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mdzsfan · 9 months

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A cruel symphony of love and suffering

Thank you so much for requesting @Aelsher_- ! (from wattpad)

(This ended up being more angst, then how I originally planned. But there's a happy ending and this was very fun to create hehe).

The Hanahaki is a fictional disease, in East Asian cultures where the victim coughs up flower petals, after they suffer a fate of unrequited love.

Petals drifted from her lips like confessions never spoken, delicate and heartrending. Hanahaki, they named it, a cruel symphony of love and suffering. The room held a sense of solemnity as the petals tumbled from her mouth, each one a testament to a love she had kept locked away.

In the sanctuary of her room, moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a ghostly glow on the scattered petals that adorned the floor. The scent of plum blossoms hung heavy, mingling with the memories she held close to her heart.

From a distance, she had watched him, Lan Wangji. A figure of ethereal grace and unwavering discipline. His mere presence radiated tranquility, like a moonlit night on a calm lake. Yet beneath that stoic exterior, emotions stirred, evident in the blossoms that fell from her lips.

Lan Wangji, a name that evoked reverence and longing. His dedication to the ways of the Gusu Lan sect was unyielding, but his eyes held secret emotions hidden behind the façade. The petals, a manifestation of her feelings, seemed to bridge the gap between their unspoken connection.

The moon cast its silvery light upon the courtyard, revealing his silhouette as he moved gracefully among the shadows. Lan Wangji, a master of the guqin, moved with an elegance that matched the melodies he played. Their eyes met through the window, a shared moment of unspoken understanding in the moon's gentle embrace.

Y/n found herself yearning for a deeper connection. Her heart craved his affection, his companionship. Why did fate play such a cruel hand? She had meticulously followed the thousands of rules of the sect, and treated everyone with unwavering politeness. Yet, amidst all her efforts, the one thing that remained elusive was him.

As they locked eyes in the midst of reality, y/n moved to dispel the tension, drawing the curtains closed. A weight settled in her chest, her breath quickening in unmanageable spirals. Her heart raced, an unsettling nausea consuming her. And then, as if an unrelenting echo, she vomited those enchanting yet poisonous plum blossoms. Coughs followed in rapid succession, until blood stained her cloth, a grim testament to her condition.

Y/n sought out the healers, desperation evident in her eyes, but even their wisdom couldn't unearth a solution to her affliction. Hanahaki was a rarity of a rarity��an ancient ailment with a mere 0.1% chance of occurrence. Her determination, however, remained unshaken, her resolve stronger than ever. To face this silent adversary, she chose a path of avoidance, steering clear of Lan Wangji with every ounce of her being.

"Xiao Mei!" Wei Wuxian's cheer rang out as y/n crossed paths with him.

"Wei er-gongzi!" Y/n's greeting was accompanied by a warm smile as they drew closer to each other.

"Don't be so formal!" Wei Wuxian playfully scolded, his tone light. "Remember, we're friends."

"Of course," y/n replied, chuckling softly. She covered her mouth suddenly, a fit of rapid, harsh coughs overtaking her.

"Are you all right?" Wei Wuxian's concern was evident as he reached out to touch her face, checking for any signs of distress.

Y/n managed a reassuring smile, though her coughing had left her a bit breathless. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice still carrying a touch of hoarseness.

Wei Wuxian's hand lingered on her face, his brow furrowed with worry. He gently assessed her temperature, finding it oddly normal despite her recent coughing fit.

"I know what would make you feel better!" He exclaimed, gripping her arm gently.

"Where are you taking me?" she responded, amusement tugging on her lips.

"To a-zhans!" he declared, his voice feeling with cheer and excitement.

Her face lit in horror, and quickly stopped.

"Why are you so scared?" Wei Wuxian asked as his brows furrowed in confusion "I know he can be grumpy sometimes, but he's always nice to you, and you guys are best friends!"

"It's not that," Y/n hesitated, as her voice trailed off. But as her gaze met Law Wangji who was now facing them. She quickly turned and dashed into her room, pushing the door.

Y/n could discern the shadow of sadness that crossed Lan Wangji's expression, yet she convinced herself that maintaining this distance was the wiser path. It pained her deeply, this act of pushing him away, but she couldn't bring herself to bear the weight of potential rejection and humiliation. The thought of unrequited feelings gnawed at her heart, urging her to take this route ignoring him seemed the lesser of two agonizing options. The prospect of dealing with the consequences paled in comparison to the agony of baring her unreciprocated emotions to him.

While on the way to the library, y/n found herself abruptly pressed against the wall by Lan Wangji. His arms formed a barrier, preventing any avenue of escape. Fatigue and weariness marred his countenance, the signs of exhaustion evident. Disheveled and disarrayed, his appearance was a stark contrast to his usual impeccable self, his hair unkempt, and his ribbon askew.

"Wangji, what is the meaning of this?" y/n exclaimed, her voice tinged with both fear and the pressure exerted upon her.

"You," Lan Wangji's voice emerged, a soft exhalation. "Why have you ignored me?"

"I haven't," she responded, a hint of defiance in her tone.

"What have I done to deserve this treatment? Why have you turned so distant?" Lan Wangji's voice lowered to a whisper, his confusion palpable. "I witnessed you sharing smiles with Wei Ying, yet in my presence, you flee, your expression portraying fear."

"If your heart truly belongs to Wei Wuxian, there is no need for you to conceal it," Lan Wangji's voice held a quiet conviction. "Just don't leave me again."

A wave of guilt swept over y/n as the reality of Lan Wangji's emotions settled in. Her intentions hadn't been to evoke this reaction from him, but her stubbornness had blinded her to the impact of her actions.

"Is this truly your interpretation?" y/n's laughter held a bitter edge. "You believe that I harbor feelings for Wei Wuxian?"

"Despite our shared upbringing," she continued, a touch of disbelief colouring her words, "it seems as though you know nothing about me." A hint of hysteria crept into her laughter, a poignant reminder of the irony that had woven itself into this situation.

"Then tell me!" His voice cracked with a mixture of desperation and frustration as he clutched her shoulders, tears tracing their path down his cheeks. "Tell me the reason why my closest friend has been ignoring me for weeks."

"Oh, so you're eager for the truth now?" she taunted, her tone edged with bitterness. "You, who can hardly stand up to your own uncle, yet you have the audacity to demand the truth from me?"

Her words faltered as the petals tightened their grip, the sensation almost suffocating. She pushed him away, desperation flaring as she retreated to her room, the need to release the petals becoming urgent. Once behind the closed door, she emptied herself, the blossoms and blood mingling in a haunting display of her unspoken agony. This time, it was more intense, the hue of the blood darker, marking the depth of her struggle.

Her heart raced, each beat echoing in her ears as her vision blurred. The agony coursing through her was nearly unbearable.

As the weight of her suffering intensified, she found herself struggling to remain upright. The room seemed to spin around her, and the pain was as tangible as the air she gasped for. Every heartbeat felt like a thunderous drum, each thud resonating through her weakened body.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji's determination didn't waver. With a fierce resolve, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to catch any sound from within. His own heartache mingled with worry, and a sense of helplessness gripped him. He knew something was deeply amiss, something he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Y/n!" His voice, raw and urgent, seeped through the door, carrying with it a desperate plea. "Please, let me in. I need to understand. Why are you ignoring me? Every night I wonder what I did wrong. I spent many sleepless nights thinking, where did everything go wrong. I just want my bestfriend back."

On the other side of the door, y/n fought to steady herself, the room around her threatening to dissolve into darkness. Her breathing grew ragged, and her resolve to protect him began to crumble under the weight of her own suffering. Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, her love for him remained unshaken, and it was that love that gave her the strength to respond.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the door, her fingers barely able to push it. Slowly, she pushed the door, as it revealed her disheveled figure, petals scattered at her feet. In that fleeting instant, her eyes met Lan Wangji's, and all the words that had remained unspoken seemed to hang in the air, waiting for a chance to bridge the chasm between them.

Y/n offered him a fragile smile, a glimmer of reassurance in her eyes. And then, without warning, her strength gave way, and she collapsed into his arms. Blood and petals spilled from her lips, a stark reminder of the hanahaki's cruel grip on her, and her labored breathing weighed heavily in the air.

"Y/n!" Lan Wangji's voice cracked, raw with panic and fear as he swiftly caught her, his arms encircling her limp form. "Y/n! Wake up," he implored, his voice a desperate plea, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

His arms cradled her, his fingers trembling as they brushed against her skin. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume his composure. Gently, he shifted her in his arms, his touch tender yet urgent, as if his very presence could summon her back to consciousness.

"Y/n," his voice was a whisper, laced with vulnerability, as he pressed his forehead against hers. "Please, open your eyes. You can't leave me like this." Every word trembled with the depth of his emotions, every syllable a plea for her to return to him.

He held her close, the petals that had once haunted her existence now scattered around them, a poignant reminder of the love he hadn't fully comprehended until this moment. In his arms, he held not just a friend, but a soul he had come to cherish a truth that had remained hidden in the silence between them.

As the seconds stretched into eternity, his heart raced, his every sense attuned to the hope of her awakening. "Y/n," he murmured once more, his voice a prayer in the quiet room, a plea for her to fight back against the darkness that threatened to steal her away.

Time seemed to stand still as Lan Wangji cradled y/n in his arms, his heart aching with a depth of emotion he had never experienced before. He could feel the weight of her frailty, the fragility of life that hung in the balance. Every rise and fall of her chest felt like a precious testament to her existence, and he held onto her as if his grip alone could keep her tethered to the realm of the living.

Desperation fueled his actions as he gently patted her cheek, his touch a mix of urgency and tenderness. "Y/n, please," he whispered, his voice cracking, "come back to me."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation, as Lan Wangji's pleas hung in the air like a fragile melody. And then, after what felt like an eternity, a faint flutter of eyelids stirred. Y/n's eyelashes trembled, and her eyes slowly opened, her gaze meeting Lan Wangji's with a mixture of confusion and recognition.

"Lan Wangji?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as if she were emerging from a dream.

Relief washed over him in a powerful surge. "Y/n," he breathed her name, his grip on her tightening almost instinctively. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you share your feelings with me?"

A weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she attempted to speak, though her voice was strained. "I... I'm sorry, Wangji."

The weight of her apology hung in the air, the unspoken truths between them finally laid bare. Lan Wangji's gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch gentle. "You don't have to apologize, y/n. I wish you'd have confided in me sooner, but I understand why you kept this hidden."

Y/n's eyes shimmered with emotion as she looked up at him, her vulnerability mirrored in his own eyes. "I was afraid," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Afraid of losing our friendship, of facing rejection and humiliation."

Lan Wangji's thumb caressed her cheek, his touch a soothing balm against her doubts. "Y/n, you mean the world to me. Our friendship is invaluable, but if there's a chance for more, I want to take it. I want to explore these feelings with you."

Tears welled in her eyes as his words reached her heart, erasing the fears that had held her captive. "Wangji," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude and affection.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender, chaste kiss. "Rest now, y/n. We have time to heal and to discover what lies ahead for us."

As the room bathed in the soft light of their shared understanding, they clung to each other, a promise of a future woven from the threads of their unspoken love. The journey ahead wouldn't be without challenges, but they faced it together, united by the bond that had weathered the storm of pain and petals.

#mdzs x reader #mdzs #lan wangji #lan Zhan x reader #x reader #the untamed x reader #reader insert mdzs #the untamed #the untamed one shots #mo dao zu shi x reader #mdzs oneshots #lan wangji x reader #lan zhan #lan wangji x female reader #lan zhan x female reader

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ironpersondreamgoop · 2 months

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What Was I Made For? (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/364744075-what-was-i-made-for?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=KittyCatalyst2021 Alastor stood at the precipice, where reality seemed to fracture and the very essence of Hell itself was laid bare before him. The void gaped-a monstrous maw of oblivion that defied comprehension. It was the thing of whispers in the dark corners of taverns, where even the hardened sinners dared not speak its name with anything but reverence and dread. It was a chasm so profound, so impossibly vast, that it drank in the light and substance around it, rendering the world pallid and insubstantial by comparison. Here was the end of all ends, the finality reserved for those who perished yet again within the infernal depths. To know of its existence was one matter; to witness its unyielding hunger was an affliction on the soul.

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makriiii · 11 months

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Caught IV (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 4.5k

Authors notes: I had some fun with this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did writing it! Double spaces again, I'm sorry. 😭

Warnings: 18+, angst, cursing, gun violence, alcohol.

Pt1! or pt5!

Ao3 or wattpad!

♡

Caught IV

Arthur held you forcibly still in his embrace. Your own gun held directly to your temple, his gloved hand over your mouth to keep any pleas for help completely unable to escape.

You patted him with your elbow, soft at first then you got more rough as to tell him you werent going to pull anything, despite that he kept his hold on you firm.

You wanted to run into camp, no doubt, to feel a sense of security and familiarity, to be back with your own group and not in the hands of that man who stripped you of everything. Yet, you knew too well what would happen if attempted.

Your mind flashed with multiple possibilities. What were they playing at? There was no way they'd gun down this entire camp, and if they did talk their way into the middle, they surely wouldn't get to kill Colm before all of you racked up bullets in your flesh.

"What're we doing about the pisser, Morgan?" Bill asks lowly, "One by the tree."

Arthur liberates you, nudging you off to the side and out of his way. "Let's get closer." He takes the lead, the other three not far behind him.

The pine needles and soft dirt under Arthurs boots masked the sound of footsteps as he crept closer to the man doing his business, whom took a blade to the throat shortly after.

Your face twisted into pitied cringe, what a degrading death that must be. Now despite refraining from using a gun, the drop of the man's body and his guttural last breath had the other two men shooting all too fast.

"Now we got a real fight. Come on!" Hollers Bill, everyone covering behind thick trunks. Arthur yelled something back that you couldn't quite discern from the blasts.

Your body lurched, your entire chest lie nearly lined with the ground, avoiding the small metal projectiles thatd no doubt hit you if you stayed unwitting and frozen.

Completely unarmed and not much one for hand to hand combat, especially against trigger happy O'Driscolls struck you with a different idea entirely.

Escape.

You were unbound by any ropes and no longer under the watchful eye of Dutch's gang.

The thought only held you for mere seconds, the shouting and firing kept you out of your thoughts. Arthur and his two pals made concerningly quick work of your O'Driscolls. This base not long before mimicking the old mining site.

Dutch's gang had tenacity, you could admire them for that. But because of them, you had nothing. No gang - pretty quick here - no money, not even your own guns, hell even your horse was holed up in their camp, hardly in your possession.

You groaned in defeat, you really didn't have anything to lose.

As sly as possible, you rushed for the men Arthur just took out, fetching their guns, the handles of which still warm from their grasp.

"Give up, O'Driscolls. We got you beat!" Arthur barked, reloading his rifle.

You felt slightly dazed by the sight of them, the fact that you could join them just as good, not made better by Arthurs words. You shook it off, swallowing your nerves and crouched for a tree.

