#romansrites

Antonio Perez, a burly, tattooed werewolf that owned the shop and absolutely detested you. Your coworkers kept trying to convince you he hated everyone. That his grumpy nature was baked into his bones. And you almost believed it, if not for the way he acted around the other werewolves in the garage. They were a pack, bonded like brothers and sisters.

And you were just a human that got in his way.

It wasn’t like you were useless around the shop. Quite the opposite— your hands were small enough to fit in cramped spaces, you were flexible in a way that had them cramming you up into the underside of cars and frameworks. You were friendly, customers loved interacting with you whenever they needed to schedule something. You showed up early and worked late.

And yet he still wouldn’t acknowledge you privately for longer than a few minutes. His eyes would burn into the back of your head when you would work. An occasional bark of orders, a rushed explanation for something you had a question about. Nothing that lingered or stuck. If he accidentally bumped into you or brushed your hand with his, he’d retract like he was shot. Always having this almost pained look on his face.

Your roommates were telling you to just get over it, let it roll off your shoulders. ‘Maybe you stink to him. You do have a unique scent for a human.’ Was what one of them said.. The leopard hybrid of all people. You had replied by saying that was a ridiculous reason to hate someone.

There reached a point that you couldn’t take it anymore. You asked around and found out that Toni was staying late tonight to work on a last minute fix to one of the cars you’d checked in today. The perfect opportunity to corner this guy and interrogate him for his weird avoidant behavior. You had some leftover pot roast from dinner tonight, and figured you would butter him up a little before asking the winning question.

So, with a final quiet pep talk, you slid through the front office and into the back of the garage. There was some music playing softly in the background where the stereo was tucked away; a loose, rhythmic bass weaved through the air as you walked further.

He came into sight almost immediately, hunched over the hood of Miss Calder’s 1970 Ford F-100. An ancient beast that probably should have been scrapped ten years prior, yet Toni always insisted on tending to the repairs himself. Miss Calder was a sweet old lady, and probably single-handedly funded Toni’s work with the amount of issues going on with that truck.

You’d be a big liar if you said you weren’t attracted to Antonio Perez. In the past, you only ever went out with other humans. Not because they were your type, but because the town you were living in before you moved here wasn’t the most diverse. In this city, hybrids and monsters outnumbered humans. Hell, you were the first human addition to the shop. A fact that surprised most of your coworkers in the beginning.

Toni had an oil-stained rag thrown over his shoulder, his salt and pepper hair slicked back and wet with a sheen of sweat. His back was a display of wired muscles and scars, covered by a thin T-shirt. It was hiked up a little bit, and your face heated up at the sight of his cargo jeans riding on his hips. His tail swished slowly behind him, thick with the same salt and pepper fur. Before your gaze could dip lower, his throat clearing made you startle out of your shameless staring.

“You’re supposed to be off today.”

His voice was low and smooth, much softer than it was when he was yelling at everyone and tossing parts around. As if he was trying to preserve the peace of the night. His strikingly silver eyes found yours immediately, sending a shiver of anticipation up your spine as you stepped forward into his workspace. He tensed immediately, huffing heavily while his gaze dropped to the food in your hands.

“I brought you some leftovers. I know Miss Calder’s truck fights back, so I figured you would be here a while. It’s just pot roast—“ the words came out faster than you intended them too, fingers twitching nervously over the warmed plastic of the container.

Before you could finish, clawed fingers brushed yours as he slid the Tupperware from your hands. He brought it to his nose and inhaled, a deep rumble of approval sounding from him. He set it on the counter behind him among the tools he’d rifled out of the tool chest.

When his eyes found yours again, his expression was different. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that,” he relented, dipping his head awkwardly. He was still so tense, shoulders squared and jaw set. Much more than when you first entered.

Yes, it stung. It felt like a constant rejection. Not even acquaintances, just a boss and his employee that he clearly didn’t enjoy being around. You pursed your lips and furrowed your brows as you stepped even closer.

“Sir, can I ask—“

“C’mere and help me get this damned belt out. It was so worn out that it snapped and got tangled up around the tubes connected to the engine. I can’t get a grip without puncturing on of ‘em.” He interrupted you without a thought, gesturing for you to stand beside him and pointing to the culprit.

