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colderdrafts · 2 years ago

Note

I was thinking about what the relationship between Morgan and the reader would be like and an idea came to me, but before I write my request I want to explain how I imagine the relationship between Morgan and the reader if the first person the reader met was Morgan and not Dren and how their relationship would be with each other:

the reader is a bit Tsundere, not the annoying or offensive type, it Just the way they respond to him most of the time but they're physically affectionate, sometimes they randomly go and hug Morgan, and Morgan just tries to Woo them in general.

My request: Morgan and the reader haveing another routine day, at night when Morgan sleeps they’re place get attacked and the reader wakes them up, Morgan gets hurt and the reader stays up all night to treat them (their wounds are really painful and the reader knows it) and stays by their side, Morgan is surprised by their sudden interest and that it’s not really part of their role but the reader do it anyway

have a great day <:

You have a galaxy brain and I thank you for it. A 'Morgan got ya first' oneshot under the cut <3

Tw for violence

It’s always a fun time figuring out how to fall asleep after a long day of traveling. One’s mind tend to keep going even after the body has settled, replaying the events, smells, sights and feelings in a never-ending loop. Decompressing. Filtering and sorting input in neat little boxes.

Perhaps the soreness in your legs and feet can serve as a distraction.

Your ventures with Morgan has this time brought you to a large span of mountainous landscapes. You’re spending the night on an outcropping of a cliff, with a view the stretches far over the horizon. Morgan has taken the liberty of webbing up an opening in the cliff-side for both of you to rest inside.

The view from here is nothing short of breathtaking. Underneath the silent night sky and illuminated by the moon, vast forests stretch far towards the curve of the world, completed by a faint spark of blue that hints to a great ocean.

You’ve been on the road with Morgan for a while now, gotten more or less used to their odd antics and, at times, pushy habits.

Sentry, they call you, a name and a title. They whisper it fondly, barely audible but enough for it to send shivers down your spine. That word carries a promise. A vow you have no choice but to keep.

They’re asleep now, nestled inside the alcove in the rock on a soft bedding of web they spun. The gentle sound of their steady breaths and occasional chittering soothes you, and you hate it.

It’s clear they want to get close to you, and you don’t really have much choice in the matter. The horrible pain in your chest that plagues you every single time you think of running off makes keeping this distance that much harder. And Morgan is well aware you’ve been trying to figure out how to get out of this, yet they don’t do anything to stop you from trying to leave. They simply don’t have to. They know you’ll remain close, even as they sleep.

Morgan is patient and gentle with you, and you can never tell if it’s a front to ease your mind, or if it’s simply the assurance that you’re in for the long haul, like it or not. The second they had you close enough you were connected, without fully understanding what happened.

Which is why you've firmly held on to your stubbornness, and do what you can to keep them at bay.

It doesn’t work very well, seeing as you’re currently sitting on a small mat of web outside their sleeping space, hoping the cool night air will calm your mind. Morgan recognizes your movements, but will awaken if anything but you disturbs it – an efficient alert system for your sleepless nights, and need for space without a glaring red focus watching your every move.

Morgan fell asleep pretty quick, calmed by your presence. The air is getting colder, and winter is getting closer. With it comes Morgan’s yearly period of lethargy – onset of exhaustion before they’re out of commission for hibernation. At this time, they may as well be dead to the world. You’ll be their only saving grace, in case someone dangerous takes advantage of that vulnerability.

You’ve been traveling the mountains to find a suitable spot for them to rest. You stare out on the forest, dreading the weeks of solitude you’ll be forced to endure once they do.

After all, Morgan is your only company in this world. Nobody wants to approach you with them around. Not that they actively prevent it, but their presence and unsettling demeanor simply makes common-folk anxious. It hasn’t exactly been easy to make friends.

Not that you would have an option of visiting them anyway, now that you’re bound to Morgan’s side.

You look at their sleeping face, crude mandibles twitching at times, breathing slowly. Like this, their face looks almost peaceful, inviting. When you move a little, trying to gain some space, a faint purr escapes them, and they reach a hand out to where you’re sitting. As if your stirring was because of a bad dream, and not your current stressful thoughts. As if trying to calm you, even in their sleep.

