“Shame. Things would have been much easier if you’d simply used your words…I’ve got to say, your rudeness was a little upsetting.” Jack tuts, his horns reflecting veins of rough pewter in the red of the setting sky. The sun has finally dipped below the crowns of the trees at the west side of the clearing, its dying rays casting an eerie kaleidoscope over the demon’s bulk as he shifts, something long and jagged and black appearing in his hand.

The nymph cries out, spine arching upwards as Jack thrusts the first iron spike through his hand, driving through the meat of the palm and into the earth below.

I forget why exactly I started writing this, but here it is. Demon!Jack and nymph!Rhys flower gore. Big warning for guro, noncon, and quasi-woundfucking, so don’t read this if that kind of stuff is too disturbing. 

Catching a nymph was no small task.

Jack had spent most of the daylight hours sniffing through the lowland woods, trying to narrow down the scent of natural magic. Jack’s determination had grown more hurried as the sun had begun to sink in the sky, casting shadows around the glow of the coming sunset. If catching a nymph was hard, finding one in the shadows of night was near impossible, even for a demon who thrived in the power of darkness and death.

But just as the sun had begun to touch the very tops of the distant trees, luck decided to shine upon Jack. He’d been trundling through a roughly hewn path, the grass trampled by the tracks he was following, when a sudden flash of movement had caught his eye and sent him bounding after his flighty prey. He’d lunged out from behind the trees, leaping out into the clearing as his claws seized around the waist of his catch. Jack’s bulk and momentum had flung his prey to the ground, a terrified squeal breaking the afternoon air as Jack’s voice had twisted in a triumphant caw.

The nymph is a handsome little thing, even more so as it struggles against Jack’s strong hands. It’s long in the legs and torso, the blue tattoos on its lithe muscles stretching out in its chest and arms as it pushes up against Jack’s iron grip on its wrists. Its hair is tousled, burgundy waves fanning out from its head as it looks up at Jack with eyes like the meet of the shore and the stream. Its cheeks are tinged pink from the chase, its chest rapidly rising and falling in short, panicked breath. Jack rubs his clawed thumbs against the nymph’s wrists, feeling its fearful pulse. It sends a shuddering thrill down to the demon’s vile loins.

The nymph writhes and ripples like a landed fish, skin flashing weak and silvery in the dying light of the sun. Its mouth opens and closes breathlessly, ringed with pretty, clamshell-pink lips that Jack just wants to bite and rip. The demon straddles across his prey’s slim hips, bulk weighing it down and making escape impossible.

The cornflower blue tattoos on the nymph’s arms and chest swirl like a storm, summoned to protect their master from the demon’s unwanted advance. They lapped against his tight grasp on the nymph’s wrists like water building up against a dam. Jack’s fingers prickled slightly but he held firm, snickering coarsely at the futile attempts to ward him off.  

“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for someone like you?” Jack croons, musky vapor rolling from between his teeth. The nymph tenses, unwittingly exposing more of his tender neck as it tilts his jaw up to break sight with Jack.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be shy. Let ol’ Jack hear that pretty little voice of yours.” The demon rubs his ebon claws against the pulse in the nymph’s wrists, feeling the fearful sprout of blood throb against his fingers.

“You can start off by telling me your name.”

Tiny, nubby fangs dig stubbornly into the nymphs lower lip, a meager flash of danger that Jack finds cute.

“No?” The nymph shakes its head.

“Hmm. Suppose we’ll have to use the hard way, then.” Jack shrugs his shoulders. “Your choice, sweetheart.”

Jack clubs one claw across the nymph’s face, red bruising popping up at its cheeks. It is a glancing blow that sends the creature snarling, but the pain is secondary to the distraction it provides. Before the nymph can take advantage of one released wrist, Jack’s clawed hand comes to hover above its torso, palm suddenly glowing with red magic.

The nymph’s spine jerks upwards as its skin suddenly shifts with the movement of Jack’s hand, the ink fluttering over its flesh suddenly seizing and struggling as Jack’s power summons it to his bidding. The nymph screeches as Jack forces the tattoos against the bind of its skin, dragging them like hot knives into the truth the demon seeks. Now burnt blue, they wriggle helplessly, like snakes sizzling on the forge as Jack draws his hand down the nymph’s sternum, forcing them to etch through unwilling flesh. Jack’s prey grits its teeth, neck arching forward as the ink bleeds down and pools into four letters spaced between its pert nipples.

“R-H-Y-S,” Jack sounds out, clicking his tongue. Rhys flinches as a bit of saliva hits his skin.

“Shame. Things would have been much easier if you’d simply used your words…I’ve got to say, your rudeness was a little upsetting.” Jack tuts, his horns reflecting veins of rough pewter in the red of the setting sky. The sun has finally dipped below the crowns of the trees at the west side of the clearing, its dying rays casting an eerie kaleidoscope over the demon’s bulk as he shifts, something long and jagged and black appearing in his hand.