You didn’t protest, pulling up your hair into a quick tie and sidling up beside him. He towered over you by nearly a foot, standing at around 6’8”. There was still about a foot of distance between you two, but you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and analyzing every single movement of yours.

“And stop calling me Sir. It’s Toni. You should stop addressing me so formally,” he insisted firmly while you reached into the hood and began to untangle the belt.

You fell silent, a hint of irritation crawling over you at his words. But your fingers pulled and shimmied the rubber until it wouldn’t budge anymore. Pulling back, you caught him staring at you again. Not the truck. Not the belt he needed help with. You, your body, your eyes when you looked back at him.

“Are you just going to pretend like you haven’t been avoiding me the entire time I’ve been here, then?” You find yourself asking without taking a moment to think, words heated and bouncing between them. “You’re going to make conversation with me, keep staring at me. But the second the garage is full and I want to speak and work around you, you act like I’m insufferable to be around. This is one of the longest interactions you’ve had with me.”

He winced at your words as if you slapped him. But you would not relent, months of pent up frustration and confusion rumbling out of your mouth as you reached over him to grab a pair of industrial shears to cut the rest of the belt out.

“You’re going to insist that I call you Toni when you never even respond to what I say half of the time. You hire me, the only human in your garage, and then grimace at me like you can’t stand that I exist here. Why do you hate me so much?”

The words left you in a whirlwind of breath, aggressively cutting at the belt and yanking it out as he tensed even more beside you. Clearly, he hadn’t expected you to be as outright as you were. But you weren’t just some delicate human, you wanted to be taken seriously. Respected. By him especially.

As you pulled the remaining pieces of the belt out, he let out a heavy breath. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, worried about what would reflect back at you.

But he moved closer, not quite touching you. His arm brushed against yours and you swore both of you inhaled sharply at the contact. He cleared his throat again, pulling the belt from your hands and discarding them.

“I don’t hate you,” he started, words rough and strained as if he had to force them out. Not a very convincing intro. You let out a dry, short laugh, shaking your head as you reached behind him to grab the new belt.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could grasp it, wrenching a gasp from your lips as you eyed him finally. Toni’s eyes were fixated on your face, flicking over the details like he was trying to commit it to memory. His tongue dragged over his lips, revealing those dangerous canines and drawing a shiver out of you. The werewolf seemed to struggle with finding his next words.

“Toni—“ you pushed, his name coming out as a breath. You watched the effect it had on him immediately, rippling through his body and causing that same pained expression he seemed to have with you. He shook his head, grip tightening on yours wrist a fraction.

“You were a pretty little thing walking into my office with your resume. Y’know, I turn away every human that comes to me asking for a job. They’ve got big egos, like to treat us like domesticated dogs.” His hand left your wrist and a fire lingered, creeping up your skin and sending a sudden spike of want through you.

That was the first time he had touched you. And you wanted him to do it again.

“Then why did you?”

Toni took a deep breath in, and the exhale came out shaky. He held out a hand, palm sideways. Hesitant, unsure, but inviting. You didn’t think twice when you stepped closer. His hand clamped down on your waist, claws digging into your jacket and pricking your skin only slightly. The feeling made you shudder, and that made Toni growl softly.

“Because you’re different. You smiled at me and leaned over the counter to hand me your resume. You look small and breakable, but you’re fiery and tougher than I gave you credit for and it fuckin’ scared me because I wanted you from the first second. I couldn’t even think about saying no to you.”

The admission— the confession— hung between you two. His hand on your waist suddenly felt hotter than it did a second ago. Your face felt hot, and when you raised your hand to press it to your cheek, his eyes followed the movement. You had been struggling for over two months to figure out what he was thinking, and never once did you think it was because he wanted you.

Your silence only prompted him to keep talking. His grip on you tightening like he was afraid you were going to change your mind and disappear. But your feet were cemented to the ground.

“I’m an older guy, a seasoned werewolf that should know how to control himself. But god even your scent drives me crazy. I could smell you the second you walked through the office doors. You smell like temptation, like I need to bend you over and claim you before someone else beats me to it. So I stayed away from you, I tried to keep space because I have the worst time keeping my instincts in check when it involves you.”

