#warriors would lose his mind brushing this wolf

[gliphyartfan]

I think If I have to choose a toxic dynamic specifically for yandere LU x Reader it would be 'obsesseds (The Chain) x knows it, just don't care (Reader)' (Is this a toxic dynamic? I have people telling me no and other people telling me yes)

Anyway, I don't know what time it is where you live but here it's almost 1am.So I came to say good night to you.

I hope your day has gone better and you have given yourself moments of rest,If someone makes you feel stupid, remember that in the U.S. people are suing Cotsco for not specifying that butter contains milk.

Nighty night (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

—Double Anon

Oh…Ooooh this is such a fun dynamic to explore~

It’s oddly amusing, especially when Darling is just chilling while the boys are quietly losing their minds. Let me throw some headcanons your way~

Darling? They know. Like, they’ve absolutely clocked the way the Chain gets weirdly tense when someone new approaches, or how their polite smiles toward outsiders feel like a mask for something… darker.

But do they care? Nope. Darling just shrugs it off like, “Eh, they’re a little intense, but at least they’re cute.” Meanwhile, the Chain is barely holding it together.

It’s almost funny how Darling can just brush past these moments. Someone flirts with them? The Chain’s hackles are raised, and they’re this close to losing it, but Darling? Darling’s just like, “Wow, you’re really bad at pick up lines,” and keeps walking.

And if it’s a town they travel to often, well, Darling isn’t gonna really notice if the person suddenly isn’t around anymore.

Now if the chain had to be sneaky with their distaste in regards to outsiders when she wasn’t aware.

Then this is how they handle Outsiders for this idea.

I mean, yes they try to keep their darker tendencies under wraps for Darling’s sake, but the second an outsider gets too close? Yeah, no, the mask slips. Fast.

Outsider makes a harmless comment? Wild’s suddenly “practicing’ his bow, and wouldn’t you know it? His arrows keep landing way too close for comfort.

Warriors has this scary polite way of shutting people down. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean to sound so…familiar. You must not know who you’re speaking to.” All with a smile that definitely doesn’t reach his eyes.

Twilight’s wolf instincts come out hard. He’s standing too close, growling softly, and giving death stares that make the intruder backpedal real quick. Darling doesn’t even bat an eye (if this was the modern world, she’d be scrolling in her phone and not even looking up. But for this scenario, let’s say she was messing with Wild’s slate). “Twilight, stop scaring people.” (He doesn’t btw.)

Oh, Wild is subtle when he wants to be… until he isn’t. He’s got this cheeky grin like he’s just having fun, but the way he “accidentally” shows off his weapons or makes veiled threats? Not subtle at all. If Darling compliments his cooking mid-chaos? Boom, instant puppy mode. He’ll forget the outsider even exists. (Until the outsider opens their mouth)

Time’s the calm terror. Time doesn’t need to say much; his presence alone does all the work. He’ll stand behind Darling, arms crossed, just watching. Outsiders always leave feeling like they narrowly avoided death. Time? He’s sitting next to Darling and nodding along to their rambling like nothing happened.

Twilight is feral when it comes to Darling. He’s the one who physically steps between them and any “threat.” His low growls and glares are enough to send most people running. Darling calls him “protective” with a fond laugh, and Twilight melts. “Just looking out for you.”

Sky’s all polite smiles, but it’s the kind of politeness that has an edge. He’ll kindly suggest someone leave while casually resting his hand on his sword. If Darling notices, she just raises a brow. “Sky, you’re doing the thing again.” He coughs and backs off… for now.

Legend’s not even trying to hide his irritation. He’s all sharp words and grumpy glares. “What are you even doing here? Go away.” If Darling teases him about being jealous, he gets all flustered but secretly loves the attention.

Sweet Hyrule, oh he’s my favorite to think about sometimes~ he gets mean when someone steps out of line. His usual shyness disappears, Hyrule’s all sweet smiles and soft-spoken words. Outsiders might even mistake him for the least threatening of the group, but that’s only because they don’t know what lies beneath his gentle demeanor.

His fae side doesn’t take kindly to intruders. There’s a sharpness to him when someone steps too close to Darling, his voice lilts in that sing song way that feels wrong, like it’s hiding something deadly.

but when an outsider gets too bold, he can’t resist leaning into it. His tone is light, but his words cut deep, pricking at the edges of their nerves like thorns.

“You’re awfully bold for someone who doesn’t know what they’re walking into,” he’ll murmur, tilting his head just slightly. His smile remains warm, but his eyes seem to glow faintly, catching the light in an unnatural way.

