Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list.
Sylvertongue belongs to my friend skrim, who chose not to have his Tumblr linked here. Skrim is an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a tender flaky pastry dough. <3
We’re back to Griffin, my urban/modern fantasy mage! This time he is in sexy bondage predicaments.
CWs: Spider-monster, bondage, WIP (I have the rest of this, but it needs editing so you get an excerpt)
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“Lure it out,” Sylvertongue said. “Don’t fret, I’ll watch out for you,” Sylvertongue said. Well, Griffin doesn’t know what else he should have expected. It’s not as if he could say no anyway.
He tugs frantically at the thicky, sticky strands of web he’s run into, but all it does is get himself progressively more tangled up and stuck in them. The beast he’s been trying to lure lowers itself down the stairwell on a cable of its own webbing.
It’s not exactly a spider. It’s some kind of fae-adjacent…thing. A spider spirit that’s been living in this tower of the suspension bridge, growing fat and happy on passersby long enough that it’s grown big and glossy and somewhat human-shaped. It laughs through it mandibles, a hissing sound, watching the strands of its trap glue themselves down Griffin’s arm, cling to his legs, his sides, his hair, thrumming with his struggles like any other fly caught in a web.
He watches through wide eyes as it minces delicately closer, with all the liesurely glee of a creature savoring its prey’s terror.
Okay, no, to hell with what Sylver wants. He is not getting eaten by a giant spider-person for the sake of that old lizard’s collector’s habit. He draws on the well of his magic to shape a fireball—clean this whole place out—
The spider-spirit darts forward with sudden, unexpected speed and bites him.
He gasps and arches as the venom sinks into his body, a terrible heated, tingling glow that begins to light up his body. It catches up his magic along its way: heady, needy arousal advancing through him faster than he can adjust to, pouring his own magic back into himself so he can’t escape the feedback look he finds himself caught in. He jolts and moans. It’s erasing his thoughts, his concentration. He claws to summon the focus he needs for magic but all he can think of is how hungry his skin is. How empty his body feels.
The spider-spirit slaps more webbing over his mouth. When he tries to open it, the elastic stuff snaps his lips closed again.
He moans, muffled, struggling as it uses its delicate feet to slash his clothing to shreds, pluck at strands and wrap more around him.
“Calm down,” it tells him as it works. “Your fear smells delicious, magic child. The liquid of your insides would be delectable, I’m sure, but I’m not about to waste you.”
Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list.
Sylvertongue belongs to my friend skrim, who chose not to have his Tumblr linked here. Skrim is an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a tender flaky pastry dough. <3
We’re back to Griffin, my urban/modern fantasy mage! This time he is in sexy bondage predicaments.
CWs: Spider-monster, bondage, WIP (I have the rest of this, but it needs editing so you get an excerpt)
+++
“Lure it out,” Sylvertongue said. “Don’t fret, I’ll watch out for you,” Sylvertongue said. Well, Griffin doesn’t know what else he should have expected. It’s not as if he could say no anyway.
He tugs frantically at the thicky, sticky strands of web he’s run into, but all it does is get himself progressively more tangled up and stuck in them. The beast he’s been trying to lure lowers itself down the stairwell on a cable of its own webbing.
It’s not exactly a spider. It’s some kind of fae-adjacent…thing. A spider spirit that’s been living in this tower of the suspension bridge, growing fat and happy on passersby long enough that it’s grown big and glossy and somewhat human-shaped. It laughs through it mandibles, a hissing sound, watching the strands of its trap glue themselves down Griffin’s arm, cling to his legs, his sides, his hair, thrumming with his struggles like any other fly caught in a web.
He watches through wide eyes as it minces delicately closer, with all the liesurely glee of a creature savoring its prey’s terror.
Okay, no, to hell with what Sylver wants. He is not getting eaten by a giant spider-person for the sake of that old lizard’s collector’s habit. He draws on the well of his magic to shape a fireball—clean this whole place out—
The spider-spirit darts forward with sudden, unexpected speed and bites him.
He gasps and arches as the venom sinks into his body, a terrible heated, tingling glow that begins to light up his body. It catches up his magic along its way: heady, needy arousal advancing through him faster than he can adjust to, pouring his own magic back into himself so he can’t escape the feedback look he finds himself caught in. He jolts and moans. It’s erasing his thoughts, his concentration. He claws to summon the focus he needs for magic but all he can think of is how hungry his skin is. How empty his body feels.
The spider-spirit slaps more webbing over his mouth. When he tries to open it, the elastic stuff snaps his lips closed again.
He moans, muffled, struggling as it uses its delicate feet to slash his clothing to shreds, pluck at strands and wrap more around him.
“Calm down,” it tells him as it works. “Your fear smells delicious, magic child. The liquid of your insides would be delectable, I’m sure, but I’m not about to waste you.”