#and THEN your body and memory get used to create one of the creatures you always wanted to bring an end to

[devotedlystrangewizard]

"being autistic is about being bad at reading social cues" "being autistic is about stimming & sensory overload" NO.

this is autism.

[jasmines-library]

SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST

All the things on the road so far:

Total count: 38

Last updated: 14 October 2024

⛤ MASTERLIST ⛤

⛤ Hey Jude

Summary: When a demon hunt doesn't go to plan, the Winchesters have to rush to save their little sister. Though to make matters worse, once back home in the safety of the bunker her wound gets infected. With their angel friend MIA, Sam and Dean must battle time to find a way to help their sister.

⛤ Just One Big Headache

Summary: A routine salt 'n' burn takes a nasty turn when the spirit directs its anger towards you, leaving you with a nasty concussion, but not to worry, the Winchesters are there to look after you.

⛤ Spellbound Sickness

Summary: A long and cumbersome witch hunt turns much worse when you begin to develop a high fever; a side effect of the curse she managed to spit out at you. Will the Winchesters find the cure in time?

⛤ Up and Down

Summary: After returning from being tortured by the devil himself, your brain can’t help conjure up its own images which refuse to leave you alone.

⛤ Let It Linger

Summary: after a rough hunt resurfaces some unwanted memories, you slip into your own mind. But Sam is there to help you through it.

⛤ Blood Bag

Summary: you are captured by a group of vamps whilst on a hunt. They take their time trying to kill you, draining you of your blood in an old warehouse. For the Winchesters, it’s a race against time to reach you before something fatal happens.

⛤ Safehouse

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life. (Unknowingly like Hey Jude because I’m stupid and forgot id already done it. It’s slightly different though)

⛤ The Basement

Summary: You are captured alongside your brother Sam by the BMOL. They want something you won't tell them, so they try to force it out of you.

⛤ Hidden on the inside

Summary: During a hunt, you take a nasty hit which at first seems fine, but it's what's hidden deep under the surface that creates a problem. (I get it, i suck and writing summaries.)

⛤ Oh, Baby.

Summary: on the way back from a hunt, an out of control car veers into yours sending it hurtling off of the path and into a tree, leaving you trapped. Too far from the hospital, the Winchesters are left with the task of getting your body from the car as they wait for Cas to arrive.

⛤ Sweet Creature

Summary: When Dean is a Demon, he does something unexpected to you. Since then, you have become withdrawn, refusing to sleep in fear of the images that plague your mind. When you eventually give in and suffer a nightmare, Cas is there to help.

⛤ Sounds Of Someday

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are ripped away from them.

⛤ Devil in Disguise

Summary: After escaping from the cage, Lucifer decides to pay Sam a visit, only he's not there. So he settles on the next best thing: you.

⛤ Black Smoke Rising

Summary: Seeking revenge on the Winchesters, a demon decides to go undercover by using your body as a vessel to sneak into the bunker. Whilst trapped within your own mind, you can only hope that Sam and Dean notice that something is amiss before it is too late.

⛤ Just A Little Complication

Summary: Whilst Dean is in hell, the reader is the only one who can calm Sam down when he gets overwhelmed.

⛤ Knock it off

Summary: whilst at dinner with her family, the reader begins to choke.

⛤ Groundhog Day

Summary: takes place during the episode ‘Mystery Spot’ but instead of Dean dying over and over again, Sam and Dean are forced to watch their sister die repeatedly .

⛤ Sleep Is For The Weak

Summary: With too much to do and not a lot of time to do it, you overwork yourself, missing out on sleep. When your brothers try to get involved, you dismiss them only for you to end up collapsing during a hunt.

⛤ The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Summary: Takes place during S5E7 where the reader loses years off of her life to save Dean from a demon deal, however when Sam tried to win her years back, it may already be a little bit too late.

⛤ Dead In The Water

Summary: takes place during S1E3 where the reader ends up in the water with Lucas.

⛤ Dilemma

Summary: When you and your brothers get caught of guard during a werewolf hunt, they are quick to try and blame each other. But little do they know that their bickering might cost you your life.

⛤ Teeth

Summary: Reader gets turned into a vampire

⛤ So close, Yet Too far

Summary: you just really need a hug.

⛤ Hexed

Summary: a hex bag finds its way to you…

⛤ Breathe

Summary: You have an asthma attack.

⛤ Currents Convulsive

Summary: you get electrocuted.

⛤ The Things They Carried

Summary: based on the episode; you get infected by a parasite and have to find a way to get it out.

⛤ Caught Off Guard

Summary: you get attacked by a werewolf and have a panic attack

⛤ Weak immune system

⛤ Motion Sickness

Summary; you get car sick

Double Trouble

summary: you see double

Wendigo

⛤ ‘Tis the Season

Summary: A fluffy one shot where the Winchesters celebrate Christmas.

⛤ A Winchester Surprise

Summary: After years of your birthday being forgotten or consumed by a hunt, your brothers make sure that this one is extra special.

⛤ Time For A Wedding

Summary: Sam and Dean attend the readers wedding.

⛤ Unconditional

Summary: 15 year old Winchester!sister discovers she is a lesbian, and whilst on a date with a girl she sees in a diner she gets harassed by a homophobic boy. When she returns, Sam and Dean comfort her.

⛤ Somebody Told Me

Summary: Sam and Dean give their nervous younger sister dating advice.

⛤ Sick Bug

Summary: When you wake up feeling sick, your big brothers are there to help make you feel better. (Hurt/comfort ish)

⛤ Noodle Soup

Summary: The reader takes care of their sick brothers

⛤ Changes (spn x dc)

Summary: You are sick of Sam and Deans bickering, so you venture to Gotham to hunt some vampires where you meet some very interesting vigilantes.

⛤ Family First

Summary: Sam and Dean show their appreciation for their older sister

⛤ Today I Saw The Whole World

Summary: You are Sam Winchester’s twin sister, cursed with the same blood running through your veins. When Sam begins experiencing his visions, you too discover a new skill. You can see into the veil.

⛤ Bringers Of The Apocalypse (spn x DC Crossove)

Summary: The day Lucifer was freed from the cage was the day your life completely fell apart. You were ripped harshly from the peaceful life you had created for yourself in Gotham when your duty as the horseman of war calls and you are faced with a difficult decision: stay with your family in Gotham and let the apocalypse play out, or give up the ring (and ultimately your life) to go with the Winchester brothers who are searching for you to send Lucifer back to hell and save the world… or perhaps you can find a compromise somewhere inbeteeen.

[yourfatherlucifer]

Shark Bait (Hongjoong)

Shark Hybrid!Hongjoong x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Living in a world full of different creatures and humans, some mixed together, creating hybrids. You were just a mermaid though, an ancient tale from the sea. He was something every human feared, even merfolk feared. But you fell in love, how could it be so forbidden?

Warnings: Talks of species violence

AU: Hybrid

Genre: Fluff

WC: 900+ (unfinished)

Rated: PG-13 for violence

Nets: not tagging because I didn’t finish this story and I just want to get it out of my drafts.

“Mom, look at this thing I found! It looks like it was from the pirate era!” You shoved a goblet in front of your mothers face, “Must be some kind of cup?”

You pulled it back to examine it further. Your mother shook her head.

“Y/N, we talked about this, I understand you like your scavenging, you’re an adult you can do as you’d like, but please, take it somewhere else.” She folded her arms.

“I don’t like those human objects. They just bring misfortune.” Her tail swayed behind her.

You had rolled your eyes at him before clutching the found object to your chest, “And what misfortune do you speak of mother? It’s a cup.”

You loved living in the ocean, though, you had no idea what land life was like anyway. Still, you loved the shiny sea life, the coral, the seaweed, the little treasures you’d find at the bottom of the ocean.

Some you’d even bring to your little siblings, they’d love the gifts. Sometimes they’d even wanna go on a journey with you, but you or your parents would never allow it. They were still very young and there were dangers that lurked in the waters.

Despite being friendly with the sea life, there were still some that didn’t like you. The sharks for example, especially the great whites. They loved to harass the merfolk.

So you had to be careful when investigating ship wrecks, making sure there were no bodies. You always felt bad for the humans who got lost at sea, so you’d guide them back. However, there were always the bad humans, the ones that would try to capture you for your body, to take you as a trophy or a ‘pet’.

That didn’t stop you from loving your life and exploring. Your parents considering you to be adventurous, they always worried about you, scared you’d get hunted by a shiver of sharks. You never did though, you were always careful.

Your mother scoffed at you, she was almost seething with anger, "It doesn't matter, Y/N! You are always going into the dangerous waters without thinking! Just to get your stupid trinkets, that we have no use of! What, what are we gonna do with a goblet!" Her arms thrown up.

You couldn't understand why your mother was being like this, you were always safe, nothing had happened, ever.

“Y/N, please. Just listen to me. Your step father and I care for you and are worried of your adventures,” you could feel the ‘air’ turning somber, “I’ve never told you what actually happened to your father.”

After so many years, she was finally going to give you answers? And for what? Just to stop you from having fun? It isn’t right. You never grieved your fathers death, because you never met the dude. So what does his death have to do with anything?

Your mother took the goblet from your hands and brought you inside your cove home, "Listen, your father was the same way, he loved his little adventures, just as you do. That's where you got it from," she took a deep breath, "He'd always bring me little presents when I was pregnant with you."

She smiled as she recalled those delightful memories.

"But one day he didn't return. He was with some buddies, on yet another adventure for me presents. He wanted to some stuff for you to have."

You could see her emotions unraveling but continued to listen, "When he didn't return for hours, I was so scared. Then his friends came here. Without him."

"They told me they were attacked by sharks. Your father was the only who didn't make it. Said he distracted the sharks so they could get away."

At this point your mother had tears streaming down her face, even if you couldn't tell with the water.

When she wiped her tears away, she stared at you once again, "That is why I don't like your adventures. These attacks on our people are getting too common. I don't want to lose you, Y/N, you're all I have left of your father. I hated those trinkets after he passed."

-

Even after the talk with her, I still didn't care, I didn't know him. I was always careful anyway, never once have I come across a shark, maybe a nurse shark but they're friendly. It was the great whites, goblin sharks, tiger sharks and other sharks that were aggressive.

I had found another shipwreck, ways from the last one I discovered earlier, this looked fairly new, couldn't know exactly when it sank though.

It was a smaller boat, looked like one those humans partied on, what did they call it? Yacht, I think? Wonder how it got sunk.

Humans could be idiots when it came to anything.

I wedged myself inside, careful not to catch my tail on anything. There were a few shiny things, a small rectangle about the size of my hand, I think the humans called these phones, not too sure. It was useless underwater, so I just placed it back where I found it.

While searching for miscellaneous objects, I didn't realize the boat had been swarmed by sharks. My predator.

Once I had stopped searching, I turned to make my way out, only to be met with huge jaws, razor sharp teeth, and pale gray skin. A great white shark. The King of the seas.

I swam back further into the boat and in response the shark mauled the small entrance with its mouth, trying to get to me. Oh my god, I should've listened to my mother, now I am going to die just as my father did.

I cried out in fear, I didn't want to die.

As the shark approached me, something pushed it out of the way, I could hear shouts, "Back off! Didn't I tell you to stop killing the mermaids!"

You poked your head out in confusion, what was going on?

The figure swam up to me, I could finally figure out its features. It was a boy..about my age. He’s beautiful. However, he adorned a fin on his back and razor sharp teeth.

He held his hand up to me but I slowly swam back into the boat, “Hey! Wait, it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you.”

He smiled, “My name is Hongjoong, I’m a shark-hybrid. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything, I just wanna be your friend.”

UNFINISHED

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .001

Note: Will use events from Mk9-11 + Aftermath. I am changing canon for some characters to fit the story. Changing canon in general for MK1, so at some point I will add in scenes not in the main story and probably will diverge from it in the end. Some character personality changes, not major, but enough to add depth. Slight character dynamic changes (Mostly Lin Kuei, so the trio feel slightly closer as a whole)

Also excuse the small exposition dump that happens through the chapter, it was needed to set up plot points in the future, so in the future we can get to those juicy character interactions easier!

LOVE INTERESTS: Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kenshi, Reptile, Scorpion (Kuai Liang), Sub Zero (Bi-Han), Smoke, Shang Tsung, Mileena, Kitana, Ashrah, Havik, Rain

Also on AO3: NEW ERA

part two

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO DOESN'T REMEMBER

Memories are fickle things. 

Awakening in the middle of a field, you heard the buzzing of bugs, and the grass beside you moved as a creature scurried past. Your head hurt, and a fog settled in your mind as if it were blocking something. You sat up slowly, noting the moonlight shining down on the area around you.

You looked down at your hands. It was odd, it felt like you were familiar with it, yet at the same time it felt all too foreign to you. You wiggled your toes, feeling the grass brush against them to remind you that they existed. 

Where were you?

Swallowing any dread you felt building up, you stood up wearily. Your body swayed as you got up, almost stumbling into the grass once more. The area around felt devoid of humans, undisturbed nature spreading far. It was beautiful and breathtaking, but it only soothed you for a moment before panic began to seep back in again.

Where were you?

In the distance was a soft light. A flame? Perhaps. You dragged your feet as you walked towards it. You’d rather go discover whatever that was then stick around being lost wherever you had woken up. 

Why were you there in the first place? 

Fear was crawling down your back at the inability to answer the nagging questions within your head. Shaking it off, you continued on. The closer you got, the better you could identify where the flame was from. 

A temple of sorts?

It had a dragon motif from what you could see, and it was constructed mainly from wood and stone. Red shingles, or at least you assumed it was…it was hard to see in the moonlight, lined the rooftops of the temple ahead. The tree leaves even seemed to be red. There were multiple buildings, one being a tall tower, and a few smaller buildings. The flame, which was quite large from what you could see, was lit in a pavilion of sorts.

Your mind throbbed as a vague memory of a temple floating in the sky appeared in your mind. But this wasn’t that same temple. Not at all. Why were you thinking of that?

Soon enough, you found yourself at the entrance of the area, marveling at the architecture and the beauty of the area up close. How wonderful. Eventually, you spotted two figures walking towards you. 

The first thing you noticed was their glowing blue eyes.

Not knowing what to do, you stood there. Although you felt a pit of dread build up in your stomach as they approached, you stood unwavering. You grimaced, not at the sight of them, but at how the figures coming closer seemed to intensify a dull throb that had been building up in the back of your head.

Silly as it was, were they the cause of your headache? Of the fog in your head that seemed to block out any memories you tried to pry from your mind? 

You watched as the two figures, that you could now identify as men, approached. You could read a vague sense of concern on one of their faces, and the other held a sense of shock on his. They walked over a bridge, stopping at the top as if to create a sense of height. You looked up at them, your will not wavering despite the dread that was building in your stomach.

Your headache, why was it hurting so much?

You watched as one of them held out his hands, forming one a fist connecting to his palm. He smiled at you. It felt warm. The other nodded his head in acknowledgement, but you could see the small smile he had as well. You stumbled as your headache turned into a sharp pain, as if someone had just stabbed your head. Gasping, you stumbled forward. 

The man who had been presenting his hands grabbed you to steady you, and you noted the strange sense of familiarity as he did so. His wrapped hands were firm as he helped you right yourself. You looked up into his eyes, and without thinking, a name popped into your head.

“Liu Kang?”

The dread you felt in your stomach turned into fear as the man’s eyes widened, and the vague shock that had been on his face before was now on full display. He glanced over to his companion who held the same look of shock before they both looked down at you, almost accusingly.

“How did you know that?”

That was years ago.

Shortly after the shock had worn off, you had been escorted into the fire temple. They gave you a place to rest for the night, but you could hear the whispers of Liu Kang and Geras as they walked away. What they were discussing, you weren’t certain.

You could hear the concerned tone in their voice loud and clear despite that.

The next morning in what was perhaps the politest interrogation ever, it was revealed that you had a lack of memories.

Kind of.

You had memories, or at least you thought so, but they were all jumbled up in your head. They felt wrong, and foreign and they didn’t match up with what you were seeing. After all, your mind was telling you the man who was interrogating you was Liu Kang…but it was not the same mortal man that popped into your mind. 

You also eventually recognized Geras, which seemed to alarm the two even more, even if they were subtle about it. Eventually, after long deliberation with each other, Liu Kang eventually came up to you and offered you a place to stay at the fire temple due to your lack of memory and residence.

You were relieved to have a place to rest and stay, even if you had a nagging feeling that the offer was a disguised excuse to keep a close eye on you.

You supposed that was fair.

Eventually, the memories you had came back slowly over the years, and you confided in Liu Kang about them. This led to an eventual friendship with the god as you unraveled the strange situation that you were in. The man, though cordial, had been wary at first of you. You thought that was reasonable. A random stranger showing up in rags and recognizing you without introduction?

That was suspicious for certain, you could not blame the fire god for his caution. Especially since he proclaimed himself to be the Protector of Earthrealm, you could have easily been a threat.

Thankfully, you were not. Or at least, he seemed to deem that you were not. Although you had a jumbled mess of mismatching memories, the two of you had concluded that the memories you did have were visions of sorts, of other realities, and that the memories you used to have were gone. 

Visions of other worlds traded for the memories of your past. That’s what he told you, anyways. You had a sinking feeling that wasn’t quite true, and that was the biggest secret you held from Liu Kang. After all, the more memories you regained, the less it felt that they were random visions. 

They felt like a past life…and maybe they were. You weren’t certain yet. You had a nagging feeling there were many memories left to unlock.

The guilt of hiding this doubt, this secret, was immense at first. Ignoring the fact that you were lying to a god, you were concealing doubts from a man who had offered you shelter and food.

Eventually the guilt died down into near nothingness, but there was still a twinge of guilt every time you lied about it.

Aside from that, you rediscovered abilities that you had not realized you had. 

Shapeshifting into animals. You could transform your whole body into creatures, or parts of them. It was a helpful power, you found. You also seemed to have some sort of muscle memory of fighting skills. Lord Liu Kang had once offered to train you, and to both of your surprise, you were quite skilled.

Rusty at first, but it was obvious your body knew how to fight. It was nothing that years, or in all honesty, months could not fix.

Another ability you realized after a few years was how your body did not seem to age. Or at least, not in the same way humans did. At first, the monks seemed to chalk it up to good genetics, complimenting on how you seemed to keep your youth. However, as more years passed, whispers of magic arose.

Concerned with the strange state of your body, you confided in the fire god. Liu Kang suggested that your body was one that lived longer, perhaps of one that was not native to Earth, or Earthrealm as he called it…an edenian, perhaps? He explained the realm of Outworld, and the existence of the realms in general. He had once explained it much before, along with some monks, but not to the historical extent he had given you at that time.

Through these explanations, you remembered Outworld much more clearly, but the memories of Outworld were once again inconsistent with the world he described.

The Outworld you knew had been run by a tyrant before it was passed to an heir that had been overthrown. It was war hungry, and not at all pretty as he described. Liu Kang offered that, perhaps, when the Mortal Kombat tournament rolled around in a few years, you could join him and the champions he would bring to Outworld.