His other hand closed around your waist, and a molten heat coiled in your lower stomach. The thought of being bent over one of the countless work benches and being claimed by Toni, your boss and the only thing consuming your thoughts for months, made your legs shake slightly.

Such a stupid reason to avoid you, when you no doubt would have thrown yourself at his feet if he asked. The relief of him not hating you, mixed with the adrenaline and desire his words were emboldening you. You stepped into his personal bubble, hands sliding over his chest with only the tremble of your hands giving away your feelings. Tilting your head up to meet his gaze, you watched his pupils dilate. Silver nearly swallowed by black.

“You should have talked to me, idiot. I might’ve given you what you wanted,” you mumbled, fingers creeping up to brush against the fluff of fur that escaped the top of his shirt. His gaze dropped down to your hand and he pulled your hips against his. What had to be the biggest bulge you felt in your entire life now pressed hot against your lower stomach.

You were so close to him that he seemed to forget about trying to stay away. His head dipped down and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He was breathing heavily, taking in your scent. A groan that quickly turned into a growl punched out of him, and within a fraction of a second he was slamming the hood of Miss Calder’s truck shut and propping you on top of it.

“Fuck, pretty thing. D’you even know how good you smell?”

The words came out as a growl deep in his chest, and had your legs opening for him to push himself between instantly. A soft whine escaped you, the sound only encouraging him. That cold werewolf you’d been shown over the last couple of months melted away into someone different. The way he looked at you was almost reverent, like you were divinity he had the honor of drinking from.

His hands returned to you, slipping around the hem of the jeans you were wearing. You were eye-level with him on top of the hood, face flushed and eyes fluttering from surprise. When you bit your lip, he huffed in offense and pushed forward to capture your mouth in his.

It was a feverish kiss. Hot and messy like he couldn’t wait a second longer to lay claim to your skin. After a moment it slowed, his tongue teasing and prodding and tasting you with careful consideration.

When he finally dragged himself away, your lips were glossy and parted slightly with the sheen of spit. You were breathing just as heavy as he was now, and the aching between your legs was becoming unbearable.

The leftovers on the table behind you both seemed to be completely forgotten about. Toni had chosen a different meal for the night, and /you/ gave him the choice. He slid his fingers around to the front of your jeans and scraped at the button with a drag of his claw.

“Let me taste you, doll. Please let me put my mouth on you,” he begged, voice rough and ruined already. You held so much power over him, and it was intoxicating. You couldn’t possibly say no to his sweet pleads, nodding and letting out a soft ‘mhm’.

He actually took his time undoing your jeans and yanking them off along with your underwear. The cold of metal kissed the skin on your thighs and made you hiss, and he looked apologetic for only a second before returning a hungry gaze to the slick mess between your legs.

A clawed finger gently ran over your slit, the satisfied growl emitting from him making you whimper. The pad of his thumb found your clit immediately, making slow circles that made your vision dim slightly. You let out a choked gasp as you bucked into his hand, craving more friction than what he was giving you. But his other hand planted you firmly against the hood. A small part of you was worried about denting it, but every other part of you couldn’t give more of a shit.

Toni watched your expression with a mixture of awe and pure instinctual need. His tail thumped roughly against the work table behind him, and his attention was fixated only on you. His hands trembled with the strain of keeping himself from ripping the rest of your clothes off and feeling your soft skin beneath his claws and mouth.

He sank down, his face at your navel. You felt his breath fan out against your hips and core, making you squirm against his grip.

When his mouth fixed onto you, you saw stars. His tongue dipped between your folds and collected the wet slick that only kept gushing at his attention. The sounds he made were so lewd it made your face burn. His face was buried between your thighs, and your fingers tangled into his messy hair. When you tugged, he growled and slipped a tongue inside of you, thick and hot that left you melting against him.

You found yourself reaching your peak faster than ever, only aided by the way he’d pull back for a moment just to send a slew of praise at you.

‘You taste so good, sweetheart.’

‘That’s right, keep riding my face like it’s made for you.’

‘Fuck, thank you.’

‘Can’t wait to fit you on my knot, pretty thing.’

