Had dark thoughts of a driven to the brink, Yandere naga!Jamil Viper.
Mainly, the image that stuck is him forcing his partner down, be that on the bed or the floor.
He has one hand holding your arms above your head, and the other on your throat. Sharp nails digging into your thin skin like hot knives carrying his poisonous rage.
His weight and viper tail has coiled around your legs, and the constriction is growing far more painful than he'd ever held you before. It's bordering on bruising- and an incoming, crippling injury.
He looms above you, serpent-slitted eyes narrowed viciously on your suffering. To him, it's miniscule compared to the ache in his chest.
Jamil's tongue slips out to trace a wet swipe over the unhealed bite on the right side of your neck, a reminder of what you were supposed to be.
A mate.
His mate. His partner. His alone.
But now you smelled like another male, of Kalim. He knows this is a rival he cannot kill as he wishes to, so instead, he will punish you; his unfaithful little diamond.
It doesn't matter if it was your fault or not.
If you can't run, can't move, this won't happen again.
You'll belong to him, as you should, for when you agreed to let him coil you; you'd accepted a lifelong bond with him, no matter it's cost.
Since he was confident controlling his own flames with you now, your pleading for wax play was a simple matter for him to indulge.
It's never a chore if it's for you, he thinks, as he tips the candle to the side.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Each time a dollop falls, you gasp or twitch from the molten tease, and he's saving every second of it to his internal ssd memory. He never wants to forget a single thing you let him do to you.
And when the small candle is at its end, the wax cooled and solidifying over your flesh, he can't hide his gleeful, hungry grin. Casting aside what's left of the candle, Idia is almost too eager to finally scrape the wax off. Or maybe, he could reheat it with a touch, and massage it over every inch of you.
He could cum from the desirous thought alone.
When you catch his eye in the dim blue light of the room, and give him that little encouraging nod, he's immediately pushing closer. Trembling, eager fingers push your thighs apart, giving himself a place to rest as he gets back to work.
Idia groans when you arch up into his touch, his sharp teeth dragging over his bottom lip in a pitiful attempt to keep silent. To keep sane. To not disappoint you and spill himself too early.
But you never make it easy. Even as his hands quest over the expanse of your dips and curves, you tease him, even if you aren't aware of it. With your fluttering breaths that make the rise and fall of your chest as beautiful as a fragile butterfly's wingbeat.
Even as he loosens the wax, rubbing and massaging your willing body, he can't help but think how insane this all is. That someone as wonderful, and as beautiful as you, would allow someone as cursed and pathetic as him have you. Any part of you.
Idia feels like he doesn't deserve you. Like he's the one who isn't worthy, demigod or no. But his thoughts are swept away by the affectionate brush of your fingers over his cheeks, fingers he catches with playful nibbles.
No words need really be said between you. So when he drops a bit more of his weight upon you, his length burning and insistent, he isn't looking for words. His citrine eyes seek permission. No, a blessing. Your blessing: the divine gift of you.
So when you hook your leg over his hip, the heel of your foot pushing down on his ass, that's all he needs.
Idia pushes forward into you, sliding one hand beneath your back, still warm from before. His frosted lips part on a sweet gasp, "F-fuck... I-"
You giggle softly, adjusting your posture for him to pump in deeper. To fill you. Finally. He wastes no time in fulfilling your unspoken desire as if it were a command.
When your hand snakes around the back of his neck, past his flickering hair, to grasp him and tug his mouth down to yours; Idia offers no resistance. The taste and feel of you here with him is all he wants. All he needs.
As your lips part for the brief respite of panted breaths, you're able to register the sweltering heat of having him over you far more significantly. Your bodies are already slick with sweat, and he's barely started moving!
He pauses his jittery, slow thrusts when he catches the look on your face, and begins to lift his upper body off of you.
He knows he burns hot when you tease him, but when you let him have you; he's aware he likely feels like a branding iron. It's something he can't help.
Before he can babble some apology or excuse and try to pull away from you, you dig your nails into him once more. "I said I wanted candle play, and right now, you're the candle whose burning at both ends~"
And now thinking of a clingy alrune who always pulls you into the "bed" of his flower so he can spend as much time absorbing your attention and love as possible.
He relies on you for care and snacks and entertainment, for he's been stuck here for so long. You could offer to dig him up, but he's worried about his roots. He's also a monster, essentially, and he was safe here for a long time. Just lonely.
Eventually, he gets you trusting enough that he can remove your clothes when you enter his "bed". That you have a little camp set up nearby for when you visit for longer.
He takes extra, eager, delight in developing a sexual bond with you, too. He doesn't have the same reproductive organs as you, but his stamen is squishy and secretes a thick nectar that can ease it's passage into you. His pollen he will gather to either coat his stamen in it before he inserts it, or he will paint it on your skin with his fingers and vines. You'll let him sleep with it inside, right?
You'll stay inside his flower with him, let him close the large petals around you both at night; and be there to relieve help him all spring? You'll keep him warm in winter, too, right?
I saw you wrote for obeyme? Do you have any pact mark headcannons? A favourite demon?
Yes. I prefer Mammon, the avatar of Greed.
In terms of pact marks, I have my own thoughts:
I believe they stay on the flesh like tattoos, and are painful to recieve.
They glow when in use and can be hidden with temporary illusion magic.
A pactmaster can borrow magic from a demon/devil they have a mark from within limits.
Similarly, a demon/devil can share emotions with you through the mark, and you to them. This is... often something not spoken of.
They change from black "ink" (solid magic) to more flowing, colorful "ink" with deeper bonds or prolonged use. These colored marks almost always indicate heightened intimacy between demon and mortal.
Many demons find it erotic to touch and trace their mark, watching it pulse with magic under their claws. Some may even activate it during intimate moments.
Some demons find pride/pleasure in seeing their mark shown through your clothes; their bond to you, boldly unhidden.
Pacts can only be made with a demon/devil once in a mortal's life, and if removed, it is exceptionlly painful for both parties. It can and has resulted in the death of a mortal.
Multiple pacts can cause conflict within a person, and some may need to be wary and prepared for an adjustment period with any new pact, especially if it is associated with a sin they already struggle to overcome.
Demons/Devils select the part of you they want to mark based on their driving corruption/sin or their unique personal preferences. They then proceed to burn it into the flesh. This can be done as is or in a moment of passion or intimacy to ease things.
If the pactmaster indulges in any particular corruption/sin, they will feed the demon/devil bonded to them through the mark, whether they are aware or not. Most demons/devils won't inform their "master" of this small detail.