You agreed, of course. Maybe that realm was key to unlocking more memories, and more explanations. Even though you cherished the Fire Temple, a place you had learned to call home, you now had a purpose going forward.

Go to Outworld to seek the rest of your memories.

And now, you were here, enjoying another peaceful morning in the Fire Temple.

Staring out from the pavilion, you inhaled deeply as you took in the sunrise. You could never tire of the beautiful view. Your ears picked up the soft sound of someone walking towards you, and you turned around, already familiar with who it was. 

“Hello, Liu Kang.” You greeted, a smile on your face as you nodded towards the fire god. The fire god sent you a soft smile in return as he walked up to be by your side. Due to your memories of a younger, mortal Liu Kang that had popped up so often at first, you had taken up a nasty habit of addressing him casually. You tried to fix this, but he had permitted you to address him casually in private.

It felt like a strange honor.

He greeted you, your name rolling off his tongue in a familiar way as his hands settled on the railing much like yours were. It was common for the two of you to meet up here at sunrise, to indulge in the simple yet breathtaking view. It was a tradition from years ago.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Liu Kang inquired, much like he did nearly every morning. He gazed at the horizon with a sense of serenity and peace before his glowing eyes landed on you. With a chuckle you turned your gaze to the horizon he had been staring at previously.

“It is, just like it is every morning.” You mused, watching as the sky lightened, the darkness making way for the pretty light blue hues as a pink and orange color settled over the horizon. Your fingers tapped the wood as you hummed, remembering that something special was happening today. “Today we’re going to the village of Fengjian, correct?” You inquired, a surge of excitement buzzing through you.

You had been around the world here and there over the years to accompany Liu Kang and sometimes even the Lin Kuei, but it had been a while since your last venture. 

“Correct, Madam Bo said two of her trainees were ready for the exam scenario, and today we're going to observe.” Liu Kang said, nodding as he confirmed the plans he had told you about two weeks ago. You noted how he kept his gaze intent on you, as if analyzing your reaction. You could not hold back the smile on your lips.

“Excellent, it’s been forever since I’ve had Madam Bo’s cooking.” You commented, remembering just how delicious the older woman’s cooking was. You were nearly drooling at the thought of it. Not only that, but Madam Bo was someone you valued as well.

Whenever you saw her, you were reminded of a fatherly figure who you hazily remembered who drunk a lot of alcohol. It was odd, but she too must have sensed the connection, as she took you in as if you were a child of her own ever since she met you. You wished you could go out to see her more.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you heard the faintest of footsteps. Reflexively, you transformed your ears into those of bats and craned them around to hone in on the sound. You tilted your head as you focused before you turned to look at Liu Kang, ears turning back to normal.

“I thought the Lin Kuei were to come later?” You inquired, revealing that you were now aware of their presence. You heard some muttering before the three assassins revealed themselves. Sub Zero, Scorpion, and Smoke. Three of the Lin Kuei you had grown closest to during your association with Liu Kang.

“That was the plan, but we decided to meet up earlier to discuss the plan as we shall leave earlier to get in position to observe.” Liu Kang explained. The two of you turned around to face the three. You smiled at the three. Smoke and Scorpion both bowed to the two of you. Sub Zero, notably, did not, but you did notice the slight nod of acknowledgement sent your way.

“Perceptive as always, and I thought we could finally sneak up on you.” Smoke greeted, addressing you as he spoke your name, a light playful tone to his voice. Smoke was always the friendliest of the three, it was a delight to talk to him. He was the most casual. You noted the slightly irritated glare from Sub Zero sent his way.

You surmised that Smoke had managed to convince the two others to also sneak in. You could not tell whether the irritation was from having to partake in such a silly endeavor, or if it was due to the fact that he blamed Smoke for giving the three of them away.

“Maybe another time, Tomas.” You chuckled, covering your mouth as you did so. Despite your words, you were competitive, and you weren’t planning on giving up in the ongoing game that you had both been playing for a while now. “Regardless, it is good to see you all, it’s been a while.” With that, you nodded towards Liu Kang, letting him go over the plan with the trio.

You observed silently as excitement coursed through your veins.

You had a feeling that tonight was going to be something special.

part two

[bloodiedrogue]

GO SLOW (12)

SUMMARY: Astarion figures out some hard truths. Also some easy ones.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,665

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, depictions of a panic attack, brief mentions of past (sexual) abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SURPRISE SHAWTY!! Because I was home sick all day and now I'm apparently busy the rest of the week you get the chapter now! Hopefully you like it. :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

You’re meant to be focused on the relic —on its discovery and retrieval and potential handoff depending on the item in question. As you walk across the cobblestone, tightly gripping the moonlit lantern, you’re well aware that you more than likely look a bit distracted. Lost in a world of your own as you glance around, knowing you should concentrate instead of allowing your head to fill with thoughts of him.

Embarrassingly though, you can’t help it. Not now, when Astarion’s practically glued to your side, brushing his arm against yours with every step. It’s distracting, to say the least. Creating a mess of thoughts within your mind. Shifting in and out of reality, you find it increasingly difficult to pretend you’re anything but elated over your previous private conversation. 

As you continue your journey, feeling the coolness of his hand haphazardly make contact with your own, your heart swells twice its original size at the mere memory. How his voice, so simple and sweet, told you he loved you. Even now, hours later, you can hear it clear as day, echoing through the cavern of your skull. Taking its hold with each passing moment; enveloping you in a warmth like any other, laying a heated waste to every thought that may try to penetrate.

If you’re honest, it makes you feel a bit guilty knowing that the rest of the group is most likely feeling more anxious than anything else. Resembling a cluster of bundled nerves, trudging through the darkness, wondering what might be next, it’s as if you’re the only one struggling with something else. 

Fully looking at Astarion, you can see the attentive scowl that rests across his face to prove this. The ever so slightly upturned nose, wrinkling in disgust at the rotting trees that line your vision. The angrily knitted brow that pushes together, revealing a lack of enjoyment as the shadows dance around the lantern. Even the frown that graces his lips appears almost too engrossed with the task at hand, making you realize that, despite your shared feelings, he’s more present than you are. 

Upon realizing this, you force yourself away. Taking a half-step from his frame, you shake all thoughts of him, replacing them with whatever observation you find in front of you. Like the sound of a crow echoing through the air or the heavy wisps of wind that hit your ears a little too hard or the looming figure leaning on a nearby epitaph—

All of you stop in your tracks, watching as it emerges from the fog to reveal a smug looking Raphael sauntering towards you. 

Greeting you with interest, despite the obvious lack of trust for one another, his eyes scan the line of your bodies, lingering on each for a moment before ultimately falling to you, smirking. “Through the dark he went creeping and awoke what was sleeping…”

His voice makes you shiver as he begins to recite some sort of riddle, reminding you of your previous conversation. The one where he threateningly spoke of his aid being the only way to release you from the tadpole's grasp. Assuring that with time you’d seek him out again despite all of you agreeing otherwise. 

Even though the context of the conversation seems completely different, you assume it’s the same reason he’s here now, standing before you, rambling on about some terrifying creature through obnoxious prose. More than likely, he’s here to offer you yet another deal —another contract you know will only end in further misery if you so choose to agree to it. 

It’s all devils like him seem to do.

“Strange way to warn us about something,” you comment when he’s finished, raising your brow as he chuckles under his breath. 

“Well, you know, I’ve grown quite fond of you —in my own way.”

To your right, Karlach groans. “Is there an actual point to this fucking riddle or is this another opening to one of your shitty dealings?”

In response, Raphael tuts in her direction, subtly shaking his head as the grin across his lips only grows. “Such poor manners, tiefling. You’d think Zariel would’ve taught you better.”

Immediately, Karlach takes a step forward, her jaw clenching just as you and Gale hold her back, both of you staring with pleading eyes for her to calm down. 

“And here I thought after all this time apart you might miss me.” Regardless of the obvious threat, he flashes all of you a fake frown, pouting his lips for a moment before changing the mood with another laugh. “No matter. I’m merely here to warn you of the dangers ahead.”

“Dangers?” 

This time it’s Shadowheart who speaks, her tone quiet —cautious in the way that Karlach’s fails to be, causing Raphael to nod before going into some long-winded tale of a darkened stage with tired actors. Ones that, if awakened, will cause a great calamity. 

Or, so he says. With Raphael, it’s hard to trust what’s being embellished and what’s not with the way he speaks, moving his hands through the air while he rhymes. Sure, there’s a bit of eloquence to the whole thing —an air of intrigue to his tales but ultimately, it only makes you and the others frustrated. Skeptical. A lack of trust rising through the air as he continues, pivoting the conversation to a lurking shadow. 

Apparently, it’s of Infernal descent, something that piques both you and Astarion’s interest, sharing a look. As Raphael speaks, telling you to kill the creature before it can be released upon the rest of the world, your tadpole vies for your attention. Squirming violently, it makes you cringe with discomfort, trying your best not to let it show as you allow the call to enter your mind. 

We should ask him about the scars.

For a moment you disagree. With Raphael being a devil and all, it’s almost certain that if you ask him a question he’ll only offer a bargain in return. Something big and shiny but worth hardly anything in the long run. But then you remember the timing. The lack of minutes and hours and days you may have left. Already you’re running on borrowed time and you can tell that Astarion’s desperate. Struggling to come to terms with the fact that at the end of all this, he might not get the ending you both believe he deserves. 

Because of this, instead of denying you merely nod your head, making quick eye contact just as Raphael finishes his tale, using the short moment of silence to pivot the conversation. 

“Now, enough about all that,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “Let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me.” 

When his gaze hits Astarion’s face it’s as if the whole party turns defensive. Narrowing their eyes, their bodies instinctively lean towards Astarion, making sure it’s known that any sort of threat will not go unnoticed.

It makes Astarion puff up triumphantly as he clears his throat, glancing back at all of you with hidden thanks before returning his attention to Raphael. “I do. I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” 

“Yes.” 

Chuckling darkly, you see Raphael shift. “If this has anything to do with you wanting to taste my blood, I can assure you vampling it’s hardly worth it.”

As you roll your eyes, Astarion scoffs. “This is serious, devil,” he retorts, a rather crisp bite to his tone despite who he’s talking to. “I have this scar —this eyesore of a creation carved rather deeply into my back. Someone wrote it all in Infernal and considering I’m neither devil nor demon I obviously can’t read the damned thing.” 

Instead of responding, all Raphael does is hum. Low and slow, he takes his time mulling over Astarion’s words, stroking his chin most likely for dramatics as he paces the path, making you frown. 

“Can you help him or not, Raphael?”

When you speak, he looks at you with offence. As if interrupting his thought process is a fate worse than death, prompting you to swallow in regret, trying not to look scared. Even though that’s exactly what you are. 

Considering you don’t trust him in the slightest, watching Astarion so easily ask for this devil’s aid makes you anything but calm. In your mind, you can feel the anxiety brewing like a storm. Threatening to strike you down at a moment’s notice as this hellish creature disguised as nothing more than just a man, scolds you for your lack of patience. 

“It’s something very important to your master,” he then says, smirking at Astarion —pulling him in with tempting words and more theatrics. “But what is it? A love letter perhaps? A warning of your impending room? A contract of ownership maybe?”

Every example he lists off makes you more and more uncomfortable, your stomach churning at the prospect of Astarion’s scars meaning anything at all. 

“I could give you all the gory details. For a price, of course.” 

As expected, Astarion sighs and looks towards you, searching your face for signs of reluctance only to find support. 

“And what’s your price?” 

Without hesitation, he tells you he wants the aforementioned creature dead. Slain on sight so that he no longer has to think about it. To which Astarion looks at him a bit confused, wondering how such a simple task could be deemed worth its weight in information. Especially when taking into account all the slaying you’ve all done already.

“Really? That’s your price?” 

Raphael nods —humming again but this time in acknowledgement. “You slay the best and I tell you all about those beautifully crafted etchings. Sound good?”

It doesn’t. Not in the slightest. But regardless Astarion merely nods, prompting Raphael to finish his end of the conversation, telling you he’ll be in touch before evaporating into a thick fog of smoke.

As soon as he’s gone you can feel the breath returning to your chest. All the past anxieties slipping into something a bit more manageable as you reach for Astarion’s arm, earning yourself a look of frustration that everyone else opts to ignore. 

“You okay?”

You see him swallow as he looks away, turning his attention to the entrance of the mausoleum you now find yourselves in front of. “I’m fine.” 

“Yes, but are you okay?”

It’s obvious then he doesn’t know how to answer. Now that he’s one step closer to finding out the truth of this thing that’s haunted him for so long, you can tell he’s nervous. Apprehensive in a way that has him debating whether or not he truly wants to know. You can see it plainly in his eyes —the way they dart around in circles, searching for something neither of you has the answers to. 

Sensing this, the rest of the party moves ahead silently, glancing at you from afar as they stop at the run-down building’s entrance, allowing you a moment to yourselves. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” you remind him then, squeezing his arm. 

Beneath your touch he tenses, signalling you to pull away as quickly as you can, fearing he may not like it. 

“There’s always something in the way, isn’t there?” he grumbles, gritting his teeth in frustration. 

Sighing, you nod your head. “Unfortunately.” 

“I mean, honestly, you’d think for once the universe would allow me a moment of goddamn peace but no, I have to work for it —to become a slave and do the bidding of someone else yet again!”

His frustrations are rational. Justifiable even, when you take into account all that he’s suffered. After everything, he deserves to be thrown some kind of bone. Even one as little as this, and more than anything you wish you could do that for him. 

Instead of merely supporting him on yet another perilous journey to earn the bare minimum you wish you could give him everything. The key to his past —the gift of his future. If you could, anything and everything under the sun would be plucked from its rightful place and put into his open hand without a second thought. You’d will the stars to fall without warning if he wanted them. Lasso the moon and drag it down just so he could see it clearer each night. Hell, you’d even rip the sky itself down if it meant you could prove to him just how much he deserves.

Unfortunately, though, you’re not nearly powerful enough to do anything like that, so instead you merely set the lantern down on the ground and offer your hand. Palm up into the air, you shove it between you with a sombre smile, watching Astarion glance between it and your face, inevitably taking it. 

“I don’t need your pity, you know.” 

“It’s not pity.”

“Fine, your sympathies then.” 

“Alright.”

A part of you knows he’s being stubborn just to guard himself. A tactic he often uses so that his vulnerabilities may remain hidden. It’s something you’re often guilty of yourself —avoiding conflicts in the form of jokes or comments said only to distract. 

Unfortunately, because of this, it means that you can see right through him. As you move your other hand to flip over his, trailing patterns across the lines of his palm, you can feel the fear that strikes his heart. The thoughts inside his head pulsating with all the potentials of where this newfound information can lead you.  

Neither of you know, but it’s apparent then that regardless of what it is, it easily has the ability to change the trajectory of everything. Depending on the severity, the more unwilling you know Astarion will be to continue with the group. If it’s dire, more than likely, he’ll try to venture off on his own to solve the issue. Especially if it results in enacting some form of revenge. 

Because despite his growing fondness for the group you find yourselves in, he’s still Astarion at his core. And you know that means there’s an inherent selfishness that sits dormant, waiting for the right moment to abandon the world to get what he wants.

You don’t blame him for it. Not after everything he’s been through. Not after countless years of seduction and starvation and a solitude meant only for the dead. At the bare minimum, he deserves the chance to erase all of that in the form of raw revenge. Whether it’s through betrayal or murder or whatever may linger in between. 

Regardless of all that, he deserves closure. Even in its impurest form, he’s earned the right to do whatever the fuck he wants because it’s his choice. His decision. If he wants to leave —to abandon the party for greater things, so be it. You won’t stop him. However, you will offer him your hand.

“I’m with you. Whatever happens.”

As you speak, you continue to stroke his hand, repeating the routes of your index finger over and over again until you can feel him relax in your palm. Until you know that the frustrations that he feels are pushing themselves to the back of his mind, making way for your presence. 

“It’s rather foolish of you, you know.”

You raise your brow at him. 

“To fall for a vampire. To promise him things you may not be able to fulfill.” 

Despite knowing he’s right you merely smile and look back down at his hand. “I never claimed to be smart, did I?”

“No, I suppose not.” 

You move your thumb across his palm, gripping it gently with your other hand as you pull it up to your face. “I’m pretty good with a sword though,” you offer, kissing the centre, feeling it curl around your chin, his own thumb trail past your cheek. 

“I know, I’ve seen you.” 

“So you’re aware of my talents.”

He snorts and leans in without another word, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that has you humming against him until suddenly it’s over far quicker than you’d like. 

“You know, the plan was never to have this happen.” 

His hand remains firmly on your chin. Thumbing your bottom lip it pushes it down to reveal your teeth before springing back up when he moves his digit elsewhere.  

“Have what happen?”

“This,” he says. “Us. We —I was meant to merely seduce you. Manipulate you into trusting me so that you’d never turn on me.” 

There’s an awkward pause that quickly fills with nervous laughter. Ripping through his throat, it’s there and gone before you can even react to it, making you swallow hard as he continues his confession, telling you how easy it was supposed to be. How instinctive it felt to flirt with the idea of you while you fully fell for his charms. 

“All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you,” he tells you, earnestly —looking at you with eyes so heavily filled with guilt that, as he confesses further, all you can do is stand there, panicking. Praying to whatever Gods may hear you that at the end of this, he doesn’t retract all the words he previously said just to spare you from helping him accomplish the impossible. 

“I swear if you—“

“That’s where my plan fell apart, you know,” he cuts you off, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “When I realized how incredible you are. How caring and funny and—and smart you are. I didn’t stand a chance. Not with the way you take the time to listen. Or the way you defend my honour even though I never ask. Or how you have the ability to make me smile when all I want to do is scream.”

All you can feel is the breath of his words hitting your face. The sensation of air pluming across your skin, forcing you to blink and breathe and carry on as silently as possible. 

“You deserve to have the kind of love you selflessly offer me every day.”

Slowly, his hands move to cup either side of your face, pulling you further in despite how close you already are. 

“I want to give you that —to give you something real. But I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to do that.”

There’s a part of you that feels like you’re shattering then, hearing those last few words, unaware of the implication. Considering it’s such an open statement, as you remain still beneath his touch, trying to explore his face for clues, the only thing you can think of is the worst. How instead of loving you, he’ll leave and die by Cazador’s hand. How as a result you’ll be one member short and fall to the Absolute. How everything will have been for nothing. 

Breathing hard, you assume his next few words will be the worst words you’ll ever hear, so when he eventually opens his mouth, preparing to speak further, you can’t help but close your eyes. 

“Being close to someone —experiencing intimacy— it’s something I did to lure people in for him, so it’s tainted in a way. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing, despite what we have being different,” he confesses, forcing your eyes to reopen and see the almost wild look in his eyes. 

“I don’t know how to be with someone else. How to offer them what they need —how to let them in the way I know I should. No matter how hard I try.”

At that point, it feels like he’s searching for answers. Begging for you to tell him what to do next —knowing it’s all he’s ever known. 

Because of this, all you do is offer him a smile, reaching up to grab his face back, tentatively feeling the skin through the nerves that shake beneath the pads of your fingers. “So, what happens next?”

