#shapeshifter story

[innocet]

Well if I’m trying to become you and you’re trying to become your undergrad situationship/ex. Who’s flying the space station.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Wrong Hotel Room

Kara was walking around this hotel. It seemed like your normal Marriott type hotel but it held a weird magic power that could effect the people staying there in various ways.

Kara went into her room and as she went in she saw the things in her room change. Her clothing became folded up male button up shirts. Khakis. And she looked at her shoes on the ground changing into size 13 men’s shoes.

Kara was shocked but in the coming moments her body began to grow and get larger. Muscles filled out. Her breasts became pecs, as a dusty of hairs appeared on them and went down to her hardening stomach.

He felt a pulling sensation as his new cock formed between his thickening legs, as his feet began to grow and expand. The toes thickened and heels became calloused. They broke out of his small sandals, as Kara looked the mirror to see his face changing in front of his eyes.

Hank watched as his hair receded and finished changing. His face aged and changed as his features became more mature and into his 40s. His hairline receded upward, as blue trunks appeared on his legs. Hank’s mind quickly reset as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Time to get a swim in” he said thinking about going to the hotels pool.

[con-lentitud-poderosa]

Diversity win! Both F/F and M/M shippers are ignoring the story for the sake of shipping

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

71 / 2.1k / part 4 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

nsfw; dubcon, group sex, predator/prey dynamics, degradation, manhandling, sex while on substances. also monsterfucking and sex pollen if you squint.

...

You're not stupid. You know fur won't save you. Their hunt is sweeter for prey that changes skin.

You'll pay for this. And they intend to make you pay in more than just blood--they want your fear, your pleasure, your vulnerability. Everything you've refused them until now.

You run until you reach the ancient chapel in the middle of the woods. Right as you reach the empty space where the front doors used to be, enormous paws slam into your back. The henbane's power ebbs. Your palm bleeds where glass shards remain embedded. The cracked stone steps, laced with overgrown brambles, press cold on your naked skin. Gaz's paws dig into your back as they shift into clawed fingers. You hear Soap's approach, too--the way he shifts halfway from crow to human as he lands behind you. The half-beast shape sharpens the look of starvation and lust in his bright eyes.

Gaz's claws dig into your shoulders as he flips you onto your back. You writhe as Soap's hands close around your legs and pull you between him and Gaz. Your body is human, but adrenaline and henbane trap your mind partway between animal instinct and human nerves. Your body is hot and your cunt swells and glistens as their rough hands grip you, squeeze you, drag you away from the entrance of the holy sanctuary, and spread you open over the forest floor. The chapel's crumbling walls loom over you, moonlight slicing through broken stained glass to paint your naked skin in fractured colors. You were so close.

Soap's claws carve crescent moons into your hips. "Think you're clever, aye?" His hand wraps around your throat and presses his thumb to your frantic pulse. "Playin' games with us."

Gaz pins your wrists above your head, his catlike pupils blown wide. Henbane still clouds his movements. He watches Soap spread your thighs. "She's dripping for it. Nothing better than a chase to make rabbits want to fuck."

Soap licks a stripe up your thigh and chuckles against your skin. "Knew you wanted to be caught. Should've stayed a rabbit. Och, but this is better," he groans against your skin, cock already pressing against your leg. "Fightin' us even when you're fucked raw on poison. Perfect."

The henbane twists everything--their snarls into hymns, the pain of being chased and held down into a perverse sacrament. With Gaz holding your wrists above your head and Soap holding your thighs apart, you're completely exposed. Your heartbeat makes your skin warm, makes it flush, and you know they can see how wet it makes you. Both sets of eyes are glued to your cunt.

You buck uselessly as your human pride compels you to fight. Then rabbit-like instincts compel you to lay still. Your throat is ragged from the chase.

Soap laughs. He splays his hand over your lower belly, pins you there, and leans mouthwateringly close to your cunt. From above your head, Gaz leans over you upside-down and drags a messy, open-mouthed kiss up your sternum. "Poor creature."

"Should've known she'd like this. Witch with a martyr complex. Gets off on being punished."

"Could've let the villagers take you," Gaz croons. "Would've paid good coin to watch 'em try to torture our witch. Bet you'd rut against their stakes just to feel something."

You feel Soap's breathy chuckle against your core and jerk. He holds you fast. "Could've just tied her spreadeagle to the old tree, aye? Let the whole village watch us fuck her. Ghost can have first go."