And much to your chagrin, it works. It always does. Whatever they did to you when you first met makes sure that their proximity and soothing behavior always, always makes your body relax. You have to restrain yourself from reaching back for their outstretched hand.

Sometimes you do so without thinking – brushing your fingers over their arm, chest, neck or hair before you can stop yourself. Morgan always leans back into you, reciprocating and looking for more. When you pull back, they follow. You constant shadow, you haven’t had a day on your own since you met them.

Even if it wouldn’t tear your heart apart to leave, you can’t. You’d be dead already, if they hadn’t stepped in to defend you at every turn. This world is extremely dangerous to creatures such as yourself. And creatures such as Morgan, for that matter.

As if called by your thought, you hear a faint snap of a branch somewhere in the woods next to you, and immediately you’re on high alert.

You rise to your feet, silently, and stare out toward the source of the sound.

It’s dark, and you’re at a disadvantage. It could just be deer. But it could also be something dangerous, and you've learned the necessity in making sure.

You take a cautious step forward to get a better view. Another snap catches your attention, and you look to your right.

Some leaves are rustling, and you surmise it must be deer, or some other harmless thing. Something that wanted to take you by surprise would never make so much noise.

At ease, you turn to go back – yet there’s a blur of movement, and suddenly something sharp sends a ping of pain through your neck.

“Gah-!” you gasp, and quickly reach up and pull out a small dart.

Seems the 'deer' was a distraction.

The dart is coated in a clear liquid that has a strong, bitter scent you recognize, and it would appear you’re in luck. If that had nicked an artery, you’d be completely immobilized already. But when a very strong dizziness follows still, you know you’ll have to act swiftly.

You stumble backwards, a tingling numbness haunting your limbs. You catch a glimpse of three figures stepping out of the woods, silently rushing towards you, and you turn and start sprinting towards your custodian.

You almost collapse upon their sleeping form, shaking their shoulder.

“M-Morgan,” you urge, already feeling faint. “We’re in danger, wake up!”

Their eyes snap open at your call, and suddenly your world is turned around.

In a split second, they snatch you off the ground, on their feet, clutching you tightly to their chest and front legs raised high in a threat posture. A second passes where they’re still, quiet and contemplating, and you know they’re sensing for movement triggering their webs.

They nudge their face against the back of your neck, a warning clatter escaping them. You feel their comforting heat radiating off them, encompassing you, searching for injuries. They breathe in and hiss, and you wonder if they can sense the venom in your neck.

And that’s when a sudden whoosh sounds, followed by a thud. Morgan’s hold on you loosens as they squeal in pain.

You fall to the ground as Morgan let's go to step over you, multiple legs blocking you from whatever just attacked them. They skitter around, hissing and snarling. A fine spear hits the ground, coated in fresh blood.

You see them now, blocking any path away from the mountain and rapidly approaching. Three hunters, cloaked and carrying spears, barking orders of attack at each other.

“Circle around it!”

“Pin its legs!”

“Don’t get within range! It’s guarding the sentry!”

Another sound like a whip crack rings through the air, and Morgan hisses again. You look up to see a crude hook firmly locked into one of their legs and pulling from a rope, tearing the tough carapace and getting stuck in the joint. The hunters are attempting to restrict their freedom of movement.

Morgan ignores the pain and roughly pulls, an awful tearing sound accompanying the movement. They stubbornly tear themself free, before another hunter can throw another hook.

“What the-” is the only thing that escapes the hunter before Morgan is rapidly upon him, legs lifting him into the air like he weighs nothing but a dime.

The others scatter, realizing their plan foiled, and prepare other weapons.

Morgan hisses as they slam the hunter up against the rocky mountainside, head-first. There’s an uncanny crunching sound, as the inside of his skull gets closely acquainted with the rocky surface.

Yells of warning and another woosh as a spear soars through the air, and lands in Morgan’s shoulder.