You felt complete when you had a gun firm in your palm, the ability to protect yourself. It revived you some after all these demeaning days. The familiar feel of the gun's hammer under your thumb, clicking into place once you pulled it back.

You yourself officially joined the gun fight.

The recoil of the double barrel pistol was somethin fierce, sending a shockwave up into your mostly out of commission bicep. Being out of the game for a good week and a half had both your hands keeping the gun steady enough to be a good aim.

Two of your gang members flanked Bill, your limited bullets landed fairly, both of them dropping before Bill had any more trouble.

He wrung his head in your direction, clearly afflicted by your help, but he was too busy to care, returning his vision fixed ahead.

Your face burned and your heart ready to burst with the swift influx of adrenaline that nearly felt as though it replaced the blood that coursed through your veins.

You had only so many bullets, so you cautiously moved up to the front lines for better aim.

Men all around you shouted and yelled out amongst the sharp sound of bullets, yet with each of your shots, the shouts lessened.

"That's it." John huffed out, "They're turning tail!"

A final shot rang out, and much to your delight, you hadnt accumulated an even number of bullet wounds.

You got up warily, meandering over to the center of camp, where the rest of your acquaintances, at best, stood.

"Leave 'em. Colm's still here." Arthur waves off the escaping O'Driscolls. A fleeting thought of joining them ran through your mind.

This was the second time you'd witnessed all your own gang members brutalized. By the same people nonetheless.

"Gonna check the cabin." Arthur added, trooping over to the cabin's closed door. Every step closer really sunk in the reality that this now was the end of the O'Driscolls, have there be a not so sober Colm inside.

You circle around with Arthur, straying slightly behind as to avoid any more small flying lead pieces.

Before he even reaches up for the rusty knob. The door flies out, smacking Arthur's whole front, effectively rendering him on the ground. A man you didn't recognize as Colm stepped out, looming over the fallen Arthur.

He stood at the entranceway, brandishing a shotgun and laughing in a maniacal manner, a drunken craze.

A piercing shot lands square through the man's diaphragm. His gun drops, his hands clutching at his chest as he trips over Arthurs legs, stumbling to the side of him.

A vaunt whistle blows from your lips with that shot, some of your long departed pride returning after missing all those shots in that cold forest.

Arthur grumbles in response to your display of ego, getting up while he does so, quickly scanning the inside of the cabin.

You could tell by his clenched jaw and his tense fists that this day wouldn't mark the disbandment of the gang you called your own for years.

Keiran stood mere feet from you, seemingly standing behind you as some sort of shield, far more petrified than what you could understand.

Arthur storms over, waving an accusatory finger and giving the evil eye to both of you. "You set us up!" He snarls. "Come here."

Both you and Keiran took a step back, at his angry tirade.

"What?-" Keiran stammers, stumbling forward, never seeming to move farther than where you were at.

Arthur steps no more than arms length from you both. "You set us up." He repeats, his patience running thinner than a strand of hair.

"No, I didn't!"

"You did, Colm O'Driscoll ain't here!" His hand flies up, a gun meeting both your faces.

"He was here, I swear.. I sw-" You give him a soft pat, to comfort him at the very least.

"If we was settin' you up, we wouldn't have saved you." Your arms were raised lowly, yet again staring down the barrel of his - well, your gun.

Bill and John slide down the hill behind you, joining the small congregation where you and Keiran were held at gunpoint. "It's a good point, Arthur." Bill agrees, chuckling at Arthurs unbridled anger.

Arthur exhales deeply, some of his rage leaving him through that release. He stands, considering. His eyes filled with irritation that calmed the longer his gaze was fixed on you.

"Alright then, go on, get out of here. Both of you, and I won't kill you."

You thought on it, but now you had a X on your head. Both you and Keiran just stood there, awkward as can be.

Arthur murmured under his breath, he took a stomp towards you, turning you around and pushing you off in the opposite direction. "Get lost."

"Get lost?" You couldn't refute his words before he already started talking again.

"Im lettin' you run away, now get outta here!" He waves his hands in an attempt to shoo you off as if you were some chickens.

"That's as good as killin' us." Keiran admonishes, he was fearful. No better a position as you. "Colm'll lose his mind about this!"

Keiran was good at negotiating, for what all you could tell.

"So?" A hearty scoff comes from Arthur, he cared none at all.

"So, I'm one of you now!" He claims, glancing at you. "I don't know about her..."

Now you felt stuck, were you really to join them, as Keiran tried?

"Give me a break." Arthur thins his lips, squinting at you both.

He throws his hands up, shaking his head. "Alright, but I'm warning you." He walks forward through both of you, Bill and John taking that as a cue to walk back to their mounts.

"Oh, I know." Keiran knew all too well, but he hesitated. "You get the cash?"

You had forgotten about the cash, that hadn't even crossed your mind.

"What cash?" Arthur asked with little trust or interest.

"There's usually some cash in the chimney." He points back inside the cabin, scuttling up the steps.

Arthur stops him, turning him back to walk with John and Bill. "I'll check it. Rest of you boys get to camp, quick."

"See Arthur? I aint so bad." Keiran teases, catching up with the first two, leaving you and Arthur behind.

Arthur leaves the porch and enters the cabin, ignoring his remark. You followed in shortly after, seeing as you would have to travel back with him.

"You know, I think I'll take my things back as a thank you." You suggest, your boots clicking against the wood floor. The first time you'd been in any sort of building since Colter.

His disgruntled mood only seemed to heighten yours.

He searches the cabin interior for anything of worth before reaching the chimney, blowing you off for a few moments.

"They're pretty nice guns, O'Driscoll. Might have to decline."

"They're mine because of that reason, and quite frankly, I'm no longer tied up by you-"

"Is that suppose to be a threat?" He interrupts, making his way to the shotgun mantle over the chimney.

You instantly started regretting your choice to save him.

"What if it is?" You drift over to the desk in the center of the room, sitting on the polished wood facing him, spinning your newly acquired gun with your fingers.

"How's walkin back to camp sound to you?" He retorts, not seeming so bothered as he inspects the shotgun.

"Does shooting you in your arm sound any better?" You began, he eyes you with a look of boredom.

"I'll leave you as good as the rest of your ragtag gang." His words as nonchalant as could be.

"You got me kicked out of my gang, Arthur. You'd be leaving an innocent lady as good as the 'Oh so terrible O'Driscolls.'" The back and forth kept getting more heated, both of you refusing to stop adding to it.

"Oh," he laughs mockingly. "So that's how it is? Suddenly you aint a 'terrible' O'Driscoll?" He slings the shotgun over his shoulder, nearly rolling his eyes.

"I aint an O'Driscoll if I'm not a member, isn't that how it works?"

"Colm might still have you, you're his special girl or something if I recall."

"Is that why you keep sayin O'Driscoll? Cuz you think I got his last name? You that dumb?"

"No, you just seem to enjoy suckin up to him." His voice strained in the middle of his sentence as he bent over to pat the inside of the chimney. Fine gray powder clouded around his hand and arm, a smoky scent filling the messy cabin.

"Hardly the case." You shake your head in annoyance. "Think you're just mad that I managed to rob you - the robbers - and almost get away with it."

"If I wasn't there shooting for you in the first place, you wouldn't have been able to get anything." He reasons, now stepping closer to the desk you sat on.

"It was good team work, just extra steps, I suppose. I think I should get some compensation really." You nod, agreeing with yourself.

He stands contemplating your words with that sarcastic look on his face. "Nah, those few extra steps cost you. You'll be lucky to get your guns back." He shrugs, drawing out one of your revolvers to admire and reload right in front of your face.

"Real classy Morgan." You look to the side, refusing to give into his antics. "You better be glad you're big, that's the only reason people are scared of you."

He sucks in through his teeth, "So, you scared of me then?"

"Scared as I am to insult you." You were close enough to flick his hat off if you stood up, and flicking it off was exactly what you did. His hat flew up and off his head before he could grab it. An annoyed scolding came from him as he bent to retrieve it.

"Let's get going, can't stand you any longer, a whole ride back is enough." You abmly stroll out the door and back in the direction of Arthur's horse you rode in on. You could hear his quick pace behind you to catch up, his spurs rattling with each stride.

"Can say the same for you, y/n." He pats your unwell arm with a bullish force, making you flinch to the side in pain.

"Goddamn you Arthur Morgan, playin with me like that when I have a gun?" You hiss, comforting your upper arm with a gentle hand.

"You woulda' done it already if had any bullets left." He sneers, so full of himself that man.

You were quick to hit Arthurs arm from behind, reminding him exactly what you wanted as soon as he's to dismount and hitch his horse. Your guns, your gun belt, saddle and everything you had inside those saddlebags.

He said he would at least, all that much you weren't quick to trust.

Before he even pulled to a stop, you slid off the back of his horse, stretching. A small fire lit inside you again. You knew exactly what you were going to do tonight.

You promptly met your mare, who didn't seem ill-taken care of despite the situation. You were thankful and you were sure she was too, showering her with all the affection she had missed for these past days.

You sat and pondered there with her, allowing her to graze next to you. Horseshoe overlook. You'd been here a time or two, enough to know where the town of Valentine was, your memory being jogged by your ride with Arthur.

Least closing in on evening now, and you could feel hunger slowly climb from inside you, the adrenaline from the hour previous only now subsiding enough for you to feel your body's needs. You were just waiting on Arthur to gather all your things.

You sat criss-cross on the grassy soil underneath you, looking into camp. You were still skeptical to go much nearer than where you had been tied to all those days. You felt unwanted and that wasn't only a feeling, it was reality.

Allowed no more than five minutes with your thoughts before Arthur finally arrives with all your things gathered and dumped on the ground in front of you.

Your brows knitted together at his act, but you ignored it, taking it as a chance to be annoying instead.

"Thank you, dearly, errand boy." You grabbed your belts and guns as you rose up, solace in your favorite items back on you for good. "I'd appreciate more work from you like that."

Your hand returns your hat back to the top of your head before he speaks, clearly not so happy.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, sweetheart." More than discontent you now thought, snickering as you heaved your saddle off the ground.

"Don't be so brash, really." You brush him off, packing your horse with your saddle. You slung on your saddle bags, checking them, Half hoping that some semblance of money from your attempt still laid in there or even what you had initially. Nothing. You peered back to the vexed Arthur across from you.

"You know, you could buy me some drinks. Since I aint even got the money I had beforehand from the robbery in here." Your attempts with reasoning now had him even more stuck up.

"No. You're on your own woman." His arms crossed, the hat atop his head almost covering his eyes completely.

"Tsk. Real snob that one." You curse to yourself, tightening the girth before fitting your foot in the stirrup.

You mounted your girl, once again reunited under the same saddle you had ridden in for so long. It excited you and she could feel it. A giddy little prance from her as she turned in the direction you desired.

Straight to Valentine before the days done. You figured you'd have to stick up some poor fella you found along the way for some cash, lest you would be there having to barter your measly and limited items for some tiny morsel.

Arthut had come after all, not with you, no, he strayed behind at least a good hour. You squinted at him from across the room, but now you weren't even so sure that was him over there. He looked much too strange.

You hardly kept still in the bar seat, the piano music around you seemingly getting ever louder, but it didn't bother you.

You sat and exchanged a few hearty laughs with the men in the seats beside you who offered to pay for your drink after you never found anyone to properly stick up.

This was damn near the most fun you'd had for months, tears pricked at your eyes with every joke that was told or added to and you could hardly control yourself.

"Whatcha got there? 'Nother drink?" You felt your arm droop out. You reached for it further and further, but the old man leaned away from you as he took a big swig from it.

Your hand caressed the floor, the barstools towering over you, dangling feet and long legs swinging in every which way. A barely noticeable hint of pain felt from your elbow and side. It was like laying down in a forest, your mouth slightly agape as you examine the moving trees above you.

You lied there a moment before you lifted off the ground just as magically as you had ended up on it in the first place. The two men you drank with had pulled you off the wood together, however this led them to their own date with the planks. Stumbling and swaying, their arms flailing in different directions.

You wheezed and wheezed so much it hurt, holding onto the counter top of the bar as to have some balance that your body took away with every moment your eyes stayed open.

The one with a handlebar mustache and a bowler's hat seemed to get closer and farther once he finally returned to his feet. You grabbed his arm to pull him to safety. As for the other, he was behind you, beyond your help.

You hunched over the countertop, using your upper body to keep you straight in the room that was anything but straight, everything was so distorted, it gave a new look to everything around you.

"Jus... whatcha you doin... there..?" The one with a hat asked you from his barstool, even sitting he had trouble staying upright, his hand fisted into the wood to stay somewhat still.

You looked down, back to him drearily and back down again before you finally hiccuped in response, not sure what you were doing either.

"How 'bout 'nother drink?" You put your pointer finger out as to call the bartender over. Your two buddies hooped and hollered from aside you, doing their utmost to raise their arms and cheer.

"I think you've had enough for tonight."

The clearest words that came out of someone's mouth tonight. They didn't hardly make any sense to you.

"That's ridicu-lsh.. 'm haven't had.. enough..." You chided, your barmates stood up for you, scolding the sober one to the best of their ability.

"You 'bout'a get haaam-mered!" The one behind you, half bald with overalls gripped your left shoulder, and much to your delight, that aching pain was gone!

"Chrissst... you 'n me BOTH good buddy!" The bartender hands you a reluctant glass, and by god did it taste the best of all.

Not two drinks in before you got knocked over by the one proclaiming you were about to get hammered. Your arm still up in the air as you observed him slumped on your shoulder, past out beyond all comprehension.

Then you felt another hand on you, your head slowly moved round to where it came from.

"You..." You huffed at him. "Gonna drink wit' me... now?"

He examines you but for how long you could hardly tell, your eyes were on the ceiling, the chandelier, everything but Arthur's face.

"I wouldn't say no?" He giggles at your question in a way you'd never heard before.

"You said no!" You argue, though not angrily, you couldn't imagine feeling like that now.

"Cuz... you're a Driscoll."

"Again?" You looked ever so surprised. "I knew... Colm'd come 'round." You chuckle, trying your utmost to hunch over and grab your fallen glass.

Before you knew it, he was sitting right next to you, like a big brick. You liked it. Holding both your arms on his back and letting your head hang, a small rest period.

"So," you start, patting his back to get his head to turn to yours. "You gon'... get me that drink?"

"I need one… more than you." He shakes his head, to which you put your hand on top of to stop him from shaking it. Didn't look quite right.

"Nooo, you dont. Quit foolin' 'round."

He pushes your arm off, his hat going with it, falling the opposite side of the counter. His eyes drooped, swaying further from his nose and then much too close, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Awwh... see now, why'd… you go and do that." He starts dragging himself over the counter to retrieve his hat. You helped by pushing him firmly with your palms to his ass. He swatted at you with one hand but your efforts not futile, he slid fully to the other side with a loud thump.

