Iceeyfoxx

The scholar analyzes that feeling, where it comes from. Is the difference, perhaps, because you are already his? This is you, sharing something precious that feels too vulnerable to admit to him - a feeling he knows very well - not a stranger gushing over him without properly knowing him.

When you meet next time, Alhaitham seems lost in thought. Yet at the same time, you feel his gaze following your every move. Because he is. He notices everything. Between the two of you, you might be the more outspoken one, the one who tends to confess your feelings more directly. Right now, though, he can see you speak his language of love fluently too - more than he gave you credit for, too blinded by how easily you seem to express your emotions aloud and trying to meet you there.

Now he sees it, though. Every little gesture, every lingering touch, every indirect admission that you care. You startle when he slides his hand across the table to catch yours. Maybe this is enough, maybe just as he knows now, you understood his feelings the whole time.

Ayato

It is not his style to be hiding in the shadows but Ayato always keeps his mind open to trying new things. Such as now, biding his time in the cool shade the tree offers while he listens to the voices approaching. There’s something about the hushed excitement with which his sister speaks that already piques his interest, yet it is only when he hears the unmistakable shyness and panic in yours that he considers abandoning his previous plan of making a surprising appearance. He’s a curious man and if you’re not careful enough to make absolutely sure nobody hears what you’re saying, it can’t be that important after all.

And thinking that is his undoing. He has to stifle a laugh. How foolish he was for dismissing what he’s going to hear as a simple ammunition for teasing. His posture shifts, now he leans against the trunk comfortably as he gets lost in your sweet confessions. He stares up at the sky obscured by the leaves. You’ve said those things before, maybe not with the same words, but he’s never doubted your feelings. So why does he feel this way now?

His surprise is postponed. Instead of scaring you by jumping out of the shadows, Ayato surprises you with dinner ready on the table, the servants dismissed for the remainder of the day. Your home is quiet, safe for your husband describing the delicacies on the table and teasing the special dessert he prepared for later - no doubt something he thought of himself. And while it’s not unheard of for him to make romantic gestures such as this, something feels off.Yet when you press him about it, Ayato offers only a mysterious smile and a playful can’t i adore you for no special reason? accompanied by a fleeting kiss to the corner of your lips.

Baizhu

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Qiqi will forget this conversation soon. Your secret is safe with her.”

Intrigued, Baizhu ducks closer to the wall. Secrets? Secrets between his two favorite people? He’s curious and amused at the same time. Should your voice be strained, he would worry and interrupt whatever was going on, but seeing as you were giggling along with the little girl, he barely expected more than a silly exchange that would warm his heart and provide him with sufficient energy to push through his tasks for the day.

Instead, what he hears makes his heart stop for a moment and his legs weaken. Perhaps he should make his presence known. Perhaps he won’t need to, simply collapsing on the spot should be enough. 

Once the dramatics leave his body with a quiet, shaky breath, he carefully peeks into the room. His eyes land on you in a second, on the shy, embarrassed smile and eyes, fortunately, closed while you laugh with Qiqi about the foolishly sweet things you’ve said. Baizhu bites back a smile and finds another route to his destination.

Later, however, while you’re getting ready for bed, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. His lips leave a trail of soft kisses from your shoulder to your jaw, no different than if he was running a feather over your skin. But his arms, they keep you in place without fail. 

“The effect you have on me is concerning, my heart,” Baizhu whispers into your ear before you can voice your surprise.

His hand finds yours and guides it to his wrist, allowing you to feel his racing pulse. He feels your confusion growing, but he doesn’t explain - how could he? He will treasure the secrets he heard, although they’ve perhaps never been secret at all. Not when he can see them all now that he looks into your eyes.

Dottore

He bristles when he hears a voice responding to yours, and soon the irritation is doubled. Dottore assigned you a task of utmost importance and time sensitivity. It’s a test of sorts, sure, yet the notion that you’d fail and what’s more - that you’d skirt your duty to mindless chatter makes a confusing mix of irrational feelings well up in his chest.

Yet he’s stopped in his tracks before his steps can get within your earshot. His enhanced senses can perceive what a regular human couldn’t, such as your voice, calm and poised, explaining the inner workings of your heart to the other person. 

It makes his face contort like a child’s after drinking a bitter medicine. Then an incredulous laugh bubbles quietly up his throat. The world tilts on its axis, nausea follows. Those words are not unheard; they’re simply usually heard much more quietly, privately, behind locked doors and between the sheets. You whisper them to him, mumbling them against his skin because he won’t meet your gaze or acknowledge them. He never thought he’d hear them aloud - spoken without hesitation, doubt or shame. 

