately respond she sighs as if you are slow to understand, and pulls her arms overhead. âyou are mine now,â she explains, her gaze flickering to you. âi take care of what is mineâ
nymph!lottie who keeps her own darkness at bay.
it is easy to forget what she is when her bare skin warms against your own every time you lie together. when she braids flowers into your hair and climbs into your lap, straddling you, hands entwining with yours as if to say, see? i am just a girl too. how are you meant to be scared when, around lottie, you feel the bravest youâve ever been? what are some old tales compared to this? the whispered warnings of nymphs and their hunger, of men who disappeared into the woods never to return? what are they to the feeling of her mouth against your shoulder, to the way she laughs when you try to pull away, when she tightens her grip just to remind you that you will not?
you tell yourself it is only a feeling and that the tightness in your chest is not fear but simply longing. you tell yourself you imagined the other thing, too.
that one day, deep in the woods, you did not stumble upon her crouched over something raw and bloody, the wet sounds of her teeth tearing into flesh filling the air. that you did not see the thing in her hands, still slick, still pulsing weakly between her fingers as she raised it to her mouth. that you did not see her lips part in delight when she caught you watching, her chin dripping red.
you tell yourself you did not feel, for just a moment, like prey. because what is that memory compared to the nymphâs love and to being hers?
â nsfw content below. mdni.
