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prettyboykatsuki · 11 months ago

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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SHARPEN YOUR TEETH (AND BITE AS HARD AS YOU WANT) | WYLL RAVENGARD

☾ tags ; SPOILERS FOR ACT ONE AND TWO OF BG3, gn + afab!reader, werewolf!reader, selunite cleric!reader developing relationship, canon typical violence, mild gore / blood, mutual pining, heat cycles, scent kink, oral (f + m!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, petnames (starlight, my love, my heart), lots of referring to reader as a dog / mutt / puppy, messy sex, reader has body hair / pubic hair, soft top wyll, a single pregnancy joke, 18+ MDNI

☾ wc ; 21.8k (????)

☾ a/n ; h...hello wyll nation. local deranged man here to offer this politely and run away. i dont really know what happened here. this was really just meant to be porn about a scent kink and uhm. well

i dont know if i wrote this fic as much as it used my physical vessel as a way to escape. it just sort of occured. im rarely nervous to post fic for a character but this is my first time doing a real wyll fic and bg3 fandom as many people i respect. so please be kind.

anyways. the embracing of monstrosity vs the rejection of it. so on and so forth. hope u enjoy. also banner is from slime isekai anime.

☾ synopsis ; there's a werewolf at camp. nothing new. wyll is growing increasingly fond of them. very new.

ao3 link for reading | spotify playlist.

The violent tearing sounds of teeth ripping through the flesh pulse and echo through the night air.

Blood sprays onto the furred creature responsible for it. All else grinds to a halt, the gnats and fireflies silent in awe as sharp claws crush through bone. Wyll can hear the sound of his own blood pumping as his eyes watch the massacre, hand drawn on his rapier. He looks over through the rest of his party

They remain just as awestruck. Astarion stands breathlessly. Shadowheart slinks into her namesake, eyes closed and trembling in the dark.

But Wyll watches, eyes fixed on the bloodshed. On the violence. The realization dawns on him too late that one of his party members is missing. You’re missing. He stares back at the creature, underneath the moon - silently slaughtering every last of their opposition until the battle field is left in a field of crimson. Death plagues every inch of dirt to the naked eye.

A whimper sounds. Followed by the sound of skin and bones retracting and moving back into place.

Where a werewolf once was is your naked form. Sat on your knees and bent over your body with tears at the corners of your eyes. Just your ears and tail remain, your mouth and hands covered in a thick layer of blood. You sniffle, the only light left to illuminate you ritual candles and moon as you turn your head back to your party.

“Uhm,” Your voice is coarse, thick with exhaustion and tears. Wyll stares at you in awestruck silence “We should probably talk.”

“So,” Gale’s voice and the obvious exasperation in it is enough to make Wyll feel sorry for you. You’re sitting at the campfire, finally clothed - with a blanket around your shoulder and Astarion tending to your wounds. “We have a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a werewolf, and a githyanki. Anything else we need to check off before we apply for a tent at the circus?”

Karlach takes the empty seat next to you, wanting to wrap her hand around the fluffy base of your tail and frowning when she realizes she can’t. Your ears are folded down, the corners of your eyes still wet with tears. You lean into Karlach’s heat, just enough to feel it.

The air is cool, thick with the scent of dirt and smoke. The campfire licks with light flames, surrounded by half cut logs for extra seating. You, Astarion, and Karlach crowd on a single half - draped with an extra bedroll for cushion.

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Gale,” Karlach says, glancing over at you “It’s hardly like they’re a threat to us. I mean.. look at them.”

Your frown deepens as you hang your head in shame.

“I thought we were past this, no? I mean we’ve all already been honest with each other so far. It’s a little late to be keeping something like this a secret is it not?”

“That’s true,” Wyll interjects, standing next to Gale across from the three of you - staring at your curled up form with sympathy. “I really don’t understand why you hid it for this long. Surely, you could’ve told us earlier?”

Your voice is weak and unusually frail. “The opportunity never presented itself.”

“You could have mentioned it when Astarion told us he was a vampire?” Wyll suggests.

“I didn’t want to steal his thunder, you know? Felt a bit rude, really.”

Astarion laughs, clearly wanting to laugh himself into hysterics but having enough tact not to do so. “Not a thing in that head of yours aside from our parasite, is there darling? But you know, I’m quite delighted by this revelation.

“Really?”

“Now we’ve got two monsters at our camp as opposed to just one! Evens out the playing field, in case things go south.”

“I’m not a monster,” You murmur, pouting. “And I don’t think you are either, for the record. I’m just a shifter. And my goddess is kind.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Gale asks somewhat bitterly.

“Selune,” Shadowheart pipes up this time, for the first time since your arrival back to camp. Emerges from her own tent in the corner like a ghost. Her arms are crossed, brows pinched into a tight face of displeasure “She has a network of werewolves in her ranks. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

You look up at her saddened, like a kicked puppy for lack of a better word, casting your gaze away from hers. Shadowheart looks ferocious, her appearance locked onto your pitiful form with a familiar angry smolder. Wyll can’t decide if you’ve done anything so grand as to earn her ire, even if you’re a Selunite werewolf. Though, given all that Wyll knows about her, that may as well be the greatest sin of all.

Your voice is tiny and high-pitched as you play with your hands in your lap “I didn’t intend to hide it from you but y-yes. I don’t bear any hatred towards you or other Shar followers, but uhm, well, I didn’t think you’d be very happy about it. A-and then, well you know, back in the grove you mentioned you hated wolves so, I just… planned on never shifting.”

“You have control over something like that?” Wyll inquires. You nod, not looking up at him.

“I was born as a werewolf, not turned. So the moon doesn’t affect me in the same way it would someone who was turned and I have more control over when it happens. I can shift in and out. Usually no problem but when I’m caught off guard like that,” You lift your tail and swing it from side to side as if to emphasize the point “Sometimes I mess it up.”

“Chk. What a waste of ability. Think of how many we would’ve slaughtered had we known from the start.”

Wyll looks around. Everyone has gathered now, standing around the fire.

“A werewolf… I know little of them. Wild shape magic is vastly different. I hope your condition does not cause you too much trouble. Or us, for that matter.” Halsin adds apologetically.

“I didn’t intend for it to come out this way,,” You mumble pitifully. Shit, he really can’t help but feel bad. “I really did fully plan on keeping it to myself until the end. But, well, we were desperate. And I didn’t want to see anyone die,”

“Given our circumstances, I think it would be amiss to scold you for your bravery,” Wyll supplements, trying to ease your worries. He does mean it. Regardless of what happened, you did save everyone. “Plus, we’ve all kept secrets here.”

“Exactly right, soldier. Don’t beat yourself up about it,”

“Wow, what sort of double standard is this? When I came out as a vampire, you people couldn’t stop talking about how afraid you were I was going to bite you!” Astarion says with an exaggerated frown. You smile at him weakly.

Wyll gives him a disbelieving look. “Well you’re not exactly subtle about wanting to suck our blood, are you Astarion?”

Astarion huffs. “Everyone here is so unfair.”

Wyll laughs goodnaturedly, his eyes turning back onto you. He examines you in silent thought, his mind sifting over your last few months together.

After Gale gets over his initial frustration, his curiosity gets the better of him. He rejoins everyone—across from you on an empty log and Wyll joins along with them. Shadowheart and Lae-zel come too, as does Halsin.

Around the campfire, Gale pulls a book and quill from his tent before making himself comfortable.

“Well since we’ve all made up, I am a little curious about your condition.” He admits. A very Gale thing to do, Wyll thinks.

“I don’t mind any questions.” You reply gently. “It’s the least I can do.”

The whole camp softens at your display. Surprisingly, Shadowheart is the first to ask a question.

“Is it more comfortable for you…in your wolf form?”

You seem taken aback.. Though it dawns on you quickly why she would be asking that specifically.

“Ah, kind of? My humanoid form is also me but it feels… limiting at times.”

“Limiting?”

“Eating meat without my canines is a pain in my ass. Same with not being able to express myself with my ears or tail. I like traveling on my paws depending on the terrain.” You say, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me though mostly,”

Gale’s quill hitting the paper makes a loud scratching sound. Astarion has a snarky comment about it that Wyll misses. He’s too preoccupied with other things.

Hoping that you don't feel too badly about all this, for example.

“Does it affect your daily life in any way?”

“I don’t think so? I don’t know. It’s always been like this, so there’s nothing that different to me. I do notice how different I am around humans maybe,” You say, before perking up. You’ve just remembered something important. “Oh, but there is one thing.”

“What is it?” Wyll asks.

“My senses are much much sharper than other peoples. My sense of smell, especially.”

___

You remain together. Despite the mess. Somehow.

With this parasite in mind, and nothing left to lose - it’s better to stay together. Now that there are no important secrets kept hidden, the vibe is much more relaxed. The impending doom adds a layer of familiarity too. Wyll has often traveled with bands of strangers, but never for so long and with so many.

It gives him a sense of familiarity. Home. What a foreign word.

He thinks a lot of it is your contribution. They’re your pack, as you say so often. A special one with lots of different sorts of people. And you - you’re loyal to a fault. It helps. You and Karlach are a lot alike, but Wyll would venture to call you a little more tender. It helps fill in the gaps.

Wyll knows you’re a werewolf but it’s hard not to think of you as a dog in that sense. A different dog to Scratch, maybe. But a dog all the same - with folded ears and a softail and propensity for drooling depending on the way you sleep.

He’s only really reminded of the fact that you’re part wolf when you use your abilities in battles. It’s your failsafe. You only do it when you think it’s dire, and before that you air on the side of diplomacy. You’re a hunter should the need arise though. Sometimes you don’t transform completely. Where your usual canines are meant to linger in your mouth are a set of teeth too big for it. Instead of hands, sometimes there are soft paws with sharpened nails.

There are three ways you can transform for that matter. Human, werewolf, or just wolf. Wyll finds these little distinctions fascinating, and more fascinating that you tend to opt for one end of the spectrum or the other.

Wyll quickly learns some of your physical attributes are the same irregardless of what you look like. The fact you are agile and quick and strong, or the fact you can travel fast on all fours. The fact you like meat, and the fact you whine rather loudly when you’re upset.

When you’re using your abilities, many would think you a ruthless killer.

But after everyones cleared from harm, you’ll transform back into your usual human self - naked and covered in blood and frowning. You spit up meat that tastes bad and whine loudly if no one tells you good job.

(That job often falls on Wyll or Shadowheart. Gale or Karlach if they’re traveling with you. Astarion is only kind enough to do it in a semi-mocking way, but Wyll is keenly aware of how sincere his praise can be.)

In moments like that, you’re just a dog again. A puppy, sometimes. Loyal. And novel, and interesting for many reasons.

Wyll should expect your loyalty by now. He sees it so often, how unyielding and faithful you always are. To your goddess and to your pack and to whatever else you’ve deemed important to you.

He should’ve known that you’d probably try to seek him out tonight, after everything that’s happened among all of you.

He did watch you for a bit at the start. You worked clockwise through all of your companions, stopped in between for stories and gossip. Some of the tiefling kids wanted to see your tail and you’re too good a spirit to tell them no.

Wyll wouldn’t dare hope for you finding him, but he is a little relieved when you do.

“Wyll! There you are,”

Wyll’s eyes snap up.

“Ah, Hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” He says regretfully.

“Of course I noticed! How could I not notice our very own warlock disappear? It was no party without you.”

Wyll wonders if you’re being sincere. He hopes you are. The night air is cool as the two of you share space. Away from the party, only sand and rubble between your feet. And a body of water that looks like it could go on forever.

It’s a full moon tonight.

“Really? I’m honored,” He peers out into the lake. Suddenly aware of his body, Wyll recoils into himself. The movement is subtle enough to be overlooked. The horns on the top of his head feel especially heavy. The skin pulled around the base of them throbs. It’s not painful, but it is unpleasant. “In truth, I don’t feel a festive mood and I didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.”

“Is it too intrusive for me to ask?”

“Not at all,” Wyll assures. Your words are comfortable and soft, concerned without being pitiful. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.”

Wyll can hear his own somber. He doesn’t wince, but it's impossible to ignore. Even explaining himself only adds to his melancholy. He’s quiet for a while, his voice touched with a destitution and irony. And bitterness, maybe.

You remain still and steady beside him. He can’t tear his gaze away from the endless water, comforted by its vastness. How it generally disregards him and distorts his reflection.

“You don’t want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons you see. And the guests won’t take kindly to scars quite so monstrous.” He jokes, trying to keep his voice light.

He doesn’t think he succeeds at it.

Silence once more. Wyll can see you, but your expression is unchanged. Your eyes are clear underneath the ever changing moon.

“You don’t unsettle me. You never have.” There’s conviction behind your words. They comfort him.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do.” Wyll tells you, and means every word. He tries to brighten up, waving you off. “Don’t let my introspection spoil your night. Off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.”

He hopes it’s enough to get you to forget about him for tonight.

When you walk off, Wyll is expecting you to disappear. It’s enough that you’ve checked on him. He would’ve been content with it, left to reflect on his troubles alone. You’ve done something significant with your reassurance. He isn’t so tactless to keep you from celebrating. even when he would maybe want more time with you.

You return to him though. With a bottle of wine, and a bedroll you spread in the empty sand next to him. You give him an unreadable look followed by a cheeky smile, making yourself comfortable on the ground.

“Come on. Sit.”

Confused, Wyll sits. You open the bottle of wine with your teeth as a cork and drink from the top before passing it over to him. He takes it from you and stares at the place you’ve just drank from. You start to talk while he debates mimicking you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s less difficult than it is,” You say almost thoughtlessly. Almost. “You’ve lost your body. Yourself. That must be hard.”

Wyll looks at you, then back at the colored glass of the bottle. He clears his throat. “It is. More than I imagined it to be.”

“You know, I was born a werewolf. And I had just about the best circumstances a person could have with that in mind. Selune accepts me and my clergy was mostly kind. Still, I heard the word monster a lot from people outside my circle. I could feel the distrust that I incited in outsiders. So, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through,” You say, your legs stretched out far into the sand, past the confinement of a tiny square bedroll “But I do know what it’s like to feel accused when you’ve done nothing wrong. You especially, Blade of Frontiers. I think you’re allowed to grieve the trust it feels like you’ve lost, or might lose. If it’s worth anything, though, I know you’re not a monster.”

Wyll barely gets a chance to process the words as they come. He wonders if this is what people mean by feeling seen by someone else. “You know?”

“Damn right I know,” Your response comes without hesitation. The night air blows along his skin, a soft and tender caress. Wyll frowns when you don't elaborate.

“How could you know something like that?” He asks.

“Lotsa reasons. You’re still nice and thoughtful and caring and charming. But, hm, well the most obvious reason is a little more primitive.” You take a deep inhale. “Your scent,”

“...I’m sorry?”

Your laugh is bright, and bubbly.

“Your scent,” You repeat calmly, taking a deep sigh after saying it. “Everyone at camp has a scent. It’s a little abstract, but they change when people change. Shadowheart smells the leaves of black currant and uh, Halsin smells like sequoia wood. Lae’zel smells like black tea and metal. Gale smells like licorice. Astarion smells a lot like applemint. Karlach smells like smoke and star anise,”

Wyll finds himself both awestruck and amused.

“These are all rather specific,”

“I’ve always been a bit of a bloodhound so I’ve developed a talent at identifying specifics. It was shitty when I was a runt. Even a trip outside could give me the worst fuckin’ headache, but it got better the more I got used to it.” You give Wyll a glance “Anyways. Scent changes. When someone changes, their scent does too. Moods and days and everything affect it too.”

