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ncttytrack · 8 months

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Orange blood - p.sh

Your naked body, exposed in front of him, was full of your life elixir, and if he wasn’t pathetic enough to love you, a human girl, he would’ve sucked the last drop you could offer.

Summary: You let Sunghoon use you as his personal blood bag during a full moon

Genre: SMUT, Vampire!Sungoon x reader

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: Blood kink (a lot of blood), Dom!Sunghoon, Sub!reader, Pain kink, Reader almost dying...

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When you first started dating Sunghoon, you didn’t know he was a vampire. Even though his smile revealed his sharp fangs, his minimal sunshine exposure and the way his skin would be completely cold and pale white, it never occurred to you that he was a vampire. You never believed in mythical creatures, even as a kid having trouble believing in fairies or mermaids.

When he became your boyfriend, it didn’t take long before you knew his secret. You remember it clearly, though it was only a month ago. You and Sunghoon had just become official, the first week being magical with romantic dinner dates and movie nights, all during night time. Sunghoon used to say that it was cozier at night, which was the reason why he rarely met you during the day even after becoming your partner. Suddenly, after the first week, he would go completely silent for a full day. You tried calling him multiple times but he never answered, and a mix of being scared that he was cheating on you, or that he was in danger, made you stalk your way to his home outside the city you were currently living in.

As you walk into his house, you hear painful screams from his bedroom. Sunghoons screams made you run as fast as you could to the room, breaking in to save him from whatever that was causing him this awful pain. When you opened the door, you were met with a horrendous sight. Sunghoon was chained up against the bed frame, which he so desperately tried to break away from. His body was sweaty, drenching his clothes til they were see through, and the veins on his arms and neck were popping out. His fangs had grown twice his regular size and his eyes were beat red, now wide open, looking at you. When he saw you, his screams and cries became louder, and it wouldn't take long before the chains fell apart by his strength. As one half of him wanted to rip you apart to shreds, sucking out the last drops of blood in your body because of his painful thirst, the other half wanted you to get the hell out of here. Away from someone as dangerous as him. As he screams to you to get away from him, to leave the house before he breaks the heavy chains, you finally do. Heavy breaths are coming from your mouth, as you run away from the person you love.

Before he could explain the day after why he was in a state like that, you connected the dots. As crazy as you first thought you were, you couldn't forget those sharp teeth and his glowing eyes. The full moon turning his thrust for blood to the max, especially yours, made you realize that Sunghoon was dangerous. Even more dangerous when you realized that you would never be able to leave him, everything about him drawing your pathetic human self in.

As the next full moon crept up, Sunghoon made sure to make you stay away from him. But you can’t handle knowing what he goes through. It must be so painful, not being able to quench the thirst he so desperately needed to. That’s why he thought you sounded crazy when you came up with an idea right before the full moon .

“No, absolutely not”, Sunghoon says with a stern voice, his arms across in front of his chest. You look up at him with pleading eyes, putting your hands on his arms trying to drag them down. “No, please, I want to”. His hands grab your shoulders, leaning down to look at you eye to eye. His grip is hard, making you wince. “Do you want to give me your blood during the next full moon? That's a horrible idea y/n! What if I hurt you”.

One of your hands grabs his, and you look deep into his brown eyes. His mouth is wide open, making you able to see his fangs, already being bigger than normal for the full moon. As your curiosity grows, your hand leaves his, bringing up your hand to his mouth. He looks at you with an amused expression as you make him gape wider so you can touch his sharp fangs. Your thumb graces over his sharp teeth, making him hiss at the feeling. “I don’t care” You say as your thumb presses up towards his fang, making it bleed in his mouth. When he tastes your sweet blood on his tongue, it drives him crazy, making him grab your wrist to pull your bleeding thumb away. He gulps, looking at the red blood sliding down your thumb, reluctantly licking it up with his pink tongue. He looks down at you with heavy breaths, his cock twitching when seeing your gaping mouth at the feeling of his mouth sucking your bloody finger. He pulls away from you, walking away, not being able to handle the growing feeling in his chest. This was the first time he tasted you, but by the looks of it, it certainly wasn’t the last.

As the night came closer and closer, the moon became brighter and brighter, making Sunghoons thirst for you almost unbearable. You managed to pursue him, now sitting on his bed, wearing nothing, your skin completely exposed for Sunghoon to bite into. “Are you really ready for this y/n?” The moon shines through the window, shining light upon the two of you. He looked so beautiful, already glistening with sweat from his temptation. He examines you. Apart from him, your skin is full of life, your cheeks are red and so are your lips. Full of blood, your sweet blood that he so desperately wants to consume. Your naked body, exposed in front of him, was full of your life elixir, and if he wasn’t pathetic enough to love you, a human girl, he would’ve sucked the last drop you could offer.

You nod your head, giving him permission to taste you, to completely take over you. One of his hands comes in contact with your shoulder, as the other grabs your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose your neck. He can hear your heart beating faster and faster, which makes his thirst grow bigger and bigger. You were scared. He tries to be as calm as possible when he leans down towards your neck, close to your skin. He can smell your scent, making him gulp down the saliva forming in his mouth. What if he is unable to pull away, killing his beautiful saint of a girlfriend. The sweat is sliding down his forehead, he needs to taste your warm skin.

He began to lick your neck, feeling your tasty skin against his taste buds. The tip of his tongue licks a special spot, making you let out a small moan out of pleasure. As he hears your moan he can’t take it anymore. His sharp fangs come in contact with your skin, piercing through painfully slow, making you arch your back into Sunghoon, letting out a scream from the pain. Your hands rests on his shoulders for support, feeling secure in his vicinity. When he can fully taste your thick, sugary, blood in his mouth, he lets out a moan against your skin. Your blood tastes like sweet hot chocolate, mixed with savory oranges. He has never tasted something as sweet as you, and he doesn't know if he will be able to stop.

As his bite intensifies, so does his touch. His hands have now left your hair and shoulder, digging his filed nails into your waist. The way he pushes his nails into your skin could possibly make you bleed, and you try to handle the arousal the touch gives you. He can’t stop tasting you, and when he feels your body losing strength, making you lean more into him, he forcefully pushes himself away from you. He seems to have hit a larger artery, since you can’t stop bleeding from where he bit you. His blood glides down between your boobs, down your stomach, to your already naked core. The bleeding intensifies, and by using your hands the blood is smeared out nearly all over your body, the warm liquid painting you red.

Your body falls down on the bed, as Sunghoon hovers over you. Your skin is losing its beautiful, lifeful, color, and you grow paler with every second. What surprised you however, is how amazing it felt being bitten, making your thighs clench together when remembering the sting. Sunghoon notices this, biting his lips at the sight. “Why did you stop Hoonie?” Sunghoon can’t think clearly. His beautiful girlfriend is under him, blood smeared all over your body making you look like his personal meal for him to enjoy. He looked at the place he bit you, blood streaming down from the wound that he so wished to taste again. But he can’t bite you again, you would definitely die if he did. But he needs to taste you, to make you feel good using his fangs. “You’re too cute baby”

He leans down to kiss you passionately, his fangs making you bleed in your mouth. The more he can taste the liquid, the darker, and redder his eyes appear. The lust for you, and the desperate need to take over all of you grows inside him. When his hands come in contact with your waist for stability during the heated kiss, he feels how wet your skin is from the blood, making it almost difficult for him to hold on to your slippery body.

You feel lightheaded, almost passing out, when Sunghoon begins to kiss you from your lips, down to your neck and to your stomach. His tongue licks up your thick blood covering you, licking you clean, quenching his thirst. His tongue slides down your stomach, down to your core, licking up as much blood as possible. As his mouth comes in contact with your pussy, you let out a crying moan out of pleasure. Your hand comes in contact with his hair, wanting him to continue to pleasure you with his mouth. He does so, making out with your pussy, tasting the mix of your juices and your blood.

The flavor and your sweet moans makes him want to shove his tongue into your hole deeper, digging his nails into your thighs to keep you from closing them. “Fuck, baby you taste so good.” You feel the way his tongue comes in contact with your swollen clit sucking on it harshly, making the only sound leaving your lips being your moans and his name, chanting it over and over again the closer you get.

As you are about to cum, Sunghoon pulls away from you. Before you can complain, he pulls out his massive cock, leaking with preecum, and shoves it into you. He wastes no time waiting for you to adjust, ramming into you with inhuman speed. He tries not to cum when looking at you. Your hair is messy, and your makeup is completely ruined from all your crying. The wound is still leaking, still painting your body red with your blood. The scent of your sweet blood is filling his nostrils, making him needier, thirstier, and stronger. The way that you just lay there, letting him take over you, to completely ruin your sweet innocence. Not only that, but the way you love it drives him to complete insanity. Screaming his name, moaning from both pleasure and pain, from the wound, the sting, but also from the warmth that fills your body.

“Fuck y/n, you shoul’dve never let me do this, I’m compleatly ruining you” You don’t care. It’s almost scary how hot he is. His fangs are completely out, exposed by his open mouth letting out painful moans, and his jet-black hair is glued to his forehead because of the sweat. His lips are swollen and red from your blood, and from all the close contact with you, his body is smeared in your own blood, all the way from his mouth to his lower stomach. You always knew he looked gorgeous in red, but this look was on a whole other level. And his eyes. His eyes were glowing in the semi-dark room, truly making him look like the predator he truly is.

He knows he is about to cum, pounding deeper and harder into your now sore pussy. “Have to taste you again baby”. As he gets closer, he leans down to your neck, sucking on the open wound without piercing your skin, getting a final taste. The taste of your sweet orange-chocolate flavored blood, drives him to the edge, filling you up with his cum. His tired, heavy body leans down on yours, having to use all the strength he has to not crush your fragile figure. He loves the feeling of your pussy, the last thing he wants to do is to pull away his cock from your warm hole, hugging him just right.

But as he can feel your pulse drop, he begins to panic and pulls his cock out of you. His drawer, being prepared if his darkest fantasies ever came to life, was full of cranberry juice. He quickly hands you the juice, seeing your weak hands grabbing it, trying not to drop it. He holds it for you, seeing how you suck up all the liquid, before taking another box. When looking at you like this, sucking the juice he holds, covered in your blood he so desires, looking up at him with the sweetest smile as if he didn’t almost kill you, he knew.

He knew he was absolutely in love with you.

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This fic is for everyone that voter for vampire Sunghoon 🩸💋

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen hyung line #enhypen imagines #sunghoon smut #enha smut #Sunghoon #park Sunghoon #enhypen hard thoughts

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you-have-a-metal-arm · 1 month

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‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

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deadghosy · 2 months

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🪓 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑|| 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐗 𝐆𝐍! 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Diagnosis: fearing to harm your lover, you drink blood from another. Making the riddle himself feel jealous and angry at how you could think he can’t take it.

Warning: possessive behavior, possessive!mattheo, death/blood/killing mentions, slight maybe, suggestive.

Being a vampire in Hogwarts was and is a dangerous game to play. Especially when you had fallen inlove with a mortal human from a rich Slytherin family. The Riddles. Mattheo Riddle was a Slytherin boy who had taken a liken to your “cold” & “loner” personality. He liked how you kept to yourself when really you were trying not to hurt people.

Mattheo did a slow, and friendly approach. Which slowly but surely turned into flirting banter between you two. Gaining your heart, and gaining your trust after almost a year of dating each other. You finally told him that you’re a vampire. You thought the worst, the worst being that he would tell everyone and break up with you. Only for you to gain the opposite of your imagination. He was supportive and didn’t tell a soul.

But he mostly definitely asked a lot of questions.

But last night, you killed a student. Hungry. You were so hungry you lost control and killed a former Hogwarts student that happened to run into your clutches for it to be a death trap. You were lost in a daze, sinking your fangs into their neck and draining them dry til their life and blood source was destroyed. And gone. You could’ve drunk from Mattheo, he had told you to drink his blood if it was serious. But the thought of harming him made you wanna throw up. You felt terrible, so terrible you didn’t talk at all today. Gaining attention from some students and mostly Mattheo. He walked into your dorm seeing pacing back and forth until you seen him. He stared seeing your slight baggy eyes.

“What’s wrong? You look like you had a crazy night or somthin'” he said jokingly. You stayed quiet before nervously laughing. “Yeah…” Mattheo stopped laughing hearing that laughter. He heard that laughter enough to know something actually did happen. “What happened?” You immediately tried to walk past him. You felt scared, you didn’t want him to know you lost control and killed a student.

He pulls you by your arm, gripping it slightly as his eyes darken at your nervous gaze. He hated how he can tell that you’re lying. “The fuck happened last night?” You kept avoiding eye contact making him pull your face close to his with his other hand. “What. Happened.” Breaking the last thread that held you in, you started to ramble from the events. Closing your eyes shut you spilled it, “I drunk another person’s blood and accidentally killed them because I didn’t think you could handle me sucking your own blood, and I’m so sorry!”

Mattheo let out a deep breath and let your arm and face go. Feeling a bit guilty at how he grabbed your arm and stated to massage the arm he held. Worried it might bruise. “Darling…it’s okay. I’m a Riddle for a reason. I can handle you sucking my blood. Plus killing someone isn’t a shock to me much.” You smiled at his words. “But.” Your smile dropped looking at his darkened eyes. It was like an empty void as he tilts his head at you. “But I’m yours, and you’re mine. I can’t let you drink some filthy blood that’s not mine.” You gulped as he moved his hand towards your lips.

He uses his thumb to pull your lower lip down, showing your bottom sharp fangs. There was emotion hidden behind mattheo eyes. You felt fear for a little before he leaned into your ear. “Drink my blood baby. Drink it til it make us dizzy together.” And there goes that crazed smile you fell in love with as he withdraws from your ear and looks at you. Completely towering over you. Your heart felt it was going to leap.