"You can't be back here, Sir!" You couldn't quite tell if he was yelling at you or not. Did you look like a sir? You weren't back there.

Arthur pops back up, hat back to its normal spot. You clapped at his bravery, though he was quick to climb back over the counter whilst he got shooed off by the bar tender.

You helped pull him back over, his hands clasped your wrists as you pulled with all your might. Much to your terror, he didn't let go when he reached his tipping point. You were yanked down with him, wincing as your head made contact with the floor.

"Goddamn it, god damn… you more like it." Struggling to get back up, you grab Arthur, using him as leverage, effectively pulling him back to the floor.

"Yeahh... hic." His eyes blinked as irregular as a frogs. "There ya go!"

Once you finally made it back up, you held onto your bowler hat boy, only not so for much longer once you put his hat on your head, yours long gone.

You patted his arm with long sweeping motions, your typical motor skills didn't seem so inclined to work efficiently.

"Dance? Let'ss dance.. but not him." You wave to Arthur a seat away from you. Arthur? He wasn't there. You swiveled your head around, though your eyes weren't so quick to act, lagging behind when you tried locating Arthur.

Your buddies expression changed into one of slight anger. The most he could possibly muster.

"Hey you mist'r... you buzz off..." he demanded, slamming his hand down weakly on the counter top. His anger directed at the wrong man. You egged him on nonetheless, happy to have someone else finally on your side.

You held onto each other, swinging your legs out haphazardly with your best pal, the one who hadn't gone and was sticking it out with you.

His inner leg would swing right, your outer leg, in. It was a wonder you hadn't fallen over yet, a shared wonder amongst all who watched and cheered you on.

You coughed hard with every chuckle that left you, other bar goers joined in as well, much to your delight.

Your eyes deceived you so many times that night you had to be looking at an apparition of that snide man.

You scanned him, but instead of being annoying, he joined in next to you. Course your rivalry at a stand still, albeit you were only half sentient, anymore than that and more fists might've been involved.

You danced with Arthur, your bowler buddy, at times the floor even. You soaked it all up like you did the booze, returning to the counter with Arthur, another request fulfilled.

"Artur..." you slap his side enough to get his attention. "Out... there... outsside."

He looked too confused, so you hooked your arm in his, having him follow along best he could.

"What?"

You landed on the swinging door in a feigned sense of something you could lean on, both you ending up on the floor again.

You sat for a second, before the wavey door opened again. Caught staring at the thing that came out.

"Damn, ya'll stink." An insult as he stepped over you both, he said some other words too, you think.

Arthur tripped the man as he strode through, your eyes widening as he went down. He yelled maledictions out, turning for Arthur who had a grand time with this.

"Oh... shit." you drawl in a long, tired breath. You glimpsed at your gun, drawing it out, half expecting it wouldn't work to ward off the man, but it did. He turned back and left with a hurry.

Arthur kept laughing, which made you start laughing at the spontaneity of all this.

Eventually, you got up, taking on the staircase that swayed like the ocean's tide, Arthur not long after you, traveling down the road to some obscure part of town. Haphazard mumbling and incoherent words all the while.

That's how you concluded the night, your first free night, exploring in a drunken haze with the man who not only doubled as your captor but also your liberator. The one who shot but saved you. More irony than what you could care for as of now.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #lemon fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption two #enemies to lovers #rdr2 #arthur morgan fanfiction

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 1 year

Text

Thank You and Goodbye

Hello everyone, I suppose you have all noted that the Empyrean iris stories have finally ended. I sincerely hope that all of you enjoyed what I had to offer and that I helped to bring some enjoyment to your life. In return I thank you all for everything you have done for me, and thank you most for the people who interacted with the story with questions comments and likes. Some of you have private messaged me, and said the nicest things that have helped me to keep going through the years. I cannot say how much I appreciate you.

A few things before I leave, I am leaving the Empyrean Iris universe on this blog for anyone who wishes to read, start reading or keep reading. You are free to play with the Empyrean Iris universe all you wish, as well as with its characters and locations. As long as credit is left where credit is due.

I will not be writing for this series again, though I may post some art if the thought takes me. I will still have access to this blog to answer questions and interact, so PM me here if you want, I will most likely be available.

The past few years have made me a much better writer.The change in my skill from beginning to end is incredible, but one of my greatest regrets is I never got to show you all what I could really do. These short form stories, written early in the morning before school sometimes lacked the quality I know that I can produce, maybe not grammatically, but at the very least you all never got to see my true writing abilities at their full potential: writing abilities I gained thanks to this series and thanks to you.

So with that in mind I have made a decision. I want you all to see the fruits of my labor, and what this series has done to its author (if you care to look, I wont force anyone :). But down below I will post chapter 1 of two independent side projects I have worked on during the time of this series. The first is a book I worked on sometime during the middle of the series, and that I finished more than a year ago which I plan on posting online to wattpad and A03 in the coming months, the second is the first chapter from my most recent project and which I hope to traditionally publish some day. I hope that at least one or two of you might read them and see the change in me that has resulted from this series

Chapter 1

Children of the Affliction

The Outbreak moved up the street in a wave of fetid flesh, their feet shuffling in an uncoordinated, stilted shamble as they dragged their diseased bodies through the ankle-deep filth of Veerus city.

As they walked, they moaned softly, their rotting vocal cords shivering with every breath they took.

The outbreak was not a quiet thing, and Eli was thankful for that as he pressed his back against the desiccated crumbling wall of the rotting city, as desiccated as its occupants.

He crouched low, but didn’t allow his hands to touch the ground and the filth that rested there. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath before peering out from the crack in the wall.

And so they continued on their shuffling, staggering way, their red decomposing flesh peeling back from rotting bone. A tidal wave of rancid air fogged up the lenses of his glasses with a stench so vile he had to swallow to keep from gagging. It was the kind of smell that burrowed its way into your nose like hungry maggots,leaving a sour penetrating taste behind on your tongue.

Eli wiped his glasses silently with a hand, and immediately regretted his ability to see as he watched a pale worm wriggle its way from the rotting folds of what had one been a nose, only to twist wetly before turning back to slither between ragged, purulent lips..

Eli turned away from the hole pressing his back against the wall and covering his nose and mouth with a hand. He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, an action which he immediately regretted as the filth rose up to seep into his nose and mouth.

Their groaning grew distant, and a small voice hummed in his ear.

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of the Outbreak.”

His mouth was watering, a sure sign he was about to throw up. He let the saliva drip from his mouth and onto the ground, where it couldn’t cause him to vomit.

“Just because I’m not afraid of them doesn’t mean I want to give one a hug.”

“And all of this isn’t fear?.”

“This isn’t fear, this is nausea. Those things are disgusting. Why anyone would willingly serve Affliction is beyond me.” He looked down to where a large baleful eye peered out from under the flap of his satchel.

The Eye blinked wetly once and then twice before “The same could be said about people who willingly visit affliction.”

Eli sighed, “You of all people should know that our visit here is hardly willing.”

The eye rolled at him, “Still going on about your father are you.”

Eli’s shoulder’s stiffened slightly jaw tightening even as his fingers went white around the strap of his bag, “This isn’t just about that and you know it.”

“Your Hope,” the eye said, his voice a high pitched reedy quaver through the fog “Your little obsession always seems to bring us to the most loathsome cesspits: hiding under rocks or in the bowls of trees.”

Eli adjusted his glasses, “This entire world is a Cesspit, Wink. and it isn’t hope it’s research. Hope is blind without action, research might just be able to help me before ....” Eli trailed off then not entirely willing to voice the concerns that had become so pressing in the proceeding months. Instead, adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel and stepped down from the crumbling building and onto the street below. He tried not to think about how his feet squished through the filth or how his weight seemed to depress against the soil, as if he was walking across great slabs of meat.

A pallid mist rose up around them, and he was thankful for the protective shroud he wore over his face. It didn’t keep out the smell, but he was at least relatively sure it would keep the Affliction at bay,

He stepped over a small creek of cloudy water, and tried not to think about the strange spongy chunks that bobbed just under the surface.

Wetness squished under his feet as he walked, and he stopped, reaching into his bag for a pen and notebook.

Wink moved to the side as he passed his hand in and then out, coming back with a faded leather-bound journal -- once his father’s journal now his, bound with something that might possibly have been human skin, though he did his absolute best not to think about that, and flipped open to an inner page, past pages and pages of spidery writing and jagged sketches until he found a fresh page. He allowed his hand to rest momentarily on the familiar course paper, taking comfort from the journal: an item that represented the only piece of his family he had left: his father’s research.

Wink stretched up from inside the bag, his long, gelatinous body elongating and stretching like a string of black slime , “What are you writing?”

“Just a reminder to throw away these clothes when we get back.”

“Afraid of getting sick are we?”

Eli tapped his chin and passed the notebook back into his bag, “out of all the Dreads, Affliction is, admittedly, one of my least favorite.”

“That implies you have a favorite?”

“I think that is generally the whole point, don’t you think? Why else would anyone choose to Serve the Dreads? You have to pick a favorite .”

Wink settled back into the bag, filling it’s contours like some sort of inky black puddle, “I feel like there is a distinct difference between having a favorite and having a, I dislike this thing the least.”

“I thought semantics was my thing.

Wink wiggled a little bit inside the bag, “Just getting back at you for all those times I had to listen to one of your pretentious lectures on the nature of fear.”

Eli adjusted his bag one more time, “That is assuming you even listen to me, which we both know you don’t.”

“No, no I don’t.”

The two of them lapsed into morose silence as the outskirts of the city passed away, and the twisted trees of the nearby swampland faded into the backdrop of fog. Up ahead, looming in the half illuminated mist, he could see the outline of Veerus city, less like a city and more like a cancerous growth on the face of the world seeping corruption and disease into the brackish feted bog that surrounded it.

He could see it now, canals of pollution leaking out from inside the city by way of giant corrugated pipes, which dumped cloudy water into the bog. The smell was indescribable, like a thousand rotting corpses. It came in gusts and waves steady one moment and then a sudden wall the next.

His mouth began to water again, and he stopped in the street to bend over and gag.

He wouldn’t allow himself to throw up, simply wanting the comfort and relief of expressing his disgust with this place. His hands tightened around the straps of his bag, the leather of the black gloves he wore creaking slightly as he moved up towards the looming shadow.

Overhead a black bird croaked, and Eli traced its stilted path through the sky, watching as a feather drifted down from above.

He was surprised the creature had enough feathers to fly.

Approaching the gates of Veerus his eyes fell on a pack of mangy dogs --with rotting skin and eyes so encrusted with yellow discharge he wondered how they could even see. They were huddled by the roadside, surrounding something that lay unmoving on the ground before them, tearing at it with their rotten teeth.

It looked like it had once been a cat.

Or maybe a rat.

He heard the rats in Veerus were almost as big as cats, but either way it didn’t matter. The thing was so diseased it had probably expired right there in the street so unrecognizable it didn’t matter what it HAD been once upon a time.

He made sure to keep to the other side of the street, eying the mangy mongrels as they chewed on their meal, not relishing the idea of what a bite from one of those infected things might do to him.

As he came upon the gate, he found himself held up at the back of a long line of people all crowding around the entrance, in a long line of hunched shoulders and ragged clothing. Looking at the mass of flesh before him, he found himself purposely distancing himself from the filth of bodies.

By the looks of them, he could see that most were peasants from the outlying marshland. They had that look about them, with scaly red skin, and bare feet with yellowed nails overgrown such that they were twisting back upon themselves. He grimaced as he imagined how it must feel to walk these streets, the rot squishing up between their toes. Their hair was lank like swampy weed and hung about their shoulders like wet moss while their skin hung loose and baggy around their faces.

Even despite all that, none of them were repulsive enough to be mistaken for one of the outbreak, or even one of the city dwellers, who were characteristically marred by leperous pockmarks and spongy patches of skin.

Granted, the swamp peasants lived on the land the affliction held dominion over, and many of them served the being in some way or another, but none of them were directly subject to it, so they had a little more safety than did their city dwelling brethren

Unfortunately for them, that meant they were still subject to disease as a natural course of things, as evidenced by their jaundiced skin. Just ahead of him, he saw an elderly woman hunched over a bundle of rags. peering out from those rags was a face, a feverish red face swollen and puffy with dark blue bags encircling the eyes.

He doubted the child had long to live.

Anyone who managed to grow up in a place like this and survive until adulthood was a miracle on their own.

The gate approached now, and just as the gate guards came within sight, the man before him collapsed suddenly convulsing in the filth of the street before going still. Barely anyone stopped to look. Eli barely flinched, watching as a group of leprous individuals hurried from an opening in the gate hauling a hand cart behind them.

The body was lifted by liver spotted hands and tossed into the back of the cart before being dragged away, to be tossed into one of the plague pits, the contents of which drained from those massive pipes and out of the city.

As he waited for his turn at the gate, Eli reached into the bag and pulled out his notebook and pen scratching a quick sketch of the scene before him

The men standing at the main gate were less diseased than the others: the only suggestion of their sickness being the pallid nature of their skin, and the glossy sheen of clammy sweat that acted as a constant veneer over their bodies.

He couldn’t tell if they were bald on purpose, or if the sickness had taken their hair.

“State your business.” One of them said, and Eli followed the man’s eyes as they ran up and down his body. Eli shrugged off the crawling sensation that ran a course over his spine as the man’s eyes paused to linger on the unblemished skin of his face….. Almost hungrily.

“State your business,” The second man repeated, voice raising with impatience.

Eli clenched one hand around the strap of his satchel, “I am here in the capacity of my work, as an information broker.”

One of the men snorted and hawked a thick filmy wad of phlegm onto the ground, “And what information do you have to broker?”

Eli looked the man in the face, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down, “What kind of information are you looking for. I have information on the safest trade routes, weather predictions, medicinal recipes-“

He was cut off.

“Let us see your identification.”

Eli nodded, dropping a hand into his bag to retrieve the little booklet of papers which he then passed over to the first man who looked it over with the same suspicious gaze..

In the end, it was his eyes that gave him away, running across the page too quickly and in such a strange pattern that he couldn’t have been reading. So either, he was lazy, or he couldn't read.

The man waved a dismissive hand, “Let him through.”

Eli was quickly sent on his way as the first man moved quickly onto his next subject.

As soon as they were out of hearing range a grumble rose up from the depths of his bag “He lies.”

Eli resisted the urge to brush a hand through his hair, “ It wasn’t totally a lie, besides What would you rather I had done? Tell them why we are really here?”

Wink stared at him from the shadow of the pouch contemplating his words before, “You are hardly likely to find your father here, and we both know it.”

Eli set his jaw forcing himself not to take Wink’s comments personally, “I know, but this isn’t about that, this is about…. Me.”

Wink hummed, “About that, what makes you think you are worth saving anyway. I thought you were erudite enough to know a lost cause when you see one”

Eli snorted “Big words from a wad of goo I might have just scraped from the bottom of my boot….. do you even know what it means?”