"Now that's just cruel."

Their cruel words braid into praise in your henbane-fogged mind. Soap licks a hot stripe through your folds, and your back arches against your will. He chuckles again, breath fogging your wetness. "Think she'll come on my tongue before Price gets here? Five silver coins says she screams."

Gaz's free hand pulls your head back to expose your throat. "Ten says she bites like a hare."

You writhe, but Gaz's grip is iron. Soap's mouth seals over your clit and sucks hard enough to blur your vision. Your thighs tremble. The pleasure is a serrated knife sawing through your weak resistance.

"Fuckin' starved," Soap growls against your cunt. His fingers spread you wider to lap harder at your clenching hole.

They move in tandem. Soap's tongue fucks into you, long and relentless, while Gaz’s hand angles your face toward himself. Gaz laps at your mouth and the beads of sweat saturating your skin to take his fill. As Soap's claws dig into your hips, your body betrays you over and over--arching into their mouths, cunt and throat clenching around nothing. You writhe, but Soap pins you harder and harder with each lathe, grinding you against the moss until your thighs shake. The henbane amplifies every sensation--the drag of his tongue, the scrape of Gaz's stubble against your neck, the damp earth beneath you. Every rough touch ignites nerve endings you didn't know you had. Your vision blurs at the edges. Rabbit instincts scream for you to submit even as your hips lift greedily for more.

Gaz releases your hair to palm your breast. "Slow down, Soap. Price'll skin us if we don't leave some fresh."

Soap's obscene groans vibrate through your core. He pulls back, lips glistening. "Better get here faster if he wants some, then. Him and Ghost both."

You moan at the loss of contact. Your hips chase his mouth, and his self-restraint snaps.

"Nah, fuck 'em." He flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and pushes a finger inside you eagerly. Anything to get you wetter. "Let 'em hunt for themselves."

You're so high and dizzy, cheek pressed to the broken stone below, that it takes you a few seconds to notice when Gaz runs his hands up your arms, over your shoulders, and cups your jaw in his hands.

"Beg," he says softly. "Beg your servants to fuck you."

You whine as he lifts your front half up to kiss you. He practically cradles you in his arms--protective, but completely unyielding--and slips his tongue into your mouth to devour all he can.

You squirm and gasp around his tongue. The command surprises you enough that your humanity--your pride as a witch--surface over the instinct to submit. You sink your canines down on his invading tongue.

Gaz pulls back with a hiss. His eyes narrow and his pupils slit.

Soap laughs. "That's ten to you, then. Rabbits do bite, don't they?"

Gaz ignores him. His grip tightens around your jaw. He takes your mouth in another searing kiss that lasts until your lungs burn and you taste his blood in the back of your throat. He holds you captive there and enjoys the way Soap's finger-fucking forces your desperate moans into his mouth. Then he pulls back.

"Good rabbits," he growls, "know when to play dead."

Gaz's hand fists in your hair and yanks your head back. It forces a deeper arch into your back just as Soap slips a second finger into your cunt. You clench around the inclusion. God, it feels to good. You've been so careful, looked over your shoulder, smudged sage into every dark corner. So much tension, protecting yourself the way you need to, and nowhere to channel it. Even lying awake at night in your house, gritting your teeth and thumbing tight circles around your own clit, the release wasn't enough. Wasn't even practical. The animal in you never left; it only slept.

Soap's fingers curl inside you, calluses scraping your walls. He chuckles. "Greedy."

Gaz chuckles, too, at the sounds you're making. "Chatty."

Your back arches further as Soap adds a third finger. He stretches you ruthlessly. Gaz's other hand drifts down to circle your clit, fingers pressing hard enough to make your thighs twitch and shake.

"Look at her," Soap rasps. "Fightin' for more. Fuckin' made for this."

Ghost's howl rolls through the trees. A warped distortion of an owl's screech calls back in response.

"Price is coming," Gaz says.

Soap withdraws his fingers with a lewd schlick. He drags you upright and presses his chest against your back. "Better get our fill first, then."

Gaz spreads your legs wide. "Hold her open."

Soap grips your thighs as Gaz lines himself up. His cock drags through your slick--teasing at first, and then slow and rough with sudden hunger. You can't remember how to form words. Just as well--if you spoke, you'd only beg him to take you. So much for pride.