“Cmon. Don’t be scared love. I promise I can take it.” He smiles again, but this time his eyes are different. They soften as he undo his tie while keeping eye contact with you. With one hand it came undone. You felt your mouth water at the sight of his naked neck. Mattheo smirked seeing your eyes dilate. He knew that you were now hungry. You inch closer, and closer. Leaning your head, but your consciousness kept telling you that you were gonna hurt him.

“I..I can’t—” “but you can.” Mattheo quickly interrupts you. “I know you can. I know you’re strong enough to know you can’t hurt me. I can handle it.” Bringing his hand and caressing your cheek. You nodded, you trusted Mattheo to tell you if you are hurting him. You bit into his neck.

With a hiss, Mattheo puts his hand on your waist. Bring you closer as you sink your teeth in deeper. Breaking the flesh and sucking in his blood. You could hear Mattheo chuckle lowly, but what you didn’t see was the light blush and euphoric look he had on his face. His low eyes as he grips the side of your waist. You hummed at the delicious iron taste. Filling your mouth while Mattheo let out a small moan. “That’s right baby…drink as much as you can. Drink it all..” he whispers as he lowers his eyes at you. You hummed and finished the last drop you could drink.

Your eyes were glossy when you pulled back from his neck. Licking the bites that threaten to spill more from Mattheo. “Sorry if I hurt you…” you say lowly, embarrassed at how you also feel on cloud nine from drinking his blood. “You didn’t hurt me.” He kissed the temple of your head then wipes your red stained lips. “Didn’t even feel a pinch.” He smiled while you just roll your eyes. “Whatever…”

At least you knew how he feels if you don’t drink his blood.

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monstersandmaw · 11 months

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Male drider x trans male reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number three! This one got away with me, for sure. Hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!!

Content: trans male reader, some afab language to refer to the reader’s lower parts during non-penetrative, oral sex; chest area not mentioned. Kidnapping, some threat to life and mild injury (not from drider), brief mention of blood and stitches. Reader has submissive tendencies, enjoys being restrained, and the drider is gently dominant.

Wordcount: 10,123(!)

Running headlong into the dark pines that made up the forest which, according to your captors, had acquired such nicknames as the ‘The Bone Garden’, ‘Spectre’s Haunt’, and the ‘Blood Wood’ was probably not the wisest decision you’d ever made, but you’d been held by these thugs for four days of hard riding, and you were ready to risk it all to escape.

Had it really only been four days since you’d locked the door to your tidy little cottage on the edge of the village? With a gleaner’s bag slung over one shoulder and a basket in hand, you’d set out in search of the mushrooms that only grew at this time of year when the conditions were perfect — not hot and dry, not yet frosty, and just rainy enough. They loved the misty turn of the year almost as much as you did.

Without a care in the world, you’d stepped out along the weed-strewn gravel path that led through your herb garden, latched the wooden gate behind you, and meandered through the houses as the sounds of the village waking began to fill the air.

Gwyn had recently lit his forge and the rush of the bellows to stoke the heat reminded you of a dragon’s steady breathing; in and out, in and out. You’d snaked past the bakery just to swipe a fresh cinnamon roll before Garrick or Mercy or any of the woodcutters who also tended to rise early could finish them all off, and the orc behind the counter gave you the biggest one he had and a wink that made you just a little gooey inside yourself. “You’re a shameless flirt, Thom,” you said as you slid your coppers across the counter to him with two fingers.

“Hey, a man can dream, right, gorgeous?”

He was pretty fine himself, but he wasn’t really your type, and you’d made that clear when he’d asked you to dance at the first Spring Equinox dance you’d attended after moving to the village, then just a lowly herbalist’s apprentice. Ever since, you’d fallen into an easy banter of flirting that was destined to go nowhere, and it was harmless fun for both of you. You left the bakery with a smile on your face, and headed past Gwyn’s forge as you made your way north out of the village.

The smith, a colossal centaur with a dapple grey coat and a thick, white mane and tail that made anyone with long hair in the village green with envy, called after you and beckoned you over. “Headed north?” he asked with an uncharacteristic scowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take care, alright? Mercy said she’d seen sign of bandits in the area, and Willem said he’d heard talk of people being snatched when he took those fleeces to market last week. You shouldn’t be going out alone. None of us should really, not til things calm down.”

A little growl of frustration left you and you adjusted the gleaner’s bag on your shoulder. “I really need these supplies, Gwyn,” you said. “They’re ingredients I need to help fight off winter fevers, and if I don’t have enough, we could be in trouble come the cold in a few weeks’ time…”

“Can’t you take Garrick or Mercy with you? A good woodsman’s felling axe’ll do a hell of a lot more damage than that little sickle you’ve got on your belt…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you breezed. “I’m not going to be on the main road anyway.”

“Please take care,” he rumbled, and you smiled up at the enormous blacksmith. He might have had the shoulders of a rock troll and iron-shod hooves big enough to knock down a castle door, with a big burn mark all up his left arm from an accident at the forge a decade ago, but he was the gentlest and most softly-spoken person you knew.

You cursed yourself three hours later when your basket of rare, purple mushrooms lay trampled to a slimy paste on the floor of the clearing and a nasty looking wood elf with a sneer and a cruel glint in her eye had her bow trained on you, while a second elf trussed you up like a solstice bird. Your head was ringing from the surprise blow they’d dealt you to the back of the skull, and you were lucky you didn’t have a worse concussion.

“You’ll make a nice little offering for the mage,” the female elf purred while her companion straightened and marched you on unsteady feet back towards the road. “Humans like you always fetch a decent price. Something about your blood being universal for most rituals, I think…”

There on the dirt road, four horses were waiting, three of which were a normal size while the last was built like a castle wall and large enough to carry the orc sitting astride it. The orc had one milky eye and the brand of a murderer across his right cheek. “Shit,” you hissed when you saw that, and the male elf laughed cruelly when you flinched as the orc swung down and prepared to heave you onto the back of the spare horse.

Normally, if you were going to be tied up and bent over something for some rough treatment, this was not how it went. There was absolutely nothing fun or consensual about the way these bandits chucked you over the back of the horse and lashed your hands and feet to the tack so you didn’t slide off. The orc guffawed and spat off to one side when you cried out on impact as your ribs creaked and your lungs expelled all the air they’d ever contained in one ugly grunt. After that, you did just about everything you could to move with the rhythm of the cantering horse, but it was probably the most miserable experience of your life. When the group slowed to trot, the motion was so painful that you actually slipped into unconsciousness for a while, only to be jounced back some time later.

At the crossroads about ten miles north of your village — the furthest north from your little patch of paradise you’d ever roamed — they met up with a couple of other riders who had apparently been on a recce of their own to look for more people for this blood mage or whoever, but they got laughed at by the orc on his enormous, cantankerous horse for not finding any victims and rode off again without joining the party.

So, it was just you, alone in the wilderness, being taken gods-knew-where, by two feral elf siblings and a murderous orc. Stowed like a sack of potatoes over that rangy, stinking horse for five hours of hellish riding, you were barely conscious. When they eventually stopped to make camp that night, they did let you relieve yourself in relative privacy, but once you were done, they hauled you back to their pack animals and lashed you to a tree next to them so that you couldn’t hope to escape. You could still smell the stink of them though, and it was enough to turn your empty stomach.

Their food was revolting, and their company equally repulsive. They joked loudly about all the cruel things they’d done to people in the past, and you sat there wondering why you hadn’t let Gwyn talk you into going out with the woodcutters. There were mushrooms where they were currently coppicing hazel for the winter, but no. No, you’d decided to be adventurous and clever, and to collect only the best mushrooms for your salves and tonics.

Four days later, you were almost ready to give up.

The mage’s castle they were taking you to was legendary in the northern reaches, and no one who was taken there against their will ever returned. Tales of blood magic and horrific rites involving chimera and creatures brought back from the dead had entered the local lore, and now apparently you were going to be drained of your precious blood for whatever this necromancer had planned next. And the price of that precious blood had been discussed and debated by the bandits for the last day.

Personally, you agreed with the female elf and thought you were worth more than a couple of weeks’ wages in gold, but you had no intention of allowing yourself to be squeezed dry like an orange for your blood. So, after the group stopped in a dark and snow-mottled pine forest after the fifth day of hard riding, you enacted your plan. You’d been plotting it all day, and hoped you weren’t too delirious and weak to pull it off.

When they’d let you relieve yourself the previous night, they’d not bothered to tie your hands together or watch you, since there was nowhere for you to go. You knew woodlands though, and you were pretty confident that if you gave them the slip in the dark, you could take care of yourself in the wild for a few days. Long enough to get back home anyway.

So when they started their daily round of bragging and trading boasts about how many vampires they’d killed or how they’d survived the venom of three different nagas in the same attack, you made your move.

If that darned twig hadn’t snapped, you might have got away with it, but when the male elf barked, “Oi!” into the gathering dark and swung his lantern around, you knew you’d messed up.

Breaking cover completely and legging it into the endless ranks of black-barked pine trees in the fading light of day seemed like the only option now, so you began crashing through the debris and dead branches that had gathered beneath the choking canopy of dense pine needles overhead.

These woods were different from any you’d known before, and something dark and foreboding lingered there like a shade above a gravestone. These woods were not kind. The air was not fresh and sweet like it was between the beech and oak back home. It pooled and festered, stagnant between the rough sentinel trees, and the lower branches seemed to reach their sharp, bare fingers towards your face as you ran like a rabbit from the pack of hunting dogs behind you.

Your toe caught a root and you stumbled, and in the space where your head had just been, an arrow whizzed through the air and sank into the tree ahead of you with a thunk that almost made your heart stop. Your lungs were burning already and your legs felt shaky and weak after your rough treatment and half-rotten rations, but a brush with death that close shocked you to the core. The water they’d given you had been rancid, and your stomach churned as adrenaline curdled in your gut, but somehow you forced yourself on into the darkness.

Their voices dwindled, muffled by the carpet of fallen pine needles, until a shout went up and another arrow flew past you. This time, it left a searing pain in its wake and you clutched at your ribs where the hunting broadhead had torn through your skin. Luckily, it was superficial, but it hurt like hell and it was bleeding. Blood might draw predators out of the darkness, if your blundering and their bellowing hadn’t already.

Shit, you hadn’t thought about the horrors that probably dwelled in a place like this.

The bandits had been crowing about the ghouls and rabid cannibals that supposedly haunted these woods, and you’d passed plenty of skeletons along the roadside on your journey, your down-turned head providing you with a first-class view of them as your half-lame horse had jolted past them at its permanent, slightly-panicked jog. They hadn’t all been pack animals and horses lying in the ditch either. Some of the skulls had been humanoid, and there had been the horns of a minotaur at some point. This was a place where living things entered unwillingly, and most of them never left.

Forcing yourself onwards, you clutched your stinging side, but they were closing on you. The orc was thundering through the forest like a boar on a rampage, and the elves were quick as shadows.

“You little shit!” the female shouted from right behind you. Something heavy hit you across the back of your knees and you tripped and fell hard onto your palms as a flung tree branch rebounded off onto the forest floor. The force of the fall sent your cheek smashing into the muddy ground and you cried out as she landed triumphantly atop you and turned you over, smacking you full in the mouth out of sheer frustration.

“Gotcha,” she grinned. “You’re gonna pay for running, little rabbit,” she added with a laugh as she hauled you to your feet.

You kicked her knee from the side as hard as you could and she yowled like a cat dropped into a bath, letting go of you to stagger sideways, limping. The thing about being a healer is that you also know the weak spots where it can hurt most.

Before she could turn on you again though, something moved in the trees behind you and you all froze. The orc crashed to a halt nearby breathing hard, and the elf’s brother came over to help her stand while she spat curses at you that would have made a pirate’s ears bleed.

“What is it?” the orc growled, low and tense.

“Fuck knows. Tie him up again and let’s get the fuck back to camp,” the female elf wheezed. “I’m gonna drag him behind my horse for the rest of the way there. Shit that hurts!”

“Quiet,” her brother hissed. “Something’s out there.”

“Then let’s get fucking moving!” she countered.

You turned to glance over your shoulder and caught the shape of something white drifting in the distant trees just as the orc spotted it too. His grip tightened on the haft of his huge war-axe, and he took half a step back. Until then, he’d been the one who’d seemed steadiest; unshakable and immovable as a cannon, and he hit just as hard. Now though, he looked spooked and scared.

“They say the Death-Spinner hunts in these parts,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from side to side. “A massive white drider that strikes from the shadows and wraps you up in his web and sucks you dry…”

“It’s been too long since someone sucked you dry,” the female elf sneered at him, though the remark came out feebly and she looked around her in a twitchy, nervous motion. “Your blue balls are making you hallucinate. Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“He’s got other names too, you know,” her brother interrupted, reaching for you with a jerky movement that halted when the steady rhythm of something moving nearby rose above the whispering of the wind in the canopy. “Soul-Eater, The Weaver Ghost…”

“Please, the Death-Spinner is just a myth…” the female on your right hissed.

“Decidedly… not,” came a thin, harsh voice from the trees ahead, and your captors just bolted.

The supposedly tough bandits – the ones who had been talking about selling an actual person to a bloodmage to use in some disgusting ritual; who had joked just the previous night about flaying a minotaur like a cow on a butcher’s block; who had told you that there was nothing out here that would give a single, flying fuck about you – had fled with no more than a shriek and the clatter of boots in the dead underbrush, and left you alone with the being they called ‘Death-Spinner’.

“Better and better,” you spat, still tasting blood in your mouth from where the elf had cracked you across the mouth. “First it was ‘sold to a blood mage’ and now it’s ‘death by drider’.”

A pearlescent pale leg speared down out of the gloom that gathered between the black pines, its ivory chitin shining softly. Shaped like a thin, curved shard of polished bone, the limb moved with slow, silent grace, and it was joined by a second, needle-slender limb, then a third and a forth, until the white underbelly of the creature loomed large into your limited pool of light, followed finally by the lower part of a humanoid torso, and the large, armour-plated abdomen of the creature.

