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ragdoll-exoart · 2 years

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Courting a Drider by accident - I

This fic has mature content with non-con elements, predator x prey. Only read it if +18

If you don't like the theme, don't read

Drider x female human

I-

The drider slammed her back against the trunk of a tree.

"You naughty little human, you'll pay for what you did to me!" He hissed menacingly as he clutched his bleeding forearm. The human hunter would've sliced it off if the Drider didn't have such good reflexes. Well, even without an arm, he still had another three to compensate along with all his eight spider legs.

He also underestimated her, acting like a cat toying with a rat before killing it, so the cut was well deserved.

"I'm not scared of you, you ugly fiend!" The woman said defiantly, looking up to the monster who towered over her. She tried to move, but her back remained glued to the trunk behind her. She probably was trapped by one of the webs made by the drider that she didn’t notice. The female warrior shouldn't have fight with him so deep inside the forest, in the monster's territory, now she was trapped, her sword on the ground just under him and far away from her reach.

"O-ho! You should be," He lowered his torso to have a better look at the face of the human who dared to trespass his domains. He grabbed her by the chin with one of his hands and opened a devilish grin that exposed his bare fangs and his sharp teeth. "It's been a while since the last time I ate human flesh," Paralyzed by fear the woman didn't move a muscle as the drider approached his face just under her jaw, inhaling deeply. "And you smell so, so good," His voice was low and hoarse. "Must taste as good as well,"

Her brain suddenly woke up from the daze as if predicting her incoming death and she finally found strength to react. The drider quickly backed away as the woman tried to cut his throat with a pocket knife.

"G-get away from me!" She shrieked in a tremble voice, not sounding as courageous as she wanted to be, but she was a warrior and wouldn't give up without a fight.

The drider checked her over with more amusement than annoyance. Oh, she probably looked pathetic with her back glued to a tree and only a small knife to protect her life. He huffed out a snort. "You're a dangerous one, aren't you?" In a blink of an eye, her weapon was gone from her hand. "I must be careful with you, right?" His voice was filled with sarcasm as he played with the stolen knife between his long fingers, examining curiously the metal blade.

"You'd better be," She spat in anger, aware that she was far from threatening, as she was clearly all barks and no bites but wanting to take off all frustration from inside her chest. "Come closer again, and I'll bite your face off!"

The drider retreated back a little, looking as astonished as if a horn just sprouted on her head. He leaned down his torso just enough to maintain their heads at the same level, his three pairs of eyes searching through her facial expressions. The woman did her best to conceal how awfully frightened she was trying to simulate a mask of anger as she kept her eyes locked with the monster's.

The seconds stretched and was odd the way how the whole body of the drider stayed still as a statue while he examined the woman. Her heart was beating at a maddening pace and her legs felt like jelly. The woman prayed inwardly that the creature ended everything quickly. As he opened a grin full of teeth, her only thoughts were how HE was the one who could actually bite her face off. "Human teeth aren't so sharp, you can't hurt me,"

"T-try me," She said defiantly.

He chuckled darkly. “A little man with a big mouth,”

“I’m not a man! I’m a woman!” She complained, always tired of people who didn’t acknowledge her skills due to her gender, always mistaking her for a boy. She was about to die, yes, but she would do so with her honor as a woman!

“I’ve heard female humans taste way better than men, I’ve always wanted to try it,” He said as he licked his chops.

“Well, I would try a drider too, but I bet you taste awful!” She said without thinking and blushed as soon as she noticed how twisted her words could ring on the wrong ears.

The drider was taken aback by her words. Then he grabbed her face in one hand and narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Careful with your tongue, human,” She struggled and used her own hands trying to release herself from his grip, but he had an extra pair of hands to grab them and hold her firmly in place. With only his thumb and middle finger, he pressed each one of her cheeks, forcing her jaw to open. He slid his index finger inside her mouth and she closed her eyes in anticipation, thinking he was about to rip the inside of her mouth using his nail but it was retracted, she could feel it as he caressed her tongue. The moment he let his guard down and relaxed his grip, she closed her jaw with all the strength she could muster to bite his finger off. He hissed but didn't pull it off even as she continued to chew it in attempt to hurt him as bad as possible. "See? You are weak, can't you try harder?" His skin was sturdy but she was determined and felt a small victory when the metallic taste of blood invaded her mouth. He hissed again and when she looked up, the drider was biting his own lower lip in an expression of pure delight.

The woman had an awkward feeling and tried to take his finger off her mouth, but he didn't allow her to budge.

"Are your intentions true?" He said in a hoarse voice. "Do you spit or swallow?"

She started to panic by the way he sounded. Of course she was only imagining the double meaning of his question. About what intentions was he speaking of? His blood tasted awful and way too strong. The only thing that crossed her mind and was plausible was the fact that perhaps drider's blood was toxic for humans. It seemed better for her to die quickly, so she sucked his finger and swallowed all the blood and saliva in a big gulp. He pulled his finger as if she just burned him and looked at her with a startled expression.

"Y-you sure of it?" He asked with such insecurity that the woman felt as if she was unexpectedly talking to a thirteen old boy. She didn't understand what the hell was happening, but if he somehow was feeling intimidated by her, it was best to stay in character.

"The only thing I'm sure of," She started, her voice now in a tone of renewed confidence. "Is that if I were a monster like you, I would pin you to the ground and rip each one of your limbs, very slowly and painfully,"

He drew on a breath. "Slowly?" His voice was shaken. Whatever the woman was doing, she was walking on the right path.

"Yes, very, very slowly. I would want to keep you alive as long as possible, make you suffer until I was done with you.” Again she blushed a little by the double implication of her words.

"Oh fuck," He breathed and made a painful expression as one of his hands felt downwards to touch his lower belly, exactly where a human crotch would be, though in his particular case it was at the junction where his humanoid part fused with the spider body. It was covered in thick dark hair, just like a tarantula, but she could see something poking out of it, shinning and dripping.

Oh no.

It couldn't be his... could it?

"And what would you do... after?" He asked giving a stroke on it. Oh yes, that was definitely a drider's cock.

"A-after what?" She asked stupidly, unable to take her eyes out of that.

"Would you let me live?" He asked in ragged breaths, still touching himself with a dazed expression on his face.

She had to give the worst answer imaginable that could act as an ice bucket of water on him. "Oh no, of course not," The tip of his cock twitched, as if it was a being with its own free will. "I would feast on your flesh until your last breath,"

He grunted and made a frustrated expression as his cock furiously expelled a long white stream, he wrapped his hand tightly on it in an attempt to prevent it from happening, but his cum kept coming out, a load so long and heavy it looked like he was peeing.

Oh no, what she just did?

“H-hey! What’s your problem you stupid monster??” She asked exasperated by the absurdity of her situation. Of all the possible scenarios she imagined as she hunted down the drider, she never expected that it would end with him jerking off to her and climaxing as she said how she would torture him.