“Next?”

You nod, watching his expression change, telling you he doesn’t quite understand the question as he blinks back tears, glancing away while clearing his throat. 

“I, uh, I suppose I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve had to decide what I wanted.”

“That’s okay.” 

He opens his mouth to respond but all that comes out is a soft crackling of sound, signalling even more uncertainty until he’s pulling away and avoiding your gaze, panicking at the prospect of having to choose. A newfound agitation flowing throughout his features as you attempt to call him back in, whispering his name like a prayer.

At first, he’s completely hostile, pushing air rapidly through his nose as his eyes flicker through the trees. At one point he wobbles from side to side, shifting the weight of his feet so carelessly that you move your hands in front of you, waiting for him to drop. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t though. Instead, all he does is ride the hysteria of his emotions, eventually looking to you for the kind of guidance you’re more than willing to give him. 

Once again taking his hands —cautiously this time— you etch those same patterns into his hand, using your thumb to trace every line you see, telling him he’s okay. That you’re here and he’s safe and that you love him, despite everything. 

Barely above a whisper, you tell him that his feelings are valid. That he’s allowed to take the time to process. That admitting that he loves you doesn’t mean there has to be this automatic shift into something new.

“We can just love each other,” you tell him, smiling. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can take it slow.” 

That seems to calm him down enough for him to nod his head and reciprocate the contact of your hands with a short squeeze. Both of which make your heart swell in a sort of sad understanding as you silently offer him a hug, feeling him roughly wrap around you as he tells you he loves you again. 

-

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Arachnophilia: (Part Ten)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Fluff and bonding, Monster/human relationship, Miguel is rutting, Reader goes into heat, Rough PinV sex, Spontaneous outdoor sex, Slight voyuerism/exhibitionism, Mouth covering, Rough biting, Creampie & web sealing, Little bit of angst at the end? CW: Mentions of & brief depiction of deer hunting.

Word count: 6060

One Week Later

‘Are you ready, arañita?’

Miguel’s voice drifted up and into the nest, turning your head towards the entrance. You were halfway through getting dressed and the distraction nearly toppled you to the floor.

‘AH- Yeah! Yeah, I’m- almost ready! Just a minute!’

You struggled into your new outfit; a suit made entirely of silk which Miguel had painstakingly crafted for you. It was super soft and strangely warm, but it clung to the contours of your body a little more than you’d have liked. You kept wondering if Miguel had consciously or perhaps unconsciously made it so form-fitting. After all, this was your third suit of its kind, as he’d ripped the other two to shreds during extremely passionate and wet sex.

You felt your face grow warm at the memory and physically shook it away. No, no time for that. If you slipped back into the heat again you’d never get to go on the trip, and you were excited to go.

As you rose to your feet you took a moment to admire how the nest was coming along. The first thing you’d done was make it homely by adding a window and doors, with the entrance now covered by a crude cut oaken circle that swung outward on a hinge and the walls now adorned with little wooden shuttered holes.

You admired the half-made fireplace in the centre of the room, next to the DIY wooden table and the slowly burgeoning food prep area, before turning to the bed.

The mattress was completely drowning in silken blankets and silken pillows, and the floor beside it was now adorned with the pelt of a stag he’d killed. You knew autumn was approaching and it would only get colder, hence the focus on conserving heat, and while you didn’t want to jinx the relationship you enjoyed planning for the future.

You did feel a little bad since almost all these changes were only for your benefit. You had to preserve heat in this empty forest, but Miguel with his soft fluffy abdomen could remain shirtless all year round.

Your eyes softened affectionately at just the thought. Such a beautiful creature. He was a sight to behold when he stepped out into the cold dawn, where the heat of his muscles created a misty sheen of steam and his white breath curling around his fangs.

‘Arañita!’

You jumped in place as Miguel’s voice echoed from below for a second time. Shit, you’d been daydreaming about him so much you’d forgotten to go down. With fumbling hands you grabbed your bag and rushed out the open door.

‘COMING!’

Where once there was only a short sticky rope to descend from his home there was now a generous ladder, allowing you to easily clamber down to the floor.

Miguel was waiting, patient as ever, his legs gently tapping on the dirt as you approached.

‘Alright! I’m here, sorry. Had some- difficulty with the suit’ you called.

‘Ah, arañita. There you are.’ The joy that lit up his face every time he saw you never failed to make your legs weak.

‘Yep! Here I am.’

‘You look wonderful in that suit, by the way’ he noted as you rushed to his side. You took the time to scoff as you grabbed handfuls of his fur, using it as leverage to drag your body onto his back. His fluff was soft where it brushed your skin, and he smelled like grass dew and wet hair.

‘Oh my god- I knew it, you designed the suit to be too tight on me, didn’t you?’

‘I- well, yes. Is that an issue? Is it uncomfortable?’

You landed on his abdomen with an ‘oomph’ and shuffled forward, settling on his back like a great horse. Your hands wrapped themselves tight around his broad waist.

‘No, but- come on. Little bit pervy.’

‘I thought that was the nature of our relationship’ he argued. He tried desperately to catch your eye but in doing so began spinning in little circles, chasing his back as you continuously ducked out of the way. You took great pleasure in making him spin. ‘I like to look at you, yes. I get great physical joy from admiring your form. You are my mate. I thought this was normal. Is that not normal?’

‘Oh my god Mig—alright, come on! No more wasting daylight hours! Go! Go! Git!’

You gently and playfully kicked his side, urging him onward like a horse, but a firm glare from his bloody red eyes quickly brought you down into an apologetic cower.

‘Sorry! Sorry, uh- shall we, shall we go, darling? At your own discretion?’

He gave a curt nod and began strolling upward into the forest.

Today, he was finally taking you hunting.

The woods, once terrifying and unknowable to you, were slowly becoming a comforting norm. You gazed up at the dizzyingly high pines as Miguel walked upward to where the trees grew sparse and wide.

The early morning daylight trickled down in thin rays, their glow highlighting the tiny specks of dust and flitting little bugs as they passed you by.

This place felt old, untouched. It was cool beneath the heavy canopy above. You could hear nothing but the distant chirps of birds and the occasional creaking of an old tree. As you passed beneath those silent giants you clutched Miguel a little tighter.

‘You were talking in your sleep last night’ you whispered. Mig jumped. You’d been walking for almost ten minutes now in abject silence, so your voice was a surprise.

‘Ah- what was that, mi tesoro?’ he whispered back once he’d regained his composure. You bit down the urge to giggle.

‘Oh, sorry, um- you were talking in your sleep last night. That’s all I said.’

‘I was?’

‘Mhm. It’s very cute. You kept kicking your legs, kicking them and grunting, then you said something like don’t run so fast little one or wait for me and um- I think then you just kinda settled and went back to sleep. Like I said, very cute.’

Miguel rolled his shoulders as he continued strolling onward. You couldn’t tell from here what he was thinking.

‘Mm. I don’t- remember my dreams anymore, but, I know that they’re vivid. I remember the feelings but not the events. So- huh. I wonder what I dreamed about?’

‘I should stay up and keep an eye on you, try and sus it out’ you teased. He managed a breathy little snort of a laugh in response.

‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. What if I say something in my dreams that I shouldn’t?’

‘Oh, pft- like what? You gonna say someone else’s name? you don’t know anyone else, well except Miguel maybe, and if you said his name my first thought wouldn’t be that.’

‘I could still- imply something embarrassing’ he said with a shrug. You’d broached the top of the hills by this point and behind you the view was extraordinary, with small windows in the canopy giving you a perfect view of the city in the distance. Mig paused to turn and look at it with you mid conversation.

‘I could- I don’t know, admit some, sexual fetish I hadn’t even realized yet, some- deep interest in the back of my mind.’

You sighed as you rested on his bicep. With your arms still tight around his waist you gave him an affirming little squeeze. ‘You idiot’ you teasingly chided, ‘you admit everything to me anyway. This morning you immediately confessed that you designed my clothes for your own delight, and- wait, yeah, literally the FIRST day you started rutting you sat me down and told me in great detail your sexual fantasy. You are too honest to be worried about this.’

Another guttural choke escaped his throat, his strange little laugh that now filled you with joy to hear. ‘You are right, as always, my tesoro. I suppose it’s just my anxiety. I- suppose I’m just not used to anyone else being around when I sleep. It’s strangely vulnerable, no?’

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s weird, but, It’s nice though, right?’

You felt his fur bristle beneath you, the strands brushing your leg. Oh, you thought, that meant he was upset about something, right? But, why?

‘Is it?’ he murmured.

You turned and leaned around his torso to try and see his face more clearly, but right as you did so he turned himself and began walking deeper.

‘Hey, is something up?’ you gently pushed.

‘Ah, it… Sometimes- you pull away, at night, when we’re… cuddling.’ The way his voice dipped on the word cuddling, like he was embarrassed to be saying it in front of you. God, he was so sweet. ‘You shuffle away and I wake up without you. I- was worried you were uncomfortable with me.’

‘Oh, I love cuddling Mig! But doesn’t it bother you when you’re trying to sleep? I keep waking myself up because when I roll in my sleep you’re there and I keep thinking I’ll wake you up too.’

He let out a soft ‘humpf’ sound in response, clearly surprised by your response. ‘Ah- I don’t believe so. I haven’t slept any worse since you arrived, except, occasionally waking to check you’re okay.’

‘Oh. Huh. Well, you are… Big? I suppose is the best word? Big ol’ guy, you probably don’t feel me as much. But, like I was saying, I’m just not used to feeling something beside me when I sleep. I’m adjusting my brain to it, that’s all. it doesn’t mean I dislike you or dislike cuddling. We’re just uh- finding boundaries, now we live together.’

He seemed to perk up at the reminder that you were, technically, living together. Living together as partners, a concept he thought he would only ever dream out. He did a little rustle before bounding through the trees.

‘Alright, well, we’re almost there. Let me get you something to eat, mi arañita’

True to his word Mig became utterly focused on the hunt from that point onward.

He bayed you to settle down in the roots of a tree while he got into position, somewhere far enough to dampen your scent but close enough that you could see. He seemed desperate to have you witness him being productive, and you were curious enough to go along with his whims.

In this part of the forest the trees were sparser, allowing more vegetation to cover the dry earth. Miguel had said this gave him more cover for ambush, but you were still stumped as to how this giant man was supposed to hide himself even in the thickest growth. Even when pressed to the floor he was huge, as wide as he was long, covered in bright red and black fur.

Surely a deer would see that, right? Curiosity got the better of you, and you settled down in the roots to watch.

Mig started by feeling the vibrations in the dirt. He tapped at the floor, shuffling back and forth as he listened for something far beyond the scope of your own senses. You saw his eyes widen a few times, indicating that he’d felt something in the distance, and once he seemed sure he began the next unusual stage of this dance.

He dug. He dug into the earth with his enormous legs, filling out a small burrow in which his body could just about fit. He used his legs to drag foliage over his head, masking his scent and his body, until even you could barely see him at all.

And there, he waited. He waited, and waited, as clouds came to cover the sun. He waited in the gloom while you picked at your nails, waiting with a patience that frankly scared you to your core, until you both heard it.

A snap. A twig breaking.

A stag had entered the woods. Immediately you shuffled downward, lying as still as possible in the roots. Mig didn’t move an inch.

The stag was sniffing at the ground as it approached. You were certain that it would smell the enormous spider lying in wait, but somehow it just kept drifting closer and closer. You could see its head dipping to push through the grass, its snout flexing and snorting. Its breath condensed hard in the cool air.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You watched, your heart racing, as the stag went to sniff right over Migs head.

CRACK.

You jumped in your skin as he pounced.

It was terrifying. It was pure, primal, a spectacle of undiluted power. He moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something of his size, so large and yet so nimble, as his legs propelled him out of the dirt and onto the beast. It tried to run but his claws caught its neck.

With the sheer weight of his body he brought the bleating giant down. You saw a flash of his eyes, blood red with a single white pupil, right before he clamped his jaws on its neck.

It was over in seconds. The moment the deer stopped moving you scrambled out of the roots to join him.

‘Holy- shit, you’re so fast!’

Mig unclamped the catch with a soft grunt. You could see the blood on his jaw and neck which he immediately smeared with the back of his hand before facing you. He had such a strangely shy smile on his face.

‘Oh- you saw! You saw it. What did you think?’

‘It was… terrifying! Wow! You are- so, strong!’ you said with an awkward laugh. You left out how weirdly enjoyable it was to see him at full strength, to have witnessed the power and carnage he was capable of.

His grin widened as he took your comment at face value. ‘Thank you, arañita. That- makes me happy. I like showing you that I can be of use.’

‘Oh, Mig you idiot.’

You leaned in and affectionately touched his hair, gently brushing back the thick curls. He almost purred at the touch. ‘Now- jesus, let’s get you cleaned up and get home.’

You used a strip of silk from your back to try and clear his face, though he kept nestling into your hand which made it difficult to finish. Something about hunting for you seemed to make him especially soft. He would tap his feet for attention and rustle against you, and you would tut at him while secretly enjoying his touch.

That peaceful downtime did not last long though. As you were brushing yourself down, preparing to head back down, you noticed that Mig had stopped pacing. When you turned to check on him his eyes were wide.

‘Mig?’ you said softly. He didn’t move. You watched with ever growing curiosity as he began to dart his gaze across the forest line, almost as if he was looking for something. You followed his line of sight but could see nothing yourself.

It was only then, on the cusp of your lips parting to question Mig on what he was doing, that your senses picked up the same thing he had.

Your eyes locked in a moment of shared terror.

Footsteps. Distant footsteps, growing closer with every step. Idle chit chat that echoed in the trees, something about being lost and forgetting the map. You sensed a flask on an overstuffed backpack slowly clinking against a metal keychain.

‘Hikers’ you hissed. Mig gave a silent nod.

No, no, no. This was bad, you thought. What were people doing this far out? Why today of all days?

You didn’t want to risk a run in with civilians. You knew Mig was safe, but you also remembered how you’d acted the first time you saw him, and more importantly you remembered his distress at being seen.

Without another word you jumped into action, hopping his back in one fell swoop while he grabbed the kill by the nape of its hide. He lifted it as easily as a cat carrying a kitten, a feat you barely had time to appreciate, as he broke into a canter the moment you were mounted.

In silence you hurried back down the way you’d come.

For about half the way down it seemed to be smooth sailing. Mig made easy progress through the woods, his eight legs silently tapping back and forth on the mulchy earth as you descended to home. Your senses could feel the hikers getting further and further away.

In no time at all you saw the glade appear at the bottom of the hill, a tiny little circle in a sea of evergreen pines slowly sinking downward. You let out a contented sigh.

But then you felt it.

You felt It.

That foreboding tug in your gut. The gentle throbbing that sank down through your insides, the pulsing of blood as your heart sped up. The yearning, the need, the subconscious addictive pleading for satisfaction.

No, no, no, NO. You couldn’t stop here, right? The hikers weren’t far enough away yet.

You shuffled, trying to secretly suppress it, when Miguel abrupted stumbled to a halt himself. You heard him drop the stag with a thump.

Shit. You could smell it. It was heavy in the air, a smell you couldn’t describe with words but which you felt in your loins. He was rutting too.

Your eyes rolled. Oh that smell, it gave you goosebumps. That smell alone dragged you to him like a magnetic force.

‘Arañita?’

His words were soft as he spoke. Those were dangerous words, hungry words.

‘Mig?’

You felt so small on his back as his shoulders arched. You had to tilt your head to see his face, to see the bright glow of his eyes as his head instinctively tilted sideways. You balked. Those eyes were fucking starving.

‘Mig’ you breathed.

His abdomen vibrated softly, rustling against your skin in a way that sent pleasurable shivers through your thighs and spine. You shuddered against him. ‘Mig, don’t—careful—’

He breathed out hard, his breath condensing in the air. ‘Ah… Arañita …’

It curled like smoke around his bloody maw. His full lips parted and he breathed in through the mouth, releasing a dark and foreboding growl. ‘Ah…’

‘Mig—we need to get back—’

He was breathing heavier now. You could see his enormous spider legs quivering as he fought the urge slowly infecting his mind. The urge to pin, to fill, to penetrate, to feel. The urge to claim. The urge to see your pretty form, naked and sweating and shaking as you struggled to take him, as you were fucked to the brim with his very being.

When he huffed smoke for a second time a breathy moan escaped his throat. It was a mating call, plain and simple, echoing through the trees.

‘Mig… Mig…’

It was pitiful; your pleading had gone from genuine concern to depraved praise as you whispered his name over and over again. While you pleaded Mig struggled to focus on his senses. His body was begging, screaming even, to take you now, but he could just feel the hikers still approaching their location.

‘We need- to get back- to the nest’ he panted. You didn’t even respond.

At this point you were broken, involuntarily grinding your hips into his fur for any semblance of relief. Your body was burning to the point that sweat was sticking your suit to the contours of your skin, highlighting every little dip and curve.

‘Miggy—’

‘Arañita!’

His bark of an order made you mewl.

‘We need- to get back—’

‘O-Okay’ you whined. Slowly, painfully, Miguel began to continue his walk down the hillside towards the glade.

It was agony. You’d gotten so used to instant gratification that pushing through the need was now hellish, especially combined with the need to run.

It was an itchy heat, a prickling heat, and as your blood began to pump you felt your insides begin to pulsate. Throb after throb, each harder than the last, as every muscle inside you twitched and tensed around a cock that wasn’t there.

You could feel his body beneath you. You could sense him, feel him in every part of your body. All you could think about was feeling more, tasting more, as that desperate curdling need to feel his cock inside you flooded all of your senses. It was physically unbearable.

‘Don’t’ your mind screamed as you pulled at his fur.

‘Don’t do it’ his mind pleaded as he forced himself forward.

But you were no match for each other’s potent smell. No risk, not even death, felt important compared to that burning ache.

You collapsed from his body and into the dirt with a low moan, unable to maintain yourself any longer. Miguel descended on you in seconds.

You squeaked and squirmed as he gripped you in his claws. He pounced like you were prey. He flipped and thrust your body down onto its back, his gruff hands immediately pinning your arms to the floor. The frail little bones in your wrists screamed out at the pressure.

‘Mig!’

He hissed and flexed his teeth on your neck, hot breath cascading over your skin as the smell of musky hormones and blood filled your nose.

‘I can’t- wait—’ he panted. You could already feel his abdomen rubbing and grinding on you, his slit unable to contain his erection any longer. You could feel the thick, warm shaft smearing your new suit with his thick, pearly pre-cum. ‘I need- you, please- I need it- it hurts—’

You knew it was dangerous, but your brain was a melted pot of red hot lust. You couldn’t fight it anymore. With a soft whine you lay back and turned your head to the side, frantically nodding for him to continue.

‘Okay, fuck—I can’t wait, fuck—just, be quick, please’ you panted.

He didn’t even bother to fully undress you. With a hiss he bent and ripped a hole in your suit with his mouth, a dangerous tactic as his teeth brushed your pussy lips as he tore the silk aside. He took one deep sniff of your pheremones before physically dragging your body into position.

