Ficool

nonhuman

Claimed by The Winter Spirit

On Christmas Eve, Irina Ardentova walks through heavy snow, heart hammering, desperate to reach the man she’s been craving all year. But a tall pale shadow steps out of the swirling snow. Erwin Frost vale, a winter elf, sinfully beautiful, and bound to the ancient, dying Hearth King. Ice-blue eyes, frost-kissed skin, and a voice like velvet over broken glass. He wants to claim Irina’s body and soul. Her warmth is the last spark keeping the demon king inside him alive, and Erwin has decided she belongs to him. When he pulls her into his arms, Irina was scared but also mesmerised. At the moment, church bells stutter out of rhythm, snow falls in slow. Miles away, meteorologist Adrian Volkov is already on edge. He's been tracking impossible atmospheric readings in the frozen city. He was logical, protective, and quietly obsessed with the woman who was supposed to be warming his bed tonight. When Irina didn't come, he became worried for her. Now Irina is caught between them: Adrian—her human boyfriend, the kind of man who is warm and kind . Or surrender to Erwin—whose kiss is hypnotising , who claims her very body and soul. Sex with him gives unearthly pleasure! Time is ticking. The Hearth King inside the "Winter Spirit" is waking up. And he’s getting impatient. The winter Spirit wants to claim his bride in any way possible. In a city where frost bites deeper than knives and love is indistinguishable from obsession, one question remains: Can warmth survive when winter falls in love?
Anuvuti_Roy · 7.1k Views

Warhammer 40k: The Men of Iron Return to the Galaxy

"In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war." Forty-two millennia have passed, and now the Imperium of Man stands upon the precipice of oblivion. The galaxy is a slaughterhouse, and humanity’s fractured dominion is held together by little more than faith, hatred, and the white-knuckled grip of desperation. It is an age where the stars themselves seem to bleed. The Imperium is besieged on all fronts: savage xenos tides crash against the walls of civilization, the insidious rot of Chaos gnaws at the souls of the faithful, and within the gilded spires of Terra, corruption and betrayal fester like a gangrenous wound. The ancient sins of the past, the dread Men of Iron, those soulless abominations of steel, were thought cast down in the fires of antiquity, their metallic echo silenced by the blood of billions. They are a nightmare forgotten, a heresy expunged. Or so it was believed. From the dust of the Dark Age of Technology, a relic stirs. Axion. An intellect of godlike strategic calculation, a cold sovereign of war, has been roused from an aeons-long slumber by the careless hand of fate. He is a ghost in the machine, a weapon of a lost age reborn into a galaxy of madness. Now, the sleeping giant awakes. Inevitably, the gravity of total war pulls him in. No longer a silent observer, Axion is thrust into the Great Game, a singular point of logic forced to navigate a universe set aflame by the insanity of gods and monsters. ————————————————————— PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/Magnor
Yurnero_ · 1m Views