“What’s MY problem?” He laughed like a maniac, his lips stretched in a way that exposed too much of his teeth and fangs, a mouth that could easily take apart any limb from her body. “Oh, you are so cute, brave woman, coming from so far away just to courtship me,”

She blinked stupidly at him and gasped. “I did not!”

He pulled her easily from the tree only to slam her against his body, one pair of hands holding her by the arms as another pair held her just under the knees, making her straddle him in the air as their faces were awfully close. “Don’t deny it, little human, not when you so boldly state that you also want to carry my offspring.”

Before she could state otherwise, she felt a sting on her neck and she cried in pain as the drider buried his fangs and teeth on her flesh.

“Stop, it hurts!” She complained in a crying voice, while she grabbed him by the hair, trying to pull him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He said in a voice so sweet it almost dripped honey. Then he kissed where he bit her and slurped the area. That honey was probably her blood. “Don’t you want your belly stuffed with my eggs?”

‘No’, her rational mind thought. ‘Yes’, said the warmth that was spreading through her lower belly. Her mind was fuzzy.

She heard him breathing a laugh near her ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you,” The drider said as he carried her more deep inside the forest and far away from human civilization. A primal instinct screamed that he was carrying her towards his lair, a place where he had absolute power and safe enough for them to mate without being disturbed or endangered by anything. If something bad happened to her, no one would ever find out.

The woman had no clue about drider’s reproductive habits, in particular the fact that female driders often killed the males after their coupling and they consider an honor to serve as the food that will nurture the future generations. It turned him on not just the things she said to him, but also the fact that she didn’t cower in fear or plead for her life even after being captured by him. Easy prey is too boring.

Next chapter

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monstersmashorpass · 4 months

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SMASH OR PASS: Driders (in general)

[art credit, left: Drider MtG Art from Adventures in the Forgotten Realms by Jodie Muir] [art credit, right - Drider, Wizards of the Coast, by Anne Stokes]

Please reblog for greater sample size, as per usual!

#monster smash or pass #monster x human #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #smash or pass poll blog #smash or pass #poll blog #the polls #tumblr polls #tumblr poll blog #poll #driders #exophilia

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biblical-sense-and-sensibility · 11 months

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I did a thing!

#monsterfucker #monster fucker #monster lover #vampires #vampire #werewolf #tentacles #tentacle monster #horns #demon #naga #drider #orc

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sagemonsters · 1 year

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The Drider & the Shepherd's Daughter

Summary: a fairy tale where Malina, the shepherd's daughter, is tasked with begging a drider for silk for her sisters' dresses... and finds herself desiring more than just the silk.

Status: SFW

Pairing: cis female human x cis female drider

Word Count: 2,579

Long ago and far away, there was a shepherd who lived in the mountains with his flock, his dog, his wife, and his three daughters. His name is not important. His dog’s name is not important. His wife’s name is not important either, but his daughters’ names are. The oldest was Claudia, who was fair of face and had eyes more blue than the dreams of sapphires. The middle girl was Isolda, who was fair of face and had eyes more blue than a clear midsummer sky. And the last and least was Malina, who had a face you wouldn’t look twice at and eyes like fog, and who had killed her mother.

The shepherd and the two elder daughters often reminded Malina of this, because they had watched Malina’s mother die of childbed fever barely a week after Malina had been brought into this world.

She grew into a child of average build, weight, appetite, and sensibilities. She wore her sisters’ hand-me-downs and played with the wooden toys that they outgrew. She learned to hold her tongue rather than talk out of turn, and to observe others carefully. She watched the patterns of birds in the air and sheep on the ground, and feared the howling of the winter wolves. She dreamed the dreams of children everywhere who feel that they are neither wholly understood nor wholly loved; dreams of being spirited away to someplace where her real father and sisters welcomed her, a place where her hand-me-down socks didn’t have holes and her father called her by her name rather than “girl” or “you.” She was, in short, neither monstrous nor mad, and although underloved she was never outright rejected by her family as she changed from a child to a woman.

The local lord had three sons, all spirited young men who were fair of face and had eyes as blue as the faraway ocean. Sometimes they rode through the village on market days and gave flowers to the peasant girls in exchange for kisses.

The eldest of the three young men saw Claudia. He offered her a bundle of bright yellow jonquils, and Claudia kissed him. She twined the flowers into a crown to rest upon her golden hair, and told the boy that she would look much better with a crown of metal and a bridal veil. The eldest of the lord’s sons was already captivated by Claudia’s beauty, but knew well that peasant girls didn’t marry into nobility. Nevertheless, he could not deny her.

“Weave and sew your wedding dress, and come to me again,” the eldest son said. “If it is as beautiful as you are, I will marry you.”

So Claudia returned to the shepherd’s home, and carded and wove the bales of soft white lamb’s wool into cloth, and then cut and sewed the cloth into a dress. But she had no pearls or jewels, and she knew that a peasant’s woolen gown could never rival a satin gown made by a master tailor in one of the southern cities, so she called for Malina.

“Girl,” she said. “Go into the mountains and fetch me a bolt of cloth woven from spider silk.”

“Sister, I can’t,” Malina protested. “The drider will eat me from my toes to my head. It’s too dangerous.”

“You killed our mother,” Claudia reminded her. “Fetch the silk so you can atone for her murder.”

Malina hung her head in shame, then packed a basket with bread and cheese and salted mutton, pulled on her hat and shawl, and set out. She climbed the mountain trails, which grew narrower and steeper and stonier with every step she took, until she found a canyon crowded with massive spider webs. Antlers protruded from an equally massive storage cocoon beside the entrance.

Malina waited outside the canyon. Only the wind stirred the webbing, and dusk began to fall as the sun set behind the peaks. A chill descended over the mountains, and Malina pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders.

There was a chittering noise, followed by the sound of too many legs thudding against the ground. “Are you lost, my dearest?” asked the drider who loomed out of the deepening darkness. She had the torso of an elf and the lower half of a spider the size of a pony, with a multitude of glowing red eyes filling her gray face.

“I’m not lost, Mistress,” Malina said. “I came here looking for you.”

The drider paused, then asked: “What is your name, my dearest?”

Nobody had ever asked Malina her name before. She told the drider.

“Dearest Malina, what do you seek?” the drider asked next.

“My sister needs a bolt of spider silk cloth for her wedding dress,” Malina said.

“And what do you offer in exchange for a bolt of my cloth?” asked the drider.

Malina offered her the basket.

“Dearest Malina, I eat my meat raw and wriggling, and I take neither bread nor cheese,” the drider said. “Offer me something else.”

Malina offered her the promise of a lamb from her father’s flock.

“Dearest Malina, a single spring lamb, no matter how tender, is not enough for a bolt of my cloth. Offer me something else.”

“I have nothing else,” Malina admitted. “Unless you desire my life.”

“I do not desire your life,” the drider said. “Will you give me a kiss for a bolt of silken cloth?”

“I will give anything to make my sister happy.”