Then Price's shadow falls across all three of you. He descends from the trees as something resembling a screech owl--but larger, older, something that blurs your vision at the eddges with instinctive fear. But by the time he lands atop the leaf litter, his talons have already morphed into boots, and his enormous wingspan is gone.

"Having fun, boys?" Price's voice is venomously calm. "While I track our wayward witch through three miles of cursed thicket?"

Soap doesn't lift his eyes from his new view down your body. "Just securing the kill, Cap'n. Didn't you hear our signal?"

A lie. "Move."

Soap sighs and wipes his glistening chin. "That's five more coin."

He pulls away, but before he can withdraw--if he intended to at all, still eying you with hunger--Ghost is there. He grabs Soap by the neck and hurls him away as easily as a sack of cats. Soap skids across the moss, leaving furrows in the earth.

Ghost doesn't pause to see him react. He pins your hips down with a hand the size of your face. Gaz watches from above you with careful eyes as Ghost's claws divot your skin as he leans down. Gaz glances at Price, but wisely does not stand in the way.

Soap straightens up casually. "She's high as fuck on henbane, LT. Go easy."

The divots under Ghost's claws deepen. "No."

He replaces Soap's mouth with his own. The difference is immediate. Brutal. Where Soap languished, Ghost devours. His tongue spears into you, thick and unrelenting, fucking and scooping into your cunt with the same merciless rhythm a wolf would use to feed. You choke on a sob, heels digging into the loam.

Price's hand fists in Ghost's hair and yanks his head back. "Enough. She's not some tavern whore to be ruined before the main event."

Ghost licks your slick from his lips, gaze burning into yours. "Could be."

"Later." Price steps over you, boot between your splayed thighs. "Up. Now."

They haul you upright. Your legs buckle. Gaz catches you and bands his arm around your waist. You try to stand, leaning into him, but you're struggling to remember how. The sudden movement blurs your vision and your body aches from the chase and from the torment of pleasure still thrumming through your muscles.

The threshold of the church--holy ground--looms so close, still. Then, to your shock, Price crosses over that threshold. Right into the old hallowed church.

Your breath hitches. "How--?"

The chapel gives an echoing groan. "Sacrilege," Price mutters. He glances up at the half-collapsed rafters. "Good."

He turns, backlit by moonlight pouring through the broken windows. His shadow stretches long and strange across the altar. "You really thought a pile of crumbling stones could keep us out?" He taps the tattoo on his inner forearm--your mark, seared into his flesh the night you bound them. "We go where you go, darling. Even into God's own house."

Gaz's hand slides up your ribs and plucks at your nipple. "You're ours down to the marrow, love. Nowhere holy enough to change that. But we admire the effort. Running, hiding, getting us good and hungry." His too-sharp teeth graze the shell of your ear.

He pulls your head sideways to expose the scarred sigil behind your own ear. The one you branded there the night you summoned them.

Price unbuttons his coat. "You bound us. Fed us. Let our filth seep into your bones." His belt buckle clinks open. "Now you'll take your communion. Ghost," he commands. "The altar. Bind her."

Ghost pulls you out of Gaz's arms. Your fuzzy, drug-addled brain struggles to keep pace. Then the cold bite of iron shackles snaps shut around your wrists, chaining you to the marble surface of the altar. Ancient restraints meant for darker rites.

Soap whistles low. "Harsh even for you, LT."

Ghost stands. "Witch needs to learn her place isn't in the dirt." His boot nudges your spread thighs wider. "It's on her back."

...

← part 3 / [part 4] / part 5 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[auriidae]

this is from two? three? months ago fksjhf i spent like weeks and weeks working on it and then got rly scared of posting it so it's been sitting in my drafts ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

shinyduo au where gem n pearl are characters in a legend forced to play out the same story over n over again and to always forget the times before. until the cycle breaks & they have to work together to escape <3 (loosely inspired by wolfwalkers and set to the vibes of aeseaes's megalomaniac)

edit: you guys?? thank you so much for the support on this :’0 i’ve been hopefully trying to continue the story as a fic so stay tuned for updates on that,,

[whereserpentswalk]

Most interdimensional entities that humans consider horrifying demons and eldrich horrors actually consider humans pretty dangerous unless they're actively trained fighters. Your average extraplaner being isn't used to dealing with a species that evolved to hunt in groups, and developed to survive in violent scenarios.