You don’t flinch when you find yourself trapped between his body and the desk a minute later, the other bolting away the moment he appears. He doesn’t feel you stiffen or tremble at all when his breath hits the vulnerable skin of your throat, nor when he bites down on the side of your neck. Not hard enough to draw blood and, he realizes belatedly, not hard enough to hurt. Only enough to leave a faint mark. Somehow his fingers find their way between yours, pinning you to the desk. He’s already panting so hard it makes him laugh. 

This is not the experiment he had in mind for today, or any other day for as long as he lives, but inspiration is known to strike at the oddest of moments.

Flins

He wakes up to a voice. Which is strange because he also wakes up to a feeling of safety, and Flins has grown so used to safety meaning loneliness. It takes him a moment to fully process all that he can hear and feel, and for the time being he remains still as if he was resting. First is the touch - a hand combing through his hair slowly, which threatens to lull him back to sleep. Then the voice gets clear enough. Your voice, your words. Suddenly, sleep is no longer tempting.

Fortunately, his face is hidden against your stomach enough that he can allow himself a secret smile. He has to express himself somehow without also being discovered. It’s been so long since he’s known intimacy such as this. Compromising this moment is the last thing he wants. He promises to himself he’ll make it up to you somehow, he has to, but for the time being he chooses to stay as he is. 

You don’t seem any wiser when Flins pretends to wake up. Very slowly, uncharacteristically affectionate. So much so that you don’t tease him, skipping straight to suspicion and mild concern. But he only reassures you, telling you about a beautiful dream he had while kissing your wrists, your hands, all the way to your fingertips. He doesn’t let you pull away - every attempt is met with a gentle squeeze and a pleading look. And you’re no monster to say a no to that.

Despite his best efforts, he can’t quite figure out how to make you feel as loved as your words spoken while he was supposed to be oblivious to them made him feel. He ends up hovering around you, and it’s so unfair how effortlessly you pile onto that feeling with every touch, every word of concern. He doesn’t think you understand why he holds you so much tighter when he finally breaks and pulls you close.

Neuvillette

He knows it’s wrong. The Iudex of Fontaine, listening in on hushed voices, albeit voices behind his closed doors, inside of his own office. There’s already been a precedent of a secret being kept from him, and he’d rather not think about an event of similar severity being repeated when the voice he recognizes is yours. The gasps of the melusines do nothing to calm his beating heart, he can only press his ear to the wood of the door and close his eyes.

They don’t stay closed for long. It makes little difference as Neuvillette stares blankly at the ground, his sight unfocused and shaky. He holds his breath, he doesn’t mean to, but if he misses a single word of your confessions he feels he’d regret it for eternity.

The moment passes too soon. Steps get closer to the door and he does his best to act as if he witnessed nothing. He thinks he must be doing fine until you stand in front of him - he feels the facade crumble. Neuvillette leads you back into the office despite your playful scolding that you’ve already held up his work enough. 

He confesses to listening in before you can decode the expression on his face. The tips of his ears turn red, his voice wavers. Then the silence stretches, before he eventually, softly, admits how hearing you speak that way about him has affected him. Like you couldn’t tell from the uncertainty radiating off of him. 

So now it’s your turn to take his hand and pry details from him. With utmost patience despite your racing heart, you delve to the root of the issue - that he feels just as strongly about you too, yet struggles to come up with a way to show you. The realization comes with a self-depreciating chuckle and an apologetic smile that becomes a little more relaxed when you inform the hydro dragon that a simple kiss will suffice.

Pantalone

It’s almost time to leave. The annual ball is about to start and Pantalone means to be fashionable late. He is the main star, so to speak, after all. Your handmaiden should also be aware of the time, and so he sees no point in knocking-

“I’ve wished the marriage wasn’t a matter of convenience for a long time now.”

His hand hovers above the doorknob and retracts. His brows furrow. While your voice is somber, almost desperate, the voice of your handmaiden is excited, albeit concerned. He doesn’t understand.

It’s only when, upon the woman’s insistence, you let the floodgates of your feelings open that he gets the full picture. 

Smirk tugs at his lips, one he can barely contain. A man should not feel as he feels hearing such confessions from the one he’s wedded to, yet here Pantalone is. Pride soars through his chest, a sense of victory, the satisfaction of a beneficial deal struck. And all the while - peace. Like a guard dog with no master stumbling upon a lamb, given purpose anew.

There seem to indeed be some things the value of which cannot be expressed or evaluated.

Nobody, of course, dares to comment that your late arrival at the ball borders on rude instead of fashionable. The talk of the town, or rather the content of the hushed whispers that the speakers think cannot be heard over the music, is all about you and your husband.

About the way the regrator’s hand remains possessively on your lower back, both seemingly to guide you and to prevent you from straying too far away. In fact, it seems the closer you remain, the better. They talk about the many instances when his lips brush right against the shell of your ear whenever he’s talking to you privately. 