They discard the mangled corpse, turn, and storm toward the hunter who threw it, movement almost a blur. Their legs stabs at where they’re standing, the hunter swiftly dodging their attacks in a deadly dance. The spear in Morgan’s should dislodges at the rapid movement.

Meanwhile you're struggling to open your satchel, searching for a specific concoction Morgan shoved you how to make. It’s difficult to pick out the correct antidote, scrambling around with your partially paralyzed body, fingers not responding to your brain’s commands of movement. You manage to find the correct one and quickly chug it, ignoring the gross bitterness. Now you have to wait for it to work.

While distracted, the third hunter is suddenly upon you, and you have to clumsily spin out of the way to avoid a spear just as it was jabbing at your chest. The move sent another wave of dizziness over you, you wobbly legs almost giving out from under you.

You grit your teeth and throw your satchel at the hunter to gain some breathing room.

She parries, knocking the satchel aside before it can connect. As you turn toward the alcove for cover she steps forward, and uses the advantage the range of a spear gives her to whack you over the side of the head. A white hot pain shoots through your skull, and combined with the venom you land heavily on the floor.

You feel something sharp prickling against your back. You glance over your shoulder to see the third hunter having a spear pointed pointed firmly at you, but staring at Morgan struggling against the second hunter.

Morgan swipes their feet, and when the hunter lands on the ground they immediately take advantage of the exposed position, slamming their sharp claws into their chest. The hunter screeches in pain as they tear through cleanly.

Morgan picks the impaled hunter off the ground, and hurls them over the side of the cliff with a disgusted growl. In you stupor, you can only hear the faint gurgling scream before it’s replaced by a wet thud.

Morgan turn their gleaming red eyes toward you, chittering and heaving for breath. Blood and a viscous clear liquid is pouring from open wounds in their shoulder, abdomen and legs.

Then their eyes settle on the one threatening you. Their face contorts in rage, mandibles flaring and teeth bared as they advance on her with rapid steps.

“No sudden moves,” the last hunter bellows. “Or I kill them!”

The spear presses into you slightly, and you whine as it pierces the skin.

Morgan halts, hissing, and rights themselves, eyes darting between you and the hunter.

You know that look. They’re analyzing, planning, searching for advantages.

The hunter shifts uncomfortably under their scrutinizing, their grip on the spear tightening. You can feel her hands shaking through the sharp tip as she clutches it. She’s afraid.

Morgan stares at her, unblinking, righting themselves so their gangly limbs slightly creak as they move.

“Will you?” they chitter mockingly, voice an odd mixture of speech and hissing. As if the lower and upper body are speaking all at once. “And what then?”

The hunter hesitates. “Then you’ll die.”

Morgan smiles then, a fanged grin with eyes full of viciousness. “No,” they snicker. “Then -”

They take a quick step towards her, testing, taunting, clicking claws echoing off the mountain walls. The spear doesn’t seep deeper into you. The hunter is wholly focused on them.

“I will paralyze you, and slowly tear you apart. I’ll take my time and devour you piece. By. Piece.”

The hunter grits her teeth, considering her options, keeping her grip on you like a lifeline.

“Then-” Morgan continues, still smiling, “you will feel every single agonizing moment of your muscle and bone being pulled apart. You won’t die before I let you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You gasp as the spear threatening you moves slightly as the hunter puts pressure on it in retaliation, regaining some composure. Morgan hisses at the sound, legs clawing at the ground.

“You won’t reach me before they’re dead,” the hunter counters, voice a little lower.

“Is that so? Would you like to bet?” Morgan asks nonchalantly, crouching down as if readying to pounce. Then their eye settle on you, gleaming with wicked amusement.

It seems they have a plan.

With a grunt of effort, you suddenly twist to the side, wincing as the spear cuts over your skin. The hunter startles at your sudden movement, and missteps to regain her balance. The second she does, any pressure on your body leaves abruptly. It is replaced by a large shadow looming over you.

Morgan is above you in a split second, and so is the hunter, trapped in their grip. The spear falls to the ground with a clatter.