If a pactmaster stimulates the associated mark, it is possible for the demon/devil to be aware of it, experiencing it like touch to their own person.
The deepest a pact bond can go is "soul burn," which refers to a mortal who has either entangled so deeply with a demon/devil that their soul is marked, or have made the pact on the promise of their soul. The removal of these pacts prematurely will always result in certain death for the pactmaster and searing pain for the demon/devil.
For Lucifer, his mark was burned lovingly and painstakingly accurately into the right side of your neck, from the underside of your right ear down to the start of your collarbone. This was done in a moment of passion to ease your pain. The mark pulses warmly when you are confident or in control, encouraging you to keep your head held high, yet it can ache like a cramped muscle when you feel struggle or neglect yourself. Lucifer is always aware of when you use it, even if you're borrowing a bit of his magic.
For Mammon, the mark was singed quickly and almost clumsily. It twists across your collarbone and slightly down your sterum. If you are female, it reveals itself over the top of your breasts and slightly down the valley between. This was done on the spot, in the exact moment you demanded it. Mammon was "careless" of how he'd touched you to get it done, despite purposefully placing it so close to your heart. His mark comes alive and almost runs like molten, living gold when in use, but burns like hot metal if touched by anyone other than you or he. He sometimes tries to get you to use it just so he can see it and be reminded of how close you both are.
For Leviathan, the mark was akin to a steam burn, but done as gently as possible in a moment of remorse. It starts on the back of your head and slithers down just about mid spine. The runs cool like rain when in use, but otherwise appears dormant, unless you let your emotions leak through it.
For Satan, the pact was akin to being branded with hot iron, the incredible pain streching from the back of your (dominant hand here) to your elbow. This was done after he'd calmed down. The mark is jagged and long, like a nasty wound. It actually ignites your hand and arm in a wreath of unnatural green flame when you are angry or it is in use, but is utterly harmless otherwise.
For Asmodeus, it's carved elegantly on the inner thigh spanning down to your knees. It pulses in time with your arousal, but otherwise does nothing.
For Beelzebub, the mark was was almost casually drawn on, though it itched like insects crawling on your skin. The mark itself is large and covers most, if not all, of the lower stomach. Surprisingly, it the most harmless of the marks, as it's only reaction is if you fail to eat, wherein you will be bombarded with the compulsion to consume. (Overall, an excellent pact for someone who is depressed or struggling.)
For Belphegor, the process was hazy and dizzing, like being injected with hallucinagen inducing acupuncture needles. His mark was given in a moment of pathetic remorse. The pact begins mid spine and curls lazily down to cease at your tail bone, spreading outward just over your ass. This is one of the most dangerous marks upon you, as it activates frequently if you are low energy. It will warm you and slow you down to ensure you rest, or it can trap you in a low energy state. Belphie uses it to check your health occasionally.
I can write nothing for Barbatos, Diavolo, Mephisto, and Simeon. The devs never finished the game. Diavolo, when asked, refuses in act 3. Simeon did not fall and the devs cheaped out and made his traumatized ass return to heaven for some insane reason.
Lucifer most is a master of subtly in this. You can take any of his public actions as merely manners, offering you his coat, wrapping an arm around your waist, that slight curl of a wing around you, or his hand on your shoulder, back or arm.
In private, this dark angel has no intention nor need of hiding his clear claim on you. Yet as many times as he claims, "You don't have a choice!" He would always relent or proceed with more of a gentle touch if you ever said you truly wanted him to. Expect his lips, teeth, and hands sliding over your exposed flesh, memorizing every dip and curve. You'll become accustomed to his feathers brushing your arms and back as he encases you in a many limbed embrace only he can offer.
Mammon may talk circles and deny it, but he is actually talented at leaving his mark on you. This crow brained demon is more clever than he appears, and he finds amusement [and disappointment] in you forgetting that. He gives you the deluxe demon package while he scents you. Everything from grabbing your hand, draping his arm(s) over you, head pats, possessive hugs, purposefully sharing clothing, to even outright rubbing his cheek against yours. All to not only show affection to you, despite his flaming face, but to show his claim on you. There isn't a day you go without your first demon's scent marking. Even if you think you have, he has never forgotten.
In private, Mammon is much more open with you. He trusts you with his heart, and thus, his body. Expect messy, greedy kisses and needy hands sneaking under your clothes to touch your skin. His leathery wings will tremble and rub against you in his excitement, enfolding you in his embrace so he can go further.
She paces, wearing a footpath at the river edge. Her lip worrying between her teeth. The practice is needed. Something has to be done, she knows it, and it has to be done now. She has only herself. Lae'zel's pitifully petite knowledge of dragon handling isn't enough anymore.
Kicking off her boots, she forces herself to step forward. To just try again.
The water is frigid. This side of the river being shaded with overgrowth, lacking the kiss of sun. The shock of immediate cold forces her out of her spiralling thoughts, and shoves her back into her body.
With a deep, sharp inhale, she shuts her eyes, leaning her head back. The roll of her shoulders encourages the tension to crack and pop from her spine, her wings extending naturally. She'd gotten good at forcing her change, pushing the magic through her body with all the care of a tsunami, contorting her form into another. She'd relied so long on force, on rawness, that she lost herself to it. Her payment had nearly been the loss of someone dear.
At the guidance of Halsin, that druid who'd decided to latch onto their group, instructions to take things more naturally was encouraged. To feel it. Understand it. To change without the verbal or unnatural pressure. Slipping into a headspace, like feeling the caress of a breeze over skin.
Her inability to brush off the druid previously may have been due to the fact his was a body eyes strayed to observe. Cinnamon skin with bulges of muscle, a chest like an oak, and eyes as warm as home. Exceptionally distracting. His wild shape skill, however, could be easily demonstrated multiple times.
The sorcerer had taken to mimicking how he'd preformed it, using it as a new, more natural method of her polymorph. Feel, don't force. His method was far more patient than she was accustomed.
Her fingers flexed to resemble her full form's claws, and she had begun settling her own conscious mind as Halsin had taught her. This had been only a few seconds before she could detect someone's approach.
Gravel crunching beneath steps, neither heavy nor light, and certainly not careful. This was the gait of someone confident and unbothered. Someone who wanted to be heard. The pale elf.
She sighed, bitterly irritated, lowering and relaxing her hands at her sides once more. Her eyes flicked open, falling to watch the water flow around her bare feet. With no reflection behind her as the footsteps ceased, close, but unwilling to touch the water, she was sure.