When he said that, his thumb resumed its teasing pace on your clit while he ate you like his last meal. And you only managed to let out a bubble of gibberish as a warning.

“Toni— Gonna.. Oh my- Ton-Toni—“

Your vision went dark for a minute as your orgasm ripping through you. Your body trembled against Toni as he continued licking and sucking at you, only slowing to a stop when the moans turning into whines of overstimulation.

You didn’t have to mourn his absence for very long, because he pulled you into his arms immediately. Scooping you up off of the hood of the truck and holding you against him, you couldn’t help but burrow into the warmth. His hand smoothed over your hair and his lips found yours again. The kiss he planted was short and sweet, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned softly into his mouth.

“You did so good, sweetheart. Can’t thank you enough for letting me taste you after I was so rude,” he breathed against you. You hummed in response, fingers trying to trail down and feel the bulge that strained against his cargo pants. But he growled a soft warning to you and shook his head.

“Not here. Not tonight. I don’t deserve that yet.” His voice was rough, but he said it gently enough to let you know wasn’t rejecting you. Just controlling himself.

You hummed in response, blinking at him before tapping him to put you down. You shimmied your bottoms back on as he watched, the tension in his body unwound and expression open. It felt like an apology, the way he handled you just now. You couldn’t help but feel empty, eyes taking in the sight of how his length strained against his jeans. Part of you wanted to put caution in the wind and sink onto him.

But the anticipation of ‘not yet’ overpowered your immediate need to be filled by him.

Not in this dirty garage. Not when you just finished expressing your hurt to him.

He wanted to make it up to you first.

You smiled at him, and he relaxed even more, a small smile ghosting his own lips as he ruffled your hair. “You might have to reheat the leftover,” you said with a quiet giggle. The sound made his eyes light up, and he seemed to finally remember the leftovers.

“How did you know I like pot roast?”

Kator ensured your safety the moment you crossed the threshold of his kingdom. With a hulking, scarred body the color of deep grey stone and an intensely intelligent gaze. Fleshy, thick dread-like tendrils reached well below his chest, adorned with charms and bone. He’d fixed himself to your side within seconds. His hand hovering mere centimeters from your back as he guided you through the corridors and showed you the home you would be sharing with him.

Over the course of a few months, you’d warmed to him immensely. And he to you. Your hungry curiosity and gentle kindness were absent from all other humans he’d met. And Kator had seen centuries of humans come and go. Empires rising and falling in fragility. While you might have been fragile in body, he learned quickly that everything else about you was strong. You faced him head on, meeting his gaze without fear or judgement.

The first time your hands ran over his skin, he growled something deep and wrecked. Trying his best to maintain a respectful distance until you were ready, the Yautja seemed starved for it. After that, physical contact became natural between you two. His hand sliding over the small of your back when you walked together. Sneaking into the armory while he polished weaponry so you could wriggle into his arms until he discarded whatever he was working on prior. Gently curling a finger around a mandible while you pressed against him in the darkness of your shared bed.

When the touches began to linger and intensify, you’d given in to his hungry gaze. Let him pull you on top of him and coax soft, pleasure whines and whimpers from you. The first time was the gentlest he’d been, mapping out your body and finding your most sensitive spots with ease. After that, the control Kator exhibited slipped, and you encouraged it. You couldn’t get enough of it, of his all-consuming devotion. His reverent touch and low growls of pride when you took him without hesitation.

So when the humans returned a year later, vibrating with hostile energy, you’d been quite irritated. Stomping into the main hall of the palace you’d begun to call your home as if they owned the place. Ripping their thin metal helms off of their heads and demanded you be returned. A rescue mission, they insisted. Obviously you were being held against your will, right?

Kator was sitting alone on his throne, legs spread comfortably as his fingers drummed methodically on his thigh. He leveled them with a blank expression, mandible flaring in a mixture of amusement and controlled offense. To barge into his home so aggressively, demanding things that were not theirs to demand. You stood silent and rigid beside him, eyes narrowed at the intruders. It was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting meant to reinforce the conditions of the treaty.

Kator fixed you with a fond look, much different to the one he gave the human warriors in front of him. His hand stretched out to you invitingly. “Do you wish to be rescued?” He asked, amusement clear in the low rumble of his voice. “They think you are miserable here.”

