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auspicioustidings · 7 months

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The Blood Druid

Blue Blood Part 3

Summary: Continuation of the Wild Prince/The War Duke. Your lack of knowledge about the birds and the bees finally gets revealed.

Words: 1.9k (look this was supposed to be longer but my keyboard keeps randomly double spacing so everything is taking way longer and typing is making me want to commit homicide so take this while I wait until I can get a new one)

CW: Very light smut

Price and Kyle had been ever so eager to continue and you had promptly shoved them out of your chambers. You were embarrassed and confused and you hated that your body kept so easily melting like that. What was happening to you? Had men always held such sway over a woman's body and you had never known before? It scared you that they could so easily make you feel like you had caught fire and you did not care to be saved. If it was so easy, why had nobody done it before?

You screamed into your pillow, just wanting to not be the only one not in on the joke. They had certainly seemed very pleased with themselves, seeming almost indulgent when they had left after you had somewhat angrily told them to. Like you were some misbehaving little pet that they found adorable. Like they hadn't just made you go boneless and dumb in front of a true Blood Druid. You had thought the moniker was just meant to scare, never in your wildest dreams did you think this Kingdom would be as reckless as to have one amongst them.

Ok, time to think. Time to stop being a child and figure out what was going on. You could do this, you were, are? You are a damn Duchess, you can read and write and for goodness sake you can think.

You had been told that touching yourself between your legs was sinful, the Prince had been able to predict that from your reactions. So it had been apparent then that you had not done so? Did the feeling lessen then over time, allowing you to maintain some sort of wit about you if you were experienced enough? He had said, oh Gods, he had said something about a finger inside. You blushed crimson, feeling the pulse of that liquid heat again at the thought. Inside you. Like the Duke's tongue had been? Oh no, your body was already getting so worked up even remembering.

You lay on the bed on your back, taking shuddering breaths and trying to find some sense of calm. Ok. All you needed do was practice. If you were more accustomed to the feeling, you would not be as taken off guard next time. You may not be able to emulate the feeling of a rough tongue against you, but you dipped your fingers down your body, slower and more tentative than they had been this morning.

You were already so slick from what the Duke had done, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt your body begin to react again. You were languid now, viewing this as an exercise in patience the same way you did with learning Latin. That's what this was, learning. You would learn what this was.

Clit, he had called that little nub you rubbed over your clit. It was such a moody thing, so particular about how it liked to be teased. Not too hard, not too fast. But then as your blood started rushing it wanted more pressure and a faster pace. You found when you thought of the Prince kneeling by your bath or the Duke kneeling by the wall sparks fired inside you and your wetness grew. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took the pads of your fingers away from the sensitive bundle, feeling the loss instantly. You slid your fingers down to your entrance, rubbing and biting your lip as you felt the catch of your fingertips on the dripping hole.

You only used your middle finger to press. The sponginess of your insides was a foreign texture and the feeling of being squeezed by the twitching walls made you withdraw. It frustrated you to tears, not understanding what you were doing. How did two strangers know your body so much better than you did? And why was there some suggestion that they needed to know it in order to ready you for your husband? The wave of feeling inadequate made all that delicious heat turn to ash in your mouth and you withdrew your hand, punching it down into the plush mattress beside you with a whine of frustration.

There was a knock at the door which was novel in a way, nobody seemed to ever bother knocking. You fixed yourself, thinking that if it were the Prince or the Duke you'd want to just pull them in, have them touch you again in the way you wanted. It made you feel both hot and mortified at the same time. You should send them away, make it clear you were no little pet to be made to purr whenever they wanted. You'd not find out which you would have done.

"Hope ye'll naw mind if I don't call ye Duchess, nae such thing where I bide."

Gods he was such a compelling creature up close. The elaborate fabric wrapped around him was held in place by nothing but clever donning, his hair was shorn on the sides and his eyes were so... Saints help you they were so warm and kind on you. You were in equal parts intrigued and terrified of this man, caught frozen in your doorway.

"Looking a bit peely-wally there hen, why don't we get ye some water hm?"

You moved in a stiff shuffle as he herded you to sit on the edge of the bed and filled a glass from the pitcher, giving you little sips which you almost choked on with how close he was to you. Close enough to tear through your throat with his teeth you thought, close enough to drink your blood. He sighed with a little grin, making sure you got some water before putting down the glass and falling back gracelessly to sit cross legged on the floor by your feet, leaning back on his arms.

"Yer feart of me."

That pride that had been slowly waking up these past few days came alive.

"I am not 'feart' of you. You may have conquered a Kingdom, but I am not a King."