“And mine hasn’t changed, is what you’re saying?”

“No. Not in the way that’d make you different. It’s stronger, but it hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed.” You say quietly, and take a deep breath. “Not to me at least.”

“You’ve conveniently left out my scent from your description.” Wyll says with fond amusement. He feels reassured. It’s absurd, yet Wyll is so inclined to believe you. “Is it something so awful?”

You flush, suddenly becoming timid.

“Yours is… good,” You say simply, and softly. You seem embarrassed to continue. He can’t help but find it so incredibly endearing. “It’s just harder for me to describe. But it’s good. It’s personally my favorite. “

You add the last part a little quieter.

“And it hasn’t changed,” Wyll says more than asks this time.

“No. Stronger, but the same.” You curl in on yourself, crossing your legs as you turn your head to face him, head tilted towards one side with a smile. “You’re not a devil to me. Just Wyll. And I like just Wyll.”

Wyll feels his chest tight as you lean your head on your shoulder contentedly. He tries not to read it into, hoping you can’t hear how loudly his heart is pounding. He takes a drink from the wine bottle straight, the same place your lips touched moments ago.

He likes you, too. The words don’t come out right.

“Yes…I’m,” He’s speechless, hands folded in his lap as he stares at you. “Me too. Our journey together has proved important to me. Thank you.”

You smile but don’t say anything more.

___

With the goblin camp clear, the journey towards the Shadowfell lands becomes increasingly pervasive. You’ve done more traveling and less resting in the last few weeks than you have thus far in your journey.

Smoke clouds in the horizon are what draw you to Waukeens rest.

On your way to the mountain pass, for easy access to the city, lay a massacre of bodies and fire. The distress has far from subsided. The thick smog continues to build, folds into itself like massive heaps of wool - suffocating everything on every path in its surroundings. The smell of ash is invasive, even from a fair distance away.

Blood trails from one end of the path towards the main entrance. As your party’s distance begins to close in, Wyll feels his lungs fill up with a familiar tightness. The burning air makes his eyes and lungs sting.

“Shit, the fire is still burning. There must still be people in need of aid. We should,” You cough hard as you look at what's in front of you. Eyes squinted trying to make out the horizon. “We should get there and see if we can aid them,”

Astarion groans “For just one day, could we rest? Leave this nonsense up to the other wandering travelers desperate for recognition? Is that asking so much?”

“As long as I’m pinning down bodies for you to feed off, you’ve got to listen to me, you know? You laugh warmly at his sarcasm. “Now, If you don’t stop complaining you’ll fall behind, pretty boy, and there’ll be not a thing left for you to suck dry.”

“I should report you for that, you know. Threats of starvation against the imprisoned violate the law,”

You laugh a little as you start to make your way forward. The four of you jog towards the entrance of Waukeens rest with urgency, more yours and Wyll’s than Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s.

Among the scenery at the front entrance of Waukeens rest - what concerns Wyll most is not the death. Not the bodies ashen among flame or the flames themselves that continue to widen and encompass. It is that, among those bodies, are members of the Flaming Fist. Past the sour memory of his life comes the worry, the fear.

What in the Hells are the Flaming Fist doing around this area?

Away from the woman praying over a body, are a small number of Fist’s pushing on the doorway of a locked and burning building. You’re quick to run to it. Wyll barely keeps up.

Before you can ask about the situation at hand, a Flaming Fist member addresses you and your party.

“Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside, don’t just stand there - push!”

Wyll’s voice betrays him, speaking before he has a minute to think. “Ravengard? He’s here?”

“Yes, now make yourself useful- push, damn it, push!”

Wordlessly from next to him, you gear yourself up and push kick the door in. Strong enough that the wood crumbles to nothing, Wyll watches the doors open wide and the flames that lick at the inside of the building. A cloud of smoke billows out as the Flaming Fist pour in, your party quick to follow in alongside them.

Through the thickets of smoke and up stairs half-broken, sounds Counselor Florrick's voice from behind the broken door. Maneuvering through ember and broken floorboard, you proceed the same as you did before. Pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the door - you use your foot and kick the door in again, causing it to break nearly instantly.

Counselor Florrick coughs as she makes her way outside.

“Come. I’m afraid proper thanks must wait,” She says with a heaved breath. It’s too clouded with smoke for Wyll to make anything of her face and Wyll can only assume that is the case both ways.

Back down through the way you came, you take a deep inhale of smoke and cough. The scent must be nauseating, far too much for you - but you don’t let it show through your face.

Once everyone has been accounted for outside, Counselor Florrick approaches your party in the broad daylight of the courtyard. It’s there she recognizes Wyll.

“Hold on,” Wyll says, reaching into his pack. He hands you a sachet of herbs he’d purchased alongside you from a merchant in the goblin camp. “For your nose,”

You give him a look of surprise, your ears perking up and tails swishing as you take it from him gratefully, holding it up to your nose for a deep breath.

“Fuck, thank you.” You reply gratefully. Wyll nods in reply.

“Counsellor Florrick - are you alright?” Wyll says first, concern pouring through. Regardless of all else.

It’s clear right away, the horror in his face once she’s seen what’s become of him. Wyll lets it roll off of his back, the momentary sting not enough to make him flinch. It’s a reminder to start adjusting to what will be one of many.

Her sympathy is tangible, though it doesn’t make Wyll feel better.

“Wyll - by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?”

He shakes his head to dismiss the thought. “A story best left for calmer days. Now breathe deeply, are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.”

Wyll’s shoulder sag with relief. She turns to address the Flaming Fist accompanying her.

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Drow have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard - westward if my eyes and ears can be believed.” She pauses, thinking before giving further instruction “Report to the manip and send for reinforcements. We must find the Grand Duke.”

“On your command, Counsellor.” The head of the Gauntlet affirms, bowing their head before taking off.

It’s there that Wyll feels panic. Uncertainty like nothing he’s felt in the last seven years. Maybe longer. No longer a passing thought or a sour memory, concern for his father washes out what might’ve been grief.

“No. It can’t be. You mean, they’ve taken -”

Counselor Florrick's expression darkens. “Yes, Wyll. The drow have your father.”

“Shit, what? Wyll, you’re a noble?” You interject for the first time in the conversation. When Wyll turns to you, above all else is concern. He shakes his head.

“The circumstances of my birth are no matter of pride for neither me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. How can we help?.”

“Rescue Ravengard from his drow captors. Baldur's Gate needs him, now more than ever,” She says, addressing you primarily and Wyll after. She pauses to examine Wyll a second time, like now that she’s out of the smoke she is really looking.��

A passing glance of her brings back memories of a childhood long forgotten. Days spent in courtyards training the sword and waiting for father to finish his duties. An ache starts to form in the cavity of his chest, but Wyll swallows it.

Where duty calls, it is only common sense the Blade will answer. He holds a fist over his heart and bows.

“Trust us to see it through, Counsellor.”

“Who is this Duke Ravengard?” You ask, finally - though it’s not to him. Rather it’s to the Counselor. Wyll wonders if that’s a choice you’ve made on purpose.

“The invisible force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city’s collapse is certain.” She pauses, looking troubled “I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.”

“Shit. Then, not to be rude, but why entrust this to me? You have others at your command. More well equipped, I’d imagine,” You ask, bearing no hostility. A fair enough question for you, head of pack, with concerns for everyone else.

“Isn’t it clear? You travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Who might I trust, if not a legend? Who might rise to the moment, if not Ravengard’s own son?”

You pause to mull over her reply. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, before your focus returns to the Counselor.

“I don’t think the drow have taken him back to Menzoberranzan. More likely they’ve taken the Duke to Moonrise Towers.” You say tentatively. “Though Hells, I can’t be sure. Goblin’s bein’ here is weird and their affairs are tied together somehow. Plus, the drow we’ve met in this area so far have relations to other cultist bullshit,”

“I was thinking the same,” Wyll adds.

“Moonrise Towers? Along the old road? That place is cursed, few could survive there…unless darker forces are at work,” She pauses, taking a moment to assess the situation “This was no random attack, then. The Grand Duke was their target.”

After more deliberating, you look firmly at the Counselor and nod - a serious promise.

“Moonmaiden guide us - we’ll head to Moonrise towers and find Duke Ravengard. Though for now, I won’t promise anything.”

“Thank you. When the Grand Duke returns to the city, he’ll hail his only son a hero.” She says with a deep breath “Approach the towers with care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow.”

She turns to address him this time “Remember Wyll. ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So father said. I won’t soon forget it.”

“We’ll be heading off now, towards the towers. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Counselor Florrick.”

With that, the Florrick disappears back out into the smoke and open road. Left in the aftermath is the rest of the party, not barring you - and Wyll with nothing but worry.

Your eyes find Wyll’s with ease, filled to the brim with concern. Wyll casts his gaze away instinctively.

“Shit,” Wyll swears, unsure of what the reaction from you will be.

“Wyll,” Your voice calls and soothes. Before his response forms in his mouth, he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. In a sudden movement, you lean into him. Even amongst the swallowing heat of fire and ember - Wyll is conscious of your skin. The scrapes and cuts on your fingers raised press against his own. You inhale a long breath and Wyll realizes what you’re doing. It’s confirmation when you pull away and glance at him seriously. “Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?”

The question itself is exposing. It’s a raw nerve, split open, tender and unhealed. There’s no shame in it. Or maybe there is, always has been - and Wyll has spent nearly seven years outrunning it. This much he knows - he never intended to show you this part of himself.

And he knows that this is not the first time he’s betrayed your trust. You ask Wyll to trust you, and Wyll wants to explain he always has.

There is no betrayal in your face, no disappointment.

You come to him ready to receive anything. Crystal clear eyes and a sincerity in your heart - there is so much said in so little.

“I’m sorry. It was never,” He’s struck by grief in a sudden moment. You’re kind, but it goes well beyond just that. “I had no intent to hide it.”

“But you had no intent to share it either,” You say, your voice soft-spoken and tender. Forgiving, though you don’t make Wyll feel like there’s something he needs forgiveness for. “It’s okay. We’re damn similar sometimes aren't we?”

When you let go of Wyll, he stares at you. Wide-mouthed and unsure of himself. For a brief moment, his surroundings become blurry. There’s no one else in the party. There’s no smoke. There’s no fire. No ash. For a brief moment, there’s just you - and you’re smiling. You feel like forgiveness.

“Florrick spoke true,” Wyll affirms, unsure of what to do with himself. “I am a Grand Duke’s son.”

“Not just a grand duke - Ravengard has more power and influence than anyone.” Astarion adds.

“My father and I were close. Once upon a time. Until he disowned me and cast me out of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says with a hardened heart. He’s forgiven his father. He’s spent years rationalizing the choice he made. But he’s reminded in an instant that the wound is still tender. “I can’t tell you more - the pact forbids it. My lips are quite literally sealed.”

“Okay,” You give Wyll a look, clear and bright. “Then, Wyll - do you want to save your father?”

He wasn’t expecting that to be your only question. It must show that he’s taken aback, but you remain where you are unflinching.

“Yes, I—yes. Regardless of our relationship, he remains my flesh and blood.” You press your lips together, an encouraging half smile, prompting him. “And I don’t want him to fall into the hands of Absolutists for any reason. He made me an exile, but I’m not about to let him suffer at the hands of his captors.”

“Alright. Then we’ll save him,” You brush over the weight of that sentence, addressing your other companions. “The only lead we’ve got so far is Moonrise towers, so we’ll stick to our original plans. Visiting the creche and then traveling through the Underdark.”

Wyll stares at you as you continue to talk, the words feeling like little more than noise. Lost in thought, you let him remain undisturbed. When your eyes meet, you don’t do anything more than grin - fang poking out form underneath your lip.

And it’s the second time in his life, Wyll feels like you’re seeing something he can’t. Himself, maybe.

A confrontation with the githyanki and a red dragon later, you return to camp the night of visiting Waukeen’s rest.

When night falls, you join Wyll in his tent. The gesture is innocent. You ask about having a sleepover. Wyll tries to remember there’s nothing but friendship between you. Eventually helets you into the cramped space of his tent. There’s barely enough space for you both, but you manage.

Before bed, you ask Wyll to tell you about himself. Anything he can afford to tell you. For a long while, he talks about being the Blade of Frontiers. But then, when it’s late enough and the gap between you continues to shrink - he talks about his life in the city. It doesn’t happen on purpose. Wyll is hardly so ungentlemanly. It’s unlike him to cluelessly go on and on about himself.

You just happen to know exactly the right questions. Before Wyll knows it, he’s telling you about all of his escapades. His life as a nobleman's son and escaping to fraternize with lower city youth.

Wyll can’t disclose his pact to you, but he can tell you about the kiss he had at fifteen. He can tell you about the first time he lost a tooth, or describe the well-worn picture of his late mother in his fathers wallet. For a while, Wyll recounts tales of a life he’d thought he’d abandoned. When the words come out, they don’t feel like violence. Don’t coat his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Instead they taste light like memories, and come out just as soft.

He doesn’t remember when either of you drift off to sleep.

When morning comes and Wyll finds you still in his tent, he feels the ability to claim plausible deniability drift away from him.

You mean more to him than he thought. The moment passes to tell you.

___

The journey to the Underdark is never an easy one.

Underneath the desecrated Selune temple was the beaten path. A long ladder down through a broken Selunite outpost. Not only have you all fought a spectator, a bullete, several hook horrors and an entire beach of duegars - you’ve just slaughtered an Absolutist leader with your bare hands.

The remaining duegar have fled the scene after a night to recover, leaving Nere’s body for the lot of you to loot. The gnomes have gone too. Wyll tries to hold confidence all of them will make it in one piece.

The Sovereign had made his request clear, slaughter Nere and bring his head. Wyll has watched you kill and devour several bodies in your time together, but there’s something novel about watching you do it now. A knife, pulled out from your sheath - sharp as it cuts and saws through the flesh. It’s a clean, precise slice. Nothing like you, Wyll thinks fondly.

He can surmise that it’s because you’re rather fond of the myconid colony. They’re kind to you and you are always fond of those who are kind. In that way you’re easy to appease. But he didn’t know you were capable of this level of care. You tend to be matted and ruddy. Generally messy.

Wyll likes you that way.

The head comes off the body unceremoniously. You wrap a cloth underneath the bottom, and tuck it in your pack along some cubes of ice you had Gale make you with magic that morning.

Wyll only sees the outline of your back. He watches as you stretch your palms out and examine them for blood. When you find none, you turn around with a little tired sigh.

Promptly, you prop yourself onto Shadowheart. Your ear and tails have made a reappearance, your chin resting on her shoulder.

“I'm tiiiiiiiiired,” You whine, long and drawn out. Your teeth stick out from your lips when you pout, Wyll notices. The heat of the forge and all of the surrounding lava have your skin sticky with sweat. The deep purple of the destroyed Sharran enclave feels out of place among the fires “I don’t want to go to the Shadowfell lands. I won’t. You can’t make me,”

You’ve picked up a habit of being touchy. You tend to cling to Shadowheart, which Wyll finds ironic. Even with her cold exterior, the half-elf doesn’t push you off when you hug or pester her. You make promises to Karlach you’ll join her for it once her engines all fixed. Lae’zel finds it pointless. Halsin doesn’t mind, and likes to turn into a bear so all the furry creatures at camp can turn into big pile.

Gale also doesn’t mind, but the wizard usually airs on the side of embarrassment - a faint blush crawling over him whenever you wrap yourself thoughtlessly about him. Astarion pretends to reject it, but willingly pets and scratches you when he feels less combative. Something you happily recieve.

