thevalkyriestrysts-blog

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It was far too late for Keaton to resist Inshel. She had already found evidence of that and begin to exploit that advantage she now held over him. Keaton couldn’t stop his hips from instinctively bucking upwards, pushing that bulge against Inshel, the friction of their bodies alone practically overwhelming. He needed her more than he needed air, and it was only a matter of time before she realized just how needy he was.

“I don’t care,” Keaton said bluntly, frowning up at Inshel. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met. So what if you have secrets? Everyone does. Besides, I’ve killed plenty of humans, but that never bothered you. I just want to be with you.”

Her heartbeat stutters, markings flaring back up, flickering under his curious, tracing fingers. A thousand emotions she can’t really put into words swim in the witch’s gaze, and suddenly, it’s like she’s the one completely at the mercy of the wolf, sinking down into his body until every inch of them she can manage is pressed flushed together.

“If you want me, and I want you, then that’s all there should really be to it-- like I said, there’s not really a time or a place to think things like this over. I could die. You could die. Tomorrow could be the end of it all. So...”

Trailing off, Inshel rolls her hips into his once more, her point blatantly made. If he wanted her for life, then he had her, and that was that.

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Predictably, a deep blush spread across the usually-stoic ninja’s face at the lewd suggestion. One would think he’d be used to it by now, but every time they made love, it felt as if Inshel was breaking down his carefully constructed walls anew.

He stood there, arms now looped under her bottom to hold her there securely as he mulled over his answer as if she asked him a question that was ACTUALLY hard, such as if he favored cumin or turmeric better.

“Are… You certain, my love? You seemed to love your new clothing so much… What if I ruin it?” Typical Saizo as well. An absolute ogre on the battle field, only to be as pensive and gentle as a kitten the second he was alone with Inshel. Perhaps that was for the best – considering the ‘heat’ he was packing.

Laughter, light and airy escapes the witch, before she tucks her face in her husband's neck, peppering him with light, delicate kisses. Her actions are playful, mischievous, but also meant to serve as reassurance.

“Yes. What’s the point of possessing something so beautiful and eye-catchingly seductive...if we don’t enjoy our time with it? I like the undergarments, but I enjoy your pleasure...and your touch far more than pretty lace. If it’s ruined, it’s ruined. It’s about the memories, love.”

Hands smoothing down his back, she presses her forehead to his, staring the ninja right in his tomato-red face. 

“Let us just enjoy ourselves-- our lives are too fraught with danger and unknown paths to worry about ruining pretty lingerie with our bedroom activities.”

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God’s above, Inshel truly knew how to drive him mad. A small hiss slipped out between Keaton’s teeth, his grip on Inshel’s waist tightening. His hands acted on their own, pulling Inshel on top of him, their bodies flush against one another. The only thing that separated then now was the thin fabric cloaking Inshel’s body.

“So you’re definitely sure you want to be my mate?” Keaton murmured, unable to ignore his own desires much longer, especially now that Inshel was so close to him. “If you say yes, there’s no turning back, you know. You sure you want that?”

With her pressed up against him as they were, she could probably feel his heart pounding, among other things. His hands had already begun to stay upwards, ghosting over the silks that remained as the last barrier between them. Callused fingers traced the runes on Inshel’s skin, briefly obscuring their ghostly light. Dark though it was, neither of them had any trouble seeing the other; the faint glow of Inshel’s runes provided all the mood lighting they needed.

Smirking when he flips her, allowing her the freedom to rock her hips against the very clear outline of a bulge in his breeches, the witch halts all movement at his question. A strange, almost far-away look darkens her eyes as she meets his gaze, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together.

The glow of her markings dims down, her voice dropping so hushed, she might as well just be exhaling to speak.

“...Is that what you want? Do you really want me? I am certain of what I desire, Keaton, because there is little else I could wish for-- this war is all I have. My allies, the battlefield, blood and thunder and healing wounds and the battle thrill...that’s all I know now. I see one chance at happiness for myself.”