"Do you need something?" Maptiva hadn't intended the acidic tone, but her annoyance was undeniable. "Or," she tilts her head, knowing he can see her reflection rather than his own. "Did you just miss me?"
A scoff. She'd spun one of his previous greetings against him, and he wasn't dense enough to miss it.
"What ever is there to miss? A woman like you wouldn't just up and leave. You'd be back in no time." Astarion's voice is airy, despite the insult. "At least, you'd come back for me. Right, darling?"
Though his response combines bite and flirtatious, she knows he never approaches without a reason. He'd also failed to settle or relax nearby, so something was on his mind. His lingering dictated he needed it addressed now.
"If you need something, give voice. I'm trying to focus here."
He gives no evidence that he is leaving, nor does he articulate what it is. There will be no peace, it seems. Rolling her eyes, she gives in and turns to face him.
The vampire is standing awkwardly at the edge of the river, just far enough away that even the occasional splash of running water doesn't reach his new boots. Long nails are picking at the fabric of his sleeve. Astarion watches her move, slow and deliberate, absorbing how the peaking shafts of sunlight strike to paint her with such a natural stroke, like she belonged here, hidden by nature. A forbidden nymph.
Scarlet eyes widen when she gestures at him, encouraging him to speak and reminding him of the tadpole. He brushes himself of some unseen dust, and straightens, maintaining casualties. Hidden glimpses into one another weren't uncommon.
Now that he has her attention, however, Maptiva knows he'll try to charm her. She knows not just from the waltzing buzz in her mind that accompanies his excitement or questionably playful ideas and behaviour, but from the salacious smile growing on his face when their eyes meet.
"I figured perhaps, you'd be open to a little idea! Just a little tidbit. Positively trivial~" His voice has pitched higher, sweeter. He's spinning the trap. "With the whole," he mimes horns over his head with his fingers. "Dragon thing. No need for the suspicion, my dear."
Her gaze narrows, heavy wings flexing at her back. "You truly have an idea for this?"
"But of course." He crows, raising a hand to tap two fingers to the side of his head.
"The... tadpoles?" She hestitates. They'd been using them far more than the others, and it had been leaving them both with blistering migraines.
She can almost feel his purr. "Exactly! The solution is so very simple, you see. All we need to do, is make sure your wiggler listens to mine. You'll never take a bite out of anyone ever again!" He clears his throat. "On our side, anyways."
Maptiva shuffles in the water, taking in his suggestion as she always does. It is only a temporary solution. A gamble. One that would backfire if something happened to him, or he went into another blood frenzy. He would drag them both into pointless slaughter.
As if he can sense her doubt, which is highly probable, he sighs. "We should use what we have. You told me this once before. Why not at least give it a try? We never know and all~"
Reluctantly, she casts her attention back to him. His hopeful face, ears raised and eyes sparkling, and droops. "You should know why I am slow to agree."
He flutters a hand through the air. "This would only be a practice. I'm not asking you to be my pet. Although-"
She lifts a hand. "No."
Astarion clicks his tongue. "Nevertheless, why don't we just try? Just once? Miss all the shots you don't take. Or whatever."
She carries herself out of the water, sloshing it around her feet before she brings herself right up to him. With her wings stretched, she is easily far larger than him, though the spawn reveals no signs of intimidation. Maptiva eyes him, his profile as dandy as managable in these woods, and how pleased he seems to be to at least keep her attention. He's akin to a persistant merchant.
"So if I agree to this 'temporary wrangling', you are certain you can control me? Alone?" Her voice pitches low, a warning.
He swallows, but maintains eye contact, unwavering. "Who else knows you better here than I?"
Maptiva curls a lip, but knows the display of teeth will do nothing for him. "One day. You have one chance to prove you can do it." When a grin breaks out over his face, she bares her teeth again. "Fail and I am not responsible for your sudden disappearance."
"You can trust me~ That hasn't changed." He takes a step back, gesturing for her to change. "Shall we start at once?"
Maptiva pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She'd much rather handle the magic herself, but if her vampire desired to be humored so badly, she'd give him this one shot. Retreating back to the river, she eases her mind back to the well of magic within her, encouraging it to rise up and spread through her limbs.
A dancing pearly glow extended to her every limb, pulsing and twisting until her body no longer stood bipedal. A dull ache formed in her bones, and within a moment, the vicious mass of a white dragon was her replacement. Her limbs were stronger, sturdier. Her horns longer, and directed backward and away from her face; as if framing it entirely. Talons sank into silt, sand and river mud, that serpentine tail whipped out behind her, sending water flying in the opposite direction. Muscular wings shuttered upon her back, heavy and skilled enough to raise her new form to heights others could only wish for.
Her nostrils flared, senses empowered, and finally, the beat of her heart was steady. Her focus calmed. She was aware of her own thoughts. For now.
Astarion shifts below, belittled by her. As her vision clears, she is able to catch childish eagerness in those expressive eyes. In the twitch of his ears. There is an insistent tickle in the back of her skull, the tadpole, as he wastes no time in reaching out to her.
'All is well?' His telepathic voice is clear. The spell seemed to have no fog over her perception of their communication.
She raises her head, high above his own, and huffs. A part of mind thinks to ignore the spawn, make him squirm, yet she cannot brush away her innate curiosity. 'Much. This is how things should be.'
He paces just below her, fingers rubbing below his chin. 'Is it difficult to focus on me?'
Her gaze drops to him, and the seam of her mouth creases upward, a draconic smile. 'And if I said yes?'
'I would be quite insulted.' He tilts his head back, peering up at her. He's likely aware that she is teasing. 'Alright then, let's give this a try.'
Maptiva clenches her jaw, his suggestion painting itself into her mind, an image for her to copy, its weight like gravity forcing down on her. She knows from what he has shared, what she sees in her mind, what he wants. She just hadn't expected his psionic command to be so intense so suddenly.
Giving in, she shifts her weight unto her hind legs, curling her tail around her left side. Her forelegs leave rends in the sand as she pulls them back against her abdomen, leaving her sitting before him... like a dog. The suggestion had been simple, so she had humored him. Though realizing how she appeared was less than flattering. It would be mortifiying if one of the others wandered close. She was not some circus animal.
He hums, and she knows he has felt her discomfort. 'Was that difficult?'
She slides her eyes away from him. His boldness failing to gain favor. 'No. Let me guess, you want to pet me next? Maybe make me fetch?'