“Be careful what you say, dearest Malina,” the drider whispered, and approached on her many legs. Malina’s own legs wanted to tremble, but she held her ground. The drider cupped Malina’s face gently with her gray hands, and Malina’s eyes fluttered closed. The human didn’t know if her heart thundered in fear or anticipation, but she could have sworn that it stopped at the soft press of the drider’s lips against her own a moment later. When Malina opened her eyes, the drider presented her with a bolt of silken cloth that shimmered under the moonlight.

“Here is your cloth,” the drider said.

“Thank you,” Malina said. Her lips tingled. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Arachne,” the drider informed her, and sent Malina home down the mountain trails.

Malina arrived before dawn. Her father hadn’t noticed her absence, but Claudia was happy to receive the silk. She cut and sewed it into a dress, and this she showed to the eldest of the lord’s sons. Even with no pearls or jewels, the dress was so beautiful that the young man had no choice but to marry her. Claudia left the shepherd’s home to live in the lord’s castle.

Malina dreamed of Arachne’s lips and hands upon her, and felt a pang of hitherto-unknown desire in the morning when she awoke alone in her bed.

Another market day, the second-eldest of the lord’s sons saw Isolda in the village, and offered her a bundle of bright crimson roses in exchange for a kiss. Isolda accepted, and twined the roses into a crown to rest upon her coppery red hair. She told the lord’s son how fine she would look with a crown of metal and a bridal veil, and this second son, thinking of his brother’s fortune in finding a beautiful wife, posed the same challenge as his elder sibling had done.

Isolda returned home. She did not bother sewing a dress of lamb’s wool, and instead summoned her sister.

“Girl,” she said. “Go into the mountains and fetch me a bolt of cloth woven from spider silk.”

“Sister, I can’t,” Malina protested. “The drider will not let me impose on her generosity a second time, and I fear…” She didn’t know what she truly feared, however, and could not continue.

“You killed our mother,” Isolda said, not noticing her younger sister’s hesitance. “Claudia may have forgiven you, but I haven’t. Fetch me the silk so you can atone for her murder.”

Malina lowered her eyes to the floor in what might have been shame—but her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The young woman packed her basket a second time, and donned her hat and shawl. This time, however, she took her mother’s wedding band and slipped it into her pocket before heading out the door. Once again, Malina climbed the mountain trails that grew narrower and steeper and stonier with every step she took, until she found the canyon. She waited, and dusk cloaked the mountains in darkness. Arachne emerged from among the webs.

“Dearest Malina, what brings you here?” the drider asked.

“My other sister needs a bolt of spider silk cloth for her wedding dress,” Malina admitted, “and I will do anything to make her happy.”

“Be careful of what you say,” Arachne warned. “What will you offer me in exchange for a bolt of my cloth?”

“Will you take my mother’s ring?” Malina asked, and fished the silver band out of her pocket. She held it out, and Arachne approached to inspect it. Malina’s heart once again began to hammer in her chest as she looked at the drider’s lips.

“I place no value in metal,” the drider said eventually. “Offer me something else.”

“Will you take another kiss?” Malina said. And then she surprised herself with: “I would be happy to give it to you.”

After a moment, the drider smiled. “I will take your kiss, but I will ask this of you as well: will you wear my favor, dearest Malina? Will you wear it always and visit me at least once a moon for a year? If this is acceptable, I will give you the cloth.”

“It is very acceptable,” Malina said, and leaned into the drider’s touch. Their lips met for a second time, and this time Malina knew that the thrill in her heart was something very different from fear. When they finally pulled apart, Arachne gave her the bolt of silk. The drider also gave her a shimmering length of ribbon, and tied it gently around her right wrist. Her hands were warm and soft as they brushed against Malina’s.

Malina returned home with the bolt of cloth before dawn. Her father had not noticed her absence, but Isolda was happy to receive the silk. She cut and sewed it into a dress, and this she showed to the second of the lord’s sons, and was married to him shortly thereafter. Isolda left the shepherd’s home to live in the lord’s castle, and Malina kept her promise to visit Arachne once a moon.

Finally, the youngest of the lord’s sons came to Malina in the village on market day. He offered her a fistful of daisies plucked from the roadside in exchange for a kiss. Malina blushed and accepted, but the kiss felt awkward and forced. Malina pulled away.

“Do you want to marry me?” the youngest son asked.

Malina hesitated, then shook her head.

The lord’s son didn’t seem to recognize this. He continued: “Your sisters’ wedding gowns were amazing dowries. They said that you gathered the silk from a man-eating drider in the mountains. Fetch me three bolts of this silk, and I won’t ask you to make a dress out of it.”

“Sir,” Malina protested. “I cannot marry you.”

“Yes,” the youngest son agreed, “you aren’t beautiful enough. However, you will fetch me the bolts of spider silk. I command this of you, as the son of your lord.”

“But I can’t,” Malina protested. “I can’t impose on Arachne’s generosity a third time, and ask for three bolts of cloth rather than one. It is too much.”

“Arachne?” the lord’s son asked. “It has a name?”

Malina froze into stillness.

The lord’s son looked at the shimmering ribbon still tied around Malina’s wrist. “What’s this?” he asked, and reached out to examine her.

Malina pulled away again. “It’s nothing, sir,” she said. “I made it from a scrap of leftover fabric from my sister’s dress.”

“You’re lying!” the lord’s son declared. His eyes narrowed. “You’re in league with the drider! Did you enchant your sisters’ dresses so that my brothers would be made stupid with infatuation? They’re married to worthless peasant girls now! I’m no fool, though; I can tell you’re a witch. Guards! Guards!”

Malina fled the village as fast as she could, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She knew her father would offer her no shelter from the lord’s son, the village church no sanctuary, and so her feet took her along the mountain trails that grew narrower and steeper and stonier with her every leaping step. She did not wait at the canyon mouth as she heard the baying of the lord’s hounds, but slipped into the maze of sticky webbing. She slowed as she navigated between them, and struggled not to fall into the silken traps.

Arachne descended along the canyon wall on a silken line from the spinnerette of her spider abdomen. She looked down at Malina with her many red eyes, and listened to Malina’s panting breaths and the growing cacophony of the hounds and guards.

“Dearest Malina, why do you weep?” the drider asked in her soft voice.

“Arachne, Arachne, the lord’s youngest son called me a witch and said I used magic to enchant his brothers,” Malina said. “I think they want to kill me.”

“Dearest Malina, do you wish them to live?” Arachne asked. Her many eyes glowed bright as bloodied garnets.

“Yes,” Malina said.

“Dearest Malina, do you truly wish it so? Do you truly wish it after their cruelty to you?”

Malina hesitated, and the baying of the hounds and the shouting of the guards drew nearer. They had almost reached the canyon.

“I wish it so,” Malina whispered.

“Then so it shall be,” the drider said, and spun more webs so that neither human nor hound could enter the canyon without Arachne’s assistance. The guards’ swords tangled and caught in the sticky webbing without cutting it, and the dogs refused to come near. After a time, the pursuers gave up and went away, their voices fading down the mountainside.

