Nicole's Note: This story is from an amab man's point of view and contains fantasy nc (with some brainwashing), tease and denial, tickling, embarrassment, fantastical misandry, some breathplay, and everything else listed in the tags.
Remember, real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The air was sweet. Bryan Graves prodded the side of the path warily. Even through the thick, wooly scarf he wore over his lower face, the air was as sweet as anything he'd ever smelled or tasted.
This was dangerous.
The bounty hunter reached down to his locket and clicked it open, looking at the piece of parchment stuck within.
Complete your contracts to save yourself and restore everything. You will retrieve the Silverbreath Lily from the Deep Evergreen and deliver it to the nymph enclave of the Maple Grove.
Below the scrawl was a tiny, crudely scrawled out map he'd sketched, his best estimate of the location.
He was close. He could feel it. Bryan chewed his upper lip, taking a step back from the suspicious surface. The vines appeared to be growing over some sort of glen or den—a pit trap for the unwary wanderer, maybe. But those vines, dotted with cotton blossoms, weren't the source of the sweetness.
The source was the Deep Evergreen itself. This place was tainted, twisted, corrupted. Almost nobody had been this far in before and lived to speak of it with their own free tongue.
Bryan Graves wasn't just anyone, of course. He patted his back, checking that the twin daggers remained sheathed at his belt. He was the Contract Keeper, the Undying, a man who always got his mark—even if of late he was having a little trouble remembering why. He felt the two scars below his chin, grimacing.
He'd already been into the Deep Evergreen at least once before, he was sure. Faint, tingling memories buzzed at the back of his head—a tightness on his wrists and ankles, endless licking, sweet kisses, giggling and teasing, beautiful green eyes...
He shook his head. The memories faded, as they always did. For the last four or five years, they had faded. So many memories lost—so many failures he could never learn from.
He was determined not to lose the memories of this mission, and that meant he absolutely had to make it back out with that stupid damn flower.
Pollen wafted all around him as he took another step away from the vines, and he double-checked that his scarf, scratchy and tickly as it was, remained secure. It was the only reason he'd made it this far without succumbing to some perfumed sprite or corruptive blown kiss.
As he turned back to the faunpath he was following, Bryan Graves nearly jumped out of his skin. His hands shot down to his daggers.
He was not alone.
The fleece sprite smiled brightly at him. She had very pale skin, just the slightest shade of green—like lamb's ear leaves—and positively sparkling white curls bouncing down to her shoulders. She wore an impressively fluffy white crop top and a pair of equally fluffy boyshorts that rose up in the rear to show off her... impressive curves. Knee-high wool stockings complimented her shapely legs.
He tried to focus on her face, though, and not her delectable body. A pair of curled ram's horns rose from the sides of her head, and her ears were floppy, as snow-white as her hair. Her eyes, a bright neon green, were heavy-lidded between thick, dark lashes that fluttered coquettishly as he stared at her, open-mouthed.
Realizing he was staring, Bryan bit his lip and looked away.
She giggled. "Aw, rude much? I'm right here, cutie!"
Bryan's mind raced. He really just wanted to get out of here, before anything got... problematic. In the Deep Evergreen, even the mildest fey could be dangerous. But he couldn't just run—that could get him in worse trouble, especially if she sounded an alarm.
So Bryan looked the lone sprite dead in the eyes. "Yeah, I see you."
She beamed and clasped her hands, kicking a foot back bashfully—the very picture of the bubbly, lovestruck ditz. "That's wonderful! Of
course
you do. What's your name, sweetie?"
The Contract Keeper,
he wanted to say, but he didn't want to invite questions. Many fey knew him by reputation, too, and he didn't want that kind of attention right now. He rarely wanted more attention. "Bryan," he said reluctantly.
"Aww." She smiled sweetly. "That's a cute name!"
"Maybe. It's mine." He glanced around, making sure they were still alone, before returning his gaze to her. He'd thought he heard a distant giggling, but that was an all-too-common part of the soundtrack of this forest. "I'm gonna be heading out. You should leave me be. Whatever you're offering..."
"Oh, I'm not offering
anything
."
This caught him a little off guard. Knowing it was too good to be true, his hand drifted over the knife at his belt. "Really?"
"Mm-mm." She shook her head, still smiling that sweet smile. She bounced a bit closer, and he stepped back to match, careful that he wasn't stepping off the path. He had to be careful not to forget where he was. "You look like you've got
everything
under control, sweetie. You don't need
my
help!"
Bryan swallowed, trying not to watch her too... indulgently. This fleece sprite was positively designed to distract, with her flattering crop top offering just enough cleavage to draw his gaze, with her wide hips swinging with every approaching step. She brushed her hair from her eyes, lashes fluttering, and he noticed she was wearing long, white silken gloves that ran up to her elbows.
"... great," he said finally, trying not to sound too skeptical or too disbelieving.
He didn't trust this as far as he could throw her. Even normal fey, even the good fey who cared about consent and boundaries,
never
passed up a chance to tempt someone into pleasure. A corrupted fey of the Deep Evergreen?
Especially one who dressed like
that
, whose every step
closer
seemed calculated to draw his attention
deeper
into the rhythmic swaying of her lovely ass, to the soft jiggling of her bountiful bosom...
"It's true!" she insisted, reaching down to adjust her crop top. "I'm
sure
you'll be fine! You don't have to worry about
me
, cutie!"
He swallowed and tore his gaze from her breasts back to her eyes as she beamed convincingly. Oh, gods, this cycle. He vaguely recalled this kind of encounter with a lamia once. He tried to focus on her forehead, but every time she batted her eyelashes, or thrust her chest out to emphasize a point, he couldn't help but let his attention be drawn to the movement.
Bryan Graves had, out of sheer necessity, cultivated a will of iron. He just didn't like to have to exert it while staring openly into a fleece sprite's cleavage.
"I believe you," he lied.
Bryan was used to fey trying to mess with him, and they
always
wanted to. He wasn't some fairy tale prince or anything, but he had an impressive, tall, lithe yet defined build, still quite fit in his early thirties. His golden brown hair, just long enough for some giggling catgirl to wind her fingers through, complimented deep brown eyes with slight specks of gold and black, and his dark stubbly beard, persistently resisting efforts to shave it, gave him a rugged quality that rose dryads found irresistible.
Or so he... vaguely recalled.
His plain dress never made a difference to them. Neither the drab leather armor nor the gray hooded cloak seemed to send the message that he wasn't here to serve as some fey bimbo's living sex toy. When fey gave him any attention at all, it was for one reason and one reason only.
But her eyes were wide as she insistently nodded. "I mean it, honey! I
really
do!" She put a finger to her pouty lips. "Why, I can't think of a
single
thing
you
need from
me
."
"Great." He nodded tersely, itching to get out of here.
"Mm." She smirked, tapping her lips thoughtfully. "In fact, sweetieboy, I was
wondering
... if I could have your scarf!"
This caught him off-guard, though only for a moment. "What?"
"Your scarf!" she cooed, skipping closer. He watched warily as her boobs bounced. Gods, that crop top... it concealed just enough to be tantalizing, to give some pretense at modesty, but not enough to actually deny him plenty of skin to ogle... "It's
sooooo
pretty, sweet boy! I want it." Her voice was playful, but bratty, insistent. Her smile was confident, as if she'd given him all the reason he needed.
Bryan put a hand on his scarf protectively. "It's... mine," he said, still confused but quickly regaining his certainty.
"But I
want
it!" She giggled, then gave an adorable pout. "Don't you know how risky it is, sweetie, to deny a pretty girl something she
wants
?"