His laughter is her reward, but he does wiggle his fingers. 'Would that even be allowed?'
Her head lowers, expression hardened. 'Do you want to find out?'
She watches him tense, his thoughts a swirl of quick exits if she were to snap for him, but his cocky swagger returns when she makes no move to do so. 'I think perhaps not today.'
'Regardless,' she drops her head his level. 'Be more firm if we are in battle. This form changes my mindset to something more instinctual, and your voice will become muffled and distant.'
He nods, though his fingers lift curiously when she presents herself in range. She can feel his desire to touch her. To feel the ridges of her draconic face, can sense his wonder at how her scales must be so smooth, so cool.
A puff of air from her mouth is all it takes to blow his hair askew. He's quick to fly his fingers into the strands and arrange it once again. With his distraction, she shoves her nose forward, bumping into his chest and skidding the man backwards. His muscles jump under her, and his hands instinctively slap down onto her nose. He freezes then, and his tadpole whirling furiously to understand the meaning of her action.
'Just get it out of your system.' She lifts the seam of her mouth, the hint of a dragon's smile. Her encouragement brings forth an incredulous chuckle of childish joy from the vampire, and he smooths his pale hands over her chilled scales.
"Centuries..." he mutters, lost to his own wonder as those hands slide over the curve of her nose, under her chin, and along the seam of her mouth. "And never anything like this."
Maptiva remains quiet, sensing a fragile wonder that could be all too easily shattered. It doesn't take him more than a moment before he has relaxed, she can feel it in the weight of his hands, in how he leans in, laying his chest on her nose to reach higher. Petting her. He was like a young boy with his first dog. The sheer emotion in those intense eyes, she almost felt embarrassed, shy, even. This was somehow more intimate than anything she'd ever done with him before...
Her eyes shuttered closed when he'd managed to wiggle himself up, straddling her face. Curious, cold hands stroking over the hard ridges of her eyes, Astarion seemed lost in his exploration, shifting his body and pressing into her. Bold. Foolish.
The spawn's tadpole remained ever in action, whispering his awed thoughts to her. She was amazing to him. Exotic. Powerful. Beautiful. The tip of her tail twitched, flicking contently in the water behind her. Her chest expanded, warming as her heart pounded; if she could, she'd be flushed from his attention.
For a moment, the sorcerer forget herself. The dragon was enamored with her adoring toy, its persistent glorification of her perfection was only to be expected. She was a magnificent beast, primal power from nose to tail, and it should be so lucky to be within her grace. Just this once, she should reward the pitiful creature.
Raising herself to stand, she felt how the vampire quickly panicked, changing from wonder to fear. He was right to fear her, but not like this. This would be a reward! She would show this tiny land based lifeform the sky. Then, he could praise her more. Worship at her very feet!
Pathetic claws scrambled for purchase as she leaned her head back, the action delicate, but enough to send the creature skidding forward down her neck. She heard his hiss, mutters of language she didn't care to recognize, as he righted itself, latching into the webbed spines adorning the long length of her powerful neck in desperation. She could feel his trembling against her scales. Or perhaps he was growling? He was so small. She couldn't tell.
Heavy, leathery wings unfurled in the clearing, the sound as if she'd shaken a ship's sails. With one final check, she was certain the adoring, now frightened being, still clutched at her neck. Her mouth opened, crushing teeth on full display. "I will show you the sky."
Whether or not he understood, she felt a wave of panic through her skull. Frustrated, she hissed, rearing up regardless.
'Listen to me!' His voice snarled within her mind. A hard slap against the side of her neck that she actually felt accompanies the command. 'Don't you DARE try to take flight with me. You know I despise it!'
She grits her teeth. Rage and indignance flood within. Her plans to awe him further are yet again trampled by his own fears.
'SIT!' The command races through her. It's painful. It's a roar in her mind that sends her legs to trembling, staggering in the water.
Her maw widens, cryofluid seeping between teeth and dripping into the water. How dare Astarion ruin her fun. He was but a worm to her like this! She had been willing to offer kindness! Wings remaining flared, she kicks herself upward unto her hind legs, violently rolling her neck to dislodge him as punishment.
Impossibly, his pitiful claws and tenacity keep him in place. A tick upon her scales. A snarl builds from within, and with it, she whips her head back. The impact of her horns to her back, an echoing thud, is all that comes from it. She writhes now, enraged with the situation. He's slippery, defying her at every turn.
'Dammit all,' the voice comes again, crawling in her mind. '...Me! Not a bloody tick!'
The next command burns. It's agony, liquid and brutal through her limbs. In a pitiful display, she cries, the noise rippling the water and shaking the trees before crumpling unto the river. Her weight shakes the earth beneath, displacing water, mud, and gravel galore, her head splashing ungracefully into the cold.
It's then she feels no weight upon her neck. Finally. The rat bastard deserves no reward for turning her down. Her muscles tremble under scale. Her brain feels like it's pulsing, squeezing itself within, as it often is after ever prolonged use. It's slow, but her clarity returns, and she realizes her position. A puddle of shaky limbs smothered in mud, river water filling her nose.
She feels... disgusting. Humiliated. Insulted.
A wheezing coughing greets her awareness, and in her pitiful attempt to shake mud and water; realizes Astarion must still be near. Her memory is quick to fill in the blanks as she gazes down between her forelegs. There, just barely brushed by water, but no less caked in mud, is the pale elf.
She wants to laugh. He is curled into himself, cradling his right hand to his chest and wheezing. His coughs wrack his entire body, splattering water from his doused hair about him. Widened, panic wary eyes study her as she shifts to look him over. He doesn't flinch, but he does manage to look akin to a wet cat. Flustered and enraged.
'I'm sorry.' She manages, nosing herself a bit closer. 'Were you burned?'
He's silent. Even his tadpole. His hand shakily removes from his chest as he pats himself over. His leather armor is in no less condition than he arrived, and most of him had been covered by it when he'd gotten wet. Save for his hair, which she can see him grimace at the state of it, matted and stuck to his scowling face.
Allowing her polymorph to drop, Maptiva carefully moves out of the river, careless for her own waterlogged state. She wrings out parts of her robe, watching him from the corner of her eye. At most, the vampire seems to be only dirty. Still, shame trickles down her spine. She knew better than to try to fly with him again, but she'd done it anyways. Maybe she truly was just a cold-hearted beast. Maybe the anger of the man in her dreams was righteous?