The whole hall wonders - did the ninth harbinger fall in love?

Tighnari

His ears twitch and turn in the direction of the sound that does not belong this deep in the forest. A smile’s already tugging on Tighnari’s lips when he listens for a moment longer and recognizes the voice as yours, accompanied by another’s. It’s impossible to keep you away from the more dangerous parts of the forest, he’s made peace with that, but he’s at least relieved you listened to him and didn’t venture this far alone. 

He finishes the task he was devoted to and is about to greet you and join you, should his company be welcomed, when he hears it. The way your voice drops lower, barely heard above the songs of the birds and the hum of the trees, and how it grows softer, fonder. For a moment he hesitates, some part of him worried about what he might hear because a tone like that is supposed to be reserved for him. Only it turns out it is.

He breaks into a wider smile - then he reels himself in. He shouldn’t be listening in on your private conversation, even if he’s the topic of it. A very, very cherished topic it seems. But his body won’t listen. His tail has a life of its own and his feet remain stuck to the ground. His expression grows softer, fonder. He might’ve remained there, staring in the direction of your voice like a fool if it wasn’t for his emotions simply growing too overwhelming. 

Tighnari grins sheepishly when you yelp the moment he appears from between the trees, more so when your friend suddenly has a very convenient excuse to flee - though he calls after them that they shouldn’t be by themselves in these parts. Even if he prefers to have you to himself. Suddenly it seems like all your eloquence disappeared. But that’s fine - that’s cute, he chuckles. He can do the talking now, if you only take his hand.

Zhongli

Idle chatter is a rare occurrence without the director around. Any sort of lively energy, really, especially on days like this one. And so with her out on business, Zhongli is intrigued by what made hushed conversation resonate through the empty halls of the parlor. Above all, he picks up your voice, strained by emotions. Hardly a surprise after the display you’ve all bore witness only hours prior.

Meaning to check on you, he approaches slowly. Yet finding himself to be the topic of the conversation, his steps pause, then stop altogether. His brows furrowed. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why the sudden outburst or why you’d feel the need to talk about your feelings with a third party - what he doesn’t understand is the trembling of his own heart. How can it still be so fragile after aeons of heartbreak?

Later, in the quiet privacy of your bedroom, Zhongli comes clean. It remains a mystery to him why his heart flutters again when he watches you get flustered - first by the realization, then by him recounting similar sentiments to you. It only gets strangers, the feeling shifts into an ache first, then into a stable pressure that feels almost crushing.

You’re lying on his chest, at his insistence as much as your desire to remain close to him. It’s been hours since he coaxed you to sleep but he himself can’t bring himself to drift off. He’s watching you, marvelling at the feeling stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is because of the funeral and the young widow you’ve all witnessed earlier, sobbing at her husband’s grave, that you are - that he is - so desperate to make the feelings you harbor for each other known. 

── ⟢ 𝑳𝒖𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒂

You didn't expect it to feel this overwhelming — drawn out and every nerve in your body on fire under the slow but precise movements of his hand. Luocha watched you with unnerving focus, eyes half lidded but sharp as his other hand gently rested on your hipbone while two of his fingers curled up inside you repeatedly.

"Still with me?" he asked with a sickening sweet voice, although it had a certain edge to it, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

You nodded helplessly, but it wasn't convincing with the way you looked so absolutely fucked out of your mind. Your body was writhing under his touch, thighs trembling and your breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. His fingers didn't move fast, but they moved deep, hitting that same maddening spot that had you seeing stars until your walls clenched and fluttered around his invading digits. His thumb barely ghosted over your sensitive clit, just enough pressure to push you closer to the edge, but not enough to send you over it just yet.

"Good girl," he praised with a hushed voice as his other hand gently nudged your thighs apart once again, your body subconsciously closing them from the overwhelming sensation. "Stay open for me, love." his breath ghosted over your skin as he pressed a kiss to the side of your knee, putting himself between your thighs to keep them spread open.

Your hands clutched at the sheets, desperate for something to ground you. Everything was slick and oh so sensitive — all to much but not quite enough. Luocha adjusted the angle of his fingers subtly and you cried out in pleasure, back arching off the mattress as a surge of hot pleasure spread through your core. Your legs kicked and your hips jolted without control.

"I- Luocha, I c-can't-" You didn't even know what you were saying anymore, words jumbling up in your head and coming out as babbled nonsense.

"Yes, you can," he murmured, a bit firmer now as if he was coaxing something fragile out of you. "Don't fight it."