Most final girl situations happen because young entities deeply underestimate that humans have such a strong will to live, and are willing to fight back agasint a stronger foe. Most older entities keep at bay for this very reason, which is why you just see them stranding around being creepy.

That pale long limbed cryptid you spotted in a subway station moved so quickly because it doesn't want to end up near you. That shadow person whose hovering over you in the woods is trying to observe you, but it will teleport away if anyone comes near it for a good reason.

And that doppelganger that's standing by your door at night just wants to observe you too. He was smart to try to copy your roommate's face, but he doesn't realize how good humans are at recognizing eachother's faces, and that his copy will be disturbing to any human who sees it. And he got way to reckless with his movements and bad attempts to imitate human speech. Trying to trick the human who he wants to study into coming to his dimensions is an even bigger mistake, especially since he didn't realize how quickly the human would catch on. He's soon going to learn things he should have read up on before hand: humans will try to attack things they're afraid of if they can't run away, humans can use almost any hard object as a weapon by holding it and swinging, and that those decorations on your wall are called 'swords' and were not originally designed as decorations...

[quesadilla-day]

big cat 🐈‍⬛

[ohitslen]

*Vampirizes your Vashwood*

keep reading for more :)

If there needs to be much closer close-up please let me know!

[beelaboola]

hello ej fans come get ur kidney-eating hubby

i would actually cry if he were real (in a bad way, i would run away)

i actually came across an ej headcanon tiktok (by crushedsweets on this platform) and im actually living for it (bawled my eyes out in the process too) so a bit of his features are inspired by their hcs of him!!!!

[monster-crave]

Lyall/Eilis 🐺🌹

read chapter about this two here support us on patreon.com/monstercrave

[innocet]

every time i open this short story document i either think "oh im being way too obvious about this allegory, it's getting silly" or "oh god nobody is going to know what the fuck this is about" and well. its definitely one of those

[tabbytrout]

“If you wanna act like an animal, I'll treat you like one. "

You have. For years, I am different than the other kids on the playground, I like to read and draw, I probably barked or meowed once or twice as a kid, I may have even hissed at you when you upset me. Why did I do all of those things? Because, I was a little neurodivergent kid who hadn't learned how to act in public when I was little. Middle school hits, and I have only slightly changed, I won't hiss at you anymore but I am still weird, I'm too much for most people, I start to trail behind people like a lost dog, I start to get rewarded when I do something they like but yelled at when something I do upsets them, And even then I would take the blame even if it was their fault. It's high school now. I'm loud. I'm mean, I'm different than the others, I'm neurodivergent and I'm alternative and I don't take shit from most people,

So I became the animal that bites.

But while you were watching me become the mean dog, I was already there. I told my entire family that I was a cat. I had family who treated me like a cat! I had a cousin who would pet me, not in a weird way, she never did anything bad. But I would get cradled and I was given different foods that resembled cat food or dog food, take those Scooby cracker things for example! I loved those, while you were bullying me I was imagining what it would be like to run around in the woods as a wolf, Or what it would be like if I was a little cat, and sometimes when you would startle me I would hiss at you, lost in thought and terrified of human interaction. I had my grandmother ask if I was still gonna do this when I was older, an what would my husband think? Well... I'm dating another alterhuman now. Which is what I told her I'd do anyway, so! Here I am!

My point is, no matter how hard I've tried I've never felt human. So much so that as a kid I recognized, "I'm not like these people." my alterhumanity stems from Neurodivergence, My trauma, My not fitting in with people, and honestly I love being able to slap this label on. I loved knowing there were people like me! I wish I would've learned about it sooner. I remember seeing the "on all levels except physical, I am a wolf" vine and Being like. That's SO COOL!!?

And I will always chuckle at the "Well! .. You don't have to become an animal because of that stuff!" like no fuck off you're so anti fun and coping and you're just boring!!! The community has its flaws, but It certainly has its perks. I wouldn't have met some really amazing people if I hadn't learned about it!

I love being an animal and expressing myself

[identityquest]

old oc i've never posted, she was once a princess kidnapped by the demon lord but she took his job when he turned his back

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

72 / 2.6k / final part of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

nsfw; dubcon, group sex, toxic polyamory, predator/prey dynamics, degradation, manhandling, sex while on substances, kidnapping. also monsterfucking and sex pollen if you squint.

mentions of violence, dismemberment, and death (to minor characters) in the epilogue.

