Yes, I bought the images on shutterstock, only to faceclaim Lorian.
I feel lonely on AO3…someone give kudos/comments? Free enchantments in return!
I have a face claim for Leira… and somehow, now I look at her, she reminds me a bit of Aerin, Juli 😀
I feel very anxious lately. Like… I am even scared to share my progress in my novel.
I will just take a small break and upload what I wrote later. Please bear with me.
So, I couldn’t stop my hand. This is a joke of course, don’t take is too seriously. My novel is not as light as this.
- Lorian goes bonkers when the god enters his soul.
2. Nymre screws him over.
3. Leira tries to save him.
And it looks hopeless. I promise it will be better than these gifs show. Tbh. It will be much MUCH darker.
I don’t know of I can post my last chapters on dA 😀 They are so… naturalistic. I doubt even if I will be able to post this stuff at all, as it goes further. I feel both guilty and relieved I can write what is in my mind and soul.
Enjoy it then, all who comes here *they wrote on the gate of hell*
And Lorian may have a small problem with sex addiction 😀 Plis don’t hate him :>
He has his problems, kind of real ones. Real life problems.
His limbs took the color of a coal, the flames sinking deep through every pore, to reside in his flesh, sipping blood and replacing it with pain.
Only pain. Cruel, beautiful, ugly and glorious pain.
Burning in his mind and in his tendons. Unquenched fire, which was eating him alive, making him scream in his mind, unable to open a molten mouth, trapped in the prison of his own body.
His black eyes becoming ink, boiling in his skull, seeing things only gods could withstand and not become mad.
It drilled with suffering into his spine, to drink from it and pull every string of his on a hot spool.
This was the price.
A price he agreed to pay.
When he woke up, sweat on his neck and chest, it still lingered in him, promising another day of liquid death.
Nymre slept next to him, her white, slightly lilac hair scattered on the pillow, her naked limbs splayed in a pose of complete trust. He could see her breasts, heaving in the darkness, beautiful and always tempting. Her body, youthful and perfect, couldn’t soothe the whirlwind that captured his thoughts and crashed them over hard rocks.
If she knew.
She would want to help. She would want to offer him relief, which he could never receive.
He would start to loathe her and her pity. Her knowledge of his weakness.
They were together for three hundreds of years. Long time. Very long He was aware how she sees him, sometimes – a lord ruling over her life, sometimes – her property, her eternal lover. Mixed in one, until nothing looked at it seemed. She thought she was his only woman, for all this time. For three hundreds of years. But no, his desires were going further, hungry as famished wolf. When his world was filled with burning suffering, which was making his life a living nightmare, he needed… even more.
She would never understand.
And he would never want to harm her.
Not her. Not after so many years.
Leira.
Curse it. He felt it, this want, this dull roar of desire. So much of it, pure soul-eating need… and something dangerous, which was causing him to lose focus. He wanted her body, pressed tightly to his, hear her soft voice urging him to take her.
He needed her strength and stuborness, he needed her inner power. Her will to survive and her fire, which burned with much different flame. Different from all he has ever seen.
He admired her. In best possible way.
He wanted to fill her with dark. Offer her the night, in which she could bloom for him.
His hands still trembled from the intensity of the pain that engulfed him in his sleep. He could stop that. He could stop bathing in god’s blood. Stop sipping power, stop it all. But he knew that now, at this point… he couldn’t. It was a trap that was closing more and more over him. He needed their delicious, hot blood, their flesh and soul, to continue living. And the gods, even in their sleep, knew that.
And if he stopped… they would awake. Taking magic from all the fae. Making them die a painful death, separated from their spells, from their life force. From their essence.
He would throw the whole Ain’asel into this cursed pit, at this point. But he didn’t plan to die. And he didn’t plan to allow anyone to kill Nymre. Even if it all, their life filled with bigger and smaller lies was not perfect, he adored this life and needed it. Absolutely. The life, the world, it all belonged to him.
And he was hungry for power and desire running through his veins. He loved it, that when he was passing them, they felt fear and awe. His glamour and enchantment were stronger and stronger, as the god’s strength was filling him, every second and every hour.
But the pain was stronger too. With each bath, with each sip, he was suffering more.
The power had its price. And he wanted it, even if doubts were sinking deep, when the strongest tides of anguish were coming, taking his will and changing him into…
… what?
He never was afraid, in his whole long life. He didn’t plan now too.
If that young and naive human will continue to prolong it, he will remind him what awaits him and what awaits his sister. His sweet little sister, even more naive, even more capable of louds screams.