That was enough to make the knot inside your lower belly to snap. Your body convulsed, the pleasure blinding and raw. You felt yourself gush around his fingers, unable to stop even as you whimpered and tried to pull away. Luocha didn't stop — he slowed his movements, grounding you and helped you through it while keeping his fingers right where you needed them to be.

When your breathing finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open again just to see him sitting between your thighs, fingers covered in your juices. His expression didn't change much, but there was a subtle curl to his lips.

"So that's what you were holding back, hm?" He mused softly as his fingers ever so gently nudged against your sweet spot just to tease you again. "You should let me take you apart like this more often."

── ⟢ 𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍

Boothill had you laid out and panting with just two fingers, working relentlessly on your cunt. His knuckles and wrist flexing with a lazy rhythm that didn't match the speed in which your orgasm built. His other hand rested casually on your thigh, his thumb drawing small circles on your leg as if he had all the time in the world. The cold metal was a stark contrast against your hot skin.

"Darn, sugar," he drawled, eyes flicking up from between your thighs, half lidded and amused. "You're squeezin' me like you're tryin' to trap me in there," his voice sounded mocking as he flashed you a grin with his sharp teeth.

You moaned and your hips bucked under his touch which made him grin knowingly, yet he didn't change the pace. His fingers curled just right, finding that soft spot that had your legs shaking. He knew you were close, never had to ask if you're gonna come for him — he felt how your walls fluttered and how your breath hitched with those high pitched whimpers, reserved for moments like these.

"Just let go," he murmured with a low voice and made it sound like gentle encouragement. "Ain't no shame in getting a lil messy." He mused and bit your thigh, not hard enough to break skin but enough to leave indents with his teeth.

His fingers pressed against your sweet spot a little harder now, his thumb rolling over your clit with just the right pressure and your whole body stiffened, arching from the bed. Once your orgasm washed over you, it felt like a tidal wave hitting you — hard and overwhelming. You gasped, your thighs trembled as you gushed clear liquid, soaking his hands, the sheets and even hitting his face that was casually resting against your thigh.

He laughed when it stopped, not mocking or cruel but amused like he'd expected it and was damn proud of himself. "Well would ya look at that," His fingers eased up but didn't leave you, still lazily stroking you through the aftershocks as your body shook with pleasure.

You tried to catch your breath, face burning but he just leaned over you, licking your juices off of his knuckles without any hint of shame. "Gonna have to clean this up" he mused and let his fingers drag through your drenched folds. "Bet I can wring a little more outta you, darlin'."

── ⟢ 𝑱𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒂𝒏

Your legs were pinned back against your chest, folded tight beneath Jing Yuan's weight, his palms pressed firm against the back of your thighs to keep you in place. He was so deep, hips grinding slow and steady into you, and every thrust hit that spot deep inside of you that made your eyes roll back and your breath catch in your throat.

"Feels good?" He asked, voice low and warm, a little too calm for the way he was fucking you. His hair clung to his shoulders, sweat beading at his temples and his golden eyes never left your face. He smiled when your answer came out in a whimper instead of words.

"Mm... I'll take that as a yes," he whispered as he dragged his hips back with a wet slide until only his tip remained inside before thrusting back inside — deeper and harder. Your back arched and a broken moan escaped your lips as your thighs started to tremble in his grasp.

You couldn't run, couldn't even squirm. He had you open and helpless beneath him, dripping all over his cock with every thrust. The pressure inside your core kept building, tighter and hotter, until your walls clenched around him like a vice, milking him for all that he had to offer. Yet, his pace didn't falter. Jing Yuan was deliberate, watching your body like it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're close," he hummed more to himself than to you, almost as if he was pleased with how messy you were getting. He shifted his hips ever so slightly but it was enough to have him fucking against your sweet spot that made your breath hitch. "Right there, isn't it?" It was almost teasing.

You nodded, wanting to speak but your voice broke into a cry as the orgasm rippled through your body unannounced. A rush of wetness squirted out of you mid thrust, soaking your cunt, splashing onto his stomach and dripping down onto the sheets. Your body jolted with pleasure, hips bucking wildly and thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He groaned low in his throat at the sensation but he didn't stop. Instead, his thrusts grew rougher, the obscene squelching of your pussy only making him work harder. "There it is," he muttered almost reverent before leaning down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "Think you can do that again for me?" It wasn't a question, more so a dare — He'd make you gush around him again before he allowed himself his own release.

The figure before you was gigantic, and the scandalous state of undress did nothing to hide his monumental form. Sun-kissed skin, stretched taut over a terrain of thick muscle, was marred by a map of silvery scars that spoke of countless battles. A light dusting of golden hair, catching the dappled forest light, traced the hard lines of his torso, leading down past the stark V of his hips.