“I win,” Morgan sneers.

The hunter flails in a panic, to which Morgan chuckles. From your angle you can just barely make out the hunter.

And catch a glimpse of shining steel from a knife they’ve just pulled out from under their cloak.

“Morgan, look out-!”

There’s another wet tearing sound, followed by Morgan squealing in pain as the hunter buries the weapon somewhere in their front.

Morgan jumps forward and away from you, and with the motion whacks the hunter onto the dirt. They wrap the claws of their front legs around her neck and start pulling as she screams. There’s a squelch, and the hunter starts gurgling horribly, uselessly heaving for breath through a torn throat.

Morgan stares down at the hunter for the few moments it takes before she goes quiet.

The silence that follows is heavy. Morgan wobbles, and slumps down, breathing hard as the adrenaline settles.

The antidote having somewhat dispelled your paralysis, you rise to your feet, and rush to their side to assess the damage.

Morgan turns toward you, and lean down to meet you halfway, grasping your shoulders and staring you in the face. Their hands ghost over your neck and jaw as they chitter quietly, making sure you’re still there. A knife is sticking out from beneath their collar bone, oozing blood.

Along their other injuries, they’re not looking too good.

You put your hands out towards them, unsure where to put them. What will help, and what will cause further damage? You settle for clutching their wrists.

“Fuck,” you breathe, staring at them. “Holy shit. Fuck!”

Morgen takes a deep breath at your voice, calming themself.

“Not the best time right now, unfortunately," Morgan teases and coughs, wincing as the movement disturbs the weapon buried inside them.

You groan at them in frustration. “Now’s not the time for jokes, idiot! Come on, we gotta get those sealed up. Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Morgan replies through gritted teeth, and stands back up, avoiding putting weight on their mangled leg.

They glance down at it, assessing it for a second, frowning like it’s an outlier that should not be counted. Then they rise up just a moment, placing two healthy legs on either side of the limb, claws grasping it tightly.

Oh. Oh no-

You grab at one of their free legs to stop them. “Woah, woah – Morgan, don’t you fucking dare-!”

There’s a disgusting crackling noise from tough chitin bending and giving way. Morgan pulls at their leg, cleanly severing it from their body with a bellow of strained effort, hissing and snarling in pain. They throw it aside like it has been a thorn in their side for a decade.

The appendage flops to the ground, discarded like yesterday’s newspaper, and a clear liquid starts pouring from the place where it used to be attached.

“Why?!” you bark at them, tearing off your shirt to wrap around the stump left behind and staunching the bleeding.

“Slowing me,” they hiss.

“Inside. Now,” you demand, grabbing their arm to lead them in the right direction, since you can’t do much in terms of supporting their weight.

Morgan’s fingers curl around your wrist affectionately as they let you. Their hands are shaking.

Once inside, and Morgan has been somewhat stabilized, you get to work mixing up herbs and grinding powder into a cleansing balm.

Just like they taught you. In case you are ever in need of it, and I’m not around.

“You’re getting very good at that,” Morgan praises, watching you work. Their speech comes a little slurry.

How they can keep a level head after all of that is beyond you, but maybe that’s the blood loss talking. Can you lose adrenaline from blood loss?

You ignore them, focusing on getting bandages ready. “Focus on keeping pressure on those wounds.”

“Yes, dear,” they purr. Then they hiss.

“What?” you ask hurriedly, turning toward them.

“Just some pain. I’ll live,” they smile, a little strained. “Hmm, never though I’d see you worry about me like that.”

“Shut it,” you huff, turning back to the task at hand. “I need to focus.”

“Oh, am I distracting you?”

“Shut. It. And keep the pressure.”

They hum, and you try to ignore the sensation of Morgan unabashedly staring at you as you work.

After treating the wound where their leg used to be, and the cut in their shoulder, you turn your attention the other obvious safety hazard sticking out of their chest, unsure how to approach it. The dagger is buried deep under the collar bone, but since Morgan is still breathing luckily it didn’t puncture anything. But you’ll have to be very careful removing it.