Regardless, this conclusion was her fault. She would not put blame on Astarion. Despite how "well" he'd managed to stop her, she could have killed him if he'd landed in the river. He was unused to dragons, unused to so many things. He was cocky and foolish, and she was far too eager. She was only making things worse.
Crouching down next to him, she held out her hands, palm up. "Hey. Are you with me?"
A hiss. He bares a fang at her. "Obviously. I haven't faded away just yet." Another irritated swipe through his hair. "Though, I may as well. I feel positively ragged after the assumption I'd be tormented by flight once again."
She sits back on her feet. "You were on my back. You rode me. Wrangled me good. For but a single, ungrateful moment."
He snorts, casting his gaze away to swipe at mud on his leg. "And here you said I wasn't worthy."
She chuckles, patting his shoulder. "You almost were! Maybe next time a little saddle for you?"
He curls a lip, somehow made even more ridiculous by his appearance, and she can only laugh harder. "Yes. Hardy har har. Forgive me for trying to tame the wild woman you are."
"Is that what you were doing?" She says, incredulously, shaking her head. Splatters of water fly from her hair. "I could've sworn you wanted to control a dragon. Didn't you say this was 'trivial'?"
His nose wrinkles, but his eyes seek hers again. The rogue more relaxed now that she's talking to him, though his fingers clench over his knees. "It wasn't a failure. I never had any doubt."
She pauses; quirking a doubtful brow at him.
"So let me at least pick the design of the saddle." His smirk is malicious. "Your style is abhorrent."
This is the first ever piece I wrote for my partner in our shared, self-indulgent Au. While this does move in the perspective of a m!reader, it can be read as gn if you squint. This series started off as incredibly short, as it was originally crafted in discord messages before being complied into a google doc, and now, here. The more current writing for later chapters is far more detailed and less rushed than this, but since I've been receiving a few asks about it; I'll share the beginning, no matter how bad it was. (This is old writing!!! It is bad, like wattpad level bad. I'm much better these days.)
Pairings within the series present in this portion: Gn!Reader x unnamed F!"Oc"
Tw: dubcon, subtle mention of drugging, ooc au.
In hearing the stories of NRC, the college on the entirely opposite side of Sage Island; you’d assumed the place wasn’t too different from RSA. Though the nobles and elites attending this academy labelled them with the same contempt as anything else they deemed beneath their pompously raised noses.
That had been the case, up until new rumours had begun to spread. Even you, who had kept mostly to yourself, had eventually caught wind of them. Supposedly, NRC had broken their firm, single sex attendance criteria. They had subtly enrolled a woman. To these princes, it had been scandalous information.
The potential of it alone had your classmates in a tizzy. Had they truly become so progressive, that they would make nobles look traditional and rigid? Was this their attempt to finally one-up?
It hadn’t even been a week before the students had rallied for the revival of the temporary exchanges. The staff had been hesitant, but with many voices against theirs, they were forced to relent.
By the third week of the second month, the program was back in place; and for these princes, it was the exact opening they were waiting for. In your eyes, they were akin to overeager dogs, slobbering at their fence to be let out.
Only a select few did not seem as interested as the others, and while you had been pondering on their maturity, you realized in time that these men simply thought themselves above a woman handled by other men; against her will or not. The rare few others had arranged marriages in their set future.
By the time the first exchange went through, the student had not returned as he’d left.
The young man had been bruised and roughed up, his mood souring further at the questioning and jeering from his peers.
When the information had trickled down to you, it seemed the young man had failed to confirm the rumours. Instead, he’d just been relentlessly bullied in the other college’s attempt to brush him away.
Though information on a speaking feline direbeast had been of interest to one of your dormmates, Chen'nya, who was sort of a free wheeling catboy himself.
By the 3rd month, another had been sent and returned in much the same state as the previous. Another embarrassed and enraged princeling, pathetic and useless as always.
When the information trickled out, through whispers in the halls, you’d learned that he had been accosted by members of some mafia-esque cartel and subjected to shock treatment for snooping around. Your suspicion grew with the fact that the guy had been a merfolk, and it had been eel merfolk who’d assaulted him.
Something more had to be under it all. You just didn’t know what.
Then came the 4th month, and around the time you’d settled into accepting your fate. You had a few students you could approach, though you wouldn’t necessarily label them as friends. They just lacked the rudeness others tossed at you. 2 from your own dorm, Alice’s Garden, had shown continued kindness and a willingness to aid you; but the friendliest you’d met had been a blue-skinned young man who claimed to have djinni blood. While the young man had no ability to grant wishes, he was creative and often had ways of getting you both in and out of trouble.
However, it had been during this month that the exchange had gone the worst. A student from Simba’s Pride had returned with lingering injuries more devastating than a few bruises, and with him, the news everyone had almost been allowed to forget.
NRC had indeed enrolled a woman, and they’d dressed her as one of them. It had been enough to hide her in plain sight for anyone not observant enough.
That hadn’t been the end of it, however. The woman was a beastmaster, and the feline direbeast? It was hers.
The man hadn’t even been able to spend any time with her, let alone even get close enough to do so. He complained that she’d had guards, men he had referred to as ‘Card Soldiers’, who slapped away any and all attempts to approach her with violent disdain.
That information alone had rumours circulating once more. A princess would have guards, of course, but... so too, would an evil queen.
The next exchange would be stuck with unravelling which of the two she fell into.
Some had disagreed with the need to seek further, for no 'princess’ controlled feral dire beasts, nor would one ever dress as a man. Others had put forth that perhaps she was just exceedingly kind, and would accept even low-born trash if it was all she had. A few of the professors even admonished the students for forgetting about one of the great heroines: Mulan.
Then came the 5th month, and even more drama had started trickling in. Supposedly, word of “mental health breakdowns” had started coming from within NRC, with one having supposedly taken place after the Spelldrive game.
Information had been quickly silenced and scrubbed the moment the media had tried to sniff around; and none from the college spoke a word of it. Not even a single fool on Magicam. Suspicious.
This time, you were the one chosen to go. Your housewarden, a genderswapped Alice, had set you up for this task as the month's "observing transfer student". The decision only made after attempts to get anyone else to agree had been met with sharp refusal. You were the only one not afraid to go.
You’d been given the warning to be careful, and the “luck” of being the one who’d settle for sure which of the two theories were correct regarding the mysterious woman.
The first few days at Night Raven are anything but pleasant.