He forced your legs into a mating press, his hefty torso straining the muscles in your thighs to bend to his will. He rustled slightly as he pushed into position, roughly edging his bulbous member against your slit, and as you felt the first inch spreading you open you knew it was over.

‘Okay, okay’ he panted, ‘shh- sh, stay still for me arañita, let me just—fill you—’

He thrust, hard, and with one excruciatingly tight stretch he was inside you again.

‘M-MM--!’ Your hips bucked and tensed, rocking from side to side as you struggled to adjust. Miguel gasped like he’d just avoided drowning.

‘Ah—ahh—that’s it, that’s it. I’ll be- quick, just- stay still, mi tesoro, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

The moment he entered you he started to frantically rut to completion, his abdomen jerking back and forth as he fucked you into the dirt. Your fingers dug into his arms.

‘MM--!’ It was painful to hold back your screams. You had to bite your tongue until it bled, until the taste of iron filled your mouth and nose, all in a vain attempt to not be caught. He was so fucking rough.

‘Sweet little spider’ he whined. You felt him thrust a little deeper and squirmed with joy at the familiar mixture of ache and pleasure.

‘It’s… ‘S so good’ you whispered in a needy, whiney breath. ‘So—good…’

Desperate now to finish quickly, Miguel angled himself a little further back. He needed the one thing that he couldn’t resist, his most primal indulgence. He wanted to see it. Your small, soft, sweet human body, perfectly impaled on his enormous shaft. The sight sent full body shivers through his spine.

‘So… tight…’

He looked utterly pussy drunk, mesmerised almost. He watched your slick coat his cock as he drew back, those translucent sticky strings hanging between his abdominal fur and your pretty little slit. They made his black veins glisten as they pulsed against your swollen cunt.

‘Mi… aranita…’

He stared, unblinking, as he moved his hand and began touching the spot where he’d entered you. He brushed his thumb down and across your swollen clit, those wet and messy folds, until it came to rest where his shaft was splitting you open. He watched you swallow him whole.

‘Pretty, pretty little spider’ he whispered. ‘F-fuck…’  

He watched your hips jolt as he gave a few short pumps about halfway in, fixated on the way you stretched and wriggled with pleasure. His previous seed was now oozing out at the sides as he pumped in and out, just adding to the absolute mess you were making.

‘So, so… pretty…’

You felt his claws suddenly hit your neck, pressing you down until you were forced to be still. He continued to watch with wide and unblinking eyes as his thick rod squished back and forth, back and forth, filling you until you bulged before slowly slipping out with a wet pop.

‘Mm- mm—’

He was grunting hard as he moved.

‘So, fucking, pretty—’

‘Is it this way?’

Your whole body went rigid at the sound of unfamiliar voices, but you didn’t even have time to process your shock, because Miguel didn’t stop.

Even as the voices got louder he continued rutting you into the floor, his breathy grunts just barely audible in the rustling undergrowth.

You silently slapped at his arm but he couldn’t bring himself to pause. He impulsively clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes deadly and starved as they stared down at your panicked expression.

‘Stay. Quiet’ he mouthed. Despite your fear, you were just as needy. You let him have you.

He bent your legs into your ribs just to slip deeper, his thick shaft eagerly kissing and smearing your cervix with pre-cum. Your breath was hot on his calloused hand as it muffled your desperate moans.

Despite his rational mind knowing that he needed to be quiet, Mig’s carnal desperation was driving him towards risky behaviour. You could hear the clap of his skin between your thighs echo with each wet pop as he pushed in and out, a symphony just as terrifying as it was erotic.

You watched him savor the feel of your body. You watched him as he experienced you.

‘Ah—ahh—ah—’

He flexed his jaw until it hurt trying to suppress his cries of pleasure, and in a second moment of impulse he bent down and sank his fangs into your shoulder. Your squeaks were silenced.

Now clamped by the terrifying power of his maw you were utterly surrendered. You could feel his teeth moving in tandem with his cock, filling and shifting inside you, flooding you with that same potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

You raked your fingers down his back, drawing red lines into his rough scarred skin. He dug his claws into the dirt.

The footsteps got closer, but there was no breaking free. You were trapped together. With a muffled grunt Miguel sped up to completion.

‘MMFF—’

He came inside you silently, with all his gutteral noises muffled by your skin. You felt it all the same. The heavy spurts, the hot seed flooding in and squirting against his soft underside when your cunt ran out of room. You were filled until you bulged.

In the high of that release you were nearly dizzy. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hormones overpowered any rational fear about being seen. All you could do was lull and whine, relishing the sweet gratification of being filled again.

‘Mig’ you whispered. ‘My Mig. You—’

Snap.

Your eyes shot open.

You tilted your head, slowly, just enough for your eyes to roll and spy the woods behind you. Two hikers were frozen in place, their bodies just barely obscured by the trunk of a pine.

They were staring at you. You, your body pinned beneath the torso of your half spider mate, still fully impaled on his monstrous cock, with your head in his neck and your flesh in his maw.

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. To say you were mortified was an understandment, it felt like your heart might give out. You felt Miguel’s breath steaming against your shoulder as he panted into it. Did he know? Had he realized?

You opened your mouth but no sound spare a painful squeak escaped. Your brain was utterly fried.

The one to break the tension then was Mig, who decided to release your shoulder and stare directly at the two strangers. Mouth bloodied, eyes red, his naked body straining and panting for air.

Their reaction was swift.

‘FUCK!’

The two hikers almost fell over each other as they ran, both frantically fleeing for their lives into the overgrown brush.

‘JESUS- CHRIST, WHAT WAS THAT?!’

‘WAS IT EATING THEM?!’

‘F-Fuck, FUCK! I DON’T KNOW JUST- GO!’

‘We have to call for help—’

‘JUST RUN JUST- FUCKING RUN!!’

As the screams grew distant, you felt Miguel slowly pull out. His hands were quick to plug you up and carefully stitch your suit back together at the crotch, but you were too exhausted to move.

‘Shhiittt.’

It was the only thing you could think to say as you lay back in the mud, your head still a little woozy from the whole experience. Mig just grunted.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Ah…. I’m- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s fine. I- fuck, are you okay Mig?’

He grunted again as he lifted you up into his arms. His spider legs hooked the stag’s carcass and carefully manoeuvred it onto his back, allowing him to begin the short final trek back to the clearing with you still in his arms. The longer he went without saying a word, the more you began to worry.

‘Mig?’

You patted his cheek as he walked, trying in vain to get his attention. His only response was to sigh.

‘It’s okay’ you said, your voice now rather timid. ‘It’s fine, they- we probably won’t ever see them again. And hey, we didn't have to fight them! That's good, right? They just- left.’

‘It’s not that.’

You were surprised when words finally left his mouth, especially when they were delivered so sadly. He was blunt, yes, but not usually this melancholy, especially after sex.

‘What is it then?’ you asked. It took him a few more seconds to reply.

‘They thought… I was eating you’ he murmured. ‘If I’d been anyone else, they wouldn’t have screamed. We would have been- yelled at, perhaps, or chastised for being perverts. Maybe they’d have just, awkwardly moved away. But they would never have assumed I was eating you.’

The sombre reality sank in slowly. Somehow, you’d both forgotten the reality of what this was. What he was. You tried to shrug it off. ‘Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? I mean… If you were just, purely human, they might have still assumed you were murdering me. People can do murder too yanno.’

He managed a small, throaty chuckle at your light teasing, but it was strained. He looked distant, distracted, alone in his own mind. You gently shook his arm to drag him back down to reality.

‘Hey. It’s fine. You’re fine’ you repeated.

‘Does it not, bother you? The way they reacted?’

‘Mig I would have been mortified to be caught like that whether you were fully human or not’ you scoffed. He seemed unconvinced.

‘If they’d- seen us, holding hands’ he said, slowly musing over the theoretical aloud, ‘if they’d seen us… kissing, or even just sitting together, they would have run. They would still be terrified.’

It was hard to maintain a smile in the face of his dour prediction. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to simmer in that pool of despair, and you didn’t want him to wallow in it either.

‘People- when they see something they don’t understand, they, react like animals. Sometimes they run, sometimes they fight. They squash it so you don’t have to think about it. It’s easier.’

That morbid thought made him wince, but you refused to let go. You leaned in and tilted his head back towards you.  

‘And it’s horrible. It’s horrible, and it hurts, but then there’s other people. Other people, who- know what it’s like, to be the- scared little spider on the wall. And they know, Mig. They knew. I know. And I’m not scared of you.’

To your joy he managed to shoot you a ghost of a smile, just the barest tilting of his lips. It was enough for you, even if you’d only managed to distract him for a bit.

‘Besides, who do we have to disappoint?’ you said in an attempt to lighten to mood. ‘I don’t have friends to introduce you too, or family, or co-workers. You’re alone. We don’t need to worry about what people think.’

‘You say that now, arañita, but… I don’t know, I don’t feel like that will remain true forever. I also don’t appreciate you indulging my possessive nature.’

‘Awh, what? How, what did I do?’

‘Implying we’re all we’ve got’ he said softly. ‘It makes me- happy, but on some level, I know it shouldn’t.’

‘Well, hey! You know it shouldn’t, so- you know, that’s a start.’

Mig ducked his head beneath a row of branches as he re-entered the clearing. In the clear, bright light of the burgeoning sun he looked glorious.

‘Yes, but—I also know that I willingly ignore that fact and, pretend it is acceptable’ he confessed with a slight shrug. ‘Because- well, it comforts me, especially when I’m reminded that we are… different, to put it nicely.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not getting feisty, huh? I’ll just be sure to let you know if it ever gets annoying’ you offered. You pressed your face against his pec, right over his heart, and tapped it like you were making a promise. He gave you that sweet little ghost of a smile.

‘Very well, mi tesoro. I will hold you to that.’

You allowed Mig to drop the kill near the base of the nest before climbing back in with you still in his arms. You lulled a little in the sudden warmth, placated by the warm orange rays of sunlight warming the floor, and the moment he slid you onto the bed you collapsed into it.

‘Mmm… Yanno, that was the first time we were under such pressure from the heat that you didn’t make me orgasm’ you noted with a yawn. It was more a dry observation than a real problem you had, but it immediately caused Mig to bristle in horror.

‘I- oh, no you’re right. You poor little spider.’

‘It’s okay! I don’t blame you, it—HEY!’

You squealed with delight as he dove onto the mattress, his weight flinging your body a few feet into the air before landing back into his already outstretched arms.

‘Let me fix that’ he purred, his breath brushing your ear. ‘Please, mi aranita, let me taste you again.’

With an eager grunt his lips met yours, his abdomen rustling with excitement as his tongue went down your throat. You were smothered in seconds.

You gave in to his whining need to please and relished in the chance to scream again, your wet lips quivering his name with each breath as he tore your third new suit to pieces for just a lick of your cunt.

You were too focused on his mouth to notice anything as you tossed every item of clothing to the floor. Between his whiny moans and your own panting, you couldn’t have possibly heard anything else.

You certainly couldn’t have heard your society watch as it buzzed against the fur rug, the name ‘Jess’ highlighted in clear orange light. It was left to ring to voicemail instead, with neither of you aware it’d even gone off. Link to next part!

[s-awturn]

Underworld Sun || LH44

summary: It only took an unpretentious visit to a local florist for all of Lewis's convictions to come crashing down, and finally the lord of the Underworld found what was missing in his lonely existence.

cw: dark content, slightly stalkerish behavior, nostalgia, pure smut, Lewis!dom x reader!sub, revelation, mention of magic, violence, outbursts of rage, (fake) naivety, devotion, deep love, soulmates, family interference, mention of kidnapping.

a/n: I know, I know it took me a while to post, I ended up getting distracted by short stories, but I'm not going to abandon Underworld Sun, I've already created an attachment to this story and I need to finish it (when? I have no idea) Anyway, forgive me for the delay and enjoy!

prologue | chapter one |

Everything was converging into chaos and Lewis was feeling on edge. He knew the walls of Tartarus were weakening, his powers were too and Lewis had no idea why. The twin gods looked at him, trying to understand what Lewis was thinking, but he remained with a stony expression, he gave no clue as to his thoughts.

"Are you going to talk to Zeus?" Fernando asked, seeing Lewis give him a death glare.

"Zeus does not need to know everything that happens in my domain, let that be clear" he retorted bitterly, no matter how much Zeus had changed in the last millennia, he was still Zeus, the arrogant king of the gods who thought he could stick his nose wherever he wanted. He definitely didn't need his brother giving his opinion on what was going on in the underworld.

He waved the twins away, ignoring their whispers.

He sank into the armchair, feeling like Atlas holding up the vault of heaven was something common for him. Lewis closed his eyes tightly, trying to give his body some serenity and calm, but it had been millennia since he had known what rest was.

A knock on the door brought him out of his self-pity session and he saw Tisiphone enters with a bouquet of flowers in a vase.

“Where do I leave it, sir?” she asked. In the vase, the bouquet of flowers looked bigger and more beautiful. Lewis indicated the sideboard behind his desk, which had a privileged view of London and the flowers there would make the view even more pleasant.

“Is Alecto back yet?” he asked, turning his chair to look at the bouquet, hoping the flowers would end his problems like a miracle.

“She is on her way, she was intercepted by Hermes, he seemed very interested in her itinerary” if Tisiphone wanted to know where her sister was, she didn't show it. That was one of the things he liked about the creatures who worked for him, there was no gossip, everyone was too focused on their work to want to interfere in other people's lives.

“I would like to understand why the Olympians are so excited to get involved in the interests of the Underworld. No one wanted to take the wheel when Zeus offered, but everyone wants to know what happens here.” He grumbled. “Bring the Fates here, Tisiphone, immediately and cancel all my appointments, I will be available only to Alecto.”

“Of course sir, excuse me” she left, leaving the echo of her heels spreading through the room. The soft scent of flowers emanated throughout the room, keeping the memory of the French florist alive, Lewis could still hear her voice and even feel the static from when he touched her. That girl shouldn't be on his mind, he shouldn't even know her name, but he sent Alecto after information about her. Lewis wanted to know everything, even how many vaccinations she must have had.

Before the knock even sounded, he waved his fingers so the door would open.

“The Fates, sir.” Tisifone said before closing the door, Lewis kept his back to the entrance, but he heard similar footsteps approaching his table, footsteps that followed the same rhythm, but so different.

“Boy, you wouldn't call us here to keep your backs to us,” he heard a drawn-out, tired voice scold him.

Lewis turned around and found three identical, yet completely different women. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, the living personification of the destiny of men, gods and beasts. Even Zeus surrendered to the power of those women.

Clotho was young, her appearance hovered between fifteen and twenty years old, thick and wild brown hair, intense green eyes and an enigmatic smile, she loved to speak riddles. Clotho was the spinner of fate and together with Artemis and Ilithia, she cared for women in labor.

Lachesis was a mature woman, in her forties, with a few gray strands in her brown hair, wrinkles around her eyes and a deep voice. Lachesis decided the fate of creatures as she pulled and wound the thread of their lives. Lewis was usually with her, assisting in that duty along with Tyche and Moros.

Atropos was the last woman, a wise old woman. Her hair was completely gray and full of wrinkles, her body was tired and bent with the weight of age, her green eyes conveyed the wisdom of ages, Atropos carried ancient knowledge that he could not even imagine, she cut the thread of life, flanked by Thanatos and Moros.

Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos were the same woman at different stages of life, marking youth, adulthood and old age. The spinners of fate who kept the wheel of fortune turning forever and ever until the end of time.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I know the wheel can’t stop,” he said, keeping his tone pleasant, Hades didn’t cultivate respect for many individuals. In fact, he hated most of them, gods and humans, he made no distinction. Gods for their arrogance, pride and cruelty, humans for mirroring the examples of divine beings so well. “I have just one question to ask”

“Is this about the little French girl from this morning? She’s adorable, a beautiful smile,” Láquesis said, despite the clear mockery in her voice, Lewis knew she was sincere.

“No, it’s not about her,” he waved his hand in the air, dismissing thoughts of her. “I need to know how to hold Tartarus, the world will not endure a second Titanomachy, Cronos cannot be released, ever.”

Not that he cared about humanity, but Tartarus was closely linked to the Underworld, and Hades had a hand in his father's downfall, Being very selfish, he already had enough problems to want to face family shock therapy, his contact with his brothers and nephews was already enough. He didn't need to include his father in this.

“You need to find what you lost, boy,” Clotho said, playing another one of his riddles.

“If Tartarus is falling apart, it’s because something in you is dying, you need to remake yourself to keep the Titans’ prison whole, boy,” Atropos said, raising her skeletal finger.

He frowned in confusion.

He didn't remember losing anything, everything was in its place, he waved his hand to make sure his invisibility helmet and fork were still in his hands. So what would he have lost?

“But how will I know?”

“Follow the flowers, boy, they always know,” the three said before disappearing. Lewis put his hands in his pockets and began to pace back and forth, the conversation that should have cleared up his doubts only fueled more questions. He prided himself on having a good memory, nothing went unnoticed by his mind.

He was getting ready to leave when Alecto showed up, he ordered Furiæ to come in, she was carrying a small yellow folder and looked a little angry.

“Sorry for the delay, sir, I was intercepted by Hermes on my way back,” she apologized as she closed the door, the only sign of her evident anger flaring in Erin’s fiery eyes. Alecto's whole appearance was the picture of calm, except for her eyes. “I got what you asked for, but it was a bit of work” She handed the folder to Hades, in fact there weren't many pages in there, which was strange, considering the girl must have been between nineteen and thirty years old. There was nothing in his life?

“Please give me some information in advance, Alecto,” he asked, pointing to one of the chairs, which she did immediately.

“Y/N Y/L/N is an orphan, sir, she was found on the steps of the convent in Paris, where she lived until she was eighteen, when she entered the faculty of biology in Lyon and moved to Avignon to work in a flower shop specializing in organic cultivation”

He opened the file, finding just over a dozen photos of her, Y/N as a girl, surrounded by other children in the convent's orphanage, another of her as a teenager, holding a huge sunflower vase and a first place trophy. Others of her in college. After that, no other photos.

"Social media?"

“She has a YouTube channel where she teaches how to grow plants, other than that, nothing.”

Lewis was even more intrigued, and left the file on the table. “Okay, that’s all Alecto, you can go, thanks.”

“It was nothing, sir... Excuse me.” She stood up to leave, but paused halfway. “May I have a word of advice, sir?”

“Sure, talk”

“Seek Hecate, she can help you find answers.” With that, Alecto left, leaving Lewis to his ramblings. He had many questions, but no answers. Apparently that was the day to mess with Hades' head, for Rhea's blood.

He read the document, Y/N had graduated with honors from the University of Lyon and had been part of a research group at the university for a year after graduation. She would soon graduate with a master's degree in botany from the University of Avignon. She was an intelligent girl, but shy and withdrawn, with a very small list of friends and only two emergency contacts: the mother superior of the convent in Paris and a friend in Lyon. There was a copy of her orphanage registration and her school records.

No information beyond that.

