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spider-stark · 10 months ago

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LITTLE DRAGON

Aegon II Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.

Warnings - slight Jace x Reader but you can ignore that alright

Word Count - 3.8k

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“You aren’t tucking your elbows!”

Jacaerys shouted from across the training yard, sparing your horrid fighting stance a half-moment’s glance before shifting his focus back to the weapons table laid before him, enamored by all the fresh steel he had to choose from.

Sweat dripped from your hairline, trickling down your temples and giving your reddened cheeks a glossy sheen. The sun’s rays felt particularly relentless today, blistering down upon the yard and reminding you of just how much you hated summers spent in King’s Landing, already dreading the thought of being stuck here.

You had grown accustomed to the cool, dampness of the island you had called home for the last several years. Dragonstone was almost always engulfed in a cover of clouds, and the soft breeze rolling-in from the Blackwater ensured that the warmer months were never quite as stifling as they were in King’s Landing.

“I am tucking my elbows!” You howled at him, gritting your teeth against the growing pain in your biceps.

The two of you had been out in the yard since sunrise, going over the basics of swordplay over and over and over again. By this point it felt like your brother’s instructions had been all but carved into your mind—plant your feet, square your shoulders, bend your knees, and tuck your elbows.

Remembering the steps hadn’t been the hard part, however. The hard part was actually doing them—and doing them right.

“No,” Jace grinned as he plucked a delicately forged rapier from the table. “You’re not.”

You blew out a breath, frustrated as you dropped the faulty form all together and let your arms hang limp at your sides. The training sword hung heavy from your hand, the tip of its blunt blade digging into the dirt.

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed, watching as your brother drew closer to you, admiring the nimble blade in his hand. “I’ve bent my elbows a thousand different ways—and none of them have been right!”

“That’s the issue! You’re bending your elbows, not tucking them!” Jace reprimanded, though his voice remained gentle, as it oft was when speaking to you.

Your patience was wearing thin as your frustration grew, aggravated by not only the sweltering heat and swordplay, but also yourself. Your brothers had mastered the basics of fighting when they were less than half your age—and yet you couldn’t even manage a half-decent defensive stance.

Exasperated and nearly at the end of your rope, you knew that you probably looked as miserable as you sounded. “Are bending and tucking not the same thing?”

“Bending your elbows is a subtle movement,” Jace started to explain, “it helps you maintain some degree of flexibility. But tucking your elbows is more rigid, making for a better defense mechanism. By keeping your elbows close to your body, you’re tightening your posture and making it harder for your enemies to land a blow.”

Adjusting your grip on the training sword, you brought it back up into a ready position, both hands now clutching the hilt. “So all I need to do is pull my elbows in closer?”

“Exactly!”

Focusing on each of the movements, you slid one foot slightly ahead of the other, balancing yourself as he’d instructed earlier. You took care to keep your knees bent, just enough to ensure that you could easily dodge or leap out of the way of an incoming strike.

Once you were confident that you had done those steps correctly, watching as Jace nodded along in silent approval, you lifted the sword so that the pommel fell just a few inches below your breastbone, the point rising high above your head.

Then, finally, you tried tucking your elbows as close to your sides as you could, attempting to block as much of your torso as possible from incoming attacks.

“Like this?” You asked him, gritting your teeth against the throbbing in your arms, still so unused to the weight of the weapon.

Jace cocked his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Well…”

“Seven Hells, Jace!” You howled at him, trying to hold the position, “There are only so many ways to move your elbows!”

“Yes, but now it’s not your elbows causing the problem!” He retaliated, extending his arm and using the tip of his rapier to point to your legs. “Standing like you are now, if you had to dodge your legs would probably lock up and slow you down. You need to drive your knees further apart!”

You did as you were told, albeit a bit begrudgingly.

“Better?” You hissed through your teeth, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you.

Jace studied you, eyes narrowing as he scanned every inch of your form. “Push your shoulders further back,” he instructed, “and straighten your back out a little bit.”

Again, you shifted into the new movements, adjusting and tweaking the positions to his liking. Your fingers hurt now, too, and painful blisters had already begun to form on your palms.

“Straighter,” Jace snapped, still finding your posture to be sub-par. “And try to keep your toes pointed towards-”

Your frustration finally peaked as you fell out of the intricate form, nearly doubling over as an exhausted groan ripped from your throat. Jace’s eyes widened at the sound, doubling back slightly.

“And what next?!” You cried loudly, letting your sword fall to the ground. Throwing your aching arms out to the side in a dramatic display, you sneered at him, “Shall I hop on one-fucking-leg and shake my ass?”

A sigh escaped your brother's parted lips, shaking his head as he leaned down to pick up your discarded weapon. Regret already seeped into your mind and dulled your anger as you began to prepare for the lecture that was surely about to leave his mouth—one that was no doubt about the level of discipline required for swordsmanship, and how you needed to maintain a level head.

But, before he had the chance, another voice broke through.

“Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to try,” Aegon quipped from somewhere behind you, sounding far too amused with himself. “Go on,” he urged, “give it a shot. I for one would love to watch.”

With clenched fists you spun around to face him, glaring into his lilac eyes, resenting the way they sparkled with something like delight. It wasn’t until his gaze traveled south that you lost your cool, however, noticing how he eyed the low neckline of your tunic, watching as sweat slipped between your breasts.

But as soon as you took a step towards him, fully prepared to strike the arrogant Prince, Jace snatched your wrist and held you back. Level-headed enough to think for the both of you, he refused to let you do anything that would give Queen Alicent further reason to despise you—even if he would have loved to watch his sister beat Aegon’s ass.

“You’re interrupting our training,” Jace told him, keeping his voice respectful despite the undeniable edge of frustration.

“Am I?” Aegon pursed his lips, staring at the training sword that was still discarded on the ground, abandoned when Jace realized he would have to hold you back from your uncle. “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job, then. It’s easier to fight when the sword is in your hand-”

Jace interrupted, “We should really get back to work,”

“No need,” your uncle swiftly retorted, flashing a cocky smirk that only served to make your rage grow further. “I actually came here hoping for a moment alone with my niece,” he continued, pinning your brother with a stare, “you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

You recognized the trap that he had set for your brother. If it were anyone other than Aegon, Jace would have wasted little time in telling them off, but this was different. Rejecting Aegon would create conflict—the one thing your mother had asked you and your siblings to avoid, if only to avoid upsetting the beast that was your step-grandmother, the Queen Alicent.

“Now isn’t a good time,” Jace tried to protest, searching for some peaceful way to turn Aegon away. “You saw her just now, didn’t you? She’s clearly in need of more practice.”

You were silent, primarily because you could feel Jace’s fingernails digging into your skin, a warning to stay silent. When it came to you, Jace wasn’t violent by any means, but he was more than willing to be assertive if it meant keeping you safe.

Aegon drew a breath, still wearing that sly smile that made your skin crawl. “Very well,” he said, and you felt Jace’s grip on your wrist loosen at his assumed victory. “Then I’ll teach her myself.”

Jace’s eyes grew wide, a muscle in his jaw feathering. Refusing to back down, his mouth fell open to speak, trying to form some other nonsense excuse to keep you from being alone with Aegon—but you stopped him.

“It’s fine, Jace,” you told him, slipping your wrist from his grasp. “If Aegon believes himself capable of teaching me, then let him.”

The look on Jace’s face stubbornly pleaded with you to take it back— to say that you were done with training for the day, to say anything that would keep you from being stuck with him.

But you refused, steeling yourself and meeting his gaze with an equally unrelenting stubbornness. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to avoid Aegon forever, and you refused to let your uncle think that he had enough of an effect on you that you would resort to cowardly excuses to get out of being alone with him.

Jace leaned closer to you and asked in a low voice, “Are you sure?”

You grimaced at the question. “Yes,” you snapped, not wanting to appear as the image of a helpless little girl in front of your uncle. But then you saw the hurt flash in your brother’s dark, doe eyes and immediately felt guilty for it. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done,” you reached for his hand, squeezing it in yours, “I promise.”