His face held a wild charm, a rough stubble dusting a jaw that looked capable of crushing bone. And his eyes… they were a blue so piercing and knowing it felt uncanny. They saw the tremor in your hands, the traitorous hitch in your breath, the coil of heat tightening low in your belly despite your terror. Two large wolf ears, a shade darker than his tousled blonde hair, twitched and pivoted at your every whimper, attuned to the frantic rabbit-beat of your heart. Behind him, a magnificent golden tail lashed once through the air with a soft swish, betraying his interest.

But your gaze, horrified and helplessly fascinated, was dragged downward. Between his tree-trunk thighs, utterly unabashed, it stood – a thick, ruddy, obscene length of flesh, heavy with prominent veins. It wasn't fully upright but jutted forward with a weighty promise, the tapered tip already beading with a single pearl of moisture that caught the dappled forest light. It gave a slight bob as you stared, making your own breath stutter in response. The air grew thick, charged with the scent of pine, musk, and something feral.

You stumbled back with a shriek, clutching the basket and holding it in front of you like a shield. “S-stay back!”

The sound that rumbled from his chest was deep and grating, startling you for a second. 

“Whoa there, lil’ Red! Easy! I don’t bite… much.” He took a casual step forward, his nostrils flaring. “Gods. That smell...” He inhaled deeply, and a smile spread across his face, revealing sharp canines. “The sweetest pie.”

“Take it then!” you squealed, thrusting the basket toward him, squeezing your eyes shut. “Just take the pie and don’t hurt me!”

“Hmm?” He plucked the basket from your trembling hands, sniffed it once, and threw it aside without a glance. “No, no, silly thing. Not that pie.”

A large hand closed around your wrist. You gasped, eyes opening wide to meet his blazing blues. They were glazed, half-lidded with a hunger you barely understood. 

“Name’s Varka, lil’ Red,” he growled, “and I’ve just caught the ripest scent in whole damn Wolvendom.”

“No!” You tried to pull back, but his grip was iron. “Let me go! I have to go to my grandmother!”

“Grandma can wait,” he purred, his other hand coming up to push the hood of your cloak back. His fingers tangled in your hair, appreciating your beautiful locks before yanking you against the unyielding wall of his body. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you were acutely aware of every sculpted ridge of his abdomen and chest pressed against you. The hard line of his erection, throbbing with a slow pulse, pressed against your belly, searing hot even through the layers of your dress. You whimpered in pure terror, and your high-pitched sound ignited something feral in his eyes.

A terrified “Please!” was all you managed before his fingers, tipped with claws that lightly scored the fabric, closed on the front of your dress. With a brutal tear, the pretty red fabric turned into a shredded remnant in his massive fist. You stumbled backwards, and your ass hit the soft moss of the forest floor. 

Varka kneeled and loomed over you, a mountain of scarred muscle and primal intent, blotting out the sky. His blue eyes, the pupils dilated into dark pools, glinted with a heat that had nothing to do with violence. His gaze lingered on your exposed belly and the tender swell of your breasts rising and falling with panicked breaths. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest, a futile shield.

“Still tryin' to be modest, sweet Red?” Varka rumbled fondly, a low growl lacing the words. His knee, rough with hair and corded muscle, pressed insistently between your thighs, using his overwhelming weight to force your shaking legs apart. The cool forest air kissed your skin, making you shudder. “No need for that. Let’s have a proper look at what’s makin' all that sweet smell.”

You thrashed like the sweetest prey, your red stockings snagging and tearing against something in the moss. “Please, no – the pie, take the pie!”

“Hah! I’ve told you,” he snarled, leaning down so his hot breath, carrying the wild scent of his arousal, fanned your face. His rough stubble scratched your cheek as he nipped at your earlobe. “I’m not interested in the one in the basket.”

You felt his hands, rough like weathered bark, completely engulf your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spread you open wider. With another rip, this one accompanied by the sickening sound of torn lace, the remaining skirts and your delicate panties were rendered into useless shreds. You screamed, kicking back wildly. Your heel connected with the solid rock of his thigh, which only made his cock, now fully erect and angrily red, jump and leak a thick strand of precum onto your inner thigh.

“Feisty! I like the fight in ya!” Varka laughed wholeheartedly, and his wolf ears flattened against his skull in concentration. His lips find the shell of your ear, whispering intimately, “Gon’ lick ya stupid, lil’ Red. Gotta taste what I'm goin’ to destroy...”

Before you could plead again, his mouth descended. His lips and tongue were a brand of fire, trailing down, sucking violent hickeys into the tender skin of your neck, your collarbone, the trembling swell of your breast. Varka stopped over your pert nipple, sucking the innocent flesh deep into the scorching cavern of his mouth, teasing the poor bud mercilessly with the rasp of his rough tongue, then bit slightly around it, his sharp canines leaving a perfect red circle of indents around your tortured peak. 