He turned on his laptop and opened the browser, searching for her YouTube channel, it was active and had a little over 150 thousand views on the entire channel. Y/N updated it every week, posting about the progress of plant growth, recommending plants for different places or just giving growing tips. Lewis watched the vast majority of the videos, Y/N was sweet when she spoke, she showed patience and loved what she did, even though gardening was not one of her interests, he noticed that she had a natural gift for captivating people's attention, no matter what she was talking about.

This only piqued his curiosity further and he decided to leave early, he would follow Alecto's advice and look for Hecate, the goddess of witches and lady of the crossroads would certainly have answers to your questions. When passing by Tisiphone, he reinforced the request to cancel all his commitments.

“What if they ask for you?” she asked wisely and Lewis smiled, putting on his sunglasses.

“To anyone who asks, tell them I’m dead.”

“You assured me she would stay hidden! Now everyone on Olympus knows Persephone is alive and it won’t be long before Hades finds her!”

“You are worrying for nothing, no one will find Persephone, if not even Apollo who sees everything and Athena with her magic mirror managed to find her, Hades will not be able to do so.”

“Are you sure about that?"

“As soon as the sun rises tomorrow, you are worrying for nothing, Hades will not find you, the walls of Tartarus will fall and you will have your revenge, I assure you”

“You better be right, Hades can’t find Persephone.”

“And he won’t, my lady, believe me.”

“When can we plant doubt in Zeus about the integrity of the Titans’ prison?”

“Soon, we will let the gods enjoy what remains of the calm before the storm.”

[mrs-gauche]

Let's talk (some more) about the Red Lyrium Idol

So, if there's anyone who actually read all of this and is for some reason still interested in even more ramblings, here is Part 2 of my way too long tinfoil theory/summary post about the red lyrium idol, and I swear, it's the last one. 😂 Again, I just needed to get this out before we might get the first real trailer TOMORROW and I'm proven completely wrong, because that's just so funny to me. lol

(Note: This post was written before the title of DA4 was changed into "The Veilguard", so the implications of this title for the narrative were not taken into account for any of this. 💀)

The Phylactery Theory

"A phylactery is a vessel, often a glass vial, containing the essence of a magical being. The Circle of Magi and the Chantry use small phylacteries filled with blood, to track down mages that turn apostate."

"Phylacteries, ironically, are a form of blood magic. When a templar wishes to track down a fugitive mage they will use the phylactery as a way of homing in on the fugitive by way of a "hot and cold" situation, i.e., the phylactery glows, becoming brighter the closer it gets to its respective mage."

In Tevinter Nights, the Carta assassin described the idol to feel rather heavy, like there was "liquid inside". In the 2018 teaser, we see glowing cracks creeping up the idol's surface.

Inquisitor: "You don't need to sacrifice a slave's life to make a dagger." Solas: "I suppose it depends upon the dagger."

(- Solas when talking about blood magic)

In DAO, the Arcane Warrior specialization can be unlocked while doing the "Nature of the Beast" quest line, in the Lower Ruins of the Brecilian Ruins, south the Elven Burial Chamber. Inside a small chamber which looks like a ruined library, there is a broken stone altar. A phylactery is hidden in the far corner of the room. When you touch the phylactery you experience the memories of an elven arcane warrior who has remained trapped inside of the phylactery for centuries. It offers to teach you the secrets of the arcane warriors in exchange for setting its spirit free by placing the phylactery on an ancient altar.

In the "The Hunt of the Fell Wolf" poem in JOH, there is an idol that seems to possess a spirit that is connected to a demon wolf in a way that he can only be defeated if both him and the idol/spirit are destroyed and struck down at the same time.

As demon-stone was shattered, Ameridan struck true: Beast and spirit—both felled at once, Though neither hunter knew.

The Black Vials are six small glass phylacteries that can be found around Ferelden. When the Warden takes a vial, the glass fractures and releases a hostile revenant. A revenant is a form of undead that is created when a powerful demon, usually that of desire or pride, possesses a corpse. Upon their death, each revenant drops a scrap of vellum/codex entry that reads:

"Bound by your true name, no mortal hand shall reach you."

In the Tevinter Nights story "Genitivi Dies at the End", Rasaan and the Qunari were searching for Solas' "true name".

In the final chamber of the Solasan temple, there's an ancient inscription that reads:

Faintly carved into the stone is a figure bound in chains. Two other figures have turned their gaze from the central image. "Pride in our accomplishments and in our hearts. That same pride became (a word meaning corrupted or altered) within him, he sought to claim (indecipherable), cast from favor and so he was bound." "Hidden from mortal eyes, death lies within."

A codex about an encounter with a revenant, 5:71 Exalted:

"[…] The descriptions of the creature's abilities were eerily similar to those our brothers at Marnas Pell encountered almost a century ago […]"

Solas' hideout in The Missing was located in the Deep Roads beneath Marnas Pell.

Cole's comments in Trespasser suggest that Solas was bound to Mythal.

"He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

While Solas seemed to have burned her vallaslin off his face, could there be a chance that he is still bound to Mythal by his true name? Could it be that he is still bound to whatever part of Mythal is trapped within the idol?

Again, the ancient spirit in DAO can only be freed from the phylactery if it is placed on an ancient altar.

So, the question is, if the idol is indeed a phylactery containing Solas'/Mythal's blood and a part of her spirit that needs to be placed on its original location/altar to free her, and if it was ripped off its original location, then where did it originally belong?

The Place Where It All Began

In 2018, we got the first DA4 teaser, showing the idol in various close-ups as well as the focal point of this mural.

Look at how the idol is suspiciously placed in the very center of the circle/tambourine which we assume to represent the Veil.

Now, what else sits at the center of the Fade that is ever present and visible but cannot be reached?

Right, the Black City.

Again, the idol is very likely depicting Mythal's death.

Now, tell me, where do you think was Mythal murdered?

Or rather, where do you think did the Blight originate?

I'm convinced that the Black/Golden City is/was Arlathan. The place where the false gods were imprisoned when Solas created the Veil. The idol/blade was likely forged after Mythal died. The 2022 cinematic clearly shows that the Blight started to spread from the center of the Golden City before it turned black and began to consume the rest of the world, but seemed to have then been contained by the Veil preventing it from spreading further.

"Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world."

Corypheus is physically covered in red lyrium. We can assume that he turned into a blighted creature when he entered the Black City, which was already black and corrupted when they opened its gates.

Red lyrium only began appearing throughout the surface of all of southern Thedas in crystalline nodes following the opening of the Breach.

In Future Redcliffe, a year has past with the Breach still open and the red lyrium has spread everywhere.

It is proven that the Veil is inedvitably getting weaker alltogether, and that it will eventually come down at some point, regardless of Solas' actions.

The Veil getting weaker correlates with the Blight spreading further. If the root of the Blight lies within the Black City, and if the Blight was contained/prevented from spreading further through the creation of the Veil, and if the seven Old Gods are connected to the seven imprisoned, tainted Evanuris and serve as seals to the seven gates/mirrors of the Black City, then this banter and these visuals make a lot of sense:

Seven semi-circles with two of them still “lit” and the “tambourine”/Veil looking more broken with each new update….

Seven Old Gods/Evanuris that were banished when Solas created the Veil…..

Seven mirrors shattering….

Seven gates of the Black City, which Kordillus Drakon prophesied will someday shatter and cover both the mortal and spirit realms in darkness….

Solas: Your Order… the Grey Wardens… Blackwall: What about them? Solas: The Wardens see themselves as the world's defense against the Blight, do they not? Blackwall: Yes… why do you sound so skeptical? Doesn't everyone know this? Solas: When an Archdemon rises, they slay it. What will they do when all the Archdemons are slain? Blackwall: Retire? Solas: Without Archdemons, there can be no Blights. Is that the reasoning? Blackwall: Right. Where are you going with this? Solas: Nowhere. I hope they are correct.

Varric: Give [the Grey Wardens] some credit, it's not like you can study the Blight safely. I may not like everything they've done, but without the wardens, we'd all be blighted by now. Solas: They've bought us some time, I will grant them that.

DA4 will likely be set ten year after the events of DAI. And the Veil has gotten even weaker/Solas might succeed in tearing it down.

In Tevinter Nights, Solas claims that whatever he's going to do will "save this world".

Maybe the idol will solely be used to destroy the Veil and merge the World and the Fade, in order for him to, quote, "casually reshape reality".

BUT, you know what was proven to be the ultimate power source for Dreamers to reshape reality in a time before the Veil?

Say it with me.....

Great. Dragon. Blood.

So let's go back and assume that the idol is a phylactery that contains some part of Mythal/blood and that Solas is somehow still bound to by his true name. Mythal was likely murdered in the Black City, which might've also been the catalyst for the Blight. Solas might want to enter the Black City with the idol. Again, the ancient spirit in Origins can only be freed from the phylactery if it is placed on an ancient altar.

So… What if Solas plans to bring the idol back to its original location and free her spirit?

The Mother's Return

"Why did Mythal come to you?" "For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens."

At last, let me put on the tinfoil hat one final time and break this all down.

*takes deep breath*

The fact that it is Mythal's mosaic that is revealed to be on the platform in that final fight with Corypheus (symbolically surrounded by red lyrium!), the same ruins that were once the foundations of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

The Sacred Ashes of Andraste, which possesses healing qualities "unsurpassed by even the most powerful spells".

Andraste, who was said to be too weak to bear children, but then miraculously was able to give birth to two daughters later in life. Almost like something came into her life that enabled her to do so. Like, for example, drinking the blood of a Great dragon.

Andraste, who might have not only been a mage, but also an Old God Baby like Kieran, carrying the soul of Dumat.

Old God souls, which a certain person seems to be particularly interested in collecting.

Not the Maker, but Mythal being drawn to Andraste's Old God soul, like a moth to a flame.

Andraste becoming Mythal's host, but that host ultimately burned at the stake, so she had to find another one.

Fast forward a few hundred years. Mythal has found another host in Flemeth, who just so happens to make a bargain with Calenhad Theirin, making him, again, drink the blood of a Great dragon, to gain special powers, leading him to become the first king of Ferelden.

So she watches the Theirin bloodline, until the fateful day Alistair gets almost killed at Ostagar. So she swoops in again, nudging the course of history by saving Alistair and the HOF.

Next up is Hawke, whom she saves so Hawke could find the idol and free Corypheus, setting the events of DAI in motion.

In DAI, if the Inquisitor drinks from the Well of Sorrows and you listen very carefully to the super creepy background noises while playing the audio backwards, the voices of the Well will tell you to "Stop her" and something else that sounds like "She speaks the Calling".

The Calling. A voice, a song, dreams that will haunt the Grey Wardens. Just like a certain idol does.

The Calling, which will force the Grey Wardens to go mad and join the Darkspawn as a collective hivemind to wake the Old Gods, but only after they consumed the Archdemon's blood in the Joining.

A being controlling people as a hivemind?

Like the Titans guiding their children like a collective mind? Titans, whom Mythal was the first to kill and mine their blood and something else to create bodies for her own people.

"The First of my People do not die so easily." (- Solas in Trespasser)

An Archdemon cannot be killed, because their soul will just transfer to the nearest soulless darkspawn. Transfering the soul. The secret of effective immortality.

How do you kill an Archdemon?

By drinking their blood, slaying them and taking in their soul.

What is an Archdemon/Old God?

A dragon.

What WAS Mythal?

"The new ones are faithful to Mythal, but do not understand what she was in her fullness."

Mythal's entire image is based on that of a dragon, a form that in ancient times was reserved for the gods. Because before the Veil, it was the dragon's blood that gave those dreamers the power to shape reality, so powerful that they came to be worshiped as gods. But, I think, not only had Mythal the chief role in the pantheon because she had great dragon blood within her, but because…

Her true form IS actually a motherflippin dragon.

So. What did the Evanuris do in order to KILL Mythal?

They slayed her, drank her blood and each of the seven obtained a part of her soul, but instead of getting killed themselves, they sought to become essentially invincible through both Mythal's blood and the tainted Titan blood/red lyrium.

Let me quote this wonderful post by @virlath from a few years ago.

With her conquering of the titans, I think it’s likely that her blood is a part of the blight and the red lyrium corruption. Mythal ran the elves' lyrium operations. She had a connection to the titans and their children. She also stole knowledge of the Void from Andruil. Combining all this knowledge it makes sense that she could use this to her advantage once she was imprisoned and corrupted, because she had a connection to both dragon's blood and lyrium. She just needed a physical aspect- Flemeth, and now Solas, to act out her plans. The use of dragon fire in Dark Fortress is further indication that the combination of dragons and lyrium results in a massive power nexus. I think it’s possible that red lyrium is simply lyrium tainted with dragon's blood. More specifically, Mythal's blood. This is why dragons were strictly reserved for the evanuris in ancient elvhen times- because the key to their immortality and power was dragons and more specifically, great dragon's blood. Mythal had strict rules about taking on the form of 'divinity’. I think this was likely because dragons and dragon fire/dragon's blood was the true source of the evanuris' power, and is what allowed them to appear immortal. This could explain why the old gods are so inexplicably linked to the evanuris in the lore. I think the evanuris each had a dragon- an old god, and they each used dragon's blood and dragon fire to make their dreams into literal reality. No one could infiltrate their dreams because only they had access to the power of dragons, which they claimed was their right.

Before BioWare settled on dragons, the Archdemons were supposed to look very different.

Meaning that, each of the seven Old God souls…. is what?

Yeah, I think it's all Mythal's.

Again, WHAT did the voices of the Well tell the Inquisitor? WHO speaks the CALLING?

It's the voice of the one who's the real owner of that soul. The one who for centuries has been trying to gather the scattered pieces of HER SOUL, driven by nothing but vengeance.

"So Mythal endures."

If the idol contains a part of Mythal, and if Solas used the idol/blade to trick the Evanuris like in Dalish legends, maybe it was because they were desperate to destroy the idol and get rid of Mythal once and for all.

Remember the visions described in Trespasser.

“Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!“ “In this place we prepare to hunt the pillars of the earth. Their workers scurry, witless, soulless. This death will be a mercy. We will make the earth blossom with their passing.” “The runes say the Evanuris fought the Titans. They mined their bodies for lyrium and… something else. It’s not clear.” “They made bodies from the earth. And the earth was afraid. It fought back. But they made it forget.” "For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire." “For one moment, there is a vivid image of two overlapping spheres; unknown flowers bloom inside their centers. Then it fades.”

A sphere of fire… you mean, like the SUN? You mean, Mythal actually creating a MOON, just like in Dalish mythology?

Bear with me here.

We established that Mythal mined the Titan's blood, which I believe was then used for centuries in combination with her fire to create bodies for her own people/spirits. On top of that, I believe that, after her victory, Mythal used part of a dead Titan and lifted it into the sky to use it as a "cornerstone" to build the capital city of Elvhenan, Arlathan, on top of her "enemy's corpse".

I believe that in the moment of Mythal's death, her blood altered the Titan's blood (which also sundered the Song) and that something happened to the moon that she had created, which in turn led to the unbridled power of the sun to corrupt part of the Titan that the Golden City, Arlathan, was build on, as well as both their blood. And that's when it turned black. That's when the Blight was created.

Elgar'nan is the God of the Sun in Dalish mythology. He was likely the main instigator behind the Evanuris' betrayal and Mythal's murder.

The sun imagery keeps appearing throughout DA4's promotional stuff.

If the Old God Lusacan is connected to Elgar'nan, they would represent two polar opposites. The God of the Sun and the God of Night and Darkness. Again, Kordillus Drakon prophesied that the seven gates of the Black City would someday shatter and cover both the mortal and spirit realms in darkness.

"All the world will soon share the peace and comfort of my reign."

“Lusacan, the Dragon of Night, calls to you. He lives where it is darkest and waits for the day he will rise. Drink of his blood and know the power in darkness: either fear the Night or wield it.“ "The darkspawn yearn to awaken and corrupt Lusacan to start a new age of darkness.” “A night that will never end”

But why does this need to happen? Because Mythal needs to act out her vengeance upon the ones who murdered her and doomed the world with the creation of the Blight.

"She was betrayed as I was betrayed! As the world was betrayed!" "Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!"

Solas wants to save his people no matter what, and for that, the Veil needs to be torn down, resulting in the World and the Fade becoming one again…

But, to truly restore his People, I believe that he needs the Mother to come back.

Mythal represents both Justice and Vengeance. If justice is corrupted, it will turn into vengeance. Solas makes no difference between spirits and demons.

"I am sorry as well, old friend."

That last line of Flemythal to Solas. It's so simple, but what does it truly mean? Why is she apologizing to him?

Is it because none of this would have happened if she didn't die and everything that happened to the people and the world was because of her downfall? Because it was her who started all this in the first place with the death of the Titans, stealing their hearts and corrupting their blood?

With her gone and no one left to keep the false gods in check, if it hadn't been for her death, Solas wouldn't have been left with what seemed to be the only choice?

Is she sorry for everything he had to endure, from her giving him a body against his will, twisting his original purpose, to him having to live with the guilt over the death of a world and an entire civilization for a thousand years?

Or is she apologizing for using him?

"An eclipse as Fen'Harel stirred."

"Cry havoc in the moonlight. Let the fire of vengeance burn. The cause is clear." (- Solas reciting Mythal's invication)

She knew that Solas would do anything at this point to undo his mistakes and save the people he doomed. She knew exactly what Solas would do when he came to her in that after credits scene in DAI. She knew that he would need that power and the idol to complete his ritual in order to tear down the Veil, but to what end?

Without the Veil, whoever controls the dreams controls reality.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

a knife in the dark, pt. 3

[adar/oc]

read part 1 | part 2

Set in the "Awake, Arise"-verse (I'd recommend reading at least chapters 1-9 if you haven't already to get the history of these characters) PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is.

OKAY PEEPS AS PROMISED, HERE'S THE SPICE. [cw: blood, knife-play, implied previous dubcon/noncon, related to the creation of the orcs]; M rating applies.

ENJOY. (don't look at me.)

Cuiviénen.

Her blood sings at the sound of the word. She does not know how it could be true, only that it is. She begins to pick up the scattered pieces, the visions that she had seen: a lake under stars… water flowing over stones… tall, primordial trees…

With eyes full of questions, she lets the dagger fall away from his throat. “And you…”

“I was yours,” he says, tremulous and yearning. “And you were mine.”

A breeze moves gently through the glen, and in her mind’s eye, she catches a glimpse of him, young and uncorrupted—his skin unblemished as he steps into a patch of moonlight, breathless after chasing her through the wood.

She remembers how she’d led him through the trees after he’d caught her, down to a secluded place by the waterside. She remembers how they’d spent blissful hours discovering one another beneath the stars, how much she’d hungered for him.

She realizes then that she knows his name—for it is an inextricable part of her own: Eren.

“Oh,” she gasps, struggling to reconcile that vision of Eren with Adar who sits before her now, still bound to the tree. She can still make out unmistakable traces of his elvenness—his pointed ears, his high cheekbones—but his terrible transformation from elf to orc is clear.

She squeezes her eyes closed, overwhelmed suddenly by more memories of her own—of time spent in darkness and torment. For she had not escaped a similar fate…

Despite the strengthening sunlight, she is suddenly pulled down, plunged into icy waters—she is drowning in cold, swimming in a sea of terrible truth.