And Wyll… well, it doesn’t bother him. You approach him often enough, and he’d be hard-pressed on a reason to reject you.

(He ignores the way your touch seems to linger, unsure if he’s seeing things that don’t belong. Wyll is fond of you. Your heart is good - he thinks of you often but he isn’t so sure that means something. Well it means plenty to him, but what of you?

You like the sensation of physical affection, he reminds himself Nevermind the times you’ve fallen asleep as a wolf in his lap. Nevermind the occasional naps in his tent, or whines when he’s too busy to pay you mind.)

“You’re not ferocious at all, do you know? More like a drooling mutt than a werewolf,” Shadowheart huffs sarcastically.

“What I lack in ferocity I make up for in vigor.” You reply with a hum, rubbing your cheek against Shadowheart’s shoulder. “And the situation doesn’t spark any vigor in me. We’ve already been underground this long and next we’re going somewhere even darker.”

Astarion pipes up, sitting criss-cross onto the marbled floor in one of the few spots free of blood, sorting through his varied belongings and trinkets. “I would figure werewolves and vampires share their love for the darkness, no?”

“We can’t see the moon well from either place. I need to see the moon to track some things related to my form. I count the phases in my head but if I don’t see it for too long - I start getting homesick like a man at sea.” You whine and huff again, this time peeling yourself off of Shadowheart and throwing yourself onto Wyll.

He steadies himself enough not to topple over by your strength and weight as you drape yourself across his back. You nuzzle your cheek against him tenderly. It’s different to how you do it to Shadowheart or Astarion (when he’s not adamantly pushing you away.) It’s more tender, closer. Your nose brushes against the nape of his neck. Wyll doesn’t flinch, even at the warmth of your breath. You inhale again and Wyll can hear the swish of your tail.

He pretends to be ignorant of it and doesn’t push you away - instead laughing lightly.

“Oh, Moonmaiden - let your moon be my light, and I shall let my sword be your shining symbol.” You recite with a sigh. The words reverberate along his skin. “Moon my love, you are terribly missed.”

“Keep your Selunite prayer out of my ears, would you?”

“Don’t be so moody, my cold blooded Sharran. Our Lady of SIlver is a kind and accepting goddess, so her blessing will extend even to you.”

Shadowheart crinkles her nose. You laugh noisily next to Wyll’s ear. He smiles softly.

“After we’ve delivered the head to the Sovereign, we can travel back overhead before going into the Shadowfell. That way, you’ve had some time with the moon and we’re able to get in more rest before taking it on,”

You pull away from him now, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around with a laugh. Wyll looks at you wide-eyed as you grin at him, knocking your foreheads together innocently.

“Ah, what a great idea! If everyone else is on board, then let’s make our way to the Sovereign now and recoup on the surface. We’ll return to Grymforge come mornin’ and head off that way. Is everyone on board with that?”

You look around for affirmation before resting your gaze on Wyll with a smile.

Wyll feels his heart tug slightly, returning your smile before averting his eyes. You scamper off to Astarion, attention easily pulled in every which way. Shadowheart saunters towards him.

“You’re rather obvious, Blade of Frontiers. I thought a folk hero would have a little more suave about these matters.”

Wyll clears his throat.

“...I don’t know what you’re referring too.”

Shadowheart laughs good-naturedly.

“Sure you don’t.”

___

There are few times you take your proper werewolf form.

It’s an accommodation thing from Wyll’s understanding. People are frightened less of full wolves or your humanoid forms. The hybridized version of yourself is what people find the most monstrous, and so - you’ve gotten used to putting on the shelf.

The only time you take that form is when you hunt for meat. It’s easy enough to get ahold of other camp supplies - like liquor or vegetables if they’re lucky. But meat is hard to find, especially hard to find where it hasn’t got spoiled. Astarion hunts only out of necessity, so he’s not really any help.

You hunt because it’s natural to you. A life of pilgrimage and spent in a Selunite enclave has gifted you the knowledge of preserving meats, too. When you’re camped out near enough forest - you’ll hunt. Most often before a long stretch of travel, you’ll go into the woods alone and disappear - returning with a feast. No one goes with you. In the forest, among fallen trees and soil - you’ll gut and skin the prey. You’ll bring back the final products, clean hides and things to turn to leather and meat ready for curing. It’s to prevent any more unusual bloodshed from occurring at camp. More sanitary, you always say.

Wyll has no intention of following you tonight while he knows you’re hunting. His interest in the woods is to scope them out one last time before you leave this place for good, keep it in his memory and prepare for the road ahead.

When he hears the sound of a faint growling, he thinks for a minute you’ve been injured or are in some kind of danger.

The moon is shining just enough to cast light on your form. He figures out quickly you’re safe.

There’s nothing new to see. Thick, crimson blood makes a mess of your appearance - dripping down your fangs. It sticks and matts in your fur, covering your face in messy splatters. Your werewolf form is your most monstrous. Unnatural limbs and features - a form like a human but the face and ferocity of a wolf.

In front of you are corpses of animals, bled out and laid in a pile. The scent of blood is so strong Wyll can smell it from a distance away. It’s a distance you’d usually be able to smell Wyll from, but it must be masked by the smell of copper and flesh.

The moon has waned, nearly to its fullest. You turn yourself towards the black sky of midnight, towards the moon - and you howl. It is a loud, tremendous sound.

Wyll has never heard you howl before. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life. An elongated melody, deep from your chest - high and throaty. You howl to the sky. You howl to the moon. To your goddess, most certainly. You howl in the version of yourself everyone finds most disgusting. The monster in you is alive and bare-chested to the world. Stood on your two feet, all matted fur and eyes like beams of light - you howl towards the sky.

And Wyll watches. Listens. Commits the sound to memory.

In the version of yourself that is so embraced by monstrosity, you howl like a song to the moon you so adore.

He’s never found you so beautiful.

___

Time moves differently in the Shadowfell lands.

Slower. In every other part of Fae’run, the nights and days don’t blur into each other. But here, in the abandoned and unyielding darkness - everything feels thick. Muddy. The soil that does not dampen, the trees that do not grow leaves. Instead of preserved amber, there is only shadow. It swallows everything, every place in the land.

The upward battle of survival persists. The Harpers have (barely) welcomed you into the Last Light Inn. Flaming Fist Marcus is dead, and the Moon Maiden has given her her blessing. You’ve even been able to give Karlach her first upgrade.

The air speaks for itself though, that you’re nearing something important. The beginning of something. Or the end, though Wyll sways towards hope and optimism.

In the presence of darkness and solace, -Wyll finds that you remain yourself. Bright and clear and comforting, even in the face of impending doom.

Your camp in the Shadowfell lands is brightened by artificial lights. It spans over more land now. The main area which hosts all of your companions lies at the foot of an abandoned building. An abandoned house, torn by vines of shadowfell and roots. The base of camp is spread over dusty ashen floors, everything colored gray.

When it’s time to rest, most lights remain on. He finds it’s easier to sleep with Selune’s blessing.

Tonight, Wyll can't get any rest at all. He’s still awake while his companions have fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the skies. They lack the deep shades of purple of a normal night sky, unmistakably dark.

His eyes remain lidded as he takes a look at his surroundings. Shadowheart is asleep, and Astarion is deep enough in meditation that Wyll doubts he’d noticed if he walked off. Among his companions, you’re missing from your bedroll.

Wyll sits up as quietly as he can. He looks towards your tent, to see if you’ve woken up to sleep inside - but doesn’t find you there either. His brow tightens, shoulders tense as he blinks rapidly trying to wake himself up.

There aren’t many places in this camp to go, despite the terrain being wider. The other tent occupants remain in place. From where Wyll stands you’re not with anyone else like Karlach or Halsin.

There’s only one more place that would leave you.

Through a curve and another straight path are wood stairs. At the top is a skeleton of an old house. One that stood long before the curse, and remains long after.

Wyll has never gone there on his own. He only saw it once while they’d settled in for the first time. There’s nothing inside of it. A fireplace, a broken cupboard and cabinet. A table and chair, and two old beds that have gone rickety overtime.

He ducks his head as he enters through what must’ve once been a door.

It occurs to him he’s never really seen you pray. Not fully at least. Though you utter it on occasion, the words of your goddess - you tend to speak them lightly. Wyll gathers its out of respect for Shadowheart.

He finds you on the edge of a large bed in the center of the room. You’re in your humanoid form, with only your ears and tail and teeth - your hands are clasped tightly around a necklace. The fireplace is burning, but it’s not what illuminates you.

All around you though is a pale blue glow, like the moon itself has surrounded you with all of its might. You’re quiet in incantation - the warmth of a smile lighting up your features. You’re not in your usual nightwear of a loose shirt and pants. Instead you wear the silk of a slip and something like a Selunite robe, open. Wyll has seen so much of your skin before, everything past your knees barren. But its a new feeling. Your neck and shoulders are just the same, your hand on your chest ducking from view.

You breathe deeply, before your eyes flutter open and see him at the door. You smile at him.

“You’re awake,” You say first, letting go of the necklace chain. “Hope everything’s alright?”

“Sorry. And yes, everything is fine - I had just woken up and couldn’t find you,” Wyll feels flush as he adds the rest to the conversation “And I uhm. Well I was worried something might have happened.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I figured everyone would be asleep so I didn’t bother telling anyone,” You say apologetically “Our Silver Lady called to me so I felt I ought to answer.”

You pause before laughing. “Wait, sit first. Unless you’re going back to sleep right away.”

Wyll shakes his head as your grin widens making his heart feel rather funny.

He sits next to you, fond as you bring your leg up and face him. Your back rests on the broken wood at the foot of the bed. You’ve tidied the room a bit, and these sheets don’t have as much dust as they did when you first got here.

Wyll mirrors your actions, sitting with a leg up - bent at the knee as he stares at you.

“You said your goddess called to you?”

“Ah, yes,” Your voice is uncharacteristically shy. Wyll can’t help but stare at the bare crook of your knees. “Shadowheart had mentioned it. There’s something in these lands. And well, wherever Shar goes, Selune will follow and all. Don’t really know what it means, though. Bit of mystery.”

“You’re a cleric, right?” Wyll asks, taking a brief moment to assess and remember all the little details about yourself you’ve told him.

When he thinks of it, there’s so much about you he doesn’t know. Though he feels you know everything there is to know about him. It’s not that you’re secretive, but it’s rare to get a moment alone. Harder to find a moment appropriate to air out your past.

Alone with you in this shadowy, dimly lit room - Wyll hopes time will slow. Long enough to know something more about you, at least.

“Right. I try not to crutch too much on my magic so I tend to stick to fighting,” You say with a laugh “I also had to learn physical combat and martial arts. It feels like a waste not to use.”

“I see,” Wyll says with a thoughtful hum “But you are a cleric, all the same. Quite an impressive title to bestow on someone, I’d imagine.”

“Ah, truthfully - I find it a bit difficult,” You reply sheepishly, surprising Wyll.“I’m sort of simple, all things considered. I thought I’d be my Lady’s sword or just part of her clergy, but I never imagined I’d do anything so important. Or have powers so great.”

The sound of your voice feels especially pleasant to Wyll like this, murmurs just between you with no threat of doom. Like between these broken wooden planks, is a peace impenetrable. He likes being with you.

“Before your capture, were you? Set out to do something important, I mean,”

“Importance is relative. But, it was a mission I was proud taking,” You reply thoughtfully. A confirmation of the sanctity in your character for you to make such a distinction. “I had been sent by my clergy to wander Faerun - to aid other lycanthropes and those touched by madness or ailment.

“You alone had been sent?

You nod, staring down at your hands folded in your lap.

“Aye, me alone. I’d wandered around for several years when I was sent away before the ship had captured me. I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate as part of it,”

“Where do you hail from?”

“Amn. There’s a few small Selunite enclaves there. Mama was a Silverstar, which is mostly a pretty word for a very powerful priestess. My fate was divined when I was seventeen and the rest is history.”

“Seventeen is young. What was your final destination then? Or was it more of a wandering practice.”

“After some years, I was hoping to get to Waterdeep actually. Big church for Selune over there, very beautiful.” Your voice teeters on wistful, blooming with longing and nostalgia. You peek at Wyll through your lashes. “In that way, we have a lot in common.”

“A lot in common. Do you really think so?”

“Mm, I do. Banished at seventeen, a monster inside us, some sort of tragic background. We make a fun pair.”

“I didn’t know there was a tragic story in yours. To the extent you could call it one,” Wyll says quietly. You give Wyll a look. Though he doesn’t pressure you to expand on it, you seem relaxed enough to talk about it.

You close your eyes briefly, letting them flutter open.

“It was a year into my pilgrimage, I think,” You explore, a soft sadness tender in your expression. Wyll sits up a little straighter, readying himself to receive whatever you wish to tell him. “A small village in the Dalelands. Young girl, about seven. Her village had ostracized her. By the time I arrived, she was emaciated. Clever little thing had survived on her own but barely,”

Wyll waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt you even briefly. He softens his gaze.

“Anyway. When I go anywhere new, the basic practice is meeting locals. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t always disclose my wolven ways. Some people - they need guidance, others they need protection. In her case, she needed both,” You look far away somehow. Wyll feels empathy as much as he feels warmth. Your care for the human condition, he always finds, touches him. “She was much smarter than me, you know. Her lycanthropy was inherited like mine, but because she was so young - she had a difficult time controlling it.”

You pause to take a long, deep, steadying breath. “She was my little genius. I cared for her an awful lot. Still do. She beat me at lanceboard all the time, despite being seven and I wasn’t even letting her win you know.”

“She must’ve been even more brilliant than I could imagine.” Wyll offers. You nod.

“Despite my efforts, the relationship between her and her village wasn’t getting better. One day, I’d left her in my chambers for a while - to bring something back from a market nearby. Less than a few hours, and she’d been uhm,” Your voice starts to close. Wyll follows his instinct, squeezing your hand where it rests on your knee. It’s shaking when he reaches for it. He thinks briefly about kissing it. “She’d been killed,”

Wyll pauses, lets you collect yourself. But he wants to know as much as you’ll tell him.

“It was easy enough to figure out who’d done it. And in small villages like that, the hivemind bullshit and paranoia really gets to people,” Your voice intones on bitterness. Angry and heartbroken, you continue “Grown men raising an ax to kill a little girl. I almost lost my mind. I should’ve.”

“But you didnt…? Or did you? In a situation like that, well,” Wyll looks at you sympathetically. “Any choice you made I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“I only punished the one who killed her. I didn’t kill him no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think she would’ve wanted that. Not her or my goddess,” You say with a deep sigh. “I used my magic and blinded him. Made an example out of him and reprimanded the rest of those fucking idiots.”

“And after?”

You clear your throat, but smile at him. Like you’re grateful he hasn’t recoiled from it.

“After, I buried her body in the soft earth, in the place where the moon shone most brightly - and mourned. Her death was so severe I couldn’t revive or heal her, I just buried…her. I thought about doing plenty of other shit. To kill, to chase, to defend - but ultimately, it felt more…meaningful just to… bury her.”

Wyll frowns, pausing. He squeezes your hand, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he looks down.

“I’m sorry,”

You smile at him. Noticing the hand in yours finally, you even flush - though the moment passes quickly. Wyll stares at you in quiet, wondering if his eyes alone could tell you all he’s thinking. With you, his silver tongue is absent. His mouth is weighed too heavily with feelings sincere, with words meaningful.

Wyll cannot offer you cleverness or comfort where he wishes to offer you honesty.

