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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 months

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CAT-EYES

PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader

SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You were sitting in the branches again.

Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.

Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.

The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.

So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?

But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.

“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.

Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.

Until it speaks.

“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.

Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.

“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.

He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.

“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.

There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.

“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”

This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.

He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.

Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.

This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.

Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.

“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”

Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.

You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.

The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.

You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.

The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.

“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.

Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.

“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”

“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”

If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.

The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”

“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.

“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.

You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.

“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”

There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.

“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”

“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”

Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”

John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”

You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.

John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.

You could outrun him.

“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”

The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”

Your lips twitch.

“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”

John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.

“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”

The boar broach winks at you.

“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”

“Just Johnny—”

“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”

“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”

John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.

“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”

You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”

“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”

—

You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.

“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”

John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.

“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”

“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”

“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.

“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.

“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”

“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”

“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”

The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.

Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.

“...What was that?”

“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”

He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.

Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”

“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”

“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”

John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.

“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.

“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.

Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.

“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”

“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”

“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”

“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.

Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.

“Find him!”

“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”

“Here!”

Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”

You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”

The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.

“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”

You blink, confused.

“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.

Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water. “Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage. “Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”

“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”

“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”

“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”

“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”

—

He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.

“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.

It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.

“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”

“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”

You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.

“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”

“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.

“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”

He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.

“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”

“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”

“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”

You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”

Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”

“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”

“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”

You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.

You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.

“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”

“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.

“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”

Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”

You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.

“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”

It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?

“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”

“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”

Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”

“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”

You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.

John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now. “Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”

“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”

“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.

You frown, gut swirling.

“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”

Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.

“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”

Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”

“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”

John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.

You wanted that damn boar broach.

“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”

“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”

Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.

Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.

—

“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.

Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.

He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.

It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.

But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.

“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.

Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.

He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”

You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.

“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”

“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”

Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.

“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.

“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”

“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.

“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”

“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.

“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”

John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.

“No family?”

“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.

“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”

Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.

“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”

“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”

Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.

John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.

“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”

“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”

You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.

“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.

Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.

Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.

“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.

“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”

John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.

Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.

You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.

And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.

Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.

Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.

Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.

“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”

There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.

—

Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.

“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”

John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.

“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”

“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”

Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.

You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.

He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.

“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.

Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

Your face softens slightly.

“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.

And you don’t understand why.

Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.

“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.

Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”

“You called me strange.”

John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”

You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”

“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”

“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past

“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”

“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”

Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.

Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.

“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.

“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”

“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”

Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.

Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.

Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.

“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”

Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.

“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”

There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.

But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.

You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.

Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.

“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.

You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.

But you’re not stupid.

Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.

The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”

Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.

“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.

“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”

Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.

Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.

“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”

His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.

You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”

“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.

Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.

“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.

“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.

“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.

“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”

“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”

“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”

The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”

You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.

“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate” Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.

All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.

Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.

John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.

Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.

You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.

Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.

A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.

Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.

You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.

Free, free, free.

Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”

“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”

Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.

You knew you were a selfish person.

There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.

Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.

“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.

He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.

“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.

He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.

The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.

Your attention is split three ways.

One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.

Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.

They take a step forward.

“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.

“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.

The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.

You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.

From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—

Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.

Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.

“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.

Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.

“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”

“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”

“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.

An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.

“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.

Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”

He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.

“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”

“That one?”

“Yes!”

And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.

“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.

Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.

All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.

Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.

There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.

“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.

“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”

“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.

John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.

“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”

You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.

He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.

“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.

Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.

“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”

Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.

Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.

The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.

“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that’ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”

“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”

John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.

He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.

And, of course, follow directions.

“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.

You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.

Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.

“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”

“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.

“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.

Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.

John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.

“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.

A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.

“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”

—

The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.

But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.

“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.

“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”

Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.

“Can’t say no to that.”

The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.

No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.

John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.

You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.

Or maybe there was a reason.

“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”

He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.

Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.

The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”

He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.

“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.

Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.

“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.

“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”

“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”

“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”

“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”

“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.

Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.

“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.

Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.

The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.

Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.

After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.

You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.

“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”

Always a thief, never a saint.

“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”

The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.

The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.

You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.

“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”

“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”

He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.

“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.

John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.

Not yet.

“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.

“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”

“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”

And then you’re gone.

Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.

He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.

It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.

“What in the…” He already knows.

Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.

John smiles.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.

You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.

You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.

There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.

A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.

You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.

There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.

TAGS:

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pursuitseternal · 6 months

Text

“Bites in the Night: Part 4” returns hotter bloodier than ever: a series of nsfw Astarion x Reader on the road

“Let me have that sweet ambrosia, my love…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 2.7K of Period sex 🩸

Summary: Remaining behind to loot your enemy, the moon is full. Your belly aches. He smells it instantly, the feast between your legs, and he just has to do something about it, for his sake and for yours.

CW: (tasteful) period sex, a ravenous vampire rogue, very attentive care and comfort, blood kink, NSFW, a bloody feeding frenzy for Astarion

A/N: Ambrosia: Ancient Greek for menstrual blood and the perfect Vampire meal😈🩸

Read here if you prefer AO3

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Night is falling, and you are nowhere near the rendezvous point. Your back, your ass, and everything in between is killing you. Astarion had to insist on looting that enemy camp. He left no chest unopened, no stone unturned. You sniff in mild irritation. Fucking rogue.

Your horse begins to slow, another thing he insisted on keeping as spoils. Two beautiful mounts to hurry back on your journey. The rest of your party is half a day ahead, but you should have been there by now.

You turn in your saddle, eyeing the packs of loot on the rump of your brown mare, and the equal amount on that beautiful black stallion your vampire rogue rides on behind you. His eyes meet yours, his mouth twisting in that irritating smirk that drips with sex. “It is quite the view, you know, watching your ass shift and bounce with every step…” his voice is loud, sultry and daring.

When it’s just you two, he hides nothing. Every little dirty thought or suggestion, he proudly voices. In fact, it’s why you’re running late. Your roguish lover insisted on replenishing his strength after the fight almost the instant you two were alone. He fed well, not to mention you just had to help each other burn off your blood running hot after battle. Nothing a quick rut in the forest didn’t fix.

But now you paid for it, your belly aches from

How deep he had taken you, the folds of your cunt swollen and sore from roughly fucking in the dirt.

You tut your tongue at him before turning back around in your seat and urging your horse forward. Faster.

But now your belly burns. Looking into the sky through the trees, you begin to see the world growing dim, bathing in the light of a full moon. That’s when you swallow.

Oh.

It isn’t just from being fucked hard after battle that your belly is sore. You look down at the tan of your saddle, your suede breeches. And sure enough, they darken.

Blood.

You groan.

And of course, Astarion knows. He urges his horse alongside yours now, brows furrowed. “I smell blood, darling, yours no less…”

You reign in your mount. This little clearing among the pines will have to do. “It’s nothing,” you shrug. You pull your cloak over your shoulder, hiding your lap from his crimson prying eyes. “You see to the tent, I’ll tend the horses. We can camp here for tonight.” You’ve decided.

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we simply ride….” he begins to argue, but the way your face screws in hot irritation makes his mouth snap shut. He arches a single brow, but he mumbles his acceptance. He slides from his horse, beginning to unlatch the bedrolls and packs from his stallion. He eyes you suspiciously when he thinks you’re not looking, but you are taking your sweet time, waiting for him to leave before you slide off your saddle. Knowing it’ll reveal the mess you have made.

At last he carries armfuls of equipment away. But you know you don’t have long. You dismount rapidly, grabbing a rag and some saddle soap, trying to work the stain from the leather.

You hurry, but you’re not fast enough. His hand comes to rest on yours, pinning you mid-swipe with the rag in hand. You watch him lean towards the leather, his nostrils flaring and his eyes observing the spots of red on the cloth. He cocks his head, a single finger slinking to lift your cloak ever so slightly. Just enough to show the stains that darken the tan of your breeches.

“You smell of blood, of ambrosia, my darling,” he purrs. Fingers now claw around that edge of your cape, holding you fast in place.

“It’s just the moon,” you grimace, trying to pull away. “Just my monthly bleeding. Nothing so delectable.”

You ache, eyeing the tent he has pitched with ridiculous speed.

But his hand only grips tighter and pulls you harder. “Darling,” he breathes, heavier than before, and you look into his eyes, they catch with the moonlight and glow their deep crimson. You watch his chest heaving, slowly but noticeable. “What am I?”

“You…” you scan him. Every muscle in his body is taught and ready to spring. Pupils dilated. Cock already bulging from his trousers. “You’re aroused?”

“Darling, what… am… I?” now he growls, his finger pointing to the two scars in his own ivory neck.

“Vampire,” you exhale, never feeling more like you are trembling before a blood-sucking monster than now.

“And what are you?” he pushes, raising the stained cloth, covered in your courses and in saddle soap to his nose. Watching him breathe deeply, fairly drooling as his eyes open again.

“Bleeding…” you reply to a look of deep approval from your lover.

“A perfect combination, I would say,” he croons as he tosses the rag at your feet. “Now, you get yourself in our tent, you rest for the slightest moment while I tend to our horses. And then you’ll find yourself in the arms of so much attentive caring, you will beg me never to stop until I’ve had my fill of your ambrosia, darling.”

You shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from his sweet and dirty words or the fact your body is in such turmoil. Slogging your way, you manage to get into the tent, dropping your cloak and immediately reaching to unfurl the blankets and bedrolls, tossing them all over the ground. Your belly aches and your breeches stick uncomfortably. You need them off. The pressure, the stick.

Shimmying them from your waist, you keep your back to the entrance, because somehow you know he’s standing there. Watching and waiting. Maybe it’s the heavy breathing that you notice first. But you finally step out of the soiled pants, turning in nothing but your shirt to come face to face with Astarion. Your hungry vampire. The very picture of famish and yearning.

He licks his lips, eyes almost black, dilated so wide as he looks at you. His lips pull back, fangs bared, the beast barely restrained.

He crosses to you in a split second, faster than lighting, lest you forget he has already feasted on you once today. His mouth ravages yours, suffocating and consuming. As if he feeds on your air, not your blood. Fingers tangle into your hair, angling your mouth perfectly for his tongue to delve into its warm depths. His other hand grips at your back, pressing you flush against him, the hard, cool plane of his body giving you some reprieve. His touch is hard. Commanding. His hips give a little thrust where you ache. Your vision blurs, but not in pain. No, it feels… good. So good. Pushing and thrusting where your body feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

He doesn’t speak, his heavy breathing deafens you, the little growls he makes into your mouth make you somehow feel even wetter between your legs. “On the ground, darling,” he finally rasps into your kiss. One hand grips into your shirt, pulling it off you so swiftly, your skin becomes gooseflesh with it gone.

Astarion moves your body down, letting you spread yourself over his hips, sprawling himself across the haphazard bundles of blankets. He hushes you softly, “Shhh, my love. Now, you just close your eyes, and I’ll tend to everything. Every little drop of your delicious blood will be mine… if you wish?”

You nod; “Yes,” you breathe.

Large, cold hands grip into your ass, urging you forward from where you straddle him. His tongue is already licking his lips. Splaying your hands on the ground, you let him move you, your drenched cunt a banquet he will savor. You feel him as he licks you so rapidly. Wet everywhere as he centers you over his hungry mouth. Then, he really, truly feasts.

You cant your hips, both hands splayed on the ground as his grip keeps you pinned over his greedy mouth. Your arms shake, your body growing more and more rigid, taught and building and ready to burst.

He gives a light slap on your cheek, making you twitch as his tongue dives right into the center of your channel. Palms cupping you, his tongue slows its lick, languorous now, exploring more than cleaning. Attentive, exquisite pressure catching and swirling in all the right places. His hold on your rear eases, letting you swivel and buck as he licks you, your belly aching in more familiar ways. The clenching of your muscles, the throbbing in your core wants more than just to be cleaned and fed upon.

You clamber off of him, the sight of blood on his chin not unfamiliar, but that greedy, irascible glare makes your blood run cold and hot all at once. He sits up quickly, eager and hungry as he licks his bloodied lips. He will pin you down and keep feeding unless you take control, you see it in his eyes. In the ferocious appetite that claws beneath that hard, flirtatious exterior. You see it in the way his hands clench and open as he scans every inch of your flesh.

But you know what you want, what you need next. Hands tug his shirt from his waistband, pulling it from his ivory skin. “Gods, I’ve never wanted to feel you inside me more than now,” you breathe, one hand bunching the fabric of his shirt.

You use it to wipe the blood from his chin, revealing the dramatic pout of his lips. “Darling,” he tries to purr, but his voice is thick in his throat, edged with the gravelly tones of his appetite, “I was saving that for later.”

“Not if you are going to kiss me as you fuck me, my love,” you offer as lightly in reply as you can.

It makes him smile, wickedly and brimming with delight. His hands already unlacing the band of his breeches, he moves with that near-supernatural speed in his fingers. Before you even can laugh, he is on top of you, the cold, heavy weight of his body stealing your breath. You gasp to feel his cock already straining, pressing at your aching entrance. All that blood, that arousal that pools there, it makes it so easy for him to slip right in.

Groaning, he takes you, merciless, your cunt engorged. Swollen from your courses, he thrusts harder into you, filling you with the delicious drag and pressure of his cock. It presses, hard, straining against the way every muscle inside you clenches. Astarion watches your face, cautiously scanning for your every reaction. He smirks, relishing how your eyes roll and flutter, savoring the feeling of your hips bucking to take every single one of his rapid thrusts somehow deeper into your warm bliss.

He groans, his forehead coming to rest on yours, hand clutching with command into your hair. “I want to feed, my love, I want my mouth on any and every part of you,” he growls, the chill of his breath passing between your lips from where he hovers.

“Yes,” you moan, “yes, anywhere. Everywhere.”

His hand in your hair pulls you slightly, his teeth in your neck again before you even have a chance to finish your words. You shudder, feeling his taught body dancing on the edge of his control. But for as quick and hard as his fucking is, his mouth is tender on your neck. You twist to face him, catching his mouth with yours. You don’t even care as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your body is warm and numb and cradled, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his cock pummels your cunt.

So swollen, so full, so overcome, you can’t even tell when your climax begins to consume you, not until you are screaming into his mouth and clacking your teeth against his fangs. Not until your legs buckle and clutch around his hips. And not until your muscles clench harder than they ever have, even as he persists with his thrusts. His breath heavy in your mouth, grunting with each dive into the wet that comes pouring out of you. His head throws back, and you watch his own wave of ecstasy claim his pale, handsome features. His face tweaks in painful pleasure, and you watch those glowing eyes beam down at you as he eases from his climax, the smile on his mouth covered in equally crimson blood.

You breathe deeply, hand brushing gently to his neck to bring that mouth against yours once more. His kiss is tender—satisfied and soft. “Feel better, darling?” he purrs with a caress of his icy fingers against the flush of your face.

“Much,” you breathe, still relieved at the pressure of his cock deep inside you. “Thank you,” you give a little list of your hips.

“Really, darling, it is my pleasure,” he smirks, heavy lidded eyes regarding you with such intensity. Again. “There is nothing more delicious than you, my treat. I could gobble you up all night…” he taunts, a hint of mischief playing over the lines of his face. “Now, you rest, and let me tend to the cleaning…”

You look at the mess, at your bloodied clothes, relaxing to merely have to rest. He slides from you, and your body goes limp the moment he withdraws that prodding and massive length from your walls. But even as sleep begins to claim you, you feel that wet mouth lapping at you again.

Groaning, you glance between your legs, his face buried deep as he does, in fact, tend to the cleaning.

You drift off anyway, his tongue far less instant than before. But even as you rest, overcome in exhaustion, you stir hour to hour. Stirring every time he comes back to your thighs to feed again. And again. Until finally, sometime during the night, you shut your legs tight, hand reaching to shove him away. “Not until dawn,” you groan as you roll back over.

He only giggles, low and deep in his chest. His cold body lays behind you, hard and unyielding and comforting as you let the waves of sleep take you again deep into their embrace. As you rest, wrapped in his arms.

The moment light breaks, grey dawn filling your tent, a hand spreads your knees apart, throwing one leg’s sleepy weight over his shoulder as he laps and sucks from you again.