“I know plenty of large words, because unfortunately the only reading material I have in here during our long journeys just so happens to be your creepy journal and Cripman’s Thesaurus fifth edition. The least you could do is drop in some decent reading material every now and again.”

Eli huffed, “Yeah, perhaps, perhaps something with lots of pictures and very small words.”

“You cheeky bastard.”

“That’s me.” He looked up at the pale sky above and sighed. Besides, the wink was only half right. This wasn’t about stopping fear anymore; This was about saving his life. Eli only had so many days left, and those days were numbered.

He turned up another side street, following the map he had memorized earlier towards the center of the city. As he kept going, evidence of rot and sickness became more evident. More and more of those hand pulled carts trundled down the streets hardly even bothering to cover their gruesome cargo, all a mass of limbs and flesh melted together until it seemed to create one massive creature rather than just a pile of human bodies.

A metaphor, Simile or perhaps a close facsimile to the physical avatar of Affliction itself.

His mind was brought back to a page in his father’s Journal, where in was written an excerpt from one of the many books he had read, before leaving the journal to Eli. , “The Dreads and their incarnations” He could almost see the page upon which its description had been written, penned neatly in his father’s steady hand.

The creature lies within a pit in the ground-- a strange place for a god, though it is somehow fitting. The pit is filled a tenth of the way with brackish feted water, and flies churn in great wheeling circles overhead. When the creature moves it shifts with a great squelching sound that rips and rends like diseased flesh being peeled from bone. The pit itself is wide, almost unfathomably so, stretching out for what must be miles, and inside rests Affliction, a god of sickness, disease, and plague.

To look upon it is to understand unfathomable corruption and disgust as its great amorphous blob of skin seems to churn and undulate below. Its outside are bruised in the many colors of a rainbow, sour and perverted into this strange and unholy facsimile. It cannot be fathomed from where it starts and where it ends, and the limbs that wave above its head could be hands or feet or tentacles.

Not many but the Outbreak have seen the creature’s true form, for the power it holds, means that, to look on its body is to embrace the sickness, be permitted by it to become one with it.

To rot right down to the marrow of one’s bones.

Eli had some pity for the writer, for if he had seen what he had described, it was likely he was either one…. Dead, or two, a shambling corpse labeled as one of the Outbreak

He couldn’t say he felt entirely sorry for the man, as his first hand account saved Eli the curiosity of having to look at himself….. and the horrible boils that likely would have resulted. Overhead the sky had turned orange as the sun disseminated through the fog of corruption which shrouded the city.

It was a horrible place, and if it wasn’t for the Outbreak, the people would likely have fled long ago. but the Affliction had claimed them, and it wasn’t likely to let them leave any time soon.

Eli was close now, maybe a few blocks away from the library, and overhead, a rolling bank of clouds was passing its first shadow over the city.

Looking at the library, he could only hope that it would be cleaner on the inside than it was on the outside.

It would be best for him to keep his head low lest he attract the attention of one of the Outbreak. He didn’t want to become like these poor trapped souls, subject to their dark god.

It was never a good idea to catch the eye of one of the dreads.

Things tended to go generally very poor once that happened.

For everyone involved.

He was only delayed once on his way to the library, cutting behind a low stone archway as a contingent of the outbreak moved up the street, shambling and moaning like the deadmen that they were. He couldn’t tell what they were doing, but had suspicions that they were out hunting…. Looking for someone like him perhaps to bring into their fold, or to infect , their dark offering of fear to their hungry waiting god.

They passed up the street, and he slipped out from his hiding spot, hurrying forward to the one building in this place that seemed somewhat clean.

He said somewhat but there was still something about the building that didn’t sit right with him.

At one point, it had probably been constructed out of large blocks of white marble, though the city had stained the pure stone with yellow over the years, like

He paused just outside the door and took a long deep breath, looking up at the words that hung before him.

The Parvus School of Learning.

And then he reached out with two gloved hands and pushed the doors inwards.

Chapter 1

Oculus

He scurries through the streets like a rat, his feet trailing whispers behind him as he goes, and even from here I can see the drops of salty, sweat condensation clinging to his skin like a dancer’s paste on jewels.

I know this man, though he doesn’t know me.

But even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t want to.

A curtain of fog rises in a slow undulating wave from the Swampdark [may change this name] below, like the ghosts of the damned leading a procession towards the stars. When the fog touches me, I can almost feel the lifeless caress of those ghosts, the souls of all those the Swampdark has claimed.

The man turns a corner and I follow him, were it not for the midnight mirth echoing down from the upper city’s pleasure tier, he might have been able to hear the warning hiss of my mechanical joints. Luckily for me, the city humms, and my body hums with it, and in that hum I disappear.

Music drifts languidly down from above pulsing with a slow, mindless beat.

The man walks past a line of rickety storefronts, their windows and doors barred, and the message is clear: this city quarter bears no welcome for strangers. As he walks, his profile is painted by swatches of glowing blue neon, and now I can see the bottle in his hand more clearly. Neon light scatters through the container’s glass, and the light it refracts follows him down the street as a pale spector, his only companion in the night.

I slip closer, stealing strides of distance between us, a luxury he doesn’t even know he has.

I know this man.

I know him the way I know the thousands of men just like him, He’s got an iron lung, and it clings to the side of his bare torso like a bulging Nightleach, it's skeletal appendages burrowing into his body where it keeps anchored, The iron lung’s bellows spasm and pulse, struggling against the slow buildup of corrosion and rust, fighting to filter stagnant air into something the blood can use.

It looks painful, the eternal weight of the iron lung acting as his ball and chain that adds a perpetual twist to the man’s spine. Dying early might have been preferable to dragging around a botched suborgan.

I know this man.

He drinks hoping to abandon his pain in a bottle, he chews the bitter fungi to hang up his soul for the night, but when the ecstasy leaves him, abandoned like a one night lover he seeks to give his anger away: A gift no one asks for.

And who to give it to, but his starving, skeletal wife, and their seven, ghostly children.

Why would it matter to him? They'll all be corpses soon anyway, who will care if he speeds up the process, gives himself some relief.

I know this man.

And I am here to return his gifts.

The man pulls to a stop, lifting a desiccated hand to his pale, cracked lips. He coughs, and an unnatural sound is birthed from between his rotting teeth: wet and filmy, with saliva blackened by decay and rust.

He turns another corner, passing silently into the lurking darkness. A path waits there, beckoning us downward until the city is lost above us behind miles of desperate metal and concrete.

We step off the path, enfolded at once within an oppressive forest of towering iron

stilts collectively called the hands of salvation: baseless rhetoric streaming like piss from the mouths of upper tier clergy. I doubted a single one of those godless men had ever even laid eyes on a support pillar, less like a saintly hand lifting its inhabitants towards the sky, but more like a diseased arm, holding a plate cruelly above child’s grasping fingers

I am behind him now, no more than a few precious feet of feted atmosphere occupies the space between us

If he turned now, he could reach up and pluck away my eyes.

Overhead, the support beams creak and chitter, as if conversing among themselves.

The swamp dark is never silent.

The man’s steps are slow, plodding out the beat of his own funeral dirge against the hard-packed pathway.

Those unfortunate creatures that dwell here in the Swampdark are never without sound or even light, rocked to sleep by the tittering lullabies of rusted metal, and bathed in the malicious green glow of the trinity fields.

Wobbly, stilt legged hovels huddle together in lopsided clusters over the uneven ground of the Swampdark,desperate to avoid coming within close proximity of one of the pillars.

Despite living in truth’s overwhelming shadow, the people of the swamp dark still refuse to look her in the eye.

We are halfway to the first rickety settlement, and I don’t know what it is he senses first. The man doesn’t have many natural senses at his disposal as, One by one, a lifetime of hardships has robbed his bodily coffers clean of taste, smell, and touch. But still, I watch the chill as it licks down his spine, alerting him to my presence and causing him to turn.

Robbed of his taste and smell, life left one parting insult on its way out the door, and the man is shorter than me by almost a foot, but despite all that he is lacking, he still has the good sense to be terrified.

He backs away jaundiced eyes as wide and pale as the cryptcap mushrooms beneath his feet.

I know this man.

And now, he knows me too.

Knows me by my mechanical augments, my wire implants, my external regulator, and the large silver eye that blinks at him from the upper right side of my chest.

A word condolences from thought and forms as a word on his lips

Oculus

But he never gets the chance to speak it as my hand cuts off whatever piffling speech he was about to make, but

I know this man.

And I have heard his speech before muttered, screamed and pleased from a hundred quivering lips. They all offer the same excuses, passed between each other like an unwashed pair of socks.

And when the excuses fail to soften me, please and promises, empty and echoing like the bottles in their hands.

I lift the little man into the air kicking and struggling. He is heavier than he looks, iron lung dragged ever downward by the crushing weight of gravity, but my augmented limbs whirring to life with a hungry hiss.

Yun Johnov

I am here to equalize your sins.

I start with a headbut to the face, the cruel ridge of my mask biting into the delicate cartilage of his nose, which snaps without much protest. He howls, blood escaping eagerly from his nose to trace a getaway down his lips and chin.

With his feet back on the ground, I reel back and punch him hard in the gut, brutalizing his already corroded liver.

He doubles over retching.

I knee him, this time in his chin, and he reels backward, tripping over a huddle of mushrooms and staggering to one knee. His iron lung screeches in protest, but I’m not quite done just yet.

I step forward, casting the dim impression of my shadow over his quivering body. He casts his hands high, shielding me from his sight.

But I want him to look at me.

I kick his hands out of the way, feeling as one of his brittle bones crumbles beneath my kick.

His face is open and uncovered now, chin and mouth glazed in blood, thinning hair slick with sweat.

I pull back one more time.

He falls to the ground a moment later, bearing my signature, signed with the judicious application of my open palm. My mark will last for days, the broken nose for a few weeks, but the memory of my intervention will remain until the bellows of his miserable lung stops choking in air.

“An eye for an eye.” I say, making my pronouncement to no one in particular as I stand over his battered body.

We are close enough to the nearest cowering settlement for the occupants to have heard us, but they are unlikely to come to the man’s aid. Either he will negotiate his way back upright, or he will decay there in the mud, fertilizing the trinity fields with his juices, leaving only an iron lung as his headstone.

I bar thoughts of the man from my mind as I turn and trace my way up the pathway and into the lower city.

The lower city isn’t really part of the city proper, but a minefield of ghostly shanty towns, stacked in dangerously unbalanced heaps in the shadow of the upper city. The people here aren’t well off, but at least they are blessed to sit cupped in the palms of salvation, or at least that’s how some try to justify their miserable existence.

In reality, people in the lower city aren’t much better off than people in the Swampdark, in fact the only real difference between the two groups is a matter of a few IQ points and a false sense of superiority.

Despite the abundance of ramshackle dwellings, I don’t see many people here, and I don’t expect to. Generally, I am the first person most people see, and the last person most people want to see, and as a result, my very existence tends to thin a crowd.

I pass through the ghost shanties, as much as a ghost myself.

From there, I find my way up to the pleasure tier, its streets glazed with candy-bright colors spilling down from vibrant neon signs, and refracting through grimy panes of glass.

The music crawls its sinuous way down into the street and vibrates up through the souls of my feet, stopping to pulse, and dance to the beat of the blood in my ears.

Men and women writhe and dance before me, bathed together in the neon light. I can sense a few wary eyes turned my way, but the vast majority of people hardly notice me. The tang of trinity hangs heavy on the air, its presence announced by the thick, sweet smoke, and the bitter taste that makes itself manifest on the back of my tongue. A young woman staggers past me, the white underbelly of her eyes on full display, and her arms are flung out to either side as trinity guides her through fields of ecstasy for the night.

Curvaceous shadows dance low, and slow beyond a red-shrouded window.

“Over here, Oculus.”

Tangled between strands of real human hair, delicate fibrous cables lift themselves from my scalp tugging me towards the origin of the sound.

The owner of that voice, does not attempt to hide, quite the opposite in fact

She stands in a nearby doorway, allowing glowing neon the privilege of kissing her skin as she stands. A ruby red gown blooms from her body stretching in languid curves down her legs and towards the floor. A wave of long dark hair spills down the side of her face and onto her shoulder, which is bare, and open to the night air.

I am surprised to see she is mostly organic, none of her curves borrowed, leased or welded on.

She motions me over with a finger, “You look like someone who could use some company.” The same rote phrase trails from her lips, like it has from thousands of lips just like her since time immemorial.

I raise an eyebrow, and the fiber optic cables in my hair rise with it, “Is that so?

She smiles, and I am almost impressed to see she has all her teeth, either that or an excellent set of dentures, “I believe it is.” When she breathes, a gentle fog of steam obscures the clear plastic of her external regulator, her only non-implanted augmentation.

I tap my wrist, and her corresponding hand lights up. She looks down and then back to me, “That’ll get you an hour.” But even as she begins to speak, I have already waded my first few steps back into the flow of the crowd.

“Hey! Where are you going! You know, I don’t do third party locations.” she says shouting to be heard over the music.

I turn my head internally, dialing down the background noise so I can hear her more clearly, “Keep it.” I say allowing the crowd to flow around me on either side.

St stands, resting her hands on her full hips. Somehow, even her hands are beautiful: long and slender against the ruby hue of her dress, “I don’t accept charity, Oculus.”

“It’s not charity.” I say, calling back over my shoulder.

She tosses her hair, which whips itself into a proud mane around her shoulders,“Then what is it!”

“A thank you.”

That response seems to catch her off guard. She stands, a pillar of stillness in a sea of flashing lights, and stares at me through the ebbing tide of the crowd, “For what?”

I turn away from her, and when I finally give her my voice, it is a quiet offering falling from my lips like shredded paper fluttering down from the upper city, “For being the first person to talk to me like a human tonight.”

I make sure to be gone before she can answer, allowing myself to be swept away by a torrent of light and noise, bodies pressed around me filling my nose with the sulfurous odor of sweat, and the bitter tang of trinity.

Leaving the pleasure district, I shed neon and sweet smoke like water, the night air of the manufacturing district scrubbing my skin clean of revelry only to apply its own unique perfume.

Industry.

A distant line of massive, black smokestacks cuts a violent edge across the diffused, blue glow of the city skyline, huffing great clouds of rancid black smoke into the already hazy blue air. Lines of steel cables, electrical wires and bridges cut an impressionist pattern between the towering buildings.

The trinity factories are never quiet, run perpetually by ghostly night shift laborers fed with a steady stream of liquid stim. Some with company- subsidized ports directly into their bloodstreams for easier dosing. I’d seen it close up on several occasions, once as a boy when I was briefly employed on the refinery floor: employed until a steel hatch severed three of my fingers, and I was made redundant.

I flex my hand at the phantom memory of pain, before abandoning the memory on the streetside, though it would inevitably follow me home and find its way back into my head.

Until then, I would force peace upon myself.