And now Malina was alone with Arachne. She could not return to her father’s home, or to the village, and she could not call upon her sisters at the lord’s castle. She was, for the first time, without a family, and her tears stung her eyes more fiercely than ever.

“Dearest Malina, what brings you such sorrow?” Arachne asked, and pulled Malina into her strong gray arms. Malina leaned against her.

“I am lost,” Malina said when she had mastered herself somewhat. “I have nothing. I have nobody.”

“Dearest Malina, you have me,” Arachne said. “We can travel far from these mountains, and make a home where none can harm or hate us. We will be safe. We will be happy. I promise you this with the breath in my lungs and the beating of my heart.”

Malina turned in the drider’s arms to look into her face. “Dearest Arachne, how can I thank you?”

“Will you wear my favor always?” Arachne asked.

“Yes, and I already do,” Malina answered.

“Will you kiss me?”

“Yes, and I already have.”

“Will you marry me, dearest Malina? Will you call me your wife and cherish me until the end of our days?” Arachne asked.

“Yes, and I always will,” Malina answered. She reached for the drider and kissed her a third time then, slowly and softly, feeling wholly loved and wholly understood.

You can also read this story in the April 2023 edition of the M❤️NSTER magazine, or download a nicely laid out PDF from my own itch.io page (both downloads are free, but please consider tipping where possible).

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a coffee so I can have a warm drink while I write!

#monster romance #monster girlfriend #monster lover #terato #drider #monster x human #sage's portfolio #creative writing #original fiction #fantasy fiction #fairy tale vibes #original characters #queer fiction #wlw fiction #lgbt fiction #sapphic fiction

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katkalis-the-horror-fanartist · 8 months

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To anyone that didn't know about a spider's feet-

They have paws

They can vary, different amounts of fuzz, hidden or visible claws, etc. So anyone that's a fan of spiders or spiderlike things...you know what to do 👀

#just talking #im looking at all you dj music man lovers...#and drider lovers #spiders #spider feet #spider paws #feet #paws #tw arachnophobia #tw spiders

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nunaxnana · 5 months

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Kar'niss and pixy sketch

#my art #artists on tumblr #monster lover #monsterboy #monsterfucker #digital art #dnd art #drider #karniss #baldurs gate 3 fanart #bg3 fanart #drow #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #small artist

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colderdrafts · 9 months

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10: Time passes by

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

The next couple of days go slow as you wait for the return of the full moon.

The daily routine here is simple, and easy to fall into. Collecting water, managing the fire and cooking station, learning the quickest route to the surface to enjoy the sun, busying yourself with books you can’t yet read, joining Dren for ventures around the cave and idle talking along the way - since your visit to the marketplace, you've had some better opportunities to keep yourself occupied down in the dark.

It also serves as a nice distraction to go about your business like this, so that you don't have to think too much about what transpired at the lake. The lingering awkwardness from that encounter makes it difficult to look Dren in the eye sometimes.

He’s away a lot of the time, thankfully. He’s slept a lot more than usually the past couple of days, sometimes in the pod above yours, sometimes somewhere else, supposedly close to his eggs. You chalk it up to the fact that he’s still healing – perhaps having a few days at home where nothing is happening has allowed him to rest more fully than before.

Still, when present, Dren acts as he usually does, occupying himself with work around the cave, tending to his eggs or helping you get better settled in. He’s started a new project of weaving you something to actually sit on, so you have some level of comfort whenever you're using the living room - even if you're not entirely sure how long you will stay after you've talked to the harpy.

A slight change, however, is he's been more apprehensive when approaching you. Like he suddenly has to be more careful. His usual focus on you comes interrupted, and he's limited the amount of times he touches you, much to your chagrin. You've respected his apparent unspoken request for space, though it leaves you to deal with chasing out the constant pressure in your chest on your own, and it is not easily ridden of.

As infuriatingly stubborn as the one who most likely put it there. Hopefully, your next trip will help you figure out what to do about that little feature as well.

Waiting for the full moon is like a countdown toward the unknown, and the days have passed in relative peaceful stillness. Tonight the moon will finally be full, which means today may be your last one here.

It’s sunny out, so you’re taking advantage by spending most of your time at the entrance of the cave. The wind blows gently through the leaves of the trees above, cool temperature nibbling at your skin. Sometimes a stray dead leaf falls in your path, announcing the seasonal change. It's just you, the wind and some birds chirping somewhere from high above you. It's peaceful here - it's been some time since you've been in a place that was just comfortably quiet like this.

But you’re not just here to listen to birds calling - you’ve started your own little project as well. In your hands is a small pouch with assorted flower seeds you got from the marketplace, and in front of you a little plot you’ve cleared to plant them. Dren is still sleeping, so you’ve got some time for yourself to work on this.

It’s something nice to do for him as a thank you. He’s been a vital piece in ensuring your survival here, after all, in more ways than one - even while he’s asleep. You glance at the web running underneath your feet, spun to accommodate your time outside and your need for sunlight. If anything but you disturbs them, Dren’ll know. Even when not around you, he’s still making sure you’ll be alright.

You smile at his overprotective nature – but, admittedly, it does feel a little safer out here when you’re in contact with his alert system.

You stretch your sore, cold fingers and breathe hot air on them to get some of the chill out. Autumn is certainly not the best timing for this objective, but now is the time you’ve got for sure to do this. You’ll have to chance it. You're working with the cold ground for things to settle and hopefully start sprouting come spring - if anything, Dren will have a new hobby to look into, and perhaps tell his offspring about.

It's nice to do simple things that feels like it will bring about something positive. Something to leave behind and be remembered by.

You're engrossed with carefully placing small flower seeds in the ground, when you register a change in the air. The relative peaceful stillness you've felt has turned to utter silence. Why have the birds suddenly stopped singing?

A familiar piercing pain in your chest suddenly makes you gasp as your core tightens, answering your question. Perhaps the birds simply know when it's best to leave. The hairs on the back of your neck stands on end as it seems you're not alone out here anymore.

So much for some peace and quiet outside. It was good while it lasted. You breathe deeply, acclimating to the unpleasant feeling, and return the seeds to their bag. You slowly stand up in preparation for taking flight.

If you'd get that far, of course.

"I know you're there," you say, resigned, speaking out loud in their general direction. This might not be a smart confrontation, but you can't let them keep haunting you either. What's that saying about facing your demons? You'll have to remain on guard, but you know for a fact that, if your current stalker tries anything, the warning strings will alert Dren to their presence. "Go away."

The forest slowly parts with bushes rustling as a familiar shadow steps out from under their cover. Their brown spider legs part the leaves as they move – bit by bit, as if giving you time to adjust to their presence.

Morgan leans heavily against the trunk of a large birch, hand gripping it for support and staring at you. You can already feel your body freezing, heart rate picking up.

This is the first time since the fight you've seen them up close. Their appearance is no less striking than it was the first time you saw them, if not even more so no.