Maybe at one point an outsider tried to follow Darling a little too persistently and Hyrule led them into a patch of woods and disappeared, letting the fae magic of the land take over. (After a visit to the nearest Great Fairy fountain) The intruder swore they could hear whispers, feel hands tugging at their clothes, and see eyes gleaming in the shadows.

When they finally stumbled back out, pale and shaken, Hyrule was there waiting, looking as innocent as ever. “Oh, you look like you’ve had a rough time. Maybe you should leave.”

Darling just brushes a stray leaf from his hair or calls him her protector, his fae instincts hum with satisfaction. Protecting her feels right, like it’s written into his very being.

Warriors? Oh, he’s scary good at being threatening without ever losing his charm. He’ll lean in close, all smiles, and say something like, “You should go before you overstay your welcome.” The other person leaves immediately. Darling just laughs. “Warriors, stop scaring people off.” (He absolutely won’t.)

Wind’s not subtle at all. He’s glaring, throwing sarcastic remarks, and finding any excuse to step in and make the outsider uncomfortable. If Darling ruffles his hair or calls him her “little troublemaker,” he instantly forgets why he was mad and becomes unbearably smug.

Four’s got this layered thing going on where his personalities are all just slightly off. One moment he’s quiet and polite, the next he’s throwing out unsettling one liners like, “Careful where you step. Not all traps are meant for monsters.” Darling notices the shift but just humors him. “Four, be nice.”

As a group, if an outsider tries to flirt or get too close, the Chain immediately closes ranks around Darling. It’s like a silent agreement, they don’t even need to speak. Suddenly, Darling’s surrounded, and the poor outsider is being quietly herded away.

Darling, of course, notices. “Wow, you guys really hate sharing, huh?” she teases. The Chain collectively pretends they don’t know what she’s talking about.

The second the outsider’s gone, they’re all vying for her attention. Wild’s offering food, Sky’s planning a Loftwing ride, Twilight’s hovering protectively, and Wind’s complaining about needing cuddles to make up for the stress. Darling just sighs, letting them indulge her because honestly? It’s easier than arguing.

So…yeah, this dynamic? Equal parts amusing and entertaining (for us. Not so much outsiders!).

I mean. They’re ARE all trying to be on their best behavior, but the second an outsider shows up, their true colors peek through…a lot…and it’s all kinds of unsettling (for anyone not part of their circle).

Darling’s just living her life, completely unfazed, while the Chain tiptoes the line between their devotion and madness.

[somer-writes]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Twilight & Warriors (Linked Universe), Time & Twilight & Warriors (Linked Universe) Characters: Time (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe), Warriors (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Bathing/Washing, Wolf Twilight (Linked Universe), Twilight & Warriors (Linked Universe) Friendship, Good Older Sibling Warriors (Linked Universe), Parental Time (Linked Universe), Fluff Summary:

Time discovers Twilight's undercoat.

[luimagines]

Maybe first kiss?? Definitely romantic-

Masterlist

You got it hun!

Part 1 will include Warrior, Twilight and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Warrior

You walked along the road with no true destination in mind as the sun began to set.

You were alone for a change but didn’t mind the lack of company.

The air was sweet and fragrant, the night life beginning to stir around the town as you continued walking.

As you traveled and watched as the houses lit up their candles and the shops closed down as the day winded down to an end.

It was a peaceful moment that you didn’t think you’d have again for a while, not as long as you traveled with Link.

Any of them.

The worst of them was The Captain, you thought to yourself.

And just as you thought it, he appears in front of you.

Surprised just as much as you when you nearly collided with each other. Nothing happened thankfully but you were stunned in your footstep.

“Evenin’ Captin’.” You wink.

Warrior snorts and rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you dropped that name.”

“Would you rather I call you Link?” You grin and begin to walk again.

Warrior doesn’t take the lead like you were expecting him too but that’s just as well. It’s not like you were going anywhere.

“Of course I’d rather you call me by my name. Shame there’s just so many of us.”

“Too many.”

“You love us.”

“If I didn’t, I don’t think there’s any way I would have survived as long as I have with all your shenanigans.” You laugh. 

Warrior hums but doesn’t match your energy.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Were you drinking?”

“Hm?” Warrior startles. “No. Not while I’m working.”

“Warrior, you’re always working.” You deadpan. 

“Am not.”

“Are too!” You snap back. “And well, whatever. Never mind. I was going to see if you wanted to go get a drink or something but if you’re technically still on the clock then it’s fine.”

“You want to get a drink?” Warrior throws him thumb behind him and tilts his head in tandem. “There’s a place that way where you could get one, cheap, mediocre, but it gets the job done.”

“I was curious if you wanted to drink. I’m actually fine.” You shrug and keep walking.