The whole of the eight-legged being was utterly colourless.

White and pendulous as the moon, the drider’s chitinous body looked like drifts of wind-blown snow that had then set into solid ice, swirling and churning across its body to rise in small peaks and troughs at the joints and high points of its legs and over the swollen curve of its abdomen.

The humanoid torso melted upwards at the hips from the body of the spider, and two, smaller, pincer-like limbs — pedipalps — were angled slightly inwards, both ending in single, wicked talons and looking like they were ready to spear you through the middle in the blink of an eye.

The drider wore no clothes, and patches of white chitin formed a kind of armour up its humanoid torso: over the hips but skirting around its lean belly, then up over its shoulders like pauldrons and creating natural bracers and gauntlets along its long, wiry arms. Its hands, you saw as it dipped a little lower into the faint glow from the elves’ abandoned lantern, were clawed, but its slightly curved talons weren’t like those of a mammal. They were simply an unbroken extension of the chitin that covered its hands and forearms.

Its face remained mostly out of sight, wreathed in the upper shadows of the trees, but you got the impression of two reddish eyes glinting at you in the dark, and long, silk-white hair flowing down its back.

“You’re bleeding,” came the slightly hoarse tenor that made your skin prickle. A creature that large should have a deeper voice, but the mellifluous timbre of the drider’s tone made you think of sirens luring sailors to their death with sweet songs and empty, deceitful promises.

“Only a bit,” you choked out, stepping back and catching your heel on the branch that the female elf had used to trip you. When you fell hard onto your backside, you caught the glint of steel in the sea of rust-red pine needles all around you, and realised that one of the elves had dropped their precious sword in their haste to escape this creature.

In a rush of blind panic, you snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it aloft. “Stay back!” you barked.

The laugh that rippled out of the drider chilled your blood.

“Please,” it crooned, and then it loomed down out of the shadow and into the light, squinting its two scarlet eyes against the sudden brightness. “As if a little stick like that could hurt something like me.”

The sword fell from your fingers as weakness washed through you, and you bit back a sob. “Please,” you said instead. “Please, they brought me here to sell me to a necromancer, but I… I don’t want to die like this either.”

“Die?” the drider said, and its red gaze flickered to the wound in your side. “You won’t die from that. A few silk stitches and a rest, and you’ll be good as new…” It frowned again, its white eyebrows pulling in like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry. “You’re filthy,” it said, and you noticed a diagonal scar cutting across its pale mouth as its lip pulled up on one side in a gesture of revulsion.

“Yeah, well, you try being thrown over the back end of a bandit’s horse for five days and see if you’re still that pretty at the end of it,” you retorted, exhaustion making you bold and just a little bit stupid.

The drider laughed, the sound like autumn leaves rolling down the road, and you paused. It sounded genuinely amused.

“Come, human,” it said, holding out a clawed hand. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can rest in safety.”

“Safety? What… What about… all that ‘Death-Spinner’ stuff?”

The drider paused, its huge body hanging in the twilight like a pearl. “I have no interest in consuming sapient creatures, but the rumours help to keep people out of my forest. It’s as much for their safety as mine,” it went on. “There are nastier things even than me in these parts.” The self-deprecating venom in its tone drew you up short.

“You don’t seem so bad…”

“Thank you,” it replied with flat sarcasm.

You took three more steps towards the drider before your legs gave out. In a flash faster than thought, the drider darted at you, and before you could even flinch, strong, armoured arms had caught you and lifted you up.

“You poor thing,” it crooned, and you looked up properly into its face for the first time. “You’ve really been through it, haven’t you? Easy now. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why?” you breathed, trying not to let your treacherous muscles relax into the solid frame that held you. You felt the chitin of its chest against your shoulder as it bore you along in a strangely smooth, gliding motion, the dark trunks of the trees whipping past in a blur.

“Evidently I have a soft spot for brave and lost creatures,” the drider smiled. “My name is Feluän, by the way.”

You exhaled your own name in return, and then said, “Isn’t Feluän an elven name? Some prince or something…?”

“You know your history,” the drider chuckled. “Yes, he was a prince of the snow elves a long time ago. I came across it in a history book I picked out of a caravan that was destroyed by a band of gnolls once. Their tastes run more towards beer than books…”

“I chose my own name too,” you said, the consonants feeling thick and slurred as the tiredness seeped throughout your whole body and the pain in your side mounted. “You’re a male drider then? If you named yourself after a prince, I mean. I don’t know anything about your kind really. Never… Never met one before.”

“Hush for now,” he said, squeezing you a little more tightly into his arms and drawing a moan unbidden from your lips. Gods, even in these circumstances, it felt so good to be held like this. “But yes, I am.”

The journey through the dark forest passed in a hazy blur, until you had the vague impression of torchlight and soft firelight and you were laid down on the softest surface you thought you'd maybe ever touched in your life. A long, deep groan left you and you suddenly didn’t care what happened to you.

“I’m going to stitch you up,” came the drider’s voice from somewhere nearby. “It might hurt. I can use a little of my venom to numb the area if you like…”

You nodded, not wanting any more pain, and out of the corner of your eye, you watched the drider’s white body move in the blurry shadows of the cave. He loomed over you and pressed the tip of one clawed finger to his upper canine, before bringing it to your side where he’d hitched up your shirt just enough to access the glancing wound from the arrow. A blissful numbness crept like winter ice across your skin, and you let the drider tend to you.

Tiredness claimed you not long after, but you had the distinct impression of a warm cloth being wiped gently across your face and hands before blackness washed in and you slept.

Over the course of the next few days, Feluän tended to your wound, and you forgot to be afraid of the strange creature. Centaurs had always held a fascination for you, with their animal lower halves and their humanoid upper bodies, and the way the drider moved was no less fascinating. When he wasn't tending to you, he was weaving linen and silk into the most wondrous bolts of fabric. His cave was dotted here and there with trinkets that he’d clearly pilfered from the sporadic ‘visitors’ to his part of the world, but aside from that, the cave was just that: a grotto carved out of a rise in the ground in the middle of a dank, desolate forest.

“You live alone?” you asked on the first evening you felt strong enough to get out of bed without his help. Until then, he’d forced you to stay still, and honestly, you’d been only too happy to let him boss you about and carry you around. He was sweet, but he didn't take no for an answer, and he didn’t let you wheedle your way out of anything either. Your best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes had crumbled his iron resolve a bit though, and finally he’d let you get out of his soft, cosy bed to join him by the gentle light of flames in the fire pit at the centre of his cave.

Feluän nodded. “Yes. I have spent my whole life alone. Driders are not sociable with each other by nature, and most people fear us too much to want us anywhere near them, as you saw yourself when your captors realised I was there.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you said as you took the carved wooden cup he offered you. It had some kind of sharp, pine-needle tea in it and he looked embarrassed that that was all he could offer you to drink apart from water. In the few days you’d been there, you’d had some kind of game broth which, while nutritious, hadn’t been particularly flavoursome. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here more intimidating than that orc, but you managed it.”

Across the fire, his ruby red eyes glittered and he laughed, tilting his head in your direction. He didn’t always meet your eye, you realised, and you wondered if his albinism affected his eyesight. “I live to serve,” he purred.

“The way you behave, I’d say you live to be served, but what do I know?”

Again, he laughed. “You offering, little human?” he said, cocking a white eyebrow in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“I might, if the rewards for service were worth it,” you replied archly, sipping the sharp tea. Its flavour reminded you of the tinctures you brewed at home, and of the people who would need you as the autumn drew to a close and winter began to coil around the edges of the village. Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, steam from the cup swirling in front of your eyes for a moment.

“You clearly don’t think I could offer you much,” he said dryly.

“It’s not that,” you said. “It’s… I have a responsibility to the people in my village. I’m a herbalist, and the whole reason I was captured was because I was out looking for ingredients that would help fight winter fevers. If I don’t get home before the snows settle in, they’ll suffer.”

He shifted his weight where he was resting casually with all his long, spiny limbs tucked close to his pendulous body, and you realised he was feeling uncertain. “It must be nice,” he began in a new, faltering voice that you’d not heard from him before. “Nice to have people… who need you. Who… Who look to you for protection…”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I wouldn’t say I provide any kind of protection — you want an orc or a centaur like Thom or Gwyn for that — but I help people where I can, and they’ve been good to me. I was apprenticed with their previous healer, and when he passed, I took on his mantle.”

“Tell me about them?” Feluän asked, red eyes blinking slowly in his frost-pale face. His long, white hair fell down loose to frame his high cheekbones, and the scar on his mouth was the only element in his face that interrupted the otherwise perfect symmetry of him, and it made you want to press your lips to it and see what it felt like beneath your kisses.

You looked away.

“Tell me about them before I take you back tomorrow?”

“Wait, take me back? You’re coming too?”

“You’ll never make it out of these woods alive without me,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t go to all this effort to keep you alive just to turn you loose for the ghouls and shadow wraiths to tear you to pieces when the sun sets tomorrow night.”

“Shadow… wraiths?” you croaked, eyes flitting to the cave entrance where the dark night pressed in against the tiny light of the fire. You shuddered and Feluän smiled to reveal his double set of canines, the larger, outer pair of which were actually hollow fangs that could inject his paralytic venom into his prey.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said with a rumbling, seductive purr in his tenor that went right through you to your core. “I’ll protect you. You’re safe here anyway. It’s warded.”

“Right.”

“Your people?” he prompted, and you started with Gwyn the dappled centaur. By the time you’d listed almost everyone in the village, your mind was slow and your eyes gritty with sleep.

Some time earlier, Feluän had moved behind you so that you were resting your weight between his lethally-taloned pedipalps, buttressed up on either side by something that could skewer through you in the blink of an eye, and his hand had recently moved to card idly through your hair.

The world tilted slightly as you dozed off halfway through a sentence about Thom the orc who ran the bakery and made the most incredible fruit pies in autumn, and you realised that Feluän had picked you up again and was carrying you towards his wide, soft bed of silk webbing.

As he drew a feather-filled silk duvet up around your ears and you hummed with deep satisfaction, you heard him murmur, “I wish I could live somewhere like the place you described for me tonight. I wish I could know ‘home’ as you do, but I fear I would never be welcome somewhere like that.”

“They’d love you,” you mumbled. After all, you were half in love with him already and it had only been a few days.

The journey south took about a week. On the first day, you were forced to ride on his back after only a few miles due to the lingering ache in your side. “If you don’t get aboard, I will refuse to take you anywhere at all,” he said sternly, and a thrill of heat shot down your spine at the steel in his tone. “Do as you’re told, human.”

“Fine,” you croaked, ignoring just how much you liked the way he seemed to mingle concern, respect, and command in a single sentence. “Bossy.”

You did enjoy having your arms around his middle as you rode behind him though. And he was quick when he got scuttling along.

Your pride did have you walking the next day, and before too long, you got to see the ‘Death-Spinner’ in action. In the rocky lower slopes of the pine forest, before it melted into a dewy, autumn meadow, a roar shattered the silence and a bear reared up from the thick grass, as surprised by your exit from the trees as you were by her.

Feluän hissed like a snake and immediately drew himself up, lashing out with his long front legs. Like twin swords, the lowest section of his legs flashed in the misty air and the bear threw herself up onto her hind legs with another bellowing roar.

The drider jabbed at her faster than your eyes could follow, nicking her ear and her shoulder in turn with left and right forelegs, his huge body filling the space between you and the threat like a bulwark. The bear turned on the spot and thundered away, and he dropped silently back to all eight legs and looked down at you. In the starker light of the meadow, he was squinting and his red eyes didn’t quite land on your face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bare marble chest heaving. His clawed hands were curled at his sides and his arms looked incredible, and suddenly it was very hard to focus on anything but how gods-damned beautiful this creature was. He barked your name and lowered himself down, still squinting. “I can’t see very well in full daylight like this. I need you to tell me if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked at last, trying to swallow your inconveniently-timed arousal. “Are you? I’ve lived in the woods a long time, but I’ve never been that close to a bear before.”

“She really didn’t want to tangle with me,” he laughed, and you caught the way his articulated joints sagged in relief as his white hands found your shoulders and he squeezed you tightly for a second.

“You can’t see very well? What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly and let go of you. “As I understand it, people born like me, without pigmentation, often struggle with their vision, and bright sunlight in particular. I do anyway. Why do you think I chose the darkest place I knew of for my home?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it. You sure you want to be out here then? You didn’t have to walk me all the way home you know?”

“I want to,” he said, gesturing for you to continue on your way across the open meadow.

The overnight frost had melted a little, but it still lingered at the foot of the thicker tufts of grass and it crunched softly as you walked through it. Not Feluän though — he moved as silently as his spectral nickname suggested, but you did catch him tilting his head a little and inhaling, as though scenting the wind. His lips parted softly and you caught your best glimpse yet of his double set of canines. His tongue shifted a little behind his teeth, as though he was tasting something on the air, and you looked away. Everything about him was sensuous and it made you want to touch.

You were perhaps a day’s walk from the village now, but he still hadn’t turned back even though you’d told him you could manage alone from there.

That night at camp, you sat together as you had back in his cave, with you resting between the two smaller limbs that jutted out from his spider’s shoulder area. They twitched from time to time as he ate the now-roasted rabbit he’d skewered earlier for dinner with the talon at the end of one of them, and when you’d finished your meal, you reached out without thinking and ran your fingers down the chitin that covered them.

He jumped slightly and then went very still, but as you brought your hand closer to where the limb met his chest, he drew in a shuddering breath that made his whole body rock.

“Does that tickle?” you asked, wondering how much sensation he had with all that natural armour.