The industry district occupies a long, single stretch of road that cuts like a scar through the central stacks of the city, always no more than a few miles from any possible origin point, offering no excuses for workers who found themselves running a few minutes late. Beyond this, only the trinity fields stretching for miles of back breaking labor beneath the city offer any consistent source of work.

I make my way past these buildings, hunching gloomily against the perpetually dark sky, and finally find my feet plodding along more familiar paths.

My place of work sits sandwiched somewhere off and to the side of both the industry district and the administration/government district ostracized from the bulk of the city by high concrete fences topped with a thin, blue electrical field. Additionally, the outer perimeter is surrounded on three sides by a murky perimeter of marble black water serving as a secondary deterrent to anyone already stupid eough to get to close to begin with.

I approach the front gate, a massive slab of silver metal with a barely visible hairline seam running a track down the middle.

At the center of the gate, the large, silver mockery of an eye blinks open, its external sensors connecting to the eye on my chest.

It blinks once issuing a series of robotic sounds followed by an inhuman mechanical voice.

Oculus Ailanthus 3

The gate cracks open, splitting the eye in half to invite me inside.

The courtyard and training fields lie silent and abandoned this time of day. My footsteps echo in protest to the silence as I lead my one man procession up to the grand double doors, which slide open for me without a sound. A thin beam of green/yellow light pours in a torrent from the open door, sweeping me up in a blinding spotlight as I step through the doors and into the grand atrium.

My eyes shed a small torrent of tears as they adjusted to the light, pouring down from our one greatest symbol of power and glory.

The tree.

Tall enough and wide enough, to take up the entire far wall of the large atrium, the plant stands proud within its environmentally controlled glass enclosure. A shroud of golden light filters gently through the emerald leaves and onto the ground where a curtain of lazy grass sways slowly in an artificial breeze. As far as I know, the tree is the largest of its kind, at least thirty feet tall, with a trunk as thick as a man’s thigh, and a tangle of branches forking out like the delicate veins and capillaries of a man’s heart. The leaves that sprout from its branches are smaller than my palm, and shaped like gently tapering spades.

As usually, the tree robs me of both my breath and attention, but I’m not one to complain.

“Oculus…”

Everything inside that class container is so clean, and gentle, even the lacy patterns of golden light cast onto the ground seem so much brighter than the grungy blue neon that paints the walls of the city.

“Ailanthus!”

Reality makes its unwanted appearance, barging in on the back of our front desk administrator’s nasally voice. I turn my eyes on the little man, no larger than five foot four, fighting with an aggressively retreating hairline, in a losing battle for his scalp. The son of some mid level administrator, he had been granted little enough power, and an even smaller amount of respect.

He glares at me expectantly, his small black uniform hanging in bags around his armpits and chest.

Usually, I might have had a little sport with the tiny man, but not today.

I walk up to the counter, and stand still, while the little man, can’t remember his name, unlocks the Observer from my chest, unplugging the bionic eye with a pop. He turns in his chair, plugging the camera into a waiting port, “Report?”

I rest the palms of my hands flat on his countertop, smudging its polished surface with the imprint of my fingers, “I have completed three sanctioned beatings, two retaliatory robberies, and returned three truancies. It must be noted that one retaliatory robbery resulted in compulsory amputation when no item of equal or greater value could be provided.”

Behind him, the observer unit blinked and chimed a long, low note.

The small man gave an aggressive stamp to a sheet of paper and handed it over.

“Bring this to-.”

“The records office, I know.” I held up the paper, eyes scanning lazily down the page as I made my leisurely way from the room, red ink glistening like a smear of blood on the white paper circular red letters reading.

Government of the Coladium: Department of the Seer Collective

Oculus 336 Ailanthus.

Certification of case completion.

I dropped my hand to the side, letting the piece of paper fall with it, turning only once to look back at the tree glowing like a beacon in the atrium behind me.

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thirsty4villains · 1 year

Text

Cool Heat | Chapter 2

Summary: You're an assistant for the Avengers. Loki has been hiding up in his room for the past week. You go to check on him and he's reverted back to his Jotun form, but he's not quite himself. The two of you discover that Jotuns go into cycles of heat, and Loki hasn't been in his Jotun form for over a millennia...

Rating: Explicit (smut in future chapters)

Warnings/Tags: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN SMUT, and 1 chapter will have some dubcon, Loki lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers (because my brain is perpetually stuck in 2012 Tumblr era), sleep sex, PIV, smut, humor, romance, Jotun!Loki, angst, more tags to be added

Find me on AO3, Wattpad, Patreon

Tagged users: @nyxxharmonia @mischief2sarawr @drunkbirdbug @lorelibrarianlizbit @strawberry--fawn @thenotoriouserg @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough

A/N: Thanks guys for liking the story so much! BTW, smut will begin in chapter 3 ;) anyway, enjoy!

CHAPTER 2 - (Word Count: 2,500)

Two days passed since speaking to Loki and he was still holing himself in his room. Neither you nor any Avenger saw him since you went to check on him on Saturday. His solitude began to worry you, which was peculiar given you barely even liked him. Nonetheless, you gathered the courage to approach his room again.

You knocked on the door. Like last time, twice, and then a pause before knocking three times.

“Loki?” you asked. No response.

“Hey, Loki. You in there?” You asked again.

Still nothing. You placed a hand on the doorknob and spoke once more.

“Loki, I’m coming in now, okay? If you can hear me, you better make yourself decent.”

Slowly, you cracked the door open. Inside, sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor Loki had a collection of books strewn about, surrounding him. Some were open and some weren’t. A rather large tome rested in his lap. In the back, his bedsheets hung over the side of the bed and twisted all over the place. The light in the room was low and the curtains were drawn closed. The air was also quite chilly.

You entered and Loki looked up from his reading. His red eyes grew wild with anger. “Who told you you could come in here?”

“No one did,” you said. “I’m here to make sure you’re okay, which you clearly aren’t, as you’re still blue and this room is a mess.”

In a flash, Loki got up so that he was merely inches from you. He hovered over you with a menacing aura and his finger pointed to the door.

“Leave.”

“Fine, fuck you,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you don’t want my help then I’ll leave you here to suffer with your alien problems. Have fun, asshole.”

You turned on your heels and headed towards the door.

“Wait,” his tone deflated. Against all logic, you did. “I know I’m being an ass. Please forgive me, my agitation and aggression… it’s only becoming worse. I am not myself.”

You finally turned back around to face him. The god’s face scrunched up like he was in pain.

“Do you want my help or not?” you asked, still tensed up, expecting another outburst at any moment. “You’ve turned me away twice, and very rudely at that.”

“Yes, I know. I apologize.”

“Thank you,” you said, relaxing slightly. His words also surprised you since you didn’t think he had a single bone in him capable of apology.

An awkward silence befell the room as you awaited his response, but he just stood there. You also didn’t notice until now that Loki was quite underdressed. He had no shirt on and the only article that clothed him was a pair of forest green boxers.

“So?” You said.

“So?”

You rubbed your temples. “So, what do you need help with? I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Yes, of course,” he said sheepishly. He bent down to scoop up the book he was reading. “You will understand my hesitation.”

You rolled your eyes. Was he just wasting your time?

Loki flipped through the heavy book. “The other night, after you came to speak with me, I traveled to Asgard. This affliction had to be explained in our library, and I went there expecting to find an answer and a way to cure myself. I was not going to be caught dead appearing to our healers in my Jotun form, so I came back here with as many books I could find on my race.”

“And did you find anything?”

His brow furrowed and he slammed the book shut. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

The god sighed out of frustration. “This… affliction I have is no illness. It is an aspect of Jotun pubescence. From reading I have learned that young Jotuns, boys and girls, when they leave childhood and begin to flower into adults they go into heat. I have not told you all of my symptoms. I have been agitated and angry, but most of all I have been incredibly frustrated… sexually.”

You blinked rapidly. “Oh…” You felt your face grow warm. “So you’re — you’re just really horny. But I’m confused, you’re obviously not going through puberty! …Right?”

He shook his head. “I hypothesize that because I spent most of my life unknowingly hiding my true form that perhaps my development as a Jotun was halted or delayed in some way, and it can hold back no longer.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “So then why don’t you just find a girl on Tinder or something? Or take care of it yourself?”

“I’ve tried the latter, it didn’t help and only made me angrier. As for finding a girl, I’m afraid that in this form I may hurt her.”

“In what way? You’re no different except your skin.”

“From what I’ve read, Jotun sex is very primal, animalistic. I may lose control of myself.”

“Oh.”

Loki sat down in a nearby chair and exhaled. His muscles flexed underneath the sapphire blue skin as he tried to get comfortable. It was alarming how suddenly intimate this situation with Loki was. He buried his face in his hands, his arms blue and veiny, his raven black hair cascading over his shoulders.

He was kind of beautiful. And you kind of felt bad for him.

“So having sex is the only way to get better?” you asked.

You tried to shake off a shiver, the cold air in the room was beginning to get to you. You rubbed your arms to ward the goosebumps away.

“As far as I’ve read, yes, that is the only way.” He sounded tired. “Otherwise I may lose control of myself completely and do something that everyone regrets.”

“If that’s the case, what about Natasha?”

His face snapped up, eyes angry. You expected him to begin yelling again but the moment passed. “I am not interested in her, and I highly doubt she is in me. Though she would be a viable candidate considering she can hold her own, it is out of the question.”

“Are you interested in men at all?”

“Yes, but at the moment I crave a woman.”

The way he said it made something within you tingle. You hated yourself so much for what you would say next: “What about me?”

“You?” He stood up.

The moment the words left your lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He was definitely going to kick you out now, or yell, or maybe even laugh in your face. You weren’t sure what compelled you to volunteer yourself. Even though Loki was an asshole, you felt bad for him. Additionally, it’d been a while since you had a good go with someone and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t felt lonely the past few months. As men go, he’s not ideal, but he’s not the worst either. He also has several traits you find attractive in men: the dark flowing hair, the voice and accent, the cheekbones…

“I’m definitely not as skilled as Natasha. I’m no super Russian spy, but I do have S.H.I.E.L.D. training.” Stop talking, you told yourself.

“You,” he repeated again, approaching you.

You froze in place – unsure what he would do – then relaxed when he simply reached out and cupped your face with his icy hand. His thumb rested between your ear and your jaw. You looked up to meet his gaze; his devilish, cool gaze. He was studying you. You blushed more.

A fist knocked on the door. Both you and Loki flinched.

“They can’t see me like this,” Loki whispered.

“Okay, okay, umm, get out of sight from the door.”

He did, and you ran to the door, barely creaking it open. Bruce was on the other side.

“Oh, I was expecting to see Loki,” the scientist said. “Is he still sick?”

“Yeah, I just brought him some soup,” you lied. “It’s pretty bad.”

Bruce looked over your shoulder. “Are you going to get sick being in there with him?”

“No, he said it’s not an illness that affects humans.”

His brow furrowed for a moment. “If you say so. Just let him know we’re going on a mission. Not sure when we’ll be back.”

“Okay,” you said.

He had a confused, skeptical look but excused himself. He ran back down the hallway and into the elevator, talking into his communicator to the other Avengers that he was on the way.

Phew. At least that’s dealt with. You shut the door and gave Loki the all clear.

“Um, where were we?” you asked.

“You volunteered yourself to have intercourse with me,” Loki said.

“Oh, yes,” you said, your blush coming back instantly. “That I did. Well, I still stand by it.”

“I thought about it and I appreciate the offer, but no. I cannot take the risk of hurting anyone.”

“So what are you going to do?” you asked.

“I will figure it out,” Loki said, resolute.

“Okay,” you replied, unconvinced. “If you change your mind or want my help with anything, just let me know. I’ll be upstairs going over my reports.”

He nodded. “I will.”

—--------------------------------

You woke up on the couch in the penthouse with your reports and paperwork half in your lap, half scattered around the floor. The room was pitch dark except for the lights of New York City’s skyscrapers in the windows. You checked your phone, it read 11:57pm.

You weren’t supposed to sleep in Stark Tower but it happened a few times and no one ever really commented on it. You spent the entire day reading and filing reports, eating both lunch and dinner in the tower. Sometimes you had so much work or the work was so boring that you just dozed off in the middle of it. With your phone’s flashlight, you collected all your papers and set them in a stack on the nearest table. Then you remembered Loki.

When you spoke, it was sometime in the morning, and now it was nearly midnight. You wondered how he was doing. By his description, it sounded a lot like he was an animal in heat. Obviously, animals could go into heat and be fine if they didn’t find a mate, but Loki’s situation was obviously different and he was getting worse by the day. If he didn’t find a solution soon, how aggressive would he get? You felt certain that he only told you he would figure it out himself out of pride, or maybe embarrassment. It was definitely a strange circumstance, but if you were in his place you probably wouldn’t act much different.

As you thought about him and his predicament more, you felt your body grow warm. You couldn’t get him out of your head – his aggression, his vulnerability; then your mind went to how gentle he was, the soft caress of his skin against your face. The thought of his shirtless, blue form plagued your mind, the lean muscles of his abs and biceps. The red eyes that scared you yet lured you in… His cold breaths against your skin.

Ugh, now you were sexually frustrated. How did this happen, wanting Loki?

You got up from the couch to grab a drink of water. As you ran the water into the glass, a loud crash sounded below you, followed by a man’s scream.

You jumped, nearly dropping your glass on the counter. Some of the water splashed the front of your shirt.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, though you were fairly certain you knew.

You went downstairs to the room you suspected the commotion came from.

“Loki?” you shouted as you pounded on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

The door flew open yet Loki was on the other end of the room, nowhere near it. It must have been his magic that opened it. The god’s back was to you and he breathed heavily, standing over his bookshelf and nightstand, both of which were toppled over. Books, papers, pens, a cup of water, and various knick knacks were all over the floor in an enormous mess.

“What happened?” you asked, taking in the scene before you.

“I lost control…” The god said. “I saw red and knocked the bookshelf over in my rage.”

“You’re getting worse, Loki. This isn’t good.”

“I was reading the rest of the books I borrowed from Asgard for an answer or even a hint as to how to conquer this. Nothing. Nothing! These books are all useless to me.” He kicked one of them and it slid across the wood floor until it hit the wall.

“Loki, it’s gonna be okay. Just take a deep breath,” you told him.

He straightened his back and did as you said. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. Afterward, he finally turned to face you.

“Better?” you asked.

“Hardly, but I did need that.”

“Like I said earlier, we can do it. If this is gonna make you go insane, then we can have sex if that’s what’s going to get you to calm down.”

“No!” He interjected. He looked like he was going to yell again but took a deep, shaky breath. “I said it before, I could injure you.”

“You’re one of the most disciplined people I know, I’m pretty sure you can get a handle on it. And remember, I have self-defense training. Wouldn’t you rather try than just lose your mind?”

“Urgh!” Loki groaned, holding his head in his hands. Was he… in pain? “I said it already! No. I do not trust myself in this state.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers. “Fine, Loki. I’ll leave you alone. Anyway, it’s past midnight right now and I’m not gonna go home at this point. I’m just gonna sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. If you change your mind and you need… sex, you know where to find me.”