He needed him here. His patience was limited. Each day reminded him what choice he made and what he still had to do.
A sigh from his side broke his trail of thoughts.
Nymre looked at him, her big, beautiful blue eyes gazing into his face. Her raven mask was present even when she rested. Her hand reached to him and landed on his chest, with a lazy gesture.
“You are all in sweat” she murmured, half asleep, half awake.
He caught her hand, far from his skin. Her touch somehow awoken something that resided even deeper in him. Craving mixed with hate. For all what he became. For all what he will still need to become.
For all he could become, if he chose different paths.
“Sleep” his tone was harsher than he planned. She was too dazed to catch this change, though. Her hand wriggled from his grasp, fell over his abdomen and ran over him, unconsciously, just where he was always liking most. Where he was always even too hungry. Addicted to touch and pressure.
He felt tension. A lot of it. He was feeling it creep over him, slowly, deliciously. Nymre’s hand pressed to his skin, lingering, awaking his constant hunger, was showing him how much self restraint he still needed to learn. How this could even happen, when he was awash with cruel fire. His senses felt her and her touch and reacted with immediate want. He hated it… and he loved it.
He slowly took her hand and moved it elsewhere. He didn’t need it now. No. He did need it, but his mind didn’t. Not where his flesh still pulsed with pain.
If he had choice…
… but his choices were scarce.
And the light could come much sooner, burning his eyes out, replacing the Shadow with the brightness of the sun.
Taking away winter, tearing it from his grasp, and pushing spring into his gaping throat.
Back to Tiyan… 😀 I learned a lot writing Lorian scenes and I can embrace the Tiyan’s point of view better [ I hope ].
There will happen a lot, both in their heads and in reality.
Dracula can be “quite” inspiring. I’ve got Lorian in similar vein to this 😀 This is Nymre and Areltha with him.
{ they will become such abeautiful, sex-oriented, filthy and hot lovers }
Temptation Waits
Leira couldn’t focus. Her mind whirled, her heart squeezed. Lady Nymre was delicate and sweet, but the truth she showed her was more than obvious, in any way. A brutal, deadly truth, stripped off every finesse.
She almost expected that. But now, she felt bare and exposed. If Nymre would like to make her suffer, she will. She doubted she feared her mate. She was a promise of pain, a promise of the fall.
Only because she was seeing something that would never happen.
Only because she fought and lost.
Her steps were silent, taking her on a secluded balcony, separated from the winter cold with a magical barrier which allowed only slightly chill air.
Her breath caught in her throat, she could almost feel all the threads escaping her fingers, the lost path of someone who thought she should fear only one thing.
To be boring.
She laughed, bitter laughter. You were never safe.
You were delusional thinking that you can get close to him, not annoying her, not making her jealous. You thought you could play with shadows and not get choked. They were Fae, they were inhuman in every aspect. Possessive and dark.
She never was so scared and deflated. Maybe because now, she had life she didn’t want to lose and hoped… for something. For something elusive, that was as out of reach as close, falling into her hands with poisoned glitter.
She inhaled the fresh night scent, which the barrier allowed in. The night thrived outside, wild and pure. It came to her with the smell of fresh snow and pine trees.
And the scent of violets.
And jasmine.
A bile arose in her throat. Almost choking her.
Lorian approached, silent like a cat, his handsome features lightened up from within, with a strange inner light. His pose was not threatening, more… relaxed. And he looked slightly different. Something was off and at the same time completely in place. She realized she was looking at him, and she lowered her gaze, as fast as she could.
“You were never coming here. This is your first time. Is your head so full of nightmares that you need a beautiful sight?”
She caught herself shocked by this approach. Normal. So normal. Like he shed his cruel calculated skin, leaving only glimmering afterglow.
He had to enter her mind, to see how often she hid in places like this. She knew he does that sometimes, instead of asking – it was much easier for him, and he didn’t bother to not be a privacy intruder. But it was not it which made her suddenly anxious. There was something more to him now, which… scared her.
She found out that she had never been in such a situation before.This was almost improper, his easy behavior, when he leaned over a balustrade and gazed at her with a playful, natural smile. It somehow made her feel afraid. This was not normal, alien. He should gloat over her situation, taking pleasure from his mate’s actions. He should say something awful, something twisted. With a second, darker meaning.
But he…
… was just smiling beautifully, looking at her with his usual intensity. She couldn’t not look, secretly. With the corner of her eye.