You didn’t hesitate to let your palm fall into his, shivering at the feeling of his mandibles gently caressing over your knuckles. Not even hours before you had been completely enveloped in him, forcing him to remain in bed far longer than he should have. And here these people were to ruin the mood.

They fell to a knee when they saw you, stammering out excuse after excuse. “We’ve come to return you safely home—“

“This is my home,” you interrupted roughly, glaring down at the two men. “Why do you assume I need to be rescued?”

They gaped at you in confusion, their facade rippling at how easily you dismissed them. An affectionate growl rumbling deep in Kator’s chest at your statement, his gaze fixed completely on you rather than the humans before him.

“We’ve heard about him, how dangerous he is. We simply feared for your safety,” the larger of the two men said, glaring up at Kator with sickening audacity. “Why not return with us and wed someone you choose?”

The claim dug under your skin and affected you more than it seemed to bother your mate. You made a point then to slide into Kator’s lap, his hands guiding you comfortably across his legs before resting on your hips. You reached up and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, eliciting a low purr from him. Only then did you bother to respond.

“I’m perfect where I am. Nothing you could offer me would be worth more than the way Kator makes me feel. No one could provide what he does,” you insisted, fixing your most venomous glare onto the men. “So leave. Do not return, you interrupted our time together, and Kator’s men would kill for me if I ordered it.”

On cue, four Yautja guards flanked the men on both sides, weapons held threateningly in their hands. Kator’s attention hadn’t moved from you the entire time, hands trailing over your body obsessively, his face fixing itself against your neck whilst inhaling your scent. They were escorted out with protests and empty threats still tumbling from their mouths. When the doors finally shut with a heavy thudding sound, you smiled at Kator.

“Should we return to bed?” You asked sweetly, hands running over his chest and eliciting that dangerous growl from him. He nipped at your skin before lifting you easily into his arms. A squeal was pulled from you as his claws tickled at your inner thighs.

“You should be rewarded for your leadership today,” he spoke, groping the swell of your ass roughly. You gasped and shivered at the underlying message in his words.

It was three days into the event, and each day passed without a gift on your desk.

You’d forced the initial confusion into the back of your mind and chose instead to focus distantly on your chosen coworker. Sandra, an older lady that had been working at the office longer than you were alive. She loved caramels and socks, so you put together a bunch of little gifts of different caramels and fuzzy socks.

The third day turned your confusion into a bit of hurt. Had you been forgotten about? Did your Secret Santa pick your name and change their mind about the event?

Your shift had consisted mostly of overthinking the entire event, worrying your lower lip between your teeth until it was raw.

It wasn’t until Torig — the orc who sat in the cubicle across from yours— cleared his throat in a way that dragged your attention from your fog. He was a huge orc, with deep green skin and shining tusks. His sleek black hair was always pushed back or intricately tied into a braid against his head. He wore heavy silver rings and always had nicely pressed clothes.

You two became close quickly, and not just because the two of you had orientation together years ago. Torig was a gentle giant, the best listener during lunch breaks, and the subject of your thoughts a lot more recently.

Today, he looked worried about you. “You’re going to chew your lip off,” he said in a low voice, so as to not disturb your coworkers. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed softly, pushing your chair back away from the desk so you could spin and face him.

“It’s stupid,” you prefaced, holding a finger up to him that silently said, ‘do not judge me.’ “But I haven’t received any gifts yet.”

The second the words left your mouth you felt ridiculous. But Torig’s expression softened, and he shook his head at you.

“You love this holiday stuff, though. It’s not stupid to be upset about it.”

Even though it wasn’t much, that little reassurance made you feel better for the rest of your shift. You managed to put it out of your mind and get work done.

The next day, a neat little box sat on your desk, a crude attempt at a bow resting atop the lid. You couldn’t fight the smile as you dropped into your seat and read the tag.

You recognized Torig’s handwriting immediately. The loose, curved loops and the way he refused to dot his I’s in Merry Christmas.

When you slid the lid off, you felt your heart melt. It was a necklace. The pendant seemingly handmade from silver and wire, twisted and pinched into the intricate design of a tree. You told yourself not to tear up at your desk, and clasped the necklace around your neck without a second thought.