His brows furrowed, still unconvinced that it was a good idea to leave you alone with Aegon, but aware that he wouldn’t be able to change your mind. You smiled, a sweet and gentle kind of smile that was reserved only for your older brother.

“You heard the woman, Jacaerys,” Aegon waved an impatient hand, sneering at Jace. “Leave me and my betrothed.”

The word betrothed seemed to drip from his tongue like tar—a nasty and vile sort of sound that was used only to further antagonize Jace.

Jace went rigid beside you, his cheeks growing red with anger. But his hand was still clasped in yours, and so you gave it another squeeze. “Go,” you told him, having switched roles with him and now being the one to counsel him in restraint. “I’ll be fine.”

You knew that Jace didn’t fully believe you—not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t trust Aegon. And while you were surrounded by a plethora of weapons that could be used in self-defense should Aegon try something, Jace also knew just how lousy you were at properly using them.

Even so, he didn’t argue, biting his tongue and stifling his rage in favor of the peace your mother so desperately wanted.

But even the prospect of peace wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling his hand from your grip and replacing it with the rapier he had chosen earlier, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned in, “If he tries something,” he whispered, “then shove the pointy end through his throat.”

You held in a laugh, gripping the hilt tightly. “Got it.”

With that, Jace stepped back and turned to take his leave, roughly knocking into your uncle’s shoulder as he pushed past him. Aegon cut his eyes, but you found it hard to tell whether it was because of Jace’s insolence or if it was because of how close you were with your brother.

You didn’t care enough to ask.

“Was there a need to provoke him?” You scoffed as soon as Jace was out of sight.

Aegon feigned innocence. “Well, it’s not my fault that your brother is so easily provoked,” he said with a roguish grin. “He’s the one that’s so greedy with your time. I wouldn’t have to interrupt your pathetic sparring sessions if there was ever a time where Jace wasn’t stuck up your ass.”

“Our betrothal was proposed five years ago,” you told him plainly, narrowing your eyes, “if you were that desperate to spend time with me, then I’m sure there were plenty of opportunities.”

“You’ve been on Dragonstone.”

“And you have a dragon,” you reminded him, fully aware that the flight to the island was quite short from King’s Landing.

Aegon lifted one of his shoulders in a lazy gesture. “And you have a Jace. If I had been foolish enough to venture to Dragonstone these last few years, then I likely wouldn’t have left with my head.”

A scowl etched onto your face at that, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming that.

While it had been five years since your betrothal to Aegon had been proposed by your mother, hoping that it might bridge the chasm that divided your family, it hadn’t been until this past month that the Queen Alicent had finally given way and consented to the match. And, if the rumors could be believed, then you had heard that her sudden change in heart was in part due to Aegon’s insistence.

But regardless of any hearsay, you did know one thing for certain—Jace had always held onto the hope that the Queen would reject the proposal. You often told yourself that it was because he didn’t wish to see his little sister wed to your vile uncle, but many others—Aegon included, it seemed—believed that it was because your brother wished to have you for himself, as was the Targaryen way.

You knew that there was merit to those claims, even if you sometimes didn’t want to admit it.

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” you finally settled on an answer, your frustration mounting with each word. “Maimed, maybe, but Jace is no kinslayer.”

Eyeing the rapier in your hand, Aegon asked, “And what about you?”

You paused, glancing at the nimble blade of your weapon.

It was thinner than the training sword you were using—and a lot sharper—but it was awkward to hold, all its weight concentrated towards the hilt rather than distributed throughout. Even if you did want to use it against Aegon, you were probably more likely to hurt yourself than him with how little experience you had and how poorly training with Jace had gone.

After a moment, the corners of your mouth tilted upwards in a twisted imitation of a smile, flashing your teeth at him. “Let’s just say that I’m not my brother,” you answered, purposely vague.

Aegon’s stare narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look intimidated by your declaration. “Then go ahead,” he responded coolly, spreading his arms out wide. “Give it your best shot.”

Your eyes flickered around the yard, realizing for the first time that there were no guards around right now to witness your interaction. If you wanted to kill him, now would be as good a time as any—you could call it an accident, even if Queen Alicent would try to deny it. But due to your poor swordsmanship, it was a believable enough lie that you knew most would believe it; knew that your grandsire, King Viserys, would believe it.

If you killed Aegon now, then you wouldn’t be forced to marry him.

If you killed him, then you knew your mother would sooner betroth you to Jace before ever even considering Aegon’s savage little brother, Aemond.

And that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Jace was kind and pleasant and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother would make you a Queen—a beloved Queen, at that.

And yet…

Aegon snorted a laugh, letting his hands fall when he saw your brow crease, your body unmoving as you refused to lunge for him. “You’re right, you’re not your brother. I might have little good to say about Jacaerys, but he’s undeniably Strong,” he quipped, the mischievous glint in his tone causing your blood to boil, “but not you—you’re just a coward.”

Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, knuckles turning white as you gripped the hilt of the rapier tighter. Then, without Jace here to hold you back, a primal scream of frustration ripped from your throat as you launched yourself at Aegon.

The rapier’s blade led the way, your movements fueled by a rush of adrenaline. But your arms were weak and your footwork clumsy and predictable, and Aegon easily side-stepped your attack with a smirk.

Breathing heavily, you went to swing the awkward blade again, but Aegon had already made his next move—taking advantage of your lack of speed and coming up beside you, snatching the hilt from your inexperienced grip and disarming you, tossing the weapon a few feet away so that you couldn’t try and get it back from him.

But with your nerves still lit by frustration and a refusal to accept defeat, you curled your fists and aimed for his jaw.

Aegon caught you by the wrists before your knuckles collided with his face. He held fast even as you struggled against his grip—firm but not rough.

“Your brother was right,” he taunted with a laugh when you finally wore yourself out, “you do need practice.”

“Shut up-” you snarled, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

You weren’t used to this.

You weren’t used to fighting, you weren’t used to the heat, and you weren’t used to Aegon—or, at least, you weren’t used to being this close to Aegon.

It suddenly hit you just how intimate the position seemed. Your heaving chest bumped against his as he held you close, his grip on your wrists never loosening, even once you had stopped fighting and he had been able to lower your arms to your sides.

You weren’t sure that you had ever been this close to Aegon—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mulled wine on his breath—and you felt your pulse skip at the realization, fear settling deep within your bones.

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized, but of the fact that you didn’t quite mind being held by Aegon—not as much as you should have minded it, at least.

“I could help you, you know.” He offered, his lilac eyes flashing with some distant emotion that you couldn’t recognize. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of your brother when I said that I would teach you how to fight.”

Still pressed close to his chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, his jaw tightening when you asked, “What do you know about swordplay?”

“I was trained by the Kingsguard,” Aegon reminded you sharply, his offense evident by the sharp crease in his brow.

You gave a dry laugh, thinking back on your childhood prior to moving to Dragonstone. “If memory serves me, you spent more time parading around with courtesan’s than training.”

Your laughter was cut short, breath catching in your throat when you felt Aegon release his hold on your wrists just before one of his hands snapped upwards, his fingers curling around your jaw. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and you couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something intoxicating about the way he held you—his lilac eyes seeming to admire every contour of your face.

“Even so,” he began, his voice hardly a whisper as he ignored your claim, “I still know more than enough about swordplay to teach my helpless little dragon how to defend herself.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as the pet name slipped his lips. It stirred a hunger within you that you hadn’t known existed, and certainly didn’t expect. Your muscles went slack, relaxing in his grip as your lips parted ever so slightly, your body suddenly urging you to lean in and taste the honey that seemed to drip from his tongue.

But even as you began to oblige with your body’s urges, rising on your toes to meet Aegon’s sweet, wine-stained lips, you heard some familiar voice chime in the back of your mind—urging caution, reminding you of who was holding you right now.