Warrior gets confused and has to step a little faster to keep up with you before you leave him behind. “I appreciate the offer but I’m fine as well.”

“Fair enough.”

Warrior waits for you to continue but when he sees that you aren’t going to, he speaks up again. “Why only me?”

“Legend says that you’re always thirsty around me, so I figured I’d offer-”

Warrior trips over himself and lands on his knees.

It looked rough.

“Hey, are you ok?” You drop next to him and he pulls himself off of the cobble stone road.

There’s a tear by his knee, right where he landed on it, and it you shifted it just a millimeter higher, then you’d see the very thin cut that’s already begun to bleed.

You hiss and try to gently pull the cloth away to get a better look at it but Warrior’s stillness is more unnerving than you want to admit.

“I’m going to kill him.” Warrior growled.

It was so out of left field that you blinked, sat back and began to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

“And here I thought you were actually hurt.” You gasp. “You scared me for a second. Also, don’t kill Legend- he’s just trying to get under your skin, it’s not so bad.”

“Not so-” Warrior furrows his eyebrow and places a hand over his mouth. “Do you not know what that means?”

You raise an eyebrow with a teasing grin on your lips. “If I said no, would you show me?”

Oh you knew what you were doing.

You and him were playing this game for a while now and this is where you wanted to see what he was made of. If all the back and forth actually meant something to him like it did to you or if he was just having fun with it.

You would have been fine with it either way but you didn’t want to put time and effort into someone who didn’t consider you for more than a second glance. Legend’s comment was honest- if an honest jab- but it was the only clue you had to see where you soldier boy stood with you.

You lick your lips subtly but you don’t miss the way his eyes are drawn to the motion like a moth to candle light.

It emboldens you.

Warrior, while still on the ground, straightens up and you can see the movement of his Adam’s apple just beyond his scarf. “Are... Are implying what I think you’re implying?”

“I never implied anything Link.” You go stand and send him a wink. “I only wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help with apparent problem. But if it’s not serious-”

Warrior jumps to his feet and reaches for your elbow before you can turn away from him fully. “Serious? You want me to be serious?” 

“I want you to be honest with me, not some part time lover.” You admit. “Don’t go breaking my heart.”

Warrior has what you can only describe as a face journey.

At first he continues to look confused, before you see the light dawn on his face, before he looks like he could jump over the moon with joy alone and then his face drops again to what you can only describe as mild despair.

Warrior says your name like a prayer and his hands come up to cradle your face.

Your hands find themselves on top of his. 

They’re warm. 

“Is Legend right then?”

Warrior gulps audibly this time as his swipes his thumb across your cheek. “...Yes.”

His voice is breathless and low and it’s a whisper, a confession and a vow all in a single word.

The air is charged with an intensity you weren’t expecting when he speaks and you’re drawn into his gaze. “If you’re thirsty, what does that me?”

“A tall glass-” He leans down and brushes his nose with yours. Your eyes flutter close, letting him do whatever he’d want to do in the moment, you trust being fully placed in the hands of this man who’s completely captivated you, your heart and soul. You feel his breath move marginally down and you like your lips again from the anticipation of what you hope would happen. “-of water.”

Warrior lets his lips rest on yours and you don’t hesitate to kiss back.

Emboldened by the reaction, Warrior lets his hands travel downward and settle on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You for your part, rest one hand by his collar bone and the other rests on his jaw, gently pushing and caressing where you want him to move to.

He follows without question and trails off of your lip to kiss your cheek, your jaw and he leaves a trail all the way down to your neck.

You gasp at the cold sensation when he leaves the spots behind and grip his tunic with your hand. “Link.”

He stops. A breath leaves him and he gulps right by your ear. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“It’s ok.” You say in a small voice.

Warrior grins through his subtle panting and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you entirely and resting his head beside yours. “We can be serious.”

“The group would kill us.” You laugh and tilts your head further into the crook of his neck.

“Probably.” Warrior shrugs. “For either taking to long or making one of the lose a bet, but only for that.”

“Not for being intolerable?” You ask and tilt your head ever so slightly to return the kiss Warrior left on your neck.

He stills and hugs you tighter as result. “I’m going to need a drink.”

“And here I thought I could fix that.” You laugh and try to pull away. “You said.”

“Different.” He growls and keeps you from going through your plan of escape. “Something strong.”

“May I join you in your attempt to quench your thirst?” You snort and give up, letting him hold you as he wants.

Warrior pauses and looks down at you from where he holds you, a dumb smile on his face. “I’d love nothing more.”

Twilight

Learning that Twilight was Wolfie was something you thought would be easy to move on from.