“True to my word, darling, I have waited until daylight,” he whispers, breath passing over your still aching mount.

You try to sit up, but a hand presses down on your still swollen belly. You sigh. “We will have to get moving, my love, if we are to meet the others…”

“Oh, my treat, you are in no condition to travel,” he croons between wet slides of his tongue up your thighs. “The others will just have to understand…”

“But…” your words are silenced the second his tongue delves back between your folds, making hard little circles over your clit.

“You are in no condition to have me let you out of my bed, darling,” he replies, hand pressing one leg lower against the ground, opening up your wet slick even more. “It would be dangerous to have you traveling with so much blood… You never know what monsters out there might scent you and try to claim it for their own.”

You give a scoff from your dry throat. “Like a vampire…” you groan as his tongue returns to pleasure you again for a moment.

“They, my pet, are the most demanding of all.” He grins at you, from between your legs again. “Tch,” he sucks his teeth, taunting and arrogant and handsome, “you should know better by now.”

“You are a demanding beast, you know…” you moan before you can finish your words.

“You should see me… if you were to deny me my feast, darling…” he replies between swirls of his tongue. “Now, hold still and let me have that sweet ambrosia, my sweet.”

Hips bucking a bit, letting him in deeper, you relax, luxuriating in his bed. For who are you to deny your vampire such a feast.

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Other “Bites”

Part 1: “Go back to sleep, darling…”

Part 2: “You’ll have to keep quieter than that…”

Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Ascended Astarion x Reader: “The Rogue You Were”

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sonamytrash · 19 days

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Temptress

An: As usual, I don't have anything to say for myself. I started this off quite enchanted and romantic, and it turned to filth pretty quickly.

Warnings: Pure smutty filth, public sex, outdoor sex, poor tree, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasm, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex, name calling, dom Levi, daddy is used, female anatomy described, porn with plot, but mostly porn. MDNI.

The air was thick with the musky scent of damp earth and the crisp tang of pine needles as Levi made his way through the dense woodland, the sunlight filtering through the canopy above, casting long, dappled shadows over the forest floor.

A light breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the sweet scent of newly bloomed flowers. In the distance, the gentle murmur of a nearby stream provided a soothing background score to this picturesque scene. It was in this serene setting that Levi Ackerman found himself, taking a shortcut through the woods as he made his way back from a nearby town where he'd been to buy tea. Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. Curious, he carefully crept closer, peering through the foliage. There, hidden among the undergrowth, he spotted you, one of the scouts' medics. You were clad in a blush pink dress, your hair loose and flowing down your back, catching the golden rays of the sun. You seemed to be engrossed in your task, humming softly to yourself crouched down, carefully plucking plants from the ground.

You smiled to yourself, your hands expertly weaving through the dense undergrowth. The woods were your sanctuary. You knew every nook and cranny, every hidden path and secret grove. It was here that you found solace from the chaos of the world beyond the trees.

Having studied medicinal plants since you were young, and now, as a member of the scouts medical team, you were able to put your knowledge to good use.

The fabric of your dress was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the muggy air. You bent down to pluck a particularly plump-looking leaf, your movements graceful and fluid.

You paused for a moment, listening intently to the sounds of the forest. The rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the gentle sigh of the breeze. It was a symphony that only nature could compose, and you found yourself lost in its beauty.

Levi cleared his throat, making his presence known. Startled, you looked up at him with wide, expressive eyes. "Ah, Levi," you said, her cheeks flushing slightly, "I didn't hear you." You glanced back at your collection, clearly torn between finishing what you were doing and attending to the stoic, dark-haired figure standing before you.

"What are you doing out here?" Levi asked, his voice low and curious. He leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms over his chest. You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, straightening out your dress as you smiled sheepishly. "Just collecting some medicinal plants," you replied, gesturing to your collection.

Levi arched an eyebrow, amused by your reaction. "I couldn't help but wonder what kind of strange animal might be lurking around in the bushes." he teased, stepping closer. A smirk crept across your lips. "Oh, you know, just the type of weird animal that spends their day's off in the dirt."

There was an awkward silence as you both took in each other's presence. You felt your cheeks flush again, remembering the flirtatious banter that you often shared. Always tethering on the edge of something more. But never had you been alone like this before, away from the eyes and ears of the scouting headquarters.

Levi, on the other hand, couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight danced across your shoulders, and your breasts filled the dress you had chosen to wear highlighting the soft curves of your body, a welcome change from the usual scouts uniform. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "So, did you find everything you needed?"

You nod, your eyes not leaving his. "Yes, I think so. Thanks for asking." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other as you tried to climb back up the rockery, not entirely sure how you managed to get down there in the first place. "You're not out here just to chat. Are you, Levi?" You gave him a playful smile, trying to break the tension.

Amused, Levi didn’t return your smile, but his expression softened. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You know, in case there were any other weird animals around." He teases, reaching his hand out to you for assistance.

You felt a thrill run through you at his touch as he effortlessly pulled you up. "Nope, just me," you teased, your voice a little breathless. Your final step closed the small distance between the two of you, as you laid a hand on his chest for support. The contact sent a wave of heat through your body, and you could feel the strong muscles and steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, "And I'm fine." You assured him.

Levi looked down at your hand on his chest, his own hand curling gently around your waist to support you. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You raise your eyes to meet his, your gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between them seemed to crackle with an almost palpable energy, and time seemed to stand still.

No, you were not okay. You were never okay around this man.

Levi's grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, drawing you closer still. Your heart racing. You could feel the warmth of his body, the strength in his arms, and it made you want to be even closer.

"I'm sure," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. You could see the desire flickering in Levi's eyes. It was a look you had seen many times before, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You knew what was coming, and you wanted it. You wanted him.

He took note of your features. Delicate and beautiful, but there was something wild about you, too. Something untamed. You seemed to be waiting for him, and he could feel his heart racing with anticipation.

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" he asked, his voice low and steady despite the pounding of his heart.

You smiled at him. The expression on your face was both mischievous and enchanting. "Maybe I have, haven't you too?" you replied, tilting your head to the side. His hand reached out, gently brushing against your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. "Tch, don't get cocky, brat." his fingers further ghost along the side of your face as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I may be a man, but I still have control over my urges." his gaze smoulders with a hint of barely restrained desire. "Though I admit. You make it damn difficult sometimes."

With a gentle nudge, he guided you backwards until your back was pressed against the rough bark of a tree.

He leans in, your breaths mingling as his lips brush against your own.

You gasp, your hands finding their way to his shoulders. Your lips were soft and yielding beneath his, and he could feel you respond to his touch, your body moving in time with his. He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to explore the sweetness of your mouth, and you moaned in response, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He reached around, his hand finding the softness of your backside, and he squeezed, pulling you closer still. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, your hips grinding together desperately.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, and looked up at him with eyes that were now dark with need. Your hands moved over his chest, his shoulders tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the tautness of his skin. "I want you," Levi rasps, his voice thick with desire. His hooded eyes roam hungrily over your form. "Right here, right now." His calloused hands slide down to caress your curves, igniting sparks of pleasure. "I can't wait any longer." He kisses your neck and nips his way lower until he reaches the valley between your breasts. With a growl, he pulls the fabric loose, freeing your flesh from the confines of your dress. He cups your breasts in his hands, feeling the weight of them, the warmth that emanated from your skin. He takes one nipple between his lips, sucking gently, teasing it with his tongue while rolling the other one between his fingers. You arch your back, hips grinding against him, your fingers tangled in his hair. "Levi," you moaned, your voice dripping with desire.

He watched as you lowered your eyes, taking in the hardness of him through his pants before meeting his gaze again. "Then take me, Captain." You reply, and with a slow, deliberate motion, reaching down to free him from his trousers. You let out a moan at the sight of him, his gorgeous cock, hot and twitching in your hand.

Levi's breath hitches as you free his throbbing erection as his grip on your waist tightens. "You're a fucking temptress, you know that?." he growls, pressing you harder against the tree. He reluctantly leaves your nipple and captures your lips in another hungry kiss, his hips instinctively bucking into your touch. One hand continues to caress your plump breast while the other slides beneath your dress, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Pulling away briefly, he murmurs against your lips, "You're going to be the death of me," His voice is thick with want. "Humanities strongest soldier, reduced to this by a fucking siren. Tsk." With that, he spins you around, pinning you firmly against the tree, hiking up the skirt of your dress, his hard length presses insistently against your backside as his nimble fingers work to divest you of your undergarments, a satisfied smirk painted accross your lips the entire time. "But what a way to go." He relishes the feeling of the heat of your skin and the dampness between your legs. You gasped, your hips moving restlessly against his hand.

He bunches your dress up around your waist, revealing the curve of your rear. "And what a tempting sight," he murmurs, his hands caressing your supple flesh, parting your folds with his fingers, teasing you and circling your sensitive bud. You cry out, hips bucking against his hand. He presses one and then two fingers inside you, feeling your tight, wet cunt. You were so ready for him, so desperate for release. He slides his fingers in and out of you, in time with his thumb, circling your clit, as you moaned and writhed beneath him, your hands gripping the bark of the tree. Levi's fingers curl inside you, stroking all of the right spots. A guttural groan escapes his lips as he feels your silken walls clenching around his digits.

Your body arched, your back bowed as his name spilt from your mouth, and then you came, your voice shattering the tranquillity of the woods. Your muscles spasmed around his fingers, and your breath came in ragged gasps as the pleasure coursed through you. Levi's eyes flash with wicked delight at your wanton display.

"You have no idea what you're in for, pet." He growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as you catch your breath. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he sinks his cock into your slick heat, stretching and filling you deliciously. Your body still sensitive from your first orgasm. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he hilts himself fully. "Levi!" You cry throwing your head back.

"Fuck, yes," he groans, pausing momentarily to allow you to adjust to his impressive girth. Then, with a sharp snap of his hips, he begins to pound into you relentlessly, "That's it, let me hear those delicious sounds."

A guttural moan escapes his lips at the sensation of your velvety walls enveloping him. He fills you completely, stretching and satisfying your aching need as you moan loudly for him.

Bracing his hands firmly around your hips, he begins to thrust into you with deep, powerful strokes, his hips snapping forward with a primal urgency. "You feel so fucking good," he growls through ragged breaths mingle with your desperate moans, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the air around you. "So hot and tight around my cock."

He sets a hard, relentless pace, pounding into you against the tree. His mouth latches onto the delicate skin of your shoulder, sucking and nipping, determined to mark you as his. One hand snakes up to knead your heavy breast as they bounce and slap one another from his assault. His other hand clutches your backside, pulling you flush against him with every powerful thrust.

"Levi...it feels so good," you mewl, He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back as he grunts with each powerful thrust. "That's right, keep saying my name with that pretty little mouth." he commands, his voice rough with lust.

His hand snakes from your breast to your clit, stroking it in time with his ruthless thrusts.

"You feel so fucking good, taking my cock like this," his breath hot against the back of your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, no doubt leaving his mark. Levi's pace becomes increasingly frantic as he drives into you, his hips snapping sharply. Each powerful thrust elicits a wanton moan from your lips, driving his lust even higher.

He slams into you with bruising force, his hips snapping against your rear with each powerful thrust. The pressure and friction is delicious, and he can feel your walls fluttering around his throbbing shaft.

You arched your back, crying out his name as you came, your body shuddering with release. He continues to thrust into you relentlessly, feeling your body relax and then tense again with each thrust, your wet heat enveloping him as he continues to apply pressure to your clit expertly allowing you to ride out your orgasm. And then, just as you thought it couldn't possibly get any better, you felt it building again as you allowed the overstimulation to consume you, a second wave, and with it, the rush of hot liquid that trickled down your legs leaving you breathless and astonished as you moaned breathlessly beneath him, you inner walls desperate to milk his cock. Levi felt the fluid spill over his hand and smirked, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste your essence, "Dirty fucking girl," he says with a groan of pleasure, "I don't think you even knew you could do that." He comments seductively as he his thrusts grew more frenzied, his hips slapping against your ass with an urgency that left you both gasping for breath. "Give daddy one more." As he reaches down to rub your clit again, you mewl at the contact of his wet, slippery fingers returning to circle the already sensitive nub. He feels your body quickly contract around him, your muscles gripping him in a vice-like hold again. You felt yourself losing control, tears of pleasure streaming down your cheeks, "Don't stop, daddy please" you mewled, the words effortlessly rolling from your lips. With a loud cry, your body convulsed, your muscles tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "Fuck, that's it. Milk my cock dry." His thumb circles your swollen clit as he chases his own release. Consumed with feral satisfaction at the sight of your debauched state. "You're such a good slut for daddy." With a final few deep thrusts, Levi buries himself to the hilt, spilling his seed deep inside, moaning your name as empties himself into you.He holds you flush against him, painting your walls with his hot, thick cum.

Levi's chest heaves as he catches his breath, his grip on your hips unwavering. "Tch, look at the mess we've made," He gazes down at you with a glint in his eyes. "But I have to admit, it's a sight I quite enjoy."

You blush furiously at the events that have just unfolded. Your sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, hearts racing, and your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Your grip on the tree had turned your knuckles white as you turned to meet his gaze. "Guess I'm not the only animal around here."

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x y/n #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #aot smut #fanfiction smut

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hometoursandotherstuff · 20 hours

Text

The road leading up to the castle is long. (i.e. It has to be plowed in winter.)

Welcome to Bedford Castle in Bedford, WY. (That's what the desc. calls it, but a plaque says 'Heiner Castle.') It's a fairly new castle, built in 1992, but it's pretty impressive inside, for certain reasons, not all of them great. It has 5bds, 7ba and they're asking $14M. Well, it's on 40 acres of land, too.

It's built among the pine trees and mountains of Wyoming in the background. It looks a little like an Austrian castle. Can you imagine yourself running, dressed in a pinafore, singing "The hills are alive with the sound of music?"

In the summer, it looks like the Emerald City. We're off to see the wizard.

The grand entrance stairs. There's supposed to be an elevator somewhere.

In many ways it looks like a castle, with stone arches, but I like a more medieval look, with dark wood.

I wonder if the big lion would convey.

Check out the great hall/living room. It's kind of rustic, but with stone castle pillars.

Large dated kitchen. It looks like a house kitchen, not particularly castle-ish.

The dining room has a big fireplace with a modern insert. Is it me, or is that table ridiculously high?

Now this is a castle. Big white stone fireplace and columns. Very nice. Love the blue chandy.

Looking up at the mezzanine.

Here's the elevator. I can't tell where it's located, though.

Winding castle stairs.

What is that thing? It looks like a trapeze. Do you have to grab onto it and hoist yourself up?

Assuming that you got up here, this must be the primary bedroom.

I'm gonna say that this treacherous ladder, that looks like it has rollers for steps, goes up to the kids bedroom.

They have a bunker style room.

Very large bath. Dated. When you build something like this, you gotta think timeless. Oak cabinets w/carved fronts was a trend that quickly went out of style.

Here's another bedroom. I like the fireplace mantle with the thick columns.

And, this is one of the other smaller baths. Actually, I thought that was the elevator when I first saw it.

Metal stairs to the tower. This is super cool.

40 acres in Wyoming would be beautifully green in the summer.

But, you gotta be into snow, too.

https://www.trulia.com/home/2150-robinson-ln-bedford-wy-83112-299621690

#castle #houses #house tours #home tour

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therealslimshady · 8 months

Text

PJO TEASER TRAILER BREAKDOWN

Percy on the empire State building elevator! One fun thing I noticed here is that he's wearing annabeth's beaded necklace (with her father's ring) along with his own 🥺

Ares fight ares fight!

Percy walking into cabin 3 for the first time! At first I thought might have been him going to see the Oracle given the bones.... and how spooky it looks.... but the windows and pillars match what we see of cabin 3 in the previous trailer. Man Percy wasn't kidding about how empty his cabin is

Based on the helmets, I'm assuming this takes place sometime during capture the flag

This has gotta be medusa

We all know what scene this is ;)

Originally I thought this was after the bus exploded and they were just wandering, but given it's a pine tree and the weird, almost human, shape of the trunk.... that's Thalia guys ;-; So this shot is from the very beginning of the quest right as they're leaving camp

Not sure exactly when this is, but I'd bet it's at camp halfblood after Percy wakes up

This shot has given me quite the headache. The next shot has to take place in the arch, but this one looks so similar to it I can't decide whether or not they're intended to be in the same location. But honestly, given the fact that the windows don't look anything like the inside of the arch (though of course they could just not care about realism there lol), the fact we've got Annabeth's stabbing something (though again, maybe it's not 100% faithful), and the way that it seems unlikely they'd put two shots from the same scene back to back in a trailer, I'm thinking this could be on the bus with Mrs. Dodds.