Many students glared or sneered, and quite a few laughed at your expense; be that for your state of dress, looks, or even manner of speech. For being a college, the treatment reminded you of the less mature behaviour of foolish highschool boys. Some of the young men had even outright challenged you. When you'd trounced a few, word appeared to have got around, and the mistreatment lessened... slightly.
The itching sensation of being watched lingered, however. The hairs on your neck frequently raised, as you took notice of just how many security cameras this campus had. Normally, such things were not actively monitored, but you couldn't shake the feeling that these ones were.
Eventually, thuggish delinquents with animal ears and tails had begun to approach you. It was like they were some sort of posse sent on purpose.
They’d acted impressed with your strength. Pressured you to follow them, and dragged you to their lectures.
The men pushed and prodded at you endlessly, even going so far as to say you clearly didn't behave too similarly to the other Royal Sword pests. Especially when your combative style was actually capable and lacking whatever pointless honour those princes went on about.
Eventually, it became something worrying. "You should meet their King."
They had claimed, rather boldly: "He'll help you. You'd do well in Savanaclaw." They prevailed in forming frustration into power.
They eventually sold (read: annoyed) you on a visit to their dorm.
Up until the end of the week, they’d given you all sorts of enticements; from promising that the view at night was something truly beautiful, to eventually dropping the tidbit that the ‘female student' visited often.
The woman you'd been utterly unable to catch thus far, despite catching sight of her on several occasions. The one crossdressing and slipping away at every possible chance. The one whose pin did not match any dorm present in this ghetto establishment. These boys spoke like she was close with their "King". If you visited, you'd get the pleasure to meet their college’s first Dire-Beastmaster in over a decade.
Even if this reeked of a trap, it was your entire reason for being here. You had to accept.
When you first saw how the college had set up all its separate dorms, you found it far more stylized than the simple glyphs RSA relied upon.
Yet when you arrived in their ‘mirror room’ this time, approaching the Savanaclaw mirror with some reluctance; nothing raised alarms but your own distrustful anxiety.
Pausing before the mirror, you took a scanning gaze around. You regarded how the other students behaved, trying to see if maybe you could see if this was a trap, and any of them might be aware of it.
A few fancy students, (whose genders you almost couldn’t discern) followed primly after a blond haired man. The man simply breezed past you as if your existence didn’t even register, ever step a strut of elegance. it was like watching a peacock lead its chicks. The entire group had smelled of perfumes and scented body creams, enough that your sensitive nose wrinkled.
At one point, your curious gaze caught on that of a tall, draconic-horned man. He towered the few other eccentrics crowding him. Your observation had to have been obvious, for he’d slowly turned his head in your direction, and regarded you with a similar, surprised curiosity. His eyes were unnatural and sharp, and the sense of being very small filled your heart. You darted your gaze away, uneasy.
Your scan then strayed to that of the tanned students, each vanishing one after another through a rather elaborate golden mirror. The swirling sand within it whirling out occasionally, carried by some unseen wind.
Your watch had been interrupted when a fit, dark haired man caught your eye. Immediately, the man gave you a quick once over, slit eyes narrowed. A strange pattern spanned his cheekbones and forehead, the red texture resembling what could've been... snake skin? With his hood up, he looked almost like a… The man’s raised brow at your stare had shattered that train of thought. He looked just like any other human, maybe he just had a condition. You didn’t know what came over you.
A hand slapped against your back, rough and so suddenly that you’d broken out of your staring.
The blonde hyena boy that stepped up behind you didn’t seem to care what you thought of the greeting, as he’d immediately gone into pestering you. "Hurry it up, will ya? Leona doesn't like waiting."
He’d dragged you into the mirror, along with 2 other hyena boys you had a sneaking suspicion enjoyed manhandling you a bit too much, if the heat in their eyes was any evidence.
Besides their twisted pleasure, you couldn’t detect anything malicious from their expressions nor their actions. Just a sense in your gut that something had to be off.
The Savanaclaw dorm had been startling to enter, as you’d stumbled into a bright, domestic spread of African decor and plantlife.
The two beastmen at your back kept urging you forward as you tried to absorb it all. Though the surroundings made you think the air would be dry, it wasn’t as miserable in actuality. It even smelt of something fruity.
Several of the students milled about: some studying in the wide expanse of an open lounge, others wrestling over some item in another's hands. Your only issue now was that every single one was larger than you, and not only that. The majority were entirely carnivores. A spread from wolves to lions, and even a few avian.
In the centre of the main floor, a back-lit waterfall cascaded beautifully, its moisture cooling the air. The two hyenas at your side snickered and stepped away once you approached it.
This left you with only Ruggie at your side. This raised your suspicions, until you watched the pair of hyenas tackle into a smaller boy from behind, tormenting him.
Given how common it had been to witness combative behaviour here, you didn’t give their actions more than a cursory glance.
"OY! LEONA! We have a fancy guest!" Ruggie calls out, raising his hand to cup around his mouth, making it carry louder.
"Well, well. Fresh meat." A deep voice responds, and you're forced to crane your neck just to see up to the false cliffside built into the falls.
You meet the slited eyes of a lazily stretching lion beastman. He sits himself up, beaded brown hair falling partially over his shoulders. "One of those prim white boys, are we?"
"Oho~ So one is finally willing to come directly to the den of beasts?" A voice purrs, and you spin on your heel just as a woman traps you between herself, Leona, and Ruggie.
While she wore the same uniform suited to the other students here, your eyes caught on the ghostly black raven pinned on her casually half open jacket. You’d not seen that pin on any of the other students…
Her eyes narrow playfully as she observes you. Finally, you'd gotten to meet the crossdresser your fellow students had spoken of up close.
Despite her appearing so suddenly and quietly behind you, it was clear she wasn’t from this dorm. Upon her body were none of the bones, claws, and teeth the others wore; but rather silver adornments polished to shine. A single, reflective piece of what could be a mirror shard glinted from a single dangling earring. Where most students of each dorm matched its theme in what they wore and how they dressed, this lightly tanned woman didn’t seem to truly match with any. How very peculiar.
The worst was in how eerily familiar she was, in her voice, her eyes, even that singular streak of white in her hair. Your words caught in your throat at the action of calling her out. What repercussions would that have? Did she also recognize you?
Leona's eyes narrowed on you as you observed her. You could feel him practically boring a hole into your head with it. You’d turned back to face him when you’d picked up on a rumbling growl.
Clearing your throat, you managed to introduce yourself.