The mix of pain and shocking pleasure made you grab fistfuls of unruly hair near his ears and tug. This only elicited a low growl of approval from him as he released your poor flesh with an obscene pop. 

“Tha’s it… Ya startin’ to look like mine, Red.” He admired the darkening mark with a possessive gleam in his eye before continuing his relentless journey south, licking a broad stripe down your belly, his nose inhaling deeply, savoring the salt of your sweat and the sweet feminine scent beneath. As his handsome face came level with your loins, hidden in shy curls and glistening with your own betraying arousal, Varka stared at your slit, appreciating the delicacy of his next meal. 

"Here's the pie I crave," he murmured, and buried his nose in your curls, sniffing like a starved bloodhound at a feast. A rumbling groan of appreciation rattled in his chest, and, drunk on your scent, he finally licked a burning path from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.

You jerked as if struck by lightning, a broken cry torn from your throat at the white-hot bolt of pleasure that seared through the numbness of your terror. Your toes coiled against the damp moss, and your hips gave an involuntary jerk towards his greedy mouth. Varka growled, the sound shaking his entire frame and vibrating deliciously against your labia.

“Oh, fuck,” his voice was muffled against your slick folds. He lapped at you again, broader, slower, more proprietary, his broad nose nudging insistently against your clit as his tongue parted your inner lips, prodding at your leaking hole, savouring the taste. “Hit a jackpot. Cunt sweet as honey and ripe as a fucking peach. You knew what you did, coming into my woods ovulating, didn’t ya?”

With that, Varka hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the red wool of your torn stocking being a stark contrast against his sun-tanned skin. Dipping back, he pressed his face to your cunt so tight that his nose flattened your poor clit, and his tongue became relentless when you whimpered at the sensation. It speared inside you, fucking you with shallow thrusts that made you sob and gush more of your honey into his thirsty mouth. Then it flattened, dragging over your clit in tight, dizzying circles that had your back arching off the ground against your will, your hands flying to his head once again. 

This time, though, you didn't try push him away. Instead, your fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture caught between a plea to stop and a desperate pull for more. Varka held you down easily, one huge hand splaying possessively over your lower belly, pinning you, urging you to gush out more sweetness against his face. 

With his tongue on you, in you, you were becoming boneless, melting slowly, the forest canopy spinning above you. Tears of shame and pleasure streaked your temples.

“Va– Vah–!” you tried to plead, but found yourself unable to speak when he sucked at your clit again.

“Sho– shooo fuckin’ shweet,” he snarled between licks, his hands coming up to cruelly pinch and roll your neglected nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, kneading the soft swell afterwards. He shifted, nuzzling lower, his wet nose tracing a path further down. His tongue, eager and curious, darted to tease the tight pucker of your other hole, kissing and licking it with blunt pressure.

“Ah! N-not there!” you shrieked, jolting as if struck.

“Everywhere,” Varka corrected hungrily, his voice muffled between your thighs. “But for now…” His tongue returned to your weeping slit with renewed fervor, drinking from you, licking up like a starved mutt, then sucking your raw clit into his mouth with obscene gusto, smearing more of your juices all over his stubbled cheeks and chin, biting at the tender nub ever so gently with his teeth. 

The culmination was too vast to fight, and, with another teasing nip, you came, body convulsing violently under the prison of his mouth and hands, your vision whiting out as waves of shameful pleasure wracked you. Varka tugged at your nipples again and drank every spasm, every drop, his growls of satisfaction vibrating through your very core.

“Fuck yeah,” he panted, lifting his head, his face glistening with your release. “Jus’ a small appetizer before the main feast.” As you lay there trembling, utterly wrecked and puddled on your own red cloak, he moved up your body. His immense weight settled over you, supported only by his forearms, deliciously crushing the air from your lungs. The intimidating length of his fully erect cock, its ruddy skin flushed dark and slick with his pre-cum, pressed insistently against your quivering entrance. He nudged impatiently, and you felt the tapered tip catch and begin to part your swollen hole.

“W-wait!”

Varka did not. 

With a single, powerful, and utterly devastating thrust, he fully sheathed himself inside you, and white-hot pain obliterated everything. You didn’t hear yourself scream, and didn’t feel how your nails dug into his scarred shoulders, scoring thin red lines over old silvered wounds, as more tears escaped your eyes. There was a tearing in your abdomen, a stretching beyond comprehension, a burning invasion that split you open around a thickness you could not fathom, and a hot trickle of blood joining the mess of fluids between your legs.

Varka halted, his entire body going rigid above you. His nostrils flared, sniffing audibly at the coppery new scent mingling with your arousal in the air. His pupils dilated into vast pools, the blazing blue nearly swallowed whole by dawning realization.