This shot definitely takes place in St. Louis arch due to the curving of the floor and the big ol' monster.

Minotaur attacking the car scene :( There's Percy's mom :(

Based on the location, I'm pretty sure this takes place around the same time as the Ares fight

#I edited this post bc I changed my mind about one scene so if you've see another version of this post that's slightly different that's why #Pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percy jackson and the olympians #Pjo tv #pjo tv show #No imagine description #My post

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kurogane2512 · 1 month

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Had a weird dream of dominating Xianyun as a werewolf in heat. Could you make it a reality?

Male reader preferably.

istg why do I not get such dreams!! 😤😩

18+ CONTENT

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: Xianyun x Werewolf!Male!reader

Type: Smut (reader in heat, rough sex, breeding, knotting, creampie, mentions of making babies)

"Ganyu, have you seen one's partner around recently?" Xianyun asked Ganyu while at her abode, both of them had just finished with a training session.

"Y/n? I believe I saw him headed towards Chenyu Vale some hours ago, he also seemed to be in a bit of discomfort. I tried asking him if everything was okay but he disappeared out of my sight...."

Xianyun's brows furrowed in worry, "Discomfort? Care to elaborate, Ganyu?"

"H-Huh? I'm not sure, he was sweating a lot and just... wanted to be away from people."

Xianyun pondered for a moment then suddenly a realization struck to her, she wasted no time to transform into her Adepti form and flew away to Chenyu Vale to look for you.

"It must be that time.... why does he not inform one about it?"

She flew high and low in Chenyu Vale to look for you then ultimately used her elemental energy to track you. There you were kneeling on the ground in the middle of the forest, surrounded by dense trees and a stream on your right.

"Aaah.... dammit.... it hurts...." you panted out as you clenched your chest and laid on the floor, curling your body together.

"Y/n, are you okay?!" Xianyun landed right next to you and was about to touch you when you instinctively moved away from her.

"No! Stay away! Why are you here?!"

"Why is one here?! One came to aid you, of course! One knows what is happening to you!"

"Then let me handle it! I don't want to—!"

Xianyun stared at you in disbelief then silently moved towards you and patted your shoulder, she saw your tail and ears were out and your skin was warm to touch.

"I know you won't hurt me. One wishes to aid you in your troubles and be there for you."

You groaned as you felt her hand move towards your head and gently pat it. You were desperately trying to control your urges but you couldn't anymore. You turned around and pounced on her, pining her to the ground and holding her wrists up by your hand. You were sweating hard, breathing rapidly and she saw your hard and girthy member at full mast as it rubbed between her thighs.

"....Go on. Use one as you desire."

That was all you needed to hear. You practically ripped her bodysuit, exposing her ample breasts followed by ripping her undergarments too. You dived in to bite her collarbone, your hands roughly kneading her mounds of flesh while you rutted between her thighs. Xianyun wrapped her arms around you and held you close, pulling your face up to passionately kiss your lips. She was so beautiful and alluring in this form, and your heat only made your attraction towards her more intense.

Her hands moved down to pull off your shirt and you sat up to quickly unbutton your pants to pull out your aching cock. Xianyun gulped at the sight of your cock, it was red and throbbing with pre-cum already dripping down the tip. It was also bigger and thicker than usual, she knew she was going to be split open with it. You then gripped her waist and proceeded to put it inside her, she moaned feeling the warm tip brush her folds and in a smooth motion, you sheathed inside completly.

She loudly moaned and arched up at the sudden penetration, she looked down to see some part was still outside but she already felt so full. You gritted your teeth and thrust forward, finally hilting to the base and both of you moaned together at the pleasure. You then hammered away inside her, pounding at a fast and deep pace and hitting her sensitive spots. Xianyun was at your complete mercy already, it was a feat to get a highly revered Adeptus like her in this state.

"Aaah! Y/n... you are so deep! One feels.... it so much.... Aaah!~"

You groaned and folded her legs into a mating press position and drilled inside her, your cockhead slamming against her womb. Xianyun's eyes rolled to her skull, her tongue lolled out as she felt like being split into half and filled by your thick cock. It was a vastly different feeling than your regular times of mating, and she wondered why she didn't help you with your heats sooner.

Your mind was clouded with lust and need, all you could think about was fucking the hot and beautiful woman beneath you. Not just fuck; no, you had to breed her. You had to fill her up with your cum to the point that it would drip out of her, you had to knot her with your load and ensure she would have your babies. You knew she wanted it. She was just too prideful to properly say it.

You pulled out your cock until only the tip remained inside her then suddenly thrusted deep inside, her eyes widening and an erotic moan leaving her mouth. She felt your tip twitch inside her now, realizing you were going to cum. Her legs locked around your waist to keep you in, telling you she wanted you to cum inside. You were already planning to anyways.

"Cum in one's womb, my mate! Fill one with your seed!~"

Oh, she had to go and say that. You grunted and slammed down into her as you released your plentiful load, streams of hot and gooey liquid filling her snatch. Xianyun thought you were done, but you suddenly flipped her over and gripped her waist while angling your cock at her entrance again. She had no time to protest, your cock buried into her once again in a simple thrust. She was so wet from your seed, her walls clenching you tightly.

Xianyun whimpered, cockmeat slamming into her wet core, your thighs slapping against her ass. It was so lewd and dirty, if anyone saw a great Adepti like her in this state then she could never show her face in Liyue again, or even Teyvat for that matter. But she cared about none of that, her mind was only filled with the feeling of your thick cock pounding into her.

"Aaah... slow down.... one is not going anywhere.... one will be here for as— mhm.... as long as you need~"

You didn't hear her, nor did you care. You propelled forward which made her lay down on her stomach with a gasp, you placed your arms on either side of her head and immediately buried inside her again. Xianyun moaned the loudest now, her drenched walls having a deathly grip on you as you hammered against that one spongey spot which made her see stars.

"Fuck fuck.... take it.... take it all.... have my babies.... fuck!!!~" you moaned out a string of messy curses in your hazy state of pleasure. Your hips plowed down and slammed against her ass, sounds of thuds and smacks filling your ears and this public forest space. Archon knows if anyone heard you both, neither of you cared for the place anymore.

"Haah, you are so deep~" Xianyun moaned out, her voice weak and unsteady, "You are.... aaah~ You are hitting one's womb, oh Rex Lapis save me!~"

"He won't.... ngh! You said you'll be here for as long as I need.... fuck! You are so tight and warm, Xian.... let me fill you up nicely.... please.... I know you want it, fuck!~"

Xianyun couldn't deny she really wanted it, it was too good. Cockmeat hammered down into her and crammed her sodded cunt, she couldn't even keep track of time anymore as she only felt your cock continuously slamming inside her.

"I'm going to do it... ngh... I'm going to knot you now...." you husked in her ear then bit down her nape before slamming forward to hilt yourself inside and released another load, your knot plugged her up and prevented any drop from spilling out. Xianyun threw her head back as your hot cum filled her womb, she felt so stuffed but she wanted more. You licked up her nape where you bit her and continued rutting into her as your seed filled her up.

"More... I need to cum more...." you grunted and then started plowing again and all she could do was lay down and take it until your heat subsided. She knew she was far from done anyways, and you had plenty left in you to give her.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin women #xianyun #xianyun x reader #cloud retainer #cloud retainer x reader #genshin x reader #male reader

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ghouljams · 5 months

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And of course, Witch does notice him. She probably kind of hates him at first for always disrupting her prayers with his languid, confident footsteps as he enters her house under the guise of asking for a very specific remedy. She hates the way her stomach twists every time she sees his rugged face. She hates the way her mind goes blank for a second when his soft, yet commanding voice echoes in her ears.

And she despises how she can’t help but silently gush at every single one of his gifts. How she always puts them in places she just knows she will always see them, and how comforting their sight is. How she feels her gaze soften even just a little bit when he breathes a sigh of relief as she bandages his wounds an massages his sore muscles. How her shoulders suddenly feel heavy with worry every time he tells her he is about to leave for another expedition, barely managing to steel her voice when she tells him to come back in one piece (after all, it’s always a nightmare to rummage through the heavy northern snow to find the ingredients needed to take care of big injuries). How she immediately goes to ask the Gods to watch over him, her hands clutching the necklace he once gifted her.

And, most of all, she loathes the way she loves him, her mind distracting her with many thoughts of him when she has to tend to her duties. She is down bad, and he is too. It’s only a matter of time before they both crumble in each other’s arms under the delectable tension these feelings weave in between them.

Just a little headcanon. Mii is inspired. We love characters who can fit in multiple AUs.

Mii do you wanna just take over for me because holy shit. I literally sat up and rolled my shoulders let's fucking go, I gotta write some fic, I'm inspired but I don't think I can match that because GOD. The mutual pining.

There are small things you do to prepare for men to come home. There are big things too, of course, you bind winds with your staff, you ask the gods for protection, you bless the wives with their husband's safe return. But the small things... You change out the furs you wear, return the silky pelts to their usual hanging place so you don't seem too fond of the man that gifted them. The same with your buckles, your brooches, your necklace. You twist a thin silver band around your finger, like a branch from a willow tree it always strikes you as too delicate to come from a viking. There's no filigree to it, not stones, no patterns, it's simple and well loved.

You do these small things because you loathe the man they represent. He's a distraction from your duties, he clouds your judgement, pulls the spirits from you. He watches you with such bare affection in his eyes that you wonder how it would be to be his wife. How it would feel to wake up every morning to those hands cradling you. Only to have him leave you, the same way he always does.

The gods whisper to you as you sit in front of their alter. Dissonant, clouded by the spirits that guard their realm. Chills wrack your body, your mind far away, drifting through the different planes searching for some new prophecy or vision that might keep your man somewhere closer. (They come to you in dreams, and tell you of new lands, new people, force you on to the elders and tell them to send out a party. You'll never be free of this awful wanting.)

The spirits pull your head back, arch your back painfully to look at the intruder in your temple. "You're always in such a rush to get back here," They tell him, voices overlapping, "is she really so special to you?"

"Of course," Price breathes, his shoulders heaving to compensate for his run to the temple from the shore. His feet carrying his heavy body to stand behind you, what are a few steps when you're at the end of them? He watches as you jerk forward and spit henbane seeds from your mouth, coughing and sucking in breaths to shake the trance. He crouches, his hands reaching for your shaking form. Völva don't live long if there's no one to care for them. It's the spirits, the elders say, no living creature can hold the dead without joining them a little each time.

Your fingers scrape the floor, nails digging into the wood and furs that surround the alter. Hands touch your back, familiar enough to make you shiver and tip your head to look at the man you always send so far away from you.

"Welcome back," He tells you, his voice so soft it feels like a blow. You look away from him, fix your eyes on the carved wood of Freyja's statue.

"I should be telling you that."

Price hums, his hands leave you. It's freezing without their warmth. You're frozen without his warmth, doomed to this until it takes you the way it takes every völva. Stuck, until Hel calls you home. You hate this man, you shouldn't love him the way you do. He shouldn't entertain your affections the way he does. He shouldn't encourage them.

"I brought you something." His furs rustle behind you as you collect yourself. You hear the leather cord of a pouch open and you sit up with a sigh. When he doesn't follow up or press anything into your hands you turn to ask him what he's brought. He presses a berry against your lips and like a fool you take it. It's a slightly bitter burst on your tongue, crushed gently by your teeth into something almost sweet. You eye the pouch in his hands, the bright red and orange berries inside. You feel yourself soften a little, smiling when you meet his affectionate stare.

"Rowan berries," You half ask, your voice feels lighter, gentler, "Thank you." It sticks like a knife in his chest. Something so simple makes you look at him like that, like coming home. Gods what he wouldn't do for you.

He's never seen you use any of his other gifts, doesn't even know if you've kept them. Price had thought something edible would go over well, easier to make sure you were satisfied with it. You reach for another berry out of the bag, the thin strip of silver around your finger glinting in the firelight. His ring. The first thing he'd gifted you, when he'd been overcome by the need to have any foothold in your life. You look up at him through your lashes, pop another red berry in your mouth with a questioning hum.

"Are you alright?" You ask, deft fingers reaching to inspect him, "You're not injured are you?" The concern in your voice might kill a weaker man, surely no one can hold up under your care. Not when you look at them like that.

"No," Price chokes out, gritting his teeth as your fingers brush his skin, "No injuries to report, we've got a healer now so-"

"You don't need me?" You smile when you say it, like a joke, but there's sorrow in your eyes. Price can't stop himself from cupping your face, your soft skin under his rough hand is intoxicating. It makes his heart clench painfully. Can't you see he's trying to ease your burden? Are you truly so wrapped up in völva that you've lost sight of any other value you might have?

"What would I do without you sweetheart?" He whispers. There's a pain in your eyes he can't name. It hurts to see you turn away from his hand. To see you smooth your hands over your dress as you stand, offer him your hand to help him up. You smile, some mask closing off your eyes from him.

"Well, we might as well go and greet the men," You pull on your duties like a well worn cloak, more völva than person when you pluck your staff from the ground, "do our jobs for the elders."

It's a reminder to both of you. The spirits aren't the only ones that keep their eyes on you. Price nods, and follows you out of the temple, pressing the pouch into your hands as he goes.

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hotformpreg · 4 months

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Kenneth, a mature male, and his younger husband Lucas, were filled with anticipation as they arrived at the cozy cabin nestled deep in the snowy wilderness of rural Utah. They had chosen this secluded haven to celebrate Christmas, enjoying the peaceful serenity and the chance to indulge in their deepest desires.

As they stepped inside the cabin, the warmth of the crackling fireplace greeted them, casting a soft glow over the room adorned with a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. The scent of pine mingled with the aroma of cinnamon-spiced candles, creating an atmosphere of sensual delight.

Kenneth, his body swollen with the precious gift of life, was nine months pregnant. His milk-filled breasts, aching and sensitive, yearned for attention. The thought of his swollen nipples being teased and suckled sent shivers of arousal down his spine. He knew that Lucas, his devoted husband and the father of their child, was more than willing to fulfill his desires.

As the snow continued to fall gently outside, Lucas couldn't resist the sight of Kenneth's luscious curves and the promise of milky pleasure. He undressed Kenneth slowly, his fingertips tracing every inch of his lover's expectant body. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing in a rhythm of desire.

Lucas guided Kenneth to the plush rug in front of the fireplace, where they lay together, skin against skin, their bodies entwined. The fire's warmth caressed their bodies as their passion ignited.

With gentle yet firm hands, Lucas began to explore Kenneth's breasts, cupping them, feeling the weight of the milk within. He teased and squeezed, eliciting moans of pleasure from Kenneth's lips. The milk, creamy and warm, trickled from his erect nipples, a sweet nectar of desire.

Lucas, unable to resist the temptation any longer, took one of Kenneth's engorged nipples into his mouth, sucking and licking with fervor. The taste of the milk, mixed with the essence of his lover, drove him wild with lust. Kenneth arched his back, offering himself completely to Lucas's mouth, feeling his breasts emptying with each suckle.

The sound of their passionate moans filled the cabin, intermingling with the crackling of the fire. The pleasure intensified as Lucas continued to stimulate Kenneth's breasts, alternating between each swollen nipple. Kenneth's body quivered with ecstasy, his breath coming in gasps as his arousal grew.

The rhythm between them intensified, their bodies moving in sync. Lucas, unable to contain himself any longer, positioned himself between Kenneth's spread legs, his throbbing erection pressing against Kenneth's entrance. With a moan of anticipation, he slowly entered, inch by inch, filling Kenneth with his love and desire.