“Not exactly,” Feluän rasped. “It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve… since anyone’s — ah…” he gasped and his chest heaved. The little bone he’d been idly cleaning with his tongue dropped from his fingers to land in the carpet of beech and oak leaves around your feet.

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Gods, don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright.”

You stood and faced him, and ran both hands up his ‘hips’ at the base of his humanoid torso. He shuddered again and sucked in another sharp breath. Gradually, you moved your touch up over the marble contours of his abs and ribs until you could reach no higher. “Come down here then,” you said quietly.

His scarred upper lip twitched and he surged down towards you, snatching you up in his hands and lifting you away from the fire. He pinned you against the smooth bark of a nearby beech trunk, and held you there four or five feet off the ground. His hands were secure around your waist as the spears of the two pedipalps lanced into the tree on either side of your face and you gasped, feeling heat rushing to your groin.

“The things you make me want to do to you, human,” he purred around a snarl, red eyes glowing in the night. His huge body was pale, standing out starkly against the darkness, and you felt a familiar, tingling weakness washing through you as he held you pinned there and growled those lustful words into your ears. You wanted him to take control. You wanted to submit to whatever pleasures he had in mind. It made your head go vague.

“What’s that then?” you slurred softly, dangling blissfully in his hold. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to tie you up with my silk,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss up your neck. He nipped at you, but not enough to break the skin or inject you with his numbing, paralytic venom. The trail his kisses left was cold though, and your flesh tingled. “I want you trussed and immobile for me while I give you every pleasure I can think of. Your body is so soft compared to mine. So vulnerable. I want it all. I want all of you.”

“You can,” you smiled. “Please.”

His lips twitched into another little snarl and he kissed you again. Your tongue tingled and you swallowed, realising a drop of his venom had landed there. “I can’t,” he said, stepping back and lowering you slowly to the ground. Your knees were too weak to take your weight at first and he steadied you.

“Why not?” Disappointment stung through the creeping haze in your head and helped to clear it a bit.

You glanced along his curved, spider’s abdomen and saw that a clear fluid was dripping slowly from a point on his underbelly. His obvious arousal looked obscene, and your core tightened at the sight of it. When he saw where you were looking, he shivered. “That’s what you do to me,” he croaked. “But I’ve lost too much control of myself tonight. I might hurt you.”

“Kiss me again?”

“No. My mouth is full of venom.”

Your breath caught and you bit your lip. “Please?”

“No.” He sounded angry now, and you looked away, ashamed of still wanting something he didn't want to give. When he saw the expression on your face though, his whole demeanour changed and he softened. “What is it?” he asked.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Forget it. You’re going home again tomorrow anyway. You’ll forget about me in no time.” But you wouldn’t forget about him.

Feluän’s lighting-fast reflexes left you breathless all over again as he snatched for your wrist when you turned away from him. “I will never forget you,” he hissed fiercely. “I can’t. You think I give every lost wanderer I find in my forest a personal escort home? If I had my way, I’d never leave your side again.”

The grip he had on your wrist was tight enough that it was just shy of painful, and you gasped, eyelids fluttering. You glanced down at where his claws were pricking into your skin and then slowly raised your gaze to his face. “Not helping…” you smirked softly.

He closed his eyes slowly and eased his grip just a fraction, and then he opened his eyes again, moved both hands to your face, cupped your jaw, and kissed your forehead. “Best I can do for the moment,” he said apologetically.

“You don’t have to go back, you know?” you said, giving voice to the idea that had been floating around your mind for a few days. “I mean, I know all your stuff is back there, but there’s a really cosy place that’s only a hundred yards or so from my cottage on the edge of the village. I think it would be perfect for you. You could… You could live there? If you wanted…”

Feluän raked his claws gently across your scalp and you shuddered. “And what of the rest of the village? What would they say about a monster taking up residence in their midst?”

“You’re not a monster,” you hissed, grabbing for his wrists and clinging to him while you glared up into his face. Gods, he was so beautiful, with his sharp features and red, gemstone eyes and his silver-white hair. “You’re not. How could they not love you once they got to know you?”

His throat worked and he lowered his spider body down, drawing his legs in so that he was as close to your eye level as he could get. “Do you really want me to stay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I — The thought of you going back to that horrible place with all those bones scattered everywhere, and no life — there’s no life in those woods, Feluän. It’s —” He silenced you with a kiss.

Your lips turned numb almost immediately but you felt his tongue brush yours as he growled and reared over you, overpowering you with just his presence. “The way you said my name,” he said. “No one’s ever spoken my name before. Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

“Feluän.”

“When we’re not camping in a forest, I’m going to take you apart, my beautiful human. I’m going to tie you up and take you to pieces when my mouth isn’t dripping with venom.”

“Could be fun for you to have your way with me while I can’t move…” you said.

“You wouldn’t be able to feel it either,” he said, deliberately moving away from you and breathing hard. “Gods, I’m a mess,” he chuckled. You glanced down and saw that he was leaking a little webbing too from the gland at the tip of his abdomen.

“So am I,” you said wryly, because you absolutely were.

“I know. I can smell it,” he said. “Taste it too.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. He’d smelled it earlier as well then, back in the meadow after he’d protected you. “You’d better live up to your promise, Feluän. I’m not letting you go home without feeling some of that silk around my wrists first.”

“Say my name again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult to say the least, but it helped that you both talked quietly, with you lying in his arms again, and when you woke to the gentle caress of his knuckles against your cheek, you blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, awestruck by the creature looming over you. Honest delight lit up his whole face and he laughed quietly, helping you to your feet and brushing the dry leaves from your clothes and the borrowed cloak he’d lent you.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked as you kicked the cold ashes of the fire apart and made sure you left the forest as you’d found it. “You said we’re within a day’s walk of your home now?”

You nodded. “We’ll probably meet a few of the woodcutters on our way in — they’re working about three or four miles from the village at the moment, cutting hazel for fences and ash for firewood. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking?”

Feluän agreed, and you set off along the main road together.

“I’ll introduce you in the village if you like, and explain where I’ve been, and then I’ll say I’d like you to stay. If… If you want to.”

“I do,” he said. “I don’t have anything in that cave that I would particularly miss, but I could still go back and fetch it if I wanted to.”

The first people you met were indeed Garrick and Mercy, and when the satyr and the half-orc-half-elf saw the drider, they hefted their axes in their hands and stepped warily into the clearing they’d made beside the road. Mercy spotted you and called out your name, and you and Feluän held up your hands.

It took some persuading to let the two of you approach, but when you were close enough, Mercy dropped her axe and hugged you. “We’ve been so worried,” she said, squeezing you tight. With her muscles, it was enough to make you wheeze. “Gwyn and Thom and Gale searched for you for days but even Gale’s werewolf nose lost your scent when it rained. Gods, they’ve been beside themselves.”

“I’m only alive because of Feluän,” you said, gesturing to the pale drider who was waiting on the road. All his eight legs were drawn up tight and he looked tense and wary. At that distance, and in the clear, wintry light, you suspected he also couldn’t see very far, and for someone so powerful, he was probably feeling quite vulnerable. “I’d like him to live here with us. He was living alone in that dark forest, and I don’t think anyone should have to live alone like that. Not if they don’t want to.”

Garrick jutted his small tusks and said, “Driders aren’t exactly sociable creatures. What’s he gonna do around here?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you said a little defensively. “While I was recovering in his care, he was processing and spinning flax and weaving bolts of cloth, so he could help Rowan, but I don’t think his place here should be determined by what he can do for us, do you?”

Garrick’s eyes darkened with shame, and he shook his head.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Right now, all I want is a bath and a change of clothes.” Your own shirt had been washed while you’d been recovering, and Feluän had stitched it up, but it was still stained with your blood and more than a bit travel-worn now.

The approach to the village was deserted, but when you stepped out from the shady road and into the brilliant, afternoon sun that bathed the thatched houses in stark light, Feluän grunted and closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand and wincing.

“You alright?” you asked.

“It’s so bright,” he rasped. “I… I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me.”

You paused and said, “This way. We’ll take the side road and go along one of the deer paths through the trees to the cave home I’ve got in mind for you. You can meet everyone tonight when the sun’s gone down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you frowned. “No, Feluän. You have nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go.” You laid your hand on his foremost left leg, and changed direction, heading for the tall oak and beech trees that bordered the village.

You passed by your cottage, though you did point it out to him, and continued up the slope to the small, rocky outcrop where the old cave had sat empty since its previous occupant had moved to be nearer to her relatives. “This used to belong to Dinara,” you said. “She’s a dwarf, but the cave isn’t at her scale, don’t worry.”

He laughed, and now that you were in the shade, you noticed that his eyes were meeting yours again, and he wasn’t squinting so much. “Come here,” he said, and he lowered himself down to kiss you. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“If it’s not, I know people will help you alter it. They helped me build my house when I moved here, so you could always just build something new if it doesn’t suit.”

“You make them sound like good people,” he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, you said, “They are. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“So long as they don’t try to hack me to bits with their axes… The one you called ‘Garrick’ sounded ready to cut my legs off earlier.”

“He’s protective, not unlike you,” you said wryly. “Come on. Let me show you the cave and see if you want to live there or not.”

“If you’re nearby, it’ll be perfect,” he said smoothly, and you immediately tripped, making him laugh.

In the end, the empty cave house suited him perfectly, and, as you’d predicted, people were wary to start with, but when they heard how he’d saved you and taken care of you, and brought you home, they welcomed him like a long-lost relative — something that clearly moved him deeply. He did bristle when Thom swept you up into his bone-crushing, baker’s arms outside the village inn that night and nuzzled his tusks against your neck and expressed just how worried he’d been about you though.

When you returned to Feluän after Thom had set you down and promised you a week’s worth of free pies and cakes, Feluän was prickly and distant, until you grabbed a hold of his pedipalp and refused to let go as he turned. The moonlight flashed along the polished chitin and the limb straightened as he turned away while you held it, but he twitched back to look at you with his red eyes blazing quietly.

“Feluän…?” you purred. Oh, you liked the way he clearly wanted to be possessive of you but was forcing himself to behave. It made you flush hot all over.

“What?” he hissed, still scowling.

You caressed your hand up the limb to his shoulder and splayed your fingers wide. He gasped.

“You promised me something…”

“What was that?” he said, spreading his legs a little wider, as though he needed the extra stability to brace himself upright all of a sudden. You enjoyed seeing that the effect you had on each other was mutual.

You drew back your hand from him and he rocked forwards as if seeking the contact again. You brought your wrists together and held them out as though waiting to be tied up before looking up into his face.

His white eyelashes fluttered and his red eyes rolled closed for a moment. “Where?” he asked in a whisper. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure you’ll fit easily in my cottage…”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “But I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any furnishings in my new home yet.”

“You can sling me a silk hammock,” you said boldly and he groaned audibly. “You like that? You like the idea of me lying on your silk?”

He choked softly and nodded, jaw working.

“What?”

“I’m trying to keep my venom to myself this time,” he said carefully. “If I don’t let it out, I can put my mouth wherever I want to this time.”

“And where’s that?”

“Let me tie you up and you’ll find out,” he snarled, baring his double canines, patience fraying.

“Take me home then,” you whispered.

He picked you up, letting you loop your legs around his humanoid hips and holding you there with his arms and his two pedipalps while he scuttled away from the village and up the hill to the cave where an oil lamp was already burning softly on a shelf.

The cave wasn’t so much a cave as a rock-hewn home, with an additional masonry front covering the opening from the elements, and stone shelves cut into the rock inside for storage, and a shelf at the back for a bed and a huge stone bath as well. Spring water was plumbed directly into a copper cylinder for hot water beside a fireplace with a chimney built into the mountainside. It was a vast improvement on his former, tunnel-like home in the forest, and someone had brought up a load of firewood for him.

Before he’d left his new home to greet the rest of the village earlier that evening, Feluän had lit a fire in the grate and it had since filled the space with warmth, driving away the lingering damp of disuse, and as he made his way on his long, skittering legs to the back of the cave, you kissed the chitin of his shoulders and watched the firelight lick along the sculpted shape of his natural armour. He shivered and then rose right up, tucking his abdomen under him and slinging a web across the shelf where the mattress would be when you eventually found him one. For now, a low, secure hammock of web would more than suffice.

He pitched you back onto it and you bounced softly while the drider’s huge body filled the air above you. The power and ‘otherness’ of his body made you hot beneath the skin and set your core burning, and you squirmed softly while he lowered himself down around you, all four right limbs braced on the wall to your left to give him the best angle. It was unnatural and eerie and creepy and wonderful and strange and everything you wanted in that moment, so you raised your hands above your head and crossed your wrists invitingly.

“You’re so good for me,” he purred and you arched upwards. The web hammock was substantial enough that you didn't feel in the least like your bodyweight was going to tear through it, but it left you feeling exposed and at his mercy. He undressed you carefully, his claws peeling the fabric back until you were as naked as he was. His spider’s body twitched and that clear fluid dripped down onto your shin, betraying his own arousal even as your own was made all the more evident to him.

He parted your legs with one clawed hand and carefully pressed the heel of his palm against where you were soaking wet. “Look at you,” he smiled, eyes glinting. “I can smell you. I can’t wait to taste you properly.” Then he licked his hand clean and your brain went blank for a moment as you watched and heard him groan.

His silk was cool as he wrapped your wrists tightly enough to immobilise your arms and then he secured the line to one of the others, pinning you in place as securely as any rope tied to a headboard ever could be.

“Fuck…” you cursed, arching your spine and spreading your legs. Your clit was swollen and sensitive already, but when he slid his arms underneath your thighs and brought his face close enough that his breath shivered across your wet skin, you gasped and bucked.

