#half-giant

These are Ophelia and Haddad. Ophelia is my sister's character for Daggerheart, and Haddad is my own.

One of the main aspects of the Witherwild setting is the 'wither', a sort of magic illness that is capable of altering you physically and give you wild or naturalistic features. Both Ophelia and Haddad have been exposed to its effects via injuries during battle, so currently they both posess it to an extent.

Ophelia is a half-Katari, and has spent most of her life traveling and hunting through the expansive forests of Fanewick with her father; now deceased from the wither himself.

Haddad, a half-giant, has lived a peaceful, hard-working life up in the Fjallskär mountains, until his brother Luca's death, also from the wither.

He whispered your name along with a litany of words that you could only guess were expressions of relief, glad that you had kept your promise. Regaining his strength, he gently placed you back down on the ground. “Come back?” He muttered, and you nodded at this, “Yes. Told you I would,” you said with a grin before you presented him with gifts.

“Meat.” You said, pointing at the chunks you bought from the butcher, then at the herbs and other garnishes essential for cooking: “Herbs. Spices. Vegetables,” you said, pointing to each.

König’s eyes squinted before he attempted to say them, “Ehrb…Speecs…Vedjbals.” He said, and you nodded, snorting slightly and holding in your laugh, “That’s good enough”. 

He wrapped you in his arms once more before leading you back into the cave. 

You were surprised to see you didn’t have to travel far inside; he had patched the small holes in the ceiling where sunlight might peek through during the day.

Nearby, he rolled a circular slab of rock into place, sealing the entrance as if it were second nature. The task was simple and almost mundane, yet it drew your attention anyway: the way his muscles tensed and flexed, the wide expanse of his back adorned with old and new scars, the faint grunt that escaped him, and the deliberate care in his movements. A warmth stirred in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to look away. You didn’t come here to ogle, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

Instead, your gaze swept across the reorganized space. The fur bedding was tucked near the back, closer to a tunnel that led farther into the cave, likely placed there just in case it rained. But the thought that he had moved his things closer in anticipation of your return, the thoughtfulness of the gesture, made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him as he moved about.

He fussed over the small things, gently hauling your cart near the stacks of firewood where he had built a small table — small for him, probably a chair if he ever used it as one — but just the right size for you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed, running your hand along the smooth surface of the wood.

You glanced his way and smiled. “You made this?” you asked, tapping the table with your knuckle. He nodded, his soft voice barely audible from under the burlap, a little shy.

“Made this,” he echoed, then pointed at you, seemingly to say, I made this for you.

You felt your cheeks warm. He reached for what you thought was another piece of wood, though it looked minuscule in his grasp. When he set it in front of you, you realized it was a stool, also handmade.

“Made this,” he repeated, shifting his weight on both feet, antsy for your approval. 

There was something so thoughtful about his gifts that you wanted to thank him tenfold. Luckily, you already had a plan.

You pulled the chopping board from your cart — the one borrowed from the butcher — and laid out a neat row of herbs. König's eyes followed your every movement as you unsheathed your knife. The firelight caught the blade, causing him to step back instinctively.

"I'm not much of a cook," you said softly, "but the butcher showed me something simple."

You worked carefully, chopping herbs and sprinkling salt over the enormous slab of meat. As you pressed the seasoning in with your hands, you could feel your arms strain under the weight, but the thought of him liking the food you prepared for him made it worthwhile. You added the herbs last, rubbing them all over until the air was filled with their fragrance. You thought you heard his stomach growl, a slight, eager sound that made you smile.

Next came the vegetables, which you sliced and arranged neatly on top. You wiped the knife clean and slid it back into its sheath, then turned to him. "Hungry?" you asked, tapping your stomach.

"Hangry," he admitted, his voice rough; the word felt awkward on his tongue. You snorted at his pronunciation. It was a portmanteau you usually heard from the youngsters in the village, and you knew he didn’t mean it like that, but the way he said it amused you.