Your deviant uncle—the son of Queen Alicent, who was all but your sweet mother’s sworn enemy. She might have asked you to wed Aegon out of duty, but she certainly hadn’t expected or wanted you to like your uncle, did she? In some twisted way, it felt like a betrayal to her and your true family to allow yourself to find pleasure in this—and yet you couldn’t quite deny the warmth flooding in the pit of your stomach at the feel of his touch against your face.

But, taking advantage of that swift moment of clarity, you forced yourself to take a step back and reclaim some sort of control over yourself. As his hand fell, Aegon stood frozen in the agony of his own perceived rejection as he watched you turn on your heel, walking away from him without so much as a single word.

But to his surprise, instead of exiting the yard altogether, you leaned down and plucked the blunt training sword off the ground where it had been abandoned far earlier. You left the rapier where Aegon had tossed it when he disarmed you, thinking you had no use for a blade that could cause actual injury.

“Alright,” you took a deep breath as you turned back around to face him, offering a weak smile as you swallowed your nerves and said, “If you’re so confident in your skill, then teach me.”

It was Aegon’s turn to pause now, a flicker of doubt dancing in his lilac eyes as his own insecurities continued to bear down on him. While he hadn’t wanted you to walk away, he also hadn’t expected you to say yes.

But here you were—standing in front of him, not rejecting him, and allowing him to help, regardless of how wrong it might have felt.

He's to be my husband, you thought to yourself, biting back against your feelings and trying to rationalize your desire to spend a bit of time with him, I should at least learn to tolerate him.

“Okay,” Aegon eventually said, his voice more uncertain than you’d ever heard it sound before; but hopeful too, wearing the faintest hints of a smile. “Show me your form.”

As you did as he instructed, clumsily moving through each of the movements that Jace had shown you and listening to him laugh and correct your failures, you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as you started to think that being stuck in King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

And that, maybe, Aegon wasn’t so bad either.

a/n - had this sitting in my drafts for a bit cause i wasn't totally happy with it, but decided to polish it up and post it anyways cause why not lmao

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captain-joongz · 15 days ago

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Penny for your ghosts, chapter 2

Pairing: OT7!BTS x f!reader

Genre: hybrid au, supernatural au, ghost hunting au (based on Lockwood&Co lore), found family, fluff and humour, some angst, eventual smut

Chapter summary: Moving in is thankfully a smooth affair, and getting to know the pack also brings surprising happiness. Now all that's left to gain is a client.

Chapter word count: 9.9k

Previous part | Next part | Series masterlist

Warnings: a little discussion about death and ghosts, some mentions of near death experiences, some exposition, Yoongi and Namjoon are little shits that love to tease

A/N: originally I planned on ending the chapter a little further, but this is also a good place to cut it and I felt that you guys deserve a little something, so instead of this gathering metaphorical dust in my drawer, I'll be putting out the chapter like this! Hope you enjoy and happy holidays! <3 ps: the new run jin episode is fucking hilarious, i love our boys so much

When two days later Jimin and Hoseok rolled up to the hotel room I was staying in, it was more than just a little embarrassing. I’ve tried telling them that I didn’t really have anything I needed help with, but like the gentlemen they were they insisted.

So, with my single duffel bag worth of belongings in Hoseok's hand and a bag with my old rapier and gear in Jimin's, we set out through the late noon city back to their house.

Namjoon has graciously offered me to live in an empty room up in the attic, where I’d have my own little kitchenette and bathroom (to which of course Seokjin added that I’m still more than welcome to eat with them, to Yoongi’s vehement agreement. Taehyung then later added that I’m welcome to shower with them too, and got immediately kicked by at least four hyungs). I was ecstatic to have a chance to leave the dingy hotel, so I ignored them all and profusely thanked the embarrassed wolf hybrid.

I thought I’d gotten used to the weird looks people often give PI operatives, but here in the big city it was even worse. Even though hybrids weren’t anything new, we’d still get a lot of looks – some fascinated, some curious, some disgusted. And when we travelled while in gear, with big bags full of iron and shiny rapiers hanging at our waists, fear and apprehension would set in as well.

Hybrids were something strange to humans, and ghosts were an imminent danger to their lives they couldn’t even see – therefore we became the mix of everything they feared and couldn’t understand.

So standing in the tram, three hybrids carrying a bag with a rapier sticking out of it, we were quite the spectacle, and I could feel my ears pulling back with the discomfort I felt. Jimin and Hoseok looked unbothered, but I could see the tenseness in their postures.

There was some general chatter, but with the curse of heightened hybrid hearing I could hear every word clearly, as if I was a part of the conversation. And my companions were in the same boat, as I could see Jimin's brows twitch in annoyance whenever someone said something stupid.

“I sure didn’t miss all the complaining about the curfew,” mused the arctic fox the second we got off on our stop and started in the direction of the house. Me and Hoseok both hummed in agreement.

The curfew was something that was put in place already over two decades ago as a desperate hail Mary attempt to stop people from getting hurt out in the streets. It was much easier to contain hauntings when they happened somewhere inside, but out there, especially around parks and cemeteries, the apparitions still sometimes managed to slip by the protective barriers and spill out onto roads.

Back then there were many deaths in the late winter afternoons, with people rushing home from work already after sundown and getting caught up with unruly ghosts. All it took was a single touch and they never made it home.

So the government put up a flexible curfew – it moved according to the seasons – in summer it was later, usually around 8 PM, while during autumn it slowly shifted until it settled somewhere around 3-4 PM during the winter. After that regular folk weren’t allowed to walk outside alone – only operatives were.

It saved many lives, but unfortunately it couldn’t save people from the hauntings in their own homes. Winters in general were hard – ghosts were stronger, agencies were so busy they couldn’t have enough operatives and people died often. We were just beginning autumn, but the dread could already be tasted in the crisp air, even when it was sunny outside.

Just like last time, when I arrived at the house I was immediately warmly received by Seokjin and Namjoon, the two hybrids waiting for us in the brown sitting room and idly talking with the rest of the team. Or pack, maybe more accurately.

There was of course Yoongi, who still smirked at me whenever our eyes met as I willed my blush away, and Taehyung, who was technically the first person I’d ever met from Bangtan Inc. (a fact which earned me a very solemn and sincere “I’m sorry” from Seokjin). The last person in that room I haven’t met yet was a young wolf with huge sparkling eyes that would look so innocent and angelic had I not seen him send mischievous grins towards the black bear earlier.

His name was Jungkook, and he was the youngest. Well, at least before I tagged along.

With pleasantries now out of the way my things were quickly shuffled over to Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s hands, and they started a little tour of the house. Apart from the kitchen and the two sitting rooms, there was also a library and a lounge with games all at once down here on the ground floor – it was the room I heard the chatter from during my first visit. There was also a little bathroom and a storage room tucked into the space behind the staircase, but that was all.

Their rooms were all on the first floor, together with an office space that was mostly Namjoon’s. They didn’t bring me up there, but there wasn’t really why – because I soon learnt that the way to the attic wasn’t through there.

The two hybrids led me towards the same door as last time, the one leading towards the basement stairs. This time I looked around the little space and realised there was another door leading out and the stairs actually curled to lead up too.

“I’m sorry, there will be a lot of steps,” Namjoon muttered sheepishly, gesturing for me to go first. I did.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” I replied, smiling at him good-naturedly to ease his worries, “I’m from the mountains, remember?” The men chuckled and we climbed silently after that.

The room was cozy – really, I would even call it a loft – it spanned the entirety of the attic, just a big open square of space. There was a worn carpet there, an old persian with layers of dust caked into it, with a similarly old looking couch and a little table. In a corner stood an old rickety iron double bed that looked like it’s seen better days, but it would do.

The kitchen was an open space, a little table just enough for two people to eat there was situated right at the edge between the living space and the kitchenette. Bathroom was most probably the little room right next to it, tucked into another corner.