Feluän’s tongue teased you to start with as he simply savoured the taste of you, but when he got to work in earnest, his claws pricked your skin and he held you down while you tried to writhe and squirm. You weren’t shy about the sounds you made, and when you saw the way his abdomen was moving in time with his tongue on your body, you realised he was every bit as turned on as you are. You knew that driders didn’t mate the way humans did, and that when he came, he was most likely going to make a mess all over you. The thought of it made your eyes roll.

His nose nudged against your clit as he delved deeper into you with his tongue, moaning and kissing and sucking and devouring.

“I’m getting close, love,” he whispered in the tiny silence that blossomed around you when he drew back to adjust his grip on your legs. You’d never been rendered immobile like this by a partner before, with your hands tied and your legs clamped in his grip, and you felt your body clench in the absence of his tongue. He laughed, low and seductive. “So are you, aren’t you?”

Mind a blur with pleasure, you just nodded and keened.

“When I come, can I come over you?” he asked, and he sounded utterly wrecked.

“Gods, please,” you gasped, bucking weakly. “Please, anything, Feluän. Please… I need… I need you to… please…”

“Need me to do what, love?” he asked, licking teasingly over you with the tip of his tongue, savouring you without returning to his earlier endeavours to make you come. It was too much and nowhere near enough and you let out a broken sob. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it,” he said provocatively.

With a growl of frustration and effort, you wrangled the words into the right order in your hazy mind. “I need you to make me come, Feluän.”

“That’s good,” he praised and you arched upwards, legs parting a little wider for him. “Gods, you’re everything,” he whispered as he leaned back down and closed his mouth around your clit.

You gave another wild yell at the barrage of stimulation, and under a minute later you came with a heaving shout against his mouth. Waves of pleasure swept through you, and only a second after you stuttered out his name again, you heard him give a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise before he reared up, his whole body tensing and starting to shake, before his own release gushed over the spot where his mouth had just been. The heat of his come against you there sent you over the edge again and you thrashed beneath him. He was still coming when he lowered his humanoid torso down atop yours again and pulled you close, one clawed hand around the back of your head.

“Oh gods,” he said, his whole body twitching and coming while he cradled you beneath him. “Oh gods, you’re everything. You’re perfect… gods… oh…”

Eventually, his orgasm faded and he staggered, all his legs moving out of sync as he tried not to crush you while the strength fled his limbs and he collapsed onto the webbing.

You’d never been such a mess after sex, and you’d also never come quite so hard.

He reached dazedly out with one of his taloned pedipalps and carefully slashed through the silk holding your wrists together, then he raised his head a little more to regard you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled. “You made a big mess though,” you said when you felt his release sliding over your thighs and hips.

“I’ve never made that much mess,” he said and he looked genuinely embarrassed when he pushed himself upright.

“Good job there’s a bath over there,” you said, eyeing the basin that was practically a small swimming pool. It was certainly big enough for a drider to soak himself in relative comfort too.

Feluän staggered over to it and turned the bronze tap that started a flow of hot water from the gigantic cistern beside the fire and then returned to you. “Can I carry you?” he asked, looking shy for the first time in your relatively short acquaintance.

“You’re going to have to. I can’t feel my legs,” you said.

“I didn’t — My venom —” he sputtered in horror. “I —”

“Oh, it’s not you,” you chuckled as you floundered to sit upright. “I mean, it was you, but not your venom.”

He deflated comically in relief and laughed as he scooped you up and bore you towards the tub. Glancing back, you saw that his come was all over the webbing and had dripped through onto the floor.

Feluän set you down on the shelf that ran around the edge of the bath washed you off while it filled. The gentle action of his caring, attentive hands on your body soothed you and worked you up again, and when you moaned and bucked weakly into his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Again?” he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe it.

“Please?” you whispered, eyes half-closed where you floated in the warm water.

He was careful with his claws, using only the pad of his finger against you, and when you came with a little sigh and heaved into his arms a few minutes later, he smiled at you and leaned down to kiss you.

“I want to do that to you every day,” he said over the rush of water into the bath. “I don’t want a day to go past where I haven’t seen you make that face for me.”

How could you refuse an offer like that when it was so generously made?

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#drider #drider x reader #male drider #trans male reader #reader insert #male drider x reader #male drider x trans male reader #monster fucker #exophilia #monster romance #fantasy romance #non human romance #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend

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hanlimz · 9 months

Text

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen headcanons #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon reactions #enha scenarios #enha imagines #enha angst #enhypen angst #enha x reader #jungwon x reader

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abyssruler · 1 year

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to you, who loved me most

scaramouche x gn!reader

four snippets, four drabbles, four realistic takes on popular tropes with the person scaramouche was before he became the wanderer. or — soulmate au, time travel, reincarnation, and isekai with the sixth harbinger.

character death (reader), scaramouche being a horrible person, implied dark themes

SOULMATE AU - soulmates share each others’ pain

For as long as you could remember, your heart has always felt hollow. Empty. Your mother once told you that your soulmate must have a heart disease of some kind—but no, this isn’t pain. You know what pain is.

Pain is the electricity crackling through your veins, sharp pinpricks like a thousand needles trying to protrude from your skin. It is staying up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because of the ache in your joints as if someone is pulling you apart only to glue you back together, like one of those porcelain dolls you always see being sold at the market.

You know what pain is, and it is not the apathy you feel when you discover who your soulmate is. It is not the stark-white heat that overcomes you as your soulmate’s hand pierces your empty, hollow chest.

Pain is the ache you finally feel in your nonexistent heart, a moment before you close your eyes.

And you’ve never known comfort—you’ve never known a lot of things—but you think comfort is the arms that hold you as you choke on your own blood. Comfort is the cold chest against your cheek as you breathe your last, dying breath.

Comfort the voice in your ear, a whispered plea, an apology, one last wish for you to stay.

TIME TRAVEL/TIME LOOP

It’s pointless and foolish and he’s a monster, and you know you should stop coming back, stop greeting him with that same smile you always give whenever you first stumble upon him, dazed and confused and so, so kind and innocent after awakening from his slumber.

You should run from those deceptively angelic looking eyes, but you can’t. No matter how many times you’ve died and come back—the amount of times you’ve died by his hands—you can’t stop coming back and hoping that this time, maybe it’ll all turn out different. That this time, he’ll turn out different.

And perhaps this time, he’ll finally love you back the way he did during your first loop.

REINCARNATION

It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been so kind to him. So warm and bright and innocent, giving him all you have without expecting anything in return. All he knows is to take and take and take until not even you had anything left to give. And still, he continues to take what he perceives to be rightfully his until you’re carved hollow from the inside out.

But you shouldn’t blame him, it was your fault in the first place. You should have known better than to treat strangers like him so kindly.

He has bound your soul to his. Til death do us part, but Scaramouche will not let even death take you away from him. So even if you decide to take your own life, you can never truly escape his grasp.

In your next life and the ones after that, he will always find you, and you will always love him back until you see the monster hidden beneath the veneer of a pleasant smile.

ISEKAI

You’re here. You’re really, truly here in Teyvat.

The most logical thing to do would be to seek out the Traveler, a fellow outlander who would keep you safe until they reach the end of their journey, but you’ve always been reckless and stupid. So you seek out the most disliked Harbinger and join the Fatui under his ranks.

You thought it would be like the fanfictions you secretly read, where he’d notice you and fall in love with you and you’d live happily ever after. But reality is often different from what you expect.

He is harsh, but not the fun, amusing kind of harsh you once watched and read. He is living and breathing and right in front of you, spitting the most horrid words anyone has ever said to you. You once fantasized the scenario of him being mean to you, back when he was fictional and dreamy and not an inch away from taking your useless, pathetic life.

And as you stood in place, blinking back tears that would send him over the edge should he see it, you wonder why you ever thought you’d enjoy it.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #kabukimono x reader #gn reader

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y-rhywbeth2 · 10 months

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D&D Vampire Lore Dump #2

"Biology" Their "metabolism" and their physical body, their senses, why they're not aging and "vampires actually make fantastic torture victims, if you're a monster: vampire healing and how to inflict scars on them."

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER FOR FIRST TIME READERS: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest. Larian themselves have not written BG3 totally compliant with some established D&D lore or the original games.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

The transformation into a vampire causes little physical change, except for the fangs, and the fact that their facial features seem take on a permanent hardened expression, appearing more "feral" in a way that is likened to a starving wolf. Spawn moreso than freed vampires, and in 5e they have claws despite the fact that freed vampires don't. Rarely a vampire's eyes turn red upon changing, but this doesn't usually happen. Their eyes do start glowing red when they're angry through.

Most of the vampire's five senses are sharpened by undeath. They can see perfectly in the dark, for example, and are very hard to catch off guard. The only one that gets duller than it was when they were alive is the sense of touch - "a blunt, phantom sense of touch, more mechanical than biological. It is a pale, crude approximation of a real tactile sense." They don't feel the effects of physical exertion and their ability to feel pain is dulled (but not nonexistent). They're not particularly bothered by high or cold temperatures unless they're at extremes (like frostbite levels, or "standing by a lava pool" levels). They're also largely unbothered by electric shocks.

They don't breathe, though they do actually have a heartbeat as their blood still gets pumped around their body. It doesn't provide any biological need of a living circulatory system, but is possibly part of keeping the body animated via magic.

Vampires do not produce body heat and tend to be room temperature to the touch unless they've fed within the last 24 hours, in which case they appear alive.

Lacking brain activity on account of being dead, vampires are immune to mind effecting spells and psionics. The fact that Astarion is affected by the tadpole is likely due to Netherese magic. The parasite is canonically modifying his undead state to its needs and has shut down his vampiric abilities, as he observes in one banter.

Their physical abilities massively increase. They have superhuman strength, speed and reflexes and are far more durable than the living.

Vampiric blood looks like humanoid blood at first glance, but takes on a golden sheen when held up to a light source. Also if the vampire it came from is still alive, then that blood can have strange magic properties… which are random! Maybe it burns like acid, or puts you under mind control if you touch it, or explodes into flame when exposed to sunlight! You won't know 'til you find out, it could do anything or nothing.

Vampires are capable of siring partially-undead children with the living (Dhampirs). Dhampirs are alive but as they grow up and their undead heritage starts to manifest they begin to share their vampire parent's cravings and feeding habits and are not terribly fond of said parent, as a rule.

Vampires are the only undead that require sleep. That turned out to be a very long topic of its own though, so maybe I'll focus on the details another time. Short version: Vampires have an instinctive knowledge of how close sunrise is. Some vampires can chose to sleep much like humans, others will immediately shut down the second the sun appears over the horizon and be dead until the moment it next sinks below said horizon, at which point the vampire is 1000% aware and awake again. They are bound to soil from their grave/homeland and must sleep on/in that or be destroyed. In BG3 specifically, looking at Cazador, elves still reverie (trance) in undeath. (In reverie, elves relive their memories of years gone by in vivid real time instead of dreaming. It's how elves avoid forgetting their own lives while living 700+ years) Vampires also hibernate, where they chose to go into a deep sleep for an unknown and uncontrollable length of time reaching centuries in length. Usually due to depression.

A vampire's body is frozen in time, and they will always have the same appearance they had when they died. The magic that keeps the vampire frozen in time, unageing, also gives them regenerative properties as it tries to reset them. Within minutes of receiving a wound, the wound has closed itself as if it were never there. "Wounds close, broken bones reform themselves, even missing limbs regenerate…" Reducing a vampire to 0 hit points also does not kill them, but that's for a later instalment. If one were to torture a vampire one could get both incredibly creative and make it last indefinitely.

They also can't get new tattoos or piercings, as the body heals them over again and pushes out the ink/metal. On the same logic if they had body modifications before they died then they'd never be able to get rid of them - if you scrape off the skin a tattoo is on or tore off a pierced lobe, the skin that grows back will still have the tattoo and the ear will have the hole for the earing still there.

However, there are forms of magical damage that inflict permanent marks on a vampire, which are called stigmata. Sunlight, holy water, holy symbols and the like are known to leave a scar. A silver plated blade might also do it.

There are two energy planes: Positive and Negative. Also known as the Planes of Life and Death, whose energies infuse the Prime Material Plane (which contains worlds like Earth and Toril). Living creatures are powered by positive energy (also called "radiant"), while the undead are animated by negative energy ("necrotic"). It's actually theorised that the undead somehow exist on the Prime Material Plane and the Negative Energy Plane simultaneously, though this seems gets into a lot of planar lore and conflicting information that I'm not going into. Traditionally, due to this difference, the undead are healed by spells made of negative/necrotic energy such as Inflict Wounds spells, but in reverse would be harmed by healing spells. 5e has not included this detail, that I've seen.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #i seem to recall something about Vampire the Masquerade writers also writing for Ravenloft #I can definitely see it #long post

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calummss · 8 months

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masterlist

requested by the lovely @zablife . thank you for being so patient i feel awful but i hope you enjoy

prompt this was always how it was going to end

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘What’s wrong with me? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?’

‘With me?’ You stopped strutting, stepping towards his face. ‘Me? Are you fucking insane?’

John reached out for your arm, his tight grip making it impossible to walk off, leaving you in his embrace that no longer gave you the same warmth it used to. It was cold and wet, cold and dark. All you wanted was to go home, eat the food your nan had made you and sip a cup of tea by the fireplace as she talked about her golden age. John had apprehended you as you sat inside of the Garrison, patiently waiting for Pete to show up but as the clicking of the clock continued to burn into your head, you had given up and pitifully ordered four shots, all burning the back of your throat and you wiped your lips with saddened eyes.

‘Don’t touch me,’ you tried to pull back, your heels almost making you trip every time you tried to get away from him but he was also the one that saved you from the dirty streets of Small Heath. John had loosened his grip, enough to get rid of the burning sensation on the skin of your arm. His eyes were dark, no joy, no tears, no pain; just soulless.

‘You are mine.’ He growled at you not caring for the people that eyes the scene in front of them.

‘You don’t own me!’