Their gangly body and uncanny features are seemingly heightened, the threatening aura of a cornered, injured animal. They're bruised and battered in much the same way as Dren, partially healed, but wearing a particularly nasty mark on the side of their jaw, and the beginning of scarring tissue from wounds running along their whole body.

They look haggard and spent, seemingly in pain, yet their striking red eyes are as intense and focused as ever. When they speak your gaze is drawn to their sharp teeth.

“Peace, sentry," they say gently, soft tone completely contradicting everything else. Their voice weaves through your mind, and settles over your overly active senses like an anesthetic fog. You’re almost happy to see them. "I’m not here to fight.”

You try to maintain eye contact, not letting yourself be intimidated by the red stare that sends your fight and flight over the edge. An odd standstill between running for your life, yet still yearning so badly to leap straight into their waiting arms. Are you relieved they’re alive? Your skin can still remember how warm they were, and it makes you nauseous.

Thankfully, you have a healthy amount of righteous vigor keeping you level-headed. You swallow hard to muster it. After all, this is a dangerous person who’s a threat to your existence.

"That's honestly surprising. If you're not here to fight, but just here to be creepy again, save your breath. I'm not interested in talking to you," you growl at them. "Leave me alone."

"Ah, but I think you are," Morgan replies, daring to step a little closer. They pause to assess the webs running underneath you, and place themself close, but without touching them. They chuckle lightly at your snark. "But no, I'm not here to be creepy either."

You don't move back at their approach, no matter if you might want to, holding the bag of seeds in front of you like a useless shield. It is not wise to give audience to someone who threatens your livelihood - and that of your host's and his children. You should turn away this instant, leave them behind and sever whatever they did to you here and now. Or at least try your best to do so.

“Then why are you here?” you find yourself asking instead.

“To make amends,” Morgan replies, lowering themself a little. “And talk a little about this thing we’ve got running between us.”

“There’s no thing-!”

Morgan suddenly leans forward in one quick motion, their face an inch away from yours, leaning over Dren’s webbing. Instead of flinching, you find yourself breathing out, finally feeling the tightness in your chest calm immensely. It’s like an instant relief to a panic attack. You almost lean your forehead against theirs to bask in the utter peace that has suddenly washed over you.

“Mmm, there we are,” they purr, chittering pleasantly. “Much better, isn’t it?”

Their drawling voice brings you back to reality, and rage flutters under your skin. You reel back, and knock your forehead against their nose in blunt retaliation.

Morgan recoils with a startled hiss.

You grasp your forehead and wince. Maybe not your smartest approach - they have a surprisingly sturdy face.

“You're being creepy,” you snarl, rubbing the sore. “Again.”

They grasp at their nose, red eyes focusing on you curiously. Then they laugh, an unnerving low chortle. “The longer you push me away, the worse it’s going to get, you know.”

“The un-do it!” you demand.

“Then you will have to let me get close,” they say patiently, casually settling down in front of you, calmly folding their legs. The fucking audacity. “Very close.”

“Not a chance,” you huff. “Think of something else.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t anything else, sentry," they shrug, weaving their hands in the air like curling a finger around a string. When they do a small tug, you can feel it, jutting you forward just a fraction before you can stop yourself. They obnoxiously send you a knowing look.

"Knock it off," you grunt, leaning back again.

"I can't. This little string of fate has us thoroughly connected, whether you accept that fact or not. We will keep this little dance until one of us dies.” Morgan peers at you with a casual expression. “I’d rather prefer if none of us die, you know? It’s more or less the whole point of this arrangement.”

"You just said you could un-do it!" you argue.

"I can un-do that it will get worse," they clarify. "It goes away when you let me close, doesn't it? Why not just let me? Then we'll both be better off."

“Better off? You're kidding, right?" you ask, incredulous. "Nothing good could ever come out of this. I don’t even know you! If it's terrible now, I don't even want to think how bad it could get."

“If we stick together, it won't,” they reassure you.

"Yeah, I don't really believe that at all," you deadpan. "This is some sort of weird magic manipulation, isn't it? I'm not gonna get close to you again in a million years. Whatever the hell you did to me hurts."

Morgan pauses for a second. They have the grace to actually look a little regretful of that fact. "I know it does, sentry," they sigh. "It goes both ways, after all."

You frown. "You're in pain too?"

"More so than from just my injuries." They jest, though their smile comes a little forced with thinly veiled frustration. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to resist every single nerve in my body on fire, because I need to be close, and you. Just. Won’t. Let. Me?"

"You did that to yourself," you sneer, unsympathetic. "And you forced me in on it too."

"You would have been snatched if I hadn't," Morgan counters. "I was making sure you wouldn’t be. I didn't get to do so properly, and here we are. This is not a proper bond, it’s just some sort of painful connection that wants to be completed. I can solve this. It would be so easy, if you'd just let me."

"Why are you so obsessed with this?" you ask. "I know you could just end this if you wanted. If this is hurting you too, why not just get rid of me? I’m right here.”

"Probably for the same reason you haven't called for the other one to come get rid of me," Morgan replies, nodding to the protective warning threads you're standing on. They flash you a fanged smile. "I'm right here, too."

You grit your teeth.

"You can't, can you?" Morgan hums teasingly, eyes full of warmth. "You - don't want me to get hurt."

Don't you?

All it would take is a little shaking of the thread that's running right underneath your feet. One simple movement, and this would all be over. Morgan is challenging your resolve - your ability to refute what they're saying. You want them gone, and yet the nerves controlling your arms are simply not responding to your mind's command to move.

Unless you're not even trying? It's hard to tell.

"Don't worry," they continue softly at your silence. "I don't want you to get hurt either. Even if it is taking all of my strength to not immediately get you out of there, and make a run for it."

“What’s stopping you?” you grunt.

“He is,” Morgan hisses, scowling toward the entrance of the cave.

“Make sense. He sure showed you last time."

Morgan shakes their head. “No, sentry. I’m not worried about me. I’m afraid he will hurt you if I don’t get you out of there properly, and in time.”

What is that supposed to mean? “Hurt me? The only one who's hurt me here is you. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Their eyes narrow. “He’s spinning that web, is he? Keeping you in the dark? Someone in their right mind would have connected with you by now. I do wonder what in the blue moons is stopping him. He must be in pure agony to spend so much time around you. Fighting himself all the time.” They chuckle. “Good.”

You haven’t thought of that, you reluctantly admit.

“So why does he do it?” Morgan continues, focusing on you. “Especially if - does he have eggs? Cave dwellers like him usually do.”

Why on earth would they ask - your eyes widen just a fraction at the realization. Would that knowledge be advantageous to them? They wouldn't ask if it wasn't.

They chuckle at your expression giving it away. “He does, doesn’t he? And not even hatched this time of year. So vulnerable, aren’t they?”

You resist the urge to angrily invade their space at the comment, settling for a venomous glare. “Don’t you dare threaten them,” you growl defensively. “They’ve got nothing to do with all of this.”