You turn to find something to seal wound with, though you hear Morgan grunt, and a wet slop follows. You spin on your heel and watch as Morgan deftly pulls out the knife from under their collar bone, and it goes from trickling to pouring blood.

“What the – NO!” you yell at them, hurrying over to put pressure on it with a piece of cloth. “Are you insane?!”

“It needed to get out sooner or later,” Morgan slurs, throwing the weapon aside.

“Not until I was ready to staunch it!” you protest, doing your best to keep your hands on the wound. You glare up into their exhausted red eyes calmly watching you scramble. “Keep pressure on this too, you moron.”

They comply, folding their hands over yours and chuckling. Seems they’re still coherent enough, as they have the audacity to find your fluster amusing. “I will. Go do your thing, sentry.”

You pull your hands out from under theirs, and get to work making a makeshift plug of bandages to seal the wound a little better, rushing back and forth to get everything in place and ready to staunch the bleeding.

If this keeps up, you have a long night ahead of you.

After two hours of managing blood loss, carefully sealing deeper wounds, re-wrapping up their legs, abdomen, shoulder and chest, you’re finally finished.

The procedure took at lot out of Morgan’s energy reserves, however. You’ll save the scolding of furthering their own injuries for when they’re coherent enough to hear them.

They look even paler than usual, their breathing coming ragged and fast. You’re worried a fever may set in, and you’ve done your best preparing herbs like they’ve shoved you to combat it.

They’re sluggish, yet still acting skittish and jumpy, which is an alarming change from their usual brash and confident attitude. They talk less – staring out over the edge of your hide, legs constantly in tune with the tripwire they’ve spun. Their lower body has seemingly taken hold of the situation, leaving their usual social etiquette on the back-burner in favor of active survival instincts. Perhaps a response to the current danger of lethargy and weakness.

“Morgan. Settle down and sleep. You need to rest,” you inform them.

They shake their head, staring out beyond the edge of your hide and into the dark. They’re shivering yet coated in sweat.

You slowly reach up and put your hands on either side of their face to regain their attention. It works immediately as their eyes dart to you with intense focus. You can feel their warmth underneath your palms, caressing the inside of your wrists.

“I’ll keep watch. You sleep,” you say gently.

And it seems that was the magic words. Morgan smiles at you, not the usual knowing or teasing smirk you’ve grown used to, but a genuine expression of contentment. The complete earnest look leaves you slightly flabbergasted.

You can feel the connection of the little strings between you pulling slightly, and you know you’ve just made them a promise.

“Okay,” they hum.

They finally settle down, carefully folding their legs in a comfortable position, and laying down.

Resigned to your fate, you settle down next to them, leaning on the front of their abdomen. A pedipalp curls around your stomach.

The second you’re there, they’re out like a light. You keep your word, and watch the surroundings as Morgan finally rests.

It’s one of the roughest nights of your life.

Morgan’s state worsens as the hours pass, shifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, bleeding through several bandages. When they’re awake, you have to almost physically restrain them from standing up back on guard. When they’re asleep, you have to keep an eye out on everything lurking in the forest that could be attracted by the smell of blood and weakness. Simultaneously, you keep your hand on their neck, intently feeling for their continued pulse and listening to their breathing. You fear the second their rhythm halts, and realize you’re afraid of losing them.

When they’re delirious and gasping from the pain, you try your best to soothe them, running your hands over their hair, neck, arms and legs. The tingling warmth beneath their skin reaches for you, more so than ever. For the first time, you feel yourself reaching back. You don’t know what it is you’re doing, but whatever it is, it works. You can feel a disturbance, faint sparks of static and knots in the usual gentle energy rolling off them. You smooth them out as you run your hands over them. Tension leaves their limbs, and they settle against you, more at ease. Perhaps you’re simply helping them carry the pain.

But they need another distraction from their lower body telling them to be prepared to fight.