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he breathed, his voice a thick rumble of lust and sudden wonder. He pulled back just enough to look down between your joined bodies. A smear of vivid crimson painted the thick root of his cock, a stark, virgin red glistening around the veined flesh and the swollen knot at its base. A profound change came over him. The rowdy predator was still there, thrumming in the tense cord of his muscles, but it was now layered with something else – an almost reverent gentleness. The low growl in his chest softened into a deep purr, and his tail began to thump a joyful rhythm against the moss behind him. 

“Ah, sweetheart...” he murmured, the words gravelly with awe. Varka lowered his head, his stubbled jaw scraping gently against your cheek as he nuzzled you, his large wolf ears swiveling forward to catch every hitched breath. He licked the tears from your skin with surprisingly soft licks, the action slow and soothing, like a dog trying to calm his owner.

“Shhh, lil’ Red, you’re good… Givin’ your first to a Big Bad Wolf…” He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, his actions bizarrely tender even as his monstrous erection stayed lodged deep inside your pussy, the heat of him a brand on your very core, stretching you with a fullness that bordered on torture.

“Gonna make it so good for you, you’ll beg for more, yeah? For now, be a good girl and relax, ‘key?”

Varka stayed like that for long minutes, kissing and cooing, letting his weight envelop you, letting your body adjust to his monstrous invasion. The burning pain slowly began to transmute into an unbearable fullness. You felt stuffed, speared, owned. And as he began to move – a shallow rock of his hips – withdrawing almost all the way before sliding back in with aching slowness, the pain melted into a pleasure so intense it felt like dying.

“M–more!” you sobbed, back arching into him needily.

He cradled your head in his calloused palms, kissing your face as he thrusted. Each gradually deepening move punched a soft whimper from your lips. Needing to anchor yourself, your hands found his bulging forearms, clinging weakly. Varka made a pleased sound deep in his chest and gathered you closer, the hot, musky scent of his sweat and skin enveloping you.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his composure beginning to fracture as the rut reclaimed him, his gentle rhythm growing more insistent, the slap-slap-slap of his flesh against yours growing louder in the quiet glade. “Submit, lil’ Red. It’ll feel even better...”

Slowly, but surely, the world broke apart. Each piston-like drive of his hips punched the breath from your lungs and smashed the tapered tip of his cockhead against the mouth of your womb, making you see stars. The wet, filthy sound of him pounding your sloppy cunny filled the air, louder than your cries.

“That’s it, baby,” Varka roared, his own composure shattering, his claws extending just enough to prick the skin of your hips, “So tight, so hot around me– fuck! Gon’ knot you so full!”

One hand gripped your hip so hard you knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers. The other wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat for his biting, sucking, kissing. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not breaking skin, but promising the mark. Your breasts, freed from your dress, bounced and jiggled wildly with every brutal thrust.

You were beyond thought at this point. Cock-drunk, mindless, pounded into the wet moss by a Big Bad Wolf himself. Your legs, which had been pushing weakly at his sides, now locked around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back, just above the base of his thrashing tail, trying to pull him deeper, to feel the burgeoning pressure of his knot against your ravaged hole.

“Va– Varka! P-please… mo– ore!” you heard yourself beg, the words slurred and shattered by each devastating plunge.

He laughed, a joyous sound echoing in his chest. “Such a greedy little virgin I caught! Wants it all, doesn’t she?” His eyes, glowing with feral adoration, devoured your mindless form. “Ride it then, baby! Take what you need from me!”

In a dizzying display of strength, he rolled onto his back, keeping you seamlessly impaled. Your world spun as you found yourself straddling him, your hands on his hairy chest, his shaft buried to the hilt inside your clutching pussy. Varka folded his powerful arms behind his head, muscles bulging, and grinned up at you with wolfish delight, his golden tail thumping against the moss. “Earn your cream, lil’ Red. Show this ol’ wolf what yer made of.”

You tried to move, but managed only a shallow rise before sinking back down, a needy sob catching in your throat. Seeing your struggle, the vestige of the predator vanished, replaced by a guiding lust. 

“Aww, poor Red... Let the Big Bad Wolf help ya,” Varka murmured, and his large hands settled on your hips. He began to guide you, lifting you with ease until just the swollen tip of him remained inside, then pulling you down slowly, sheathing you back onto his girth like a toy.

“Like that, yeah?” he encouraged, his blue eyes holding yours. “Use me, darlin’. Take a ride.” 

With his help, you found a rhythm – a slow, deep, rolling grind that dragged every inch of his veined shaft against places that made you see Celestia behind your eyelids. You rose and fell with a wet plap-plap-plap, aided by the upward thrusts of his own hips, meeting him in a syncopated dance of mounting frenzy, your head thrown back in abandon.