“I was with you,” she says, discovering it slowly. “In that dark, nameless place. They brought me to you, after I had been changed… after I had forgotten your name, and mine.”

She lets out a strangled sob, remembering the chamber, remembering being held down, remembering Morgoth, watching. “He forced us.”

As quickly as they’d returned to her—those blissful memories of starlit Cuiviénen—they are eclipsed by this single, horrible fact. As quickly as everything had come together, it now smashes, like a pane of glass against stone.

Erenyë crumbles with a terrible cry, wrenched from the depths of her soul as she comes to full understanding. They had been used—both of them—by Morgoth, to create the race of the orcs. She hearkens back to the hordes of snarling creatures that had attacked her party earlier. With a wave of nausea, she realizes that they are descended from her.

She looks back at Eren—Adar, she reminds herself. He is Adar—an orc, an enemy. She considers leaving him there, bolting off into the forest, returning to Pelargir, forcing the ship to turn around and return her to Valinor.

But Valinor is not her home…

At last, she understands the reason why she’d always felt incomplete. She never belonged in Valinor, not truly. She belongs with him—he is her purpose, her place in this world.

But she does not know how to have him now, after everything.

She is no longer the wild elf-maid who had danced carefree through the forests at Cuiviénen. Now, she feels broken and afraid—and she senses that he is, too. They are both changed, though her body bears the physical scars no longer.

“Erenyë.” His voice, barely a whisper, pleads with her. “Á cene ni.”

Look at me.

His unlovely face is bathed in golden sunlight. As the moments slip past, she allows everything else to fall away, piece by piece, until she focuses only on him. She allows herself to see him—to see in him that which Morgoth could never destroy, and what even the turbulent storms of ten thousand years could not weather away. She feels a hunger stirring deep within her, a hunger that only he has the power to slake.

She is utterly at a loss for how to proceed, but she feels a faint flicker of the boldness she’d once possessed, and it helps her to take the first step. She returns, kneeling over him, straddling his legs, reaching out with her free hand—the one not still clutching the dagger.

To her great surprise, he recoils from her, shaking his head.

“I do not deserve your touch,” he says, his voice thick with self-loathing. His eyes fall to the knife in her opposite hand, and she understands that given the choice of pain or pleasure, his preference now is for the former.

With a terrible pang, she wonders if he can even remember what tenderness feels like.

A part of her is angered by his denial, but she strives to accept it. They are neither of them who they once were, she reminds herself. They must forge a new path through the ashes.

She raises the dagger, letting it rest lengthwise against his cheek. Taking a steadying breath, she digs it into his skin enough to make him wince and squeeze his eyes shut.

“How are you here?” he murmurs, incredulous, as a single tear escapes.

She leans in, tilting her head toward him until they are almost nose to nose. She breathes him in, her body slowly relearning how to be close to his. She shifts, rolling her hips tentatively, experimentally against his legs, feeling heat kindling to life deep within her core. Her lips move close to his ear. “I am here,” she replies.

He shivers, leaning into the blade like a caress. Angling it carefully so that it will not rend, she traces it down the side of his face. His eyes open, and they are tinged with the haze of deep memory.

“I watched you die,” he says, laying his anguish bare before her, and it is a gaping chasm so wide and deep she fears her own heart to be in danger of splitting into and falling into it.

She had been so caught up by her own harrowing discoveries, she had not yet fully contemplated that while she had lived long in ignorance of their torment, he had wandered the world carrying the full weight of everything that had befallen them under Morgoth’s hand.

“I came back for you,” she breathes, seeking to reassure him, to assuage his anguish as best she can. She wishes he could accept softness, and she offers up a silent prayer that in time, he might come to do so. But for now, she drags the blade again, letting the tip of it settle at the center of his lower lip. He is trembling now, and his breathing is heavy as he begs her silently with his eyes.

She lets the dagger pierce him, splitting his lip in two and drawing blood. And then she dives, hungrily, unwilling to wait any longer, swallowing his gasp of surprise with her mouth. He resists at first, but she moves the blade to his throat—a gentle but direct threat. He acquiesces, opening himself to her kiss. She does not try to be sweet; she devours, letting their teeth gnash together before moving to nip and suck at the wound she’d made.

He moans against her mouth, and she remembers the thrill of being needed by him. How, she wonders, had she survived for so many years without this?

She twists the fingers of her free hand into his hair, pulling his head back so that she can assail his neck. She nicks him with the dagger several times in succession, letting him feel pain for only a moment before allowing him the balm of her lips. His black blood tastes bitter on her tongue, but she savors it, nonetheless.

With a sharp intake of breath, he shifts beneath her and she grinds herself down hard against the cradle of his hips, the heat between her legs blooming until it is slick and wet and impossible to ignore.

She pulls back, lowering the dagger to the cord of elven rope that binds him. Hesitation flickers across his face, but she grips his chin in her free hand, jerking him toward her to claim his lips again. “Grant me this,” she says when they are both breathless, resting her forehead against his.

He makes a noncommittal noise in the base of his throat, and she prepares her argument, but he interjects before the words reach her lips.

“Grant me one thing in return.” He leans back ever so slightly, his eyes raking over her face, coming to rest on the long, dark braid draping over her shoulder. “Your hair,” he implores. “Undo it.”

Warmth floods her chest. It is such a simple request, but as she moves her hand to undo the cord, he watches her with a startling intensity, and as she begins to finger the strands free from the braid, she realizes that she had never worn her hair this way back in Cuiviénen, and that his request is born out of a desire to see her as she had been then.

His breath hitches as he watches her, and she slows her movements, taking deliberate care as she unwinds the rest, combing through her dark locks carefully until they fall free at last, framing her face.

“There was starlight in your hair on the night of our awakening,” he murmurs, his voice dreamlike. “I have never forgotten it.”

His desire for her is so guileless, so open, as it ever had been since their earliest days, and she feels a sudden burst of incandescent joy amid all the anguish that had passed between them during their reunion.

She takes his face between her hands, heedless of his earlier talk of undeserving, and kisses him fiercely, thumbing over his scars and broken skin. Then, with haste, she reaches down for the dagger she had dropped, and slices cleanly through the elven rope, freeing him, wanting nothing more than to feel his arms enveloping her.

But he does not match her fevered pace—and when he does reach for her, it is to lightly stroke her hair. He does so with reverence, as though handling a holy relic. She leans into his hand, placing her palms upon his chest to brace herself, for even under this lightest of touches, her knees grow weak.

His armor is firm and solid—an outer shell that she longs to remove. She wants nothing between them, just as it had been when they had lain together in the eldest of elder days. But as she gropes for the fastenings, he catches her wrists, and the pained look in his eye tells her no.

She wants to ask if he means never or not yet, but she is frightened to learn the answer, so she leans in soundlessly, winding her arms around his neck, knitting her body against his, coaxing his lips to part for her once more.

She is confused by his unwillingness and wracked by feelings of selfishness for wanting him so recklessly. She prays he will not notice her hot, anguished tears as they begin to fall. But she soon tastes their salt, and she knows he can, too. He pulls back, and she drops her eyes immediately, ashamed.

She feels the cold kiss of metal as his gauntleted hand tips her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His face is contrite yet pained—he hides nothing from her.

“For you, it was once,” he explains, and she knows immediately that he is speaking of their violation in Utumno. She clenches her jaw, feeling the icy, sick sensation overwhelm her again as he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “For me, it was… many times. Always at Morgoth’s command.”

Her heart shatters at his confession. The death she had suffered—it had been a mercy. She understands that fully now. Her tears fall faster as she aches for everything she imagines he’d endured, alone. Without her.

She yearns to comfort him, but to her distress, she realizes that she does not know how—she does not know anymore what will soothe him, or if there is anything that can.

With a shuddering intake of breath, he continues. “Being lost to lust—I fear it now.” He looks to her mournfully. “But I do long for you.” His unclad hand caresses her now, sliding slowly down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, over her belly and down to the cleft between her legs. “Oh, how I long for you,” he growls low, stroking her there.

She cannot contain the cry of pleasure that breaks free, and to her surprise, he smothers it with a sudden, scorching kiss.

His hands move to unfasten the clasp of her cloak, letting it fall away behind them. Snatching her around the waist, he tips her back, laying her out on top of it, a silken barrier between her and the ashes that lie beneath it. He kneels carefully over her, and she watches a silent struggle play out upon his face. He breathes in deeply, finding steadiness within himself.

She waits, as patiently as she can manage, though every inch of her feels raw, and in desperate need of his hands. One by one, he undoes the fastenings of her tunic, unfolding the fabric gently, unwrapping her, letting the morning sun soak her pale skin. A ripple of delight courses through her as she watches him look down upon her, followed by a surge of impatience. She thinks she sees the edges of his lips curl up ever so slightly as he slides his fingers beneath the hem of her trousers, as he begins to tease them slowly down her legs.

His unhurried pace is maddening. She bucks her hips as he strips the garment finally away, releasing a pathetic whimper. He returns it with a satisfied growl that sounds from deep at the base of his throat, before lowering his head, planting a chaste kiss on the skin just above her hip. His bare hand moves to cover her breast, fingers sinking into a slow caress as his lips forge their own path across her abdomen and lower.

When he reaches the place where she needs him most, he delays no further—her legs part as his tongue finds her center. She undulates in pure, simple, velvet-soft ecstasy, as half-conscious sighs and moans fall freely from her lips.

The sensation of his mouth upon her sex makes her deliciously weak, but she summons enough strength to raise her head enough to look down and watch him, his dark head between her thighs, eyes closed in concentration, his grey hand kneading her breast, his iron gauntlet gripping her hip, the sharp spikes of his fingers sinking into her flesh.

Within a few moments, she is finished, reduced to quivers and cries as she comes undone beneath him.

His face swims into view above her, wan and satisfied, his green eyes cloudy with arousal. She clasps him around the neck, pulling him down to kiss her, catching the trace of her own tang still upon his tongue. Finding more strength, she rises somewhat clumsily, moving to straddle him once more, so that his back is against the tree.

They are both breathless, and for a moment, they linger in stillness. Her hand drifts to his forehead, brushing strands of dark hair away from his face. Then she leans forward, kissing along his jawline before teasing at his ear with her teeth. He gasps at the sensation, hands digging deliciously into her bare back.

She presses her body close to his, flattening her breasts against the hard plate of his armor, rocking so that she feels the friction of his mail against her flesh. Her hunger for him—having been momentarily sated—comes roaring back, and her motions grow more frantic as she confronts again a deep sense of emptiness between her legs, aching to be filled. She trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, each an invitation.

Please, she begs in between them.

His hands abruptly leave the base of her spine, and for a moment she fears that they have reached the end—that she has asked too much, pushed too far.

She buries her face in his neck, unwilling to tear herself away. But then she feels something brush against her—something hard that teases at her still-weeping entrance. She sucks in a sharp breath, glancing down at the space between them. He is holding the hilt of the dagger against her slit, clutching it in his own hand by the blade, and she can see a thin rivulet of black blood running down his fingers. He winces, but she reads in his face just how much the pain grounds him, and she remembers his earlier words, his fears of being fully lost to lust.

This, she realizes, is what he can offer her now. All she can do is accept it and be content, and live in hope that together, they might conquer the rest in time.

It is a challenge that she is more than willing to accept for him, and she tells him so with a deep, passionate kiss. Pulling back, she locks her eyes onto his, letting herself sink down onto the hilt, as a breathy moan begins at the back of her throat. He manipulates the dagger gently, pressing it inside of her as the sound deepens and lengthens. His forehead droops against hers and they breathe in time together with each thrust until she comes, and his hand is covered in blood.

With her body still quaking from the aftershocks, she wastes no time in tending to him. Reaching for her cloak, she tears a strip of fabric and binds his mangled palm. When she finishes, she holds his hand carefully in both of her own.

Where will we go now, she asks him, suddenly fearful of what may lie ahead.

Home, he answers. To Mordor.

...y'all still with me?

want more?

[i have some ideas]

lemmeknowkthanksbai

[viking-raider]

Soothing A Wolf

Summary: Geralt recalls the memories of a troubled time in his life, while visiting a place that always brought him peace.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning: PG - Fluff, Language, Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Soft!Geralt, Character Death, Projecting, Farm Life, Light Domestic Bliss, Anxiety

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I know I've already written this subject, with A Witcher's Soul, but I've become unhappy with it and decided to give it another try. I'm by far happier with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

I do remember bits of my life with her.

You had curled up for a late morning nap, after completing all of your morning chores. The sun filtering through the large window above your headboard. It was warm and pleasant, as you drew to the surface of the waking world. You tried fighting it, wishing for a few more moments of rest, before you had to rise and begin the task of the afternoon chores around your quiet, little farm. However, you were drawn out of your slumber, at the sound of someone's approach into your dooryard.

Sighing, you sat up, taking a moment to fix your hair and smooth your skirts, before standing and going out to find who had decided to visit you. You froze on the porch, watching a huge, black Friesian horse come charging up the well-worn path to your cottage. A muscular, broad shouldered man clad in all black clothing in its saddle, his silvery-white hair tied back in a Rivian style flowing in the breeze created by his haste.

“Geralt!” You called out, as the Witcher dismounted from the horse, Roach. “What are you doing here?” You asked, as he stamped through the drying mud towards you, his pale face pinched and set in an expression more agitated than usual, with a tint of something more you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

The two of you had met nearly fifteen years prior, when you had heard of the White Wolf being in the area and enlisted his help to rid your property of a Graveir that had been threatening it. Not wishing for the alternative, which was moving off the property. You had little to pay him with, offering him the small amount of gold you had. Instead, Geralt had simply asked for a hot meal and permission to camp on your land for the night and use the water from your well, to bathe with after the bloody business of killing the monster.

Naturally, you agreed.

However, after he had killed the creature and washed up to join you for supper, a tension grew between you that popped before the meal ended. Leading to the pair of you being intimate. Ever since, when Geralt was in the area or was taking time off the Trail, he would come to spend time with you. But, you were surprised to see him now, knowing that he should be with Ciri, keeping her safe from Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt that dogged their heels at every turn.

Instead, he mounted the porch steps towards you, catching you up into his arms.

She smelled like embers.

Geralt buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your skin as he did, drawing in your scent. Your skin had a natural earthiness to it, accompanied by the fresh and calming, citrus-y snap of lemon balm and sweetness of licorice root. He wished many times on many occasions that he could bottle it and take it with him. Always finding comfort, calm and desire in your scent.

Like he had in almost no one else.

“What are you doing here, Geralt? I thought you were with Ciri.” You asked, breaking the silence as you embraced him, pressing yourself against his solid body, feeling the dampness of his clothing, from the sparse rains that had been occurring off and on all week.

“She's safe enough for now.” He mumbled into your neck, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “But, I needed to see you.” He said, pulling away from you, his hands grasping your shoulders.

“Well, here I am, my wolf.” You cooed at him, resting your hands on his sides and staring up into his face. “I didn't know seeing me was such an urgent thing.” You teased, pushing up on your toes to kiss him, knowing there was something deeper bothering him, but knew better than to press the Witcher for information.

Especially in the matter of his thoughts and emotions. He would tell you in his own time.

“Are you staying or are you riding back off again?” You inquired, looking towards Roach, who was grazing in the damp grass of your dooryard.

“I want to stay the night.” He told you, squeezing your shoulders. “If that's all right with you?” He added, softly.

“Nonsense!” You chuckled, slapping him on the chest. “You know you don't have to ask, Geralt.” You assured him, clicking your tongue. “Are you hungry? I was just about to make lunch for myself. I can add a plate for you.” You said, moving away from him, to go back inside.

She used her magic to create elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.

“I could eat.” Geralt replied, following you inside the cozy home, that always brought him peace. “Especially if it comes with a slice of one of your home-made sweets.” He added, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you move towards the kitchen.

You looked at him over your shoulder, an impish sparkle in your eye. “I don't have any made.” You told him, coyly. “But, if you behave yourself, perhaps there'll be something after dinner.” You teased with a wink, before rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Going into the pantry, you grabbed a large, earthenware jug, carrying it out and set it on your counter, removing the cork. Taking a whiff of the contents that were inside, your nose was greeted by the sweet aroma of honey and blood-orange mead. You had brewed it yourself. You took down a cup and filled it, taking a wee nip for yourself, before taking it out to Geralt, who had made himself at home. He'd taken his shoes off, but stood before the fire, tossing a log into it.

“You don't need to do that, Geralt.” You frowned, holding the cup out to him. “I could have done it.”

“I know.” He answered, watching the strong flames catch the edges of the wood, before he took the cup from you, taking a deep gulp. “You really should sell your own spirits.” He commented, licking his lips and looking into golden liquid.

“Ha.” You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “I have enough to do around the farm, Witcher.” You quipped, going back into the kitchen.

Geralt chuckled at you, taking a seat before the fire, flexing his sore toes in the glowing warmth with a soft and tired sigh, while sipping his mead. He listened to you bump about in the kitchen. The opening and closing of the pantry, the thud of cabinet doors shutting, after you searched through their contents. He finished off his mead and set it on the table beside him, before standing and going to the threshold of the kitchen, knowing better than to go into your kitchen, while you were active in it.

You'd chased the Witcher out more than once, with either the rolling pin or a dish towel.

I would have done anything to make her smile.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, cocking his head around the corner to look at you, seeing you wielding a large knife to cut into a small wheel of cheese. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to sit your butt down.” You answered, turning to look back at him. “You rode, god knows how far, to here. So, you need to relax.” You told him, adamantly.

And yet, the day she left me, she was sick. She needed water, so I went to get her some.

“But, I want to help.” Geralt insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sighed softly, giving him a gentle smile. “All right, Geralt.” You conceded, nodding. “My other big brute needs to be fed. So, why don't you go out and do that for me, while I finish getting our lunch done.”

“I can do that.” He nodded, daring to step into the kitchen to kiss you on the cheek, chuckling as you popped him on the bum on his way out.

“That, man.” You giggled, smiling to yourself as you turned back to your task.

Geralt tugged his boots back on and went out, heading towards the small fenced off area to the right of your property, where the few farm animals you had lived. He found the bucket beside one of the fence posts and snagged it up by the rope handle, heading towards the grain storage that was around the other side, filling the bucket.

“Hey, Martigan.” He called out to the brown and white dairy cow, standing in the center of the pen, nibbling on a bale of hay with an expression of no care on his face, but twitched his ears to the sound of Geralt's voice. “And you.” Geralt huffed at the animal you had dubbed your other brute, a solid white goat with horns that nearly curved in on themselves, they were so long. “I see you, Goat-Bert.”

The Witcher called to the Goat, who stood clear on the other side of the pen, as he opened the latch to the gate. But that meant nothing, and Geralt knew it. He had dealt with this Goat-Devil before on your behalf. He had even considered taking one of his potions to increase his odds in dodging that swift, easy to anger, creature. Not even Little Bleater was a match for this fiend. So, keeping one golden eye on the Goat, Geralt moved towards the feeding trough and dumped the bucket of grain into it. It wasn't a split second later that Martigan let out a loud, agitated moo and Goat-Bert bleated with his evil intent, setting his head downward as he charged across the muddy pen towards Geralt's shins.