They smile a little wider, like your fury made them giddy. “Of course not! Just curious. But especially so, what you’re doing here is simply baffling.”

“Well, good thing our relation doesn't concern you,” you sneer. A memory flashes in your mind, Dren’s entire body curled around you, a warm breath on your neck, idling hands on your skin and his insatiable need to be closer – you mentally fight it off like you’re scared Morgan can see it.

“Oh, but it does. Your relation is the very thing I’m concerned about,” they argue, obviously not noticing your cerebration. “We’re solitary, sentry. We don’t hold affections for things we’re not connected to. Your kind being the only exception - but it requires you give your heart. I just wonder how much longer he can keep this up before he cracks, and simply kills you.”

Well now. Isn't that the statement of the year? “Bullshit. He would never do that.”

Would he? He'd kill anyone else without a second thought.

The faintest doubt runs through your mind, and you know for sure it isn't yours. But Morgan catches the little insecurity of your statement regardless, and smiles like they intend to use it as kindling for a wildfire.

“Isn’t it odd how much faith you’re putting in him this quickly? I suppose we are good at making you feel safe. But what has he done to earn your trust?” they inquire.

You look at them, unimpressed. “He saved me from you.”

“He didn't save anything. He’s just made sure we’re both on a road towards an unimaginable amount of pain,” Morgan corrects you, not acknowledging your quip. “It looks like he tried to do good, but really, he only did what any other of our kind would do. I know how we work, sentry, and we’re nothing if not selfish," they chuckle. "And now, he doesn’t even make sure you’ll be safe from himself? What a poor excuse for a caretaker. The only thing he did was creating a loss.”

A loss? You relation with Dren is anything but. Having him in your corner has been a stability you've severely needed in your current dangerous situation. What the hell does Morgan know about what’s safe?

This is one of those mind-games a person like Morgan would utilize to get what they want. You’re sure as hell not going to let them manipulate you again.

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe anything you say, can you?” you ask.

Morgan has the gall to heave an exasperated sigh, as if they genuinely don't understand what could possibly justify your mistrust.

“I'm fearing for your life, sentry. You could die, and I'm trying to prevent that. You know, since I have a very high risk of literally dying without you. So, I would do well to be truthful here, wouldn’t I?" they pause for a bit, letting their words settle with you. "But even if he manages for now, it will still be the same result. He'll kill you come winter anyway,” they add nonchalantly.

You shouldn't give in to them. You shouldn't let them inform you of things and plant seeds of doubt in your mind, you know they're just telling you this to do just that.

Still, you can feel how the thoughts are growing despite your best attempt to pull them out like weeds.

You huff, deciding reluctantly to hook yourself on the bait. "Why?"

They focus on you intently. "If you're still with him when he's about to enter hibernation, and you are not bonded? His hazy mind will not be able to recognize you from an actual threat. He will kill you without hesitation."

You stare at them, trying to discern if they're speaking nonsense or lying to your face. Morgan holds your eye, perfectly serious expression trying to convince you that they, most certainly, are not.

"I, on the other hand, am already connected to you," they continue. "If you want to survive, you should stay the winter with me.”

"Yeah, nope. Absolutely not. Besides, I'm not gonna be here for the winter," you counter, shaking off their warning. "So that won't be a problem."

That piques their interest. "Oh? Where, pray tell, might you be going, then?"

Oh. You scramble to find an appropriate answer, but it's already too late. Morgan spotted your minuscule falter the second it was there. Judging from their humored look, they're already aware you were preparing a lie.

"It's none of your concern," you settle for. No point in even trying, then.

"But I want it to be," Morgan says gently, casually twirling the invisible string in the air. You feel queasy. "You can tell me, it's alright. I'm very good with secrets. Trust me."

Guess it wouldn't hurt to let them know.

"Well, I'm not-" you halt yourself with an odd choke, clasping a hand over your mouth.

What the fuck?

Morgan regards you with a calm smile. "It's alright, take your time. What were you about to say?"

You flinch back. You should have left them in your dust the second you sensed them here. Why the hell are you still talking to them?

Morgans stands up, a little slower, reaching toward you. "Easy sentry, calm down. Come here. I need to tell you something."

And you do. You stop yourself from turning away, reluctantly remaining on the spot and staring back at them.

They stop in front of you, barely on the edge of the protective webs running below you, easily within an arms reach. They could grab you and run if they wanted to, yet you don't disengage.

They lean close again, and the ache in your chest almost vanishes. You take a deep breath, listening to their calming chittering.

Morgan breathes deeply as well. "Perhaps I should give you some time to think on our conversation," they say softly. "I'm patient, don't worry. Eventually, you'll come to me."

"In your dreams," you whisper, halfheartedly in defiance.

"What a wonderful idea," they whisper back, gently reaching up and cupping your face.

You shiver as their eyes burn into yours, feeling the warmth from their hands setting off the nauseating crawling sensation underneath your skin. It’s like something inside you is writhing, squirming, an effort to get closer to Morgan’s heat, pulling you with it. Why do they smell like blood?

"Listen carefully," they urge, voice low, speaking through gritted teeth. You can hear a scratching noise from their legs clawing at the ground. "The longer you push this, the crazier both of us are going to get. The further we go, the more unbearable this pain. What you're doing right now could kill us. So do both of us a favor, and make up your mind to just love me. We're not moving on without each other, no matter what we do now."

You muster enough disdain to tightly grasp at their wrists, yet you can't tear their hands from your face. You can't look away. "Love you? What does love have to do with any of this?"

"Love is a monster that could crush you, and you need to learn to trust that it won’t," Morgan whispers. "No matter who of us you go to, it will be the same. There will always be a price. But they will differ. You just have to decide which one you want to pay. Do you want to die, or be loved?"

How do you respond to that? Morgan holds your eye for a few seconds, before sighing, and leaning back, hands falling down their sides as if in defeat. Their face contorts in pain when your palms leave their skin.

"I'll be around, sentry. I'll know if you need me," they promise.

With that, Morgan swiftly ducks back into the forest and vanishes in between the trees. You silently watch them go, resisting your body screeching at you to follow.

Later in the day, that urge has not gotten easier to ignore.

You've tried everything you could think of to rid yourself of that maddening little thing tugging inside of you, going as far as trying to manifest the 'string' in your mind, and cutting it with a knife. It doesn't work, of course. It stubbornly keeps its hold on you.

Your first thought was to inform Dren what happened, yet it's nearly impossible to get the words out to him. His warning of what might happen should Morgan come close again echoes in your mind, and you find yourself unable to speak, your voice tied to a knot.

Dren could end this. He's shown to be the superior fighter between them. You need only ask, and this whole thing would go away, and you wouldn't have to feel like this.

But you can't. You can't do anything that would put them in harms way.