“Will this be enough?” Namjoon asked and he did sound actually worried, to my astonishment, “My uncle used to live here when I was little. And the boys sometimes came here when they wanted to be alone, but I’ll tell them not to do that anymore.”

I gaped at the men, taking the space in.

“Enough? This is more than enough, Namjoon-ssi!” I exclaimed excitedly, “I would even argue that it might be too much. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay rent?” The wolf chuckled fondly and shook his head, carefully setting my bag down on the sofa.

“Of course not, Y/N,” he rumbled back, “The space is here and it just collects dust, or someone comes here to- to sulk. They sometimes come here to sulk.” From the corner of my eye I saw the hybrid blush again as Seokjin jabbed his side with his elbow, but I paid them no mind, completely enthralled by a beautiful set of a wardrobe and drawers made from massive dark wood and carved beautifully with flowering vines that was standing next to the door.

“What Namjoon’s trying to say is,” Seokjin took over with a twitchy smile, “that we’ll be glad to know someone’s properly loving the space and taking care of it.” I returned the smile and walked deeper into the room.

“I tried to deep clean it yesterday so you could sleep here, but it might not be perfect,” the bear hybrid continued, rounded ears cutely flicking around and following my movements, “but I’m sure that tomorrow we can finish it all together. Hoseok promised to help as well.” Namjoon visibly perked up at the mention of that name and turned to me from where he was zoning out.

“Oh, speaking of which,” he exclaimed and motioned for me to follow them back down, “He’s waiting for us down in the office.”

By the office he meant the space down in the basement, where Hoseok occupied one of the desks, currently sitting down with one of the chunky phones pressed to his ear and diligently jotting something into a notebook.

We politely waited for him to be done, through with all the pleasantries, and then he happily jumped up from the table, pure unfiltered joy pouring out of him as he waved the little notebook about.

“A client?” Seokjin asked, eyes wide with hope, and smiled bright when Hoseok nodded. The men all huddled around the desk, muttering to each other things I couldn’t hear properly while I awkwardly stood around and shuffled from foot to foot. Thankfully it took maybe only a minute before Namjoon realised I came in with them and he whirled around with a guilty expression, tugging the notebook out of the fox’s hands and pulling me closer to the desk.

“Actually hyung, we came here to deliver your newbie,” he said and said man grinned at me blindingly, until I almost forgot anything except for the fact that I was so damn happy to be here.

“I’ll be something of a direct superior of yours, sort of,” Hoseok explained gently, dragging me over to sit me down at his desk.

“We don’t really have any kind of hierarchy, but Hobi’s the most organised by far, so this all is his domain,” Seokjin explained, gesturing with wide arms over the basement. When I turned back to the fox I felt the awe that must have been reflected in my eyes, and the hybrid blushed, turning his head slightly to the side while Namjoon snickered somewhere behind us.

“Everybody helps, but I mostly oversee everything, just to make sure,” he explained further as he leaned his hip on the desk to be more comfortable.

“He’ll be the one telling you what needs to be done and where you could be useful. Or me. Or Jin-hyung,” Namjoon added and smiled at my expression as I tried to commit everything to memory.

“Just whatever happens, don’t listen to anything the maknaes say,” Hoseok warned and I nodded eagerly until they all giggled at me.

“Well,” Namjoon started and looked to Seokjin who immediately nodded, both of them backing away towards the stairs, “We’ll leave you to it.” I couldn’t help but notice that the little notebook containing info about their new client stayed safely tucked away in Namjoon’s hand, far away from me, and my ears and eyes.

“Right,” Hoseok’s voice tore me out of my reverie, and I turned back to him only to see him looking around the basement in contemplation, lip caught between his teeth as he pondered. Then he jumped up and started walking towards the filing cabinets.

“Come, I’ll show you the system I use for categorisation. And please, call me Hobi.”

The first two weeks I spent with my new company in the new house were quite uneventful. The client that had called was swiftly dealt with only two days later, and only Namjoon and Jimin went, leading me to believe it must have been some weak shade.

Type 1 ghosts, the weakest ones, were usually the kind that started off the season of death, as it was so colloquially called, and mostly didn’t demand much manpower. They weren’t as dangerous, well, as far as ghosts could go – it was very unusual for them to show any kind of killing intent, but even a peaceful ghost’s touch could be deadly.

That was something that was drilled into us endlessly in school – both kids with talent and without – to never get close to a ghost, never let it touch you, and run away as fast as possible and get an adult.

It was the general rule everyone except for operatives abided by – unless they wanted a slow painful death of rot and decomposition to spread through their body from the place of contact, until it pumped their veins with poison and claimed their heart. It was a gruesome death, and it was terrible to witness. Sometimes you could be saved with a couple of shots of adrenaline or a swifty amputation, but vital places – head, chest, stomach – were lethal.

And it was the number one killer of both adults and children in the world.

But the sting of secrecy of that first case was dulled by the fact that no one except for Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok cared much for it, and it was dealt with within two hours.

I spent those days with curious glances burnt into my back as I mostly silently followed Hobi around and listened to his instructions wherever we came upon something new. I helped him and Taehyung clean down in the basement, I sat next to him as he showed me how to properly fill out forms we’d need, or how to file new cases (of which none came). I even felt guilty enough for not having anything to help with to earn my keep that I insisted on helping with gathering the fallen leaves in the garden, and with flaming cheeks made Yoongi let me help him cook every evening (even though I was a disaster in the kitchen and often got reprimanding looks from the tiger hybrid).

Most of the time though we went endlessly again and again through the little storage in the basement and made sure we were fully stocked up and ready to head out for a case if needed.

It meant hours upon hours of sitting in a steadily colder and colder windowless room, wading through kilos of salt and iron fillings, checking the magnesium flares to see they were properly stored, preparing salt and iron bombs, oiling and caring for iron chains that were used for protective circles, sharpening rapiers and similar.

And as much Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook whined about Hobi forcing them to do it every two days even though we saw no business, I completely understood the red fox.

Face to face to a ghost, there weren’t many things that could save you or protect you, except for your rapier and a belt filled with these helpers. One too many operatives had died because they hadn’t checked they packed everything or that it was functional.

Magnesium flares when unused sometimes became a hazard and could burn a whole house down, salt and iron bombs sometimes crystallised shut when improperly stored. Chains when left alone rusted and stuck together. When the crucial moment came, even a second delay in a flare going off could mean sure death.

So I happily spent my time in the basement, checking the boys’ belts and bags to make absolutely sure that when they left, they would also return. And sometimes it would turn into training as well, Hobi dragging us into the neighbouring room and spending long hours laughing in the ring, watching the men fight with big smiles on their faces.

It was exactly two weeks into my quite uneventful stay when Namjoon poked his head into the green room where I was sulking by the fire. That day Hobi had no tasks for me, and I took to getting in Yoongi’s way in the kitchen, attempting to help until Jin was laughing at the exasperated tiger and I ended up being exiled into the sitting room. Jimin had briefly stopped by to snicker at me and then he was gone in a flurry of giggles, leaving me to my gloom.

I had wanted to follow him, to go with him and play with the other maknaes as Yoongi and Jin all called us, but I was being too shy to approach them outside of work responsibilities, and judging by their hesitant smiles, they were having the same problem.

So Namjoon walked in on me sullenly poking into the fire with a stick, watching the embers fly through the air and listening to the crackle of the wood, all on my lonesome.

“Hey,” he said with that gentle timbre, and I immediately perked up, “your gear just got here.” If Namjoon found funny the way I promptly jumped to my feet and ran through the house towards the basement... well I didn’t really stick around long enough to find out whether he laughed, but he sure came down behind me with a big grin on his face.

We ordered my own gear a few days back, Jin dragging me down here and measuring me with excruciating detail to make sure it fit as best as possible, and it might have been the crankiest I’ve gotten around the eldest of the pack as we continuously bickered about which size should be ordered, especially the shoes. But Jin took my attitude with grace (got sassy and told me I’m just like Jungkook, which at that moment didn’t feel much like a compliment), so all was well in the end.