Their bodies moved together, a symphony of pleasure and connection. Kenneth's pregnant belly gently rocked with each thrust, the sensation of being filled and stretched overwhelming his senses. The combination of their shared intimacy, the Christmas ambiance, and the snow falling outside created an atmosphere of pure erotic bliss.

As they reached the peak of their passion, their cries of ecstasy echoed through the cabin, harmonizing with the crackling fire. Kenneth's milk-filled breasts bounced with each thrust, the sensation intensifying his pleasure. Lucas, unable to hold back any longer, climaxed, releasing himself deep within Kenneth's welcoming body.

They lay there, entwined and breathless, their bodies glistening with sweat and the remnants of their love-making. The fire crackled and the snow continued to fall, a serene backdrop to their passionate encounter.

#male pregnancy #mpreg #mpreg belly #mpreg birth #mpreg kink #pregnantman

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goosetheluce · 4 months

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you're my home (lucy gray baird x fem!reader)

info: cussing, ever so slight angst, mutual pining, confession, reader is running from district twelve with lucy gray

a/n: it's not weird to have a crush on someone with the first name as you !! taylor swift and taylor lautner did it leave me alone

»--•--«

you stirred from your rest at the bright sunbeams pouring through the trees. and maybe also lucy gray's insistent tugging and repetition of your name.

"holy shit," she grumbles, clearly dismayed. "wake up! we're almost there. gotta get moving."

" 'm up. lord."

you heaved a sigh and arched your back, a tight line of pops rushing down your spine. you took a deep inhale, eyes shutting again as you ran a hand along your fucked up, greasy hair.

traveling on foot for a week isn't the most flattering look.

when you peeled your eyes open, you were met with lucy gray's judging stare beating down on you. considering the way the corners of her lips twitched, though, you knew she couldn't stay annoyed at your heavy sleeping for too long.

"gimme a break, lucy gray. i'm not used to this," you rasped. you rolled out of your tent and lay dramatically on the forest floor. what's a little more dirt, anyway?

she scoffed and her radiance peeked through her exasperated face. the wide smile woke you up a little more.

"should've hung out with the covey more while we were still around the district," she scolds, grabbing your soft hands and wrapping them in hers to pull you to your feet. "might've taught you how to not be a baby."

"maybe. but i ran away with you, didn't i?" you retorted. "i think that makes me pretty grown."

lucy gray's playful smile faded into a more serene one. she simply gave a nod and stepped away, picking up her backpack.

"look what i found while you were asleep," she murmured. she pulled out eggs (poor mother bird), and a bundle of herbs for tea later. your mouth watered.

"no salt and pepper?" you teased, taking an egg and inspecting it. it was heavy. you were hit with homesickness as you remembered your kitchen, which sometimes struggled to stay stocked, but at least you had the chance for butter.

you both decided on soft-boiling the eggs in the tiny pot you begged lucy gray to pack before you ventured off. you sat and ate, peeling away the crackling shell and talking about the journey and whatever else before packing up and hiking through another day.

things were natural with her. hell, everything about her was natural. her beauty was untouched by the standards of the capitol and instead flourished freely. it was evident in the lively bounce of her dark waves and her sunkissed olive skin. you wondered when the last time was you looked in the mirror without picking everything apart, envying lucy gray's outward confidence.

"i still can't believe we're doing this," you spoke up, the silence becoming insufferable.

lucy gray turns her head to meet your eyes, her expression neutral. sweat pooled on her hairline and dripped down her temples. you knew if you reached out to touch her, her skin would be blazing with the power of the sun. good thing she doesn't burn.

"like, running away and all that. i thought i'd rot away in twelve for the rest of my life."

till i met you, you added on silently.

lucy gray laughed.

"a woman like you? naw, i had to steal you away. couldn't let such a beauty go to work in those damned mines."

"you really think i'm that much of a priss?" you sighed, batting your eyelashes at her sarcastically.

"oh, honey, i never said that. sometimes a girl just wants a treat for herself. so i got my treat."

you blamed the high noon for your feverish cheeks.

the minutes turned into hours, and the shadows stretched across the grass. laughter rang across the fields.

"your first kiss was billy taupe? he's so fucking boring, i'm sorry," you cackled, eyes shut tight from hysteria. "sadly for the rest of us, though...next to you, anyone is boring."

"what? first kisses aren't exactly known to be glamorous," lucy gray defended. "besides, i got the real deal after him."

"oh?" you perked up, voice stabilizing. "this mystery guy must be the reason your head was in the clouds...at least, according to maude."

suddenly, the happiness drained from her face. "for a while, i guess. wasn't worth it." you averted your eyes to the front of the scenery. your grip tightened around the straps of your backpack.

"you deserve better. you'll find someone. a hot guy from district four, maybe," you teased, nudging her arm with your elbow.

like me.

"oh, perfect, a fisher! don't even need to buy cologne for his birthday; it'd be useless against that rank," she remarks sourly.

you giggled as her teasing gaze met yours. your grin was mirrored, and you memorized the crevices of her smile lines. her eyes fluttered down to your lips for a brief moment before she cleared her throat and unraveled her map.

you let out a deep breath and looked around. you remembered when you first met lucy gray, frozen and terrified to see somebody else outside the limits of twelve. she eyed you warily from the lake, her lips parted and brow furrowed.

you realized you should probably say something to the girl in the lake, but you didn't know what. she waded toward you and began a less-than-friendly warning before you interrupted her.

"we don't have food. i'm just out here to gather some things."

the girl's voice halted and her shoulders reluctantly dropped from their defensive position.

"thank god."

"what are you doing in there? aren't you gonna get caught?" you inquired nervously, eyes flitting everywhere. the girl laughed brightly.

"those joke 'peacekeepers' don't care about anything that goes on past the fences. not even a covey girl swimming. scandalous, i know."

you stared as the sun washed over her soaked hair.

"lucy gray baird," she offered up her name. "but you can call me lucy gray. that's what all my friends call me."

"i'm..." you started, walking to the edge of the dock to meet her at the water.

she muttered something quietly, bringing you back to the present.

"what's that?"

"ah, just that we should stop here for the night. it's not a good idea to go through the forest in the dark. so easy to get lost," lucy gray corrects herself. you nodded and looked around for a spot.

"there looks good," you suggested, pointing to a spot under a lone cluster of trees. lucy gray hums in agreement before starting towards the spot, taking your hand in hers. your heart skipped.

the sky wept deep indigo, bleeding down into the horizon as the sun sank. insects chirped and buzzed, their calls flowing through the tree leaves and across the grassy plains. the fire was warm; the smell of roasted game and pungent tea carried away in the wind. lucy gray's wavy voice split the thick summer air pleasantly. your eyes stayed fixed on her. her dainty fingers held her tea. a sly smile painted her face.

"you stare a lot," she remarked. "you know that, right?"

your eyebrows raised a bit. you kept looking, wondering how she'd noticed and still hadn't even looked up to meet your gaze. until she did.

god, you loved the way her eyes looked like a cup of black coffee. the way your grandma used to make it. or maybe the tree bark you peeled away from a rotting trunk as a kid. the soil embedded between your fingers after a long day of work.

"i do know that," you responded a second too late. awkward delivery. you swallowed and looked into the towering coniferous forest. shadows crept from beneath the canopy and raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

"we should probably wrap it up soon," you insisted. "put out the fire, get to bed, all that." you picked at a scab till it flaked off.

lucy gray scoffed, setting her tea beside your backpacks.

"the sun is barely gone. just 'cause the birds are sleepin' don't mean we are."

you said nothing in return, still wary of the woods nearby. your fingers pressed firmly into the skin of your arms, which were rested on your knees. you sighed and put your head down.

you felt lucy gray's gaze burning into you. you felt the former scab swelling and the droplet of blood spilling down your arm.

"you messed with it too much. might get infected if we don't clean it," she asserted. you smiled with your head on your knees. lucy gray was making an excuse to touch you. you wondered silently if she felt the same intense heartrate, the same jolt of electricity every time your arms brushed as you hiked through the countryside.

away from all the rules.

you lifted your head and saw lucy gray hurrying back with a damp towel and honey. your brow furrowed.

"what's that for?"

she chuckled as she kneeled down to wipe away the blood and dirt with the towel.

"it'll keep that cut clean. antibacterial properties an' all. trust me."

your breath hitched as the towel made contact with your cut. the gentle sting of raw honey being spread across the wound is what snapped your drooping eyelids back open.

definitely not lucy gray's lips so close to you.

"...hey," she whispered.

"hi?" you responded, smiling a bit.

"it's alright if you're homesick. you can talk to me about it, if you'd like."

you breathed out a long sigh and pressed your forehead to hers. she hesitated before bringing her left hand to rest on the side of your face.

"lucy gray," you began, but struggled to finish. you pulled back slightly to make eye contact.

"i'm not that homesick. i have you," you whispered softly.

"you're my home."

you were met with a tense silence. you wanted to turn and run, because how could you be so stupid to tell her that, and you ruined the moment, and-

suddenly her lips are pressing gently into yours. your eyes widened. the taste of the tea she was drinking lingered on your tongue as she shuffled back.

"fuck! fuck, i'm sorry, i wasn't thinkin'," she apologized, voice shaking as she stared at you. she fiddled with her hands anxiously. you'd never seen her so flustered.

all you did was make your way back to her, cupping her face in a heavy kiss. you smiled against her, feeling her body relax into yours. her hands rested on top of yours before sliding comfortably onto your waist. she pulled back, jet black eyes bright with starlight and exhilaration.

"coming with you, getting away from twelve...it's been the best decision i ever made," you confessed, dropping your hands from her face and instead rubbing her arms. "i've wanted nothing except you for like, a year now."

"we've known each other for almost three years. i'm wounded," lucy gray teased, her fingers unsuccessfully smoothing the top layer of your hair.

"well, was i better than billy taupe?"

"quiet, you."

»--•--«

#lucy writes #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #tbosbas #tbosas #tbosas x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #the hunger games

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whaledenwtf · 5 months

Text

Halsin x Dryad!Reader - The Summer Solstice

IM BACK BITCHES!!! Instead of doing my presentation for university I'm typing this. You're welcome.

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Link All other links will be at the end of the fic!! ENJOY

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Oral (Female and Male Receiving), BEACH SEX YEAH, Size Difference, Oh Yeah Did I Mention MATING PRESS

Once again, my efforts to keep him as true to character have been made. :)

WORD COUNT: 3630

Link to some Summer Solstice Rituals I reference here: LINK

You couldn't help but be impressed. It was the summer solstice, and the Arch Druid of the Emerald Grove handling the rituals of the day was excelling. Excelling enough to gain the attentions of Silvanus himself. You were watching his back from behind an oak tree, admiring the musculature. He was tall, strong. You liked that. Your mind flitted between the mortal and what had happened earlier in the day. The Oak Father presented himself to you in your mind earlier today, expressing his excitement of one of his followers.

"His name is Halsin. He has excelled in many of the rituals and in assisting nature. He has even reached Arch Druid status." He had said offhandedly. You were always a curious Dryad, and knew you had to investigate. You knew Silvanus was meddling but you haven't been around mortals in decades. You wanted to join the festivities after all; the summer solstice was your favourite holiday! The flowers are already in full bloom, the summer air is sweet with the smell of hydrangeas and peonies. You knew many of your companions were celebrating on their own, with nature and chosen company. You decide to get a little closer to the celebrations, walking out from behind the oak tree you were hiding behind. Many of the druids turned to look at you and gasped. Many of them dropped their lutes and violins, the sounds of nature becoming louder in the sudden silence. Many of them came to you, with offerings of honeyed mead and flower crowns. You crouch down to a small elf child holding a marigold and lavender crown.

"Little one, may I wear your crown?" They look at their parents for guidance before nodding and placing the crown above your head. It blooms further once it is placed upon you, and the smell of lavender wafts around the air. You pluck one of the lavender buds from your crown and put it behind the child's ear, smiling.

"Now we match." The child giggles in wonder, before running to hide behind her mother's leg, watching you in glee. You rise to stand, only to notice the Arch Druid had turned around to watch you. You are stunned by his beauty. His face is angular, with a tattoo on the right side and a gruesome bear scar on the left. He was perfect, in your eyes. You smile at the crowd you attracted, before walking past them to reach Halsin. When you get close, you smell him and are enamored further. Pine, musk and cedar. You can understand why Silvanus had sung his praises; he was the embodiment of nature.

"We haven't had a dryad join in our festivities yet. May Silvanus preserve you." You bow dramatically, the vines and leaves that make up your clothing sway beautifully behind you.

"An honour it is to meet you, Arch Druid Halsin. Your reputation precedes you." He chuckles, his voice deep and booming.

"I hope you heard all good things I hope." He smirks down at you, hazel eyes glistening in the twilight. The last beams of sunlight shine on the both of you. You glow with a radiance, like water reflecting sunlight, and he is attracted to you. Your beauty, your essence, is all captivating.

"Silvanus has only sung your praises, Halsin. I had hoped to see you in person and was graced by your ceremony. Wonderfully done." He blushes, the tips of his ears burning crimson. He seems at shock from your words; Silvanus has praised him? He feels truly blessed. You turn to look at the onlookers, who were still gazing at your beauty.

"Please, continue your celebrations. The Oak Father wishes you all enjoy yourselves in the time of festivities. Enjoy nature as he intended." You words were clear, and not a moment later, did everyone begin celebrating again. You turn back to Halsin, who is watching you in wonder. You blush lightly under his gaze, before sidestepping to look at the altar of light.

"Beautiful spread. I see you added citrine and pyrite; as well as some local blooms." That seems to snap him out of his spell and he nods.

"The celebration of the solstice is one I take very seriously." You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

"May I?" He waves over the altar, allowing you to do your magic. Your eyes begin to glow green, and sunflowers begin to bloom in your hand. You lay them aesthetically on the altar, smiling.

"Thank you." He tells you earnestly. You giggle at his enthusiasm, smiling as you turn back to him.

"Of course-" You look at the horizon, noticing the the sun had set. "Well, I believe it is time for the bonfire and feast! Oh, I haven't been to solstice festivities in years." You tell him excitedly.

"Join us." He tells you. You smile widely at him, and his heart flutters in his chest.

"I'd love to. I'll dance- oh and sing! I'm so excited!" You are buzzing in place. He finds it adorable. His hand goes to the small of your back ushering you forward.

"Go on! Enjoy yourself." His hand feels warm on your skin, and you blush.

"What about you?" He waves you off.

"I tend to look over the festivities. Have to make sure we do not lose any cubs." You bite your lip, thinking. You had an idea.

"What if I ask you to celebrate with me? Would you join then?" His gaze glances down at your lips before meeting your eyes.

"I can make an exception, for such a beautiful guest." You blush once again. He smirks as your skin darkens, and he can't help but wonder if that blush shows up on other parts of your body, hidden to his eyes.

"Then I will make sure to save a dance for you." You go on your tippy-toes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, before running forward into the fray. His hand holds his face where you had kissed him, and he smiles. He can't wait.

You had spent the last hour dancing with the children of the Grove. You were showing them the dryad's dance, a sensual dance with a lot of swirling; your arms swaying. Like a willow tree you wave and sway, the wind following your movements. Your eyes catch Halsin watching at you, a heat in his gaze. At the end of the dance, you end with a flourish, arms spread up towards the moon. Flowers and flower petals fall over the children, who squeal and giggle excitedly. They come to hug you and you pet many of them, sprouting daisies and marigolds to give to each child. Once they receive their gifts, they run around the grove, chasing each other and playing. The music changes to a very familiar tune. The musicians begin playing "Down by the River", and you begin to sing. Your voice, ethereal and otherworldly echoes in nature. You begin to dance, voice still echoing. Like a siren, Halsin felt the pull of your voice, and began to edge closer to you subconsciously. Once he gets close enough, you grab his wrist, tugging him into a dance. You begin to circle one another, one of your hands palm to palm with one another. You continue to sing, your gazes locked. He is entranced by you.

"Down, down, down by the river." You end the song, twirling around Halsin. You both bow at one another, as everyone applauds you both.

"Thank you for the dance." He tells you huskily. You squirm under his gaze.