Wrong.

You used to shower Woflie with all sorts of pets, kisses and cuddles and part of you yearns to continue doing so.

But you didn’t want to make it awkward with Twilight.

You figured he only put up with it because he was a wolf and didn’t want to break up the illusion of his secret. Not the mention that the thought of kissing Twilight does something funny to you on the inside and the butterflies don’t leave you alone for hours after you’ve thought about it. 

But you missed it. 

You missed Wolfie. 

Your relationship with Twilight had taken on a new strain and you think the others are starting to notice it much to your chagrin.

He corners you one day, while you’re a little ways away from the group. You’re out of the ear shot and you’re frustrated and awkward.

Twilight lets a big breath out and notices how you can’t meet his eyes. “Are you ok? You’ve been weird this whole time since you found out. Did I do something-”

“No, no. You’re fine.” You’re quick to reassure him. “I couldn’t care less if this is a secret you want for yourself-”

“Ok, but with you being weird to both Twilight and Wolfie, the others are going to notice something sooner or later.”

“I won’t tell them anything.” You say.

“I trust you. I’m just saying.” Twilight crosses his arms and looks at you a little painfully. “But why the change? I thought we were fine.”

“We are fine.”

“Clearly not.” Twilight nearly growls. “You won’t even look at me anymore. You refuse to look at me even now.”

You snap your head to face him head on and chew on your lip as you try to think of the words to defend yourself. 

“Why did you let me give you all those kisses?” You say instead. “You knew I wasn’t aware of who you were.”

Twilight stills and his frustration melts from his face. He stares at you with a blank expression only bordering on confusion and realization at the same time.

It’s a weird look.

He doesn’t say anything in response though and the lack of reaction to your very legitimate questions spurs you on.

“What? Are my kisses are special or something? Do you know how weird it is for me to know that you’re Wolfie and still want to kiss the wolf?”

Twilight blushes something fierce, but he nods somewhat. He had a suspicion that was it, but he didn’t think you’d actually say it out loud. “Yes.”

You groan and throw your head back. “Yes to what?”

“Yes to both.” Twilight gulps and shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Of course are kisses are special. And yeah- I get it. It can be weird but I let you... because I like it. It was selfish, I know, but I didn’t care because it was you. Look, if you want to keep kissing Woflie, I’m not going to stop you.”

“But it’s you!” You cry.

Can’t Twilight see what makes this weird? You can’t kiss Wolfie. It’s kissing Twilight! And kissing Twilight is a whole other level of honesty you’re not ready to have with yourself at the moment.

Twilight for his part- looks offended and maybe a little disappointed. “I didn’t think kissing me would be such a terrible idea.”

You panic. “That’s not what I meant. You’re very kissable. It’s just that I-”

“Prove it.”

You look up and Twilight’s in front of you, in your personal space, and he’s leaning down close enough where you can feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Uh, um...” You gulp and chance a look at his lips.

Twilight notices.

You don’t see that though. You instead focus on the implication of his words, how he’s placed him in front of you, how he’s not moving any closer to you.

He waiting for you to make the first move.

Do you want to? 

You shift yourself closer. 

Prove it, he said. 

Prove to him that he’s kissable. 

Prove to him that it matters if he’s Wolfie or not.

Prove it.

You take a breath and place your hands on his chest, reaching upwards to press your lips against him.

Your eyes close and you feel the contact as an electrifying spark. Your hesitance is clear. It’s a new and foreign sensation for you but it never had to be more than a peck. 

Your eyes flutter open again as you pull away but Twilight wraps his arm around your waist, trapping you against him as his other hand cradles your cheek, angling your face back to him gently as he chases after your lips.

They’re softer than you would have thought they would be and the way Twilight moves them against you has you struck stupid.

Your hands snake their way up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. One of your hands tangles itself in his hair and begins to play with the strands you can reach.

Twilight responds with his own hand traveling past your cheek to your neck and eventually behind your head to entangle his fingers there.

You whines and Twilight pulls away, breathless, with half lidded eyes that have a look that makes you feel weak in your knees.

You gulp and attempt once again to pull away from him. “There.”

“What?” Twilight speaks and it does something funny to you. His voice is low, husky, dangerous.

“Very kissable.” You say with a slight nod to your head, unsure of what to do or say next. The phantom touch of his lips on your is still very much there, but you don’t want to place your fingertips there to mimic it while Twilight is still very much in front of you.

A new hunger darkens his gaze and he smirks with a wicked gleam. “I’m not convinced.”

He pulls you completely flush against him body and you squeak from the intensity behind it. You can feel his chuckle across your whole body and the sound encompasses you completely.

