Hi everyone, this is the surprise I've been working on! It's actually a collaboration with the lovely @swordcreature where we gave the other person a soulmate AU and a character to write a vaguely 1,000 word fanfic on. My prompt was 'you see visions of your soulmates life through your dreams' with my forge hubby Dammon. If you'd like to see what prompt I gave (for a different tiefling bachelor 👀) then you should go check out Worms blog ;)
Overall this collab has been so much fun, we've had a great time chatting behind the scenes with me teaching a little local slang and I hope you guys enjoy reading what's resulted from our shared love of soulmate AUs! Thank you so much for working on this with me Courtney, and I hope everyone enjoys!!
Of blacksmiths and thimbles (soulmate AU)
The dreams had always been there. Your Mother assured you they were normal, good even, that you should enjoy them. Every night you stepped into the world of someone else, someone with red-orange hands that reached up towards their own Mother. Those hands belonged to your soulmate. You watched each night as they grew up alongside you, playing with similar wooden toys, eating strange food, living somewhere that wasn't Baldurs Gate. Soon however, you learned to stop telling people of your dreams, unsure why so many people had to force smiles when you'd talk about what you knew of your soulmate.
It was when you turned ten that the dreams changed. Your own life had altered significantly, and you knew your soulmate would be seeing you learn to tailor, watch as your pinpricked hands hemmed pretty skirts and dresses. After work, every night, you'd watch him learn to forge. You could almost feel the heat of the fires glow on your skin, overwhelmed by the clang and clatter of the men hammering out metal platters and ploughshares. You knew nothing of your fated love than his hands and his skill in craftsmanship. Though, this wasn't the last time your dreams would change.
Soon you'd have nightmares each night, watching as an entire city was dragged down to the hells below you. Soon the lovely hands you grew to admire switched from crafting farming implements to weaponry. The forges grew larger, hotter, much more fierce. As you grew in your own craft, moving from hemming to pattern making to custom fitting boned bodices in silk dresses, you watched your soulmates life fall apart each and every night. Needles found your skin despite your thimble, your eyelids drooping while working, so tired from worry for a man you've never actually met.
It was then that you learned his name. Dammon. The tiefling you were destined for, stuck in Elturel. You heard the name called across the hectic forge, hands stopping their work as the man looks towards the call, your own dream ending right afterwards. It's no surprise you grasp at any news of Elturel that makes it's way into the Gates Mouth Gazette, much to the growing curiosity of your fellow tailors.
You watched on as he was cast from his home, joining a group of others who all found themselves driven from the only city they'd ever known. By day you were an up and coming tailor, by night you watched tiefling refugees try desperately to survive. It was months of near torture, and you were sure this Dammon thought you overly privileged, living in your parents home and sewing pretty dresses for a pay cheque. A vast difference from his own existence.
Slowly, he makes his way closer to Baldurs Gate. Closer to you. By now watching his escapades was a nightly adventure, but your work called each and every day. Clients of renown, endless comissions and repairs, the replacement of even your most trusty tools. It only took you losing your thimble, the small tool nowhere to be seen, encouraging you to venture to a blacksmith.
Blacksmiths in Baldurs Gate were bleak, rude, or downright incompetent. You trudged through the crowded streets, dodging refugees and steel watchers alike, before stumbling on a new blacksmith's forge. It was a gorgeous open air shop, with a large clear sign. 'The Forge of the Nine'. Worth a shot, you decided while climbing the cracked stone staircase.
Honing a blade on the whetstone was a tiefling, somewhat tall and very broad, his skin an oddly familiar red-orange. Small stones grind under your feet as you see the blacksmith perk up, ears lifting and a smile on his handsome face. "Oh, just a minute!" He calls out, voice soothing as he places the sword off on a random bench. Hands pat over his apron, wiping off any residue as he walks over to you. "Welcome to the Forge of the Nine, what can I do for you? A dagger, maybe? Or a bow?"