She stops, small fingers fanning out over the wolfskin’s heart.

“I have many secrets. I tell many lies. I am not who I say I am. Do you want me still, even after all that? What is it that you want?”

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Her words pull the man back into reality, almost instantaneously snapping from that previous feral desire that had overcome him, the monster in him fading once more as words of love anchor him to the moment they shared. His pace falters if only slightly, previously erratic thrusts now a steady yet strong force driving her closer and closer to her bliss. He aches and throbs, wanting nothing more than to find his own release within as he stretches her impossibly with the utter fullness of him.

Dragging a hand up the length of her body, he takes his time in memorizing each curve and marking that lines her form, and only does he pause to cup the side of her face beneath his palm, nails lovingly grazing the soft flesh of her cheek as he gazes into Inshel’s half-lidded eyes. She is the most gorgeous thing in the world to him, even in the throws of passion, hair tossed and matted to a sweaty face, tears welling in the edges of her eyes, and the lipstick smeared at the edges of her mouth. There is no one more perfect than her.

❝ You are… my everything, ❞ He pants with his forehead pressed to hers, never once allowing his golden eyes to tear from hers. Yes, and in that moment he is alive. Sharing in this moment, this warmth, and this passion– it is the closest thing he can ever achieve to being human once more. And it is her alone that makes him feel this way.

He kisses her again, but this time it is without his previous animalism– now a loving yet fiercely passionate kiss that is filled with his utter adoration for her. He loses himself, each pivot of his hips driving himself deeper and deeper into Inshel’s core. The sounds of their panting mix, and the resounding of the wetness of him slipping in and out of her sex is a melody of utter prurience that they build in-sync. It builds, and builds, and builds, until– The warmth floods him, overwhelms him like the crashing of a wave, edging him to his ultimate ecstasy– their ultimate bliss.

❝ I… love you ! ❞ He gasps in a choked voice that catches itself in his throat, nearly spilling himself inside her at that very moment as hands cling to her oh-so desperately to keep her impossibly close. ❝ Inshel ! ❞

Silver grey, hazed though they are with pleasure and lust, watch golden hues, and for a moment, she is lost, caught in a place between times.

And then she remembers.

A vision, as she drifted in the inbetween, seeing Veles with two children, wisps of girls clinging to his legs and cloak. For what feels like an eternity, she hangs, suspended in a place between the rising wave of her orgasm and a strange feeling of a not-memory, a strange sense of bliss. It’s hard to explain, and instead all the emotion gets caught in her chest.

He loves her, well and truly, and for a moment, Inshel forgets herself. Forgets everything she’s ever told herself she musn’t do.

“Veles...Veles, darling...I’m so close I--” Her hands cup his face, and her eyes (gods damn her traitorous eyes) brimming with tears, she barely manages to get the words out.

“Please let me stay with you forever, let me be selfish, let me be-- gods -- I--” 

Anything she was going to say is choked off, and her orgasm slams through her, setting her nerves utterly ablaze, her markings turning so bright, it’s like he’s holding a star in his arms. A choked, sobbed moan escapes her, fingers clawing desperately at his back for any sort of purchase as her entire body tenses like a bowstring, ready to snap.

And all the witch can manage is a chant of a name, the name of the man she would gladly give up everything for-- because he was her everything.

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❝ My goddessssssss… ❞ Comes the shrill hiss from is lips as he wrenches himself away from her tempting mouth– only to find his eyes flickering to her lovely neck, laid bare and vulnerable to his waiting maw.

Like moth to flame, his mouth is drawn to her exposed neck. He takes no time in utterly ravishingthat delightfully pale column of her throat with his mouth– saliva, teeth, and blood commingling in an unholy union of his lust. Her cries and the dance of her hips drives him to near madness– her nails digging into his hair, pulling and driving him into utter insanity– oh, it is only with her that he can truly lose himself ! And lose himself he shall.

She is his goddess, and her body a temple of his worship. She is the only thing he shall ever revere, and a religion of her he will make.