König set a wide, flat stone across two supports, preparing the cooking surface. The meat was far too heavy for you to lift, so you guided him instead, pointing out where to set it and how to tilt it closer to the fire. He moved slowly and carefully, following your every gesture.

When the meat finally met the hot stone, it hissed and smoked, the scent rich and smoky, filling the space between you. You stayed close, snacking on the berries you had brought, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the intimacy of your shared effort. 

—

After dinner, you settled onto the bedding and noticed the new furs. When you brushed your fingers over them, you found they were softer than you had expected. The dark stripes looked familiar, and it dawned on you that they came from enormous creatures you had only heard about in passing — those that lurked in the shadows. König had hunted and gathered them himself, each pelt a testament to his strength and skill.

To say you were impressed, yet again, would be an understatement. He had proven himself as both a woodsmith and a hunter. There was something deeply primal about the thought of him out there in the dark, his muscles tensing as he took down a beast twice his size. You found yourself wondering if he had wrestled the creature, and somehow, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.

A warmth began to wash over you, a slow, steady flush that had little to do with the firelight. It was probably a bad idea to slide beneath the furs, but the comfort they offered was too inviting to resist. You fought against sleep just to feel the pelts against your skin, absorbing the faint trace of his scent woven into them. 

You hadn’t meant to take all the blankets, but the long journey and the pleasant drowsiness after a good meal had worn you out. As you lay there, the heavier your eyelids grew, until warmth and exhaustion blended in a contented haze.

—

When you heard the birds outside echoing in the forest, you realized you had fallen asleep. Jolting up, you checked your surroundings. The bonfire had already been put out, the embers glowing a deep red; it must have been extinguished recently. You didn’t know how long you'd been asleep or whether Kônig had even rested. Guilt coursed through you, making you wonder if he had been shivering all night. You decided to find him and apologize.

But you didn’t have to go far. You spotted König in the corner, curiously eyeing your cart full of spices. He picked up an herb that you had used to marinate the meat, and you heard the telltale rumble of his stomach.

As you approached him to see if he wanted another meal, he sensed your presence, and he turned a little too fast; he almost lost his balance. You chuckled and held up your hands to soothe him. “It’s alright, König,” you said, but he still looked guilty after rifling through your things.

You helped him prepare his breakfast, following the same method as the night before. After you both sat in comfortable silence and ate your meals, you called him over to look at the scroll you had brought, which contained a pick list from the apothecary.

You pointed at a drawing of a nightbloom, found deep in cave dwellings. 

“I need this,” you said simply, adding the word "harvest" at the end, as if you were plucking an imaginary item from the air and tucking it away in your satchel.

You repeated the motion until König understood. You would’ve harvested the suncaps first, the ones that grew abundantly in the forest, but since it was daylight and he wouldn’t be able to help, you started with the gloomcaps instead.

König led you to multiple chambers you had never seen before. You were intrigued by how he knew his way around the tunnel systems. You wondered how long he had been living here and if he had explored every nook and cranny of the cave.

Together, you gathered various types of gloomcaps, even some you didn’t recognize, so you had to use your vines to avoid any that might be poisonous to the touch.

When you found an abundance of nightbloom, you quickly called him over, and together you crouched in the corner of the cave.

You pointed at the gloomcap and said its name: “Nightbloom,” and König echoed, “Neightblaum.”

“Good! Now…” you reached for your pack and took out a piece of wax paper, rubbing it between your fingers.

“The key is to rub the stem so the gills spread out,” you explained slowly, emphasizing “rub” and "spread out" with hand gestures.

König listened intently, crouching a little too close, his body heat radiating against your back. You tried to ignore it, but your voice faltered slightly as you began rubbing your oiled fingers against the stem. Soon, the gills opened, the cap blooming, and glowing spores began to glitter down like rain.

You repeated the action with deft fingers, languidly dragging your fingertips against the side of the gloomcap. Once the cap was fully open, you plucked it from the base and held it out to him.