“If it’s your place, my lord…”
“It’s a place for anyone I chose to be. It can be yours, as well” he summed her worries with a raise of one of his brows, his tone amused. Like he was not over a thousand years old, but barely twenty.
She felt… a bit unreal. This was unreal. He never met her in such a way. Why? She could never imagine him being so normal, even if she was aware he was able to.
“You, Leira, are an enigma” he mused, looking into the stars, slight shadows dancing in his hair. “I like enigmas. More than open books, laying in the lamplight.”
“I am pleased that you find me interesting, my lord” she just uttered, her senses alert.
“Oh” he chuckled, darkly, a bit of his normal way pushed on the surface. “You truly are a good devoted servant. One every sensible fey could wish to push on the path to eternity. And you… you are eternal, Leira. Like Fae. Like me.”
His gaze now almost stripped her off any confidence.
It was tense, fiery. Tempting and alluring, She felt as the night air became lighter. Not pressed like in the palace. Light, like far away from here, in her homeland.
He suddenly separated from the balustrade and got closer, one step closer, but for her, it was too much.
Or too little.
She suddenly thought of Nymre. Of her rageful eyes, trying to peel her skin off with mere gaze. Of her silent fury, which was able to break her life in half, if she wished.
She swallowed, hard.
This couldn’t happen.
It was unnatural.
Dangerous.
Seeing her hesitation, maybe even fear, he formed a smile which looked youthful, mischievous and intriguing. How much did he read in her mind? How much did he know?
She found herself being pressed to the balustrade, where Lorian laughed lightly, a beautiful sound. Something that could lure a mortal into a pit filled with sin.
“So much fear. I think I told you once, long ago. That I will never harm you. Maybe though you hate me so much, that even this distance is too much for you. You have the right to it. I, after all, loved that you hated me.”
His eyes gleamed with delighted playfulness.
“I—”
She didn’t know how to react. He was so natural. So…
Like he wore a special mask for her… or shed all the others.
“Tell me, Leira…” his smile became darker, but not in a way she expected. “Do you hate me even if in small amounts? Would you prefer me to be fallen, dead? Or… would you prefer my soul swallowed by the gods?”
Leira felt as he got even closer. She had no means of escape.
And she didn’t want to.
Suddenly her world turned upside down. His closeness scared her but at the same time lit something in her that awaited for long years, growing in her, releasing tendrils and roots into her veins, feeding on her like a leech.
“Do you hate me, Leira, with a strong, beautiful hatred?” he purred, his voice low and seductive.
She still didn’t dare to look at him. He could do that on purpose. Tempting her with normalcy, even with this sudden unbelievable affection, to later crash her against his cruel ways. But somehow, she felt that he didn’t. He didn’t, goddess forgive her.
He was so close to her, she could look into his eyes and see every glimmering sparks in them, if she had courage. He slowly touched her face, almost a caress and it made her heart sink.
“Do not fear me. That is the last thing I would desire.”
And she knew she had lost. She hated him for this. She truly did. But…
This was… something she imagined sometimes. Darkest dreams, darkest fantasies, which she painted in her head when she was alone, with wild, messy, dirty brushes. But hated herself for it, for betraying her ideals, for even daring thinking of it. For being weak and unworthy of being a human. For being evil. For being brainwashed by a deadly enemy, who could kill her with a thought. For being a traitor, who would prefer to fuck the Fae king, rather than help those who he tormented.
Maybe she was twisted, after a long time of seeing things she shouldn’t.
It wasn’t love though. It was a severe need. Need that grew in her, like his shadows.
It was pure lust. Lust for him, which awoke in her long ago.
And she repressed it for so long, that it almost hurt.
“I know you desire me, I can feel it” he smiled, a smile of a dying star, a perfect collapse. “Do you desire me, Leira?”
She looked at him, hating herself, but loving every moment of it. She raised her gaze, at his face. Forbidden, as the dark night itself.
“Yes” , her voice muffled, low. She felt as the world closed over her. Like it tore her limbs with millions of talons.
Weak. Brainwashed. Other humans would say so, hating her more than the Fae. Evil. Traitor.
Even with their pitch black darkness, his black holes beamed with want. Fuck it. Fuck it hard. He wanted her. Maybe now, at this moment, more than Nymre.
He was dark. He was cruel. But she wasn’t pure either. Not in any way. She was doing things other humans would find terrible. She became dark, just as this palace, just as this place, forgotten by the goddess.
And she didn’t want to fear anymore. She wasn’t weak. She sacrificed her whole innocence to become strong, to stay alive. The fear was not an option now.