You feel a grin begin to bloom and you almost want to laugh. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Twilight leans down again and brushes his nose against yours. “I think you know.”

“Do I?” You challenge and brush him back. “I could be wrong. I’m not a mind reader.”

“I’ve wanted it for so long, how could you not know?” Twilight’s voice dips even lower and you shiver.

Twilight notices.

Your voice however, goes higher.  “Oh.”

Twilight smirks. 

“I suppose I can’t leave you unconvinced then, huh?” You maneuver yourself to get comfortable against him and ever so slightly push his head down to meet yours more fully.

“It would be rather rude of you to do so.” Twilight whispers against your lips.

So, you prove it.

Wild

You and Wild had snuck off from the group and were simply chilling by one the many grassy open spaces his Hyrule has to over.

Wild had taken you to a high point that oversaw the whole village any one who tried to make their way up to you.

So you had privacy for the time being.

Not that you guys were doing much, just laying on your back alternating between watching the clouds and taking quick cats naps in the warmth of the sun.

You take a deep breath and let it go, a wide smile on your face. “We should do this more often.”

You heard Wild shift from your side as he rolled over, his head cradled in his hands, his elbows firmly planted into the dirt beneath you. “You think so?”

“Your home is beautiful.” You say. “I want more time to appreciate it.”

“And yet it’s incomparable to you.” Wild whispers.

You still and roll over yourself to face him.

He ends up being closer to you than you thought he’d be and the close proximity takes you off guard. You feel yourself flush a little and shrink down, unable to meet his gaze but it’s not unwelcomed. 

“You’re making fun of me.” You mutter.

Wild takes his free hand uses it to tilt your head back up to meet his eyes. “Never.”

You gulp a bit as you glance into the windows to his soul. Sometimes when you catch yourself staring, you can see a sadness there with out end. Sometimes you can see his pain and confusion and you know that there’s not enough magic in the world to fix it.

But now?

You think you see hearts and thought of it being because of you does something funny to your own heart and breath.

You feel his gentle touch on your skin, how his thumb caresses ever so slightly against your cheekbone and chin.

The air is delicately charged with an electricity you wouldn’t have been able to place before.

You both lay there, staring into the other and you see his eyes, dip ever so slightly down.

You gulp.

You want him closer.

You need him closer.

You need him to kiss you.

Right now.

Wild shifts closer and brushes his nose with yours, his lips barely brushing over your own. His breath is hot and moist and you almost whine when he doesn’t close the distance between you.

“Is this ok?” He says after his second of hesitation.

“Please.” You whisper and angle yourself up to brush your lips with his again, the temptation to much for you to bare without any results.

He pulls back just before the distance closes again and you feel your heart drop.

“Please what?” He gulps. It’s loud and nervous and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was being coy, a tease and a nuisance.

But no, he sounds genuinely concerned about your wording.

Just as quickly as your heart drops it soars again and you could cry with the amount of love you feel in your veins.

You reach up and cradle his face in a similar fashion to how he holds you and pull him closer. “Please.”

Wild takes the answer for what it is, pushing himself all the way in your direction and placing his lips on yours.

There’s a restrained hunger there, you can feel it. 

He wastes no time with tangling his hand into your hair, pushing you back so that your back is once again on the ground. Wild traps you beneath you and settles for keeping most of his weight on his opposite hand, leaving just enough room for you to bring your other arm and wrap it around him.

He’s gentle though, like he doesn’t want to frighten you with his desires but you mimic his movements, wanting nothing more than for him to let you love him.

At some point where your lips dance around each others, you move and you place different kisses on his jaw, his cheeks and his scars. You’re pinned underneath him entirely and he holds himself up from crushing you with a single arm on the ground by your head, his hair falling beside your face when he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

His breathing comes out in little pants and his eyes close. “I love you.”

You hum and tilts your head up to place a little kiss on his nose. “I love you too.”

Wild let a giddy smile fall across his face before he looks into your eyes and kisses you again.

Part 2

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

[abbysfrenchbraid]

hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by  tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

-

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

[july-jackson]

Tove’s Prince

Short, smutty story. Loki/Ofc. 18+

                                         ++++++++++++++++++

Tove balanced five large round plates of well-done steak in her arms, that she was sure were all for Volstagg. She could hear the rowdy laughter and chatter through the doors of one of the palace dining halls as she got closer. Using her shoulder to push open the heavy door, she was greeted by a loud cheer from the huge, red-haired warrior, who banged his fists against the table in eager anticipation of his meal. 

“Good woman, thank goodness you are here, I am wasting away,” Volstagg boomed. 