Her final request is met with no hesitation as he frees himself from his breeches, so thick and fullalready ( just throbbing to feel her around him ). Talons dig into hips, and in all but an instant is he pushing the entirety of himself into Inshel and the heat that welcomes him. The velvet warmth that greets him is a blessing in itself, and he cannot hold himself back as he thrusts relentlessly into her, needy, hungry, desperate.

❝ You are mine, ❞ a feral snarl rips from his throat, the most guttural and raw part of his being raging through him at his desire to claim.

A broken, choked gasp cuts of any other sounds she might make, the air in her lungs catching and searing her from the inside out. It burns, but gods, does it burn in a way that truly makes her feel alive. 

Veles is massive, stretching her small, lithe form and filling her so full it almost would be painfully if she weren’t so utterly drenched by his seductions, by his presence alone. The pace he sets is fast, feverish, a manic tempo that falls in time with the frantic slam of her heart against her chest, the magic pulsing through her veins as the glow from her markings nearly triples, illuminating the fractions of space between them.

He is cold, and yet she can feel the aching throb that reverberates through his body, stony and still though it may seem. Veles is alive, just as she is, in this moment, and no matter what other people may say and think of the vampire, she is happy to give him back that warmth, even if for a brief moment.

Unable to speak, the witch muffles high, keening cries into shoulder, clinging to him now for dear life as the heat from her core builds upwards, consuming her like immolation. It is pleasurable, yes, but it evokes some strange sort of bittersweet sadness in her that she cannot begin to explain. 

It feels heavenly, and at the same time it hurts so fiercely, she can hardly breathe. With pleasure comes pain, she knows, and yet...

“I love...you...”

It’s all she can manage to choke out before another ragged cry is escaping her, the rock of her hips which had been in time with his growing erratic, off-tempo as she careens closer and closer to an edge she has come to be very familiar with since she met him.

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How had he gone all this time without realizing how positively intoxicating Inshel’s scent was? He could have remained there, nose pressed to her skin and drinking in her unique aroma, until they both passed away. It was reassuring and alluring, calming and exciting.

There wasn’t, however, anywhere near sufficient time to properly revel in Inshel’s scent. Gentle fingers ghosted across his skin, chasing the phantoms of previous battles. For his part, Keaton’s hands were not half as bold as hers, simply content to keep her clutched close to him.

“Oh,” Keaton mumbled, his cheeks turning a shade not dissimilar from Inshel’s. “…Are you sure about that? Not that I care, just… you do?”

Inshel's expression softens-- though desire burns just underneath, something else takes it's place for a moment, and fingers slide off his back to instead trace the shell of his soft, (and adorably fluffy) left ear.

“I am sure. I do. You feel like a safe place, like home. If that isn’t a good enough reason, I can’t think of any better way to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’ve made my choice. I want you, too.”

Arching up underneath him, the witch sinks her teeth into the shell of his ear and tugs, before letting go, just a small nip. It’s really unlike her to be so forward...but there’s something about the wolfskin, about Keaton himself that draws her in and keeps her there.

There is no reason to be shy...because this is normal. Natural. There is nothing to fear.

Eyes near closed, she sinks back down to meet his eyes, fingers tracing gently down his jaw. 

“...Love is a strange thing, after all.”

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❝ Mmn… ❞ Parched lips drag themselves from her breast, lapping all too hungrily at the blood that wisps and winds down her curvaceous torso, ensuring that not even a speck is left. Her blood is oh so sweet– the ichor of the gods themselves, and he knows that this is the closest he will ever get to DIVINITY itself. When he has finished his conquest, he slinks back up her body, crushing bloodied lips against her own– the taste of blood and mint mingling into one. He cannot help the moan of contentment as he loses himself to her.

She is his everything, and he cannot possibly get enough of her. No… never enough.

There is little hesitation as he tears through silken panties, discarding the fabric with ease only to replace the lost garment with the rough touch of leather trousers against slick folds– hips undulating without reprieve against her hot sex.

It is still not enough– his entire being aches for her.