...

You pull at the restraints around your wrists to no avail. Your rational brain moves your lips over fragments of incantations, searching for one that will bring them back under your control. You've lost your home and the few precious possessions you had tonight. You must have control. If you don't, you have nothing left. But your animal brain wants more. Wants to fuck until your legs collapse.

Ghost's rough hands drag your hips to the altar’s edge. The stone leeches warmth from your back as Price's shadow eclipses yours. His belt hits the ground with a heavy thud.

He steps between your legs and traces the hollow of your knee with his battle-scarred knuckles. His other hand drifts higher. He presses your clit with his thumb and begins circling it with unhurried precision. Your hips writhe despite yourself. Price smiles. "That's it. Use us. Feed us. Make us serve you."

That’s not what this feels like. Consumed by agonizing need, you try to press your hips further into his thumb. Your empty pussy throbs. It wants him inside.

Price grabs your thigh. "Open"

It's not a request. When you don't do as he says, he drags his hand higher and grips a handful of your inner thigh.

"Wider."

Then his cock presses against you. Breaches you. Your back arches off the forest floor as he slowly sheathes himself to the hilt. The second thrust steals your breath.

"Feed," he growls. “Make her come apart.”

Gaz's mouth seals over your nipple. Ghost's calloused fingers press against your lips. Soap runs his tongue up your neck and behind your ear, lapping up sweat. Their arcane aura drapes over you like a burial shroud. Suffocates you. Binds you tighter. No, not just them--something older and heavier that clings to these ruins.

"Come," Price murmurs. "Bare your weakness."

The henbane's fever grips your spine. You climax with a shattered cry, vision whiting out as he fucks you through it. He fucks like he fights: efficient, precise, no movement wasted. Then he pulls out abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing. He flips you onto your knees and elbows. "Again," he orders. "Arch."

He pushes into you from behind. You curve back into it, distantly aware of the gluttonous stares and catcalls your obvious need elicits from the others. You come again. Violently. Shamefully. Price's pace quickens.

"Again," he growls.

...

They take turns fucking you all night.

The empty eyes of the chapel's dead saints bear witness. Until the friction exhausts you, until the spiritual well from which you draw to cast and summon runs well and truly dry. Until your body is nothing but a hollow vessel, empty to your very pores, and that arcane shroud settled over you begins to seep under your skin. It molds to your raw need and fills you anew as if you’ve been offered as a sacrifice and then reborn in some ancient cult’s ceremony. It binds to you. Climbing vines and clusters of midnight purple hellebore blooms begin flowering to life, pushing through the ruined tile at the base of the altar.

Gaz’s fingers tangle in your hair to keep your head pulled back. The altar's marble digs into your knees. Then Soap is on his back beneath you, grinning as he guides your hips onto his cock. He rubs torturous circles into your clit as he fucks up into you. Then Ghost bends you over the altar and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he takes you there, hard; the straining of the shackles rubs your wrists raw until Ghost tires of your pained huffs and rips the chains away from the walls altogether.

He grips the chains dangling from your still-shackled wrists with one hand and weaves the other into your hair. He cranes your head back to make you see Price observing it all from the pews.

"That's it, darling," Gaz purrs to you as Ghost's thrusts stutter, his cock pulsing. "Take every drop. Saints know you've earned it."

He drags you upright by your shackled wrists once Ghost finishes, and he presses your back to his chest. His fingers trace the sigil behind your ear--their claim as much as yours--as he pushes up into you from below.

Once Gaz finishes inside you again--you've lost count of how many loads you’ve taken--Price rises from the pews. He rests your trembling legs over his shoulders, your back flat against marble. His cock splits you deeper than before. He drives into you further and further until your exhausted voice cracks with another moan.

"Come," he growls.

"I can’t," you groan out. You're too exhausted to give him what he wants. "Nothing left."

Price's thrusts slow but don't stop. His hand wraps around your throat not to squeeze, but to feel the vibration of your strained whimpers. "Can't?" He leans down. "You bound demons to your body and starved them, witch. You don't get to abandon our covenant." His hips snap forward. He sheathes himself to the hilt again. Your walls flutter weakly around him. "You leashed our lives to yours. You asked for our protection. This" --he drags his thumb across your eyelid and through your wet lashes-- "is the mercy of that choice." Then he presses his palm on your sternum and splays his fingers wide between your breasts as if to capture your heart. "This belongs to us."