‘You’re mine. Stop going on these stupid dates. Do they know you’re married? That they’re committing adulterous acts against me?’

‘We divorced, John!’

‘There’s no such thing as a divorce, sweetheart,’ he inched his face closer to yours, his hot breath clashing against the cold air. ‘Til death do us part.’

Your eyebrows softened with the released tension of your forehead. Who was he? What happened to John?

‘Pete won’t come.’

‘Why?’ You asked. Each second letting his words settle, his grip on your arm slowly fading as you tilted your head to look at him. Legs barely supporting your weight. ‘What the fuck did you do John? What did you do? Where is he?’

‘Receiving the punishment any man should.’

‘What the fuck did you do?’

‘I shot him in the head and watched all of his blood spill next to him as I watched life leave his eyes, his breathing stop, as he looked at me and realised that the last thing he would see was me.’

You stared at John processing what he said. Going over every word he had just uttered, not realising that your shaking hand had made its way to your lips, anxiously pulling the skin. And then it dawned on you… ‘Freddie, Roy, Kennedy, Albert…they never showed up, they…never returned any of my calls…John, what did you do?…Oh no no no,’ your tears silently fell.

‘Do you think I share what is mine?’

Sobs

‘If you think it was ever going to end any other way you are a stupid girl. This is how it was always going to end. You can run as far away as you want. Date who you want. Kiss who you want. But I will always find you. And I will take back what is mine. Always’

#john shelby #john shelby imagines #john shelby imagine #john shelby blurbs #john shelby blurb #john shelby headcanons #john shelby headcanon #john shelby fluff #john shelby smut #john shelby angst #john shelby x y/n #john shelby x you #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #john shelby fanfic

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sunonyoreface · 2 years

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 3

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2568

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, explicit language.

PT4: https://at.tumblr.com/sunonyoreface/he-knows-simon-ghost-riley-pt-4/g299e2a9fj7s

When the van slows to a stop, Soap reaches over and snags a hand under my seatbelt clip to release it before undoing his own. His gloved knuckles brush against my stomach and there’s a slight pressure as he undoes the buckle. As quickly as he reached over, he disappears.

“We’ll wait ‘til everyone else’s off,” he says quietly, but I catch it immediately. There’s no one else he’d be talking to right now. Soap didn’t speak another word the entire ride, even to Ghost. No one else needs to hear his quiet words, they’re solely for me.

I nod in response, but I don’t know if he catches it.

The blindfold stays on as I descend the steps leading out of the van. A startling wave of icy air whips around me. All of the warmth I gained on our ride here is stripped from my body and I already feel the goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Fuck it's cold,” I mutter under my breath. My feet land on an uneven surface that I think is gravel. I can feel a layer of snow sticking to the bottom of my socks. The fabric freezes to the surface and sticks with resistance when I try and lift them. I can hear people unloading equipment from the vehicle and somewhere behind us another two or three vehicles pull up.

“Fair jeelit out,” Soap states to no one in particular. I don’t know if I heard him right and I’ve no clue what jeelit means, but it must refer to the cold. His reassuring hand once again finds its place at the back of my upper arm to quickly guide me inside.

It’s warmer inside, but only because there’s no wind. I follow Soap’s directions as he leads me to a room somewhere to wait while the team unloads. Inside is out of the wind, but not much better. Everywhere is freezing. Where the hell are we? It’s only November. It shouldn’t be this damn cold.

In the room alone, I can finally take the mask off. It’s a dim, bleak room with no windows and no furniture. A single fluorescent light hangs from the ceiling. It feels like the strange lighting plays with my eyes and forms shadows that aren’t really there. As I exhale, my breath visibly hangs in the air, illuminated by the light. I find myself drawn to the back corner of the room where I take a seat against the cement wall. I feel like I’m in a prison cell being punished for a crime I didn’t commit.

My stiff fingers untie the plastic bag to grab the blanket they gave me. It’s thick and rough, but warm. It wraps fully around my body, providing a refuge from the cold. Balled up in the corner of the room and wrapped in the old blanket, I’m finally able to relax enough to doze off. Being in a constant state of fight or flight is exhausting. I can almost feel the buildup of cortisol in my blood from the last several weeks. I’ve yet to catch a break and it’s taking a physical toll.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but when someone finally comes to the door, it’s not Soap. The sound of the latch unlocking startles me from my slumber. A large, dark figure looms in the doorway. He fills almost the entire space and is only a couple inches away from the top of the frame. A small pit in my stomach begins to grow. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light before I see the outline of the skull mask.

Ghost holds onto the sides of his bulletproof vest as he observes me in the corner. His wordless presence changes the entire feeling of the room. Everywhere he goes, Ghost brings with him the threat of violence. A dangerous ambiance floods the room as I’m reminded of our interactions last night.

I wait for his husky voice to fill the room with an order, but it remains silent as he watches me with those cold, calculating eyes. I feel like an animal of prey backed into a corner by a predator. There’s a lot about Ghost that’s predatory. His stature alone is built to kill. He’s the tallest man here only next to one other. But that man is slim compared to Ghost, who is broad and built with thick muscles gained from years of experience with hand-to-hand combat. Although he’s built like a machine, he’s incredibly stealthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if his call name originated because of how quiet he is when he moves. When he walks behind you, you don’t even know he’s there. His footsteps are utterly silent and he somehow blends into every room he enters. You don’t notice him until you see that terrifying skull mask staring back at you and by then, it's too late.

Ghost also seems to have an expansive understanding of people’s body language and facial expressions. He knows where a conversation is headed before it reaches its destination. He seems to know the next move of the people around him before they’ve thought about it themselves. He does this all based on how they hold themselves and where they’re looking. It takes him just seconds to catch a lie being told to him based on your micro expressions and tone of voice. He leaves no rock left unturned and is incredibly detailed. When Ghost looks at you the way he is looking at me now, you can almost be certain he’s reading your thoughts.

He's confident in the way he holds himself. Ghost knows his capabilities and what he brings to the team. He has more than earned his title and position on this team. The men he works with have unyielding respect for him and rightfully so. He’s technical, mechanical to the point that you might think he isn’t human.

There’s a darkness to him that makes him suited for this profession. He’s experienced and committed violence that most men can’t even imagine. Something has happened in his past that makes him choose this lifestyle - this violence over and over again because even it is better than what he knows from his past life. The old Ghost has died and what remains is the most efficient of killing machines.

So yes, when I see him standing in front of me, analyzing every shift and micro expression, looking for ulterior motives, it terrifies me. Because even though my only motive is to learn about my parent’s past, he already seems to know more about them than I ever have. When he looks at me, Ghost knows more about me than I will for years. And that, is a terrifying thought.

“Where’s soap?” I ask.

“In a meeting,” Ghost responds.

“Is this another interrogation?” I shift in my spot to see him better and wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“It could be,” his voice deepens as he fully steps into the room, silently closing the door behind him. The pit in my stomach begins to grow. I straighten my posture as I sit on the floor and bunch the blanket in my hands with nervous fists.

“I thought I was cleared,” my throat is tight and my voice goes up an octave when I respond. Ghost stalks closer to me, clearing the small room in just a few slow strides.

“No. You were deemed non-violent,” he says. “People with clearance don’t walk around wearing cuffs,” he stays standing as he approaches me. I find myself craning my neck to look up at him. Ghost stands directly in front of the fluorescent light. Rays shine down around his shoulders causing him to appear as a silhouette. I have to squint my eyes to make out his mask. Cold eyes stare down at me. I adjust the blanket again, but it’s no use.

“I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home,” I have to be careful or my voice will break. “Why can’t you guys just put me on a plane to New York?”

“You’re not going back to New York,” his voice is certain.

“Why? I’m no use to you guys. In fact, I’m the opposite of useful. You have to spend the extra money and manpower to feed and watch me. We’re both better off if I leave.”

“Useless things don’t last long around here,” he states as he crouches down to my eye level. Ghost’s forearms rest on his knees as he removes the gloves from his hands. He slowly and deliberately pulls on each finger of the glove as he maintains eye contact. My eyes are drawn to the alluring sight of the veins on the back of his hands. They ripple under the dim light as he flexes his hands after freeing them from their restraints.

“Does Soap know you’re here?” a sound of annoyance escapes his chest at my question. My stomach twists. Shouldn’t have asked that.

“Soap doesn’t need to know I’m here,” Ghost pauses, leaning in closer so our eyes are level. “Soap answers to me. Not the other way around. I say jump. He asks how high,” Ghost’s eyes carefully scan over my face, taking in every detail. His voice is low, serious, and unyielding. “Stop asking about Soap. He can’t help you. The only person who can help you right now, is me.”

I force a swallow before nodding. All the while I never break eye contact with him. Once our eyes meet, it’s hard to look away. His gaze is paralyzing and even when I tell my eyes to look elsewhere, I can’t.

“Understood?” his voice is just above a whisper.

“Yes sir,” I respond as the world around me blurs. All I can see are those hypnotizing eyes that demand your attention in all of it’s entirety.

“Right,” Ghost says as he stands back up and paces around the room. “Yesterday you said you were researching your father’s past. What did you find?”

“I was able to get in contact with one of his cousins on Facebook. I was hoping to reach out to more relatives, but she said she wasn’t in contact with anyone from that side of the family. She also said that she cut herself off from our family for a reason and that I’d be stupid to try and establish that connection again. She warned that no good come would come from it.”

“Have you met this cousin before?” Ghost asks.

“No, but both of my parents spoke of her and she knew information about our family that isn’t public,” I respond. “Even though she didn’t support what I was doing, she gave me the mailing address for one of my uncles, Dimitri Makarov, so I wrote to him next,” I continue, but notice a shift in Ghost's demeanour when I mention his name. “I never got to read his letter though, I had just picked it up from the post office and that’s when I was kidnapped.”

“What do you know about Dmitri Makarov?” He asks, pacing back towards me.

“Nothing. My father never spoke of his brothers. I wouldn’t doubt they’re part of the reason he left. I asked several times about them as a child but learned quickly it was a sore subject. For a long time, I kept my questions to myself. Snooped when I could, but never found anything interesting,” I think of all the times I’d go through my parents’ mail as a kid - looking for letters from our family; Christmas, birthday, anniversary cards – to only find an endless supply of bills. “Do you know that name?”

Ghost chooses his words wisely before speaking. “It’s a name familiar to 141.”

His response isn’t reassuring.

“My parent’s changed their last name when we immigrated. It doesn’t really feel like we’re related at all. I can’t even remember meeting most of my family.”

“What’s the other brother’s name?” Ghost skips over my last statement.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know Dmitri’s name either until I started digging,” Something about his expression leads me to think he knows more than he’s revealing, but I’m in no position to be asking questions. There’s something new to Ghost’s eyes. This conversation contains information he wants but I’m just not sure why. Is it possible whoever my father and his brothers were involved with are known to 141?

“Has your father ever flown back to Russia?” he asks.

“He went back for my grandfather’s funeral a few months ago. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t allow it,” I think back to all of the times he’s travelled. It isn’t a regular thing, but a couple of times each year he goes on business trips. My parents make an effort of going on a trip once every year or two. Sometimes I get to go with them, but not often. I don’t know where he goes when he travels, he’ll tell me one place, but in hindsight that doesn’t mean much without proof. “You know, he’s never specifically said that he went to Russia, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”

Ghost’s expression remains stoic. I wish I could see the rest of his face, just for the chance to read his reactions. What does this all mean? My father left that life; surely Ghost doesn’t think that is a lie?

“Do you think he’s involved?” my voice wavers. He doesn’t spend much time considering the question. In Ghost’s mind, he already knows.

“Can’t say,” he says as though he’s unsure of the possibility. He isn’t being truthful. What else has he misled me about? The realization that my father could possibly still be involved with the life he supposedly left behind starts to sink in. My emotions begin to tangle in themselves. The urge to cry pricks at the corner of my eyes and I have to close them to prevent a tear from escaping.

“This is so fucked up,” I mumble. I wait for him to ask more questions, but they never come. Ghost watches me closely as I process everything. With a sigh, I finally bring myself to look up at him. His deep brown eyes meet mine and for a moment, neither of us says anything. I can almost imagine his brows furrowing as he tries to determine what I’m thinking about. In reality, it probably doesn’t take him much effort to determine my thoughts. I grab the blanket and use it to wipe the bottom of my nose. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“As long as it takes,” his tone is reserved.

“As long as it takes for what?” the urge to cry returns. At this rate, I’ll never get to go home. Ghost gets up from his position without answering me. He heads to the door and pauses when it opens.

“Soap will get you once he’s free,” he looks back at me once more. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he holds himself. His hand grips the edge of the door and for a second, I think he’s going to say something else. But then he intentionally knocks on the frame once with his knuckles before turning and pushing off. The loud clang of the lock echoes through the empty room.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #cod ghost #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #COD MW2 #soap cod #soap x reader #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine

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peachdues · 1 year

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The Great War (Giyuu x F!Reader Bundle of Joy)

Secret pregnancy fic!

I had this queued up before my hiatus so I’ll give you a crumb 😘

(y’all can’t yell at me for this)

CW: night terrors, trauma, strangulation (I swear fluff comes later)

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was Giyuu, only it wasn’t Giyuu.

Y/N didn’t recognize the cold black that had replaced the soft azure of her lover’s eyes. There was none of the familiar tenderness or quiet affection that she had come to know and love. No warmth; no mercy.

Y/N gazed only into an empty black void that had taken over her beloved as she struggled for breath, her hands weakly clawing at the hand he had locked around her neck, crushing her throat with rapidly increasing force.

“G-Giyuu,” She choked. Black spots danced across her vision and her lungs squeezed for air that would not come.

The world suddenly seemed to slow down, as though she were under water; her blood rushed in her ears as her hands lost their weak hold around her lover’s hand, and Y/N knew her end had come.