❝ I…  need you… haghh… Inshel. ❞

Desire sears down her spine, clashing with the deep chill of the stone pressing into her flesh, both behind and before her. 

The kiss is feverish, tasting her own blood like some kind of twisted aphrodisiac, leaving her breathless and panting into his kiss, but it doesn’t last long before another, much louder moan is falling from her mouth. The pressure of his hips steadily pushing hers against the wall, the firm outline of his manhood and the rough texture of the leather brushing her folds, her inner thighs-- it’s all too much for her.

“Ahhhnnng--!” 

Fingers claw at his scalp, at the back of his neck, her own head tipping back against the rocks behind her, eyes rolling back into her head as her markings stutter erratically, exposing her neck to him. Vertigo momentarily overtakes her, and her world is reeling.

“Take me...take me then! I...hhmmmnn...I...”

Words fail her and then her body curls forward, her face pressing into his shoulder.

If he wanted her at his mercy, he’s certainly got it.

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Saizo watched her, smiling quietly to himself as she paraded around the room, taking in her appearance under the scant layers of silk and lace. His gaze held nothing untoward – of course she was doubtlessly attractive, and could command one’s attention no matter what she was wearing, but the only thing he cared about looking at… was her giddy, enthusiastic smile.

He… had made her happy. With just a small gift such as this one! He could sense there was somehow a connection to the clothing that he couldn’t have anticipated – and yet, it warmed his heart in a way he would have sworn was impossible, just a few short years ago.

She was happy. And so, he was happy.

At the request for a kiss, he smirked and removed his mask obediently, his thick, muscular arms winding around her midsection tenderly. “Whatever my shining goddess desires…” came the calm chuckle.

Almost immediately Inshel sinks into his chest, grateful for the warmth he transfers to her skin even with the barrier of his clothing between them. A small sigh escapes her as she tips her head up to look at him, hands cupping his face gently.

“I love you so very much.”

With this simple, yet so utterly profound statement, Inshel leans in and presses a soft kiss to the ninja’s mouth. It’s chaste, gentle, but not lacking any sort of passion. 

Rather, when she leans back, lithe arms curl around her husband’s neck, and a small hop has her winding her legs about his waist. Something playful, almost dangerous, flashes in the witch’s grey eyes, her voice soft, but full of playful singsong.

“Surely you didn’t mean to just admire this lovely little ensemble you got me, no? It does look quite nice but I think it would like better...hm...a little more...askew, don’t you think?”

The implications of what she mean are perfectly clear by her tone, and the little quirk of her lips upwards. Typical Inshel-- acting innocent, when she is hardly such.

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Keaton knew his last line of defense was reaching the limit of what it could endure. Inshel had found his biggest weakness and was using it against him, more deadly than any magic she knew. Or perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate– she was his biggest weakness.

“Inshel,” Keaton sighed, allowing an arm to snake around her waist, free hand trailing along the silk mesh he so desperately wanted to tear off of her, “are you sure this is what friends do? Nothing more? That’s all you want?”

He was practically pleading with her in his own way. Even if he wouldn’t admit it aloud, Keaton had wanted more. He didn’t want her for the night; he needed her to belong to him, and him to her.

That small laugh sounds again near his ear, more a hum than anything, and she mutters,

“Oh, you silly fool, you’re missing the point. We’ve only been friends up until now because neither of us did anything to change that. But we’re always together. We fight together. We bleed together, and for all the gods know, we might die together.” Sneaky fingers run under his open shirt now, across the span of his back, tracing scars and lines of muscle alike, a leg sliding up to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer as her voice falls into a breathless whisper.

“Do you not see how I stare? Are you not aware of how just being close to you makes my heart beat faster? Surely those keen ears of yours must hear it. For the night, for the duration of this war, for the rest of our lives...it doesn’t matter. When all is said and done, I intend to stay by your side, even if this was one night. Or several nights.”

Suddenly, the faint blush on the witch’s face darkens into crimson, the glow of her markings stuttering, and then growing bright enough to illuminate her entire tent.