“Take it,” you said, but he didn’t respond at first. You thought he might have forgotten what “take” meant. However, you noticed how he was staring at your hands, his own twitching as if he were about to grab the object, yet his gaze remained fixed on your fingers. Intrigued, you studied him for a moment and thought you saw his pupils dilate before he blinked and finally took the gloomcap, cradling it in his massive hand as if it were a delicate petal.

“Alright!” you said, clapping your hands together as if to break him out of his reverie, “Twenty more to go,” you added, sliding over to the side to do the same with the others.

Behind you, König listened, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

—

It took almost a full day to gather whatever you needed from the cave before heading back to the main chamber to take a break and eat dinner.

König had set aside your haul in a neat pile on your cart, careful not to crush the more delicate gloomcaps underneath the bigger ones. He catches you grabbing a handful of berries, chewing deliberately as if in thought, as you check off the scroll of parchment you brought from home. There was a sweet, fragrant aroma wafting in the air and piercing through the burlap, but he didn’t think much of it, putting the last of the piles aside before you two settled in for dinner.

After the sun set, König led you to a meadow just a little ways away from the cave. The two moons barely peeked through the thick canopies, but the bright bioluminescence of life emitting from the night flora acted as light. 

You were chirping away about a flower called edelmoon, a name unfamiliar to him. Still, he liked the way it sounded in your voice, liked hearing you speak and hearing the excited lilt as you came upon the meadow flourishing with multiple flora. He watched as you approached an old fallen trunk, and you knelt on the ground to study it. 

König knelt beside you as well, observing as you carefully separated the delicate roots from the bark with your vines. 

He readied the basket and held it out as you placed the flowers into it, one by one, neatly fanning them around the edges. It didn’t take long before you finished the list faster than before. With extra time to spare before heading back, he led you further into the meadow until you two happened upon a small pond with various flowers all around it. 

You flashed him an excited smile and went to reach over towards a cluster of what seemed like flickermoths. Curious, he followed, and you waited for him to kneel. 

“I haven’t seen these in a while,” you say, caressing the glowing creatures — gloampetals, as he looked closer, flowers with golden petals that illuminated in the night. You turned to him as if eager to tell him a secret. 

“You want to see something brilliant?” you ask. He blinked a few times, head tilting. Your tone makes it sound like an honest question, so he only nods.

He saw a golden glow radiating from your hands, fanning down like tiny sun rays. The gloampetals stirred, as if being awakened from slumber. 

It was gradual, like darkness parting to make way for light, and the petals expanded, one by one, for each stalk, until the surroundings were coruscating with gold.

And when he glanced your way, a wondrous noise escaped your lips, a beautiful sound he had never heard before from you — the sound of mirth, a joyful and warm laughter.

He watched as you spread your arms wide as you spun in place, your hair and the leaves tangled within it, tousled by the wind, and your fingertips brushing against the taller stalks of flowers as they emitted a fragrant aroma. The night was very much alive, and somehow, something in him awakened, too. 

He saw the way your eyes shine in the dark, your face lit by the glow around you. It looked like stars dappling your form from the bioluminescence bouncing off your skin. You look like the constellations he watched at night as a boy, seeing the stars twinkle in the far-off distance as he lay in the nearby meadow. 

That night sky was vast, an unfamiliar world stretching beyond comprehension. Yet in your eyes, he saw the same uncharted mystery, and it stirred something in him — something primal, a longing, an ache he had never experienced before. He had only witnessed an emotion like this when he was a youngling, back when his parents were still living. He remembered how his father gazed at his mother, finding beauty in death incarnate and loving her all the same.

And then there were the two of you, an exact mirror. Could it be possible? He was a testament to a union that defied the laws of nature, proof that anything could take root and that affection could flourish between worlds that were never meant to meet.

When König searched your eyes, he could’ve sworn yours echoed his, and he hoped — gods below, he hoped — that you felt it too. 