From the corner of your eye, you noticed how quickly the playfulness had faded from the woman’s face; watched how it morphed into a look of concerned awareness. She would know the name you used. Her expression was the last piece of evidence you needed to be sure it really was her.
When Leona had urged you to speak on why you were here, you’d had to admit that Ruggie and other hyenas had bullied you into it. That they’d claimed he could help you, even if you didn’t want to entertain the thought, nor impose.
The lion listened casually, though occasionally, his unimpressed eyes would roam away from you. You assumed he has some form of focusing complications, for while his ears stayed tilted to listen, his attention would frequently stray, or his eyes would simply just close.
When you’d finally got around to spilling what had motivated the students of RSA into reviving this exchange in the first place, you’d failed to notice that the dorm had gone somewhat quieter. Many of the students had seemed to fade into the background, or had retreated entirely, as both Leona and the woman heard you out.
At no point did you miss the look on her face when you’d mentioned the part of princes and nobles being unable to recognize she was a woman at first. Nor when she shook her head tiredly at them trying to ‘label’ her as good or evil.
By the end of it, you were encouraged to stay for dinner. The woman had remained as well, after she’d changed out of her uniform. The fact that she supposedly had a change of clothes within a dorm that was not her own did not fail to catch your attention. It didn’t even come to mind that there would be magic to change your clothes on the fly.
Through dinner, Leona acted like decent company, though his sarcastic manner only grew the more comfortable he became with your presence.
He heard you out on your experiences at Royal Sword, and even mocked the place in agreement with your own opinions. He’d enforced your standing on it all, and even encouraged you to challenge them more often. It wouldn't be him getting flak for it, after all.
The ever grinning hyena, Ruggie, had returned when it was time to eat. While he’d been more focused on his meal, he occasionally laughed or mocked the stories you told. It was all too obvious he was doing it in an attempt to get a rise out of you.
The woman was doing her utmost to come across as polite as she sat between you and Leona. The only thing that bothered you was that she acted as if you were strangers. While her manner of dress had changed to match the cultural loungewear of the dorm, her expressions were still easy for you to read. She was putting a lot of effort into playing dumb.
At one point, she had leaned over you just enough to brush your arm, as she poured you a cup of rooibos. It was at that moment that you caught something peculiar about her eyes. Unlike the beastmen here, whose eyes reflected the animal they derived DNA from, hers had looked almost reflective. Gazing into them for that split second had felt like staring down a black abyss; one that sent a shiver down your spine when you realized your own reflection stared right back.
When she blinked, the effect was gone, but your pulse pounded in your ears. She’d made no comment, and you’d just been left with questions, a vague sense of an unspoken threat, and a fresh cup of tea.
A smokey grey wolf beastman joined you later on, late to the meal due to some excuse or another. He was almost as tall as Leona, and more muscular, but his hair was a dishevelled mess.
When he’d spotted you, he’d greeted you in a far more mature manner than the others had, introducing himself as Jack, before he’d settled down beside Ruggie.
None of the food you'd been able to try smelled, looked, or even tasted off. In fact, almost every dish was unique, savoury and aromatic. You’d never pictured yourself eating from a banana leaf, yet here you were. You also found you were the least picky eater present, for even their lion prince refused all non-meat dishes.
Dessert, however, was something that had Leona wrinkling his nose the most; pushing the dish towards the woman, who scoffed in irritation. You heard her mention another dorm, claiming she’d brought the tarts from their kitchen as a gift. She’d insisted he try it for ‘their sake'.
She’d eventually been forced to relent when he’d curled a lip at her, bearing his fangs. Most entertaining was in how her own lips had peeled to growl right back. While this did nothing to deter the lion, his eyes only narrowing at her boldness, your eyes did not fail to catch the fangs in her own mouth.
In the end, she instead offered the jam tart to you.
After a taste, you almost couldn’t believe Leona for turning it down. It was perfectly soft, and not at all too sweet. At your compliments for it, her eyes squinted in pleased acknowledgement. Just who had made these?
It wasn't until much later in the evening, when you'd been offered a rather fruity drink from their homeland, that things started to feel off. The drink had made you feel hazy after nursing it for a few minutes, and the stirring need to relieve yourself followed.
When you were making your way back from the bathroom, carefully slower than you would’ve liked, you’d stumbled into the soft chest of a body that had appeared before you suddenly. Or had it? You weren’t entirely certain. When you’d collided a rather preformative gasp met your ears, and you’d sluggishly raised your head to apologize.
Surprisingly, rather than anger or retaliation, warm, steady hands had gently settled upon your shoulders to steady you. The woman had softly put some distance between you, her head tilted to the side in concern. “You’re a real lightweight, huh?”
You tried to form an answer, but just felt yourself slump under the support of her hands.
It was in this moment, that you swore you saw feline slits in her eyes. Knowing she couldn't just balance you in this hall all night, you attempted to extricate yourself from her, carefully stepping back.
While she had released you, the look on her face had become unreadable. With another step, your back came into contact with yet another body.
An unfamiliar clawed hand slapped down on your shoulder, and your blurry eyes darted up to meet those of one of the hyena boys from earlier. This time, both his grin, and the look in his eyes, sent a wave of instinctual panic. When his nose twitched at your reaction, his tongue suddenly peeked out as he panted in growing, gluttonous excitement.
You barely had time to cry out, when several other figures had burst into the hall and grabbed you. It had been a blur of action as you struggled against hands, claws, and teeth.
Your last sight had been that of dark haired woman, her upper body bent down to your level. "Not even you could escape my trap, little bunny~"
You'd awoken an unknown time later, your body feeling tight and your vision mildly blurry. Your throat burned and your limbs ached.
When you tried to shift around, the limited range of motion only became more obvious. Your attention fell to the ropes binding you in place. The spray of the Savanaclaw waterfall washed over your face as you kneeled beneath it, just at the pool’s edge.
You rubbed what moisture you could on the shoulder of your clothing; only to find the scent of her there. You’d been given no time to enjoy it, however.
"Normally," a dark, smug growl spoke. "My prey never wakes up."
Your gaze instantly rose. That wasn’t the regular voice of a beastman, nor a student. It had an unsettling echo to it, one that carried even from a distance. In raising your head, you’d become immediately aware of more than just the threatening voice.
What had once been a well-lit and open space, now was dimmed to only a few torches that allowed shadows to stretch eerily along every surface. Worse still, were the multiple reflective animal eyes surrounding you within the unlit gloom.