“Do you want me to call Jin-hyung?” Namjoon asked, mischief written into his soft round face, and I immediately shook my head.

“I don’t think I’d survive if he’s proven right live,” I said and shuddered at the thought of his smug smirk whenever we had to admit we were in the wrong. I’d seen it around a few times during the two weeks, even once from Yoongi, which Jimin later told me was quite the feat. Apparently the stubborn tiger would rather lose his own hand than admit anything. “Let’s not tell him if it fits as well as he thought.”

Namjoon behind me snickered and pretended as if he was locking his mouth and throwing away the key, before he pulled a big cardboard box onto Hobi’s table.

“You catch up fast,” he teased with a big smile, “first rule of surviving here – Jin-hyung is scarier than anything that might be lurking outside during the night.” I scoffed at that, but didn’t dispute it, instead choosing to get to opening the box.

The uniform of an operative is quite simple really – we mostly wore combat shoes with silver tip and iron interladed soles, cargo pants made from thick cotton that didn’t tear easily and special long-sleeved t-shirts that fit like second skin and it was virtually impossible to destroy them unless you got stabbed. Then of course, seasonal additions like sweaters or jackets or gloves. But these were the basics.

The pack didn’t hesitate to spend money on me, and I had to admit that that night it brought some tears to me eyes, knowing they were counting on me to stay with them that long. It was a heart-warming moment for me, as it felt like I was truly expected to take my place in their ranks and not only serve them coffee forever (which some other agencies loved to do with younger recruits – which, I wasn’t even that young, not for an operative anyway).

So now I was pulling out three sets of each, enough to be able to comfortably swap between them during laundry, and to not have the fear that if some unfortunate accident befell my uniform, I didn’t have to fear not having anything else. I promised the man that the next batch I’d already buy from the money I earned, but he just smiled and said nothing, warm eyes fondly watching me and Jin drag Hobi into our squabble.

Now, putting them on, I felt like an investigator more than I ever had in my old torn jeans and washed out hand-me-down hoodie I’d worn up in the north.

The memories that flooded my brain brought a bit of melancholy to my heart and I thought back to my parents, or my PI friends – all the people I haven’t spoken to since I ran down here. Some that I’d never get the chance to speak to ever again.

“They fit perfectly,” I called from the small bathroom, door cracked open just enough for my voice to carry unobstructed, and I hoped Namjoon didn’t hear the tinge of sadness colouring it now, “of course they fucking do.” The last part was muttered softly under my breath, but judging from the chuckle in the other room, the wolf heard me nonetheless.

Bundling the clothes back into the box and leaving it by the desk for tomorrow’s me to deal with, we both slowly started back into the living spaces, and my palms slowly grew clammy.

“Hey Namjoon?” I said somewhat unsteadily, and watched his ears perk up before he turned to me. Perhaps sensing my nerves, the wolf gently smiled, his scent mellowing and covering me with a blanket of safe warm feelings.

“Could I maybe use the landline for personal calls?”

The hybrid looked at me confused for a moment, like he was computing that this was the only thing I truly wanted, before his expression melted into compassion.

“Y/N, of course you can,” he told me gently, “you can use anything in the house. Including the library, if you’re ever bored.” I blushed at the knowing look in his eyes, and wondered which of his hyungs told on me. Probably Yoongi, that snitch. And I thought we’d have feline hybrids solidarity. I chuckled at his words and nodded, now more embarrassed than shy.

Having his blessing, I circled back to the basement and took a seat at one of the tables where I never saw anyone else sit, leaving Namjoon to return on his own.

The old plastic phone felt familiar in my hand, as I grew up in a place where technology stayed in the 90s. Well, most of other things did as well, to be perfectly honest. The number I was calling was burned into my memory, I’d probably be able to recite it even on my death bed (though for operatives that didn’t have to mean that long).

The line crackled for a moment before a tired “hello?” rang though my ears.

“Mom,” I realised too late that my voice came out wet, the heavy knot of emotions stuck in my throat at hearing her voice again after such a long while, and there was a similarly emotional intake of breath on the other side.

“Oh, darling,” the happy voice said, suddenly all tiredness gone from it, a youthfulness sounding through that made me think back to my childhood, “how’s the city treating you?”

“Good, I found a good pa- I mean I found a good agency, I’m with them now. Working. Working with them,” I stumbled through the sentence, blushy and teary-eyed, and I swore I could hear laughter upstairs.

“Are they taking good care of you, my baby?” she asked, her voice so warm and receptive I wanted to crawl through the phone and wrap myself into it. I nodded, and then rushed to assure her when I realised she couldn’t see me.

“How’s everyone? Dad? Jiwoo? What about Daiyu? How is she?” The barrage of questions spilled out of me in one breath and on the other side I heard my mom giggle quietly.

“Dad’s dad, still the same,” she started, love and amusement dripping from her voice, “you know how he gets when autumn comes. I’ve barely even seen him, he spends all his time in the garden.” I chuckled at that, the image of my father in his old jeans that were more mending patches than the original pants, lovingly tending to his bushes and plants, preparing them for the tough season ahead, was burned into my memory from having it seen every autumn. He was a silent man, but every time he stepped out, you could see the love and gentleness shine through when he looked at “nature’s gifts”, as he put it.

“Jiwoo is also as he’s always been,” mum continued, voice sounding lighter and more joyful with every word spoken, “as stubborn as a mule, like any teenage boy. Running around the mountains with his friends, I barely even see him.”

A phone in the hall upstairs started ringing, and I could hear the beeps interrupting through the call I was currently in, so I quickly clicked the other line to keep the call running. Running footsteps thundered right above me, the excitement palpable through them, and then I could hear Hoseok’s muffled voice as he answered it.

“And Daiyu…” there my mother hesitated for a moment, unaware of my split attention, and I forced myself back into listening to her, “Well, I think she’s doing quite well, all things considered. You should give her a call too, darling, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

I hummed, but even as I tried to come up with a response, I could feel my ear twitching with the strain of listening on the call currently happening a hall above me, but to no avail. Everything Hoseok said blended into an undecipherable buzz, all the words melting into each other.

“Y/N? Darling?”

“Yes, mum, yes, I’m here,” I squeezed out quickly, turning away from the door as if would stop me from eavesdropping, “I’ll give her a call, just… I gotta run now.” There was a bit of silence on the other side, underlined with how suddenly the house fell silent too, and then my mother hummed. But it was the kind of hum that told me she had much more to say, yet chose not to, and I sighed.

“It’s not like that..” I said quickly, trying to put stop to anything she might be thinking now, but she only hummed again, in the way mothers did when they thought they knew better than you did, and I already knew that battle was lost. With a fond sigh, I decided to just let it go.

“Look mum, I have to go, I think we just got a call from a client,” I told her, and thankfully she got the hint, and with an amused sigh she let it go as well.

“Alright then, my dear,” she said lightly, just a twinge of longing creeping into her voice, and it pierced my heart painfully enough to almost rob me of my breath.

“I’m gonna call again soon, mum,” I reassured her quickly, jumping in before she got another word out, “My- my- Employer… my employer said I could use the phones as I needed! I’ll call again soon..” I got a little stuttered up over how to call Namjoon, but if she thought it was weird, at least she didn’t see the way I lit up with a mighty blush over the slip-up I almost had; for there was another word dangerously close to slipping out, one that was very not appropriate for me to use.

And I hoped that the sound didn’t spread as easily upstairs, and I wouldn’t hear a fresh batch of teasing, now with the wolf hybrid instead of Yoongi.

“Well, I’ll hear from you soon,” her quiet voice carried over, “I love you, my darling.” I smiled to myself, probably looking like a right love-sick fool.

“I love you too, mummy,” I whispered back, “Be well.” She lingered for a moment longer, I heard her quiet breaths on the other side of the line, and then there was a quiet click of her setting the phone down, and then only continuous beeps.