König sat near the back wall as you settled in for the night, buried under the piles of furs while he sat by the fire. He had refused the biggest fur he had harvested from a wraitheater since he rarely got cold, but you still shoved the pelts to him regardless, firmly uttering the commonfolk words: “Take it.” And he eventually relented. 

He watched as you drifted off to sleep, your chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He was tired after a long day, but his mind remained fully awake. Even after he felt sleep overtake him, he could still smell the aromatic flora wafting in the air.

It was stronger this time, lingering far longer than he thought it would. He shifted in his seat, head lulling to the side, his nose pressing against the burlap, and he smelled it the strongest. He wondered if it was because he sat near your cart filled with flora, but the longer he breathed, the more it somehow clung to his skin. It wasn’t an awful smell, gods below, it was beyond that, it smelled ethereal, almost heavenly. And for a second, he was convinced this was what heaven smelled like.

When his eyes fluttered open, he saw your peaceful form from afar, your hair splayed out against the bedding, the furs blanketed you like a ward of protection, and something in him ached, and at the same time, realization hit him. The phantom smell wasn’t from the meadow; it was from you.

He was smelling your scent.

His hands twitched at his sides, grasping the fur on his lap. Something in him was growing, a warm blooming in his chest. He also couldn’t deny that it sank deeper, bone-deep, like magic infiltrating his senses.

Flashes of memories filtered through his mind: the time you fell from the sky, a literal astra; the shared moments in the chambers, watching the sun paint colour back onto your skin; and the time before you parted ways, when you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, and whispered a promise to return. That scent lingered through all of it.

It was you all along, that was so engraved in his memories that his blood coursed through him, surging like the roaring river waters, and he felt like drowning in them.

And he felt fear, fear that if he gave in, he might ruin you. There was a war in his mind, fighting against his most basic instincts and the longing that carved deep within his bones.

It was too soon to name such a thing, but he felt it. He felt it pulse, and with the last of his restraint, his hand drifted over his need, squeezing as if stilling an uncontainable ache. 

Before he could stop himself, a soft sound, barely audible, escaped his lips. His wrists moved to work on his length, just as he had done countless times before. But with your scent filling his lungs, it felt different, like a whole new sensation that eased his loneliness.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He should have buried his feelings deep within. Yet, the thought of you filled his mind: your hair cascading down your shoulders, adorned with flowers and leaves, and your eyes looking at him as if he were not the monster everyfolk whispered about. In your eyes, he was someone you adored and had patience for. The way you touched him ignited a fire within him.

The way you looked at him was full of reverence, and he felt utterly ashamed as he returned your gaze, desire laid bare. But he couldn’t stop; each stroke was deliberate, his hand fisting as it caught on the crown, spilling more down his wrist.

He wondered if you looked at him the way he looked at you, if you knew just how much he longed to bury his face in the crook of your neck, to inhale your scent. He moaned your name, lost in thoughts of you, picturing your gaze fixed on him. Would you be willing? To hold you closer for longer, to breathe you in, to feel himself seated deep within — could you take him? You seemed so much smaller than him, and he feared he might ruin you, yet he wanted to; this raw, desperate need consumed him. Would you let him?

Your scent washed over him, potent and sweet, almost suffocating yet intoxicating. If this were the way he would die, he wouldn’t mind.—

König gasped as the coil tightened and sprang out, his whole body shaking as he came, spilling forth and hitting the firelight. He knew he had lost all control. Heart hammering, he dared not move for a moment, trying to steady his breathing — until the rustle of bedding alerted him, and he realized you were awake. You stared at each other awkwardly, his hand still wrapped around his cock.

He paled, heart pounding in his ears, a deafening rhythm. Too lost in the moment, he recoiled when you said his name, shoving himself back into his breeches, hand still wet from his arousal, and got up to walk away in shame. You got up as well, trying to stop him from leaving.

“Wait! König—” You exclaimed, but his pace didn’t ease; he walked further into the darkness, and your shorter stature couldn’t keep up with his stride. 

“König, come back!” You yelled, cheeks burning. You almost tripped on your own foot trying to chase him down, and you caught yourself before you landed in a heap. 