The sounds of their huffing and impatient growling had your spine stiff with fear. While the shadows of the beasts around you varied, all shared a fixation on you, bound and helpless before them. You could feel more than one pair of eyes devouring you already.
No longer was this a place of animals masquerading as people. It was a savanna crawling with feral, hungry beasts. Their claws tapping and dragging over stone, shadows following the restless pacing.
A mocking laugh forced you to stare up higher, upon the cliff framing the waterfall. Once more, Leona was there.
Albeit that now, the figure leaning over the cliff platform was nothing like what you’d seen before. Now, he stood above you as the very picture of a corrupted being.
Those eyes that you had previously pinned to be an unimpressed prince were now zeroed in on you with focused intent. His right eye flickered with a strange, ghostly flame. His lips curled in a smirk as he held a hand to his chin; a hand tipped with dark, curved claws.
The Leona before you was no lazy lion. This was every bit a villain. A monster. The kind those princes had warned you of, and yet somehow, something about this transformation felt… controlled.
Leona had become something more dark than the ravenous beastmen surrounding you, whose shapes held none of that strange, black ink. It was as if the lion you’d met before had been swallowed, then spat back out of condensed darkness. Just what the hell was that fluid dripping off of him?!
To his right, your eyes caught one more figure, the woman. She was reclined, rather dominantly, upon the back of what appeared to be an oversized black lion.
Yet the beast itself stood several heads taller than any version of the wild cat you’d ever seen. It's massive sabre teeth were bared in a smug manner, as if it were smirking. Around its neck was a flickering display of spiritual flames, and odder than that was the serpent-headed tail that lashed behind it. It hadn’t been until your eyes really studied it that you saw something else. Wings. Wings that were folded tightly against its flanks.
That was no lion. And, fuck… were those tentacles?!
The woman’s hands, now clad in dark metal claws, stroked through the thick fur of the manticore's mane as you observed it. Without even speaking a command aloud, the beast bent his forelegs, hunching down. All to grant her an easier vantage to sneer down at your helpless, bound form. Or perhaps, to allow you to take in the changes to her own visage.
Her eyes caught you first, feline slits melted into pools of metallic black. You weren't certain of the pupil change when her eyes startled you previously, but now, there was no mistaking it.
Where once light clothing had been, now, her body was clad head to toe like she’d emerged from some dark amazon woman fantasy.
Atop her head rose two distinctly black feline ears, each turned toward you. Around her head was a blackened metal circlet, a single ink-blackened stone inlaid at its center. From her right ear dangled a single earring bearing 2 beads; one a reflective silver, and the other a black so dark it seemed blue, and ending with the curved fang. Her face appeared unchanged in shape, save for the ear position; but several almost pulsing, shifting tiger-like stripes were drawn over her forehead, cheeks, and chin; all borne of the same odd ink upon Leona. Finally, your eyes fell to her lips, where the poke of 2 particularly lengthy fangs peeked past them, nearly matching that of the manticore below her.
Starting at her shoulders, it was like a mane of spiritual fire had spread over them, flickering and dancing in time with that of the beast below her. The fire spread back, wisping off toward her back, like some ghostly cape. More of those inky tiger stripes continued weaving along her flesh the further down you looked, some disappearing into the covered confines of a leather and pelt strapless crop top. Dangling between the valley of her breasts was a necklace bearing teeth, claws, or bones from creatures you recognized: a lion, a snake, and a fishbone.
Upon her right and left upper arms were leather bands, each with amber pieces worked in. Within the amber were: dried rose petals, apple seeds, and what almost looked like… a microchip? Further down her arms, the stripes persisted. Always moving, like living tattoos. Her forearms were clad in leather bracers reinforced with firm boning. Starting from her wrists, two identical, nearly foot and a half black claw weapons extended, reminding you loosely of those Predator aliens. Her hands remained delicate, yet each finger was now tipped with black nails.
From her ribs down, she was fairly exposed, save for the few leather straps crisscrossed over her core. Each strap carried a set of small knives, and held a pair of small, secured pouches at her hips.
Following her stripes, your eyes widened at the piercing spanning her bellybutton: a delicate gold chain, the only piece seemingly untouched, with a tiny raindrop crystal dangling from its center. Wherever that piece had come from, it clashed with the outfit, like something about it resisted the darkness.
Her hips and pelvis were supported with thick leather braces, each carved with strange patterns. Her legs were fully covered by dark leather pants, sewed with almost glowing blue thread.
Finally, her ankles bore matching anklets of twisting, clinging tentacles and her feet were covered lightly in tribal-esque boots.
As if knowing you were checking her out, a flexible appendage rising from behind her back made itself known. A lengthy tiger tail flicked bemusedly, completing her new image.
"Honestly, this is why a lioness does all the hard work." Her mocking tone carried the same echo Leona’s had.
A mummer of agreeing growls rose from all around you in response to her words.
Either way, here and now, you were trapped. Surrounded in the dark, bound and forced to stare at this corrupt pair above you with no foreseeable escape. And while your mouth had been gagged, you’d not been able to do more than whimper. The fabric was now soaked in your saliva. You were helpless to do more than bite it and glare at them.
"Listen well, my little rabbit." The woman’s tone was chillingly calm. "Here, there are only the weak and the strong."
Cackles began from the dark as she spoke.
"We will do anything to prove our strength. For here, the strong," she gestured to Leona. “Are King.” His eyes glinted with a devilish delight at the word. "They can order whoever, have whatever, and do what they please."
Her words echoed in your ears as fear constricted your chest. Your eyes darted to Leona, aware of where this was going, with terror.
You watched helplessly as the hyena beastmen around you grew excited, bouncing on their feet and looking from you to him eagerly. Awaiting the order. The chance.
Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your vision felt hot, frustrated tears beginning to form.
You had expected the woman to decide your fate, not delegate it to a stranger! But no. Instead, it was Leona. A literal corrupted lion-beast.
Having her defer you to his judgment only made this a betrayal. Hadn’t she always claimed that she would never hurt you? Was this some sort of djinn-like wording that didn’t count if it was someone else, and not her doing the harm?
Breaking you from your inner thoughts was the sound of snapped fingers. Your entire body jerked and your eyes were back on him. Only for Leona’s smirk to turn vicious, and his hand to extend outward toward you.
“Consume.” It had been a single word, but a command nonetheless.
One that broke the thin chain of restraint that had held the panting, shaking figures of the hyena beastmen around you. You didn’t even have time to scream before they pounced.