"I was hoping for more than one dance." You tell him quietly. He feels particularly emboldened by your response, and puts his hand around your waist.

"What were you thinking of?" He asks you quietly. Your hands lay on his chest.

"Perhaps we can celebrate the solstice together... privately." He hums, his arms pulling you closer to him. You feel his strength through your close bodies, and admire him further, hands caressing his chest, mapping his body.

"What of my duties?" He asks you. He doesn't seem to want to decline. You look around, noticing everyone having fun and participating in ritualistic dances.

"Meet me near the shoreline after the last song has ended and nature's music is loud again. I will wait for you." Your lips graze his gently. You taste like freshwater and thyme. His lips become numb, and his mind is emptied of all rational thought. His eyes glow amber as he watches you walk to the shore, hips swaying. A low growl leaves his chest, and he almost transforms into a bear. He can't help but curse his need to diligently do his duties. This night will feel eternal.

When the last notes of music have died down, and all that is left of the large bonfire is embers, he seeks your company. The night is dark, lit by glowing mushrooms and occasional group of fireflies. His path is dark, but he has never felt such peace. He walks the path to the shoreline, where your voice carries as you sing; the sound of crashing waves accompanying your music. His heart beats loudly in his ears, the tips of them twitching in his excitement. In all his years of existence, he has never lain with a dryad. It seems surprising, for many of his years he had taken an extensive amount of lovers, all of which were of many different races and ages. His bare feet finally hit the sand, and he sinks slightly in his continued path to you. He sees your ears twitch before you turn around, smiling.

"I was beginning to get concerned." You tell him softly. Your voice was gentle, and the emotions that burst forward from his heart urged him to speed in his walk to you, almost sprinting.

"You needn't be concerned of me." You rise to greet him, hands stretch out. He gets close enough to grasp them, and pulls you forward. You land on his chest, and are forced to look up at him. The stars are reflecting beautifully in your eyes. They are focused on his own gaze, and he has never felt more grateful for all of the actions, faults and obstacles in his life that had brought him here; with you.

"Can I not be concerned for someone I care about?" He blushes at the remark, and you notice the druid's skin darken. His hands let go of your own to grasp the sides of your face.

"You care?" You bite your lip, watching his amorous gaze.

"When Silvanus spoke of you, I must admit it was not the first time I've heard of the admirable and fearless Arch Druid Halsin. Your bravery and attunement to nature always attracted me to the idea of you. Now that I stand before you, my heart beats in tune with yours; the idea of any other being is far away in my mind. You take the forefront of many of my thoughts, and have been for the entirety of the day." His hands pull your face forward, his lips smashing against yours. This kiss was unlike the other; passion, excitement and need were felt in this kiss. You moan against him, and his tongue takes advantage of your lowered defenses. Your tongues move against each other languidly, caressing one another. You pull away from him, only to push him down so he is laying in the sand. You sit atop his lap, and begin kissing him again.

He decided that if lightning had struck him in this moment, he'd die the happiest man alive. Such words and attentions he had never heard, especially from the lips of someone he's come to admire so much. The world around them dissipated, and all that was left was them and time indefinite- your words and touches, your two souls joining in nature's basest form of love. His hands caress the sides of your body, his touch igniting heat wherever they touch, a heat blossoming in the very core of your being.

When air becomes a necessity for you both, you separate. You begin to pull his ceremonial tunic upwards, before laying it gently next to you both, taking care in the important garb. His pants are next, and his undergarments fall with them. You kneel between his legs and admire him. It seems Silvanus had taken great care in his looks, and his personality. If you hadn't known better, you'd believe him a god; crafted from your mind's eye. In a moment, he lifts himself up to remove your dryadic clothing, mostly leaves and vines, so he could gaze upon you. Once both naked, your touches become lighter, hovering over him ever so slightly. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, the hairs rising slightly.

"Your beauty is one I never thought I could ever gaze upon." You tell him sweetly. His eyes leave your face for a moment to gaze at the rest of you.

"Sitting here, with you, shows me that some of nature's greatest beauties are ones I hadn't had the chance to gaze upon yet. No words can even begin to describe how I see you in this moment; your beauty cannot be fully grasped with something as limiting as words." You crawl further up into the crevice of his thighs, your belly rubbing against his hardened member. Your noses are touching now, and you are exchanging each other's air.

"I need you." You whimper, and one of his hands grasp the back of your neck, under the thickness of your hair to pull you into a savouring kiss. His other hand goes to tread the path of your body; from grasping and playing with the pebbled peaks of your breasts, to caressing your bountiful curves to the apex of your thighs. You moan into his mouth as his thick fingers tickle the outline of your cunt, feeling the wetness that has gathered there. He moans when he realizes truly how wet you had become. His fingers then dip in between the seam of your cunt, to gather some of your nectar before separating from your lips to taste you.

His eyes flash golden at the taste of you on his tongue. Your wanton moan turns into a shriek as he pulls you up until your cunt is levelled with his mouth.

"I'm going to savour you now. Devour you, until you cannot stand, and your voice is strained. May I taste you, sweet one?" You respond to him by laying your full weight on his face. He wastes no time in savouring your scent, and... devouring you. His tongue explores your depths, as his nose bumps into your clit. You grind on him, juices flowing down his chin. He grabs your plush thighs, grinding you harder into him. He pulls away for a moment to release his grab on one of your thighs before plunging two of his thick fingers into you and sucking on your pearl. You will not last with his attentions. He is feasting on you, your moans and pants urging him further.

"That's right, my little lavender. Finish on my tongue and fingers. Cum for me." The authoritative tone his voice took shook you to your core, and you finish on his fingers and talented tongue. With a moan, your juices leak out of you. He begins to lick your mess, moaning at the taste of your essence. His grip on your thighs have waned enough for you to scramble away, legs shaking. You land with a thump on the ground between his thighs, grasping his cock in your hand. You stroke him once, then twice, before rubbing the pad of your thumb on his head and spreading his precum around. You pull away to taste him, and moan. He growls at your debauchery.

"I'm going to taste you, Halsin. Need to taste you." You huff out as if out of breathe, before taking him in your hand again. Your lips descend on him, tasting him. Your tongue was heavenly on him, and he grasped your hair in his hands, bucking into you. You moan around him, taking him to the back of your throat. He grunts at your attentions, grasp tightening. You pull away for a moment, taking deep breathes before looking him in the eye and taking him further into your mouth. You reach the patch of hair at his base, the tip of his cock hitting the furthest parts of your throat.

"O-oh. Fuck-" Hearing him lose his sense of self, and the fact he uttered an expletive made you feverish, and you began to deepthroat him, ushering him to thrust into your mouth. He takes advantage of your wants, thrusting into you. Your hands move upwards, fondling his heavy sack. Without warning he thrusts deep, finishing in your throat. You swallow as much as you could, the taste of him tart but delicious; you want more. You continue to suck and bob up and down his member, until he cums again, shaking and groaning loudly. You pull off of him, gathering the cum and spittle that leaked from your mouth and putting it back in your mouth, savouring him. He watches you with hunger. He sits up and growls, exciting you. His eyes glow amber, and without warning he transforms into a brown cave bear. You bite your lip at the transformation, aroused by his show of strength. He transforms back into his elvish form, stumbling.

"I-I'm so sorry, I transform when my baser... urges become too much." You shake your head, before sitting down and spreading your legs. Your hand spreads your cunt open, and he watches how your thighs and lips glisten with arousal.

"Breed me, my bear." His eyes flash golden again, but he refrains from transforming again. His arms grasp your thighs and pull them to your shoulders. You're bent in half, and the tip of his still very hard cock is poking at your entrance.

"Please Halsin. Take me. Make me yours." You tell him, urging him to thrust into you. He grunts and thrusts into you with one stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches off the sand, breasts pressed against his chest. Your lips meet again, teeth clashing at the force of your kisses. His thrusts are rough, and he continues to hit that sweet spot. You keen in his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly. He continues his pace, hitting that spot effortlessly each time. His hips grind against your clit with each thrust, and your body is overstimulated quickly. You know you will not last long, his passion and accuracy in driving you wild bringing you closer to your precipice.

His lips leave yours, before latching onto your neck and biting you. You caterwaul at the action, gripping his triceps tightly. Your nails are digging into the skin, but he does not care. He is selfish in this moment, wishing you would stay like this with him forever, until the world has disintegrated around them. He removes his teeth from your neck, before his lips latch onto your nipple and suckle from them. Its too much, and you arch your back painfully as you finish. Your constricting walls bring him to completion, your cunt milking his cock. You whimper as you feel his heavy load inside you, leaking around his cock. He thrusts again, and both of you seize with sensitivity. He pulls out of you gently, before laying down next to you. His arm pulls you onto his chest, and you bask in his warmth.

"I'm sorry." He whispers to you. Your head snaps up to look at him. He looks upset, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong, my bear?" He shakes his head.

"I'm selfish. I'm afraid for the sun's rise for that may take you away from me forever. I... I do not want to let you go, my love." Your eyes get misty, and your hug him fiercely.

"Why apologize? If I could I'd spend eternity in your embrace." His arms wrap around you, holding you to him tightly.

"But you cannot." He whispers. A tear leaves your eyes.

"I'm afraid not. But I can promise to come to you again. When the wind wafts the smell of lavender and marigolds in the air, that will be me calling to you." He closes his eyes and savours his last moments with you.

"Then let us enjoy what time we have left." You nod, wiping your tears from your eyes.

Until sunrise, he spends his time with you in silence, basking in your company. He has never felt such loss when the person has not left his embrace. This time with you has changed him, and he does not know how he can continue his devotion and duties after meeting you. When the dawn breaks, you're moving out of his arms, heartbroken.

"I will visit you as soon as I can." You promise him, getting dressed in your dryadic dress. He pulls his clothes onto his body, which has become cold without your touch.

"I will not forget this moment with you-" He pauses, frowning at his realization. "And… What is your name?" He asks you, cringing as he realizes his poor manners. You look over your shoulder, smiling gently as the sun hits your body.

"(Y/N). Hopefully fate allows us another moment together, my handsome bear." You disappear with a flourish, fully bloomed lavender and marigolds left where you were standing. Y/N… Your name is sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the taste of you. He can never forget a name as sweet as yours, a name that will probably stay branded on his brain until his last breathe.

THE END.

If you'd like to request anything, please do so! I'm getting back into writing and I'd love to write anything inspired by the people! Send requests here: LINK Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: LINK

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #halsin smut #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin x dryad!reader #oh yeah we get sex #sex time #you call him my bear #i want him so bad #need his tree trunk arms around me NOW #im attracted to pixels help

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thewulf · 8 days

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In the Arms of Fate || Aragorn

Summary: Request - During the war with Sauron, she gets kidnapped and tortured badly by Saruman. Aragorn and the others immediately get on a mission to rescue her and eventually find her barely alive... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write but I really like how it turned out. Thank you for the amazing requests anon, hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,600 +

TW: talks of torture, pain, reader gets taken, general LOTR triggers

In the middle of the raging war against Sauron you found yourself drawn to the Fellowship not only by fate but by your own unique blend of skills and qualities that made you an indispensable member of the group. Aragorn quickly recognized your unwavering loyalty and the depth of your courage. He insisted on your inclusion in the Fellowship. He saw in you a kindred spirit as someone who shared his determination to see the quest through to the end.

Your skills were varied and essential to the success of the Fellowship. As a seasoned fighter you were proficient in various forms of combat. You sported weapons with precision and grace. But it wasn't just your prowess on the battlefield that set you apart. It was also your keen intellect and quick thinking that made you invaluable to the group. You possessed a sharp mind and a strategic approach to problem-solving, often providing crucial insights and solutions during moments of peril. Even Legolas looked to you for guidance from time to time.

Gimli was initially skeptical of your presence in the Fellowship. But even he soon came to appreciate the depth of your skills and the strength of your character. Your friendship with him grew as you shared stories of battles fought and victories won. You formed a bond that transcended the differences between your races. Together you and Gimli formed a formidable duo. Your strengths complementing each other in ways that made the Fellowship stronger as a whole.

With Legolas, your relationship was characterized by playful banter and teasing exchanges. From the moment you met there was a natural rapport between you. It was like a shared understanding that lent itself to lighthearted jests and witty banter. Legolas never missed an opportunity to tease you. His playful remarks eliciting laughter and smiles even in the darkest of times. Despite the teasing there was a deep form of friendship between you. Formed through shared experiences and mutual respect. He loved to tease you, especially about a certain ranger that had captured your heart with ease. It was on one particular eve that Legolas had let you know that he knew too. He wasn’t blind. He caught your longing looks. But he too caught Aragorn staring right back at you.

The evening was alive with the crackling of the campfire and the soft rustle of the forest around you. As you sat beside the fire completely lost in thought, Legolas approached with his characteristic grace, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Y/N, lost in thought again?" he remarked. A teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And he likely did.

You chuckled softly turning to face him. "Just contemplating our next move," you replied, though your thoughts were anything but focused on strategy. Instead, they drifted to a certain ranger sitting across the way who occupied far too much space in your mind.

Legolas arched an eyebrow, his keen gaze fixing on you with knowing amusement. "Or perhaps," he suggested with a knowing smirk, "you're pondering a particular king’s pining for you?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, and you sputtered in protest. "Wha—no, Legolas, you're imagining things," you stammered. It was a terrible attempt to brush off his teasing with a nervous laugh.

But Legolas only chuckled. His soft laughter mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. "Oh, come now, Y/N,” he teased, his tone light and playful. "Even the trees can see the way he looks at you. And you him. It's as clear as the stars in the night sky."

You rolled your eyes. Though a part of you couldn't help but wonder if there was a kernel of truth to Legolas's jests. Aragorn's lingering glances and subtle gestures had not gone unnoticed by you. Though you had dismissed them as mere figments of your imagination. "He's just... concerned for my well-being, that's all," you insisted, though doubt lingered in the back of your mind. "We're friends, nothing more."

Legolas's smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Of course, Y/N," he replied. His tone dripping with elvish sarcasm. "Just friends."

As he walked away quiet as ever leaving you to figure out you conflicting emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more truth to Legolas's teasing than you dared to admit. But for now, you pushed aside your doubts instead focusing on the task at hand and the challenges that lay ahead. You couldn’t let that distract you of all things. You had Hobbits to find after all.

As for Aragorn, the dynamics of your relationship were markedly different. From the moment he laid eyes on you Aragorn was captivated by your strength, courage, and insane determination. He found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully explain. His heart skipping a beat whenever you were near. Despite his stoic demeanor Aragorn found himself unable to hide his feelings for you. His affection and admiration shining through in subtle gestures and meaningful glances. Whether it was a reassuring touch on the shoulder or a lingering gaze across the campfire Aragorn's love for you was evident to all who knew him. Maybe except for you.

And though you tried to hide it, the effect he had on you was undeniable. Your cheeks would flush with color whenever he spoke. Your heart deciding to skip a beat at the mere sound of his voice. Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure Aragorn had a way of unraveling your defenses. His presence stirring emotions within you that you struggled to contain.

The Battle of Helm's Deep raged on with unrelenting ferocity. The clash of steel and the roar of orcs echoing through the valley. As darkness descended upon the fortress you stood shoulder to shoulder with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Your heart was pounding with adrenaline, determination, and a touch of fear.

Together, you fought valiantly against the relentless tide of enemies. Your blades flashing in the dim light as you defended the walls of Helm's Deep with all your strength. But as the battle wore on fatigue began to set in and the odds seemed increasingly insurmountable. In the chaos of the fray the enemy's forces surged forward with renewed fury. You were overwhelmed. The defenders of Helm's Deep were overwhelmed with their sheer numbers. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought with unmatched skill and valor. Their resolve unbroken even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In the middle the chaos and confusion tragedy struck for you. As the defenders of Helm's Deep rallied for one final stand you found yourself separated from your companions. Unfortunately surrounded by a horde of wargs and orcs. With grim determination you fought with all your might. Every strike of your blade a desperate attempt to fend off the encroaching darkness.

But it was not enough.