“Look at ya,” he panted, his hands leaving your hips to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with rough reverence. “First timer, and already ridin’ that cock like a pro, yeah? Bouncing on it like you were born for it. Want my cream tha’ bad?”

“Please! Varka! Give it to me– I need it– I need you!” You nodded frantically, slamming yourself down onto him despite the tang of pain in your cunny, meeting his upward thrusts desperately. The base of his shaft, that threatening swell of his knot, began to stretch you even wider with every bounce.

“Come on my cock then!” he ordered, his voice a guttural snarl. “Squeeze it out of my balls! Let me put a litter in you!”

“I’m gonna– Please–!” You shattered. Your orgasm was a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming. Your cunt clamped down on him like a vise, rippling and convulsing around the intrusive thickness, milking his length in rhythmic, desperate pulses. 

“That’s my good girl!” Varka howled, his heart banging against his ribs, eyes rolling back.

“Gon’ cum!” was his final warning. His face contorted in ecstatic release as he sat up halfway, wrapping his arms around your waist in a crushing embrace. With one final, powerful upward surge of his hips, his knot slid past your resisting entrance with a wet pop, locking him inside you. At the same moment, you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, delivering hot his spent right into your fertile little womb.

For a blinding second, his vision whited out entirely, and in the void, Varka swore he saw you – not the trembling girl on top of him, but a maker wearing your face, baring teeth in a sharp smile of absolute approval.

Ah, fuck.

The realization was a different kind of punch, landing in the gut as his body was still wracked by the last waves of release. 

Letting you go? Ha! Absolute bullshit!

Not now. Not ever. Not after he’d just nutted his very fucking soul and brain into your shy cunny. Not when you’d taken him – all of him, the fear and the fury and the frantic need – and met his frenzy with an eager rhythm of your own. Not when your shattered moans of his name had sounded less like pleas and more like a prayer.

“Mine,” Varka finally decided, hands flying to the meat of your bruised thighs, making sure that he marked them with his fingertips properly, “My pretty Red…”

You collapsed forward onto his chest, sending you two to fall on the soft moss, sobbing through the endless pulses that filled you, feeling your belly grow warm and heavy.

Varka held you through it all, one rough hand splayed over your lower back, the other groping and spreading your ass, his middle finger teasingly pressing an insistent circle against your butt in a promise for later. Even when you went limp, his hips never stopped their shallow jerks, pumping his cum against your cervix in spurts until he was utterly spent and sure it would take. When he could speak, Varka looked down on you, draped so fucking adorably over his massive body. His blue eyes were sated, possessive. 

“So, my lil’ Red,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over your hip. He shifted slightly, making you both aware of the warm seep of his spend already beginning to leak out around the knot still plugging you. “Grandma’s not getting her pie. Not now, not later, not ever.” 

You lifted your face to stare at him, and his tail began a happy wag against the moss at the sight of your dazed, fucked-out, questioning expression. Varka leaned in, licking a broad stripe from the corner of your swollen lips up to your temple, and you blushed adorably, hiding your beautiful face in his hairy chest and nuzzling into it like a needy pup. “But her granddaughter… she’s getting all the pies she deserves.”

As the knot began to soften, he pulled from your tarnished cunt with an obscene sound, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness and the flood of gush that followed.

In one swift motion, Varka stood, tossing you over his broad shoulder like a prize. Your head hung down his back, your sore cunt openly dripping its creamy load in a thick trail down the inside of your leg and onto the forest floor. He turned his head, his blue eyes darkening with renewed hunger as he watched the evidence of his claim leak from your raw cunny. Smirking, he ran a hot tongue up your outer thigh. 

“Breedin’ season’s on us, my lil’ mate,” Varka growled, the words a hot rumble against your skin as his fingers dug possessively into the soft flesh of your ass. He began to move, walking deeper into his territory, his thick tail lashing with primal satisfaction. “My den’s where you belong. Gon’ take you home and keep that pie full of my cream ‘til you’re properly fat with my pups.”

He leaned down, his breath scalding against your skin before his teeth sank in, making you tremble and marking the curve of your ass, a promise of bruises and bite marks to come. A low, predatory chuckle vibrated through him as he laved the stinging spot with a broad, rough stroke of his tongue. 

“And Big Bad Wolf has lots of cream to share.”

.

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Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

Next part: Pride Rock (Hard) (LionHybrid!JingYuan x fem!reader)

Honestly, I liked it so much when I'd finished the first draft. But after I edited it... I don't know, it feels kinda drier than I intended it to be. I need to know if I'm the only one who thinks so, so please, don't hesitate to leave a comment! c:

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