So you talk to them. You tell them silly little stories of your home life, describe the way an old friend used to eat their favorite meal oddly, anything that comes to mind. Morgan responds with nothing more than small acknowledging grunts and hums, and eventually they’re asleep again. And you go back to keeping a hand on their pulse, stroking their hair, and keeping a lookout for any other disturbances.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you wanted to take care of me,” Morgan purrs, staring at you. “I could get used to this.”

You resist the urge to smack them, seeing as they’re already in a world of pain. You huff as you pick off some webbing from a bandage on their leg. It stubbornly sticks to your fingers.

It’s two days after the attack, and their teasing habits have returned with force. They’re still severely hurt, but some rest and intense care-taking has done wonders for them. Unfortunately.

“Do not make me do all of this ever again,” you scold them. “This whole thing was almost too much. You could have died.”

They brush a hand against you cheek. “My my, sentry, you don’t want me to get hurt?”

“Of course not,” you grunt. “If you die, I’m as good as dead. And vice versa. Remember?”

“Hmm, quite so. I love how you’ve finally taken to that,” Morgan says.

When you ignore them in favor of fidgeting with the bandage, they press their forehead against the top of your skull. You halt your movements.

“But are you sure it’s just the agreement?” they whisper gently.

You breathe out as their calming proximity washes over you again, soothing your limbs. “What do you mean?”

You can hear the smile in their voice. “Are you sure it’s not because you secretly care about me? Just a little bit?”

You shake off the spell, and tie the final knot on the bandage tightly. “No.”

Morgan laughs, but then winces again. You instinctively put your hands out to steady them. The knowing look they send you is nothing short of infuriating, so you turn to put the excess medical tools away.

They reach out then, wrapping their legs around your waist, and gently pulling you back to them.

Usually you’d pull away or scoff or tell them to knock it off. Usually you’d be reluctantly admitting how nice it feels to be in their arms to yourself, and distance from it as best as you can.

But right now they seem a little weak for the first time. Right now they’re severely hurt by fighting for both your lives. You came out of it more or less unscathed again, because Morgan brutally made sure you would.

The least you could do is try to revel a little in that connection that seemingly brings them a world of calm.

So when your back reaches their chest you just lean back into them with a sigh, half contended, half resigned. Morgan shifts their legs to rest on either side of you, and wraps their arms around you, resting their head on your shoulder. Their warmth follows quickly after, a soothing and soft blanket rolling off them in gentle waves. Even now, they’re trying to calm you down.

“You know, this isn’t part of the agreement,” Morgan says softly, leaning heavily on you.

“What isn’t?”

“Tending to my wounds. The deal is I defend us, at any cost, and you keep watch when I can't. You could have let me bleed out and perish.”

You pause. “Would I be free then?”

“Free,” Morgan repeats with a thoughtful hum. They gently pres their face against your neck as they speak. “Is that how you think of this? That you’re a captive?”

“You didn’t give me much choice in the matter," you mutter. "And now I can’t leave.”

“And yet you still fought hard for my survival. You stayed by my side through it all to keep me alive.”

“I did.”

“So are you a captive, or a very efficient sentry?” they praise, running a hand over your hair.

The affectionate motion makes you shiver.

“You know this isn’t good, Morgan. For either of us,” you rasp.

“If it’s so bad, why didn’t you just let me die?” they counter. “You must care at a certain level, even if you don’t want to admit it. But that’s okay, I understand. You don’t have to say anything.”

Good. You’re not inclined to.

Morgan hums at your silence, and squeezes you gently. “You must be exhausted, and it’s my turn to take care of you now. You’ve earned some rest after all this. Get some sleep.”

You stare out over the far horizon, ignoring the pools of crimson and traces of mangled innards still coating the surface of the cliff. Morgan holds you close, as they always do, and you fall asleep in their arms with a taste of blood in your mouth.

#colderwriting #enjoy some Morgan brutality C:#About Morgan🚩🕷️#UV #whew this got longer than I thought it would #but it was fun! I love playing with 'what if?'s in my stories #thanks for the prompt <3 #drider x reader #monster romance #monster x reader #gender neutral reader

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