“Come back…please?” You pleaded. The sight of him retreating into the dark pulled at something deep in your chest — not out of disgust nor pity, but understanding.

You wanted to let him know that you understood what it felt like to desire someone deeply. Hearing him whisper your name, filled with need, made you yearn to reassure him that it wasn't wrong to feel the same way for someone who reciprocated those feelings in return.

His footsteps echoed as he returned, hunched over in shame and avoiding your gaze. He entered the chamber, reached for one of the furs, and draped it over himself before sinking onto the slab. Silently, he braced himself against the heat of his own recklessness.

You followed him and stood near, but not crowding his space. Your hands twitched at your side, wanting to pull the furs away, but you stopped yourself. He needs to open up to you fully, so instead, you offered him patience.

“König…Look at me, please?” You pleaded, and he slowly took the furs off until they lay on his lap before glancing your way, his blue eyes glassy. 

His gaze caught yours, and you two were in a standstill. He didn’t dare move, nor did you, until you slowly approached him, grabbing a handful of the furs before slowly tugging them away from him.

You would deliberately stop, looking at him from time to time to see if he wanted to keep the furs, but he watched you, the bulge in his neck bobbing up and down when he swallowed hard.

He was still hard, and he tried to cover himself, but you took one of his hands, the one he had touched himself with. He watched you, a little horrified but curious, expecting you to scold him, but instead you brought his hand up to your lips, taking in the scent of his skin before your tongue darted out to lick the remnants of spend on his hand. This action wasn’t to shock him; you only wanted him to see that what he’d hidden wasn’t filthy or shameful, that you would still touch him and mean it.

König watched, mesmerized by your gesture, and you could see his breeches straining, making slick bead from your core. 

When you pulled away slightly, he traced your lips with his thumb, his breath uneven and laboured. 

“Do you…want to…” You trailed off, thinking it fruitless since he wouldn’t understand you either way, but he parroted your phrase, “Want to…?” he whispered, a little unsure what it meant, but then he said it once more, letting it roll on his tongue. 

“Want to…” he said, his voice less shaky but still breathy. The way he repeated it — hesitant, tender — felt like the closest thing to a confession. The words themselves didn’t matter; the true meaning shone through in his blue eyes.

Moving closer, you stood between his spread legs, looking up at his towering frame. You planted your hand against his abdomen, the muscles underneath your fingertips fluttering, realizing he was ticklish there. Then, you had him watch as you lowered your touch, right down to where the buttons on his breeches are, then grazed your hand lower and held him in your palms, squeezing a little. 

He let out a soft gasp, hands gripping his thighs as he contemplated touching you back. 

You hesitated; the language barrier was a little frustrating, but you said the words anyway:

“Take me.” The whisper was raw, a bit desperate, and he felt it in the way your eyes met his — pupils blown wide, gaze sultry. In the next breath, he hauled you into his lap, grinding his thick, clothed cock against your core, your slick dampening your skirts.

He nosed your neck — or tried to — the burlap grazing your skin. You did all the kissing for both of you, grabbing the fabric and leaving sweet kisses along his covered face. 

You felt him twitch against you, and the longing for him prompted you to lift your skirts, gathering them around your waist. Noticing your action, he freed himself once more, opening his breeches until they fell in a messy heap on the ground.

His cock gleamed, the head flushed and slightly flared. A soft mewl escaped you at the sight, already anticipating the exquisite stretch it would bring, teetering between pain and pleasure. Thick veins traced the shaft down to the heavy weight of his balls, and though you ached to have him inside you, you forced yourself to go slow, careful not to end up sore and limping afterward.

His length and girth should scare you, but instead, they made you clench at nothing, your thighs quivering from need. 

You studied his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. Grasping his cock with both hands, you angled your hips over his generous length, nudging the head against your clit. A soft moan escaped you at the heat of him against your skin.

When he notched at your entrance and you shifted slightly, sinking in, the stretch had you gasping.