“That night, the Moonmaiden had called to me. Just like today. It’s hard to explain what it feels like? Like a cool hand on feverish skin. It was a revelation for me. I had suddenly felt so empty. And, after some sobbing, I’d realized something,” You say whimsically, drawing circles into the back of Wyll’s hand.

“What did you realize?” He prompts.

“Our Lady of Silver believes in the carving and following of our own path. But, what had I done but what was told of me? All my life I’d spent in the temple, in the monastery - among people of my own faith and beliefs. In the moment in which I felt so much anger, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Not on purpose, but that was the truth. I swore myself too soon to duty rather than the convictions of my heart—I’d lacked real purpose.”

Wyll smiles at you, brightened by the gusto in which you speak. He’s endeared by you all too easily.

“And the convictions of your heart? Have you found them?” He asks, head tilted.

“Not all of them. But you know I figured out one thing. I want to make the world a less lonely place. Her death will never not bear weight on my mind, but her tiny hand thanking me for staying with her. That was something, I’m damn sure. Maybe all of it,”

He stares at you, speaking in quiet murmurs. You’re glowing, he thinks. You must be.

“It’s a noble thing to want. At least to me.”

“I’m glad you think so. My goddess has given me these divine powers, so my duty will always be to help people. But more than that - I want to guide the sick and afraid like the Moonmaiden guides me. I want to make it less difficult for people.”

“You’re awfully wise at times like this.”

“Wise?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve never heard that for me before. More used to hearing stuff like hard-headed, pack runt, cry baby. So on and so forth. But I’ll cherish it before you change your mind.”

“Do you feel fulfilled here? Becoming a hero of a city, saving so many people - surely that too aligns with your convictions”

“Asking an awful lot about me,” You tease finally. Wyll is hard-pressed to deny it. It’s so obvious. “But I do. I’d say managing to become Astarion’s friend is a high enough accomplishment with regards to you know, my convictions and all. It’s honestly like my life’s work. He even pets me now. Willingly!”

Wyll laughs loudly at the sudden excitement in your voice. You haven’t let go of his hand, he notices.

He hopes you don’t.

“Quite an impressive feat, certainly. But I am a little hurt. Does our bond not incite a similar sense of accomplishments and vigor in you?” He teases.

You pretend to consider it.

“The Blade of Frontiers, my most important companion.” You respond, with just as much cheekiness. “Calling it an accomplishment might be too egotistical.”

“What else do you suppose you’d call it?”

“Fate, maybe,” You say, though your voice is hardly above a murmur now. “Somehow, the fact we’ve met feels more like a very lucky chance, I reckon.”

“You feel so strongly about it?” Wyll says, more than asks. Because somehow it feels too much like a dream.

“Of course. I feel strongly about you in general,” You respond, and still don’t let go of his hand. You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I feel strongly about us. And all we’ve seen, together. I feel strongly that regardless of all the darkness, the moon waits for me and that I’m very lucky to have met you.”

Wyll feels his heart jump into his throat. Hardly a confession, yet his heart pounds. The longing is ceaseless.

In all the time you’ve spent together, Wyll has had all the time in the world to witness you. In your bravery and in your cowardice. At the best of yourself, and at the worst. Wyll has seen you lie when you’d rather be honest. He’s seen you cry countlessly for the deaths of people you’ve never known. He’s seen you tear through flesh and bone. He’s seen you as a furred creature laid on your back so Halsin would rub your stomach. He’s seen you as tenderly, achingly human.

Wyll has seen so much of you. And perhaps more than that - you have seen so much of him. Parts of himself even he has no access to. A passing comment of how dashing his horns look, a pat on the shoulder when you pass a father and son. You see Wyll even when he forgets to see himself.

Between you, there is no question that he is lucky. The luckiest man on Toril.

“You know, when everything is through. Not if, but when,” Wyll says slowly and carefully. “I want to remain by your side. Wherever that road leads. I want us to be together or travel together. Though I don’t know what that would look like,”

You give him a look of surprise, then a teasing smile - titling your head to one side.

“I might go somewhere you don’t want to follow, Ravengard. I’m a wanderer at heart.”

“Impossible. I’ve already followed you here, remember?” Wyll says with a smile, eyes meeting yours “As long as we’re together, no place is too dark nor too treacherous.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“There’d be no greater honor.”

When Myrkul falls, the world is silent.

For a first time, in a long time - the Shadowfell lands do not whisper the regrets of the dead. Instead, the remaining shadow swallowing the world begins to finally clear. In gradual steps, life returns to the land at Moonrise.

And this is in no small part thanks to you.

Though, Wyll watches you as you insist the glory is split between your party equally. You’re all heroes, and you couldn’t have done it without them by your side. Wyll knows you mean that.

It was you who took down the foes at Moonrise towers in slow increments, that planned and slaughtered until there was nothing left of it. It was you who destroyed the Thorms one by one. You who allowed Wyll to break Mizora’s pact. You who completed the gauntlet of Shar, who saved the Nightsong with your own two hands. That helped Astarion with the letters on his back, and that prevented Gale from using his orb - because you were so certain you all could win without it.

It was your touch and kindness that gave Shadowheart grace enough to throw away her Sharran roots, to throw away her past and embrace her own convictions just like you had promised to embrace yours.

The world has not been saved. The journey to the end has only become more perilous. But in the palm of your hand is the Netherstone of the fallen general - and an entire allegiance waiting to follow you into battle. The world has not been saved, and it is only bound to get more treacherous.

But for now, you’ve accomplished something great - and Wyll is proud to be alongside you for all of the rest, as you move onto things even greater.

For now, all of you remain at camp. A two day extended break before venturing towards the city. Among your camp now is the famed harper Jaehira and more importantly - Dame Aylin, the chosen of your goddess. And the cleric Isobel, her lover, of course.

Dame Aylin’s arrival at your camp has sparked plenty of interesting conversations. Revelations of Shadowheart’s identity aside (something you’ve been helping her through), Dame Aylin is not just a fellow Selunite - but the daughter of your beloved goddess. Not only have you just saved her life, you’ve freed her from thousands of years of torment.

Wyll doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so utterly awe-struck in your adventure together, even once. You’re a hard person to shake in many ways, and you’re excitable - but nearly never truly awestruck like the way you have been for the last two days.

Wyll is listening in on the interaction from afar, only taking small peeks at you as you, Shadowheart, Dame Aylin and Isobel crowd around in your tent. Your tail is swishing so helplessly behind you Wyll can’t help but laugh.

“God. You’ve been staring like a dumb puppy for two days now,” Shadowheart teases, rubbing your head with her hand “You’re going to catch flies with your jaw like that.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. Wyll smiles to himself as he pretends to read, thankful to be in earshot “I’m sorry, I’m just… It was already nice meeting another Selunite but…I could live a thousand lives and not meet you Miss Aylin.”

“Your formality is misplaced. Aylin is just fine. We are comrades in all regards, both in our faith and in arms. I’m thankful you’ve given us a place to stay for the time being,”

“Camp welcomes all as policy. It helps to have allies and in lands like these, seems a little cruel to leave people to the wilds. Though soon that won’t be an issue,”

“You’ve accomplished something incredible,” Isobel praises. Wyll glances at you, a warmth settling in his chest at the surprise you seem to feel. “Lifting the curse from these lands, it was no small task.”

“It was all of our contribution! I’m just glad we’re a little bit closer to getting rid of these pests.” You lament with a dramatic sigh “And I’m excited to be in a place where I can feel the presence of the moon again.”

“It must be hard on you,” Isobel says sympathetically. You smile.

“I can hardly imagine,” Aylin adds, shaking her head. “There is perhaps some small blessing in the fact you’re gifted with control, but the effects that these lands must have on your body. May She ease your burden.”

Shadowheart gives you a look of confusion. “You know, you’ve mentioned this to me before - but I don’t actually know how it affects your conditions,” Her frown deepens. “A little hypocritical given how much you know about me at this point, I think.”

You look surprised then flattered. “It was never worth mentioning. My body has certain cycles that are affected by the moon. Similar to the tide. After 6 tendays, I go through something like.. a fever as a result of a full moon. Though I’ve been suppressing it with medication, my body at a certain point needs to expel it.”

“A fever?”

This catches Wyll’s attention. You’ve mentioned your condition in passing and always left the details vague (something Wyll is extra aware of given your love of being open in most everything) so this is the most he’s ever heard about it. He stops turning pages and tunes in completely.

“Sort of. The details aren’t important, really. I’ve gone through it for years, so I’m more than used to it. Especially on the road,” You explain, waving your hand. “Silver Lady bless me, I don’t think it’ll begin until we’re in the city at least. Near civilization and all.”

“Do you need anything from us?” Shadowheart probes with obv. Lately when it comes to you, she doesn’t bother feigning indifference.

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it! I was going to mention it though soon, so I guess it’s a good thing it came up,” You lean back on your palms, legs crossed as you close your eyes. “I’ll be gone for about a tenday. I’ll leave my tent here and just pack some essentials and fuck off to the woods. Like I said, I’ve been doing it for years.”

Shadowhearts frown deepens, as does Wylls.

“That was then and this is now. You’re a rather wanted individual, will that be safe? A tenday of solo travel?”

You give Shadowheart a delighted look before tackling her with a hug. She almost topples over but manages to keep herself upright as you hug and nuzzle her. She doesn’t push you off in any case. You laugh warmly, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“You’re really worried about me? Little old me? Have you opened your heart to me after all?” You say through a giggle, earning a few laughs from Dame Aylin and Isobel. You finally pull away to look at her. “I promise I will be completely fine. My senses around that time are extremely heightened. I’m feverish but it’s very difficult to catch me off-guard enough for some kind of ambush. Worst case scenario, I shift and run away.”

Shadowheart does not seem comforted by this. Wyll feels the same, thankful she’s being so adamant about it.

“I don’t like those odds,” She says with her arms crossed. “Is there no one you can bring with you?”

When she says that, you turn to Wyll. Your eyes lock briefly. You look a little startled, but relax once you realize that it’s him. Wyll is a little startled too, embarrassed by his own staring. He can only hope you didn’t notice how obviously he was moments prior. You take a minute to consider him, your gaze raking over him. It’s a split second, barely noticeable - but afterwards you flush. It happens so quickly that Wyll wonders if he’s imagined the entire thing.

You laugh and Wyll swears it sounds nervous.

“I get a little…aggressive during that time.” You say dismissively. “It’s best to leave me to my own devices. I promise you I will be perfectly fine.”

“I don’t know how much I believe that, but I’ll try to put my faith in you. Don’t make me worry while these damn parasites are still in our heads.”

You throw your head back and laugh brilliantly.

“I’ll make it back to you in one piece,” You say, holding your pinky out. Shadowheart hooks her own into yours with a blush. “I promise on the Moonmaiden herself.”

Shadowheart sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your smile grows ten sizes.

“You better.”

The journey, of course, does not get any easier.

You’ve barely made it to Rivington. Barely. Not only have you had to fight off a camp of hateful githyanki and earned the ire of an alien goddess - you’ve just found out the person protecting you is a mindflayer.

After a tremendous amount of difficult information launched at the lot of you, you’ve managed to regain your bearings (some kind of miracle, Wyll thinks). You’ve made it to Rivington. Finally.

Hells. What a troublesome situation.

You’ve been in Rivington for a few days now, though you haven’t made it far. After being at the circus and a somewhat harrowing fight with a shapeshifting clown, you decide to put up for the night. Before nightfall, you announced to everyone at camp that you’d be disappearing for your supposed fever. You can feel it coming on, and by the time it starts - traveling will be difficult.

Everyone has had their own way of fussing over you. Gale has given you some scrolls of his own curation. Astarion silently handed you one of his favorite daggers and a pack of expensive arrows. Lae’zel has given you some potions, testing your reflexes with you before your disappearance. Shadowheart gives you as many healing potions as she can, and her blessing with the help of Dame Aylin. Karlach has little to offer you in terms of things, instead knocking your heads together and telling you to scream as loud as you can if anything happens - and she’ll come running no matter what happens. Halsin has dried some food for you ahead of time, ever the planning kind.

Wyll only gives you a long look of concern. Most of the conversation between you is had with eyes, a soft glance meeting a concerned one. With Wyll, you hold his hand and assure him that you’ll be fine - and to take care of them in your short absence. You hug him extra tight before you leave.Wyll is forced to let you disappear.

It’s really not like Wyll to be so invasive on another person's business. He knows he can be a busybody when it comes to helping someone but for the most part - he’ll respect a person's wishes. If someone doesn’t want intervention, it’s not Wyll’s place to force it on them. He's learned from experience that sometimes it makes the situation worse.

But shit, the worry has been eating Wyll alive. He could hardly sit still in the brief two hours you had disappeared. The rest of the party have regrouped in your absence. Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae’zel - while Karlach and Wyll planned to stay behind. Wyll had wanted to go but Astarion wouldn’t allow him. Said his pining would get in the way of everything. He’s off his game, and it’s best to wait till you return.

It’s getting closer to evening, the sun beginning to set. Wyll just can’t sit still. There’s no way a tenday is going to pass like this without Wyll effectively losing his mind.

Just as the sky begins to be painted orange, Wyll troubles Shadowheart in the middle of her meditations.

One of her eyes opens as she breaks her concentration, an amused smile showing on her face.

“That was quick,” She says first, looking up at Wyll from where she’s kneeled. “I thought you’d wait at least a day,”

“Pardon?”

Shadowheart laughs. “Oh, to chase them down I mean. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but this is a little fast even for you, Ravengard.”

Wyll doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“My apologies for being predictable,” Wyll says with a sigh. “But since you were anticipating it, I have to ask if you know anything. Where they’d be. Anything.”

“This is exactly why they didn’t tell you, you know? Not that I’m not worried about them too,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “But they were clear. They need a tenday alone.”

Wyll looks at her. “I’ve never been like this before, either. I don’t understand it, but I haven’t been able to take my mind off it despite my efforts. Regardless of what you tell me, it seems like I’m going to follow them,”

“Oh, please,” Shadowheart says, standing up and dusting herself off as she looks at him directly “You don’t know why? Don’t you think it’s time to be a little more honest with yourself, Wyll? I mean really.”

Wyll widens his eyes, a little taken aback by it. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. He scrunches his brow a bit, unsure of what to say to defend himself.

“Well, I am aware of why, I suppose. But it’s,” He fumbles in the process of trying to say anything sensible. “It’s new.. I didn’t think I was this sort of person. Something along those lines. It’s not that I don’t have confidence in them, but this isn’t something they need to endure alone.”

“Not when you’re there for them, I’m guessing,”

Wyll smiles a little sheepishly. “Yes. I respect their privacy. I’ll turn back if they ask me too,”

“Oh, don’t worry, that was easy enough to figure out.” Shadowheart teases. Wyll covers his face. Is he a schoolboy, being teased about his crush like this? How ridiculous. “At least you know.”

He sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what you know?”

“I’m still thinking about it.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. She makes an exaggerated gesture of contemplating the situation before shrugging. “Hm. You know, I’ve entered a totally new chapter of my life - so, out of the kindness of my heart I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Thank you.” Wyll says truly grateful. Shadowheart gives him what Wyll thinks of as a semi-fond smile. He hopes this means she approves of whatever is going on. You two are close as ever, so it does matter to Wyll how she feels about it.

“They were rather vague about the situation,” Shadowheart says honestly. “But they did tell me the direction they were going to travel. There’ll be marks in the trees so they can make their way back if something happens. If you can find where they started, it should be easy enough to find where they end up. That’s all I know. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart.”