In one last, desperate attempt to recall the man she loved, Y/N limply moved one hand to rest gently on his face.

He flinched from her touch.

“I-I’m not…y-your enemy, G-Giyuu…” she managed before her hand felt limply to her side.

And then there was nothing.

————————————————————————

With a gasp, Giyuu felt the world around him open.

His senses returned to him sluggishly, the smells and sounds of even his and Y/N’s quiet wing of the shared estate overwhelming to him as he struggled to regain his breath. His heart thumped wildly in his chest to the point of pain and his muscles strained from tension.

Another night terror. This time, the souls of his dead comrades and friends had tried to pull him beneath an endless oasis of murky water, the Infinity Castle looming ominously in the distance.

As he had been pulled below the lapping waters by the dead, he had shot out his arm, desperately clenching for anything by to grab onto, to help pull him back to the surface and away.

What had he been grabbing, anyways?

He could not remember, though, as Giyuu’s senses slowly returned to him, he became vaguely aware that he was indeed gripping something.

Still panting, he slowly looked down to inspect what precisely his hand had latched onto.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing; below him, pinned between his knees, was Y/N, her arms limp at her sides and her eyes closed.

She was slightly suspended from her place on the floor near their shared futon, shoulders pulled up but her head slumped oddly back.

Giyuu distantly realized that she was half-pulled from the floor by the hand that was still wrapped firmly around her throat.

His own hand.

With a horrified cry, Giyuu released his grip. He had awoken from one night terror straight into another, only this one was real, and his fiancé was unconscious on their bedroom floor, with strangulation marks from his own fingers already blooming across her throat and neck.

“Y/N…” he said shakily, tears already falling as he leaned forward to check for her breath or for her pulse.

“Y/N,” the former Water Pillar sobbed again, hand shaking as he grazed her face, brushing her hair back. His arm trembled as it slid beneath her, pulling her motionless body up to his chest as he clutched his fiancé close, rocking back and forth.

“Tengen,” he cried, his tears making it almost impossible for him to see, to do anything that could help, as the panic within him built. “Sanemi! Anyone!”

—————————————————————————

(…..)

As the former Sound Pillar hoisted the sobbing raven haired man from the hall of the estate, Suma turned to Makio, her hand clamped over her mouth in sudden horror.

“Isn’t she pregnant?” She breathed.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Now wait til August!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka #giyuu #giyuu x y/n #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny

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heartstringsduet · 1 month

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Happy Wednesday. <3 Back again after vacationing and friends-ing. This is a Work Is Posted day for once. Thanks for tagging me last week. I loved reading your snippets.

Your Shotgun rider 'til the day I die Summary: Carlos joins his husband for the concert of his life. A/N: A prompt fill for @carlos-tk 🍵 for the @911actionforgaza. If you are able to, please consider donating to the people still suffering in Gaza. Check out the event list or this vetted list for fundraisers.

Turns out, TK had a right to worry. At the bar, the bartender immediately notices him and asks him for his order and it would have gone so smoothly if it weren’t for the petite girl beside him that the bartender ignored for it. Carlos points at her to go first. She thanks him for it. So do the other five women he lets go in front of him out of a sense of sudden guilt. By the point that he finally orders two mineral waters at the price of half a tank of fuel, he has around five minutes left before TK seeks him out and he has yet to make it through the crowd.

The way out was rough, the way back in makes him clench his jaw until it hurts. At work, he puts the myriads of anxieties he houses away. He used to be better at that in general, before TK came and showed him it was okay to be weak sometimes, that his fears wouldn’t topple him. He puts the armor back on as he apologizes to each dressed up person glaring at him for daring to move past them, but he doesn’t stop.

The first time he can breathe again is when he sees the familiar brim of a cowboy hat that sticks out mostly because it’s a real one, and not one of the cheap neon ones sold in front of the venue for a fiver.

He’s pretty sure TK has moved several feet away from the stage while he was gone. The reason for it becomes apparent when Carlos finally squeezes through to him and sees a group of teenage girls that hadn’t been in front of them before. TK’s eyes light up when he spots him and he pulls at Carlos’ wrist to draw him in closer against the last barricade of people in front of them.

“You made it back!” TK yells over the increasing murmur and music in the background.

“Told you I’d make it.”

“How many people did you let order in front of you?”

Carlos snorts at being so easily known. “As many as you gave our good spot to so they could see better.”

“Are we like…too good for this world?” TK jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

To Carlos, TK is. He’ll tell him that later, when he can make sure it can’t be written off easily. Every day, he wants TK to know he is the best thing on this planet.

[Read More]

OPEN TAG for WIP Wednesday & tag with absolutely no obligation to like or share this btw

@welcometololaland @rmd-writes @carlos-in-glasses

@strandnreyes @reyesstrand @alrightbuckaroo @lemonlyman-dotcom

@butchreyes @americansrequiems @decafdino @tellmegoodbye

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @birdclowns @never-blooms

@freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe @emsprovisions

@paperstorm @ladytessa74 @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites @liminalmemories21

@sapphic--kiwi @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@nancys-braids @pimento-playing-hopscotch @ironheartwriter

@chicgeekgirl89 @goodways @orchidscript

#michelle writes #fic: your shotgun rider til the day I die #wip wednesday #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fluff #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tg

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pearlcigs · 9 months

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⋆ magnificently cursed

whistling wind, the cold biting at both of your skin. not a single word was said. ache festering between your cold bodies, pressing against each other to save warmth. tears in your eyes, ellie fought back hers. blood pooled around your steadfast feet, the whites of ellie's shoes starting to stain. on the ground laid an infected, croaking as it took it's final breaths. you weren't far behind. blood dripped down your arm, creating vein like patterns. ellie refused to come to terms with it. silently trying to come up with any excuse, any reason to pretend like you didn't just get bit.

no words were said, wavering breaths as you ultimately came to terms with your untimely demise. the harshness of the wind seemed like the least of your worries now. the numbness of your fingertips no longer bothering you. and offhandedly, you wondered what else you complained about that really wasn't all that of a big deal. "ellie..." you voice was soft, scared. you were scared. "it's okay... you're okay, yeah...?" she tried to comfort, she didn't want you to be scared. her efforts were wasted, the sound of her voice, the sound of her disappointment, it made you all the more upset.

"i'm sorry..." you whispered, lips wobbling with sadness, breath shortening. "hey, hey... it's not your fault." she didn't even know what she was saying anymore. the only thoughts that plagued her mind were thoughts of how she could live without you. suddenly, you weren't there in her mind. not when she thought about a year into the future, or two, or five. all she could feel was resentment. to herself, to you, to the god awful world. maybe if you were immune and she wasn't or maybe if she was the one who was bitten instead or maybe—

it didn't matter. you were here, bitten and nonimmune. no chance of a saving grace, no chance of living past today. the paralyzing fear of turning into a ravenous monster. the fear of any moment going from wanting to hold ellie in your arms until sunrise to unsuspectedly wanting to tear her insides out. but ellie didn't care. she would let you. a smile on her face as your controlled mind tore out each one of her internal organs, feasting on them as if they were the best meal you've ever had. listening to the whimpering cries as you did, because you were still in there. still aware but unable to stop the urges. gorging on your love's lifeline like a true glutton.

"til' death do us part." she thinks in a sick manner. choking on her own blood that's rushing through her throat. a shaky, weakened hand on your head as you eat from her body. fingers loosely wrapped around the strands. and with her final breaths she reaches for her gun, placing the barrel to your forehead. you would want this, want her to kill you. ears ringing from the shot that was fired. your lifeless body slumping down next to ellie. with the last of her energy, she cuddles into you, her guts and blood pouring onto your deceased body, painting you both with red.

maybe joel would find you both. worry overtaking him when you don't return. maybe he'll cry over your bodies. deciphering the gruesome scene that's displayed. maybe his heart would ache. the thought of how much you both suffered before the sweet, agonizing release of death. maybe no one would find you at all. your bodies left alone to decay. maybe a stray dog will find your bones centuries later. giving you a proper burial just like dogs do with bones. or maybe nothing will happen. just pure silence.

#🍄 ⋆ the last of us #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams angst #ellie the last of us #the last of us x reader #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us angst #ellie williams smut

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cr4yolaas · 2 years

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— til death do us ‘part . ayato x reader

synopsis . with your newfound illness, you cannot afford to make ayato shoulder the burden of the loss of his spouse — so you simply will not marry him. he decides against that.

warnings . Angst !!! rdr has an illness, emetophobia tw (detailed description of puking / vomiting), ooc ayato(?), descriptions of grief and loss, lots of heavy emotions between everyone

notes . tbh, idk much about ayato’s personality? maybe on-the-surface stuff, but not enough to be nitpicky about the little details. i just wanted to write this for him :) one of the quotes is inspired by “the metamorphosis”

late in the night, ayato found you hunched over the floor, with one hand gripping the nightstand and the other trembling violently against chapped lips that quivered just as much. an ungodly amount of blood spilled between your teeth, staining the premium tatami mat beneath the bed. his calls of your name, a name he made place for in his heavy heart, fell on deaf ears as you emptied out the crimson liquid alongside the contents of your stomach.

for once, the man was at a loss. kamisato ayato, the cunning, nimble, and perseverant head of the kamisato clan, was at a loss.

before his thoughts could collect themselves, he reached around his own nightstand for a handkerchief, desperate to stop your slow asphyxiation from the sheer amount of blood and vomit and other unidentifiable liquids you were heaving onto the floor. by the time the fabric reached your mouth, your incessant hacking had come to a halt.

your shallow breaths turned heavy as you gripped onto your partner’s shoulders. “i’m sorry,” you croaked out. “. . . for waking you. you need to rest. you have a lot of work tomorrow. sorry.”

each word was weaker than the last. ayato knew he was supposed to bring you to a doctor, to a healer, to anyone who was capable of helping you, but the only thing he could do in the moment was hold you close to his chest. the aqueduct of white-hot tears within him was threatening to collapse and bring forth a sorrowful fury neither of you could handle. for you, he remained silent.

——

ayato’s mind was filled with a sense of urgency for a reason he could not place. contrast to the anxiety trickling down his spine, cold and unnerving, a soft sheet of sunlight peered through the window, coating his bare skin with a warmth that encapsulated the youth of spring. such a peaceful morning.

when his weary gaze finally met your sleeping form, he became hyperaware of the reason for his unease. bits of dried blood and remnants of dinner last night were scattered around your lips. even while you rested, your brows were furrowed — not in an angry sense, but in the way your whole face would scrunch up when you were uncomfortable. and once the little details started to add up in his mind (which was still waking up), the big picture from last night became clear.

still donning his silk nightwear, ayato rushed down to the dining room, the fear in his eyes piercing through thoma’s warm smile.

a cacophony of shatters filled the estate.

——

three months.

that was what the doctor had told him.

the news was unbeknownst to you. you were only awake for the brief check-up before falling back into an ironically peaceful slumber.

while you rested, ayato sat before his now-cold breakfast. his thoughts were moving around his head faster than he could process them, each one more nonsensical and frantic than the last. at the forefront of his mind, he was contemplating how to inform you of your unavoidable demise. was lying the right choice, despite being morally cruel? should he serve your death sentence to you on a honey-coated silver platter? or maybe, serve it to you cold and blunt?

kamisato ayato was stumped.

to his sister, who sat across from him, it looked as if he had a vengeance against his food. with delicate hands, he tore apart pieces of his bread with a violence akin to the way he handled his criminals. each fruit slice was impaled with his fork, but the pieces never met his lips. to top it all off, his plate was smothered with runny egg yolks. an edible crime scene, thoma called it. all of which committed with a straight face.

it did not take an ounce of intelligence to see that he was drowning in his thoughts, so much so that it was killing him from the inside. neither sibling nor servant took the initiative to speak to him.

you woke up to your lover’s mess of a meal, a small upturn of your lips gracing your face as you took a seat next to him.

your lover, and soon, your husband.

the thought made your face heat up just a bit.

“what’s got you so focused?” you asked him while placing your own portion of food on your plate. it was a passing question, one made out of jest, really. regardless, it made ayato break.

“june,” he mumbled, his stare falling to his breakfast (or rather, the lack thereof). the pair on the other side of the table could only look down at their own meals, playing with and separating the food, as if their appetites had simultaneously vanished. you, on the other hand, were only looking at ayato, your brows furrowed as confusion slowly nestled itself in your stomach. again, he spoke under his breath, “yes, summer.”

“i’m not sure i follow. . . ? is something wrong?” genuine concern was etched onto your face. ayaka sucked in a heavy breath, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress.

ayato made the decision.

“you have until june.”

——

there was something so tantalizingly slow about the way death peeked over your shoulders. akin to sunrise on a foggy day, it crawled up your bare skin, infecting every square inch of brittle bone. and all ayato could do was watch.

there were no known cures to your condition, and attempting to delay the rate of the infection through surgery or medication would prove to be more of a risk. you showed no interest in trying, anyways.

you had resigned yourself to his bed (not your shared bed just yet — you had yet to officially move in with him), which he paid no mind to. with little hope left in him, but all the affection for you remaining in his heart, he tried to make the best of what he had left of you.

it took him a week to finally approach you. when he did, he bore a bittersweet smile and a small pastry from the market in his hand — more specifically, your favorite pastry. but, as soon as your lips started to move, he wished he had been faster.