I took some time to take a few deep breaths, stabilising myself a little before my first shaky steps back towards the stairs.

The hall was empty when I made it back up, but I heard excitable chatter coming from the direction of the sitting rooms, so if I had to guess, whoever was here was probably all huddled up in the green room by the fire, stealing my spot.

I ran up a little, taking quick bouncy steps, both rejuvenated by the call and excited for potentially getting to do some ghost busting.

And I sure wasn’t the only one, because when I ran into the room, it turned out that everyone was already there – the whole pack, sitting around and peeking into Hoseok’s hands, where the black notebook was clutched.

He was just in the middle of saying something when I zoomed in, but got stuttered up upon seeing me full energy like that. Yoongi was standing by his shoulder, and upon my fiery exit looked up only to smirk my way, eyes cheekily taking me in. I cursed my ears and tail for flicking up eagerly, but it felt less embarrassing when his did the same, and it wasn’t enough to make the grin slide off of my face, so I just ignored Jimin’s teasing (evil) snickers and moved into the room.

Just for a split second I worried I might have not been fully welcomed in on the discussion – Hoseok seemed to have already started talking, everybody was present except for me – but then Namjoon smiled and waved me over, vacating his spot on the couch so that I could settle myself right between Taehyung and Jungkook while he stood over us, leaning on the head rest.

“I was just about to go get you,” he said in the warm tone of his, and I relaxed into the soft pillows immediately. I looked towards the red fox, who was sitting in the armchair in front of me, eyes lit up like he just got the best news ever. He looked towards me too and smiled so brightly it was almost blinding.

“We got a client. And this one’s gonna be a doozy.”

Seokjin was nervously fluffing up the pillows for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, and I could see that I wasn’t the only one whose nerves were getting grated by that, but since the bear was so sincere and hopeful about it, none of us dared to say anything. Most of the time Kim Seokjin was a man that would put fear of God into you within seconds, but when it came to customers, he’d almost turn cute.

Not that I’d dare say that out loud to him.

“Cute,” teased Hoseok, and I immediately flushed. Seokjin turned to him with a disapproving tsk, but there was a red hue on his cheeks, and for a moment I was caught marvelling at such a rare sight. Obviously, the consensus about Seokjin’s pre-visit habits was pretty clear around here.

Like when I had my job interview, the only ones present were the three hybrids that seemed to be the most involved with running the company – Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok, with the addition of me to take notes. Though, all the others were around too, and I knew they were anxiously waiting to listen in as soon as the customer arrived.

Thankfully, the torture of watching Seokjin pace the room one more time to fluff the pillows one more time was cut short with a sound of the bell thundering through the suddenly unnaturally silent house.

I watched as the red fox jumped to his feet, ears flicking with attention towards the door as his tail nervously swung about in a manner that would soon become dangerous to stand too close to. Namjoon seemed to have petrified, standing woodenly with an awkward smile, and I would almost giggle at the sight if not for the aura of nerves engulfing everything.

Seokjin was already toying with the silver tea kettle as Hoseok tripped over himself and then over the armchair in a mad race to the front door. I had an abrupt flashback to our first meeting – to how eager he was to a point he stressed me out, and I promptly stood up into his way to try and curb his energy.

He was probably just too focused on getting to the door, that would explain why he didn’t fully notice me at first, not until I was already too close and in an attempt to stop he instead slipped on the squeaky clean wooden floors and barrelled right into me.

A moment of weightlessness was all I registered before suddenly gravity pulled hard, and before I knew it, I was sprawled over the brown room’s floor with Hoseok’s extremely red face planted right into my chest.

Everything stilled for a few extremely tense seconds before the fox was jumping off of me with a loud embarrassed scream, the sound enough to summon everyone, and I meant everyone, to run into the hall to witness me lying on my back on the floor like a beached whale while Hoseok buried his entire upper body into the armchair like an ostrich its head into the sand.

One look at the two other present hybrids told me all I had to know. Namjoon stood there with face as red as a lobster and looking absolutely horrified, while Seokjin had his hand over his mouth, though his eyes were crinkled with silent laughter.

I rather didn’t even look towards the others, instead I quickly climbed back onto my feet as a second bell rung through the house. No one said anything. Yoongi was laughing. Loudly.

“Okay,” I took charge of the situation, “Hoseok, calm down and get some shoes. Namjoon you too. Calm down, I mean.” Then I turned to the four other very entertained hybrids and narrowed my eyes. “Everybody else scram. I’m gonna open the door and when I walk into here with the client, you’ll be relaxed and professional, alright?”

Without waiting for a reply, I turned with my face still burning and stalked toward the main entrance. Though, I heard the patter of feet running quietly away and Seokjin muttering “we have to work on this part” under his breath, so it was safe to assume they took me bossing them around better than I hoped they would.

With a deep breath I steadied myself, slipping into the more customer friendly demeanour and opened the door with an amicable smile.

And older lady stood there. She very obviously came from money, everything about her screamed wealth – from her elegant black dress with lace collar, to the golden brooch with a blood red ruby that was pinned the lace, to her grey hair slicked back into a tight hairdo at the back of her head. She had quite a strict face, not necessarily unfriendly, but definitely not open, and she leaned on a black walking stick quite heavily.

There was a middle-aged man supporting her from the other side, probably her son by the age. He looked considerably more approachable, so I forced myself to relax and invited them in with a broad gesture.

“Welcome to Bangtan Inc., paranormal investigations,” I said with a cheery voice, “I apologise for the wait.” I didn’t offer them any explanation because, well frankly I didn’t have one, and I found that people rarely asked for more details for fear of looking rude.

“Good afternoon,” the man replied pleasantly, but the older woman stayed silent. She didn’t look very happy with us, but by her presumed son’s nonchalant attitude, I supposed she might have just been one of those ladies.

“Terribly good weather this afternoon,” the man continued, looking out to the sky which was a light steely grey, but the temperature was pleasant and stray rays of sunshine did make it through. I smiled at him and nodded.

“Quite, though it is supposed to get colder. After all, we are nearing the end of September.”

I offered to help with coats, but the lady let the man help her, and he seemed more than happy to help himself with his own, so I just waited for them to hand them to me so that I could hang them up. The lady seemed to be pleased with that at least, and I was glad I maybe turned around the fact that they had to wait outside for such a while.

The heels of their shoes clicked on the floor as I led them down the hallway with another broad gesture to follow me. I saw them both look around with wide eyes, taking in the old grandeur of the house. With a bit of a sinking heart I recognised open surprise in their eyes, and they were no doubt shocked that hybrids lived so well.

Momentarily I worried for what we’d have to hear from them today, but I didn’t have much time to ponder that, as we rounded the corner into the brown room and got hit with the sight of the three hybrids waiting.

Compared to the disaster I left behind me, now they looked perfectly put together and professional. Namjoon’s shoulders weren’t as stiff as before as he gave the newcomers a very enchanting smile, immediately charming the pants right off of the lady who seemed to have melted into a blushing schoolgirl upon being met with the wolf. Discreetly I thought to myself that I perfectly understood her.

Seokjin stood next to him, as handsome as ever, while Hoseok, now also considerably calmer, stepped forward with his hand outstretched, a blinding smile splitting his face almost in half.

“Welcome! My name’s Jung Hoseok, we spoke on the phone,” his voice was smooth and cheery, and as my eyes slid downwards, with relief I saw that he indeed did put on shoes.

The usual pleasantries took place, and I left them to it, only getting a little startled when Namjoon gestured towards me as I fussed in the corner about the chair I dragged over before to take notes without interrupting and said: “and that’s our assistant, Ms. Y/N.” With a slightly awkward smile I shook their hands as well, and the atmosphere relaxed a little.

Just as I was looking over the notepad just one more time to make sure everything was ready for me to write down, another call of my name startled me into paying attention to the interaction.