The nymph cries out, spine arching upwards as Jack thrusts the first iron spike through his hand, driving through the meat of the palm and into the earth below.

Golden blood follows the lines in the nymphs hands, spilling out over the grass and weighing heavy on each blade like molten beads of dew. The tattoos chase up from the nymph’s wrists, as if they can stop the flow of blood from the wound. His fingers twitch like the legs of an impaled beetle, drawing Jack’s eyes to the tantalizing blood now spilling from the nymph’s body, but even with his desires beginning to spill out before him, he has no desire to collect and let his prey go just yet.

With the evening approaching, will-o-wisps begin to flutter between the trees like spiritual voyeurs, light flickering behind each shielding trunk scattered around the clearing where the demon has pinned the nymph to the yielding forest floor. Jack’s attention draws from his prey for a brief moment as one foolish sprite strays too far, drifting on the wind or its own curiosity towards the sordid display. The demon lets out a rusty growl and lashes out, clawed fingers yanking the wisp towards him as if he’s grasping current in the water. He hears the nymph below him cry out in shock as he opens his maw, jaws clenching down around the sprite’s momentary form.

It clings to his teeth like candy floss for a moment before he licks it back into his mouth with a vicious grin. The nymph’s eyes widen and he shouts louder as Jack’s fiendish face leers in close, the last bit of ephemeral light vanishing from between his fangs and into the greedy pit of his stomach.

“Y-You’re a monster,” the nymph seethes, tattoos squirming in horror. Jack laughs at him, licking the tips of his fingers before he arches back over the nymph. The second iron spike flicks into his other hand, and before his captive can cry out once more he pushes it clean through the nymph’s left palm, forcing him to choke on his wail.

“Looks like you finally found your voice, huh? And just in time,” Jack growls, breath heavy and moist as a wolf’s as he catches on Rhys’ face, “I bet your blood is even tastier when you’re screaming and begging me to stop.”  The nymph twitches, groaning as Jack leans in and licks a thick, weighty stripe up his cheek. Jack smacks his lips, forked tongue flickering like a wisp of smoke.

“I can’t wait.”

Jack trails his tapered fingers over Rhys’ torso, a couple errant tattoos nipping at his claw, even as the rest flee from the demon’s touch, already laying down their arms as they cower near the nymph’s shoulders. He is soft all over much to Jack’s delight, flesh shrouded in velvety skin—skin soft as birchbark, and just as easy to peel.

He presses his finger in just below the nymph’s sternum, his flesh giving up little fight underneath the demon’s razor sharp claws. Jack pushes, the tip of his finger slicing gradually into the nymph as he starts to squirm, chest fluttering like a captured hummingbird as molten gold begins to flow from underneath the demon’s claw.

Jack’s mouth waters at the reveal of more blood, intoxicating scent of fresh earth and flowers drifting up into the demon’s nostrils as he digs his claw in deeper. Rhys moans, flesh clenching around Jack’s finger as it curls further into his body.

The nymph’s innards begin to bubble and writhe around Jack’s claw as he slices it down his torso. Almost immediately, jade-green tendrils begin to unfurl up from the slit, sprouting like springtime up from the jagged wound. Jack’s infernal eyes widen at the sight as flora begins to spill out of the nymph alongside the torrent of liquid gold, nascent stems sticky with his blood.

The nymph’s eyes widen in horror, chin glued to his chest as he watches Jack split him down the middle. Pain twists in his lips, dainty little teeth digging in as he struggles. Impaled palms yank against the rusty stakes as Jack’s claw begins to cut into the softness of his stomach, skin splitting like the flesh of a swollen gourd. A scream cuts from between the nymph’s lips as more dusty green flora spills from his massive wound. Tendrils curl upwards and outwards from the furrow across the blanched soil of Rhys’ skin. New leaves flourish from the stems, tender and paper thin. The nymph’s tattoos wriggle like cut worms, frantically writhing underneath the weight of blood and sprouting plant-life.  

The tender green buds finally swell and burst in a flurry of bright blue petals before Jack’s spellbound eyes

He drags his claw slowly down the nymph’s belly, like a hunter gutting a prized kill. Rhys gasps, body twitching helplessly as his flesh parts around the demon’s hand, more and more blood spilling down his flanks as flowers continue to bloom from the gaping wound. Jack watches, transfixed by the blossoming display as stems and leaves and buds continue to twist and wind out of the nymphs’ exposed innards, their petals unfurling softly as if to hide the grotesque wounds from the demon’s lustful stare. Bright blue crocuses crowned with golden stamen flower forth, covering Rhys’ body in a shroud of flora even as Jack rips it apart.

Up in the smoky crest of the mountains where his castle is carved arrogantly into the stone there is no sight as beautiful as this. Jack’s days are filled with torment and violence and yet there is little pleasure in ripping apart ugly little sycophants throwing themselves prostrate at his feet. Jack had long grown bored of mutilating anyone who wanted it, who would give him little more show than a nasty, gurgling death.