“Fuck!” Geralt barked under his breath, tossing the bucket over the fence and himself with it. “You damned Goat!” He cursed at him, fuming at Goat-Bert rammed his head into the trough, at full steam. But it was your howls of laughter from the porch that drew Geralt out of his choice words for the farm animal. “You find that funny?” He asked, picking up the bucket and moving towards you, as you grinned and giggled.

“I find it hilarious!” You wheezed, wiping tears from your face. “Watching a Witcher jump a fence to get away from a little goat!”

“Now, you know damn well, what mischief that demon can cause.” Geralt told you, but smirked at your amusement. “I don't need Lambert or Eskel busting my ribs, because I got a broken leg because of a wee goat.”

“Well, no harm done.” You said, catching your breath. “And lunch is ready and waiting for us on the table.” You told him, turning to go back inside.

Following you, Geralt was greeted by a laid out table, containing a round and fluffy loaf of bread with a blossom score on the top of its beautiful, caramel-brown crust. Beside the loaf, was a glass decanter of the mead you'd served him earlier, half a roasted and glazed ham hock, that glistened in the light of the fireplace, and a plate of the cheese slices you'd cut. There were other tidbits, to make lunch more pleasant and filling, as well.

“It looks delicious.” He commented, pulling a chair out and sat down.

You looked at him with soft surprise, cocking a brow as you sat beside him. “Ciri and Jaskier must really be leaning hard on your lessons.” You chuckled, picking up a knife and cut a slice out of the bread, laying it on Geralt's plate, before cutting another and putting it on your own. “Would you like a second piece?” You asked him, knife hovering above the loaf.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth, before reaching for the decanter, pouring you both a tankard. “I appreciate this.” He said, watching you cut thick slices of juicy ham from the hock and set them on the edge of his plate, allowing him to build his own sandwich.

“Of course.” You answered, brow creasing as you placed the ham and cheese on your bread, closing it with the second piece, using your knife to cut it in half. “I can't let you starve, now can I? Silly Witcher.” You chuckled, taking a bite.

Geralt hummed, putting together his own meal and allowing the table to fall into a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. Nothing, but the pop and crackle of the fire with the occasional moo or baa of the farm animals outside filled the space. Neither of you moved, once you had your fill, but you watched Geralt, smirking as you saw his lids struggle to stay open and his chin from falling against his chest. You stood, causing Geralt to start and look up at you with wide molten-gold orbs, but you just offered him a sweet smile, as you started to clear away the table, putting things in the pantry, sink or scrap barrel.

Once you were finished, you moved to your bedroom, fluffing your pillows, fixing and folding back the blankets, then pulled shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. Satisfied, you returned to Geralt, smirking as you found he had lost the battle with his sleepiness. His breathing was slow, coming out in gentle huffs, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, the muscles under the loose black material of his tunic were slack, making the various scars pull taut. Biting your lip, you moved around him and knelt, taking one of his booted feet in your hands, eyes still trained on his face. In case you startled him, knowing it could cause him to burst into defending himself, when startled awake.

But Geralt didn't stir, as you carefully pulled his muddy boots off, setting them in front of the fireplace. You stood, moving around him to open the knot of the string that held his silvery-white hair tied back out of his face.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his ear, resting your hands lightly on his shoulders. “Geralt.” You said, a little bit louder.

“Hm?” He hummed back, taking a deep breath and shaking his head, causing his loose hair to fall forward.

“Why don't you come lay down?” You suggested, patting his shoulders and kissing the back of his head. “You'll be so much more comfortable in bed.” You persuaded him, gently.

Geralt sighed, licking his lips and stretching his legs for a moment, before standing up and allowing you to guide him to your bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into a chair in the corner and dropped into the bed, looking up at you, as you stood before him.

“Lay with me.” He cooed, resting his hands on your hips.

“I have chores to do, Wolf.” You smirked at him, cupping his neck and caressing his stubbly jawline with your thumbs.

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Geralt said, pulling you between his legs. “I'll do them for you.” He smiled, making you sit in his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Before, I go.” He promised, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Very well.” You conceded, breaking the kiss and rubbing noses with him.

“Good.” He rasped, laying down and pulling you against his chest.

And when I came back... she was gone.

Geralt woke up sometime later, feeling refreshed. He hadn't slept well or very long in the weeks since he and Ciri left Kaer Morhen, with the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard after them, worried that every moment his eyes were shut, was a moment they'd come and take Cirilla from him. He reached out for you, wanting to feel you against him, but you weren't in bed any longer.

I called for her.

He got out of bed, calling your name, as he searched the house for you. The fireplace was still roaring, telling him you hadn't been gone long. But where could you be, that you wouldn't hear him calling. He yanked the front door open and stormed into the yard, uncaring that he had no boots on, yelling your name even louder, as he turned in circles. His only answer was the breeze through the trees, Goat-Bert, Martigan and Roach.

Not a peep or appearance from you.

But she was gone.

Geralt felt his chest grow tight and his slow heart skip a beat, then another. The dooryard started to spin and blur, a rock-like lump formed in his throat. He flexed his hands and shook his head, trying to get a handle on himself. He wasn't supposed to act like this. He wasn't supposed to show his emotions, let alone allow them to take control over him.

“Geralt!” You frowned, coming out of the treeline, a basket resting on your hip as you found him standing barefoot in the muddy dooryard. “What's going on?” You asked, setting the basket down and hurrying over to him, as you watched tears drip from his sharp jaw. “What's happened? Are you hurt?” You asked, looking him over, searching for a wound you felt you had failed to notice before.

“Where is it? Show me!”

“I'm not--” He rasped, swallowing at the lump and shaking his head. “You were gone.” He said, pressing his lips together and pushing his jaw forward, trying to bring up his walls against the raw feelings he was being crushed under. “I woke up and you were gone. I called for you.” He said, failing miserably. “But you didn't answer. I thought--” He choked, looking away from you.

You blinked up at him, confused and afraid, never seeing this side of Geralt before. “You thought what?”

He chewed on his lip, his face hardening as he slowly started to gain control of himself again. “I thought you left me.” He admitted, deciding not to shut you out.

“Left you?” You echoed softly, blinking up at him with surprise. “No, Geralt. I'd never leave you. I didn't leave you.” You told him, taking his hand in both of yours. “I just woke up from our nap before you did, and you seemed so tired that I didn't have the heart to wake you. So, I went out to pick some blueberries.” You explained to him, half turning back to where you'd set your basket, full of plump, indigo orbs. “I plan on using them to bake you a pie.” You said quietly, looking back up at him.

Neither of you said anything for a long while, before Geralt looked down at you, a sad look in his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, bending his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You assured him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

Nodding, Geralt pressed his lips to your forehead and sighed, looking down at his muddy feet. “I'll rinse my feet off.” He said, moving away from you and towards the well.

Watching him go and drop the bucket into the well, you knew the Witcher didn't have the easiest of lives, that he had a lot of trauma in it. But, he would tell you what was bothering him, when he was ready. It seemed too raw, at the moment. So, you went back for your blueberries and carried them inside to the sink, so you could rinse them off, prepping them for the pie.

Deciding to be there for Geralt, when he was ready.

[runsintheblood]

Family Bingo 2024 Roundup

A great big thank you to all the authors, artists, and commenters that participated in our inaugural Family Bingo event! We're absolutely blown away by the joyous enthusiasm with which everyone has made this such a resounding success, and created so many phenomenal fanworks for the fam, which are recorded below for your perusal. Go devour them and shower em with comments and kudos (our commenter role award is available until Halloween if you catch em all!) cuz there's some thoroughly fangtastic pieces here. First, some stats:

We got a jaw-dropping total of 38 works submitted!

We had 8 players, and 6 of them won Bingo! Congratulations!!

No blackouts this time, but both @bigbad1880 and @reallyreal-madeingold went above and beyond with 6 and 7 fanworks respectively

Our first player to get Bingo! was @reallyreal-madeingold

The longest work submitted was For My Toy Love by @myboyknows (girlpire) at 15,206 words

Conversely, the shortest was Latreia by @somekindofadeviant at 100 words

@queennhalloweenn got the highest word count total at 30,316 words

And @mamabewear gave us the most Puppet-pires at 1 Puppet!Angel (multiple times!)

Kicking things off with our most popular card!

MamaBewear (Bingo!)

Tickle Me Angel (Angel/Spike, Square: Long Distance/Tickling) It turns out that Puppet Angel is very ticklish! Also, Spike discovers an embarrassing secret that Angel’s been hiding from everyone.

Sexyme Street (Angel/Spike, Square: Clumsy/Costumes) Spike discovers something unexpected about himself, and Puppet Angel has a wardrobe malfunction.

Spoons (Angel/Spike, Square: Dream/Size Kink) Angel’s a little tired of being stuck as a puppet, but Spike sees it as an opportunity!

Puppy Love (Angel/Spike, Square: Pets/Sex Pollen) Lorne is dog sitting for one of Gunn’s favorite actors, and also, there’s sex pollen in the air! So, it’s pretty much just like any other day at Wolfram and Hart for Spike and Puppet Angel.

Something's Cooking (Angel/Spike, Square: Cooking/Dirty Talk/Phone Sex) It’s getting hot in the kitchen, as Spike insists that Angel entertain him while he’s out on a surveillance mission.

Harlow (Bingo!)

Curses (Angel/Spike, Square: Tentacles/Non-Human Genitals) Spike gets cursed by a witch, and ends up with a brand new "package". Oops.

I Called Him Mine (Angel/Spike, Square: Exhibitionism/Public/Surprise) Spike gives Angel a blow job, but that's not the only surprise Angel is in for.

Melon (Angel/Spike, Square: Foodplay/Messy) Spike and Angel play with their food. And make a mess in the process.

Welcome to the Family (Angelus/Darla/Spike, Square: Watersports) Darla and Angelus welcome a newly sired William to the family. Properly.

I'm My Type (Angel/Angelus, Square: Sex Toys) Angelus figures out a way to split himself and Angel into separate bodies, and takes everything he wants from Angel.

Shattered (Darla/Spike, Square: Noncon) Spike, a spy, breaks into an enemy base to steal some intelligence. Unfortunately for him, he gets captured.

In The Dark (With You) (Angelus/Angel, Square: Blindfold) Part two of Angel and Angelus's horny selfcest adventures.

Liv

Proposals (Darla/Drusilla, Square: Free Space) Darla wants something new, and Drusilla is willing to make it happen.

Negotiating (Darla/Drusilla, Square: CNC) Drusilla and Darla discuss their game plan.

Yes Mistress (Darla/Drusilla, Square: Hypnotism) It's playtime.

Eve

Creature Comforts (Darla/Drusilla, Square: Knotting) Darla is in rut. Drusilla is there to help.

Tea With Milk In (Spike/Drusilla, Square: Somnophilia) Drusilla and a sleeping Spike.

Next up, Blue

QueennHalloweenn (Bingo!)

Divine Comedy in the Withering Heart (Angelus/Darla, Square: Rough Sex/Biting/Scratching/Teasing) Darla is dead… again. It's the only thing she's actually sure of.

Divine Comedy in the Land of Sodom (Angelus/Darla/Drusilla, Square: Humiliation/Degradation/Dacryphilia/Lessons) Darla continues to seek out memories of a life she's forgotten.

Divine Comedy in the Pool of Lethe (Angelus/Darla, Square: Accidental Stimulation/Stuck Sex/Play Fight) Darla needs to hold on to her memories-- losing them is the same as losing herself.

Divine Comedy in the Białowieża (Angelus/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Orgy/Double-Penetration/Elevator) Darla remembers the last time she had her family all together.

Divine Comedy in the House of Flies (Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Glory Hole/Anonymous/Free Use/Allergy) Final of the Fang Four Family Bingo 2024! (or is it??? 🤔🤔)

Vampbrat (Bingo!)

Adult Material (Angel/Darla, Square: Porn-Watching) The most divorced vamps in California tentatively attempt to reestablish a connection.

Breathing Lessons (Angelus/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Free Space) Darla usually leaves disciplinary measures up to Angelus but occasionally feels she needs to step in. A little drowning can be a calming factor for even the most recalcitrant brats.

The Stranger At My Fireside (Drusilla/Spike, Square: Accidental Stimulation) There's nothing like a seance for a bit of a horny night out. Things get a bit more horny than Spike anticipated.

Pretty Like A Knife (Angel/Spike, Square: Praise Kink/Spoiling) Angel caresses and strokes Spike in the aftermath of a sparring session, lavishing him with praise.

Dressing Down (Angelus/Spike, Square: Ageplay) William the Bloody takes his forfeit for losing at cards: a new wardrobe, fit for his new role in his new family.

The Dead Won't Bother You (Drusilla/Spike, Square: Hybristophilia) Spike and Dru are on a cross country road trip. Some people drive to famous battle sites or for bridges or foliage. Dru is keen on serial killers.

SomeKindOfADeviant (Bingo!)

Swallowed Whole (Angelus/Spike, Square: Sensory Deprivation/Blindfold/Confused) A spot of fledgling tuition. This is a practical exam, of course, isn't it always?

Mouthfuls of Thaumaturgy (Drusilla/Spike, Square: Marking/Tattoos) The best ideas are always had when drinking sailors while your elders are away. Spike wants Drusilla to leave a mark on him and she's eager to oblige.

Fly Soup (Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Temperature/Sensations) The family get into a little spot of bother.

Latreia (Drusilla/Spike, Square: Authority) Spike has his rituals.

Principled Approach (Angelus/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Humiliation/Lessons) Actions have consequences

And skipping Yellow, which had no takers - we have finally, Green

Girlpire (Bingo!)

For a Good Time (Angel/Spike, Square: Glory Hole/Smile) This is the dirtiest thing I've ever drawn. :D

Control (Angel/Darla, Square: Machines) I might have been wrong. THIS is the dirtiest thing I've ever drawn. :D

For My Toy Love (Angel/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Macro/Micro) Set during season five of AtS, Angel and Spike are in an established relationship with each other when Drusilla unexpectedly arrives on their doorstep in the pot of a mandarin tree. She is only six inches tall.

Party Favor (Angel/Spike, Square: Accidental Stimulation) Spike casts a sexy spell for solo purposes, but it doesn't go exactly as he planned. Relatedly, Angel finds something relaxing to do with his hands.

Quality Time (Angelus/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, Square: Inflation) A newly-turned Spike casts a sex hex for attention, and Angelus obliges.

We can't wait to see you all next year! Until then, join us at the Runs in the Blood Fanged Four Discord Server

[heartfullofleeches]

Do it!! We love your ideas chief, that’s why we’re here!

Also ghoul reader is hot as fuck

[Light body horror. Angst]

Well- two important factors about ghoul reader are both their body and mind deteriorate over time, but can be rebuilt to full structure by eating human meat/brain healthy meals.

This led me to think of a "healer" ghoul reader who can sorta transfer/reconstruct the healthy cells to others and heal people that way. Lose a kidney? Ghoul Reader can create a new one and negate most side effects by eating some ground beef left in the freezer. A personal sacrifice of their flesh for another being.

Given the nature of their healing properties, Ghoul Reader is extremely caring and always puts others before themself. They make friends with the wrong person- someone who hardly cares about their well-being and uses Reader for their personal gain. They had been scarred horribly by mistakes they'd already made and without them even asking Reader starts to slowly heal them. Their body needs more work than reader's can take, but they just write the ghoul off as lazy and trying to keep them around. Reader's body mass continues to shrink no matter how much they eat. It hurts them to put so much strain on their body... it hurts so much... but they still try. They still keep that "friend" in their heart and notebooks so they'll never forget them when their memory blanks. They care about their friend. They love them. They want them to be okay and love themself for who they are-

But they never knew how truly rotten that person was - inside and out.

"Finally... All those horrid scars were a damper on my social life. I'm even more beautiful than I was then. That being said, I can't be seen around something like you. It was fun."

That isn't what friends are supposed to say.. After all they did for them... Gone without even saying goodbye. That was the ghouls first time being betrayed to such caliber- and it crushed them. They wouldn't feel this pain if they were just another mindless creature, but they were proud of the person they'd become. The "normal" human being who walked around same as everyone else. They were just like them... only rotting... maybe that person wasn't so wrong to leave them behind...

Ghoul Reader shuts off from the outside world after that. They stick to their routine as it's all they've ever known, but they've lost that rosy view of the world. Is it worth making friends anymore? What's the point of trying if they'll just be abandoned again? They were more human than the people around them. Unlike them - they felt pain. They wanted to forget it all - so they did. Most of it at least.

While out one night reader notices a musky scent in the air. So faint only their nose would catch it. They follow the trail to a body lying behind some dumpsters - stab wounds having torn deep holes through their vital organs. Their pulse was weak - fading. Despite all the pain they've been dealt, Ghoul couldn't let someone die for another's mistake. They fixed up the near corpse and waited for them to wake up so they couldn't get home safety.

"Ugh....I'm still alive....lame...who the fuck are you?.."

Ghoul Reader explains everything that lead up to the encounter and their healing capabilities.

"Eh....with how my nights gone - I'll believe anything at this point. Thanks for the help, bud."

It was nothing. Ghoul Reader gets up to leave.

"Aye! Where ya going? You save people's lives on the regular and expect nothing back? Lemme treat you to dinner. Know a good spot close by and I still have the wallet I was gutted over. Let's get going already!"

Reader learns more about their new acquaintance. A petty thief trying to get on the right track in life. They spun some wild story about seeing a guy dropping his wallet and them trying to return it with the guy flying off the rails and accusing them of stealing it. The details were spotty, but Reader nodded along to every word. They needed a place to stay for the night as their home was too far to trek back too at that hour. They give Reader the rest of the cash in the wallet in exchange for their couch and they become the first real friend Reader makes.

Everything Reader gave they always tried to give back double. The near death experience gave them a new outlook on life. It was something to be cherished and not thrown away so easily as they had in the past. They wanted to share that new view with their only friend. Reader was a better companion than people they'd know their entire life. A little bitey when they got hungry, but everyone gets a little cranky when they're starving.

The friend gets a call over. Reader had skipped breakfast and wasn't sticking to their usual diet. They sat alone, unable to move and succumbing to the painful cramps of hunger. They begged their friend to bring them meat from the store, but their friend wanted to end their suffering as quickly as they could. They pulled out their trusty switchblade, embedding its teeth in their pinky finger. Ghoul Reader tries to stop them.

"Y/n, you saved my life. It's as much yours as it is mine. I'd give anything to properly replay you, but I'll never be able to and I don't mind living with that debt on my shoulders if it means we're together. This is the least I can do for you- so shut up and eat my damn finger."

-

A week after Reader tries them their finger back there's a knock on the door. Their friend refused treatment seeing it as a marker of their loyality to reader. They make sure reader is well fed at all times. A face reader has seen before stands behind the door. Some model they've seen on billboards and flyers. What could someone like that with them?