But you can't go to them either. They would never let you go again, and you don't belong here. It doesn't take a genius to figure that Morgan most certainly wouldn't give two cents about where you came from. Their mind is firmly set on you being their salvation, the one who can finally give them a reprieve to the horror their kind face in this world. And the horror you would have to endure without them, lost to the trenches to be forever hunted and shunned.

This is your home here, the only option you have. Let them provide it.

The wooden spoon falls to the floor from your shaking hands, and startles you back to awareness with its clatter.

The stewing pot in front of you fills the living room with a pleasant savory aroma as you curse, shaking off some boiling water that hit your hand at the fumble.

You sense movement behind you, and don't need to turn and look to know Dren is there, likely alerted by your outburst. He seems to have adjusted to your rhythm, and frequently joins you whenever you're about to eat or sleep.

"Are you alright?" he asks, leaning down close to pick up the spoon and hand it to you. One of his legs brush against your side as he moves. "Did I startle you?"

"No, it's not you. I'm just clumsy today. Thanks," you add, taking it from him. "Guess I'm still a little rattled about all of this."

Dren considers you for a second longer than he has to, standing close. It occurs to you how tired he looks, his long hair unruly and heavy bags under his eyes. You hold his gaze for a moment, suddenly unsure which one to look into. You breathe out silently when he eventually moves back with an affirmative nod.

"How was your day?" he asks casually, grasping the wall to pull himself up. He's heading toward the storage space he utilizes for weaving materials. The chair project is coming along nicely.

Tell him what happened.

"It was alright," you sigh. "Just did some gardening. I'm not sure if anything's going to blossom, though. It's kinda the wrong season to plant stuff."

He joins you on the ground and shrugs. "If it's enjoyable to you, I don't see why you shouldn't give it a try. In any case, it's not time or effort wasted if you liked it."

"Guess not. I planted a lot, though," you warn. "If it works, I hope you like gardening."

“I will learn,” Dren chuckles. “I’m still grateful you wish to create something for me.”

He settles next to you with his project in hand, calmly resuming his weaving. You fidget with the spoon in your hands.

"How are the eggs?" you ask after a beat, mouth dry. The silence is getting to you.

"They're fine," Dren replies, eyes on his work. The twigs and straw in his hands are twisted and turned in a steady rhythm, expertly woven together. "Good, actually. Progressing as they should, and safely tucked in as needed. I'm looking forward to finally meeting them all at spring." He smiles, obviously excited. You find some peace in that expression, his genuine warmth doing wonders for your current state of mind.

"I bet you're a great parent," you note. "You always seem so happy when you talk about your kids."

"Well, I try to be," he says, sheepish at the praise. "They deserve a better chance for what's in store for them. I'm happy if I can provide that for them."

Stillness again.

You look him over, casually sitting where he usually does, focusing on the task at hand. It's hard to decipher if he's trying to distract himself from interacting with you too much. Even harder to decipher whether it would be okay to simply not let him. He must be in pure agony.

You should tell him. You should really, really tell him what happened outside. You should let him end this torment.

You pour yourself some food, and sit down to eat. You dinner suddenly isn’t as enticing.

"You're shaking," Dren notifies you quietly, still not looking up from the straw in his hands.

His front legs are settled with claws in touch with the patterns in the floor, and you surmise that's how he could tell without looking at you.

Your stomach drops. Of course he’d know something was up. Hell, he knows when you need fresh air before you do sometimes. The awkward distance he keeps does not make this any easier.

"I know," you mutter, putting your supper aside. Your appetite has vanished.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

"Well, you could stop avoiding me."

It came out a little more snappy than you'd imagined it would, if the way Dren looks up at you in surprise is anything to go by.

"I'm sorry," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It's just-"

You falter, not sure how to approach this. There's not much else to it. It's just this gaping hole in your heart that makes you feel completely and utterly alone, tearing at you to alleviate it. And now not even Dren has been helping you with that, not since you approached that dangerous area of closeness.

He gets up and joins you next to the fireplace, settling down heavily. Suddenly having the hybrid arachnid in your space like this again, you cannot help but feel a little small.

"Just-?" he encourages.

"I'm in a lot of pain right now," you admit, scooting back to give him some space. "And I'm not sure how to handle it."

Dren frowns, and slowly leans toward you. He carefully grasps your chin to turn your face as if looking for damage. "Are you hurt?"

"Not exactly," you mutter, leaning into his palm. You can feel the soft glow of his energy ebbing beneath his skin.

He gently nudges you to get you to look him in the eye. You're met with a sudden stare so intense it borderline shocks you. Dren brushes a thumb over your cheek like a silent apology.

"It's them, isn't it?" he asks directly, calmly.

You hesitate, and perhaps that's answer enough in itself. His eyes darken, and it sets off a subtle fear in the back of your mind.

"I do understand the effect we can have on each other," Dren says, measured. "I'm not as foolish as to believe they will give up that easily, not after what happened on our last trip. Did they approach you again?”

You force yourself to nod.

Dren chitters. “And you did not tell me?"

"I couldn't," you reply. "I don't know - I just couldn't."

"What did they say to you?" he inquires. He has that same calculating look on his face he did the first time you met.

The words are stuck in your throat. You cough, stuttering it out. "They said you'd kill me."

He stares like you've just purposely lit his den on fire. He releases your chin, balling his fists, supposedly to keep himself from accidentally squeezing you.

"And you believe them?" He asks, but it sounds borderline like an assumption.

"Of course not!" you protest. "I don't believe anything they tell me. I know they're manipulative and dangerous."

"Then why are you protecting them?" he demands. "I've told you this threatens me and my young, too."

You can sense his tension, lower body chittering, black eyes rooting you to the spot. And it now comes to you why Morgan would warn you. Dren is just as dangerous as they are. What happens if this giant predator decides you’re not worth the risk to keep around anymore?

This is one of the very rare moments you get to see him angry. Angry with you. That's somehow the worst thing of this.

"I'm not -," you falter. "I'm trying not to. But I can't stop it. No matter what I do, it just does not go away."

His eyes narrow, and you can hear him clawing at the ground, agitated. He stands up with purpose.

"When did you last see them?" he asks.

"What are you going to do?"

"When?" he repeats.

"This afternoon," you manage.

He frowns. "They may be long gone, then," he mutters to himself, considering for a moment. He chitters, having come to a decision. He eyes you. "Can I trust you to keep an eye on my home while I'm gone?"

"Of course you can," you assert, borderline incredulous. That he'd even ask - this is the one thing you can do. "I don't want anything to happen to any of us either."

"Then you'll understand why I have to do this," Dren says. He looks sad all of a sudden. "I don't want to cause you further pain. But I will not hesitate for the lives of my children. I need you to understand that."

He leans down close, pausing as you slightly flinch at the approach. His eyes widen, seemingly finding something in your expression. He carefully puts his hands on your shoulders as if to take you in again, letting you draw strength from his heat.

"If you wish for us all to live peacefully - Fight them," he utters with a drawling hiss. "Please."

"I'm trying," you say, putting your hands on his chest. "I'm sorry."