“Oh and, go pack some things of your own before you go. Just in case you end up staying.”

“Right. I’ll do that now.”

“I’ll let everyone know so leave as soon as you can.”

“It looks like I'll be owing you quite a few favors.” Wyll offers. Shadowheart smiles.

“Of course. Nothing in life is free. But go, shoo. You should go before it gets too dark.”

Wyll gives her one last look of gratitude before hurrying to prepare a pack.

Wyll barely makes it before the darkness settles in.

There’s enough moonlight to guide him through the tricky paths of the forest. Let the record show, Wyll has no idea how you’ve navigated through here. Like Shadowheart had promised him - the trees began to be marked once Wyll found your paw prints on the ground. On each tree was a the slashing of a sharp dagger.

Despite the clear path you laid out, the terrain is utterly unforgiving for the longest time. Had the signs of you not been in front of him, Wyll would’ve given up on the affair. This is saying something, because his time as the Blade of Frontiers was far from a life of luxury.

It’s difficult but the promise of Wyll’s good eye laying its gaze on you is enough to push him through to the end of the journey.

Eventually, eventually - the path clears. The trees start to become sparse and the area starts to flatten to something walkable. The dirt hardens underneath his feet and his muscles no longer drag.

Before Wyll lays eyes on you, he hears you.

There’s a campfire, and the shelter of a borrowed tent. You’ve laid out plenty of old rags and bedsheets - layers and layers of dusty fabric and old pillows giving you a cushion from where you’re curled up on a tree.

Before Wyll can see you in the faint glow of fire, the only thing his mind can pay attention to is the sound of your voice.

A pained whimper, so loud and high pitched - Wyll is shocked he didn’t hear it some distance ago. You’re practically shaking, short snarls and desperate yowls between hard pants.You sound like you’re suffering something grave. It’s nothing he’s ever heard in your time together, despite the horrific injuries you’ve endured. Even at near death, Wyll has never heard more than labored breathing and groans.

It’s pure distress, so broken it rings in his ears. His concern grows ten sizes.

He decides then that no matter what you tell him, he won’t be able to go back to camp to leave you alone.

He fights the urge with his body to run towards you, remembering the state you’re in. Prone to aggression and high-alert, Wyll forces himself to approach you slowly.

As soon as he’s within range of you, your entire body lurches forward to sit up. Your eyes open, wide and nearly feral - searching erratically. Wyll pauses, no longer in a soft crouch. He stands to full attention. When you finally look at him, your chest shakes with an exhale. You lean back against the tree behind you where you’re curled, shaking.

“Fuck,” You cover your nose first, pressing your arm against it as you curl away from him instinctively. Wyll feels a mix of guilt and worry. “Fuck, what in the Hells are you doing here? Was it Shadowheart? Even—even though I told her,”

He moves in just a step closer. “I asked her. But I intended to find you even if you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen,”

“Shit, don’t get any closer. I-I’m already, shit,” You hold up a hand, though your entire body is fragile. Weak, even from this distance. “Don’t move. You,” Another labored breath “Go back.”

Wyll stills, but doesn’t budge. His frown deepens. “You don’t have to endure this alone,” He steps closer. “I’m here for you,”

“It’s not about—fuck,” You curl into yourself, turning your face away from him. “It’s n-not about that. Not personal. You need to get out of here, Wyll, please. Please listen to me and, and go.”

Wyll wants to ask how he could leave you in this condition, but the desperation in your voice stops him. He feels uncertain, but his body - his mind, won’t listen to him.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Wyll pleads. He wants to run to you. He hates seeing you in this much pain. He wants to hold you, his heart is practically pounding. “Are you in pain?”

Your expression strains, but you force your gaze towards him. Your eyes are wide. They shine with water and wetness, your tearstained expression landing on his face.

“Fuck, Wyll, you - I’m in heat. So d-don’t come any closer. Go, go—please, I’m begging.”

Heat. Wyll knows little about the cycles of werewolves. But he knows about wolves, and other animals at least. Heat. A period of heightened sexual reception during mating season. Wyll pauses, then blinks. His stomach drops, heart quickening.

Shit. Shit.

“You’re in…heat.”

“Y-yes. And it lasts for a tenday, so you need to listen to me and get out of here. Now.”

Wyll doesn’t move.

“Would,” Wyll swallows the thick feeling in his throat. “If someone else had come. Would you have,”

He hardly knows what he’s asking. But it seems you do, because you open your eyes - in utter distress and shake your head.

“No,” You shake your head and hold your breath, trying to calm yourself as you breathe. You focus on breathing only out of your mouth. “Just you.” You close your eyes again and continue to tremble. “Please. Please go, Wyll.”

He comes closer. Your voice croaks as you try to shout at him, though the words are too faint to be called that. Nonthreatening and utterly desperate.

“No, no, no—please,” Your words become a sob, and Wyll feels his heart start to crack a little. “You don’t understand. It h-hurts. If you get too close, if you—”

“What is it?” He gets close enough to be within real range of you. There’s only a few feet of distance between you. Wyll kneels so he’s not looming over you, looking over you with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shake and shake and shake, closing your eyes - tearing your gaze away from him. Your lower lips waver, both hands covering your face as you cry.

“Your s-scent,” You heave, trying to push back against the tree. “It’ll make me want to t-touch you. And I can’t. I can’t and—I want too. So badly, you’re so close, please stay away. It’s cruel, so cruel to me,”

Wyll feels his own voice almost give out. Seeing you like this. So desperate. Needy. The guilt is outweighed by another feeling he chooses not to name.

“You can touch me,” He assures.

You sob.

“Not just touch. Wyll, please, go.”

“Hells,” He comes closer towards you and you flinch. “I’m not so clueless. I know what you meant. It’s alright.”

Your eyes flicker open in disbelief.

“You,” You look at him through teary eyes. “I-it’s important to you to... With someone you love. Not like this.”

“Gods, who else but you? I love you,” Wyll says with his own voice nearly shot. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Of course I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

“Wyll,” You sob for a different reason this time. “I love you. I w-want you, I want you.”

“Tell me. Can I touch you?”

“Please,” You’re so tender like this. Wyll has never seen it in his life. It’d be unimaginable, had he not witnessed.

Strong and capable and brave and rowdy - reduced to a fragile, pleading mess.

Wyll doesn’t know how to touch you. If he were more honest with himself in the moment - more sensible, he’d admit this to you in a quiet secret. He doesn’t have room for doubt now, so Wyll is gentle when he reaches for you. He pulls your wrists from where they’re glued to you, unfurls your form slowly and looks closely at your face. He guides your hands around his neck and brings you towards him. With slow, careful maneuvering - he sits down with you.

Holding you in his embrace, he brings you into his lap - sitting where you once were. Until you’re over his own, resting your full weight against his. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You look at Wyll from above, your lower lip still quivering.

“It’s alright,” He says, hands on your waist but not moving “Take what you need,”

With a wordless whimper, you grab the fabric of Wyll’s clothing, light armor that he changed into before leaving - tight enough he can feel the tension in fabric. You lean in, your eyes shut tightly and press your nose along the side of his neck. Wyll can feel you bump against this jaw. He tilts his head back to give you more access to him. His body is hot with your sudden proximity, your own skin completely feverish from need. You inhale, so deeply and so wantonly Wyll doesn’t know what else to do other than sit and let you.

The thought passes. Like a mutt. Like a puppy. You breathe Wyll in like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, grinding instinctively on his lap. Something that he overlooks for the sake of being the sane one between you.

“You,” Your voice has calmed down a fair bit, though it's just as thick as it was before. “Shit, it’s so good.”

Your grip on his clothes tighten. Wyll rubs a soothing hand on your waist, still over your clothes. You continue it, taking deep breaths of him like a life-line until your grip starts to loosen. You’re no longer shaking at least. You pull away from him with wet pleading eyes, butting your forehead with his. Wyll winces, but bites back a smile at you once he realizes you’re a tad bit more sobered up.

“What in the hells are you doing here?” You interrogate.

“Are you alright?” Wyll says, ignoring your first question. “Has it gone down?”

“It comes in waves. The first wave has passed, but the second one will hit soon enough. Five minutes if I had to guess,” You say, shaking your head. You fix your gaze on him. Wyll suddenly becomes aware of your proximity (or lack thereof). “Why are you here, Wyll?”

“Why? A better question is how could I not be here?” Wyll says carefully, examining your every expression. “An ominous sickness, traveling alone for an entire tenday when we’ve all spent our entire journey together. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I couldn’t sit back quietly while I was so worried for your safety.”

“Like I told you and everyone else, I’m fine. I’ve been handling heats alone since I started puberty. It’s not a very pretty sight,” You pout shyly. Wyll finds it utterly adorable. “And well, it’s not like I can announce to everyone I’m in literal heat. Fever is easier.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy. If I had known,” He clears his throat, looking away from you “If I had known it was something like this, I would’ve approached it more delicately.”

“My brain is too heat-addled to be properly embarrassed, which is lucky - because I’m definitely going to be pissed when this is over.” You say, clutching the front of his shirt again. “Everything is all out of order now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re the one going on about keeping things old school, you know.”

“Well yes. But it’s not for any reason so rigid,” Wyll reaches his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing underneath your eyes. “These sorts of affairs are more enchanting when the love is there. That’s the part that matters.”

“You’re not disappointed that the first time we’re touching each other is because I’m this desperate to touch you?”

“I just like being able to hold you. For any reason at all,” Wyll says honestly, then adds. “And well, if I were to be frank, seeing you in this state is… rousing. In its own right.”

You flush, and mumble. “Pervert.”

He forgives the comment just as you’ve forgiven him for his intrusion. He looks at you tenderly, heart swelling so much it’s almost overflowing.

“Will you allow me to stay by your side?”

“This goes on for a tenday. And it doesn’t get any easier. Do you really know what you’re asking? Do you have that kind of stamina?”

Wyll smiles at you. He wants to kiss you.

“Around something as enticing as you, stamina should pose no issue.” He flirts.

“Gods, Wyll - where’d you learn to talk like that?”

He smiles cheekily. “Esoteric erotica novels from my fathers chambers, mostly. Overhearing things at Sharesses Caress helped too.”

You giggle a little bit. This time you’re the one leaning into him.

“The waves will get longer and more intense. They peak around the fourth day and begin to mellow out at the start of the fifth,” You give him a look before looking away, profusely embarrassed. “Uhm. The only thing that soothes it is, well, you know. I mean I get really… I cry a lot.”

Wyll doesn’t communicate to you the fact he knows. He did just see after all, and it’s not like he particularly enjoys seeing you suffer. He’s not that sort of man, but. He likes taking care of you, in all aspects. You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long. It feels good that he’s allowed into something that you’ve kept private all this time.

It’s fair if he’s a little cocky about it, he thinks.

“You can show me everything about yourself and I won’t turn my gaze away from you. Nothing could make me look away,”

You pout again. Wyll notices you do it when you’re feeling especially embarrassed. He opts not to say anything, just smiles.

You take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s going to start again soon. Everything is fine with me, just—stay close. Close enough that I can tuck into you.”

“Something to do with my scent, I suppose? I am curious to know what.”

“Well I like you. And it’s comforting. But it turns me on, too. Especially like this.”

“And that’s why you were pushing me away earlier?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. Your voice regains that sweet, thick quality that Wyll is beginning to recognize as desire.

“Mm. I’m a lot stronger than you a-and my heads not very clear,” You shake your head as you explain this to him. “It would’ve..haah..been painful. Really.”

“So it has that kind of effect on you,” Wyll concludes. Your eyes are lidded. You’re overwhelmed. It’s an interesting position. As far as Wyll’s concerned, he probably only smells like forest right now. He looks at the way you’re shaking like a leaf, then continues “I have that kind of effect on you,”

“Yes,” You huff, leaning against him again. Your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against his skin. He’s sweating from the journey up. He can’t really wrap his mind around what it could be that you like so much about him or how he smells. “Fuck, yes - you do.”

It’s an odd position to be in. Wyll is a righteous man but the thoughts that swarm him now are anything but. There’s nothing foreign about being wanted. His time as the Blade of Frontiers has had him propositioned for such affairs more times than he can remember.

No ones ever been desperate for him, though. You’ve never been desperate about anything. You’re emotional and light-hearted and wise and kind. Not desperate. Never that.

Except right now, you’re looking up at him with your pupils blown wide and your lower lip shaking. There’s sweat dripping down the crown of your head. Your ears are perked up, your whole body tense with need. You’re practically intoxicated above him, and Wyll can’t help but feel something less than heroic about it.

“I’m hardly half the man I claim to be,” Wyll says, a little dazed. “You make me forget myself. My virtue.”

“What’s virtue to love, Ravengard?” You lean in closer to him, your noses brushing. It must be coming again, the next wave. “You’re just Wyll to me, remember? Not a paragon of decency.” Your face is close. Your lips are close. Tempting. “Touch me. Or make love to me, if you’d prefer to call it that.”

It feels like there’s no air in Wyll’s lungs. Not enough to take a breath. He cups the nape of your neck with his hand, and your skin is so hot it nearly burns. You’re feverish, and sweaty - when Wyll touches you, you react right away. He stares at you. Everything feels distant, far-away. How many times have the two of you been like this? How many times have you nearly crossed this threshold before retreating back into each other?

Wyll can think of one hundred times he’s thought of kissing you. When you’re covered in blood and gore, when you smile, when the sun through the trees makes your fur look shiny and beautiful, when Astarion pets you, when you hug Karlach for the first time. He can compile every time the urge has come over him.

It feels unreal to kiss you now, after all that.

You open your mouth slightly, a choked moan passing through your lips as Wyll presses his own to yours. Yours are soft. The first thing he notices is the shape of your teeth, the sharp edge of your fangs - protruding and clumsy. None of it matters. Nothing matters except you and this.

You’re huffy and eager when Wyll kisses you. A slow peck at first before he pulls away, delighted by the way you chase his mouth. Then again with your mouth open a little wider, panting hotly as you urge Wyll to give you a little more. Your hands are gripping his armor again, tight enough to rip the material. You’re too drunk on your own need, to notice anything about anything.

It’s something about you - something about you Wyll has known since forever. You get lost in things, in fights or in books that Gale reads. Sometimes you just give up thinking entirely and let your instinct guide you. And it makes enough sense, you’re a werewolf - part hungry animal by blood. Of course your baser instinct feels more natural.

It’s not very kind to think, but Wyll isn’t saying it to be unkind. He likes it. He likes that you think with your heart less than your head. He likes when you give into the most animal parts of you.

Wyll is not in the same place as you. His head is meant to be clear. He’s seemingly sober for this affair.

But his body betrays his mind so quickly it’s laughable.

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. All of the blood in his body is running hot, and all of it floods south more quickly than he can control it. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are clasping around your waist and he’s kissing you deeper. He lets his tongue brush yours, lets his teeth sink into the plush of your lower lips. He sucks and bites and licks as you breathe each other in.

You kiss Wyll until your lips are swollen, chest heaving as you pull away from each other. There’s something juvenile about the affair, enough to make you laugh even in the state you’re in. And Wyll laughs too, stares at your expression only illuminated by moonlight.

“I love you,” Wyll repeats. You’re startled by it this time. “Gods, I love you.”

Your voice is thick. “I love you too. Touch me, please.”

“How should I touch you my love?”

“However you want. As long as you touch me.”

“However I want,” Wyll says contemplatively. He’s quick to maneuver you both to the ground when he says this. A little closer to the warmth of the fire, on the sheets and pillows you’ve set up underneath you both. You look up at him wide-eyed as your back touches the ground. “You should choose your words carefully. I may take you up on making love.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to you.