You let out a chuckle at his assumptions, it seems you've found another forge that can't meet your needs. If only you could find your soulmate, a proper blacksmith on demand would be so very useful. "Nothing quite so aggressive. I need a new thimble actually, for tailoring?" You ask, wondering if he'll be like the last blacksmith who made one almost the size of a cup by mistake. It seems you don't need to worry however, as his eyes light up in recognition and his smile relaxes into an easy grin.
"A tailor?" He questions, motioning for you to follow him further into his forge. "Interesting... Well, you have nothing to worry about, I have a few thimbles here I've already made." His voice picks up at the end, body turned away from you as he pulls out a small, ornamental box that rattles with thimbles and stacks of finely crafted sewing needles. "Pick what you'd like."
You peer at the shining metal, delicately picking up a gleaming thimble, the loveliest one you've ever seen from a blacksmith. "It seems odd, to have a stack of such nice sewing supplies premade. Most blacksmiths hardly know a thimble from a goblet.“ You chuckle, trying the thimbles size.
"Ah well, I've spent a lot of time watching them be used." The tiefling responds almost hesitantly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. As he sees your confused expression, he explains further. "My soulmate, I believe they're a tailor. I've watched them sew in my dreams since they were young."
It's then that things click in your head, only one word able to leave your lips. "Dammon...?" Bright blue eyes light up as soon as you say it, all the air leaving your chest as you look at the man you've been thinking about for years. Dammons lips part slightly, closing again, a hand reaching out for you that you take instantly.
"It can't be... It's you?" He murmurs, seemingly not quite able to believe it. It's not long before a small laugh leaves you, your thumb running over his calloused hand as you pull him closer.
"Always has been." You respond, quickly being pulled into a hug you can't help but reciprocate, wrapping your arms around him. Like most tieflings, he's endlessly warm, but the difference is how his body seems to engulf yours. The smell of smoke and iron heavy on him as it surrounds you like a blanket. Finally, your soulmate, safe in your arms.
192 notes
·
View notes
"His Weakness" collaboration that I made with wonderful and amazingly creative @dark-and-kawaii which wrote for us the story! Don't forget to look at her blog! 💜💚
Soft Raphael | Tender | Comfort | You are his little mouse
Who could have fathomed that the devil’s weakness would be so quaint, so profoundly human? Raphael, no matter the mindset of his mood, became so tame with just a tender caress, your fingers dancing lightly across his skin. The flutter of his long lashes, as they closed in a quiet surrender, would always steal your breath away. There lay an unspeakable beauty in his eyes, in his lashes, you swore they were like invisible chains keeping you here at his side.
Your cherished moments were those when he would sit at his desk, writing up some new contract frustratingly, his temperament almost irate. Clad in your silk robe, draped loosely around you, you would approach the devil- your devil, wrapping him in the warmth of an embrace from behind. Your fingers always tracing the hidden strength of his muscles, clothed yet palpable. The way he would abandon his quill, freeing his hand to secure yours against him, a gesture so simple yet so profoundly intimate. Raphael would recline, a soft sigh parting his lips, yielding to the serenity of your touch, the gentle graze of your nails ever so soothing.
As sleep beckoned him, Raphael found himself seeking you out, a secret desperation for your presence whispering through him. Whether you lounged on his plush couch, lay amidst opulent pillows on the floor near his bath, or awaited him in the shared sanctuary of his bed, each time he’d find solace in your embrace. “You know what I enjoy, little mouse,” a quiet command to which you were only too willing to oblige. With his shirt cast aside, your nails sketched visions and dreams upon his back, his head nestled within the warmth of your lap as you continued your gentle ministrations. Each bite into his skin drew forth a deeper shiver of pleasure, painting a genuine smile upon your face. The delight of having such a formidable fiend so exposed, so vulnerable beneath your touch… My how it elicited a soft chuckle from your lips.
And each time you chuckled, the roles would reverse and you found yourself beneath him, the devil straddling your hips, his smirk devilishly charming. "Something amusing, pet?" he would challenge, striving to wield control, to maintain his powerful facade around you. Yet, when you slipped your hand from his grasp and traced your nails delicately along his cheek, he would find himself leaning into your touch, surrendering once more before pressing a kiss into your palm, his sharp teeth nipping at your skin, “My little mouse.”
96 notes
·
View notes