As the enemy closed in around you completely overwhelming you with their sheer numbers, you felt a surge of despair wash over you. Your strength faltered and your movements began growing sluggish as exhaustion threatened to consume you whole. And then in a moment of cruel fate you were seized by the snarling jaws of a warg. You were dragged away from the safety of the fortress just as the offenders began to retreat. You were a prize.

Aragorn's heart constricted with dread as he watched helplessly from afar. His voice lost amidst the din of battle as he called out your name in desperation. His pleas were a cruel reminder of how quickly things could change. With every fiber of his being he longed to rush to your aid. To fight tooth and nail to rescue you from the clutches of the enemy. But the tide of battle had turned, and he had no time to rush after you for he would likely die in the cause.

And so, as Helm's Deep fell silent in the wake of the enemy's retreat. Aragorn's heart weighed heavy with grief and guilt. For though the battle had been won. The cost had been immeasurable. And the fate of his beloved remained uncertain, lost amidst the darkness that lurked beyond the walls of Helm's Deep.

In the grim depths of Saruman's fortress, you endured unspeakable torment at the hands of your captors. From the moment they laid hands on you their cruelty knew no bounds. Their twisted minds delighting in the suffering they inflicted upon you. They reveled in your screams of agony. Their laughter echoing off the cold stone walls as they subjected you to unimaginable pain and suffering. Every blow, every cut, every moment of pain was a sickening game to them. A twisted form of entertainment that they relished with sadistic glee.

But despite their best efforts to break your spirit you refused to fold. With every fiber of your being you clung to life with a tenacity that defied comprehension. You endured their tortures with a steely resolve. Your will to survive burning bright even in the darkest of moments. They tried their best to break you. To strip away your humanity and reduce you to nothing more than a shell of your former self. But still you fought on. Your spirit unbroken even as your body bore the scars of their cruelty.

In the depths of despair, you found a flicker of hope—a tiny ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished. And though they tried to snuff it out. To drown it in a sea of pain and despair, still it burned bright within you. It was Aragorn. He was your salvation. Your thoughts that brought light within your darkness. You couldn’t break. Not when you knew was alive and fighting to see you again.

And so, as the minutes turned into days and the days turned into weeks, you clung to life with a determination that seemed to defy reason. For though they sought to destroy you. To crush your spirit beneath their heel. Still, you refused to surrender, your will to survive burning bright even in the face of unspeakable evil. You began to worry they may tire of you. That they may get bored and kill you despite your efforts to survive.

In the grim confines of Saruman's fortress sustenance was a meager and scarce commodity, doled out sparingly by your captors. Each day you received barely enough to sustain your frail body. The meager rations serving as a cruel reminder of your dire circumstances. The food was tasteless. The water stagnant and foul. Yet you choked it down with grim determination. You did it in hopes of seeing Aragorn again. Maybe just maybe you could confess your love to him for this journey made you finally realize your feelings for him.

You couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world laying bare the depths of your heart and soul to him. And so, even as your body grew weak and your spirit faltered, you held fast to the hope that one day, somehow, you would find your way back to him.

As the news of Saruman's demise spread throughout Middle earth a small bit of hope rose within the hearts of those who had suffered under his tyranny. For you, however, trapped within the depths of Orthanc's dungeons, the passing of the once-great wizard brought no relief from your torment.

Barely clinging to life as your body was ravaged by weeks of unspeakable suffering. You lay in darkness your breaths shallow and labored. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you teetered on the brink of oblivion. Your spirit beginning to falter by the weight of despair.

But in the cruelty of the shadows that engulfed you a faint whisper of hope stirred within your soul—a feeling, a sensation that you couldn't quite explain. It was as if a part of you knew deep down that your salvation was at hand. That somehow, someway, your beloved Aragorn was close and would come for you.

And come for you he did.

Driven by a gnawing sense of unease. A feeling that he couldn't shake, Aragorn ventured into the depths of Orthanc. His heart weighed heavy with dread and determination. Guided by instinct and a love that knew no bounds he searched tirelessly for any sign of your presence. His footsteps echoing through the cold stone corridors as it laid eerily quiet at Saruman’s demise.

And then, at long last, he found you.

Tucked away in the darkest recesses of the dungeons, barely visible amidst the shadows, lay your frail form. Your breaths barely there, faint. Aragorn's heart constricted with anguish at the sight of you, his beloved, so close to the brink of death.

With trembling hands and a voice choked with emotion. Aragorn gathered you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest as if he could shield you from the darkness that threatened to take you from him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he whispered words of love and reassurance. His voice was a soothing balm to your battered soul.

As he held you in his arms as gently as he could he broke down. "Gandalf! Legolas! Gimli! Anyone, help!" His cries reverberated through the silent halls of Orthanc. Each plea in desperation for your salvation. He cried for someone to come to your aid.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cradled you against his chest, his heart breaking at the sight of you—so frail, so vulnerable, so close to slipping away from him forever. He whispered for you to hold on. His voice raw with emotion as he begged you to stay with him just a little while longer. But you remained unconscious. Your breaths shallow and labored, your life hanging by the slimmest of threads.

As Aragorn's desperate calls for help echoed through the halls of Orthanc. His heart broke with fear and anguish. Though finally his cries were answered. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli came running, drawn by the urgency and desperation in Aragorn's voice. Their faces paled at the sight that greeted them. Your frail form cradled in Aragorn's arms, barely clinging to life.

Gimli, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling in the face of such tragedy, sank to his knees beside you. His heart heavy with sorrow. "By the beard of Durin," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "What have they done to you, lass?"

Legolas with eyes wide of shock and horror, approached tentatively. His usual grace replaced by a raw vulnerability as tears welled in his eyes. "Nay, this cannot be," he whispered. His voice trembling with grief. "Not Y/N... not like this."

Gandalf had a grave expression on his face as he stepped forward. His gaze piercing as he took in the extent of your injuries. "We must act swiftly," he declared. His voice commanding. "There is still hope, but time is of the essence."

With a sense of urgency, they rallied together. Their hearts heavy with grief but their resolve unyielding. With shaking hands Aragorn carried you from the depths of Orthanc, his footsteps echoing heavy through the silent halls as they emerged into the light of day.

As time grew short and the urgency of the situation became increasingly apparent, Gandalf knew that swift action was needed to save you. With a wave of his staff and a word of command he called forth one of the Great Eagles. Ancient creatures who served as allies to the free peoples of middle earth.

As Gandalf summons the Great Eagle to take you to Lothlórien Aragorn's determination to stay by your side remained unyielding. With a glance at the rest of the Fellowship he knew that their journey will be swift on horseback as the Great Eagle could not carry them all.

"Aragorn," Gandalf begins, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, "time is of the essence. We must act swiftly to save Y/N."

Aragorn nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he turns to Gandalf. "I will take her on the eagle to ensure she receives the care she needs. The rest of you must ride with haste to Lothlórien. I will meet you there." Gandalf and the others exchange a knowing look. Understanding the weight of Aragorn's decision. With a nod of agreement Gandalf turned to the rest of the Fellowship.

"We ride for Lothlórien," Gandalf declares, his voice echoing with authority. "May the Valar watch over us all."

As Aragorn carries you in his arms and mounts the Great Eagle the rest of the Fellowship saddles their horses and sets off towards Lothlórien knowing it would delay their plans to get to Mordor. But for you they knew they had to. With a sense of urgency driving them forward they rode with haste. Their hearts heavy with worry yet filled with hope that you will receive the care and healing you so desperately need.

After what felt like a lifetime to Aragon Great Eagle descended upon the lush treetops of Lothlórien. Aragorn's urgent pleas for help echo through the elven realm. Celeborn alerted by the urgency in Aragorn's voice, rushed forward from the heart of Lothlórien.

With swift steps, Celeborn reaches Aragorn's side just as the eagle touched down. He sees the urgency in Aragorn's eyes and the battered state of your body and without a moment's hesitation he takes you from Aragorn's arms. His expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Bring her to me," Celeborn commands. His voice carrying an air of authority.

Aragorn watches with a mixture of relief and apprehension as Celeborn rushes towards the healing chambers of Lothlórien. His skilled hands cradling you gently. With each step Aragorn's heart pounds with worry, but he knows that you are in good hands.

As Celeborn disappears into the depths of Lothlórien Aragorn's thoughts turn to the rest of the Fellowship who are still traveling on horseback. He knows that they will arrive soon with their hearts heavy with concern for you. He worried for you. For Frodo and Sam who were continuing their journey ahead. For the delay all of this brought. But he couldn’t seem to care about that all knowing the woman he loved was on the brink of death. The woman who was always so full of life may be taken from him far too soon. Before he could confess his true feelings.

With a silent prayer on his lips, he followed Celeborn into the healing chambers. His determination to see you healed burning brighter than ever. And as he stands vigil by your side surrounded by the gentle beauty of Lothlórien, he knows that though the road ahead may be long and fraught with peril. But together you will face whatever challenges come your way

As hours pass in Lothlórien, Celeborn's efforts to heal you are met with frustratingly little progress. Despite his skill and knowledge your condition remains unchanged. Leaving both him and Aragorn filled with growing despair. Realizing that more drastic measures are needed, Celeborn calls upon his wife, Galadriel, for assistance. Together they work tirelessly through the and night. Their combined powers focused on bringing you back from the darkness of unconsciousness.

Aragorn watched with a heavy heart as Galadriel joins Celeborn in the healing chambers. Her presence a glimmer of hope amidst the peril that threatened to consume him. He knows that if anyone can help you it is the Lady of the Wood, with all her wisdom and grace.

Days turn into nights and still you remain unresponsive. You were lost in a realm of unconsciousness from which you seem unable to awaken. Aragorn's faith began to waver. His heart heavy with doubt and fear as he watches Galadriel and Celeborn work tirelessly to save you. But just when all seems lost, a miracle occurred. After a few days of ceaseless effort, Galadriel kneels beside your bedside and offers a rare prayer to the Valar. Her voice is soft but filled with conviction as she calls upon their aid. Her plea echoing through the halls of Lothlórien.

And then as if in response to her prayer, you stir from your slumber. Your eyes fluttering open for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Aragorn's heart leapt with joy as he watches you awaken. His faith restored in the power of love.

With tears of relief streaming down his cheeks, Aragorn gathers you into his arms. Holding you close as he whispers words of gratitude and love. As you lay there finally awake but still weak and fragile, Aragorn's emotions overwhelm him. Tears stream down his face as he gathers you into his arms holding you close with a fierce, desperate grip but gentle so not to hurt you further.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you more than words can express, my love. You cannot leave me again. Please, never leave me again. Please."

His words are a plea. A prayer whispered into the stillness of the healing chambers. His heart ached with the fear of losing you. The fear of facing a world without the light of your presence beside him. And as he holds you close, his tears mingling with yours. He knew that he would give anything to keep you safe. To protect you from harm. As he pours out his heart to you, he realizes just how much you mean to him—how much he needs you by his side, now and always.

"You love me?" you whisper. Your voice barely above a breath as you look up at him, your eyes searching his for confirmation.

Aragorn's laughter fills the air. A warm and comforting sound that washes over you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Did I not make it so obvious my wayward love?" he replies, his voice teasing yet tender as he meets your gaze with a smile.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his words. You can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. Galadriel and Celeborn who have been observing the exchange with amusement, share a knowing look, their eyes twinkling with mirth of the love unfolding before them.

But in that moment as you gaze into Aragorn's eyes and share a laugh together all your worries and fears seem to melt away. For in his arms surrounded by the love and support of your companion, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead you will face them with him. Your beloved.

And as the laughter fades into a comfortable silence, you rest your head against Aragorn's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. With his arms wrapped around you, you know that you are home.

As Celeborn and Galadriel summon the rest of the Fellowship, the healing chambers soon fill with the familiar faces of your companions. Their expressions a mix of relief and joy at the sight of you awake, alive and with that smile adorning your soft features.

Gimli with his gruff exterior softened by the depth of his concern, rushes forward to your side. His eyes were brimming with tears. "By Durin's beard, lass! I thought I'd never see you awake again," he exclaims, his voice trembling with emotion as he clasps your hand tightly in his own.

Gandalf had his wise eyes shining with warmth, approaches with a gentle smile. "It is good to see you awake, my dear friend," he spoke. His voice filled with genuine relief. "You have faced darkness and emerged victorious. You are stronger than you will ever know."

Legolas, his fair face radiant with joy, stepped forward with a soft smile. "I am glad to see you awake, mellon nin," he smiled to you. His voice gentle and sincere. "The world is a brighter place with you in it."

Merry and Pippin, their youthful exuberance infectious as always rush to your side with wide smiles on their faces. "You had us worried there for a moment," Merry says, his voice filled with relief. "But you're back with us now and that's all that matters."

Pippin nods eagerly as his eyes shining with unshed tears. "We thought we'd lost you," he admits, his voice wavering with emotion. "But you're a fighter, just like Aragorn said. You'll always come back to us."

As the Fellowship gathers around you with their voices filled with laughter and tears. You felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. As you were surrounded by the love and support of your friends you know that no matter what trials may come your way you will always have each other.

As the night descended upon Lothlórien after you woke, Aragorn remained by your side as the rest of the Fellowship retired. His love and devotion unwavering as he tends to your every need.

With gentle hands he washes away the grime and dirt of your ordeal away. His touch tender and reassuring against your skin. He cleanses away the scars of battle as his fingers trace each line and mark with care, as if trying to erase the memories of pain that linger there.

As he helps you change into fresh clothes his gaze never strays from yours. His eyes were filled with an intensity of emotion that took your breath away. He spoke softly. His voice a soothing melody that fills the silence of the healing chambers.

"You are my light in the dark," he whispered softly to you. His words a declaration of love that echoes in the stillness of the night. "You are the reason I fight, the reason I endure. Without you I am lost my love."

Tears fill your eyes at his words. The depth of his love overwhelming in its intensity. "And you are mine," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to touch his face. "You are the reason I am alive, the reason I kept going. Even in the worst of times."

As the soft glow of moonlight filters through the canopy of leaves above Aragorn's adoration for you seems to shine even brighter. With every touch, every whispered word, he worships you as if you were a goddess descended from the heavens themselves.

He kneels before you, his eyes alight with reverence. He places gentle kisses upon your hands, your cheeks, your forehead, as if each kiss is a silent prayer to the gods, thanking them for blessing him with your presence. Thanking them for letting you live.

"I am unworthy of your love," he murmurs. His voice filled with sincerity as he gazes up at you with awe. "But I swear to you, I will spend every moment of my life trying to prove myself worthy of you."

His words melt your heart. Filling you with a warmth that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your soul. You reach out to cup his face in your hands, tracing the lines of his jaw with your fingers. Feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your touch.

"You are more than worthy," you whisper, your voice barely a breath as you gaze into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected back at you. "You are my everything, Aragorn. Without you I am nothing."

As you hold each other close surrounded by the quiet beauty of the elven realm. You know that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart. For in each other's arms, you have found a love that transcends time and space. A love that is as boundless as the stars themselves and as enduring as the ages to come.

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rottenpumpkin13 · 30 days

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*drops down from the trees by grappling hook with a birthday cake*

Dedicated to @altocat, who brightens everyone's day with her wonderful writing and headcanons 🎂 ❤️ Here's my attempt at bittersweet Glenn and Sephiroth fluff.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Sephiroth liked the smell of what Hojo was quick to label as 'dirt and grime'—the damp earth beneath his boots, the smell of fresh morning raindrops dripping from the trees overhead, the crisp mountain breeze that carried notes of pine and flowers.

It filled his lungs and reminded him that he breathed, as any other human being, and that there was more to the world than his obligations and Shinra's conquests.

Glenn and Sephiroth sat perched atop a rugged cliff, their backs against the cool, weathered rocks overlooking a sprawling ravine that stretched far below. Sephiroth's gaze wandered over the expanse before them. Gently letting his eyes flutter shut, he wished he could drink it all up, treating it like an addictive drug he would consume forever if he could.

Glenn extended a glass soda bottle towards him, its oddly-colored contents gleaming in the sunlight as he gradually opened his eyes. The whimsical label was adorned with a cheerful moogle proudly showing off its drink, and the words Kupo Pop! Secret Flavor!