“Wasting away? Volstagg, you ate a whole roasted goat not more than an hour ago,” Sif exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the larger man’s relentless appetite. 

“Volstagg, as affable as you are, wouldn’t it be more acceptable to use the young lady’s name?” Loki spoke up from his seat directly across from Volstagg. 

All eyes on the table were on Loki, but Loki’s eyes were on Tove. She felt his unwavering gaze on her, her skin tingled with heat as she unloaded the plates from her arm. 

“If I knew her name, I would use it,” Volstagg answered back, ripping into one of the steaks the second she had put the plate down. 

“Her name is Tove,” Loki stated, still staring at her with piercing eyes. 

Tove’s eyes flicked up towards him, then back down to the table just as quickly,  He knows my name.  

“Tove? Would you please fetch more wine, Thor has almost drunk the lot and I’ve barely had a drop,” he asked, ignoring Thor’s annoyed expression. 

“Of course, Prince Loki,” Tove replied, hurrying out of the room. She closed the door and leant herself against it, taking a deep breath in to steady herself. She could still feel his eyes on her, as though he could see her through the door. 

Why was he staring at me like that?  

Whatever the reason was, Tove couldn’t shake the warmth that he’d created inside of her. Back in the kitchens, she leant forward into the sink and brought handfuls of cold water to her flushed cheeks.  

“Shouldn’t you be heading home, Tove?” one of the kitchen servants asked. 

“I’m just going to take some wine up to Thor and the others and then I’m done here,” Tove replied, wiping her wet hands on her apron. 

“They’re still going?!” 

“Oh yes, I don’t think they’ll be done anytime soon, either.” 

“I’ll get Arne to take over,” the older servant said with a sigh of irritation. 

Tove gave a sympathetic smile, nobody liked serving when Thor started a dinner party, they ate and drank for hours. She picked up the large pitcher of wine and several fresh goblets, hearing the older woman screeching loudly for Arne as she made her way up the steps. 

Back in the dining hall, she laid out the goblets and poured fresh drinks for everyone, starting with Thor and working her way around the table. Volstagg made an effort to thank her using her name, as did the others, but Loki remained silent. In fact, he didn’t even look at her as she stood by him to pour the red liquid into his goblet. There was a sudden coldness about his demeanour, it sent a chill through her. Before, his eyes had been burning into her, now there was no feeling in them, his gaze fixed on his plate instead. He mumbled his thanks as he pushed food around his plate with a fork, his silence was pronounced amongst the din from the others, but no one else seemed to notice. She left without a word, but she was sure that he had glanced up at her as the door was closing. 

                                       +++++++++++++++++++

Once she got home, she kicked off her shoes and hung up her apron. Relief washed over her as she hurried up to her room, tugging at her dress until her flesh was exposed to the cool air. Something on her bed caught her eye, making her gasp, for it was not there when she had left the house this morning. She walked over to the single white rose that lay on her pillow and picked it up, there had been no one else in her house all day, a prickle of fear stabbed at the base of her spine, crawling up towards her neck. Tove looked around her room, opening cupboards and checking under her bed. Whoever had left the flower hadn’t left a note, she had no idea how they had got in or why they chose to remain anonymous. 

Tove took out a dagger from her bedside table and stashed it under her pillow, then slipped into bed, pulling the blankets all the way up to her chin before her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off.  

“Tove?”  

Tove spun round in the empty dining hall, there was no one in the room with her.

“Did you like it when I looked at you, Tove?”  

She knew the voice; it came from the shadows in the darkened corners.  

“Is that you, Prince Loki?”  

The fireplace in the room ignited, illuminating the slender figure of the dark-haired Prince.  

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you like it when I looked at you. Did you feel something?”  

Tove pulled at her apron, he was watching her intently as he flipped a dagger in his hand.  

“Yes...” she said quietly.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you. Louder.”  

“Yes! I liked it when you looked at me,” she repeated, more forcefully.  

“How did it make you feel?” Loki asked, tilting his head to the side.  

“Excuse me?” Tove blushed.  

“It’s a simple question. Did it make you burn inside? Did it make you want more?” he drawled, moving closer to her with slow steps.  

“I don’t want to answer that.”  

“Why not? Are you ashamed of what you felt?” he asked, right in front of her now.  

“No... I mean... I didn’t feel anything,” Tove stuttered.  

Loki leaned in, close enough for Tove to feel him against her. He reached behind her, his hair brushed against her cheek, and she stifled a shiver. He smelled like freshly cut wood and bergamot, the scent was heady. Before she could lose herself to the ripples of delight that radiated from her core, he pulled back, holding an apple in his hand.  

“Liar,” he smirked, slicing into the green fruit with his dagger.  