The others gather to watch. Ghost's fingers dig into your arms and holds them over your head as Price fucks you past the point of oversensitivity into a dazed, shuddering haze. When he finally spills inside you, he snarls your name like a curse against your throat. Soap weaves a hand into your hair and tilts your head forward to make you watch Price pull his cock out of you. It glistens with your excessive arousal.

Price rests his forearms against the marble on either side of you. He leans his forehead against your trembling stomach, takes a deep breath in, and lets it out with a rumble.

"Next time you run," he murmurs against your navel, "wear bells. We like to chase you."

Soap tosses a ratty fur over your shivering body. His calloused palm lingers on your thigh. Ghost's claw traces the shackle marks on your wrist. Then he tugs the fur higher to cover your breasts. Gaz chuckles at your utter collapse. "Imagine how tired she'll be when we assess her more comprehensively." 

Dawn bleeds through shattered stained glass. You've never felt such exhaustion in your life--physically, mentally, spiritually. Yet you drift off without fear. Your body is light and your mind is unencumbered by habitual worry. You fall asleep in moments, scarcely noticing what they're saying as they begin to discuss what to do with you.

Price buttons his coat. His gaze lingers on the vines strangling the altar--latent magic channeled through your worn body. What once clung to the walls now resides in you, whether you know it or not.

Price watches your chest rise and fall shallowly under the moth-eaten pelt. "We've made our point," he says. "Now let's discuss the lesson."

Soap drapes himself over the back of the frontmost pew with the ease of a supremely sated man. "Lesson's simple, Cap. Witch learned her place."

"Which is?"

"Beneath us. Always."

Price's thumb brushes your swollen lip. "Wrong." He stands and pulls a knife from his belt. "Her place is alive. Protected. Fruitful." The blade flashes as he cuts a lock of your hair. "You lot forget--she's not livestock. She's our wellspring."

Ghost rumbles. "She poisoned us."

"And we’ve punished her for it." Price tucks the hair into his pocket and tosses the knife aside. "But we don't ruin the well because we're thirsty. We renew it."

Ghost harrumphs. "She'll need a new nest," he mutters. He picks up the knife and begins honing it on the altar's edge. "Somewhere defensible."

"Aye, with thicker walls. And a bigger bed." Soap’s grin flashes red in the sunrise. "More efficient that way."

Gaz crouches beside you and examines the leaves unfurling near the crown of your head. "Won't matter. She'll bolt again. We need to break her proper next time. Chain her to the bed. Fuck the fight out day and night."

Vines curl up the altar near your feet. New buds swell rosy black in the dawn light.

Price plucks one and examines it. "Not so. Restrain the magic, not the witch, and she'll learn to crave the leash." Price crushes the small bloom in his palm. "Gaz, carry her. Ghost, scorch the trail. Soap--stop grinning and scout ahead. North."

"North, sir?"

"Old fort past the marshes. Walls steeped in old blood. The land's... sympathetic to us.” Price lifts you. Your head lolls against his shoulder. Your breath catches--a trapped sound, even in sleep.

Gaz inhales deeply. New arousal. "She's dreaming of us."

"Course she is." Soap licks the corner of his mouth like he wants to lick your cunt up and down again instead. "Gettin' used to her new life already."

…

You never return to the rubble where your house once stood. The villagers never see you again. But they hear whispers--fearful talk of a devil in the tempting shape of a woman, a nymph who weaves through the shadows of the deep woods, rarely seen. They tell tales of the curse that follows any man who watches her too closely and falls victim to her thrall--the way they disappear, swallowed whole by the forest. They tell tales of the beasts who haunt those woods. Crows. Hounds. Wildcats. Screech owls. Black hares.

Mothers hush their children with tales of the witch who walks with wolves, her shadow stretching long even at noon. Men whisper in taverns, ale sloshing as they lean close. Saw her by the blackthorn grove, skin glowing like a will-o'-the-wisp. Followed her 'til the crows' laughter drove me mad.

You tell those who draw close enough not to follow you. You tell them to turn back and leave those cursed woods. But the men stubborn enough to pursue a witch are men too stubborn to listen. They think they can save you.

So you don't hide. 

You let them glimpse you bathing in moonlit streams, your scars silvered by starlight. You let them hear your voice carried on the wind--come closer and lose your life, fool--as you braid hemlock into your hair. They never listen.