“...If I must be so blunt, I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you I could care less if it were completely mutual or not. Is that...reassurance enough?”

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"What are you so afraid of, hm? Me? Of what I'll do or say? Do you think I will taunt you and call you a slave to your instinct?"

Even as she speaks, the witch’s fingers run over Keaton’s collarbone, hair fanning out as she leans fully back against the cushions she sleeps on, beneath him, lighting up their shared space with her cyan glow. Slowly but surely, her hands creep down, and one at a time, pop the buttons of his vest open, revealing more and more skin to her wandering, curious hands.

Pressing a barrage of soft kisses along the wolfskin’s jugular, she laughs softly into his skin.

“I’m very certain, Keaton. In fact, I’m utterly pleased the body yours longs for when you suffer such...heat...is mine. I’ll gladly take the edge off, if that’s what you want. Unlike so many others, I don’t just see you as a beast. An animal. You are my friend too...and someone I care for. What I see, right now, is someone I care for, suffering. How could I not do something to remedy that?”

Lips brushing along his jaw as she sheds him of his vest, her voice drops lower as she hums into his skin. 

“You feel familiar to me, after all. Nothing about this is wrong. Does that put your mind at ease?”

@thevalkyriestrysts (continued from here!)

All at once, the previous hesitation Keaton had held vanished into thin air. With a simple gesture and a few sultry words, Keaton had been convinced. He didn’t make a sound as he slipped in next to Inshel, unable to ignore how little her sleepwear left to the imagination.

“Are you sure about this?” Keaton murmured, already pressing his body in close to hers, fabric ruining against fabric as the loose shirt he wore to bed met with Inshel’s own sleepwear. “I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want, you know.”

Why was he suddenly so hesitant? He’d spent long nights dreaming about this, although he didn’t quite care to admit it. Why was he trying to back out now? He probably shouldn’t have brought it up to begin with, but her felt like he was about to go mad if he spent another night without making Inshel his own.

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❝ How MUCH do I want you ? I've waited an ETERNITY to have you-- and now you are mine, all MINE, ❞ claws dig into the tender flesh of curved hips, pulling them flush against his own as a feral growl leaves his lips. ❝ I am too much of an impatient man to hold back any longer-- ❞

DON'T YOU WANT ME BABY: accepting!

Hot breath running over the vampire’s lips, tasting of mint and wine, Inshel is gasping and moaning yet again, the pain an oh-so-delicious sensation setting her nerves on fire. Even as her tiny hands grip his shoulders tightly, breath coming erratic and unsteady, a small, nigh-devilish little smirk creeps onto the witch’s face.

“Then stop talking, you fool of a man, and make good on all that waiting.”

Judging by his teeth sinking into the flesh of her shoulder so suddenly, she’s said just the right thing to play off that impatience.

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"I, uh... You know the full moon gets to me sometimes," Keaton mumbled uncharacteristically quietly. "It's not my fault that I... Er... Uh, look, I get it if you're not interested, but I, uh... Inshel, I'm a little needy right now, y'know?"

Half-asleep at these late hours of the night, the loose silken, sheer things the witch wears to sleep fall dangerously low on her breasts and shoulders, and as her sleep-addled mind struggles to process what the wolfskin means, she does not miss the way his eyes rove her skin, tracing the outline of her markings, the rise and fall of her chest with every breath.

There is a hunger in his eyes that slowly ignites her skin, as the reality of what he’s asking for sinks in. The line of tension in his shoulders, waiting to pounce.

It feels good, to have someone look at her like that again, but she’ll never say that out loud.

A small smile creeps onto the witch’s face, and though she’s sleepily rubbing her eyes in an almost-innocent manner, she makes a ‘get-over-here’ sort of gesture, welcoming the wolfskin into her little nest of blankets and cushions. As she sinks down back into the same spot she’d been woken from, the witch speaks up finally.

“It’s no trouble, Keaton. We’re...close, aren’t we? After all, you spend a good portion of every day with me. You fight with me. I think that’s good enough.”