He only grunted in response.

“Um, okay. Goodnight, then.”

As you exited Loki’s room, you closed the door behind you. His behavior was getting on your last nerve but you also felt relieved to get away because you were fairly certain your face was beet red again. You took one of the guest bedrooms on the same floor, just up the hall and closer to the elevator. You stripped yourself of everything except your shirt and underwear and settled into bed. Before you drifted off to sleep, your thoughts were invaded again by Loki. If he was going to literally die of sexual frustration, at least nobody could say that you didn’t try to save him. It was so odd seeing him like that, so vulnerable and irrational – it was the antithesis of his whole being; the god who commanded strength, logic, and control within himself.

Despite the incident that just occurred, you were able to find sleep rather quickly.

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hnwd · 8 months

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Dream dragon sheet !

More detail ⬇️

Âme :

Appearance :

The appearance of a pre-adolescent child has a truly fragile and innocent appearance. The corruption form of the skeleton form drips through the eye sockets, nose, mouth and neck, the corruption can in rare cases cover the majority of its body but never completely.

Her outfit was made by the Nightmare, he made her the butterfly cape with great care and magic, realizing that Âme loved butterflies which did not exist in her original world nor in the Abyss

The dragon appearance remains at the same age for its species, its beginnings are hidden by its fur. The one-headed dragon inspired by foxes and its movement behavior at times. The scar is very large in its dragon form hidden by its mane, but simply lift it to reveal the areas of missing flesh. In case of corruption the body of the dragon rots more or less partially until the corruption flows from the rot and its mouth, it becomes close to black in case of corruption.

Funfact: Originally before his death, Soul was born as a white dragon, he became golden after absorbing the energy of a god.

History :

Once born in the body of the new white dragon, he was destined to watch over half the kingdoms of the earth with his brother the black dragon. But the latter, hating to have only infertile and sick kingdoms, decided to steal the kingdoms of his younger brother. The white dragon never fought towards his brother, he was passive and he was just a child who wanted his big brother's attention. But the black dragon was plagued by paranoia, and one day he killed his younger brother by ripping his throat, thinking that he had taken an army with him, but in reality it was only their favorite object, a ribbon. double bell which fell to the ground.

Be careful not to be fooled by the age of his body, Âme is both older and at the same time a child which is confusing.

Indeed Âme died as a child and refused death, corrupted by hatred he was locked up by the gods of death in the void of non-life. But Âme's hatred of his unjust death only increased his power and drew other lost souls to him, creating the world of "L'Abime". Âme managed to kill one of the gods coming to force him to detach himself from his old life, he transformed his energy into a mask which created the strange rule that death in this spirit world permanently destroyed the soul in a power mask which will be at the service of the owner.

[...] As this character comes from one of my stories I won't describe everything but if you are curious take a look at the story "l'Abime" on my Wattpad account :D[... ]

When he left the Abume, time resumed for the dragon, but he was in a child's body having spent an eternity in a kingdom of the dead, he could no longer have this adult body but he was happy to contrasted that it was always linked to The Abime and its rules of magic.

Character :

He is someone who is positively fatalistic, and yet he exaggerates about certain things like a child who has never been able to grow up.

Fairly Bipolar

genius manipulator

Loves to say bad words to shock people

try not to cry

Love Butterflies.

Magic Abilities:

Âme has affliction and invocation magic, in itself he has no defensive and offensive magic.

Justice and Injustice: Âme swings in both style of his soul's characteristic, justice and injustice highly depends on the world and the adversary. Injustice is more easily exploited, but justice is much more powerful.

Pearls: The bad luck pearl gives curse and misfortune while the lucky pearl gives prosperity and happiness. Pearls are a natural ability for Âme, but he rarely creates them, usually only black ones that he pretends are positive.

Masks: Âme can still summon the millions of masks he has scavenged from the abyss, devouring their powers for battle or conversely using them to manipulate his opponents and sometimes summon the mask's body directly.

The Abyss: Being able to create a portal and go out and enter as he wants from this purgatory, he uses it from time to time to send people who launch a fight against him. In the abyss the levels go back to 1 as long as you stay inside "alive" magic is also almost impossible without a large source of energy.

Pact: Ability he warped, Âme can make pacts with a person by a simple touch, a simple wish whisper in your mind and he can impose it on you and control you like a doll. These are pacts of injustice, pacts of justice are pure work and healing, they must be announced orally and accepted by both parties and are terribly effective.

Time: By his determination not to die, Âme acquired a skill influencing the timeline, he can block time and prevent the use of saves and Resets. However, he must be aware of this ability to use it.

Levitation: Soul does not possess the magic of souls, however it can itself be levitated whatever its form, it is not against not levitating others

Bonus:

Since he's the first soul in his world to refuse death, and came back to life "illegally" He's still on death's list, and pursued by them, But thanks to Nightmare's cloak, he is hidden from the gaze of death if he did not find himself in front of the reaper.

If Âme attempts to have an adult body, he will pay for every minute of an adult body in a year of childhood which frustrates him greatly, since he is already aging extremely slowly.

Âme's real name is Amae, but the Nightmare ended up calling him Âme by accident and came to believe it was his name. Ultimately the Dream kept that name.

#undertale #aus #digital art #dream sans #undertale au #dream sans alternative

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misshiraethsworld · 9 months

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DOOR IN THE HEDGE ━ once upon a time ✧

as you wish, my beloved

THE FAIRYTALE AFFLICTION coming soon!

tag family: @arrthurpendragon, @eddysocs, @darth-caillic, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @kmc1989, @ocappreciation, @ocs-supporting-ocs if you want to be added to my family, all you have to do is ask!

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bhaalbaaby · 4 months

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Title: Happiness in the Wrong Place (5078 words) Pairing: the dark urge/tav Warnings: dom/sub, original characters, pre-BG3, tiefling smut (hornjobs and tail stimulation), safe sex, explicit consent and rules A/N: friend fiction but it's me smashing Penelope against my friend's durge 🥺

Read on AO3 or Wattpad!

Penelope stares across the sea, the small waves lapping on the soft sand. She doesn't think such beauty exists in Baldur's Gate, but Kaine surprises her. She runs her fingers through her wet hair. She glances over her shoulder, clenching her teeth to stop her body from shivering. Kaine could remedy this affliction quickly. Tieflings do run hot. Her tail twitches as she walks towards the cottage, her arms wrapped around her sides.

"How did you find this place?" She asks when she sees him. She keeps her eyes on his face, ignoring his shirtless body. Kaine shrugs, a cheeky smile crossing his lips. "Exploring. You're welcome to come back to visit any time."

Penelope laughs, rolling her eyes as she takes one of the towels on the chair, and starts to dry her hair. His stare lingers starting with her eyes, her lips, lowering to the dress that clings to her full figure, her hard nipples poking through. She turns away slightly, her cheeks heating. Someone's stare rarely makes her nervous. "Thank you for the invitation," She says as she wraps the towel around her shoulders. She turns back around, her bright eyes searching his face for his true intentions.

"Of course," His smile is softer and she feels a caress on her tail. His hands are in front of him as he steps closer. Tail holding? Her heart skips beats. She feels so dumb as she returns the smile. Her only chances at this are only with her best friend Rhol and before that was her mother. Their tails intertwine, his tail cautious as it guides her closer.

She clears her throat, laughing to herself. "If you wish to say something, you may speak your mind, Mr. Kaine." She's beside herself as she looks him over. The scars on his body show he's lived a life while the Tiefling marks reveal he's just like her. She runs her fingers over the raised skin and bone under his chest. It's rigged, the skin taut. She can feel his heartbeat beneath, quickening as she gets closer to the center of his chest. His tail slips higher, gently pushing up at the end of the short hem of her dress.

"You'll get a cold if you keep this on," Kaine finally says, resting his hands on her hips. Penelope rolls her eyes, letting her hands rest on his chest. "You just want me naked," She teases, slipping her tail from his grasp.

He smirks, "That's another perk." She steps away from his grasp.

"I suppose you're right though. I won't be any good if I'm sick." She doesn't see the slight dip of his eyebrows as she undoes her damp dress, letting it fall to the floor. She shivers, pulling her towel lower over her wet skin.

"If you get sick, you may blame me for not telling you we'd go for a swim ahead of time," Kaine says, stepping closer, his hands warm on her arms. She imagines they'll be warm on other places of her body as she glances up at him.

"You're sweet." She murmurs before resting her head on his chest. In another life, this could have been her reality, safe in someone's arms, not playing pretend for however much he paid. She waits for him to hug her, his arms slipping back to her waist and hips, but never pulling her closer.

"We can pretend here," She says as she pulls away, testing him. "We're no longer our titles and jobs. Within these walls at least." She adds the last part with a small eye roll. "Just Penelope and Kaine." He raises his eyebrow, his fingers still on her waist, kneading the towel. "Is that alright with you?" She asks, standing on her tiptoes, her mind with visions to kiss him.

He nods slowly, her tail tracing the curvature of his. "If that is what you wish." He tilts her head towards his, "Your wish is my command, Penelope."

She laughs, the anxiety taking over again. "I wish all clients were like you."

He pauses before laughing along. "We're supposed to be forgetting about those things," He reminds her.

Penelope scrunches up her nose, her arms wrapping around his neck. "Good thing you're here to remind me," She says as their lips brush. She inhales a shaky breath as she looks into his eyes. "You make me nervous," She confesses before burying her face in his neck. He hesitates again, she can feel it as his hands twitch on her sides.

"Nervous?" He asks, concern lacing his tone.

"Mmm," She hums in reply, pressing her lips on his neck.

Kaine takes a deep breath as he pulls her closer finally. "Why?" He asks, his fingers running up her spine and the bone spikes above them. She shrugs, deciding to focus on her mark. She opens her mouth slightly letting his hot skin in as she sucks, her teeth grazing the skin. His hand makes it to the nape of her neck, his fingers knitting in her hair as he gently pulls her from his neck. She moans involuntarily from the hair pulling, resting back on the soles of her feet. "We should put rules down if we should continue as Kaine and Penelope," He states, her impatience growing.

"Rules are made to be broken." She says with a small cackle, but he keeps her still in his grasp.

He continues, ignoring her small squirms in his arms. "One, if I cross a line or if you cross a line, we must let each other know." She relaxes as she nods. If only they all had rules as simple as that. "Two, since we're pretending, we won't refer to the realm outside of here." She would break that rule easily, but she nods as he massages her scalp. "Three, we are free here. You can speak your mind."

She smirks as she nods again. "Are those all the rules?" Penelope asks, dragging her nails across his sharp trapezius. Kaine nods as he lets her hair go, letting her sink back into his arms. "I think you're wearing too many clothes." She whispers against his neck as she drags her fingers down his back, enjoying the way the ridges feel against her fingers.

"Then so are you," He replies, picking her up.

"I'm just in my towel," Penelope says, trying to keep her giggles from bubbling up.

"Too much," Kaine repeats before pressing his lips against hers, giving in to temptation.

Her fingers get lost in Kaine's hair as he carries her to the bedroom, their lips crashing against each other. She drags her teeth along his bottom lip as he rests her on the soft bed. He pulls away, carefully pulling her towel free. Her breathing quickens as the towel loosens, slipping to her sides. She's been naked so many times before people so why is he different? He leans down, kissing her softly, as he tugs the towel from underneath her, throwing it on the floor. Her hands rest on his cheeks and jaw as she deepens the kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth. He breaks the kiss, making a trail of kisses on her jaw neck, and collarbone.

"You're still wearing too much." Penelope whines, feeling his warm breath on her breasts.

"Patience." He whispers before taking her breast in his mouth.

She squirms under him, her fingers finding a home in his dark hair again as his tongue rolls around her nipple. He groans, grinding against her. She closes her eyes, feeling him hard pressed on her thighs. He moves to the other one, repeating the same torture. His hand massages her chest, his tail running along her shins.

"Kaine..." She moans, frustration building. He holds himself above her as she says his name, "Are you alright?" She nods swallowing hard. "What about you?" She asks, letting her hands slip into his damp trousers. He growls as he leans back down, kissing her hard as her hand rubs along his hard-on.

"We'll get there." He says finally, this time pressing kisses down her sternum and stomach until he slips out of her reach, resting between her thighs. Enver would never. She sits up on her elbows as she watches, his lips pressing kisses on her soft thighs.

"Are you sure?" She asks, her tail rubbing his shoulder. His dark eyes cut to her face. Suddenly she's his prey and he's ready to pounce. "Very." He states, spreading her legs. "You will get your chance to please me, Pen... That I can promise." He says, as his eyes soften, kissing her lower stomach.

She keeps her legs spread as he buries his mouth between her thighs, his tongue lithe against her folds. She slowly lies on her back arching her back, her hips pressing against his mouth. Penelope the whore would moan loudly, tell him how perfect he is, the best she's ever had. He would enjoy that she bets as she moans softly, her fingers running through her wet hair as she sighs. Penelope the woman closes her eyes, letting the sensations run through her, a shiver running up her back as he suckles on her clit.

Gods above.

She tries not to close her legs around his head as she writhes, her tail a giveaway of how she feels as it tenses, wrapping around his forearm. She covers her face as she breathes hard through her mouth, cursing. He pulls away, chuckling as he looks at her tail.

"More?" He cheekily inquires as he kisses her thigh, grazing her skin with his sharp teeth. She tenses as she whispers yes. His fingers prod her open as he tuts, "I can't hear you."

Penelope rolls her eyes, glad they were hidden by her arms as she laughs breathlessly. "Yes please."

His finger curls up as he thrusts, his mouth returning. She bites her lip as heat sweeps her skin. She should be paying him. She rocks her hips with his finger, the action bringing her closer to the edge. "I... I don't want to come yet." She whines, sitting up. Kaine pulls away, his eyebrows raised. "I-Alright." He sits up, holding her face between his fingers. "Why not?" He asks amused. She doesn't answer right away, tugging his pants down. "Because I won't have energy for you." She lies, punctuating her spaces with quick pecks on his lips.

Kaine sighs as he lets her take over. She settles back into her old ways, a seductive smile on her lips, wrapping her hands around his cock, pumping him. His breathing catches in his throat as she kisses his neck, sinking her teeth into his skin. He growls as his hands find her hair, pulling her back. "Too hard, dear." He says with a small chuckle.

"Too hard?" She asks as she slides out of his grip. He stands straighter as she lies on her stomach, her eyes on his cock, more bumps and ridges. For a moment she wonders if it'll hurt, but she pushes the thoughts away, running her tongue from his base to tip. She relishes in his groan as she sucks on his tip, his hand resting on her horn. He curses under his breath as she slowly takes him down her throat, more with each bob. It's easy for her to get lost in the action, so many of these she's given. She glances up at him as she rests his tip on her tongue before swallowing him again. Her fingers run up and down his hips as she throats him, gagging as he fills her mouth.