Ghost takes the first hunter. Drags him screaming into the bracken, bones crunching like kindling.

Soap claims the priest--peels him apart verse by verse, psalmbook pages stuffed down his throat.

Gaz plays with the lord's son for three days. He returns the boy's signet ring to his father's doorstep, severed finger inside still warm.

Price surveys the forest from your fortress’s highest tower. You stand still against his chest. His hands map the web of delicate silver chains that drape your bare hips. "They'll never stop coming," he tells you. His voice is low, soft, and callously teasing. "Not with the lure of such noble suffering."

The old fort's bones stand like teeth. Ivy blooms black under the moonlight and chokes its crumbling walls. You've learned its corridors--the way damp stone whispers of sieges long past, the drafty chambers where moss devours tapestries, the courtyard where Ghost weeds and burns your strange flora every new moon, lest it choke the forest’s natural growth.

They let you wander the battlements. Not alone, of course. Gaz shadows you as a lynx, dark eyes tracking your every step. Soap perches in crow form on the rusted portcullis, cawing taunts when you linger too near your prison’s gate. At night, Price presses your palm to the fort’s cold stones and makes you feel the old blood in its mortar--the violence sewn into its foundations, hungry for fresh sacrifice.

Your chambers smell of sex, henbane, and hellebore. The bed is a nest of furs and ancient grimoire pages. You kneel to relight the hearth and copper incense burner with a snap of your fingers. Soon enough, one of your familiars will collapse into your bed, boots propped up on your pillow to watch you until he’s ready to drag you into the furs and take you again.

Shackles hang from the canopy. They’re decorative now. Your familiars don't require them to keep you here. This--the bond, the feral devotion and the promises that underscore it--is stronger than iron.

Ghost fucks you against the armory wall, your legs hooked over his hips as he rams into you. He growls deep and low--no longer the tense, violent snarl of a starving beast, but a sound of possessive self-satisfaction. 

Soap takes you on the battlements, your hands bound with his belt as he bends you over the parapet. "Scream loud, rabbit. Let the woods hear who owns you."

Gaz's favorite game is the chase. He chases you through the halls and to the very threshold of the fortress, portcullis raised just enough to taunt you with room to escape, before dragging you back inside by the ankle, your scant robes dowsed with mud. "Almost had it that time, love. Maybe next century."

Price is different. He fucks you slowly in the war room, maps scattering as he bends you over the strategy table. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands as he whispers the same words you once used to bind them when you were still a trembling novice with a dagger to his throat.

The longer you stay, the more ivy drapes the crumbling stone. Your magic pulses in the walls. Ghost and Price watch you.

"She's getting stronger," Ghost says.

Price lights his pipe. "Aye. Best pray she stays tame."

Later, he watches you press your palm to the fort's oldest wall. The stones hum. Winter roses--false roses, lovely and toxic--turn their petals up to listen.

Price watches. "Still trying to domesticate us? Or survive us?"

You hum. The brambles curl toward his voice. "Same thing."

Carcasses of would-be heroes decorate the gates. Hellebore blooms from their eye sockets in warning. One midsummer night, a knight arrives. The holy symbols etched into his armor and sword are the same ones worn by the stone saints in that abandoned church where you once fled in a vain bid for sanctuary. That well of magic inside you recognizes the ancient blessing singing in his blood. He could help you. You could warn him, you realize as you meet him at the tree line. But you don't.

"Demon bride," he spits, blade raised. "The only freedom left for you is death."

Gaz's wildcat form takes him at the knees. Soap's raven plucks out an eye. Ghost's hound teeth rip out his Achilles tendon.

Price lets the man live.

You kneel beside his twitching body. You tilt his chin up with a bloodied hand. "Rest."

Hemlock sprouts between his teeth. The vines drag him underground. Your familiars watch from the shadows with dissatisfaction gleaming in their eyes.

Soap scoffs. "Again? Boring. You never keep our gifts."

You rise and absently wipe your bloody fingertips off on your robes. "Next time."

You return to your bedchambers. The furs on your bed pile higher and higher, soft and inviting. The shackles gather dust.

You dream of running.

You always wake up caged.

...

end <3

...

← part 4 / [part 5]

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[auriidae]

couple a shinyduo doodles from The Great Terra Art Style Crisis of 2024. designs from my au :)