"I don't understand why the ingredients can't be labeled on the bottle," Sephiroth, ever the skeptic, remarked as he accepted the glass bottle.

Glenn rolled his eyes as the younger boy began turning the bottle around, reading the scattered words for any hints as to what it contained. "Go ahead, give it a try," he encouraged, twisting the cap from his own blueberry soda. "Part of the fun is in the mystery, you know. Maybe the secret is that it's just irresistibly delicious."

Sephiroth looked up, his lips a thin line as he stared pointedly ahead. "Secrets aren't fun.”

"But they can be," Glenn countered, pointing his bottle at him. "They're fun to keep, fun to share, and most importantly, fun to savor." With a light clink, Glenn tapped his bottle against Sephiroth's.

Sephiroth's lips would have easily been confused with a squiggly line drawn by a child on paper. He frowned, staring down at the bottle with unease, his choppy hair falling over his eyes. "Aren't there supposed to be… orange flavors? I've heard about orange soda.”

Glenn nearly spat out his mouthful of blueberry as he pulled it from his lips. "Woah, you've never had soda before?"

Glenn's surprise was evident as Sephiroth shook his head in response. He tried not to let his jaw fall slack as he lifted his hand to his face, scratching at his stubble. “Huh…. How about that. Well don't worry. I'd never give you something you wouldn’t like."

Sephiroth arched a single eyebrow, looking mildly annoyed. "That's what you said about the marshmallows.” His hands clenched around the glass bottle. “They tasted funny."

“Ha!” Glenn nudged him. “Hey, it's not my fault you're a weird little dude who doesn't like marshmallows.”

As he drained the contents of his soda, Sephiroth looked back down at his own. Determined, he grabbed the bottle opener from the dusty ground and hooked it to the cap.

Gradually, Sephiroth braced himself and took a swig of the mysterious soda. Glenn watched, unblinking as Sephiroth squeezed his eyes shut and gulped it down.

Instantly, a sharp sensation tingled and bubbled in his throat. Acid? Not good. He instinctively spat it out, hacking and coughing.

Glenn erupted into laughter, letting his bottle fall to his lap as he clapped. Sephiroth cleared his throat twice, water lining his widened, green eyes.

"Is it supposed to burn?" Sephiroth spluttered, wiping his lips with the back of his wrist. His voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and discomfort, which would've made Glenn feel horribly guilty if it weren't hilarious.

Sephiroth The Great, defeated by a mystery Kupo Pop flavor. Matt and Lucia would never believe it.

Leaning back against the rocky ledge, Glenn's laughter subsided as he regarded Sephiroth with amusement. "Well, what does it taste like?"

Sephiroth paused, gathering his thoughts after the unexpected attempt on his life.

"I don't know. I was caught off guard by the burning. I forgot to notice the flavor."

Reluctantly, Sephiroth took another sip—small this time, less overwhelming. He was cautious as he contemplated the taste lingering on his tongue, his face twisting along with his flickering thoughts.

"Passion fruit," he declared after a moment of contemplation.

Glenn arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Hm. Is it offensive that I doubt whether you know what passion fruit tastes like?"

His tone was teasing, but he was serious. He barely knew what passion fruit tasted like. Exotic fruits were hard to come by in Midgar, and when they did, he wasn't willing to break open his wallet to succumb to expensive curiosity.

Sephiroth shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes as he traced patterns on the bottle's icy condensation. “When Professor Hojo has my dental impressions done, the alginate has a passion fruit flavor.” He shrugged. “Or at least it used to when I was very young. Now it tastes like nothing."

Glenn's unease at the mention of Professor Hojo flickered briefly across his features, but he hid it well for Sephiroth's sake.

He suppressed the urge to make a joke about the mundanity of adult life— “Hey kid! Welcome to the real world, where everything is bitter and sweetness is rare.” That's what he would've said had it been anyone other than the boy sitting by his side, the child who should be able to taste passionfruit—and soda—and marshmallows. And freedom.

Glenn reached around, patting Sephiroth on the back as he masked his discontentment with a subtle grin. "Remind me to buy you a real passionfruit when we're back in Midgar.”

Sephiroth's smile held a touch of gratitude, but he said nothing else. His gaze lingered on the bottle in his hand, lost in thought.

Back in Sephiroth's mind, the passion fruit soda now tasted like a suffocating hand shoving itself down his throat, forcing him to throw everything good and whole he had digested back up in hopes of feeding him misery.

Glenn didn't like it when Sephiroth went quiet. "So!” He promoted, stretching his arms. “Secrets aren't fun? How come?”

"No," Sephiroth replied solemnly, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "They're barriers—walls built to control and keep you happy."

His conviction weighed the air around them. Glenn needed to distract him. "And do you have any secrets?" he tried gently.

Sephiroth looked up, his gaze translucent, unblinking. "There's nothing I haven't told you," he confessed. “And there's nothing I wouldn't tell you.” He pressed his lips together and straightened his back, probably trying to sound mature but cracking under Glenn's wiser gaze. “Not that I keep anything. From anyone.”

A quiet, almost inaudible “It's not like I can” reached Glenn's ears, but he chose to ignore it in favor of an idea that arose just as it was needed.

Glenn huffed. “Alright. How about I tell you one of mine then?”

Sephiroth listened intently, the cold glass of the bottle pressing against his reddened, ungloved fingers.

"Okay so. A few years ago when I was a rookie…I was a part of this mission out to the Gongaga region. I was supposed to be watching over our materia stash, since the group was small and we were camped out in the jungle. I thought it was a good idea to bury them in the dirt by the river. Little did I know how rainstorms are a daily occurrence in the jungle.”

He paused for dramatic effect, savoring the way Sephiroth's eyes went wide along with his smile.

“They all got washed away.”

The reveal was punctuated by a sudden fit of laughter from Sephiroth.

“But I didn't get in trouble,” Glenn continued, laughing too. “I blamed it on a random bandit attack and told a story about how I valiantly fought them off, but they took the materia.”

Sephiroth doubled over with laughter, leaning back. His bubbly cries echoed throughout the ravine. His cheeks were rosy, the sunlight caught in his silver hair just as the breeze messed it up, making him look every bit the kid he was.

Glenn pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled. "Now that's my biggest secret, so don't go around telling anyone, alright?"

Sephiroth's laughter faded. His demeanor shifted gradually. While he still maintained a small smile, he swung his legs over the rocky drop, looking down into the ravine.

"Don't worry. I don't have anyone.”

Glenn's heart sank, a pang of remorse gnawing at his insides.

After a few moments where they were both enveloped in a cloud of guilt—Glenn with his foot in his mouth and Sephiroth’s desire to eat his own words—Glenn mustered the courage to break the tension.

He turned his body to him fully. "You know, Sephiroth, you're such a great kid," he began, sounding as earnest as he could.

Sephiroth looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "I am?"

Glenn grinned. "Duh. You're the coolest kid I've ever met. You're responsible, and fun to be around, not to mention smart as hell."

Sephiroth’s reddened cheeks complimented his smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but was inside of what to say. He wasn't used to being paid any compliments—at least, none about who he was as a person.

But it didn't matter. Glenn wasn't finished. The older boy's expression turned playful as nudged Sephiroth. "So watch out, because one day you'll have a lot of people to tell my secret to, and if you do, I'll kick your ass.”

Sephiroth looked down, clearly unsure. “I don't think…ah…I don't know.”

Glenn knew. He was certain of it. "Tell you what," he said. "When you find those people—and you will—promise me you'll tell them my secret. I'll probably be too old to care anyway."

Sephiroth's gaze softened, a flicker of mischief in the tone of his subsequent hum. "Older?"

Glenn rolled his eyes and responded with a playful punch to Sephiroth's arm, the impact light but affectionate.

"Promise me,” he pressed, his gaze locking with Sephiroth's. He was dead serious.

Sephiroth's expression softened, his resolve firm as he met Glenn's gaze.

"I promise," he nodded.

Sephiroth would only come to realize Just How naive he was at that age years later. Sometimes he could hear Glenn's satisfied “I told you so” whispering to him, and Sephiroth would give anything to have heard it from him.

Years passed since that day.

Sephiroth found himself seated on that same exact cliff overlooking the ravine. The warm, late April sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow, the gentle breeze carrying with it the scents of pine and earth. Just as it had been back then.

Although there were some key differences. In his hand, Sephiroth held an unopened bottle of Kupo Pop, raspberry flavor—since the secret flavor had been discontinued long ago.

He still found no appeal in fizzy drinks, but he hoped the memory concealed within the burn would be bittersweet.

“Hey,” Genesis approached from behind with a bottle of orange soda and a small smile. "Do you want to trade? I'm not nearly as not fond of orange as you are.”

Sephiroth nodded in agreement, accepting the offer and exchanging bottles.

Genesis plopped down on his left, muttering something about the dirt sticking to his coat. The clicks and flash of a camera signaled Angeal's arrival at the rocky cliff edge.

He excitedly snapped as many shots as he could of the trees, the ravine, the waterfall, and several keepsakes of their trek up the mountain.

Sephiroth looked up. "I don't think you got enough pictures" he quipped with a teasing smile.

Angeal settled down on Sephiroth's right—side-eyeing Genesis, who began shaking his soda bottle absentmindedly.

"I can never take enough.” Angeal settled the camera around his neck. “Pictures only do so much. They don't exactly encapsulate the memory you're trying to preserve.” Angeal’s tone was thoughtful as he gazed out at the breathtaking view.

Sephiroth nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "I guess it's all in the special moments.”

Genesis twisted off the cap of his bottle, only to be met with a sudden eruption of fizz. The red soda sprayed all over them, prompting a chorus of startled reactions. Genesis let out a shriek, his expression shifting rapidly from embarrassment to frustration. Angeal screamed a swear as he covered his camera. Sephiroth laughed, wiping the red drink from his face.

"Is Genesis being an idiot a special moment?" Angeal snapped.

Genesis attempted to deflect blame, his face a mix of embarrassment and indignation as he flicked a soaked lock of hair from his eyes.

"Hey, it's not my fault! Sephiroth handed me the bottle like that.”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, then uncapped his orange soda. "Genesis, I just watched you shake the bottle.”

“But—!”

“Don't gaslight Angeal.” Sephiroth took a swig of the drink.

Meanwhile Angeal let out a violent snort. "He thinks it's an apple juice can," Angeal chuckled, punctuating his words with a mock shaking motion with his fist. “You know? The kind you have to shake first?”

Sephiroth snorted, pulling the bottle away from his lips quickly before he spat it out.

The pair fell into a fit of laughter, leaning on each other. The moment was definitely made funnier by the way Genesis was completely drenched in the soda.

Genesis shrugged sheepishly, acknowledging his blunder with a self-deprecating grin. "Shit. Muscle memory, I suppose," he admitted, his laughter mixing with theirs.

Once the moment faded into a comfortable silence, they each became lost in their own thoughts as they savored the serenity of their surroundings. Genesis contentedly sipped the remainder of Sephiroth's orange soda, while Angeal focused his attention on capturing the beauty of the waterfall below with his camera.

Sephiroth's mind wandered, his thoughts drifting back to that day, to Glenn, to their conversation and the passion fruit soda.

He was fortunate enough to have to keep his promise.

With a sense of resolve settling over him, he broke the silence. "I need to tell you both a secret.”

#sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #glenn lodbrok #ffvii ever crisis #final fantasy vii #crisis core #writing #ff7

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mikanotes · 3 months

Text

HEART TO HEART

seo yul x gn!reader | 4.3k words

genre: mutual pining, soulmates au

warnings: mentions of death, injuries, and hypothermia. made up stuff for the sake of my little soulmate au and a lot of confusing explanations sorry! might be ooc i haven’t watched aos in a while. not fully proofread

synopsis: A careless mishap with a dangerous artifact leads Yul to unknowingly lose half of his soul, and unknowingly attempt to get it back.

author’s note: in my seo yul era again

There is so many sounds around Daeho. People talking, the sound of each syllable that leaves their lips, the sound of each breath they exhale, the sound of laughter echoing around walls and steps all around the city. There is nature, the wind passing through the leaves of each tree, the sound of water droplets falling along a waterfall, birds’ wings moving and stray cats jumping on roofs.

There is so many sounds around Daeho, yet you feel as if you cannot really hear any of them.

There’s a tornado around you— A storm. It is made of every sound and feeling and it swirls around but you cannot feel. It is like watching the world breaking apart but seeing it from another place.

Where are you really?

Your name echoes around you.

The sound of a voice, warm and familiar. Home. Yes, this must be home. The voice that holds you gently, brings you to peace and helps you stay alive.

“Come back.”

Seo Yul.

“You’re finally here!” Choyeon nearly cries, hurrying over to join her friends. Jang Uk, Seo Yul, and Park Danggu. She sighs and frantically looks around, as if checking if anyone could be watching, before leading them inside with a pull to Danggu’s hand.

“What happened? The maid said it was urgent.” Uk says calmly, clearly confused. Choyeon seems restless. Yul doesn’t want to think of the worst, because it could really be something that isn’t at all urgent. But there’s this slight hint of genuine fear in the girl’s eyes that makes him do it, think of the worst, even if for just a second.

“There’s… Something happened, they’re unconscious, and…” her words are clear but too fast to make sense and all that he catches is your name and the word unconscious. “It’s because I’m clumsy and all, but I really didn’t mean for this to happen—”

“Slow down.” Uk laughs in slight shock, “Unconscious?”

“What exactly happened?” Danggu steps in. The girl looks at him with arched eyebrows and upset painted all over her expression before she finally sighs and turns away.

“It’ll be easier if you see.” she says, then walks towards a more secluded part of the gardens near Songrim. It’s near a small lake and close to a large, abandoned study room. There’s bushes and flowers all around and it’s enough to make for a beautiful spot to get alone time. Or hide something.

Choyeon pushes the large doors open. The room really is abandoned. There’s old desks and chairs stacked at the sides and some of the windows have been left ajar. Yul coughs because of the dust the second he steps inside, before waving his hand around in the air and squinting. But then everyone stops in their tracks, so he looks at the center of the room and his eyes widen.

This might really be urgent.

“… What happened?” Yul finally speaks up for the first time since his arrival. He was fine with his friends asking questions because they were the same he had in mind— But the scene in front of him urges him to talk.

You’re standing up straight in the middle of the room, the fabric of your clothing flowing in every direction despite the clear lack of wind inside the room, your eyes are closed and you don’t look anywhere close to awake. The place is at a fairly normal temperature, but it’s like a storm has formed specifically around you, much colder than the rest. A striking red ribbon is held tightly between your fingers.

You seem so… Calm. Yul feels a discomforting chill running down his spine.

Choyeon sighs quietly, biting on her bottom lip while thinking. The silence that follows Yul’s question stretches out for a long while, everyone clearly trying to make sense of the sight in front of them. It seems clear the girl who knows anything about it is hesitant to speak. Yul moves a bit closer to her. “Choyeon. It’s okay.” he says softly. He tries to sound reassuring. She looks up at him and shakes her head. He frowns a little. “Jin Choyeon.”

“We can’t help if we don’t know how they ended up like this. Please get on with it.” Uk complains, though everyone present knows his tone is a bit more worried than it is irritated.

“They held the Soulmates’ Fabric.”

Yul tilts his head a little, puzzled. “Soulmates’…?”

“Fabric.” she repeats, then sighs. “It’s… To summarize it, it’s an artifact from the Jinyowon— The fallen lovers’ spirits possess it. People used this to check if their lover was their soulmate or not before a wedding. Two parties hold it, it’s… It’s a ribbon, and if they’re soulmates it will show the fabric of fate linking their pinkies.”

Yul glances at your hand and figures that’s the red ribbon in your hand. Such a small thing— It looks as if he could wrap it around his wrist maybe twice, like a bracelet. Cursed artifacts really are just anything.

Uk chimes in. “And if they’re not?”

“Nothing. The spirits just laugh in their faces.”

“And if only one person holds it?” Yul asks. Choyeon looks at him and gulps, before glancing away.

“Their soul is trapped in there.”