She pulls back, her eyes dazed. "Use me however you like," She purrs as she strokes him, perking up with a smile. He grips her horn, making up look up at him. "Is that what you want?" He asks, his jaw clenching as she still strokes him.

"Yes." She says, opening her mouth. "I want you to use me."

He raises his eyebrow as he leans down, his fingers returning between her thighs as his other holds her tail up and out of the way. She gasps, her hips seizing up. "Continue," He commands as she whimpers. "Yes sir." She says quickly, returning his cock to her mouth as he fingers her hard. He would force her hand whether he realized it or not. She closes her eyes as she moans around him. A whole weekend of this? She doesn't think she'll survive. Rule number four, plenty of breaks, Penelope thinks as he presses his hips against her mouth, his tip twitching and wet with saliva and precum.

His fingers pound into her, forcing her up on her knees as she tries to take it, the heat spreading throughout her body. She pulls her mouth off him, burying her face into the covers, clenching around his fingers. He laughs softly as she pants. "Ah, so you weren't lying," He teases as he removes his fingers. She curses him as he goes to his discarded pants pulling out a condom. She's secretly grateful as she pushes her ass back feeling him climb on the bed behind her.

"Please fuck me," She whines as his hands rest on her ass, slowly guiding her back. "If you promise not to come so quickly," Kaine replies, his fingertips playing with the base of her tail. She shivers, glad the covers hide her face. "I'm so close, Kaine." She confesses, shaking her head. She usually fakes it for her clients except for the rare times they catch her off guard like now.

He slowly thrusts, stretching her quivering hole. Their moans mix as he leans down, wrapping his hand around her neck as he pulls her up, pounding into her. She closes her eyes as he holds her against his body, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm with each other. His other hand returns between her thighs, rubbing her swollen clit. His teeth drag along her earlobe, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin. "You're doing such a good job, Penelope." He whispers as her stomach flips. She doesn't know how much more she can take, their bodies hot and sticky with sweat. She turns her head, sloppily kissing him as she presses her ass back against him. His hand slides up her stomach, keeping her pressed against him until he reaches her breasts, massaging the mound. His hand on her neck holds her face against his.

"You're going to make a mess," He says as he pulls away, her walls clenching around him. She falls forward, gripping the covers.

"Harder, please." She begs, her makeup smudging on the blanket. His fingers dig into her hips as he follows her wish, their skin reverberating each time their skin meets. Her tail runs along his chest, and neck as he pounds her, their moans filling the room. He leans down, pressing kisses up her back, until he sucks on the skin on her neck, grinding his hips, her squeals increasing in volume.

He pulls out, patting her legs. "I want to see your face as you come." He growls as he helps her roll to her back.

"I have an ugly orgasm face," Penelope lies as she whines, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Liar," He whispers as he thrusts back in, holding his hips flush with hers.

Penelope whimpers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she brings his face closer to hers, her bright eyes shining. Their noses press against each other, their pants becoming one as he picks up his pace. Her legs squeeze tighter around his waist, her heels digging into the back of his thighs. He presses his lips against hers eliciting a soft moan from her lips as he gently grabs her arms from around him, pinning her wrists down on the bed. His tongue rolls with hers, grunting as he bottoms out. She pulls away, writhing.

"Like that?" He asks as she rocks her hips with him, letting him fuck her deeper. She nods frantically as she tries to escape his restraints. He carefully presses his head against her jaw, his torso holding her down to keep her from squirming. Imagine if all of her clients got her this excited... Another flush of heat covers her skin making her shiver. His teeth are a pleasant surprise as he nips her collarbone. She glances down at him as he sucks on the skin. Leaving his marks. She mewls as he comes back to her mouth, capturing it with his. She's getting closer with each thrust. Their eyes lock as he rests his forehead against hers, his grip sliding from her wrists to her hands. Interlacing their fingers feels more intimate than fucking in this bed, but Penelope allows it, gently squeezing his hands. Their lips meet momentarily, kisses as necessary as breathing.

"Kaine..." She whines against his mouth, her hips bearing down on the bed as his cock makes his claim with each thrust.

"Say it," He growls, letting go of her hand as he rests on her jawline, making her look at him. She flares in nostrils in defiance, looking away. His lips find her earlobe, soft wet kisses and licks making new goosebumps flash her skin, not helping stave off the pending orgasm. "You must ask for it," Kaine whispers as she clenches his cock.

She turns her head to face him again, her free hand resting on his jaw, his dark tattoos. "No," Penelope manages to say as she trembles, her resolve crumbling.

"No?" He repeats, the question punctuated by his sharp strokes. She nods as she sticks to her answer. He rolls his eyes, his red eye glowing as he sits up. She can tell he wants to retort, but instead, his hands leave her neck and hand, going to her hips. She curses as he uses the new angle as leverage, rolling his hips. She won't give in, not yet. He watches as her soft body bounces with each pound, her breasts knocking into each other. He lets go of her hips, dragging a hand between her thighs as he rubs her swelling clit. Her legs quickly unwrap from his waist, squeezing around his wrist. He smirks as her moans catch in her throat.

"Don't do it," Kaine whispers, her skin flushing with each stroke. There's only so much she can take. She sits up on her elbows as she glances up at him, her mouth open as she pants, gripping the covers hard.

"Gods, yes!" She lifts her leg, resting it on his shoulder as she tenses up, wetness and the hottest heat rushing her body, focusing on the culprit between her thighs. She feels his mouth on her heel, his hand on her thighs as he keeps her in place as she tries to run away from him, it is all too much.

He's irritated when her orgasm fades, slowing down. Her breathing is loud and ragged, and she rests her head back on the bed. He pulls out, shaking his head. "You were supposed to ask," Kaine admonishes, dragging her hips to the edge of the bed.

"I didn't want to," Penelope replies breathlessly, laughing.

"No remorse for your actions?" He asks, his hand covering still recovering cunt.

She sits up and shakes her head. "No sir," Her eyebrow quirks up, unafraid of whatever he has planned for her. His hand is hard and firm against her folds, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. Oh. It's a test she realizes as he waits before spanking her again. She gives him a consenting nod as he continues, her red skin blushing with each strike. She swallows hard as she cries out, trying to keep her legs open becoming a chore. Pleasure jolts to her brain, the hard spanks on her overstimulated clit and delicate folds making her spasm. After the tenth strike, he stops.

"Beg for forgiveness." She clenches her jaw as he lets go of her leg, stepping back. He looks painfully hard waiting for her to disobey him.

"I didn't do anything wrong," She teases, as she sits up, her eyes flicking to his face to his cock.

He rolls his eyes as he removes the condom, tossing it in the bin. "Didn't do anything wrong... On your knees, now." Penelope's legs barely can follow that order as she slips down, following his order.

"Do you boss people around often?" She asks him as he steps closer.

Kaine chuckles as he brings his hips to her naughty mouth. "Rule number two." She rolls her eyes as she lets him fuck her mouth, his fingers interlacing with her hair and gripping her horn.

Her tongue rests flat against the bottom of his shaft as he pleases himself between her lips. She moans as he fills her to the brim, tears pricking her eyes. She can vaguely taste herself around him as he grunts. He holds his hips against her mouth, her nose pressed against his lower stomach and dark hair above his cock. He rocks his hips gently as she gags. He pulls himself out, squatting in front of her, his grip on her horn tight as he forces her to stare at him.

"Ready to apologize?" Kaine asks, taking in the wet sight of her mouth and saliva that drips down her chin and chest.

She smiles sweetly, "No."

He forces her up to her feet, holding her head just out of reach for much-needed kisses. He turns her around, leading her to the dresser. "Hold on. Do not let go," Kaine instructs, gently caressing her hips, his hands leading up to her hands as she obeys. His hands are warm on her skin as she holds the edge of the mahogany dresser. He pushes her long magenta hair to the side, kissing her exposed shoulder.

"Are you just going to fuck me into submission?" Penelope asks, her eyes cutting to him as she feels his teeth graze the sensitive top skin of her shoulder.

"Is that what you want?" He asks as he lifts his head, her tail caressing his legs.

"I wouldn't mind it," She giggles, his hands leaving hers and finding her breasts.

"I want fuck you until your legs can barely hold your weight until you only crave my cock." He tugs on her nipples, ignoring her soft moans and the way she grinds against him. "You will beg for relief, yes beg..." He laughs as she makes a face.

"Never..." She purrs as he leans back, another condom. She smiles as she watches him ready himself. "You don't have to. I'm covered." She says softly. His eyes flick up to her face, the sorrow behind his eyes.

"More for myself." He replies quietly. She wonders what he means by that, the question is short-lived as he returns, aligning himself with her. "You may want to obey this time." He says with a chuckle as she stands on her tiptoes, the dresser digging into her stomach.

"Why?" She whines, her brows furrowing as she tries to stare up at him.

"Because I do not like being spurned." She rolls her eyes, panting as his strokes are long and hard, keeping her in place. "Get... used to it..." She says in between moans, her fingers digging into the wood.

His fingers dig into her hips, bringing her back hard against him. He can see her struggle with each thrust, her toes barely touching the ground as he picks his pace. Her palms are slick with sweat as she tries her best to keep hold of the dresser, the corners digging into her hands.

"You can fuck me harder than that." Penelope goads, watching him from the corner of her eye, panting. It's hard to maintain her bratty facade, but she won't give up. His left-hand leaves her hip, coming up to her neck, slender fingers turning her head to face him. His index plays with her full lips as she sucks on the digit.

"You won't be able to handle it," He growls in her ear. She steels herself from another wave of shivers, her pink eyes round as she looks up at him.

"I'm a good girl. I can handle it," She whimpers as he rubs his wet finger around her lips before inserting it back.

"Good girl?" His right slips between her thighs, rubbing her clit as he pounds into her. She squeezes her legs together around his wrist, her feet off the floor. He holds her up with his thrusts, pushing her further over the dresser. Her mouth hangs open as she cries out, her toes curling.

"Ask me." He whispers in her ear, letting his teeth drag on the dangling skin. Gods help her. She wonders what her punishment would be if she defies him again. Another spanking? She could handle it. Anal? Easy. He lets go of her neck, returning his hand to her hips as she starts slipping.

"Stand." He commands, slowing down so she can get her bearings. She leans down, wanting to rest her head on the cool wood, but her breasts get in the way. She grimaces as he pounds her, her toes lifting from the ground again. "Don't." He growls, feeling her tremble under him.

"Please, please, please." The begging slips out before she can stop herself. Disappointment is an understatement, his laugh deep in her ear. "Good girl, Penelope. You can follow orders," Kaine teases. "Please what?" He asks, his fingers between her thighs adding too much friction, his cock filling at just the right angle. She fights the growing pressure in her lower stomach. "Please let me come, please!" She squeals, letting go of the dresser. Kaine pulls out, her moan disappointed as he tsks. "You let go of the dresser, little one." She flares her nostrils as she starts to reach for it again. Kaine is faster, turning her to face him. "But since you asked this time..."

He gets on his knees, his tongue eagerly swiping and finding her clit with ease. She can barely hold herself up, leaning into the dresser as she watches him. She curses as her stomach tenses. His hands rest on her ass, holding her closer to his hungry mouth. "You can come, I want you to," Kaine says in between sucks, her legs so close to giving out. There's antagonistic gnawing in the back of her mind as she gently rubs his horns. He pauses his lapping, dark eyes examining her as she continues to caress his horns. "I want to come with you," She says softly.

He pulls away, raising his eyebrow. "Is that so?"

She nods, their hands clasping as he leads her down to him. He lies back on the ground, guiding her hips to his. "Your wish is my command."

Her hands splay on his chest, the ridges on his chest perfect for her to run her fingers over. She slowly rides him, the angle already too much, his tip nestles too much to the front, pressing against every nerve ending inside of her. "Like that," He whispers as he helps guide her, his fingers resting on her hips.

"Kaine." She glances down at him, her breasts pressed together between her arms. He grunts as she starts to pick up her pace, lifting his hips ever so slightly to fuck her deeper. "Please come with me. Please." She whimpers, leaning back her hands resting on his shins. No more being shy. She is so close, chasing that high. He curses at the new position, taking in her sight as his cock gets buried between her folds.

He sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist, his mouth sucking on her breast, rolling her nipple with his tongue. She wraps her arms around his head, her fingers running along the length of his horn as she cries out. She only has a few more moments before she's putty in his hands. He groans as he takes over the pace, resting his face on her ample chest. "Keep rubbing my horn, please," Kaine whispers in between his moans, her other hand massaging his scalp. She does as he says, her senses awakening as she strokes his dark horn leaning forward, her tongue running along the length. He curses as she clenches around him, his breathing loud and ragged. "Gods below," He moans.

She whimpers. She loves it when she can tell they're close, the way they swell against her cervix, her walls sending shockwaves through her core. Filling her would have sent her over to Selûne she's sure, but she comes anyway, and hard. She tugs his hair, panting as her body spasms along with his. He leans up, kissing her passionately, his skin hot and sweaty. So is hers, but he seems more prominent. She lifts her hips as his now limp cock slips out. She sighs as she sits beside him on the floor, their tails intertwine once more.

"I..." Penelope hesitates, unsure what to say. What could she say? It's early in the evening where sleep isn't an option, yet. When clients take her out on trips, they would fuck and either sleep or the client would fuck off until it was time for festivities. Kaine is not like that. She slowly gets up and climbs into the bed. Kaine stands, discarding the condom before following after.

"I've never been with another Tiefling," She whispers, making a face.

"You don't know what you're missing out on," Kaine replies, pulling her into an embrace. It feels natural. She regrets what she said earlier. They should keep their boundaries. Blurring them will only cause things to hurt later.

"I know now." She giggles, pecking his lips. Her stomach growls during the silence, embarrassment taking over. "We should probably head back," Penelope says, sitting up, and moving out of his arms.

"Why? Is something wrong?" Kaine asks as she slips from the bed.

"No food." She says, hands on her hips.

Kaine smiles, "There is food in the kitchen. I can cook for us." Another wave of embarrassment takes over as he gets up. "Come on now. Time to feed PenPen." Of course, he knows how to cook, and how to take care of her. She follows him to the kitchen. In another life, this could be their every day, making love and he makes dinner. How alien it feels to her. She hopes she never forgets this feeling.

taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny @astarionsbeloved @thedancingbun @razrogue @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator @rinmoon7

#writing #tav: penelope #tav: kaine #dark urge x tav #durge x tav #friend fiction #nsft #me: pls clap fhjkaslhfjjkdafsa #penelope x kaine

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punchdrunkdoc · 10 months

Text

Part 2, Chapter 19

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

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PART 2

Chapter 19

Matt crept into the church basement as the congregation upstairs were finishing the first hymn.

He removed his mask and walked slowly through the cold, dusty crypt as the muffled voices above his head sang out to God. He ran his gloved hand down the wing of one of the angel statues, then sat on the stone steps and made the sign of the cross.