“Do it before I lose my mind anymore,”

Wyll laughs playfully against your skin.

The act of undressing each other is unceremonious. Wyll peels the padded armor off his body, leaving him in trousers. He helps you out of your own clothes. He’s seen you naked more than once, but never for this. For him. He studies the way your muscles fall, the hair on your skin. Various scars. Everything for him to gaze on.

Your own hand reaches up to his neck, on his shoulder as your mouth falls open. “You’re so attractive. Do you know?”

He laughs. “It doesn’t hurt to hear you tell me.”

You seem eager to admire his body. Wyll doesn’t stop you. Your palms are much smoother than he’d think of them to be, as they plane over the expanse of his muscled chest. You let your fingers drift over raised scars on abdomen, over his nipples and down his abdomen. Wyll feels his cock twitch unhelpfully. You must notice the same because your eyes light up. Your hand reaches even further, even lower - cupping the hard outline of his length. He hisses through his teeth.

“You’re…” You mumble, squeezing again. “For me,”

“You’re beautiful,” Wyll says. You flush.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Your voice is almost petulant.

“And I’ve longed for you since that very moment”

Your pout deepens before you brush Wyll’s hand with yours.

“You can do the same for me.”

Wyll stares at you before leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t linger at your mouth, chaste pecks that pave the path for Wyll to worship the rest of you. He wants to worship every inch. He lets his lips leave kisses all over your face. He kisses the scars along your skin, the corner of your mouth, your eyelids.

His tongue laves down your jaw until he’s at your neck. You breathe unsteadily as he continues down to the column of your throat. Wyll is gentle. He doesn’t bite. He steadies his hands at your waist and only kisses. Presses his face to your skin and pricks you with his want. It’s slower than you want, he can tell from how your legs are wrapped helplessly around his waist.

Your lower-half is grinding against him, against air - anything you can find. Little shameless mewls and so much squirming. Wyll knows you’re needy, and he is too - but this is your first time together.

He couldn’t do anything but savor it no matter how much you whined. Right now you are his, hidden from the moon. From the camp.

You are his and he will take you apart as he pleases.

“Please,” You whine, taking a deep breath of him again. You inhale, nudging the parts of him available to him. “Please.”

A little mercifully, he gives you a little more. He grabs your hips and positions you better over his cock. He moves his hands from your waist to squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts. He licks the salt of your skin, meeting your movements.

“I know, I know. Endure it,” He says, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Indulge me.”

You bite back your complaint. You’re forgiving as always.

His mouth closes around your nipples, hard under his tongue. Your spine arches, but Wyll pushes you down and steadies you. His other hand squeezes the one he isn’t servicing, thumb drawing over your nipples. He gauges your breathing as he tries different motions until settling on rolling it with his thumb. The right thing to do, if your reaction is anything to go by.

He feels something against the seam of his pants when he goes between them, pleasuring you. A wetness where his cock meets your clothed sex. One that soaks underneath two layers of clothes. He looks up at you, wide-eyed.

You’re unaware of anything. Too busy in the chase of pleasure.

He wonders if it’s a result of your heat. He doesn’t know anything about them aside from the fact it happens and it makes you like this - but what it does to your body is still foreign to him. His cock is throbbing hard enough to make him light-headed. He tries to approach this with a light hand and patience.

But shit, the way you’re searching for it is too arousing. You’re seeking an orgasm so desperately, all little rutting twitches and uneven movements. The first of the tears start to form on your lower lashes. Your eyelashes are wet. Fat tears drip down your cheeks, falling down the side of your face. Wyll is less concerned than you would be if you hadn’t told him that you would cry - but gods.

“You’re a mess,” He says with an absent fondness. You whine and nod in agreement. Wyll is lucky to witness this, he realizes too late. “Is it painful?”

Your voice is scratchy from crying. “Aches. Aches so much, need more, please. Trying to be patient but it aches.”

He hums to himself, undoes the death grip your legs have on his waist before starting to kiss a path down to your navel. It’s clear you make an attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but the words cut off when you realize he’s getting closer to where you need.

You’re holding your breath, your hands curled at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them. You’ve never been so uncertain in front of him. You help slide your bottoms off - everything in one go. Your knees are bent in the air, covering where Wyll is most keen to see you. He kisses your calves.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?”

You take a deep breath and lay your feet flat on the ground, spreading your legs enough to give Wyll a perfect view. He’s always tried not to look, but now he can’t stop staring. A thick layer of hair covers your cunt. His hands shake as he pulls you forward to look closer, and your own hands go to cover your face.

“I can feel you breathe,” You whisper, and Wyll laughs. He’s still looking, examining you closely. He uses his fingers to pull you apart, awestruck by you. You’re so wet it’s dripping, pulsing helplessly without Wyll touching you at all. The sheet underneath you darkens with arousal. Your clit is throbbing with need, all fluttery. “Stop looking,”

Wyll does what any gentleman would do. He pulls away, his hands settling on your thighs - and starts to kiss all the way up from the inside of your knee. He does it on both sides, before finally kissing your clit tucked away underneath everything. Your breath hitches, stomach tensing.

“Tell me where you feel it. Let me learn you.”

“Hicc,” You nod soft and sweet. “Okay,”

Wyll smiles against you.

For as much as Wyll puts on a show, the first time he actually tastes you exceed all expectations. The loss of composure is nearly instant. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he lets the weight of his tongue drag through your folds, arousal collecting on the tip. Your reaction comes just as quick.

“Fuck,” You cry out. Wyll feels your hands reach for him, a pleasant noise escaping him as you grip onto his horns. He’s never thought to touch them before. A feeling of electricity creeps up his back as your hands hold tight around the base of them.“Wyll, fuck - there,”

He gets the message quick enough, laying his tongue flat on the hardened bundle of nerves. Your clit pulses for him. You taste heady and sweet, coating his entire mouth as he continues to eat. You guide him here and there - soft whispers of lower and higher until he ends up in the place you need.

“That,” Your grip on his horns gets tighter as you grind yourself down on his tongue. Wyll feels his cock stiff against his stomach from where he lays. “Like that,”

He gives you more pressure as he licks your clit, sorting out a rhythm as he focuses his attention on one part of you. He wants to make you cum like this. You’re sensitive enough to do it. Your clit thrums as your mind goes muddy. Your body movements change as he continues to push you closer and closer to your high. He’s starting to understand what makes you tick.

Wyll is a quick learner after all, dexterous and clever.

Muscles clenching, your mouth falls open - eyes barely open as you moan. “Oh, oh, oh,”

Wyll laps you up like ambrosia. He pulls away when you start to get close, ignoring your complaints. He wants to savor it now that he knows how to get you to the edge, so he does. He buries himself deeper into you, his nose bumping against your mound with every pass he makes over your slit. Your body is unbelievably sensitive. He dips his tongue into your tight hole and you nearly lurch forward with need.

He starts a back and forth, going from licking long stripes along your slit determined not to let anything go to waste - back to focusing on where you need him most. He doesn’t mean to put you on edge so many times, no longer thinking clearly.

You beg Wyll to make you cum by the time he’s back to reality, grabbing his horns hard enough to make him look at you.

“Make me cum, please - can’t take it anymore, Wyll, please, fuck,”

He hums against your sex before refocusing his attention. One last time he takes your throbbing clit into his mouth, lets it slide against his tongue and sucks on it. This time he relents to your need, and doesn't stop for any reason. He lets it build and build and build until he hears your voice break.

Your back starts to arch, body going taut like a bowstring. Wyll hums against you, he wants to praise you but his mouth is busy.

Then the thought occurs to him. It takes a little focus to reach your mind, and this is by all means - a terrible reason to use your shared connection.

‘You’re doing so well, starlight,’ Wyll praises. Your eyes widen as you realize just how he’s doing it, a debauched and shocked moan tearing itself from your mouth ‘Beautiful. Sorry for teasing you. Can you cum for me? I want you to feel good,’

You hiccup, another loud sob as Wyll keeps steady.

“C-cumming,” You choke on the words, on your spit. “I’m—fuck!”

Wyll lets you ride your orgasm out as you cum for the first time in the night. Your body goes arching, gripping on his horns hard trying to pull him away as you push through to the other side. You’re pulsing in his mouth, tightening around nothing as you cum for him. It feels like it goes on forever, long waves and tremors until the feeling dies down.

He pulls away once you’ve finally laid back down, exhausted and out of breath. You stare at him a little blankly, an arm covering your face.

“Up here,” You say tiredly, gesturing him up. “I need to kiss you.”

Wyll laughs good naturedly as you wrap an arm around Wyll’s neck, dragging him down towards you and kissing him hard - drunk off pleasure. You kiss him in chaste pecks, hugging him. Nudging your nose along his neck, you whisper in his ear.

“Take your pants off, dammit.”

Wyll can’t help his laughter.

“I suppose it’s only fair,”

You hook your fingers into Wyll’s trousers, helping him pull them down until his cock springs free. Your eyes go lidded as soon as you see it, hands cupping the now bare skin. Wyll hisses slightly at the sudden touch, unused to the friction. You look up at him, a hand between your bodies - closing your fist around the base of his cock.

“Bumps and prongs, huh,”

Wyll flushes immediately, making you laugh.

“I hope you’re not making fun of me.”

“How could I when I’m this turned on?” You offer sincerely. He shudders at the touch. “I like it. Can I blow you?”

“I’m sorry?”

Your turn to laugh. “I’m good at it. And I want to. It’s a little sensitive for you to fuck me, anyway.”

Wyll swallows thickly. “I guess I have no reason to deny you.”

“No you don’t. Now come on and stand up,”

He gives you a hesitant look before peeling himself off of you. He stands to his feet, his pants still rolled down just past his thighs. He slides them off so the two of you are naked, and laments a little in his mind about the fact you’re doing this deep in the outdoors. You’re quick to follow Wyll, walking on your knees towards him until you’re eye-level with his cock.

He’s never gotten this far. He’s a romantic in all the ways it matters, so save for some grinding and kissing - it’s a new experience. You look like you know what you’re doing though. You kiss his hips, hands on his thighs and an expression that he finds remarkably innocent for what you’re about to do. All Wyll can do is watch, and feel increasingly fidgety about the sight in front of him.

You crane your head down and place pecks from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You let his cock rest against your face, taking a sharp inhale of the skin - perverse and desperate. Wyll groans, deep from his chest as you smile. You’re not unsettled by it at all, as reverent as you always are.

His body has grown especially sensitive because of Mizora’s interference. He can feel the heat in his blood starting to swell as blood rushes to his cock, making him grow bigger. The way you’re looking at him isn’t helping.

You poke your tongue out from your mouth and leave long licks along his cock - from base to tip. Like you sense he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, you guide them to hold your head. He feels a weird sense of guilt about it, but the pleasure outweighs the shame - he doesn’t force you down. Just keeps you painfully steady as you do all of the world.

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Every little wet lick and stroke is enough to make his spine prick with need. The tip of his cock leaks pre-cum. You press it against your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft in full, your tongue dipping into the slit making Wyll hiss.

“Shit,” He huffs, hands gripping tighter but not moving you “That feels good,”

You give him a little smile that makes Wyll’s stomach flip. Like you know it’s going to catch him off guard, you finally open your mouth to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. It’s lighter and more sensitive than the rest of his cock. You wrap your tongue around it with expertise and Wyll finds himself nearly bedding on the knee, legs starting to feel weak.

You use one hand to steady yourself on his thigh, the other slipping between your legs.

He can only watch on in awe, the impressive way you sink around the hot, hard length. Your tongue is soft, the cavern of your mouth wet and inviting. Wyll nearly breaks - almost fucks into your throat by bucking up. He restrains himself as you go lower and lower, eyes going increasingly wide as his cock disappears in the column of your throat. Just when he thinks you can’t get any further, you do. He can feel the tip disappear in the narrowness of your throat, awestruck as drool starts to drip from the sides of your mouth.

You make a sound, muffled as you hit the base of Wyll’s cock like it’s nothing. You sink in further, nose pressing against his navel as you glance up at him. It’s too lewd, damn near - seeing you deepthroat him with such ease. You inhale again, and Wyll flushes at the realization of what you’re doing exactly.

You pull off in one go, saliva dripping down your chin and neck as you open your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks and wrapping a free hand around whatever your mouth can’t easily reach, you start to set a pace. It’s fast and slick and messy, pre-cum mixed with saliva making your face grow sticky - taking deep breaths of Wyll’s scent and musk every time you manage to swallow it all. It’s depraved seeing you suck his cock with such obvious lust and desire, eager to swallow him and show him pleasure.

Wyll feels the pleasure. His entire body feels like it’s being wrapped in something slick and warm, little sparks of electricity traveling from his fingertips to his spine. His head feels especially light, filled with fluff and devoid of conscious consideration.

“Your mouth feels incredible,” Wyll groans, shuddering, holding your head as you let his cock bottom out in your mouth again “Hells,”

You sound pleased, a pleasant reverb going through his body as you set a pace - bobbing your head and swallowing every inch of him without flinching. The sound of your throat constricting around him and your own hands fill the surroundings. He’s glad you’re so lost in the movements because his own voice is punched out of him each time you go down. He didn’t know he was capable of making this much noise, such deep groans and heavy breaths every time you so much as move.

You pull him out completely, letting spit and saliva rub against your mouth as you tap against your face. Wyll feels a restless embarrassment at the pit of his stomach as you make eye-contact with him. He feels his cock twitch hard, something starting to come undone in his gut as he pulls you away.

“Stop,” He wheezes, and you do with a pleased laugh “Shit that’s dangerous. You’re…talented.”

You pause before breaking out into more giggles, kissing his cock one last time. Wyll covers his face with his hands.

“Is that a compliment?”

“...It’s meant to be one.”

“Glad you’re impressed,” You say with a wicked little grin - all sharp teeth and delight. “I wanted to go longer.”

“We have days together. Another time, my love.”

Your smile grows a little. You are bad for his heart in more ways than one, Wyll thinks.

“Mm. Okay. I can’t really wait much longer, anyway. Another wave is gonna hit soon and I feel antsy.”

“Get comfortable and lay down. And, I hate to ask so late - but should I be worrying…? About protection?”

You blink at him as you set up on the ground, moving around pillows for you to lay on. You shake your head. “Mm. Should be fine. Getting contraceptives should be easier since we’re closer to the city. Unless you don’t want to take that risk?”

Your expression is uncharacteristically innocent. Wyll weighs his desire against reason, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the clear winner. His cock is throbbing to the extent it’s near painful.

(He doesn’t hate the thought of giving you a child, either. Though he thinks it’s much too early to say something like that, and he’d prefer to plan something so important. Still, it isn’t the worst outcome. It’d be a precious little thing, half-werewolf and beautiful.

He brushes over the thought just as quickly as he has it, a little taken aback by his own desires. It’s like everything is being bled from him, no thought too precious to strike his mind. It’s too early to think about, no less mention.

He should marry you before that. The thought of it makes him harder.)

“As I had suspected, I’m only half the man I consider myself to be.”

“Are you reflecting on your failings?” You tease. Wyll lets out a breath of air.

“On my hypocrisy, if I were to put a name to it. I didn’t realize desire could be so debilitating.” Wyll explains, joining you where you lay. You giggle lightly as Wyll positions himself between your legs, leaning in to kiss you shortly. “Seems you’ve uncovered something I wasn’t aware of.”

“Really?”

Wyll laughs against your lips as he kisses you again. “You often do.”