“Y/N will bring it right over!” Seokjin just said, and upon my confused glance, he gestured to the empty table. The tea kettle was gone, I belatedly realised, and I jumped to my feet and scurried off into the kitchen.

Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook were all sitting around the dining table munching on something, probably sandwiches as Yoongi made those quite often when we whined about being hungry, while the man himself stood by one of the kitchen windows smoking.

I ran in, scaring the shit out of the three eating hybrids and earning a chuckle from the tiger, while I panicked and looked around while whisper-screaming “tea!” the whole time.

“Calm down, darling, it’s here,” Yoongi walked over to the kitchen counter, the teapot sitting there and mocking me as I sulked over to the black-haired man.

“Why’s it even back here?” I asked him, now considerably less frantic as I watched him put the kettle on, his quick skilful fingers arranging new teabags and fresh biscuits on to the tray. He scoffed, but it was a fond sound. He often sounded that way when talking about Seokjin, though you’d never get him to admit it.

“You know how hyung gets,” the tiger teased, a light smirk playing on his face, “in the time it took you to walk from the door to the sitting room he managed to panic that the tea would already be tasting bad and thought it would look better if you brought over fresh one.” There were some giggles from the dining room table, but I found I didn’t want to turn away from Yoongi working in the kitchen. So, I kept my eyes glued to the man, slowly taking in how his tail started swishing around in much more playful manner than it usually did.

And I knew I was in trouble, because he’d never miss a chance to tease me, especially not in front of the maknaes. Especially not in front of Jimin, that little devil.

Yoongi poured the hot water into the decorative teapot, arranging it onto the tray for me to carry, and as he turned, he reached over to pet my hair, taking the moment to curl his fingers right behind my ear slightly, as if he was going to scratch there but changed his mind.

I flushed, terribly so might I add, and the bastard smirked. I felt my ear twitch needily, the little traitor, and I mentally scolded it.

Grabbing the tray, I ignored everyone in the room and stomped my way back to the brown room, pointedly not looking any of the three other hybrids in the face, which I knew was noticed by the way Seokjin was trying to conceal his laughter by turning away.

The clients thankfully seemed blissfully unaware, distracted by the refreshments, and I took the moment to decompress into my seat and stubbornly keep my eyes on my notes, even though I saw the way Hoseok curiously glanced my way and grinned upon seeing how red I was.

Quickly the atmosphere sobered though, as the two incomers finally settled down into their chairs, ready to share their ghost story.

“So, Mrs. Carter, you’ve mentioned a spectre in your garden, yes?” Seokjin started, trying not to sound too eager, as that usually scared normal folk away. We had to get every little detail out of them though, and that wasn’t easy. Not just because they didn’t see much, but because they generally didn’t like to talk about apparitions.

As if not mentioning them would erase the danger they posed out of existence.

“Well, yes,” the lady, Mrs. Carter, drawled out with a thick posh accent, “It is in the back of the garden, yes, been there for decades too.” The man nodded, and that was quite a shock to us.

“For decades?” Namjoon asked, absolutely flabbergasted, “have you never thought to get rid of it before?” The old woman simply nodded, clutching the walking stick in her hands, habitually drumming her fingers on the polished wood.

“I didn’t particularly care for it,” she answered again in that slightly detached way of talking that wealthy people sometimes adopted, “It’s been just me and my husband for a long time, and we knew not to go into that part of the garden, and all the staff leaves before sundown as is law.” She shrugged, and the man sighed, pinching the root of his nose.

“I’ve been telling mother for years to do something about it,” he told us, exasperated while the woman seemed cheekily unperturbed, much in the way that spoke of just how old the argument truly was, “It’s just plain dangerous and irresponsible.”

“It wasn’t doing anything to anyone,” she replied stubbornly, “but now my nieces have started visiting. Even with all the precautions, I cannot let it stay. Children never listen, especially to those things that you stress the most that they need to listen to. I need the garden to be safe for them.” She seemed to melt a little at the mention of the little girls, something warmer creeping into her gaze as she glanced at her son.

We all sat there and listened to them go back and forth quietly, taking in the details – and each of us seemed to have different questions. I was mainly amazed how she spoke of a very dangerous ghost as if it was just a tenant paying rent to use her garden, and not the accident waiting to happen it truly was.

Hoseok had other concerns, and that’s why he was the one asking the questions.

“Wasn’t doing anything to anyone?” he enquired, leaning forward to them in interest, “Would you be able to describe it a little? Or even if there are any feelings connected to the haunting? Does it have any habits?” The barrage of questions that spilled out of him clearly surprised and overwhelmed the duo, and they looked to each other for help.

“Feelings?” was all that Mrs. Carter said in the end though, looking to the fox confusedly.

“Well, like for an example, when you are in the area, do you feel a certain way?” Seokjin jumped in, sensing his packmate was likely getting a little too excited again, “Do you feel uncomfortable and unsafe? Do you feel sad?”

“Hauntings can sometimes influence our feelings,” Namjoon carried on, explaining gently to the two humans, “It can help the operatives guess the type of the spectre, or its strength and motives. If every time you walk through the part of the garden you suddenly feel unsafe, it could speak of dangerous intentions. If there only is a sudden wave of sadness, it could mean a weaker shade.”

The two visitors sat in silence for a moment, pondering over their experiences with the haunting, while we sat there and waited with bated breaths.

Getting details out of human adults was always the hardest part of these initial interviews. Children at least usually were a little more sensitive to the unknown, sometimes even seeing the apparitions clearly, but adults were mostly blind. They could only rely on the emotions that gripped them while encountering a ghost, and those were normally drowned out by fear and panic.

Not that anyone could blame them – even operatives had that instinct to turn and run, we’d be insane if we didn’t.

But given that they seemed to have been aware of this haunting for decades, there was hope a little more information would come out of them.

In the worst case scenario we could swallow our pride and ask whether she currently hired any hybrids on her staff to ask them, though hybrids not involved in the PI business hated to be associated with it. Our supernatural senses hung above our heads like curses, and some just wanted to be as far away from that as possible, yet unable to escape it fully.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t feel too friendly, but I’ve never felt in any danger,” the old lady drawled out, voice a little thin as she was lost in her own thoughts and memories. Her son seemed similarly drowned in his own musings, sitting silently beside her with a pale face and a strange look.

“Have you ever seen it?” came Seokjin’s next question and the lady snorted in good humour.

“Of course I haven’t seen it, how could I?” her answer was amused, but it still ruffled some feathers, as I saw Hoseok’s smile twitch on his face in slight annoyance. Seokjin stared at her, incredulous, though she was very oblivious to that with her face buried in her teacup. Namjoon once more chose this moment to step in and smooth the situation over before Jin’s patience ran out and he reverted to his usual steam-roller self.

“Well, yes, we aren’t expecting you to see it clearly, but humans sometimes report seeing a little,” the wolf inserted himself into the tense atmosphere, “it doesn’t have to be a full apparition, but maybe a shape, fog or even spots of darkness, anything like that can be helpful to us.”

The woman hummed, once again reverting into her memories to search for anything to tell us, but by the pinched expression on her face we could all already tell that if she ever saw it, she’s already forgotten or supressed it from her mind.

My ears fluttered as they caught the quiet sigh of disappointment let out by Hobi right before he started preparing to ask more questions that would most likely lead nowhere, as was usually the case with older humans. My eyes were still glued to Mr. Carter sitting woodenly next to his mother though, and just as Hobi opened his mouth, without thinking I jumped in.

“Mr. Carter, have you ever seen it? As a child?” The man startled at hearing his name, and the entire room’s attention was suddenly on me. I flushed for a moment sensing the other hybrid’s eyes, but I took the chance to speak even though I probably wasn’t supposed to.

Redirecting my gaze back to the wide eyes of the surprised human, I could see some cracks of guilt in his expression.

“Of course I haven’t, young miss!” he rushed out, face reddening and twisting slightly as if I gravelly insulted him, “Children have no business chasing after ghosts, and I knew that!” I chanced a glance at my employers, all of whom seemed very interested in the current conversation, no doubt sensing the opportunity as well.