You caught the pleased smile from Torig out of the corner of your eye when he came in later that day. When he thought you weren’t looking.

During lunch, you sought out the corner table you two sat at every day in the small break room. He looked at you as he bit into a roll, big brown eyes lighting up as they dropped to the pendant resting in the dip of your throat.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to, but thank you,” you said softly, playfully nudging his foot with yours beneath the table.

A look flashed over his face, but disappeared in an instance.

“Don’t thank me, I wanted to do it. I don’t like seeing you sulking all day.” If anyone else said it, you would’ve thought they were jabbing at you. But when you met his gaze again, you could tell he was genuine.

The big guy didn’t want you upset.

It warmed your heart to hear him say that. Torig had always been kind to you, from the moment you interrupted orientation because your tire exploded halfway on your way to the office. He’d had a rough time acclimating to the environment and the people. And the people took time to warm up to him. You’d been his loudest defender, insisting he eat lunch with you, claiming the cubicle across from yours and demanding he set up there.

You can’t remember when exactly you started falling for him, but it felt so natural.

Friday rolled around quicker than you thought, and you weren’t surprised this time to show up to your desk without a gift sitting there.

You’d gotten Sandra the rest of the book series you caught her reading during her breaks. The excitement in her face was enough to smooth over the burn. It wasn’t about receiving anything, just the satisfaction of giving.

The first portion of your day went by in a foggy blur— paperwork, emails, a meeting about statistics and goals for the week after you all returned from Christmas breaks.

When Torig arrived in the afternoon, he had a bundle of something in his arms. His hair was a bit wilder than he usually kept it, sticking up in odd places like he’d slept on it and couldn’t bother grooming it. His shirt was missing the top button, and his trousers were not ironed.

This was the least composed you’d ever seen the orc.

He loomed over you in the entryway of your cubicle, looking sheepish as he held the bundle out to you.

“For me?” You asked, taken aback by his ruffled appearance and the item in his hands. When he only nodded once, you grabbed at the bundle.

It tumbled into your lap, and you let out a quiet noise of surprise. It was a scarf, made up of your favorite colors. A soft and plush knitted scarf with little strands of fluffy jutting out from the ends.

“I was actually making that for you before I found out your Secret Santa flaked out on you,” he admitted timidly, his face turning a deeper shade of green as you stared down at the scarf in your lap. “I stayed up late to finish it, ended up falling asleep at the end, and had to do the rest before I came in. It’s not a lot, I know—“

You stood up abruptly, making him pause and take a startled step back. When you met his gaze again, your eyes were watery. You stepped into his space and leaned into him, arms squeezing him tightly.

“Thank you, this is everything. Your gifts mean so much because you made them,” you mumbled against his shirt.

His arms slowly wrapped around you, his tusk grazing the top of your head as he inhaled. A soft rumble in his chest as he replied.

“I have another gift, but it’s completely up to you. You can say no, and I won’t hold anything against you,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. You pulled back from the hug just enough to give him a curious look. He just smiled down at you.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight? I’ll make reservations somewhere nice and I’ll pay for the entire night. You just have to sit there and look pretty.”

You blinked.

Torig just asked you to go to dinner with him. The giant orc with the soft temperament that you’ve been pining after for so long wanted to take you out.

“Like a date?” You asked stupidly, and he chuckled in response.

“Yes, please. Like a date.”

A delighted smile crossed your face as you nodded eagerly, meeting his gaze with a soft blush decorating your cheeks.

After an emergency meeting, the elders made the grim decision to offer over one of their own. Every other option had proved futile.

You helped around the temple occasionally, and knew the elders well. Your devotion had been taught to you from a young age, and Xaora was a large piece of your daily life. When they made the announcement to the rest of the island, outrage broke out. No one was foolish enough to offer themselves, to die for something that may not even please the god.

Perhaps that is why you stood before his altar in the dimness of waxing candles. You’d woken up from an uneasy sleep, flashes of natural disaster laying beneath your eyelids. Before you even woke up completely, your feet carried you all the way to the temple at the center of the island. It looked tiny beneath the looming volcano behind it.