He brushes it aside as he pulls back. You lock eyes with him. Wyll is mesmerized. Your features start to round out again, eyes becoming glassy with need in the same familiar way as before. Wyll knows it now. He reaches over to cup your face with his palm, smile breaking his composure as you instinctively rub your cheek against the rough skin. He lets his thumb press against your lips, indulging your desire for affection.

“Are you still all there?”

“Hf. Yes. Not for long,” You say, urging him down towards you. Once again the proximity between you disappears. This time bare skinned, chest to chest. Wyll can feel the erratic thump of your heart, the unsteady quality in your breathing. You sink back into the same heat drunk place, a slow descent. Your pupils open wide enough for him to lose his senses. “Don’t keep me waiting, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You fall into a synchronicity this time around. Your legs spread wide, open and wanting. Wyll feels his throat start to close. His stomach flutters restlessly as he pushes his cock through your folds once, then twice - his head thrown back at the feeling of your bare skin. He reminds himself this isn’t something to get used to, but the pleasure is easy to indulge in.

It’s worsened by the fact you’re beautiful.

Wyll finds you so beautiful it’s ridiculous, even to him. The plush of your lips, the way your lashes fall along as your cheek, the shape of your eyes. All of you, bathed in moonlight and blessed by the higher powers. You’re a culmination, the very pinnacle of Wyll’s every last mad desire. If everything around him faded to nothing, Wyll would have no clue. No sense, no rational, no righteousness. With nothing but himself to offer you, he’s moonstruck. Hung up on your affection and the feeling of warmth of mutual love.

The order is all out of sorts, and everything is complicated. But Gods. Gods. You’re more beautiful than every dream he’s ever seen you in. Even the magic of his mind couldn’t form something so perfect.

“You’re really the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Your eyes widen, blinking rapidly before breaking out into a flush. “What are you saying?”

“When I was a boy, I often imagined getting married,” Wyll says, drawing little circles along your hip. Your mouth opens, but falls shut as you feel the head of his cock push against you. You shudder as Wyll moves so slowly, with no intent of pushing in. “I had high hopes for love. The magic of fairy tale romance always spoke to me. I was fond of beautiful sights too, to boot.”

Your breath hitches. Wyll feels you start to stretch around the tip of his cock. He swears under his breath, slowing even more. You let out a soft mewl as Wyll breathes through the sensation.

“But you know,” He presses deeper, just slightly. A suggestion of a thrust. Your hand shoots out to grab Wyll’s wrist where he’s gripping you at the waist. His vision strains as he moves slowly, another terrible inch. “You’ve, haah, exceeded my every expectation. There was no need for daydreaming.”

You make a choked sound as Wyll goes even deeper. Your hands grip tight, that same drunken look returning to you. The parts of you that are still there are teary eyed, sniffling. Your cunt pulses around him, sucking him deeper. You feel good, but Wyll is more focused on you. Imprinting you into his memory, like tonight is the last time he’d ever get to see you.

“If I could go back, to any time - I think I’d go back to being seventeen,” Wyll says with a smile, dropping himself closer to you. He leans up on his arm, noses brushing tenderly as you hiccup “I would tell Wyll from then to be strong. Become a Blade that can defend for the one who will become your shield.”

You look up at him teary and frustrated. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cry, and Wyll laughs a little. Everything is so warm. He loves you.

“If you’re any kinder to me, I don’t know what’ll become of me. Ugh, my eyes sting.”

Wyll can’t help his smile. “We’ll have to see it through, then.”

“Stop being so romantic and fuck me.”

He kisses your hairline. “As you wish.”

Wyll puts his hands up under your knees, folding you underneath him as he finally bottoms out. You both moan as you feel Wyll fill you up. You kiss him in that position, all desperation - tongue and teeth. Wyll is startled but indulges, a grinding thrust making you mewl into his mouth. He swallows the noise.

“Fuck me,” You huff, your eyes bleary. “I can—can feel you in my stomach,”

Wyll groans.

You feel incredible. Wyll has to stop moving to steady his mind. He wants to last a little longer than a few seconds if he can help it. Your cunt wraps around his cock like silk. Sticky walls clinging to him like a vice, pulsing with need at the slightest movement. Wyll is connected to you in such an intimate way, it makes him feel visceral. Almost possessive. You hold on like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

He takes another long breath, steadying himself as he pulls out and slams himself back in. You cry out in response to the first thrust, but you don’t ask him to slow down. Wyll focuses on keeping his thrusts weighted and steady, something constant enough that your focus doesn’t break. He wants to make you cum again, and he knows better what you need now. He keeps you pinned underneath the weight of him as he finds a pace to move to.

Once he finds it, Wyll fucks you without abandon. You hold onto him tight, nose nudged against his neck as you let out the tiniest whimpers he’s ever heard you make. The pleasure debases you completely, makes you all wild. Wyll likes seeing you fall apart with each movement. Every time he pistons the right spot your eyes go wide and flutter back closed as if it’s too much.

The two of you make a mess. Wyll can hear his cock pull and push the arousal out of you - each thrust wet. It’s messy enough to make your skin stick together.

“Wyll,” You say his name like it’s a prayer of your goddess. Something to save you. Some kind of sacrilege that Wyll feels no guilt for. “I love you, I love you. Fuck—fuck me,”

“You’re my whole life,” Wyll grunts. “I’ll give you everything. Everything, my love.”

“I’m close,” Your voice is hoarse as you say it. “I’m so close, just a little—”

Wyll knows what you’re asking for. His hand sneaks between your bodies, palm resting on your tummy as his thumb messy circles on your puffy clit. You choke on your words, a broken thank you among the mess as Wyll keeps fucking you. Determined to make you cum one more time, he goes and goes and goes.

Wyll can feel you cum before you can tell him. You try to announce it, but the words don’t come out. He can feel your hesitance, feeling something in you as your teeth graze his necks.

“You can bite me. I can withstand it, love”

A pained whine is followed by the sharp feeling of your teeth in Wyll’s shoulder, as your voice breaks out into a howl. When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than before like you’re trying to latch onto him, your whole body going rigid before the tension breaks. Your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp as Wyll fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you through it until he feels you’ve calmed down.

“Cum, Wyll. For me, please.”

It’s enough to drive Wyll to the very edge. His desire reaches an impressive high. His thrusts become shallow, sloppy - the wet sound of him fucking you open finally reaching his ears as he gives into his own needs. Wyll cums hard. He bottoms out as he does, thick white ropes painting your insides as the two of you lay with each other.

When Wyll finally catches his breath and starts to go soft, he pulls away to look at you. You’re frowning at him.

“Is something—”

“Being sweet to me like that in the middle of that is unfair. I’m going to hold it against you.”

Wyll pauses before breaking out into a giggle.

“I was worried for a minute.”

“I love you.” You add, a little softer time. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

“Always.” Wyll replies, hugging you to him. “I adore you, you know.”

EPILOGUE:

You return to camp together at the end of your tenday.

Wyll is covered in all sorts of marks by the time you’ve arrived, and so are you. There’s not really anything to do to hide that. Or to hide the fact he’s utterly exhausted by the whole thing. He’s drained, though he thinks he could do it again if he timed it better.

It was nice to spend an entire tenday together, though. In between having sex or Wyll meeting your needs - you ate and slept and bathed together. Despite your circumstances the entire situation was domestic - and Wyll enjoyed being with you.

You are absolutely chipper and uncaring about the situation. Wyll wishes he could be a little more like you in this case.

The first person to see you at camp is Karlach.

“Well, look who it is!” Karlach chirps, absolutely delighted. “The lovebirds are back,”

The whole camp stirs at the announcement. It’s early enough that everyone is still at camp. Wyll feels his skin prick with heat as you leave his side, prancing over to Karlach to chat with her. Back to your usual self, Wyll feels a specific fondness about having seen a new side of you and remaining so unchanged.

“Oh, you’ve returned?” Astarion says. Wyll looks up, surprised.

“Ah, uhm, yes.”

Astarion stands next to Wyll with his arms crossed.

“Have you finally done it or do I have to endure more of your incessant pining?”

Wyll chokes on his spit.

“You’re losing your touch Astarion,” Shadowheart says, shuffling into camp from behind Wyll with a towel that needs to be dried. “That one over there is chipper and this one can barely look at them. Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know?”

“Tsk. You’re right. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or some celebration. At least I won’t have to see you two eye-fucking each other every day. It was getting dire..”

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Shadowheart says. “He’s doing it right now even after they spent a tenday wrapped in each other's arms.”

Astarion sighs. “Gods. Can’t have anything these days.”

Wyll opts not to say anything, handling them with usual grace.

“Thanks for the congratulations,” Wyll says, staring at you idly. “Hope it wasn’t too difficult without us.”

“Hardly.”

Wyll smiles at that. He watches you as you talk to Karlach animatedly, smiling a little harder. He can take as much teasing as they dish out.

He could endure it ten times over, as long as he gets to be with you.

☾ a/n ; whew… we've made it to the end. i wrote this fic in a whopping 12 days. it was a crazy experience especially since i havent written anything i'd personally consider substantial since like.. idk april 2023. i also mostly write for anime so its a little nervewracking specifically writing for bg3. THAT BEING SAID. i love wyll. i started playing the game for him and he has bewitched me mind body and soul. it is rather disheartening to see how much larian dgaf about him so i guess part of me writing this is also trying to convince people to see what i see in wyll. something something that joan didion quote about writing as a form of violence bc of imposing views something something.

wyll is a really moving character to me. i like characters who are categorically so righteous it drives them to the destruction of themselves.

but the specific dichotomy of wyll - a man who has lost every ounce of agency time and time again with this tav was especially consuming. tav too is considered a monster, but they embrace and love this part of themselves. i think witnessing that, and the reframing monstrosity in wylls case is really helpful for him. tav doesnt know what losing their agency is like, but they're able to restructure wylls belief of what this new body of his is worth. that he is worthy all the same, and that he exists outside of being the blade. these sorts of things haunted me during this. but also… i just wanted to see wyll bang a desperate heat addled werewolf shorty. lol.

ANYWAYS. sorry for this MASSIVE wall of text. i just really love wyll so much and i hope this iteration of him felt in line with who he is. and if you're not a wyll fan and just a fic consume well… i hope i was able to compel you towards him a bit. in any case, thanks for reading! and please do leave a comment if you liked it! all feedback appreciated.

also i dont normally ask but if you could rb this fic if you liked it'd be appreciated </3 im trying to find wyll likers ehdjksjf

#wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x reader #bg3 x reader #wyll smut #bg3 smut #writing tag #cant wait to post this so i may be free from whatever demon possessed me while writing this.

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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 23 days ago

Text

Let Me Save You

fandom: Doctor Who

pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader

summary: Your favorite hobby is collecting alien medical supplies. At least, the Doctor thinks it's a hobby.

Or, you try to make your chronic illness go away without consulting the Doctor first. Can be read platonic or romantic.

tags/warnings: chronic pain, chronic illness, medical experimentation, self-medication, experimental drug use, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: 4384

a/n: an 11 fic in the year of our lord 2024? more likely than you'd think

i hope this is comforting for someone. i had a dream about this and now here we are.

reader's illness is never specified (it's mentioned that you experience pain of some sort, but not where or how or anything like that) so this can be generalized. also no gender identifiers that i can see (but ialso wrote this really fast so please correct me if im wrong!)

It’s been a week since your last market trip, and you still haven’t sorted the supplies. You know you’re slacking, but it’s been more difficult lately. To get up, to put on a smile for him, when your whole body is falling apart. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He can never know.

But he can keep you company while you sort the supplies. Hold you accountable. Even if he doesn’t know what for.

The Doctor, as usual, is tinkering away at the interface. Occasionally, a spark flies out at him, but he seems unbothered. You approach the console room from a nearby hallway, your satchel slung over your shoulder. You glance around, looking for him, before taking a seat on the floor.

The Doctor had heard your footsteps, and now he lifts his goggles to observe you. He watches as you set the satchel down. “Everything alright?”

You spare him a quick glance and a nod. “Fine. Just… looking for company. You can go back to work; I’ll just watch, if that’s okay.”

The Doctor pauses, disturbed by the slight downturn of your smile, but lets it go for now. “As long as you don’t distract me.”

You hum to yourself in quiet agreement. “I’ll try my best.”

As the Doctor turns back away to continue his tinkering, you dump the contents of your satchel on the floor - spoils of your previous trip to the Martian Markets. Your eyes scan over the bottles and tubes and capsules; all sorts of alien medical supplies. There were pain medications, instant bandages, antiseptic infused with nano-bots. This is your hobby - at least, that’s all the Doctor thinks it is - collecting medical supplies from the planets you visit.

You sit quietly, your brow furrowed in concentration, as you sort the supplies into piles. The Doctor hears the slight commotion and looks over his shoulder, a curious look on his face. He sets down his screwdriver and rests his elbows on the console. “You’ve never told me why you collect all these.”

You hum, eyes still fixed on the piles. “Might come in handy someday.” You manage a small smile, although it doesn’t quite reach the rest of your expression.

The Doctor tilts his head, a frown forming on his face. He doesn’t want to push; you would tell him the reason when you felt comfortable enough to do so. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. “You worry too much. Always thinking about the what-ifs.”

You snort and pick up a bottle of Martian healing salve, turning it over in your hands. “I worry too much? Okay.”

His mouth gapes open for a moment, taken aback by your sarcastic tone. Immediately, he jumps to defend himself, pointing his screwdriver at you. “Hey, I-”

“Do you think we could visit another market soon? I’d like to see if I can find anything else.” You cut him off, hardly noticing that you’re even doing it. You glance up at him, finally noticing the faux-wounded look on his face.

The Doctor closes his mouth, reaching for his bowtie in a self-soothing gesture. You’re being… weird. But he doesn’t mention it. “A… another market, yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem. Somewhere with lots of alien medical supplies, I assume?”

You smile again, the dull look in your eyes a stark contrast to the expression. “Yeah, preferably.”

The Time Lord’s unease grows as he sees the falsehood in your countenance. He goes silent for a moment, watching as you go back to picking through the supplies. Finally, he decides to speak. “I know there’s something wrong. You can tell me, you know.”

You, too, go silent. Your movements still. Finally, you reply quietly, “I know.” You begin to pack the things back into your satchel, finished with sorting and cataloging them.

“Then why won’t you tell me?” He slowly approaches from the console, kneeling down so he’s at eye level.

“It’s… complicated, Doctor.” You avoid his searching gaze and ignore the way your heart races.

The Doctor scoffs, settling down cross-legged in front of you. “I’m a Time Lord. I think I’m more than well-versed in all things complicated.” He reaches out a hand to gently touch your knee and his voice grows soft. “Try me.” When you don’t respond, the Doctor frowns. He can feel his own frustration bubbling up, the sort that comes when his companions keep secrets from him. But he tries to keep his voice level, not wanting to scare you off. “I can tell when you’re lying. I can see it with you just as I can see it with anyone else.”

You finally place the last item back in the satchel. Your eyes lift slowly to meet his gaze. “It’s not a lie if I haven’t even told you anything,” you whisper.

The Doctor’s expression softens as he looks into your eyes. There’s something broken there, and it scares him. “Fine. You haven’t lied. But you still haven’t told me the truth.”

You look down at where his hand rests on your knee. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, circling your fingers around it. The Doctor’s confusion only grows, his body tensing slightly at the unexpected touch. But he doesn’t pull back. You slide your hand to the underside of his wrist, two fingers pressed against his pulse point. Your gaze is fixed on the point where you touch, the warmth of his skin, the soft thrum of his hearts. “It’s odd, you know.” The words come out as a soft murmur. “Two hearts, but only one pulse.”