Namjoon gestured for me to continue, and I breathed out in relief before turning to our guests again.

“Well, of course, I am not doubting your common sense, but as Mrs. Carter said a few moments ago, children often find these things curious. Ghosts and the supernatural, the more you discourage them, the more they want to see,” I argued softly, trying to talk him away from the edge he psyched himself onto.

In that moment even though he must have been at least fifty years old, there was something very boyish in his face – that second he turned back into a little kid, afraid of the consequences of his parents anger after breaking one of their rules, and I knew I struck gold. Children rarely listened, which was unfortunately why they died of ghost touch so much. It has always been a very sad statistic, one that Mr. Carter no doubt almost added onto himself.

He took one guilty look towards his mother who has been watching him with a curious glint in her eyes, not unkind but definitely exasperated at knowing her son was tempting fate like that without her knowledge, but she still gestured for him to tell the truth.

With the aura of a scolded schoolboy he turned back to the room and sighed.

“It was when I was sixteen,” he started sheepishly, face red now from embarrassment more than the anger of getting caught red-handed, “the ghost just appeared the winter prior, but I was away at my boarding school. When I returned, I was informed of its presence and the back part of the garden was closed off for safety. I was curious, though.” I nodded at him, to encourage him and soothe the sting of childish foolishness.

“Trust me Mr. Carter, that’s very normal,” Namjoon stated kindly and gave the man a smile, one that had even me relaxing in my chair, tail curling along the chair legs in search of a cozy cuddle, which I stubbornly ignored, just as I did anything else pertaining to the strange reactions these men managed to bring out in me. Especially the kind wolf and the cheeky tiger.

“Yes, indeed, children are always drawn to things and places like that,” Seokjin joined in and poured the man another cup of tea, “Even we got up to similar foolish shenanigans. Some of us never grew out of it.” The last part was pointed towards those who listened in, and I could almost hear the complaining grumble from Jungkook and Taehyung sitting in the kitchen as they argued over who invited more trouble.

Schooling my features, I looked back to the somewhat appeased human and watched him grow more comfortable in the armchair.

“I did the stupidest thing I could think of,” the man admitted, “I sneaked out during the night. It was early autumn, just like it is now, and I crept through the gardens towards the back-end corner, where it was seen. At first there was nothing out of ordinary. It was pretty cold outside, but it was September, so I thought nothing of it.”

I hummed non-commitally, jotting down what he was saying into my notepad which was slowly filling up. Hobi cleared his throat, but otherwise listened to the story with unrestrained focus.

“Well, that didn’t last for long though,” if the statement wasn’t ominous enough, the look of sheer terror that crossed Mr. Carter’s face was definitely sufficient, “I mean, to this day I am not completely sure what I saw. At first there was nothing, but then I suddenly started feeling unprecedented fear, absolute panic and terror, seemingly without a reason. I stood in the middle of the garden, alone as far as I knew, paralysed with horror. I didn’t know what to do. Then it started to appear. I noticed that there was a spot of darkness that felt unnatural, but slowly it turned into a vague shape. I couldn’t see many details, but it was a man. I watched it slink closer for a few seconds before the panic managed to override my body and I stumbled away. I’ve never tempted fate like that again.”

There was a moment of silence as the information shared sunk in, only broken by the quiet scratch of my pen as I wrote the details down before I forgot. When I looked up, I could almost see the wheels turning in Namjoon’s head and the calculations Hobi and Jin were making in their minds.

“So that’s why you insisted so much about us getting rid of the visitor,” the old woman mused finally, breaking the spell with her sad voice, “I’m sorry we never listened to you.”

“You said you saw it slightly, would you maybe be able to tell me what kind of clothes the man was wearing? Any guess about the period?” Namjoon’s questions shot through the tender moment, and it was obvious the wolf was miles away, probably thinking about the trip to the archives he’d have to make after this visit.

The guests didn’t seem to be too ruffled by his slightly awkward interruption and the man dipped back into that terrifying memory.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can give you anything more specific,” he stated apologetically, wringing his hands out in his lap, “but they were definitely what I would describe as old-timey clothes. Like a Victorian gentleman maybe.”

Awesome, so it was a vindictive Victorian man-ghost, those were always so much fun. I added the information onto the paper and hummed, the three other hybrids taking over the conversation once more and asking for some details, details we were always hoping for but rarely managed to get out of people.

Suddenly, the rest of the visit was over in a flash. Hoseok and Seokjin discussed money, and the lady seemed more than happy to pay us whatever to make sure her garden was safe for her family, especially after her son’s tearful admission that he himself came a little too close to death when disobeying her word.

As they were filing out of our house, slowly shrugging on coats while the four of us stood there and watched with polite awkward smiles, the man turned to me and leaned over discreetly.

“I’ve always felt so much shame for what I did,” he confessed, “I never really went against my parents. At the time it felt like a long overdue rebellion, but it almost ended with my death. I was so stupid, and when faced with danger, I just froze helplessly. At least it thought me to stray away from dangerous situations.” I gave him a gentle smile, hand automatically rising to pat at his shoulder to comfort him.

“Mr. Carter, trust me, kids just are that way, you weren’t any worse or different from heaps of other teenagers chasing a little adrenaline,” I assured him, thinking back to my own stunts that I pulled in the seemingly endless acres of haunted woods around our little village, “You got lucky though, you left the encounter alive. But don’t beat yourself up over freezing up, that’s a common side-effect of a sighting. Operatives are susceptible to it as well and it takes years of training to not get affected by it.”

The man looked to me in surprise and I was honestly shocked he wasn’t aware of such a thing. Didn’t humans learn about visitors as well?

“Were you not aware of that?” I asked with a melodious giggle, easing the human a little before he sheepishly shook his head.

“No, I always assumed I was just a special breed of coward,” he admitted quietly, the statement getting lost under his mother’s fussing as Namjoon offered to help her down the steep damp stone stairs, the woman accepting his arm with a blush and shy smile, which was an expression especially alien to her face.

“No, it’s called a ghost-lock and it’s common, besides there’s nothing cowardly about being afraid when coming face to face with death,” I whispered conspiratorially, bumping our shoulders together like we were naughty school-mates sharing a secret, “only a fool wouldn’t be scared.”

A youthful expression crossed his face as he grinned at me, and suddenly he looked nothing like a worried fifty-year-old father of a couple of girls and everything like a cheeky boy whose burdened heart finally got the rest it needed.

His fingers flew up to his head, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction as he thanked me for my kind words and for our services, before he turned and jogged down the stairs to catch up with his mother, who was already half-way to the gate, still hanging onto Namjoon’s strong frame.

“- you know, I was against my husband in that regard, and I’m glad I disagreed with him,” she was just chattering to him, and the wolf wore an awkward smile on his face, a quiet discomfort oozing off of him as Jin and Hobi walked woodenly next to her.

“I always told him, I have nothing against those hybrids, and they’re here in the neighbourhood,” the woman continued on totally unaware to the rising unease of her companions, “why drag ourselves through the city, when we can just walk down a couple streets! But he’s a stubborn man, that Jacob of mine. Well, I’ll be proven right, just like I always am, when he meets you and finds out that you’re such stand-up gentlemen!”

There were some half-hearted mutters of thanks, the three men exchanging wide-eyed stares before Mr. Carter finally caught up and took over, grabbing his mother’s hand and gently pulling her away from the tall hybrid, to the wolf’s relief. I saw a flicker of displeasure at being separated from her new-found young love, but she quickly found her own footing and suddenly very speedily made her way towards the gate and out on the street.

I watched them go amusedly, seeing the three flustered hybrids standing there and looking off after the spirited old lady. Well, at least she was one of those old people.

thank you so much for reading, and i hoped you liked the chapter! don't be shy and let me know what you thought <3

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#bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #bts poly au #bts hybrid au #pfyg series

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year 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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