He leaned over her, the touch of his lips so warm. She somehow knew they would be warm, not cold, like the winter he ruled over. His scent of violets was even more prominent now.
He could do that long ago. But he never did. In all those hard, thirty years in Dal’coler, he never even tried to touch her. There was something vicious creeping into her soul, a victorious joy, a forbidden rapture, which she should ease, but didn’t want to. She wanted to feel him inside.
And betray all she believed in. Give in to darkness.
He lifted her dress, and the light chill air ran over her exposed skin. She could feel the hard stone she was pressed onto from behind. His hands ran over her hips, caressed her thighs, slowly, with visible hunger. He dragged her close. Very close. Her breasts flattened against his chest, she could feel how warm he was, even through his clothes.
They didn’t need any foreplay. They both just wanted to fuck. Stripped of all thoughts, just carnal desire. She wanted him to have her, to melt her brain away and let her forget who she is.
He pressed her harder against the balustrade, like he wanted to squeeze her between the bars. She couldn’t not let out a groan, deep, low one, which he swallowed with a deep kiss, tasting like frozen berries, like something very cold melting on her tongue in extreme heat.
Unreal.
Wrong.
Unnatural.
But she wanted it. She wanted it since long years.
She wanted to feel the darkness in her veins.
She quickly started to pull his trousers off, chaotically; he allowed that, with a hungry, vicious grin. She was so wet already, and she loved it, loved that he could feel it. A visible showcase of her desire, lack of any restraints. His finger dragged over her, just between her legs and drew the wetness, his playful gaze locked at her and she knew he liked that.
He lifted her up, rubbing against her with a delicious precision. She could feel him sliding over her wet clit. Her moan was louder now, causing him to chuckle. Yes, he had the right to it. She was so filled with need. And she started to lose any feelings of guilt because of that.
Her legs embraced him in the waist, just where he was hard, and he entered her, slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, to swallow all her doubt that was still left.
His shadows slowly started to creep in, released by his desire, and to dance on her skin.
His thrusts were perfect, strong, just as she imagined. He seemed to melt into her and pull her soul out of her, replacing it with liquid darkness. He knew how to do it well, he had so much time to perfect it, through thousand of years. This thought pushed a wild growl out of her throat.
When she felt something that she only heard of. She always was finding it scary, but now, when his dark entered her alongside him, she bit her nails into his back and dragged him with her, feeling the tingling of the barrier on her back, opening more for him, allowing him to take her even harder.
She could feel everything he felt, his pleasure, even his dark thoughts, which swirled around them in a lustful jig. It was unreal too, like washed over time after time with tiny climaxes.
It has been so long since she did that.
She almost forgot.
And now, of all Fae who could desire her… she was with him.
His grin was alluring, tempting and swallowing all light from her soul. Perfect. He wanted her and it was pure. He didn’t want Nymre now. He wanted her.
He didn’t want Nymre. Not when he did that to her.
His hips drove him into her in a rhythm that dragged a muffled cry from her throat. She felt as the pleasure slowly became stronger. It was such a fucking long time. So long since she had anyone. And it was perfect. He guessed her. She needed it. She needed him, of all.
He buried himself within her with a hard, slow thrust and leaning over her, he grasped at her ass, his fingers dug in her skin. It was so good. She loved feeling him pressed to her, with her dress lifted up over her hips and legs joined over his back, pushing him inside. Her tail tangled around his legs, squeezing him hard; she hoped he felt that.
She melted in his hands, which moved over her body, tasting her curves and skin, holding her in firm grasp, pressing her onto his chest, squeezing pleasure from her, which was slowly pooling between her legs, like sweetest and darkest delight. Oh goddess… he was so hard… so good. She felt him so well. She knew she is about to crash into total oblivion. Her moans were soft and desperate, filled with strong need.
“I admire you. I admire you, Leira” he whispered and it was so real, the only thing she ever needed to hear. She closed over him and climaxed, pulsating around him.
When she was coming down from her peak, she felt his release, hot, mixed with shadows and darkness, delightful, and that again threw her deep into forbidden pleasure.
So long. Like she felt this for the first time again, with someone, not with her hand or a pillow.
He admired her. This sadistic fucker admired her, after all what he has done. After taking her on the wildest and maddest trip filled with screams and night.
And she loved it, loved being taken against the cold stone.
She loved it, absolutely. She was not brainwashed, she was not a victim anymore.
She was dark too.
And he knew that.
He knew that she was dark and lost.
So he decided to show her the way.
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