The Doctor swallows hard, feeling a strange sense of dread. His hearts pound in his chest, thrumming against your fingers on his wrist. He speaks quietly, “Not entirely. Gallifreyan biology isn’t the same as humans. Our cardiovascular system works differently. That’s all.”

You quickly withdraw your fingers, almost as if his touch has burned you. Your expression grows a bit harder - not unkind, just closed off. You swing your satchel back over your shoulder and stand. “The market soon, yeah?”

The Doctor’s eyes widen as you suddenly pull away. A pang of hurt, confusion, and fear shoots through him. The words stick in his throat. “Yeah. The market soon.”

You give one quick nod. “Just come get me whenever you’re ready to go. Or have the TARDIS tell me. Whichever.” You turn on your heel, heading back down the hall to your room.

Helplessness washes over the Doctor as he watches you leave. He wants to reach out, to call you back and demand you tell him what’s going on. But he has seen enough of his companions shutting him out, and he has no desire to make it happen again. With a heavy, dejected sigh, he stands, returning to the console to seek out a market you haven’t visited yet. He hopes perhaps this will cheer you up, or at the very least, give him a chance to try and talk to you again.

About 30 minutes later, the TARDIS lands on the unfamiliar planet with her usual jolt, letting out a groan to signify their arrival. The Doctor calls down the hallways in the direction of your room. “Oi! We’ve landed, come on!”

You come out with a smile on your lips, the previous interaction seemingly forgotten. There is still an emptiness in your eyes, but it’s clear you’re trying to offset it. You clutch your now-empty satchel at your side eagerly. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your vigor should put the Doctor at ease, but it only serves to strengthen his resolve to find out what is bothering you. He tries to swallow down his nerves, giving you a broad, excited grin as he opens the TARDIS doors for you.

As you both step outside, the brightness nearly blinds you. You have to blink to clear the sudden spots in your vision. The Doctor rattles on enthusiastically beside you. “The interplanetary markets of the Rumalian system. They have 3 suns, which makes for some interesting orbital patterns. We’re actually standing on the remnants of the 4th planet in the system, which imploded after a nasty leak of toxic goo.” He rubs his hands together, eyes taking in the various tents and canopies which line the streets of the market. “But nothing to worry about now; the implosion managed to burn up all of the toxicity and now it’s a wonderful place for the markets! All sorts of folk around here, Grumians, Braleths, Wertikens…”

Finally, your vision clears and you can observe the sight in front of you. The ground is a mottled green color, with bits of rock and dust around. The street winds and twists, branching off into different sections. There must be thousands of market stalls, stretching out as far as your eye can see. Alien species of all shapes and sizes wander past, browsing the tables and exchanging wares. You hold your satchel a little tighter, tamping down the anxiety that rises in your chest at the noise and commotion. “Right. Where are the medical supplies then?”

The Doctor breaks off from his tangent about the stall that makes the best plum creams to look at you. He points down the path. “Three rows down that way.”

You look where he’s pointing and nod firmly. “Good. I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

The bowtie around the Doctor’s neck seems to grow tighter as he looks at you - it’s like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. The look in your eyes is something fierce and determined. It scares him. Still, he manages a small smile and a nod. “Or I’ll find you. I’ll get some plum creams for us.” As you begin to walk down the path without another word, he calls out to you. “Make sure you read the labels!”

Aliens brush up against your shoulders as you make your way to the row the Doctor indicated. Your eyes grow wide as you arrive at the end. Nearly every table and stall is lined with bottles and jars and tubes. For about the thousandth time since you began traveling with the Doctor, you send a prayer of thanks to the TARDIS translation matrix. This would be impossible without it.

You spend the next two hours stopping at every stall on the row. You speak to vendors about their wares, picking up a few items at nearly every table. By the time you reach the end, your satchel is heavy and nearly bursting with neatly wrapped packages. As you finish up, placing a roll of Gradorian tendon tape into your satchel, you hear the familiar sound of the Doctor’s voice. He’s at the end of the next row, conversing with an alien that has the head of a walrus and the body of a horse.

You approach the pair, struggling to zip your satchel as you go. The Doctor notices you and gives you a smile, walking away from the walrus-horse thing. “Looks like you’ve done well.”

You smile back at him, and this time the darkness in your eyes seems a bit lighter. “Yes, I think so.”

The change in your demeanor only causes the Doctor’s confusion to grow. But he keeps his face neutral, nodding at your stuffed satchel. “Might need a bigger bag soon. The Lorentians make a wonderful dimensional bag, like a TARDIS! Bigger on the inside and all that. In fact, there might already be one here.”

He’s already begun to walk away in search of a Lorentian bag stand. You manage to catch the end of his sleeve, bringing him to a sudden halt. “Maybe next time. Let’s get back, yeah? I wanna go through all this.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at you but nods. He falls into step beside you, watching how you clutch the satchel at your side protectively. You make your way back down the row to where the TARDIS is parked. As you walk, the Doctor hands you one of the infamous plum creams he’d mentioned. You chew on it, savoring the flavor as you walk.

Once you’ve arrived back to the TARDIS and taken off, you turn to the Doctor. There’s a strange look in your eyes, the same look you always get after a trip to a market for more medical supplies - something eager, something… desperate. You pat the full satchel. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Right… I’ll leave you to it, then.” He watches as you head down the hallway. The lump in his throat seems to choke him. He’s missing something, and it’s driving him wild.

In your room, you mirror your movements from earlier, dumping the satchel’s contents onto the floor. You sit cross-legged and begin to sort the supplies - pills in front of you, injections to the left, and any goops, solutions, or salves to the right. By the time you’re done, the floor around you is covered in neat rows of bottles, tubes, and syringes.

You stretch out your legs and roll up your pants to above your knees. A roll of medical tape sits beside you, and you grab it to begin carefully taping a grid on your knees. You make sure to have enough squares for each of the substances intended for topical usage. Before long, you’ve neatly taped off each joint.

Out in the control room, the Doctor is pacing. He rounds the center console over and over, his frustration mounting with each revolution. He’s racking his brain, trying to find what he’s missed, but nothing comes to mind. He runs his hand through his hair before leaning back on the console. He speaks quietly to himself and to the TARDIS. “What do you think? Surely there’s something wrong… it’s been like this for weeks and it’s only getting worse.” The TARDIS lets out a low hum, the lights glowing brighter for a second. The Doctor takes this as a sign of agreement. With a determined huff, he strides out into the hallway. He’s going to get answers, whether you like it or not.

The Doctor has to focus hard in order to unclench his jaw, tight with anxiety. He tries to tamp down the fear that rises up in him - it feels like walking to his doom. As he approaches your room, he straightens his bowtie, then raps firmly on your door while calling your name. “It’s me. Open the door.”

You startle in the room, accidentally dropping the bottle of pills you’d been holding. They scatter across the ground, rolling all over the place and causing a loud clatter. “Bit busy!” you call out, desperately trying to clean up the mess you’ve made.

The Doctor frowns as he hears the commotion, the knot in his stomach growing tighter. “I need to talk to you. Open up or… or I’m coming in.” Normally he would never threaten such things, but the anxiety coursing through him was enough to drive him mad - well, more mad than usual.

You swore under your breath, staring at the incriminating scene around you - your gridded knees, covered in colored goops, the rows of pill bottles in front of you, the syringes waiting neatly beside them. “No! I’m… I’m changing!” The lie came out thin as you searched for something to clean the substances off your skin.

“Oh come on, I’m a thousand-year-old alien. I think I can handle the sight of you in a state of undress.”

You huff indignantly, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. You can make out the shadow of his form under the door. You’re silent for a moment, scared and a bit angry. Then, finally-

“No.”

The Doctor clenches his jaw at your simple response. He can hear the hesitation, the defiance, and knows that you’re certainly getting yourself into trouble. “Right. You’ve left me no choice. I’m coming in.” Before you can protest, the Doctor pulls out his sonic and points it at the door handle. It unlocks with a gentle click and he pushes it open all the way.

It takes a moment for the scene before his eyes to register. He scans the substances laid out in front of you, the pills scattered across the floor. One rolls across the ground to stop next to his foot. He sees the cacophony of colored gels on your knees, the odd grid pattern you’ve placed them in. The waiting syringes, the bottles of pills…

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out small, almost trembling.

Your mouth gapes open, an odd sort of croaking sound coming out of it as the words stick in your throat. You have nothing to say, no explanation that will make this any better.

The Doctor leans down to pick up the pill that stopped by his shoe. He examines it carefully, scans it with the sonic, and reads the results. His brow furrows and fear rises up in his chest. He whispers your name. “Talk to me; what is all of this? Why… why do you have all of these?”

Finally, the shock wears off and you look down at your hands in shame. You slowly move to take the tape off of your knees, then grab a towel to wipe them down. As you do, the Doctor watches in silence. You can’t look at him - you can’t look at his face when you’re sure he’s absolutely infuriated with you. “It’s nothing.” The words sound weak even to you.

“Don’t say that!” The Doctor’s voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it before, and you startle, looking up at him with wide eyes. He softens as he sees the fear on your face, slowly lowering himself to the ground. He holds his hands out to you like one might do to a wounded animal. “Please. Please be honest with me. Just… tell me what’s going on. I only want to help.”

Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes and you hate your body for betraying you. You wipe them away angrily, then pick up the towel to continue scrubbing at your knees. You can’t speak, even if you wanted to. Anything you want to say will just come out as a shitty excuse, or a lie. And you can’t lie to him. You manage a deep breath and meet his eyes. To your surprise, there’s no anger, no frustration - just fear. “I can’t tell you… I just need you to know.”

The Doctor dips his head to hold your gaze. He speaks softly, “How can I know if you don’t tell me?”

You shake your head, averting your eyes once more. “You’re the Doctor. Make an educated guess.”

The Doctor’s hearts feel like they’re about to burst out of his chest. He’s so scared and worried for you; he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. His mind is in overdrive, going a million miles per hour as he tries to work this out. Why do you have all these pills? Why were you using alien medicine on yourself? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?

The answer hits him all at once and it takes everything in him not to scream his frustration for not figuring it out sooner. The exhaustion, the medicine, the desperation…

“You’re sick.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a breath, an exhale, a momentary nightmare that the Doctor wishes he could wake up from. He hopes you laugh, hopes you tell him this is all a big joke or something. He wants you to deny it, to say it’s not true. But the look in your eyes says the exact opposite.

A sob rips itself from your lips as you clap a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in the emotions that threaten to escape.

The Doctor feels like he’s been punched in the gut. The air seems thin and tenuous, each breath a struggle. “How long?”

You sniff and discard the towel you’d been using, wiping away tears once more. Each word wobbles as your resolve fades. He knows now; there’s no use holding back. “Since the beginning? It’s… I was born with it.”

With every word, the Doctor’s grip on himself grows weaker. The lump in his throat almost chokes him; his hearts squeeze in a vice. “And you’ve… you’ve kept it a secret this whole time. From me.”

The brokenness in his voice nearly makes you crumble. Shame and guilt race up your spine and blush burns on your cheeks. Another sob spills from your mouth. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Immediately the Doctor regrets his words. This is about you, not him. He can manage his own feelings later. Right now you need him. He shuffles closer to you, almost close enough to touch. “No, no, shh. It’s not your fault. It’s alright, hush now.” He carefully wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side. You immediately turn your head into his chest, crying with your face buried in his shirt. He rocks you gently, murmuring reassurances in your ear. “I have you now; you’re alright.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually your tears slow. The Doctor continues to sway you side to side, the motion soothing both of you. When he thinks you’ve calmed, he slowly starts to pull away. You grip his shirt with both fists, letting out a whine. He moves to hold your hands, already trying to reassure you. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Can you just look at me?”

You release your vice grip on him although you stay close. You manage to tilt your head to meet his eyes while still keeping in contact, his hands covering yours.

He smiles softly, sadly, at you. “There you are.” His voice is kind, almost paternal.

You sniffle, shame still coursing through you. But the gentleness in his eyes makes you feel a bit more at ease. This is the Doctor. He won’t hurt you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought…”

The Doctor waits for you to continue, hating to hear you apologize but wanting to know what you’re thinking. He nods, indicating he’s listening.

“I thought if I… found a cure, then I wouldn’t ever have to tell you. That I could keep going, keep traveling with you, and you would never know because… it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

The twin hearts in the Doctor’s chest seem to stutter. The thought of you carrying this burden alone, of keeping this a secret to protect him… “How could you think… I care about you. Of course this matters. You matter. You’re my… you’re my friend.”

“When I… when I was diagnosed, I lost people. People I thought were my friends, too. They promised to be there, promised to stay. But they only helped when it was convenient for them. Once they realized that my condition stops me from living like they do, they moved on.” Your voice was small and scared.

The Doctor raises a hand to cup your cheek gently, ducking to look into your eyes. “Hey. I’m not people. And I would never leave you. Not for this.” His hearts ache at the fear and pain in your eyes. He wants to hold you tight to his chest and never let you go. Instead, he keeps his voice steady as he speaks. “You are more than just what you go through. You’re brilliant, and kind, and caring. I could never think less of you for something like this.”

A soft sob spills from your lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you… that I didn’t tell you.”

He shakes his head, bringing his other hand up now to hold your face. His touch is gentle, like you’re something fragile that might break if he lets go. “Please, don’t apologize. I understand, I really do. Just… promise me you’ll never keep something like this from me again. Please.”

Your eyes search his, looking for any sign of deception, or anger, or hurt. But you find none - just affection and a concern as deep as the universe. “Promise.”

He gently rubs his thumb across your cheek, your faces only inches apart. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours for a moment. Now you can feel his fear, feel the anguish that you’ve put him through. You wince as the feelings grow stronger. He pulls away and murmurs, “Sorry. Time Lord telepathy.”

“It’s alright,” you reply, feeling off-kilter, unable to sort his feelings from your own. “What… what do I do now?”

The Doctor opens his eyes once more. “We work together to find a cure. For whatever it is you have. You stop keeping secrets, and you stop this reckless attempt at a solution. You stop the self-medicating, the experimenting, the searching-”

Already you’re shaking your head. “No, I… I can’t stop. I’ve been trying for so long. I can’t just… give up.”

“It’s not giving up.” The Doctor clenched his jaw, trying to keep his voice level even as his frustration grew. “This is dangerous. Do you have any idea what these things could do to a human?” He releases one hand from your face to grab a nearby pill bottle. His eyes scan the label before he holds it up in front of your face. “These could kill you.”

You swallow hard, averting your eyes. “It’s all I have.”

“No.” The Doctor’s voice is firm, almost scolding. “Absolutely not. This is not all you have. You have me and I want to help. But I won’t let you destroy yourself.”

You shrink away from him, a little scared by the tone of his voice. You’ve seen the Doctor angry; of course you have. But never at you.

He notices, sees you retreating into yourself, and regrets his words immediately. He whispers your name like it’s something sacred. “I say it because I care. I’m not angry, I’m… I’m afraid. I don’t… I can’t lose you.” He grips your hands once more, holding them like he’s afraid you’ll disappear right then and there. “Please, let me help. Let me save you.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. You’ve kept your secrets close to your chest, and that was a mistake. Now here he is, always the savior. The Doctor. Your Doctor. How could you ever say no to him?

#imagine #imagines #oneshot #x reader #writing #eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who #eleventh doctor #11th doctor #eleventh doctor x you #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic disease #reader insert

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