“And why… Did you even have this? Simple curiosity.” Danggu asks. Choyeon shrugs a bit dramatically and turns away. The man blinks a few times before his eyes widen in realization. He points his finger towards his own chest, “Us?!”

“Well, yes.”

Yul feels his patience wearing thin and closes his eyes to calm it. He looks at Choyeon, “How did they end up holding it?”

“It flew away from my grasp, they just tried grabbing it for me..” she says, holding up her hands— Covered by silk gloves, protecting her in a way you visibly weren’t blessed with. “The doors to this place were wide open so we ended up here.”

Yul glances at you and sighs. Something tells him solving this won’t be easy.

“How do we get their soul back in here?” Uk asks, pointing towards your body with his thumb.

Choyeon sighs, again. It’s clear she’d hoped to avoid this since her friends arrived, despite knowing she would have to say it if this was to be solved.

“Their soulmate needs to hold the other end of the fabric.”

“You’re kidding…”

“This could take ages.”

“I know!”

Yul can practically see how cold the storm around you is. He can practically feel the threat of death attached to your body, missing its soul. A vessel without a soul is bad news. Without its soul, the body does not take long to… Heavens, no. He takes a step closer to you and lets his friends’ arguing become background noise for a moment. You’re eerily still.

“Is it safe to move them?” he asks.

“I think, but the problem is more so actually managing to do it.” Choyeon replies, “The storm is stronger than you might think.”

Yul tries, anyway. He takes a step forward and moves his hands to hold you. His skin feels like it’s freezing the moment they enter the storm surrounding your figure, and it gets about ten times worse when he manages to grab ahold of your arms. The very fact that you’re enduring this makes him feel like he might lose his mind if they don’t find a way to stop it. He grinds his teeth and tries to pull, ignoring his friends telling him to quit it as well as the burning that the cold cuts him with, and keeps at it for at least thirty more seconds before he’s forced to stumble back.

This is bad, he thinks. He’d hoped your body wouldn’t be too affected by the cold because of its unnatural nature, but upon closer look, a lot of signs indicate you’re more than affected. Freezing much faster than a person ever should have been. Truly just a body with no soul.

Uk looks at him, hand firmly holding his shoulder after shoving him away from you. “You won’t have a hand to hold the fabric with, if you keep this up.” he says sternly. Yul glares a little and moves away from his hand.

“That would be a futile effort. I figure I’d only be trapping my soul, too.”

“I mean, would you?” Danggu asks, brows furrowing. The question is directed at Choyeon, now, who should clearly have more extensive knowledge on the whole thing, “Did the people who use this have to hold it at the exact same time or else one of them got trapped? That seems… Inconvenient.”

Choyeon shakes her head lightly and walks over to a table in the room. There, a large and old book about artifacts and customs sits on the surface. “There’s something they would recite. Like a… A spell. Or a poem, I think? I was too panicked to read all this, but… I think that’s what protected their souls from being taken if they weren’t linked to each other.” she explains, frantically going through the book. “But Yul is right. Since their soul is already trapped, him holding the fabric would only work if they’re sure to be soulmates.”

“Well, might as well try.” Uk scoffs, “Besides, who could it be if not Yul?”

The latter looks down and scoffs. His friends’ teasing on his very obvious fondness for you would usually not have much effect on him besides giving him mild embarrassment, but today it feels a bit different. The words sound sour to him in these circumstances.

“This might be life or death.” he says quietly, and repeats it louder when Danggu asks what he said. He looks up, “At this rate, their temperature will only continue to drop. They’ll be dead and frozen in less than a few hours.”

Choyeon makes a sound of discontentment and concern before speaking, “Isn’t that too precise?”

“Master Heo taught me enough to know this much. We all know this.”

An overbearing silence follows that statement. It’s hard to claim the teachings of Daeho’s best physician are wrong, and Yul is right, and it makes it all the more difficult to process. You are hanging in the air in the middle of a freezing storm and their chances of saving you are incredibly slim. Their hope is quick to slip away.

There has to be a way. Your soulmate could be worlds away, for all they know. Yul would be willing to set out on a quest to find whoever it could be and drag them back here if it came down to it, however he doesn’t have the privilege of having so much time. So, “Is there another solution?” he asks, gaze focused on Choyeon.

He must look somewhat different because the girl’s eyes widen for a moment and she looks towards Uk. “Well,” she looks back at him, “Breaking almost any artifact would render it incapable of executing their usual magic, which means this one too… Probably.”

“We can’t base ourselves off a ‘probably’.”

“I— Just look in the stupid grimoire, then!”

So he does. He walks over to the book and lets Choyeon move aside before pressing his hands down over the edges of the pages. Soulmates’ Fabric, cursed souls, history, spell recital, remedies… There are only two pages on this artifact, which means all their solutions had to be hidden somewhere there.

Or that there is not a solution.

“Why did our elders have to be so damn dramatic?” Uk sighs in annoyance, and conversation ensues behind Yul. He doesn’t bother keeping up with anything that’s said.

“Trust was especially important at the time.”

“Yeah? For their image and reputation?”

“Can’t be all too different from right now, then.”

The story of the Soulmates’ Fabric claims two souls reside in that ribbon, lovers who were doomed to never be together yet perished at each other’s side. Impossible to get this ribbon off their wrists, even in death— They cursed it, whether they meant to or not, and the piece of fabric could only be taken once their bodies had entirely vanished.

It then became a custom to see if the spirits approved, or rather, if they could confirm if lovers were meant to be before they could marry. One of the spirits known to be kind, and gentle with their approach— The other much angrier, still understandably bitter over their fate. It’s said if two are soulmates, the kinder one will tie the ribbon around their fingers. If not, the cruel one will mock them. However, the method growing to be seen as too much of a risk, the ribbon was sealed in the Jinyowon for years to follow.

Yul’s gaze moves around the page, looking over words about the way the custom used to go, the way people saved themselves, but he struggles to even find a single sentence about a situation similar to yours. He focuses on a specific part, which sounds a lot like a poem, though it isn’t the one he saw earlier to recite before the ritual.

If one foolish enough to be trapped all on their own,

Mind numbed by the illusions of the Eye of the Storm,

Only their lover may find a way to wake their heart,

Or curse themselves with our wrath dare they injure us a cut.

To the abyss and away from their love they will depart,

With us shall never part.

“Curse themself if they dare injure them with a cut?…” he mumbles to himself, eyebrows creasing in confusion. He takes a deep breath and rereads it ten times, then looks back at the story of the souls. It is said they couldn’t remove the ribbon from the lovers’ tied wrists even after their death. Lovers fated to be apart, tying themselves to die together if they can’t live together. Then…? His eyes widen in realization.

“I’ll hold it.” he says suddenly, turning around. The group startles and looks at him. “I’ll hold the fabric right now, but I need you to do something in case it goes awry.”

Danggu nods hurriedly. “Good, anything, because they’re freezing over here.” the blonde says, moving his hand away from your arm and clutching it with his other. It’s red from the cold.

Yul swallows thickly then takes a short breath. “If it goes wrong, I need one of you guys to cut the fabric with my swords.”

“What?”

He continues, “I think if someone cuts the fabric they’ll be cursed by the spirits, but it will free the one that’s trapped.” he explains calmly, and sees Uk scoffing in disbelief as he listens. “So if it comes down to it, cut it. With my swords. Make it known I’m the one willing to be cursed.”

“What happened to ‘we can’t go off a probably’?” Uk mimics, air-quoting him, “You only said you think. Not that you’re sure. And what if it curses us anyways?”

“You’re right. Making the situation worse isn’t something I’m willing to risk.” Yul says dismissively, unsheathing the swords at his sides. “I can cut it myself right now.”

A hurried chorus of ‘no!’s follows that statement and Danggu jogs up to his side.

“Okay, let’s just… talk first.” he says, and glances at you for a second before adding, “Fast.”

“What is there to talk about?” Yul asks.

“Well, what— What’s the deal with the curse? What does it entail? Why would it happen?” Choyeon questions, “I mean, it makes sense a spirit would want to curse the one who breaks their artifact, but what’s their reasoning?”

“It’s the only thing that kept them together. In death, when they couldn’t be together in life.” Yul says, “It’s nothing short of cruel to cut it. But it… is a way to solve this.”

“And what if you’re soulmates?” Uk asks, crossing his arms, “What if it could be solved much more easily?”

“And if we’re not?” Yul counters, expression hardening, “I don’t want to risk it.”

“We would be risking much, much more if we lose both of you to a ribbon.” Danggu argues.

“I’m sorry,” Yul starts, fingers tightening around one of his swords, “But you are not changing my mind on this. Try as you might.”

“Yul…”

The second sword drops to the floor as he lets it go and he uses the distraction of the sound to take the few steps needed to get to you again. Otherwise he knows Uk will stop him.

He steels himself for the incoming pain and grabs the fabric in your hand before he can overthink it more. He holds it tightly and hisses at the cold, but tries to pull to bring your arm higher. You’re like a statue. It’s almost impossible to get you to move at all. Frozen. The storm is beginning to surround him, a slow but sure sign of his soul being pulled somewhere away from his body— Though he has no way to know if it’s to the abyss of the fabric’s realm or simply to meet yours. He cannot afford to wait and see.

The cold rushes through his own blood the longer he remains there, and he’s sure that the cursed souls are too close to him to risk staying still any longer.

He had planned to immediately strike his sword against the artifact the moment he would get a tight enough hold of it, but now that he’s there, it proves to be much more difficult than he’d anticipated. His body feels heavy and his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he cannot hear his friends’ yelling.

No, this isn’t my heartbeat, he realizes, mine is hurting my chest from how fast it’s going.

It’s yours. You’re still alive.

He feels as if his fingers may be turning numb, and worse, his mind as well. If this keeps up, his stupid plan will have been for nothing and Danggu will be right. Losing both you and him. He doesn’t care about anyone losing him, but it cannot be for nothing. So he focuses, and he finds any bit of strength left in him. With a yell, he swings down his sword just as the words “I’m sorry” attempt to leave his lips. Pointless apologies to souls long gone.

It cuts right through the red piece of silk.

Clang. His hand goes limp and his sword falls.

He sees you fall to the ground before he feels his own body do the same. His head hits the wooden floor, hard, and he feels like he’s lost his breath for a few long seconds. He’s spent— He swears he doesn’t have any strength left in him at all, otherwise, he would have crawled to you to make sure you’re not frozen and dead. His arm is extended on the floor, his end of the ribbon in his hand, and the other in yours still. His sword is somewhere else in the room but he doesn’t know where.

He blinks slowly, trying his very best to stay awake, but it becomes incredibly difficult. The pain and exhaustion are begging him to succumb to sleep but he cannot allow it yet. He can vaguely make out words of worries from his friends, but everything sounds far away. He tries to move, but all he can do is tighten his fingers around the small piece of ribbon. A thought crosses his mind as he looks at it, something that makes him feel even more confused than the fall already did.

Other than the cold in his veins, that is slowly fading away, Yul cannot feel anything close to a curse on him.

Is it not immediate? Why has he not heard the resentful screams of anger of separated lovers? Why is he merely battling his way to staying awake and not out of a fate worse than death? Was the curse a mere myth, or the true struggle a test of strength and will?

Through a half-open and hazy gaze, Yul swears he sees something odd happening. The red silk ribbon, cut cleanly in the middle, beginning to reconstruct all on its own. Fabric made out of air, slowly growing longer from both ends of the torn bits until they inevitably meet again in the middle.

And a translucent red ribbon, like a vision of sorts, tying around both yours and his pinky fingers.

The individuals will, if truly soulmates, see the ribbon tying around their pinkies. The book must’ve been right, but severely missing information. It really is doing just that, but there was nothing written about it fixing itself after getting cut. Then again, there wasn’t a tale of anyone ever trying before.

Yul breathes out something close to a laugh just before he loses grip of his consciousness and passes out, unsure of where he will be when he wakes up— If he ever does. Whatever happens, as long as you’re alive, it will have been worth it.

When he opens his eyes, at first, he’s in a dark space and laying down. He hears whispers and feels energies threatening enough to make him reach for his swords— But he finds he cannot move.

“Was there ever a curse to begin with? Tales this old are riddled with truths and details lost to time.” a voice says, and it seems to echo— Like two people are speaking, “What do you believe?”

— I don’t know.

“You were merely getting the missing half of your soul back. Who would curse you for such a thing?” the voice (voices?) laugh, “It seems clear they would’ve done the same, too.”

When he opens his eyes, the second time, it’s for real and he’s gasping for air. I was spared, he thinks. He sits up hurriedly and looks around, his head spinning so much at the sudden movement that he threatens to fall from the table he’s on.

Table?

“Please do not move so quickly!”

He breathes heavily and looks around through half-lidded eyes. He’s at Sejukwon. He looks to the side and sees you on the second table in the room. You’re sitting already as a nurse fixes up an incense of sorts, and your eyes are trained on him— Wide and surprised. “Yul!” you exclaim, “What in the world?”

He just stares at you for a bit, lips parted without a single word coming out. “Are you okay?” he asks. There’s clear signs all around him that he really woke up, this time around, and that this is reality. But part of him wants to hear you to be sure.

“You…” you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. Then you give him a look of disbelief that makes it clear the others have told you about what he did to get you back— and that this really is for real. He feels his mouth tugging into a smile and his body relaxes again.

“One could argue you’re worse than I am, you fool.” you scoff, “I’m… Well, I almost died of hypothermia, alright. That’s a feat. But I survived.” you deadpan, eyebrows furrowed, “However you have a concussion.”

He wouldn’t have it any other way. “Good.” he says.

“Not good, are you insane?”

He finds himself laughing at that and slowly lays back down, because he seriously thinks he might fall over if he doesn’t. He doesn’t mind the worried look the nurse gives him as she leaves when he continues to laugh, either. He’ll say it’s because of the concussion. He’s just relieved.

“Oh, so you really are insane.” you scoff.

A silence follows. He looks at you. You’re staring at him with a look of relief, which makes him wonder how much you worried while he was out. It’s past sunset already, so the room is slowly losing its light. Things are quiet around Sejukwon— They always are so the patients aren’t disturbed, but even more so when it’s later in the day. There’s no more worries.

Only thoughts about what happened means for you.

He calls your name and you hum. “Did they tell you?” he asks quietly, almost whispering, “The others.”

“About your heroic tales of saving?“ you half-joke, “Yes. They did, before leaving because it got late. Thank you.” this time, your voice loses its sarcasm halfway. Your expression is much too genuine for those thanks to sound anything but, anyways. He laughs.

“I meant the ribbon. What it meant.”

“We’re soulmates.”

Yul has to make an effort to breathe. You say it so easily, like it’s such a natural thing. And it… is. You are literally meant to be, it could not be anything more natural. In a way, it could make sense you would be so casual about it. But he also feels like he might be close to fainting all over again from how much these words make his head spin, so he can’t entirely agree that it does.

“Yes.” he pauses, to breathe, “That.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“Please don’t tease me.”

You laugh slightly and get up from where you were sitting. You walk over to him and stand at his side. He stares up at you and smiles. “I’m happy.” he says, “I’m happier than I probably should be considering the circumstances.”

“Good. Me too.” you say, then your expression grows more serious. “I’m sorry you had to suffer this much to bring me back.”

“It’s okay.”

“I know it is. That’s your problem, Yul.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he chuckles, “Unfortunate that our souls are linked. I’ll try not to inconvenience you more than necessary, but I can’t do much about that.”

“Your nature of putting your life on the line for someone you care about, you mean?” you scoff, “I’ve been used to it, anyways. But the way you say this makes it all sound very official.”

Here comes his worst fear. An exaggeration? Maybe. Not entirely. He’s spent years at your side, and well over half of them pining after you. And though it was apparently evident to anyone that saw you two that the feelings were reciprocated, saying anything about them was terrifying. But now you’re soulmates. Or rather, you’ve always been. It doesn’t actually change anything.

But it does give him the guts to actually ask. This is as much courage as he’ll ever get, anyways. So he sits up and stays quiet for a moment, then turns to look at you.

“Would you like to be with me?”

#seo yul x reader #yul x reader #alchemy of souls x reader #aos x reader #x reader

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