“What do you want from me?” she asked, observing him from under heavy lids.  

“Looks like our time is up,” Loki replied.  

“I don’t understand...”  

“It’s time to wake up,” he smiled.  

Tove blinked her eyes in the sunlight that streamed through her open window, the dream still fresh in her mind. She clenched her thighs together, her core throbbing in response to her arousal at the images her mind had conjured up. 

“What was that all about?” she asked herself aloud. 

She threw off her covers and stretched in the warm rays, there was little time for her to reflect on the content of her dream, she had to get to work in the palace kitchens. If she hurried, she could grab a quick breakfast from Signe before she began her work. 

                                         ++++++++++++++++++

“Good morning, Signe,” she called out to the elder maid, the smell of bacon and eggs greeted her. 

“Good morning, Tove, help yourself,” Signe replied as she came out of the storeroom with her arms full of food. 

“Signe, let me help you,” Tove rushed towards the kindly woman, taking some of the items that weighed her down. 

“I swear, they eat more and more these days. Thor almost rivals Volstagg with his appetite,” Signe complained. 

“He’s a hungry one, that’s for sure,” Tove laughed. 

“Now eat, I’ll start the cooking. When you’re finished, can you prepare Queen Frigga’s fruit?” Signe asked. 

“The usual?” Tove asked, knowing what the answer would be. Frigga was always the first of the royal household to wake up, she always started her day with a plate of apples, berries and a few nuts. 

Signe gave a sharp nod, accompanied by a grunt of agreement. She was busy cracking eggs and whisking them up. Tove wolfed down the last of her bacon and started on Frigga’s breakfast, preparing them the same way she always did. She took the plate and began to leave the kitchens when Signe waved her hand and motioned for her to stop. 

“Can you take this to Prince Loki?” Signe said, moving a large omelette and a dozen slices of bacon to a serving plate. 

“Loki?” Tove questioned. 

“Yes, is that a problem? Arne isn’t here today, he slipped on some spilled wine in the dining hall last night, we’re the only two on breakfast right now.” 

Tove, along with Arne and Signe were the first three in every morning, they served the royal family until the other staff arrived to begin helping with the cooking duties for the Einherjar. Arne was usually the one to serve Loki and Odin, Tove was tasked with serving Frigga and Thor. 

“Not a problem,” Tove replied, taking the extra plate from Signe. Her heart jumped a little, she had never been in Loki’s bedroom before. Would he stare at her like he did last night? His words from her dream rang clearly in her mind. 

Frigga’s room was first, Tove liked her the most, she was always smiling warmly when Tove entered with her meal.  

She knocked at the door, “My Queen, it’s Tove with your breakfast.” 

“Enter,” Frigga replied, greeting Tove and taking the plate from her at the door. Tove gave a small nod when Frigga thanked her and moved on to Loki’s room. 

Her knuckles struck the thick wood, announcing herself, “Prince Loki, I have your breakfast.” 

“Come in,” he called. 

Unlike Frigga, Loki did not meet her at the door, he remained in his bed. Loki was leafing through a book as she entered, his wavy black hair hung around his face. The blankets on his bed were pulled up to his navel, the pale skin of his chest was on display. 

“Place it on the table by the window, please.” 

Tove did as she was told, staring straight ahead as she walked towards the table. She could feel him peering over the top of his book at her, his eyes following her across the room. 

“Tove, was it?” he asked. 

“Yes...” Tove whispered, her mouth dry. 

“Do you like it?” he said, placing his book down in his lap. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Working in the kitchens, do you like it?” 

“It’s as good as any other job, my Prince.” 

“You may go now,” he said, nodding his head towards the door. 

“Of course, enjoy your meal,” Tove said turning and leaving as quickly as she could, hearing him get up from his bed as she left the room. 

                                         ++++++++++++++++++

Back in her house, her working day finally over, when she had eaten and washed away the remnants of the day from her skin, there was little for her to do. She thought about reading one of her books, but her mind was elsewhere, too distracted to focus on a blossoming romance between the characters in the story. 

Do you really believe that he’s staring at you because he wants you? You’re a servant, he’s toying with you, that’s what he does.  

The voice in her head was right, Loki was known for his mischief. The idea that he might be messing with her for his own amusement was not so farfetched. Before she climbed into her bed, she checked under her pillow to make sure that her dagger was still there. 

“What the...” Tove exclaimed out loud.  