He was impossibly big, yet you craved more. His hands ghosted over your hips, fingers tugging ever so slightly, encouraging you to take him fully.

He gasped your name, his hands firmly planted on your hips as he gently tugged you downwards, doing his absolute best not to slam you on his cock, but you knew he wanted to just by the way his hips canted ever so slightly upwards. 

By the halfway mark, you were already stretched to your limit, bordering on too much, but you kept going, willing your body to accept all of him, your hands trembling against his arms.

“Oh—König!” you mewled, head thrown back as you took more of him until you couldn’t anymore. 

Your hips hovered over his by a few more inches, too full to think. He held you close as he began moving you up and down his cock in a slow yet steady pace, your slick coated him, dripping down to his sack. It felt divine, like heaven on earth. You felt your body open even more, clenching around him, teetering on the edge of orgasm.

König whispered encouragements as he finally bottomed out, holding you there. The pressure hit deep in your belly, and you cried out as waves of ecstasy rolled through you. His cock pulsed inside you, straining against your walls.

He moaned out your name again, the last of his restraints faltering as he cradled you to him and set a bruising pace, each slam of his hips had you mute, prolonging your climax until you felt the start of a new one blooming deep in your belly.

When you came again, it was cataclysmic, stronger than the last, and your body seized, gripping him tightly. He followed soon after, completely undone from the way you milked him, his spend coating your walls until it overflowed.

He wrapped strong arms around you, caressing your back. For a long moment, the world was still. You stayed pressed against him, hearts beating in uneven rhythm, the only sound your mingled breaths. It didn’t feel like sin anymore — it felt like finding something you hadn’t known you’d lost.

When you pulled away, legs trembling, his cock slipped free with a wet pop, dripping down your thighs until it pooled at your feet. Both of you flushed at the sight.

König tucked himself back into his breeches before he grabbed some linen resting on a smaller slab of rock and started cleaning you. His efforts bloomed warmth in your chest, but with the amount of his spend still pouring out of you, you might need more than cloth to clean you up. 

With a gentle hand, you placed it atop his, stopping his movements. He looked at you as if he had done something wrong, but you gave his arm a gentle squeeze or two.

“Water…” you stated, and then motioned both your hands to mimic a river flowing down the embankment. He understood and led you out into the forest. 

He was walking slowly, trying to be considerate, but because of his height, he was covering more ground than you and walking a little further ahead. It was sort of cruel joke trying to keep up with him with shaky legs after what you two had done, so you called out to him. 

“König!” He stopped mid-track and turned around, eyes wide. You finally caught up, but he noticed the tremble in your step.

“Can you carry me?” You asked, arms reaching up to his and grabbing them. He nodded, leaned down, and scooped you up in his arms. 

Once you reached your destination, he gently set you down near the riverbank. As you began to shed your clothes for a quick dip, König turned around to give you some privacy. You couldn’t help but laugh at how endearing it was that he was still shy after having been so intimate with you, especially after giving you the most mind-numbing orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life.

You called his name, but he hesitated to look back, pretended he didn’t hear, so you approached him from behind and placed a hand on the base of his spine. 

“You don’t have to be shy, König, you can look,” you say, and he finally turns. You expected him to ogle, but instead, he held your gaze with warm intent. The shame that once clouded his eyes was gone now, replaced by something softer — devotion, maybe, or gratitude that you’d stayed.

You should be cleaning up and returning to the cave to rest before your morning herb run, yet a growing ache simmered inside you, and it was impossible to miss his mirrored desire, the tent in his pants pressing insistently against the fabric.

You both wanted more.

You took him again when he lifted you and pressed you against the tree, the new angle hitting spots inside you that had you biting your lip, trying so hard for the whole forest not to hear your pleasured cries. Then you did it a third time when he lay down on the sand and you climbed on top, water rippling around his ankles.

When it was time to go back, you were both damp from the river, utterly sated. Your touches lingered on each other’s skin, tender and sweet.