"Y/n. I know you probably don't want to see me after what I've done, but I need your help. I got into an accident after a few drinks last week. Nothing serious before you ask, but I've got these bruises and I have an important party to attend this Saturday. I'll allow you to be my plus one if that fixes things."

....

"I'll be out with a friend Saturday, but thank you. I can still fix you, but if you don't mind me asking - how do you know my name?"

Reader leads them to their couch and heals their spotty face all while the stranger is left bewildered. They're acting like nothing happened. Why are they acting like nothing happened? Who was this new friend and who the hell was that standing by their bedroom door?

"Are you seriously going to play this game?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pretending like you don't know who I am. That's harsh even with everything that's happened."

Ghoul Reader backs away from them.

"I've seen you in pictures, but that's it. I don't know who you are."

"It was cute at first, but I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to start. You know who I am."

Ghoul Reader racks their brain for answers, but there's no result. They begin to hyperventilate. "I don't....I don't know who you are....Stop it, please!"

"Not til you say my name. I'll own up to my part when do that simple thing."

They grip at their face, talons catching on their softened skin. "I don't know who you are...Don't make me remember..... Get out.... GET OUT!"

As the stranger leaves and heads towards their car a notebook flies out reader's window - aiming for their skull had they not stepped out of the way in time. Inside are pages of filled with scratched out ink held on a weakened spine. It was a miracle they held together. The pages stick togethered, water damgaged by crusted specks of blood and smaller dots of a clearer fluid. The words written were near illegible, but there's a few key points they could make out. A birthday, the begining and ending characters to a person's name, a repeated phrase pieced together over the various pages. Don't forget. Never forget.

They'd been erased completely from reader's conscious mind. This notebook had been kept to prevent that very thing from happening. All those precious memories thrown away. The stranger was happy with the life they'd been robbed of - but no one had ever been their for them like Reader had. A new stain falls to the page.

Flipping to the final page, a note slides off the back cover.

"Come here again - and I'll erase you permanently."

It wasn't reader's hand writing. The person in the window holds up a new journal - comforting a sobbing ghoul on their shoulder.

[artificer-real]

do you ever tjink about the ancients? i mean, i dont remember if thats what theyre called- the buncha clowns that mad ethe iterators, you know what i mean.

What were they like? As a culture, they seem so... prideful, arrogant, and aloof to us. All we see is a few fractions of people, and all the stuff they left behind. But... the echoes are a poor representation of them as a whole. If they werent, then we'd see a lot more echoes, no?

All we really know about them, is that they existed, they were quite capable bioengineers, and they worshipped ascension. Although, what even is ascension? What is void fluid? it apparently dissolves matter, into... something? nothing? hard to say. We also know that it is slowly advancing, all the time, always burning away the ashes of old civilizations.

What does a fluid like that do to a living being?

I think i have an idea.

Rain World works by cycles. Its the core of its story, escaping the cycles. They seem perfect, in that nothing can truly die no matter what happens to them. What this actually means is questionable, though. and we need to figure that out first. Do things just come back? Is it timeline shenanigans? What about old age?

Well... I don't think its so simply as things just coming back to life. To be clear, there is not one system of cycles in Rain World. There are cycles as a measurement of time similar to a day, cycles as a broad philisophical concept of the repitition of history, and cycles as an inescapable loop of life and death and life again.

One: We know from Pebbles that even non-sentient creatures are aware of the cycles, perhaps similar to the way non-sentient creatures desire food and love? So it applies to everything.

Two: We know from the game itself, that the cycles involve Time. When you die, the cycle doesnt get randomized again, its the exact same cycle as before.

This. Has some interesting implications. When its said that iterators are separate from the cycles, that means that they cannot die conventionally. Because if they did... than they would go back to the last time they rested (which would likely be when they were first created how fun!).

Either way, it seems that when you die, your memories are transferred to an identical timeline starting from when you last rested. This, and the echoes, prove the existance of souls. Every living thing appears to have a soul, "From the microbes in the processing strata to [Five Pebbles]."

Now back to the point; void fluid seems to dissolve anything, and id bet that includes biological matter, just slowly. Perhaps the Void Worms have some sort of healing factor that outpaces the disintegration, perhaps they are souls. Not important right now.

Here is my overall theory:

When you swim into the void fluid, you begin to dissolve very slowly, just like anything else. But something else happens to your soul. Specifically, It seems to become detached from your body as you descend. And this process, has nothing to do with void fluid itself.

Because to ascend, you first need to break past the urges of life. If you dont, you fail. Your soul detaches from your body, but not from the world, and thus, not from the cycles. Leaving you stuck as an echo of your old self.

But if you succeed... as your soul and body break apart... you keep swimming. Further and further. And... you truly, finally, die. Perhaps you end up in a paradise... perhape you disappear completely. We don't know.

But you have broken free from the cycles.

Was it worth it?

[bloodgulchblog]

What are the weirdest facts about Halo you know. Like just absurd stuff. I mean there’s the worm mechs but I wanna know if there’s more

ALRIGHT let's see what I can remember off the top of my head before I have to leave for the day:

Once upon a time in the most ancient space days before the Halos were fired, everyone in the galaxy thought the San'Shyuum were incredibly sexy.

A scrapped enemy from the early Halos was a gigantic, lumbering one-eyed creature that they were thinking was a whole species the Covenant weaponized. The Sharquoi would later be used as a forgotten Forerunner weapon in a novel that are hive-mind controlled from this metal crown that will dig into your brain.

It's a kind of widely known fact about them, but the Forerunners as a species reached a point where they were not considered to be actual adults until their bodies had been extensively augmented, and it was a signifier of importance and status to go through multiple mutations over the course of their lives. (Which is why they are so radically different from one another in size/shape/appearance.)

The way the Librarian found out about how the Forerunners genocided the Precursors was by traveling out to where it happened and finding a planet where there was a population of Forerunners that had been surviving without technology for tons and tons and tons of generations. (They conveyed this information to her by biting her, so that the bacteria their ancestors had genetically engineered to contain memory and information could teach her about it.)

We have one canonical example of a smart AI living for a very long time... and it's because he was actually two AIs in a trenchcoat who would switch which personality was in charge while the other one went out to live in the internet-of-things between space tractors and cropdusters for a while to recharge.

Jiralhanae smell. They communicate tons of information through scent/pheromones, and are noted to stink noticeably when they're scared.

The Unggoy are a very musical people. They have a 42-storey high building in their capital city dedicated just to the musical arts.

The way the Covenant found the mech worms in the first place was that the Lek'golo worms were eating Forerunner technology and they did not like that, but then they figured out that SOME of them would just eat AROUND the technology so they had an Arbiter negotiate with them and get them to help kill off the other kinds. Normal Covenant stuff.

Huragok are actually living tools created by the Forerunners for building and maintaining stuff. There were once some Huragok that were used by Forerunner Lifeworkers that could work with living tissue the way other Huragok work with machines, but they were all wiped out. (...One does show up in a book but shshhhh I'm trying to keep this simple.)

Ideas of the "ideal female body" humans have are based on the Librarian's appearance because she messed around with genetically implanting stuff into humans so much.

The way you euphemistically talk about Sangheili groups that let their women fight more than is conventionally allowed is you say they have a "strong protector-of-eggs tradition."

The whole splinter population of Sangheili I mentioned recently that didn't want to joint he Covenant, so they went and hid in a Forerunner structure and succeeded for several thousand years.

The planet Onyx where the Spartan-IIIs were trained was actually secretly a Forerunner shield world. Now that it's been brought back into normal space, it takes up most of that solar system. The inner surface of the sphere will take generations of work to explore because it is so large.

[honeyhive65]

LIST OF MONSTERS/CREATURES FOR PUNCH OUT

Someone said I should post the list. I know it was one person but I wanna do it. I’ll also make concepts for their contender and TD matches (I only have joes which I’ll probably put here)

MINOR CIRCUIT

Glass Joe- originally was the only other human. Got turned into a vampire after trying to help someone near an alleyway. Woke up in the dumpster and still trying to adapt. Unfortunately never told his doctor about his predicament (he has woken up in the morgue multiple times).

Von Kaiser- a monster similar to Frankenstein monster. Some scientists wanted to create a boxer using the body parts of some of the best boxers they knew. Unfortunately the product did not meet their expectations and is sitting comfortably down in the minor circuit.

Disco Kid- a friendly zombie who recently rose from its grave. No memory of his life but recently rediscovered boxing, disco, and Micheal Jackson. Managed to be so inspired by thriller he likes to break it down right there in the ring. He’s a bit stiff but he’s still got that spirit in him.

King Hippo- nobody really knows why he came from the sea to land JUST to box. Maybe someone threw an old poster into the ocean and made its way to him. This sea beast may not speak any human language but he sure knows how to throw a punch. Stole clothes from a drowned sailor however the pants are a bit loose even on him.

MAJOR CIRCUIT

Piston Hondo- some people mistake this spirit for a yokai, however he’s just a regular looking ghost. In his life he was an excellent boxer. Most knew his training methods were extreme but nobody ever thought that he’d take “train til you drop dead” a little too seriously. Still he manages to haunt the WVBA determined to keep boxing.

Bear Hugger- he may seem like a human at first but there’s always that one day most people avoid taking a match with him. From evening to morning on a full moon is when his schedule is almost always free. Most people don’t want to get clawed by a werewolf but there have been a few who tried…let’s just say the results in the hospital weren’t pretty. (NOTE: despite the species rivalry, he’s actually pretty good friends with Joe. Being someone who was a human himself he tries his best to give as many tips as he can to adapt)

Great Tiger- a genie who tricked its master into freeing him, tiger now spends his freedom here in the WVBA. He never gives a straight answer for why he wanted to spend his free time here of all places but hey he’s happy at least. Enjoys human opponents the most since they’re the most easy to mess with.

Don Flamenco- did he come from outer space? Was he given a little too much fertilizer? Or perhaps he is just a nymph who lied about his origin. Don was a rose who somehow gained sentience and has taken a more humanoid form. The best way to find out how to be more human to him? Well boxing of course! This plant somehow even got himself a girlfriend but who could resist the passion of a rose?…he may be carnivorous though so watch your back.

WORLD CIRCUIT

Aran Ryan- with Joe now being a vampire, Aran has taken the place as the only human contender in the WVBA…at least before Mac joined. Despite this he seems just as freaky as the others. His superstition keeps him from bonding with the other boxers and maybe even some humans that occasionally join. He gets a little…paranoid.

Soda Popinski- Seeing an advertisement on the WVBA, this abominable snowman quickly left home to check it out. Coming out from his home, he quickly discovered his love for boxing and sugary sodas. It’s however too hot for him to look presentable so all he wears most times is a speedo.

Bald Bull- A Minotaur who’s been at the WVBA for what seems to be forever…at least to most people here. Some don’t even know when he joined and others never bothered to ask. Only exception is doc but he never seems to want to talk about it. He tends to enjoy time alone so best not to bother him or else you might find a horn in your chest.

Super Macho Man- Most people have to avoid being in the front of him and sometimes the sides due to one of his so called signature moves. Macho is a trans gorgon who thought that going into a sport involving punching one’s face was a good idea. You really couldn’t afford his sunglasses although best not to break them. You could end up cold as stone if you do. Where do you think all those decorative statues came from?

Sandman- not much is known about his species but he claims to be something called a dreamcatcher. A creature who can manifest dreams into reality. Nobody knew about it before he came along but what does matter is he seems friendly enough and has even taken a liking to that Gorgon just below his rank (SURPRISE SUPERSAND RAAAAAAH sorry. Also credits to @wvbaandtheboys for making the species/creature I used)

Okay that’s all also I’ll probably also make tempered glass for this. Why? Cause I can and I like the ship so I have to feed myself somehow. Also here’s the concept for joes contender and TD.

Contender- Mac got lucky and doc managed to talk Joe into a day match. A good beginning for someone’s career for Joe is a bit sluggish and looking like he’s on the verge of passing out. He may not burn up in the sun but it sure does exhaust him. Constantly drinking a mysteriously red substance during intermission.

Title defense- His poor unassuming doctor can’t understand how Joe keeps coming back from the dead. His vitals are all off but Joe insists it’s just a cold. His doctor decided to put him on a different diet to help him be healthier and maybe put some weight on those bones of his…unfortunately the doctor gave Joe a not so vampire friendly diet and Joe as slowly gone in a more crazed state from it. For the safety of the other boxers, the WVBA graciously gave Joe a makeshift muzzle from a helmet and something attached. He’s faster and more unpredictable in this state and will try and lunge at opponents to get something in his starving state. Not even the sun can stop him from getting a meal but hey the helmet protects his head at least! Just…try not too hit it too hard or that piece covering his mouth might detach.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, spanking, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The night sees you in much the same trap as the one before. You’ve appeased Steve. For now. You know deep down, it won’t last. That it won’t be enough. Not in the end.

You sleep in the white satin he chose. He embraces you from behind, his hand cradles your chest as his breath whispers across your scalp. You’re suffocated by his warmth. You don’t move, the only time you’re truly alone is when he’s asleep.

You close your eyes to keep the tear from slipping past. You wiggle your nose as it tingles. The night breeze rustles the tree outside the window and carries the chirps of lively crickets. The song of the night is in disorder just as those that play in your head.

“Middle C,” the order comes and you set your hands just so. “Very good.” Professor Zemo praises as he flicks the metronome into a steady beat, “Begin.”

You hear the melody before your fingers pluck it out. It’s that magical sensation that overtakes you. The way your body moves naturally to create the music. As if it’s a part of you. You smile as you read the music, following along as the world pinpoints to the keys and nothing else.

“Posture,” Zemo squeezes your shoulder.

You fix your position and keep on, not missing a note. His hum underlines your symphony as you proudly play. He stays close by the bench, hand lingering on your sleeve, rubbing the fluttery fabric between his fingertips. You follow the highs and lows until you reach the end, hitting that final key with a flourish.

“You are improving,” he moves to stand behind you, close so that you feel the heat of him radiating around you. His other hand rests upon your second shoulder. “My dear, I must confess you are talented, if not the most talented student I’ve ever taught,” he bends and your skin pricks. What is he doing?

He presses his lips to your crown, “when you play,” he speaks into your hair, “you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

His hands wander down your blouse and he hooks beneath your arms. Your hands tamp down on the keys in surprise, a clatter of ugly notes all at once. He cups your chest through the layers of frills. You don’t know what to do so you do nothing. What can you do? He is your professor.

He pinches a button between his fingers and slowly undoes it, then another, and another. You shiver as he opens the front of your blouse. He stands straight to guide your sleeves down your arms. He steps closer and something hard presses to your back. You put your chin down as your lip trembles.

Coward.

You squeak as your eyes snap open. There is no relief to be found in waking. It’s not a dream but a memory. You feel a squeeze on your chest and your heart leaps into your throat. That speckling flame razes up your neck and across your cheeks. A furor you cannot bear.

You tear Steve’s arm away and push yourself out of the bed. You fall onto the floor, crawling away desperately as panic thrums against your ribs. Your arms shake and you fight not to collapse into a heap.

“Sweetheart,” Steve groans, his deep tones laced with fatigue and confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you stop and turn over, sitting on your bottom, “I just have to pee.”

You don’t move though. You can’t. You sit against the footboard and smother your mouth to keep your shallow breaths quiet.

“Hurry back…” his voice drifts off to a snore.

You shake your head as your eyes sting. You haven’t cried about this in years, so why now? Why do the ghosts have to come back and haunt you?

🌹

A rush of cool air flows over you as the blankets are torn away. Your shallow sleep cracks as you mutter cluelessly and fall onto your back. You squeak as you find Steve staring down at you, a hand planted on the mattress as he leans on one arm. You squeeze your legs together and cross your arms.

He caresses your shoulder, toying with the nightgown’s strap, twisting it as his fingertips brush your skin. Little specks of heat linger as he follows the lacy trim along your chest. You hold in a breath quivering at the intensity of his gaze as it trails his touch.

He pulls your arm away from your chest and the other slips down limply to your side. You’re paralysed. You’re too afraid to resist him as you watch his eyes. They are dark and distant as if possessed.

“You’re so sweet,” he tugs down the soft satin cup. You whimper as he bares half your chest. He cups your tit, fondling you as he groans. His thumb rolls around your nipple and you shiver. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’ve been good.”

He gropes you as he purrs and slides down the bed. He stretches his arm up and lifts himself to his knees. He forces your legs apart and settles between them. His other hand traces along your thigh as he lets out a deep breath.

He kneads your chest as he slowly bends. You’re terrified as his hand crawls beneath the hem of your nightie and inches it up. He spreads out on his stomach, keeping his arm snaked up your torso as he pulls your leg over his shoulder. He bows his head to nuzzle the front of your panties and you twitch.

He hums and squeezes your chest again. A warning. You grab onto his thick arm as he inhales you and presses his nose against the cotton. The vivid ink that stains his skin contrasts with your own. You grip him tighter as he hums, sending a ripple through you.

Your breath hitches as he wiggles his head against you. A damp heat permeates the front of your panties and he tickles you through the fabric with his tongue. His saliva soaks through as he pushes the cotton against your folds, suckling through the layer hungrily.

He traces his fingers down the crease of your leg and drags your panties to the side. His cool tongue meets your hot cunt and you gasp. His nails dig into your skin as he blindly gropes your chest, thumb catching on the slack satin.

You're helpless. Just like before. Too weak to fight. You just let it happen. You wince as the sheets brush against your bruises. What else can you do? He's not hurting you. Yet.

He laps between your folds as your legs quiver. You close your eyes as your grasp drifts down his arm, reaching weakly for his head. You feel completely exposed to him. You want him to stop but the flick of his tongue has you spasming. He swirls around your clit so that a pluck coils in your muscles.

You’re completely disarmed as spreads his tongue wide and tastes you. He slowly drags his tongue up and back down. Your thighs tingle as he seals his lips around your tender bud and the sudden pressure has you writhing. He groans as he uses the tip of his tongue to tease you.

Your back arches as you push your thigh against his head. His beard tickles you, another wave rolling through you. It’s too much and not enough. You want him desperately to stop yet fear that he will. 

You moan and sink your head back in the pillow. Your hips rock as he flutters his fingertips along your ass, adding to the storm of sensation. Shame bubbles with something else. Something hotter. Irresistible.

You cry out as you lose control. As you succumb to him. No, he’s conquered you. You surrender in a spasm of delight, mewling between heavy puffs as you clamp your thighs around his head and twist wildly.

He doesn’t stop. He drinks you in desperately as you cum. He keeps on until you can’t. Your legs splay and your arms fall down limply. You lay quaking and whimpering as he sucks and licks at your cunt. He does so noisily rubbing his beard against your sopping cunt until you whine.

“Please,” you squeal as you reach for him, lifting your head dizzily, “please… Steve…” His eyes flick up as he swipes his tongue around your clit, “sir… I can’t… I can’t take…”

You drop your head back down as your hips jerk. Your voice swells out of you, blooming into moans and drones. You feel it again, the tempo building and building, until you can’t stand it. Your nerves scatter again in a violent chorus that has you clawing at the sheets.

He does not relent. Even as you writhe, even as you push on his head and beg. Please, please, please.