You let out a deep breath, sinking to your knees in front of the statue carved of him from igneous rock. A silver ceremonial knife rested in the palms of your hand, the front of your nightgown untied to reveal only a small sliver of skin where your heartbeat thrummed aggressively.

Letting your eyes fall shut, you exhale deeply, willing the tension to leave your body and mind. Your hands did not shake when you pressed the tip of the sharpened blade to your chest.

“I offer myself to you, Xaora. So that your appetite may be sated, and my people might be blessed with your love once more,” you breathe the words with conviction, feeling a surge of confidence.

Within seconds of you speaking, the world around you exploded with intense heat and bright light. You curled in on yourself with a gasp, blacking out for a moment.

When you came to, you were still kneeling. The knife no longer pressed to your chest, but was hanging loosely in front of your eyes. An alarmed yelp ripped from you when you saw the hands holding it.

Where Xaora’s statue had been before now stood a hulking figure of the same god. He resembled a man, but his form made up entirely of igneous rock and slowly flowing lava. His eyes were a searing orange, and they were currently fixated on the ceremonial knife. Your presence not yet acknowledged, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and closed his grip on the knife. It melted between his fingers and singed the carpeted floor in front of you.

A noncommittal sound of confusion sounded from you, which finally drew his gaze to you. His attention carried an imposing heat that dragged lazily over your body. You couldn’t look away from him, though. The sight of him before you, only being able to see him through statues and stories, stirred that devotion in you. He was beautiful in a dangerous manner. Chaos incarnate.

“Do you speak the truth?” His voice sounded like the bubbling of the volcano— a low rumble that shook you from the inside out. “Offering yourself to me.”

Your mouth fell open, yet the words lodged themselves in your throat. Xaora simply watched you, his form constantly shifting in formation. Lava would harden into rock while rock heated and melted. He towered over your kneeling body, making you feel minuscule in comparison.

When you didn’t answer for a long time, he clicked his tongue again. His hand curled around your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. It was a hot touch, but you noticed brightness of the lava that made up the limb had dimmed. He was controlling how much heat he touched you with. You hadn’t expected it to feel as gentle as it did when he tilted your face up. His thumb ran over your lower lip curiously.

“If you do, you shall not die. I never asked you mortals for death, only for life. A salve to soothe the ravenous hunger that plagues me. Do you understand?”

As he spoke, his hand slid from your chin to cradle the back of your neck. At some point he had shrunk to the size of a human man. Still taller than you, but not talking up the entire backside of the temple. His face was inches from yours, scouring your expression for anything he could find. You took a stuttered breath, the intent behind his words suddenly dawning on you. Even though this was the first time you spoke to him face-to-face, a familiar comfort washed over you.

This was the being you worshipped, in all of his bright, scorching glory. Holding you and asking if you were offering yourself to him. His anger with the people of the island stemmed from longing, carnal and searing like the lava that came from him.

“I am yours,” you breathed out without thinking, your hand hesitating mere centimeters from his face. “I have dedicated my life to this island, to worshipping you.. Xaora. Whatever you need, take it from me.”

The orange of his eyes flared vividly to life at the proclamation, a look that seemed almost like pride crossing his face. His grip on you tightened slightly, drawing you closer.

“I knew you would not disappoint me. I have watched you tend to my altar here for many years. The perfect devotee made for me.”

His praise made you flush, eyelashes fluttering lightly as you let yourself lean even closer. Xaora’s hands wandering your skin feverishly, pushing the nightgown off of your shoulders easily. The cotton fabric pooled at your abdomen, trapped by your kneeling position. A low, pleased growl emitted from the god as he observed. The slightest layer of sweat casted a gloss over your skin from the heat he emitted.

You were suddenly flipped, gasping sharply as your bare thighs framed his sweltering body. You straddled him now, as he lounged against the steps of his altar like a king on his throne. Your hands reached out to ground yourself, landing on either of his shoulders. He should have been too hot to touch, scorching and burning every part of you exposed to him.

He wasn’t burning you, though. His heat was overwhelming, but in a way that casted your mind into a muddled haze.

“Show me your level of worship, dear. Open yourself to me,” Xaora coaxed softly, one hand gripping your hip while the other dipped between your thighs.