“let’s cancel the marriage.”

maybe, if he had sucked up the sorrow in his heavy heart just a day earlier, the thought wouldn’t have passed your mind. or maybe, if he hadn’t wallowed in his pool of guilt and despair at all, you would’ve much rather stayed with him til the very end.

he found himself frowning at your words. the plastic in his hand audibly crinkled from his grip, which only tightened slightly. “why?”

at his inquisition you looked away. it almost made him laugh, how you looked so much more alive when you weren’t facing his way. he noticed your hands reaching for bits of skin on your lips, peeling away with an unrivaled anxiety.

this was not your plan. you were hoping to distance yourself from him (and the rest of the world) gradually, so the final blow wouldn’t be too bad. so that, when the inevitable happened, he wouldn’t grieve too hard. in all honesty, when he broke the news to you, a wave of remorse and shame and disappointment washed over you. remorse, because you would be leaving behind a newlywed corpse. shame, for letting your body succumb to such an illness. disappointment, because you could not fulfill your lover’s wishes of sticking together until the very end. he had never asked for much, especially from you. the only thing he ever pleaded for was that you stay by his side. and you were unable to do something as simple as that.

you unleashed a heavy breath, one filled with such unfiltered emotion that it struck ayato hard. “i cannot promise you what you want. in the next three months, i’ll be nothing more than a expiring body on your bed. and when the wedding comes around, i will not be able to go. to my own wedding.” you sucked in another dose of thick air. “i cannot explain to you what is going on inside of me. i cannot even explain it to myself. it hurts. i don’t know what to do, but i do know that it’ll render me unable to stay by your side.”

you couldn’t count on your fingers the amount of stories you’ve heard of widows and widowers who lost themselves to grief over the loss of their spouse. the thought that ayato’s experience would add on to the list made your heart hurt.

with a grace he always seemed to embody, he approached the bed and sat beside you. strawberry-kissed fingers brushed against your knuckles, dry and blistered. “i won’t ask you to explain anything else to me,” he reassured you, his voice laced with velvet tones. “but i promise you, my dear, i will love and cherish you until your last breath, and until mine. there will never be a moment that goes by where you’re not in my heart. i am yours, and i wish for you to be mine equally.” with soft lips he pressed kisses to your skin, coating your dying soul in an asphyxiating amount of affection as he went from your forehead, down to your chin, down to your hands, and then your lips, chapped as they may be. every word he spoke held truth. “even if you are gone from this world, it’s still us against everyone else. i’ll give you that.”

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inkyycapp · 11 months

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how i think characters would react

if you got (very) hurt: adventure time edition.

tw/cw : angst, fluff, blood, violence, gore?, terrible story building, implied romance, fionna and cake spoilers, a lot of cringe, self-indulgence, character hcs, etc...

[a/n: this is very sloppy and rush as i made this between classes so it's half edited half not and not at all proof read. forgive me. thank you for the love on my last posts!! i wasn't expecting my adventure time hcs to get the attention it did, thank you so much!! i have finished fionna and cake(twice) so, my hcs might slightly shift a bit. at the moment. thinking of cross posting on ao3. reader is usually always gender neutral in all my posts unless stated otherwise. that's all! i'm open to requests and my dms/pms are open. thank you! new additions as well!! this is all i have, i'm sorry. a few more are in the drafts. please tell me if i missed anything tag and cw/tw wise! thank you.]

[holy shit, fionna and cake's finn. honka honka. i don't deserve a platform.]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

|| it all happened so fast. you could barely recall what happened. one moment you're up-right, after the next you're trying to pick yourself off the ground. your breathing grew more labored at every attempt, and the smell of iron hung heavy in the air. the warm liquid on your hands was a stark contrast to cold that began to wrack your body. it wasn't long 'til your vision faded to black, leaving only questions behind into your last fleeting thoughts. ||

finn.

(the favorite. my favorite.)

-the both of you were exploring an old cave. deep, dark, and damp. it was said to hold treasure far back into the cave, and out of curiosity you both went to explore. what you didn't know was that many people sought out that treasure. many dangerous people.

-going deeper into the cave, you and finn found the treasure, though nothing cool to take back except for a few cool rings. turning on your way out, with your back to the entrance, a sharp pain was felt through your body. looking down you saw the bloodied blade of a sword. you had no time to react as you were shoved off the blade and onto the ground. from there, it was a blur.

-finn would (violently) remove anyone involved. while brutal, he makes sure to end it quick--he doesn't have time for them when you're bleeding out on the ground.

-finn never stopped talking to you, even if you're asleep. it's always optimistic-- he talks about; new things he's found, friends he talked to recently, any new news, old and new stories, the next date he'll take you on, etc... he rambled hours on end in a one-sided conversation. it's how he copes.

-finn's trying to be uplifting. but, by himself he's a mess. he rarely stays at the treehouse because he's too restless. he feels weak, and unable to do anything. when finn's not at your side he's fighting through his feelings. finn had learned it wasn't healthy to use violence as his only outlet, but it makes him feel something that isn't the heavy stone in his chest when he sees you.

-he's a patient man, he knows you'll wake up soon. he just had to be patient. but after around a few days he doesn't want to be "patient" anymore. he wants you to wake up now. finn knows he can't make that happen, but it was a selfish want to keep himself going.

-when you did wake up, he was all over you. there wasn't a time when he wasn't with you, or at least in the same vicinity as you.

-good luck trying to pry yourself away from his arms. this man has fought monsters thrice his size for fun. even your prettiest please wasn't going to work, not this time. you almost died. you could've died and he couldn't do anything about it. those memories never left his brain basket, even when your recovery was going smoothly.

-very anxious about letting you tag along, but knows you'll probably go off on your own if he refuses to take you along. he feels it's safer to allow you to come along, rather than go off on your own. with him, he knows that at least this time he could do better. he won't ever have a repeat of last time.

-finn keeps you close during each adventure, even losing sleep watching the surroundings to be sure no one sneaks up on you. he will refuse to sleep, so you'd have to force him. please give this man all the reassurance, he really needs it. it won't stop his anxiety, or his fear of it happening again, but it puts him at ease. even if it's just a little bit, it helps, nonetheless.

fern.

-the green knight has plenty of enemies. of course, fern could protect himself, and you could do the same. however, even if you could protect yourself, there wasn't any chance to protect yourself getting jumped, and a dirty stab to the back. the most dishonorable way to lose to a foe. the amount of ever growing disrespect.

-he loses his shit. sure, he gets mad quickly, but if you were awake to see him like this: holy shit. he grows plentiful thorns, and poison flowers all over himself subconsciously. (he's actually very pretty like this.)

-he's livid, and you're not conscious to do anything about it. and that's just it, you're unconscious, bleeding out on the ground. fern couldn't quite process it just yet. normally you'd stop him from going too far, but you can't right now. that's supposed to never happen. he's confused and angry, and you're not waking up. you're not moving. so, he cuts down anyone involved in a quick motion. he doesn't care how brutal, as long as it's quick. fern wastes no time in picking you up (after managing the thorns and flowers) and taking you to doctor princess.

-fern can't stand seeing you like this. laying weakly on that hospital bed.

-if you think finn's not good at coping, fern is much worse. he doesn't even cope. he's just...there.

-he's so confused, and just shuts down a bit. like he's still there, he's still the green knight-- fern. but, he's just distant. not quite himself-- off.

-fern is unable to wrap his head around what happened to you, but he goes about his 'normal' life. he tries to just go about his casual life without you there, and he's just confused. it doesn't take long before he grows upset, allowing the rage to boil.

-'they used to do that.' 'this was their favorite color.' 'they were supposed to fix that.' 'they like bird houses.' everything reminds him of you. it's impossible to go a single day without a reminder that you're still unconscious.

-i think it gets more apparent when he's out and about as the green knight. he's more violent. but, he doesn't mean to be. it just...happens.

-he's likely not there when you first wake, but when he gets there fern's complaining about everything under his breath. but when he sees you up, that bed isn't just for you anymore.

-he's holding you close, with a firm hold and refusing to let go. he's scolding you for not waking up sooner, and complaining about how life without you was too different. he tried to be casual, but he missed you a bit too much.

-there is also no prying fern off of you-- a common thing between all of them. once you're up, there is no separating you both for a few hours at the least.

-fern is also hesitant about letting you rejoin him on the adventures, but as long as you stay close, and keep weapon on you at all times, he'll agree. but, all of your wounds-- every. single. one.-- had to be medically evaluated as ok, and no threat to your health before anything.

farmworld!finn.

(post crown -- pre fionna and cake.)

-he's in shock, not moving for a few moments. he knew why he'd be hated, or hunted down, killed even, but why you? why did they have to drag you into this?

-someone in the many gangs around the parts found you somewhere in the clearing waiting for finn. you both had previously planned a picnic out in a nice clearing in the woods. he was running late. but, once he found you bleeding out and onto grass, he's thrown way off guard.

-finn is quickly trying to pick you off the grass, trying to get you out of there, and dragging you back to his cabin. finn manages to tend to each of your wounds. though, the moment he's done, and you're in a stable condition-- he's leaving the cabin for a few hours.

-he finds whoever did this to you, and doing what he couldn't earlier. finn is driving in the same injuries they gave to you over and over again. he doesn't let up until he's in tears. finn knows that this changes nothing. he knows this won't make him feel better, but he needed to do something. anything. even if it's for his own sadistic pleasure to see the regret on their faces-- to see them like this. pathetically clawing at the dirt in an attempt to ground themselves through the pain-- trying to crawl away from his bloodied hands.

-(robot hand included.)

-finn leaves them with their lives(barely), and a warning before disappearing into the woods.

-he is struggling to cope. finn hold your hand in his abnormally cold one running his thumb over your knuckles. he's constantly checking in on you, and rarely leaving your side. sleeping, and eating could wait. after all that's happened with the crown, you're all he has left. he can't lose you too.

-he stays by your side as much as he can. finn knows he should probably take his mind off of...your condition and stay productive but it's difficult. the only reason the cabin is warm is because if it got too cold you'd start to shake. he makes food only because if you wake up you might be hungry.

-he doesn't know what to do for the most part, just waiting and hoping that you'll be better in no time. a fear lingers deep inside him that you'll worsen the moment he closes his eyes. so, finn stays up. there are times when he has passed out around the house, and when he wakes up he's absolutely terrified; running to check on you, checking to make sure your wounds haven't reopened, making sure you're alive.

-a deep seeded fear the you'll wilt away in his arms. it keeps him up at night-- it eats at him day by day.

-you're finally awake, but even then the fear doesn't fade. he's at you're every call so much that it begins to worry you.

-you'll have to force him, and i mean force him to sleep. you're ok, he's ok-- everything is ok. he can finally rest.

-he's just happy you're still there with him.

prismo.

-you? hurt? nope. not on his time watch. prismo has you out of the situation in seconds, without a scratch. he refuses to ever see you in any pain.

-though, hypothetically, if there's ever a time where you do get hurt, and your wounds cannot be fixed with his wish master magic, and he's "too late", he's not so well.

-you're on a comfy little bed in the wishing room, laying on top of him. your wounds are bandaged up, and cleaned, with your breathing finally stable.

-he never leaves you side once. (sensing a pattern in everyone.) it's either him, or a copy of him. when he's granting wishes to whoever manages to make it to his wishing room, he keeps you in the cube with a copy of himself to watch over you.

-tries to make small talk with your unconscious self...it doesn't go well. the owl visits more often only to lay it's eyes upon the slum prismo is in.

-the cosmic owl tries to ease the depression, though fails miserably. if jake is still alive; his visits, brings gifts, barber sessions, the whole mile for his other best bud. it does kinda help, even if it was just a bit-- but, he's greatful nonetheless.

-while he could be doing better, prismo is doing the best out of everyone to be honest(if jake is around). jake's visits have been more than helpful to this guy, and honestly without jake, he'd be worse than just a mess.

-when you wake up he doesn't believe it at first but he's ecstatic. there is never a time where he's not with you, talking your ear off on how horrible it was without you. and while prismo wants to contuine talking you to your grave, he can't deny hearing your voice after so long does wonders to him.

-bonus if jake's around and prismo's like "and i like...really miss her. y'know? like she's right there but she's not..." "no, dude, i get it..." "i'd kill just to hear her voice just once..." "...prismo..." "ah, shit now i'm hallucinating!!" "no prismo, behind you." "jake, don't play into my delusions!" "god dammit prismo." "YOU'RE AWAKE!? FINALLY."

scarab.

-this man is already insane. he already needs therapy. the anger issues on this psychotic man are insane.

-he loses all sense of morality(that he had left) but surprisingly holds off and tends to you first. by sending you back to headquarters for someone to tend to your injuries while scarab spends the next few hours tearing their molecules apart.

-honestly the worst out everyone. like, if he has a chance to off someone, they're going to die but in the most unconventional, painful, most gruesome way possible. he's....coping?

-at this point it's hard to tell with him, one moment he's rambling under his breath about annoyances, the next....he's offically lost it!!

-sadly he can't be at you're side at all times even if he really wants to, but with his job and all that. when given any chance he's right there next to you. he excuses this behavior as protecting you against anyone who might try anything, but in reality: it's just hard to stay away when you're like this. he wants to stay close even if he can't sometimes.

-scarab has difficulties with intimacy, so he finds it difficult to express his concern the "right" way. others see him as uneffected, and taking it too easy, but he is genuinely scared. he's scared that he loses the one person who can see him for what he is. an emotionally fucked up person who can't stand rule breakers.(joking).

-he finds holding your hand a way to ease the tension.

-when you wake up, he just sitting there, holding your hand.

-he's never letting you go anywhere without a weapon three times your size. of course he teaches you how to use it, but just because he wants you to protect yourself when he cannot. scarab views your injuries as him failing as a partner in more ways than one. he should've made sure you could protect yourself even when he couldn't.

-later on after your wounds have healed you're allowed with him on his missions. he denies being scared. reassure him anyways, he really needs it.

e/n: sorry prismo's and scarab's are short! first time writing them :')

#adventure time #finn mertens #finn the human #finn mertens x reader #fern mertens x reader #fern mertens #the snowman #fionna and cake #fionna and cake x reader #icefinn x reader #the scarab #the scarab x reader #prismo #prismo x reader #adventure time headcanons #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake headcanons

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