Sparkling tears collect in the nymph’s eyes, pain etched across his expression even as he continues to try to glare up at Jack. Weak fingers fist around the spikes driven through his palm, slippery with his own blood. Tendrils coil feebly about the rusty stake, as if they had any hope of pushing them out.

Jack pulls his claw out from Rhys’ blossoming stomach as he reaches the nymph’s pelvis, licking the gold from his fingers. It’s sweet as nectar, tinged with metallic earth. He sucks his claws dry, smirking at the helpless nymph as he procures three stained vials. Blood continues to pour from Rhys’ gutted body, easily filling each glass even as more flowers continue to grow out from his wounds.

Jack and temptation twine together so often it feels daft to say he falls victim to it, rather he embraces it wholly each time a fresh, twisted idea worms into his infernal brain, flourishing in the black and barren soil raked with sin. As he watches more and more flowers pour from Rhys’ body, petals virgin and whole despite the violent nature of their birth, one such idea cracks forth.

Jack’s claws sink into the mass of flora, feeling the soft caress of the leaves and petals between his fingers. They tickle against his tough flesh, nubile little touches sending shivers through his body down to his shaggy loins. He squeezes a fistful of blossoms, earning a guttural cry from Rhys that has his swollen cock popping out of its sheath. Ivory cum beads at the tip, already eagerly spilling down his fattened length.

Every twirling tendril, every wispy petal invites him, and as a being born from such deep, dark lust he finds no reason to restrain himself from the need poisoning his cruel brains and splashing hot blood into his groin. He leaves one claw sunk into the clump of twisting plants, tugging it forward like the oily hair of the demon whores he screws from boredom up on his mountain. His other claw grabs at Rhys’ waist, tips digging into the nymph’s injured flesh as the head of his cock smears into the bundle of flowers.

Jack pushes harshly as the plants stiffen, tropism binding them to one another as, like the tattoos, they rush to defend their host. But Jack’s living, vicious libido bests the nymph’s dying throes, and with a sick laugh he shoves his way through the trembling verdure.

Every stem, every leaf is like a nerve to the nymph, exposed to the hellish stretch of the demon’s cock as it forces its way through the unfurling bundles of leaves and stems and petals that continue to sprout up from Rhys’ organs. The nymph’s pained cries come on each grunt of breath, his eyes rolling up towards his brows but not yet giving him the grace of unconsciousness.

Pollen shimmers like powdered blood over the flowers as they continue to sprout from Rhys’ body, choking his wounds full, unabated despite the hellish cock forging its way into the visceral underbrush. The vines twist, forced to welcome Jack as he fucks into the flowering mass, the buds blossoming around the hot shaft of his cock.

Tendrils lap weakly at the demon’s furry hips, their tips fisting into clumps of hair—for purchase or for defense, it matters little to Jack as he feels the rising peak of his orgasm erupt upwards.

The dying sky blooms red behind Jack as he ruts against the twisting morass, cock ripping through the tender flowers and sending their tattered petals back against Rhys’ heaving body. The nymph drools mindlessly, his eyes wide and distant as he stares at Jack, his own golden blood flecked against his lips and teeth.

Jack comes violently, burning seed withering all the flowers and leaves in its path as it scours the fertile earth of Rhys’ insides. The nymph cries out in agony, blood trickling from where he’d bit into his lips as Jack’s cum burns its way through the thicket of his spilling flora. Tears crawl down his face, begging Jack to stop what had already been done.

When he pulls his cock out, it’s streaked with the nymph’s blood and speckled with pollen, as if he had dipped his groin into a pool of molten gold. He imagines his statues, soon to be rid of their tainted hue and sheathed in the glimmering paint born of Rhys’ body. Slowly, the flowers from inside of him stop growing, seared at their roots by Jack’s hellish seed.

The nymph lays listless, eyelids fluttering weakly. Jack smirks. He slides his talon right underneath Rhys’ nose, feeling the wheeze of breath against his finger. Nymphs, even with mortal wounds, would stay alive until every last sprout from their body was razed to the ground. A couple of flowers still sway in Rhys’ open wounds, no longer spilling out of him but spared from Jack’s destructive touch.

He pulls his cloak from around his neck, wrapping the heavy, velvety cloth around the nymph’s body. It smells of smoke and ore and musk, smothering the feeble, flowery scent. He lifts Rhys up into his arms, the nymph’s head lolling over his shoulder as he rises to his feet.

Rhys says something, but it’s muffled in the thick gold blood still coating his mouth. Jack kisses him, forked tongue working open his slack lips as he drinks from the bleeding font.

Catching the nymph had been difficult. He doesn’t want to have to do it again.

He hears the forest rustle with hidden creatures, animals and sprites alike watching as Jack carries the nymph back through the trees, away from the clearing and towards the peaks cresting up into the rapidly darkening sky.

Perhaps, with the nymph at hand, he could paint his entire mountain gold.