It was Christmas Eve, and he was here for midnight mass.

He bowed his head and listened as the song finished and the priest started the service, his voice carrying an echo from the vaulted ceilings of the church.

“Grace, mercy and peace

from God our Father

and the Lord Jesus Christ

be with you”

“And also with you,” Matt murmured automatically, the response a reflex after so many years.

It wasn’t the first time he’d attended a service from the shadows, hidden away from the other parishioners. He preferred it this way. His faith was a private thing. A personal thing, that didn’t rely on community and shared worship.

All he’d ever needed was a quiet, hallowed space like this…and the counsel of his priest.

Who was gone now.

It had been more than six months since Father Lantom had been murdered, and Matt still felt the loss acutely. Especially tonight. He was feeling more than a little despondent, and could have used the older man’s guidance.

They hadn’t made a single bit of headway on the pheromone case. And the lack of progress with that was stalling any and all attempts to mount an appeal for Margaret Posen. Matt was reduced to witnessing the effects of the drug from the sidelines again, with no leads to follow and no way to stop its spread. Every night spent out on the streets was an exercise in futility…and it was eating away at him. Chipping away at his resilience and weakening any sense of hope that he could make a difference in this city.

And he missed Calina.

God, he missed her so much.

It had been almost three weeks since he’d last seen her. Three weeks since that single ring of the burner phone had let him know she was okay. And despite his best attempts to carry on with his life and put a brave face on for Karen and Foggy, her absence was a dark pit inside him that was growing with every day.

If he had Calina to come home to every night, he could cope with the lack of progress on the investigation. If he had leads to follow on the case, they would keep him busy enough to distract him from her loss.

But he had neither. Nothing in his life was working. And it made him feel like complete and utter shit.

He dropped his head in his hands and groaned at the sound of the buoyant carol being sung above his head.

Coming here had been a mistake.

“Someone’s full of festive cheer I see.”

Matt huffed out a laugh at the unexpected sarcasm. “Hi, Maggie.”

The sound of sensible flat shoes tapped down the stone steps as she came closer. And when she took a seat next to him, she lay a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Hello, Matthew.”

“How’d you know I’d be down here.”

“Just a hunch.”

Matt sighed. “I’m sorry I’ve not been around much.”

She shrugged. “I took it as a good sign. The last time you were here you asked if I’d take over the role of guiding you from Father Lantom. The fact that you never came…I hoped it meant that you didn’t need any help.”

He had needed help. Many times over the past six months, but he’d never reached out to her. And he suddenly realised that the same affliction that had stopped him from accepting his feelings for Calina, had prevented him from forming a relationship with Maggie.

He hadn’t wanted to get close to her, in case he lost her too.

But Calina had torn down that wall guarding his heart…so maybe it was time he let Maggie in.

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“So, how have things been going.”

Matt laughed again, the sound even more bitter and humourless.

“That good, huh?” she responded.

Matt fiddled with the mask he still held in his hands, unsure how to start. “Do you remember what else we talked about, the last time I was here? About God’s tapestry?”

“Yes. You described how we mere mortals can only see the back of it, with all the tanged threads and muddy colours. His beautiful plan is hidden from us.”

“Well, my little section of that tapestry is even more tangled and muddied than ever. And I really can’t see how it could possibly make sense from the other side.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “You fear that God’s plan for you is more than you can cope with.”

“More like…I’m wondering why his plan always involves having to cope. Why can’t my life be something to enjoy, rather than endure?”

Losing his sight. Losing his father. Stick and Elektra’s betrayal. Their deaths. Even Maggie and Father Lantom’s lies. His failures as Daredevil, all the injuries and the pain…it was a lifetime of tragedies and crucibles to endure, with only brief respites of happiness.

Like the happiness he’d found with Calina. The happiness that had been ripped away.

“You never ask the easy questions, do you?”

Matt smiled and shook his head. “Forget it. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Blame the holidays.”

“There’s a reason why people find this time of year difficult,” Maggie said in her calm and measured way. “When you’re dislocated from all the joy and cheer, loneliness and despair can be amplified. But you need to ignore the superficial trappings of the holiday, and look for the meaning behind Christ’s birth and why we celebrate it.”

“Which is?”

“Hope.” She nudged her shoulder against his. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Matt recognised the passage. “John 1:5.”

“Very good. Jesus was born, and brought light into a dark world. He was a beacon of hope for our salvation, and that is why we celebrate. The darkness will not overcome you, Matthew. You shine too brightly. And I have hope - no, I have faith - that God’s plan for you will not always have to be endured. You will find happiness.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“But,” she continued, her voice suddenly teasing. “In order to find that happiness, you need to be healthy and in one piece. Which means being more careful out there.” She poked him in the thigh for emphasis.

Matt groaned. “You saw the video.”

Daredevil had gone viral a couple of days ago.

A clip had been uploaded to social media of Matt rappelling acrobatically down the side of an 10-storey building in Hell’s Kitchen, and it had been shared several hundred thousand times across the net.

He hadn’t intended to make such a splashy descent. He’d been chasing a murder suspect from above and his foot had slipped on a patch of black ice just as he’d leapt off the top of a building. It had affected his trajectory and he’d collided with the side of the adjacent building instead of alighting on the rooftop. He’d quickly flipped his way down to the ground using window ledges and fire escapes and had landed in the alley below in seconds. The rooftop pursuit has turned into a street-level chase and he’d eventually caught his man…not realising he’d been caught on camera in the process.

“Yes I saw the video,” Maggie chided. “And watching it shaved a decade off my life.”

“I’ll be more careful, I promise."

“Good.”

Matt smiled. It felt like such a normal mother-son interaction. A hint of the relationship they could maybe have in the future.

It was another source of hope. Another bit of light to balance the darkness.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

———

Matt returned to his rooftop hours later feeling…lighter. Not quite at peace, and nowhere near happy, but he was a little less miserable and a lot less defeated.

It was officially Christmas morning, and Matt paused for a moment to take it in. A thin layer of fresh snow blanketed the city, softening its harsh edges. The soundscape was muted and the world was still. He took a deep breath, relishing the scent of the powdery white snow and letting the chilled air cool him down after his hours of activity.

And he let himself enjoy the moment of tranquility.

It felt like he was the only person awake in Hell’s Kitchen. And instead of that making him feel lonely, it made him feel…lucky. Lucky, that he got to experience the world in a way no one else did.

But on the heels of that thought, came one that had been his constant companion for weeks:

He wished Calina was here.

He wished that he could share this with her.

He would tell her about the way the world felt to him in this moment, and she would add colour to his view. He would hold her in his arms to keep her warm as they stared out at the cityscape, and she would lean up to kiss his jaw…

Matt sighed and shook his head. He could never seem to escape the sensation that everything in his life was a lesser version of what it should be. A shadow of what it could be…because she wasn’t here.

He trudged over to the access door and pulled it open, not looking forward to the hours ahead. His mind was bound to torment him with all those ‘should-be’s and ‘could-be’s as he battled in vain for sleep.

And as if to rub salt in the wound, he caught a hint of Calina’s scent as he descended the staircase into his apartment. Sometimes the draft stirred up pockets of her hidden scent, releasing it into the air as if to torture him with her absence.

But…this time the scent got stronger as he reached the living room. There was a heart beat echoing in his ears that wasn’t his own, and deep, slow breaths shifted the air around him…

Matt froze. He licked his suddenly dry lips, scared to believe what his senses were telling him.

Calina was here.

He pulled off his mask as he slowly approached his bedroom, where her scent was stronger still. He slipped into the room, and crouched beside his bed, then reached out his hand...

And found her skin beneath his fingers, so warm and soft.

He exhaled shakily as he stroked the length of her bare arm where it rested on the covers. He dragged his touch up over the gentle slope of her shoulder and swept a lock of her hair off her forehead and behind her ear, following the curve of her jaw with the tip of his finger. Then he cupped her sleep-flushed cheek, just as her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” she said simply. As if they’d been apart for a matter of hours, instead of weeks. As if it was natural for her to be here waiting for him, instead of a miracle.

Instead of the answer to all his prayers.

He shook his head in wonder. “Hi.”

“I meant to stay awake,” she said, her voice a barely-there whisper. “But I’d forgotten how comfortable this bed is.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered back, sifting his fingers through her hair. “Is it…? Does this mean…?”

“No,” she said sadly. “It’s not over. I can’t stay. I just…I missed you.”

He tried to smile, but a tear fell instead. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head in the mattress in front of her, all the stress and misery of the last couple of weeks finally coming to a head.

It was her turn to run her fingers through his hair as she comforted him. “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry.” He felt the bed shift as she propped herself up on her elbow, then she leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have come. This will make it so much harder to say goodbye again, won’t it? I just wanted to see you. For a little while.”

She sounded so distraught. He lifted his head and cradled her face between his hands. “No, sweetheart. Don’t ever apologies for coming here. I’m so glad you did - I missed you so much.” He surged up and kissed her, trying to prove how grateful he was - how happy he was in this moment - with his touch.

He never wanted her to regret coming to him.

He pressed his lips to hers, the act of kissing her still so new and exhilarating, even as the feel of her in his arms was so familiar.

Like coming home.

Within moments, the kiss deepened as they both revelled in the sensation of finally being able to touch each other again. Matt buried his fingers in her hair and Calina grasped the material of his suit. She used her hold to pull him closer and he went willingly onto the bed to cover her body with his own. He sank into the cradle of her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist as her arms encircled his shoulders.

Then she broke the kiss and buried her head in the crook of his neck, holding him tightly. He felt damp heat on his skin and realised it was her turn to cry.

He wedged his arms beneath her back and rolled them over until she was draped over him. “Shhh, it’s okay, Callie, I’m here,” he murmured, running his hands over her back. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong because he was feeling the same way - grateful, and relieved and happy at being together again...but with weeks of suppressed loneliness and fear in need of release.

This reunion was a catharsis of sorts for the both of them.

Matt would have been content to hold her all night as she worked through her tears, but minutes later she lifted her head and wiped her eyes. “Sorry," she sniffled. "This isn’t exactly the grand romantic gesture I had planned."

He smiled up at her as he helped brush away the moisture on her cheeks. “You’re here, surprising me at Christmas - that’s more romance than I ever could have hoped for.”

She returned his smile, but hers was still shaky with emotion. “I just…”

“What? You can tell me.”

She scraped her fingers gently through his hair as her eyes swept over his face. “I never expected to feel like this. I missed you so much, Matt.”

“I missed you too.”

She shook her head. “No. I really, really missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and wondering what you were doing. And I ached in here,” she pressed a hand to her chest. “Like my heart had been torn out.”

“I felt the same way.”

She shook her head again, sharper this time. As if he wasn’t understanding her. He rolled them onto their sides and stroked her hair off her face. “What is it, Calina? What are you trying to say?”

She swallowed, then answered him in a whisper. “I spent my whole life avoiding getting attached to anyone. The girls I grew up with…at any moment they could have been killed or forced to kill me, so we all consciously kept our distance from each other. I’m only just now finding out what its like to have friends. To have sisters. To form connections with people. And its good. Its really…good.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”

“But its so much more with you. The way I feel about you, and the way it feels to be apart from you…it’s so much, Matt. It- it scares me.”

The vulnerability in her voice broke Matt’s heart. And while her admission - of how much she cared about him - made him deliriously happy, it also brought one of his own fears to the surface.

Months ago, he’d used Calina’s inexperience as an excuse to not be with her. He’d pretended at the time that he didn’t want to take advantage of Calina’s naivety by pursuing something with her. It had been one of the lies he’d told Foggy - and himself.

But with most lies, it was based on a nugget of truth.

Calina was inexperienced. This was her first real relationship and everything she felt was no doubt magnified as a result.

And he was terrified that he would do something to hurt her.

Not intentionally, of course. But his track record with women was…not great. He knew that he had the capacity to be selfish. And careless with others’ feelings. His experience with Karen - someone that meant a great deal to him - proved that.

He didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes with Calina. He didn’t want to ruin what they had, or cause her pain. He didn’t want to do anything to damage her first experience of love.

Which would be her only experience of love, if he had any say in it.

He pulled her closer and shared his fears with her - she deserved to know that she wasn’t alone in what she was feeling. “I’m scared too,” he whispered. “This - the way I feel about you - is so much more than I’ve ever felt for anyone. And while it isn’t my first time, that just makes it all the more terrifying. Because I know that it could all go wrong. I know that I could ruin everything.”

She tipped her head to rest her forehead against his. “I could ruin it, too, you know. And that’s another thing I’m scared of.”

“So we just have to promise, here and now, to never do anything to hurt one another. To never cause each other pain, or ruin what we have. Simple.”

She laughed, just as he intended. “Simple.”

“There is something else we can promise - something that’s slightly more realistic.”

“What?”

“We can promise to always fight for each other. To fight for this. And not just run away when things get hard.”

Calina frowned at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking in hypotheticals?”

Because he wasn’t.

Matt was self aware enough to know that he had some pretty major abandonment issues, and Calina’s disappearing act last month had really done a number on him. And now that they were sharing their fears, it seemed like a good moment to bring it up. “You left," he explained, his voice hesitant.

"You know why I had to leave. Volkov-"

"No, before that. After what happened between us at the gym. And after what you heard Foggy say at the bar."

“Oh," she responded. "That."

“You just vanished Calina. I had no idea where you went and you weren’t answering your phone. I knew that you were hurting but I had no way to find you and make things right. It was horrible. Please don’t ever do that again. Promise that you’ll stay and fight. Or if you need some space, please just give me a way to contact you. I don’t ever want to go through that again.”

Calina wound her arm around his waist, holding him in comfort. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I- I didn’t know.”

“I’m not saying all this to make you feel bad-”

“I get that. I’m still sorry though. And I promise not to do that again. But you have to promise to cut me some slack when I get a bit overwhelmed by all this.”

“I can do that.”

Calina tightened the arm around his waist, and the action made the material of his suit crinkle. It reminded Matt that he was still dressed as Daredevil and that he should get up and get changed. But he was reluctant to break the intimacy of this moment. He’d never had a relationship built on this much honesty - which was ironic considering how many lies he and Calina told to each other in the beginning.

But here they were, several months later, openly and frankly admitting all of their feelings and fears and the things they needed from each other. It felt like they were building the foundation of something strong and lasting.

There was still a delicate…newness…to their relationship, but with every moment they spent together, that fragile, delicate core was reinforced and made more secure. He looked forward to the day when they were rock solid, embedded with one another in certainty and bound by commitment. He had a feeling even that wouldn’t completely allay his fears of abandonment, but it would go a long way.

They just needed some time to get there.

Time that they weren’t permitted right now thanks to the men hunting Calina and the other Widows.

Matt banished that thought for now - he wanted to enjoy Christmas with Calina without worrying about their inevitable separation. And he wanted to enjoy the thought of their future together.

It was yet another source of hope.

Another source of light to balance the darkness.

————–

Chapter 20

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