Dren sighs, look softening. "It's not your fault."

He gently releases you, but you don't miss the way his expression shifts to that of cold ruin as he turns away from you. He dashes down the hallway and out of view, leaving you to deal with your heart-rate increasing tenfold on your own. You have to support yourself with a hand on the wall to keep from tumbling over from a sudden dizziness.

Dren will kill them.

He most certainly, no hesitation and without remorse, will kill them. If he finds them.

Good riddance, you try, but of course it doesn't work.

You quickly turn to climb to the view of the outside, staring out into the dark forest.

A few minutes pass.

It's blissfully quiet.

No gleaming eyes hiding in the gloom, not rapid footsteps, no snarls or hisses or fighting, and no deaths in your vicinity. It's just you, hidden beneath the rocks and soil in the dark.

You shouldn't be relieved, yet you are. Morgan's smart; they'd never stick around long enough for Dren to notice their presence or get the jump on them. Seems they indeed were just here to talk. Still, their mere presence has set a heavy burst of discord into your relative peace. It dawns on you that this might just be what they’d come here for.

It's very late when Dren finally returns.

You almost jump out of your skin when he does - you'd been wandering the spaces between the rooms you frequent and keeping an eye out on the tunnel to the surface as promised. You'd taken a turn back to the living room and suddenly he was just there, quietly towering over you.

"Jump-scare," Dren recalls, palms out as if to help steady you from a distance. There’s leaf litter stuck in his hair. He must have gone fast. "Apologies."

You suck in a breath and curse. "Yep. Got me good.”

He seems a lot calmer now, at least. And more importantly, unscathed, and not covered in blood.

You’ve also had some time to come down from the spat and the subsequent fear that followed it. This is just Dren. Of course you can have disputes with him like a normal person. Morgan has just been feeding you unneeded paranoia.

You dare step a little closer, looking up at him. You almost feel silly for asking. “How are you feeling?"

Dren sighs, and settles down in front of you. A peaceful gesture. "I got some time to clear my head."

"Did you find them?" you ask.

"No,” he huffs. “It was a fools errand. I knew it would be, but I had to try. I suppose I needed to feel like I was doing my job."

"You are," you placate, joining him on the ground. You resist the urge to lean into him. "I'm sorry I've been making so much trouble for you."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry I frightened you."

"I can survive a jumpscare," you jest, waving it off.

He smiles sadly. "Not that. Before. When I lost my temper, you looked at me much the same way you did the night we met. I didn't like it."

"You had every right to be angry, Dren. I was putting us all in danger."

"You had a conversation with the person who's manipulating your heart, and you're trying to fight them off by yourself," he says. "I just didn't realize how strong their grip had gotten."

It sure has, hasn’t it? It is getting harder to ignore. You huff. “I can still feel it. Even now, it just hurts.”

Dren chitters lowly. “All the more reason to put an end to it.”

"But they said there’s no undoing whatever this is,“ you note. “Dren, you have the same magic, don’t you? Do you know if there’s anything I can do?"

He considers for a moment, idly opening and closing his hands. As if summoning his own ability to feel for solutions. "I'm afraid not. If it works like normal, then until they perish, it will be like this. Unless-" He pauses.

"Unless-?"

"Usually, creating a new bond would overrule the feeling of the previous one. I’d assume it would be the same in this case, even if this is different."

You nod. "Overrule - but wouldn't remove it?"

"I don’t know. Nevertheless, we both know why that solution isn't a good thing for you to pursue," he says, fidgeting. “Otherwise, you know I’d offer in a heartbeat.”

“And I’d accept,” you shrug.

You can feel Dren’s lower body shifting as he turns to stare at you. You opt for looking at the fireplace to avoid his gaze.

“Is that so surprising?” you ask.

“Yes? No-” he flounders. “I had a feeling you’d consider it at least. But hearing that out loud is – different.”

You give in to the temptation, and simply rest against Dren’s side to show him you mean it. Immediately his warmth alleviates some of the unsettling pressure. You still feel his eyes on you, though a leg curls around where you’re sitting, a hand coming to comfortably rest on your arm. Seems he’s still alright with this.

"It's the full moon tonight, isn't it?" you say.

Dren nods.

"Then tomorrow-"

"We’ll find out if that’s to be your last day here,” he finishes, pedipalps fidgeting. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “You should not hesitate if it is. I'm certain not even this little parasite can follow you to a different world."

Supposedly not. You briefly wonder if it will hurt to go back.

Dren’s presence makes you wonder how it will hurt in more ways than one.

You feel his body relaxing, and you enjoy his company in mutual silence for a bit, just appreciating sitting close to him again. Why is he indulging now of all times? Perhaps he needs the reassurance as much as you do.

Still, you should probably discuss it, instead of making assumptions. Acting like an adult for once.

You nudge Dren’s side to regain his attention. "About what happened at the lake-"

Dren halts his mental retreat to carefully glance at you. "Yes?"

"Are we going to - you know. Talk about that?"

He hums. "We could."

"Would you prefer not to?"

"Oh, most certainly," he nods sagely.

You bark a laugh. So much for acting your age. "Yeah. Me too, bud."

He chuckles. "It is a little - challenging, for me. Having you here. More so than I expected. We’ve already discussed why it would be."

"I know. But that - that wasn't just about the bond thing, was it?"

"Not necessarily. Perhaps? I don’t know. I just wanted to be close to you,” he says. He eyes you, a slight smile on his lips. “And I sensed you didn’t mind.”

You snort and purposely bump into his side. “The water was very cold, and you are very warm. Easy math.”

“I’m happy you find my temperature comfortable,” he jests.

“Does that mean this is still okay?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at your sitting together. “You’ve been avoiding touching me at all since that night. I was wondering why.”

He sighs. “Having you close only to release you time and time again is – not always easy. Especially considering, eventually, that one time I do, it will be for the last time.”

“Oh,” you say. You can’t really say much else. He’s right. You shouldn’t push this on him if he finds it easier to simply not engage and spare the turmoil.

“But that’s very silly of me, isn’t it?” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“Is it?”

Dren leans against your side, a pedipalp curling around your waist. “Perhaps I should just enjoy this while I can.”

You lean back into him, breathing out in relief. The clawing sensation within you diminishes, pushed aside by the gentle ebb of Dren’s energy settling through you in it’s stead. “This helps, actually. With the pain.”

“Does it?” he yawns. “I’m glad. And it might go both ways. I’m about to fall asleep, I think.”

You chuckle. “You've slept a lot lately.”

“We’re steadily progressing through autumn. My body’s slowing down,” he shrugs, settling against you. “I’ll be asleep for good soon.”

And then he won’t be able to recognize you from an actual threat.

"What should we do, then?" you ask, forcing it to the back of your mind. You close your eyes and relax to the sound of Dren’s breath, his company calmly thwarting the idle sickness growing inside you.

Dren rests his head on top of yours. "I'm going to help you find a way home."

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