“Ye think I button up the back wee yin? Yer feart because I’m a blood druid and the West has always been feart of what they don’t understand. If naw for your betrothed everyone here would be the same.”

“Ghost. The Prince said his name was Ghost. And you are John MacTavish.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to say it, but somehow it seemed important to let this man know that you had some knowledge. Big scary Blood Druid sat on your floor looking up at you, relaxed as anything. He was the third man who had lowered himself to be beneath you and it made something fizz, some animal instinct purring at the small act of submission from men so dominant.

“Simon. His name is Simon Riley. And aye, my name is John MacTavish. Johnny is fine if it’s you.”

“Johnny”, you tried it out, wrapping your tongue around it. He seemed pleased and you could not stop the annoyance blossoming on your face at how easily you had moved from terrified to having a casual conversation.

He laughed, leaning forward to put his hands on your thighs and lean his head on one like some affectionate puppy, big eyes seeming liquid gazing up at you with such fondness.

“Ye look at me the way Simon does before he skelps me wee yin. Cannae give me that look if ye want me to behave all proper for ye,” he said, his hand on your free thigh squeezing. Gods, not again.

“Please…”

He perked up at the strained cry coming from you, head raising so he could look fully at you. Whatever he found in his appraisal seemed to change his mood, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

“Wit’s that worry for? Whit did Gaz say tae ye? I’m naw going tae take yer maidenhood, just going tae make you feel good. Get you ready.”

“I don’t understand what you mean!” you shouted at him, tears starting that you tried to hide behind your hands.

You felt so stupid. So small and weak and stupid. What did you need to get ready for? What did he mean by your maidenhood and why had he assumed you were worried he would take it rather than the truth that you were worried he would make you feel as his companions had and it would overwhelm you? Gone was that relaxed nature of his, instead he seemed tense.

“Look at me” he said with such a steady command that you followed the instruction, dropping your hands. “Tell me whit ye ken about yer wedding night. Naw the one in this Kingdom, the one ye thought ye’d have in yours. The one yer ma would have told you about.”

“My mother died when I was born.”

“Who looked after ye then?”

“I- well there were servants that attended to me.”

“There must have been one that telt ye aboot yer womanhood aye? Taught ye about yer bleeding and whit it meant?”

“Of course” you huffed, “father was furious when I stained the sheets as a girl. They made sure to teach me how to hide it properly after that to not damage anything.”

The hand on your thigh tightened and then loosened rapidly a few times, but the man in front of you kept his expression neutral.

“Yer wedding night, whit did they tell ye about it?”

“Well I… it happened very quickly. I wasn’t told anything before I was in the carriage and then I was alone for the journey.”

He blew out a breath, stood and bent to press lips to your forehead and then looked at you with such a ferocity in his eyes that you remembered every horror story about Blood Druids and thought them all surely true.

“I’ll naw kill yer father without yer permission wee yin even though I should, fucking hackit wee shite that he is. Seems he left a good bit out of yer schooling.”

That horrible feeling of missing something came to a crescendo. This was confirmation enough that there were some important facts you were missing. Some knowledge held from you that meant you were defenceless against all these new sensations. And it was this monster who was the one to tell you. Although who was it that had always told you that men from the Northern Isles were monsters? His hand now against your face, rough thumb rubbing at your tears, did not feel like that of a monster.

“Gaz and Price I cannae guarantee will be able to stop themselves if they find oot that ye didnae even ken whit they were doing. Fuck hen, we’ve been mean tae ye haven’t we? Poor thing naw even knowing whit’s expected of ye from yer husband.”

“Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Aww dinnae get all bratty on me now jist cause yer mad ye dinnae ken anything,” he cooed, making you feel that way you had with Price, that pulsating anger.

“Well stop using it against me and teach me then!”

John MacTavish had never really pretended to be a good man. He was probably as close to a decent one as he reckoned a young lady could find, but certainly not good. If he were a good man he’d have left, found Kate and asked her to teach this little Duchess all about the romantic and erotic arts. But the temptation to lead you into a little snare wasn’t one he was inclined to ignore. Fuck you were so easily led, so predictably lashing out and giving him exactly what he wanted.

Oh he would be more than happy to teach you all about what you wanted to know, and he was going to take his time doing it.

#cod #cod au #fanfic #mhairiwrites #tf 141 x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #I swear this was originally a fic to have a go at writing smut and now I am back on my bullshit of there needing to be plot #why am I like this?#also really shooting myself in the foot here by very much setting up for maximum smut in the next chapter #can she deliver? Probs not bestie #confidence in writing at an all time low but the voices persist so whatever

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