Softer, quieter than before, the markings on her skin stuttering, she manages to softly add on,

“And it’s not a matter of not being interested. I might not fully understand your kind yet...but I’m willing to help. Come here. Let me touch you.”

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Despite himself, Saizo glanced away in embarrassment. This was HIS lawfully wedded wife, his true love, but she had a penchant for making him feel as meek and vulnerable as a young teen exploring his body with his crush for the first time. Laughable for a formidable ninja, yet it was an effortless task for her.

“… You are a goddess…” he muttered, once he was finally able to meet her eyes again. “One that I’d be honored to worship every night.”

A slight nod. “Are you satisfied with the fit, my love?”

It takes the witch a while to shed all her armor, and when she does manage to fit herself into the dark, sheer mess of straps and lace, she moves in a slow, steady circle, hair swaying as she goes, almost as if she’s dancing. 

It’s not meant to be sensual, really, as she’s actually taking in her own appearance, the faint dim and flare of her markings in time with her heart beat and breathing, the way the light of their shared quarters shines off of pale, raised scar tissue on her skin.

Fingers tug slightly at the band of panties that leave little to imagination, letting it snap back to her hip with a sharp pop.

“Perfect.”

Swaying back to him, a small smile on her face, Inshel holds her arms open to the ninja, hair tumbling over her shoulders, over her breasts like some kind of a erotic, sensual painting, like she was ethereal, not quite real.

“Come, dearest. Kiss me, and let me show you my gratitude.”

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Tell my muse how badly yours wants them.

Requested by Anonymous 

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not to be nsfw but can someone hold my hand and do the thumb rub thing

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It's certainly one of those days where he's frustrated beyond belief, especially that he cannot have Inshel when he wants. But as soon as the opportunity allows it, he has the witch pinned to a stone wall in an alleyway, kissing her hungrily and ravishing her neck and breasts with his mouth, rutting himself against her all the while.

What begins as a high-pitched, questioning laugh almost immediately devolves into an absolutely lustful moan falling out of her mouth as her back hits cold stone, and icy hands lift her thighs high on his hips, firmly holding her in place. Hearing fabric tear with the feral snarl in his throat, teeth tearing into the bodice of her armor, she doesn’t have the presence of mind to scold him for ruining her armor yet again.

The moment she settles into place, fingers slide into his silky raven locks, tugging at the roots of his hair as his name brokenly falls out of her mouth, breathless and somewhat shocked. The tempo his hips start against hers is met by her own, falling into their own little sort of dance that she can never deny him.

“Ve...les...” Her words a broken by a sharp gasp as his teeth sink into the plush flesh of her bosom, blood dripping down her torso in winding rivulets.

“Veles! What...hhn...what...gods...whatever’s gotten into you...please don’t stop!”

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Saizo's face was nearly as red as his hair. "I, uh... Don't think much of Nohrian undergarments, but... I thought these might be a little closer to what you're used to wearing..." he muttered gruffly, offering her the box of delicate-looking lingerie. "Is it... suitable?" he asked, adjusting his scarf uncomfortably.

Peeking into the box, the witch's eyes widen, and her markings flicker. To her, what would seem 'lewd' to most people is comfortable, beautiful, and a sign of luxury she is rarely allowed to afford herself.

For a brief moment, she is transported back to the sands of her homeland, where sheer and lace is natural, normal. Very little of the lingerie seems provocative to her, but she knows the intent here, judging by her husband’s red face.

“Oh, Saizo...” Her voice is breathless, soft, a strange mix of emotions in her eyes. Something so simple, intended as a proposition has her heart near melting and yet she can’t even begin to explain why. Her pale fingers lift the soft, sheer things, voice just above a murmur.

“Gods, these are beautiful...are you trying to make me feel like a goddess? These are so fragile and well-crafted...they must have cost a fortune! I must try them on.”

Without hesitation, she’s yanking off her gloves, tossing her metal circlet on the floor, and setting to work unlacing the corset of her armor, as if it were the most natural response in the world.