A whine punched out of you when his fingers dragged against your slick folds. An ache coiled in your core that you’d never experienced before. Your body reacted to him stronger than it had with anyone. He gave no warning as two thick fingers pushed inside of you with little resistance.

“That’s it..” he murmured at your choked gasps. The stretch of him was already a lot for you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He didn’t move them yet, letting you get used to the intrusion.

Your breathing was rough, the only sound echoing against the walls of the temple. After a minute, every slight twitch of his fingers inside you made that ache in your core grow. But Xaora was showing immense patience, watching you closely for signs of discomfort.

You tightened your grip on his shoulders then, dragging your hips forward in one slow movement. The pads of his fingers brushed roughly against a certain spot that sent your vision reeling. He groaned as you tightened around him, taking it as his sign to move. His fingers fucking in and out of you at a steady, infuriating pace. Drawing out more and more of that wet slick and coating himself in it as you rolled you rolled your hips to match him.

It wasn’t enough. His eyes were on you, and his fingers kept brushing those nerves. He was drinking in every sound, every breath, every twitch and clench around him.

“Please, Xaora—“ your voice came out pleading, feeling the building of your peak far sooner than you were ready to.

The god hummed at you thoughtfully, reaching out with his free hand to push a strand of your hair out of your face. He grabbed your chin and dragged your lips against his. The kiss was feverish, his tongue slipping inside your mouth without warning to taste every part of you he could access. As he did so, his fingers slid out of you.

You whined at the absence, wetness coating your inner thighs and smeared over his hand. He shushed you quietly, maneuvering you around so he could line himself up to you.

The sight of him made your mouth water. He dragged that same slick hand over his cock, hissing at the contact. It was hard and thick, and as he lined the tip up to your entrance you felt the heat that radiated off of him like a furnace. You wondered absently if he could even fit before he was pushing inside of you with a possessive growl.

A choked cry forced itself out of you as he bottomed out. Xaora was reaching parts of you never before touched, stretching you over him like you were the missing puzzle piece he’d been searching for. When you were able to focus again, you noticed the way his breathing had changed. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He gripped your waist tightly, expression twisted into one of awe. You barely had any time to prepare before he was pulling back and thrusting into you.

The pace he set was relentless, using his grip on you to basically hold you there as he drilled into you. He was getting hotter the less he focused, and the heat building inside of you made it harder to think about anything but him. The sounds of slapping skin and barely contained whimpers filled the charged air.

“Xaora—“

“You’re taking me so perfectly. Made for me, made to fit around me. You’re mine,” he interrupted, voice raw with pure desire as he forced your hips down. “Tell me you’ll return. Tell me that you’ll be mine alone. That no god or mortal will steal your worship from me.”

He was fucking you rougher as he spoke, flipping you once more so that you laid against the steps of the altar. Your legs closed around his hips as you nodded wildly, blinking the tears from your eyes as you tried desperately to find words past the garbled whimpers and moans he pulled from you.

“I’m yours, oh gods— No one else will touch me, just please.”

At the word, ‘please’ your vision went white as your orgasm ripped through you like a torrent. Your body twitched as he pulled you against him, still fucking into you like a wild beast. You locked your legs against him, forcing him to spill inside of you. His release was hot and thick, and you trembled against him as he slowed to a stop.

You panted against him, his hands running over your back soothingly. He murmured soft praise against your skin, kissing your eyelids gently.

The second he tried to pull out, your legs tightened. He gave you a curious glance, and you shook your head. “Stay for a minute.. Just want to feel you.”

His expression darkened, and he let out a quit chuckle, drawing you back into his lap. “Don’t tempt me, beautiful. Your stamina is no match for mine. I do not wish to ruin you yet.”

The intent behind his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you leaned against his chest. Letting the soothing caress of his hands on your skin draw out the last of your high. He seemed pleased, his energy shifting to something more tempered. More controlled. Like you truly were a salve on his wounds. The question left your lips before you could stop them.

“Will the island be alright, now?”

He smiled at you mischievously, drawing you in for a softer kiss this time.

“As long as you continue to worship at my altar and satiate my hunger.”