Around the handle of her dagger was a gold bracelet, in the shape of a snake eating its own tail, its eyes were emeralds. She took it off the end of her dagger, inspecting it in the light. It was finely carved, stunningly intricate, detailed right down to the individual scales along the snake’s body. Tove placed it on the table at the side of the single rose that she had put in a slim glass vase. The bracelet was expensive, that much she could tell, far more than she would ever be able to afford. Again, there was no note, no indication of who had been in her room to leave the gift. She hid the dagger back under her pillow before she got into bed, feeling uneasy about the mystery gift giver. The last thing she saw as she fell asleep, was the green eyes of the snake, glinting in the low light. 

“Tove?”  

This time she was in Loki’s room, stood at the foot of his bed, Loki sat at the table by the window, eating from the plate she had brought that morning.  

“This is delicious, did you make this?” he asked, mouth full of omelette.  

“No, Signe did.”  

“Then I’ll be sure to compliment her.”  

“What am I doing here?” Tove asked.  

“I wanted to talk to you,” he replied, rising from his seat and sauntering in her direction, the light skin of his bare, muscular torso was illuminated in the moonlight.  

“About what?” Tove said, moving backwards but instantly hitting the frame of his bed. He moved in close, right in front of her.  

“This morning, you called me your Prince,” he bowed his head down to her ear, “Is that what you want? For me to be yours?”   

His voice in her ear sent a tingle across the skin on her face, he delicately traced his fingers up her neck, across her jawline, brushing dark blonde curls away from her other ear.

“All you have to do, is say the word,” he whispered.   

Feverish with lust, Tove didn’t move, she didn’t speak, her heart was beating so hard in her chest that she feared that Loki could hear it. The lingering sensation of his soft fingers on her skin, made her feel intoxicated.  

“You liked my gifts, didn’t you?” Loki continued.  

“Your gifts?” Tove asked, stunned.  

“I have one final gift for you, but you have to want it,” he said, his lips hovering over hers, “Now, wake up.”  

“ Noo,” Tove complained as she opened her eyes to the new day. She had no idea why her brain was tormenting her so, she had never dreamt of Loki, never thought of him that way before she’d caught him staring at her. She ached to relieve the pressure that had built at her core, there was no doubt in her mind now that she desired the prince. She knew that he wasn’t really the one who had sent her the gifts, that her mind had just created Loki’s revelation from her desire for him and her confusion over the mystery of her admirer. 

She had no work today, the whole day to do whatever she wanted and so she had settled on taking a walk to the meadows that were north of the palace. They stretched on for miles, you could spend all day there and not see another soul. Once she was dressed into slim black trousers, a thin grey tunic and ankle high leather boots, Tove packed her book and some food and drink, grabbing a soft blue blanket to lie on and another smaller blanket to use as a pillow. Before she left her house, she doubled back and grabbed the gold bracelet from her table, slipping it over her hand. 

                                         ++++++++++++++++++

Tove walked for an hour, following a small river upwards towards the mountains, before she found the perfect place to set out her blanket. The meadow was filled with wildflowers of yellow and blue, the grass was tall enough that she could lie down and not be seen. She threw her blanket up into the air, shaking it a few times until it was straightened out. She had to roll around on the blanket a few times before the grass flattened beneath it, then she grabbed her book from her bag and the extra blanket, folding it up beneath her head.  

“Tove!”  

Tove opened her eyes, she was in the meadow, but the sun was no longer in the sky, she looked up to an inky black sky dotted with shimmering stars.  

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Loki’s voice came from behind her.  

“Did I sleep all day?” Tove asked, turning to face him.  

“You’re still sleeping,” he replied, bending down to pluck one of the blue flowers, he twisted it between his thumb and finger. 

“Oh...”  

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he noted, gesturing towards the gold band around her wrist.

“Seems a shame to keep such a beautiful thing hidden away," Tove said, lifting up her arm to admire the golden serpent.

“My sentiments exactly,” he smiled.  

“Why do I dream of you so often?”  

“Because I want you to,” he said softly.  

“This is your doing?” Tove blushed, feeling flustered.  

“I’ve been watching you, you interest me,” he explained, running a slim hand through his dark hair.  

“Me? I’m just a kitchen servant.”  

“Ohhh, you are so much more than that,” he said, advancing on her.  

“Please don’t toy with me,” Tove said.  

“Toy with you? Do you think giving you that bracelet is me just toying with you?”  

“I hear stories, in the palace. You love to play tricks, to tease people.”  

“If this was a game, you’d know about it,” he wrapped a hand around her waist, lowering the both of them onto the soft grass, “Do you want this?” he whispered into her ear.  

Tove trembled beneath him, nodding fervently.  

“Say it, out loud, tell me that you want me,” he demanded.  

“I want you,” she said quietly, her breath hitched in her throat. 

“Then wake up...”  

“Noo... Not again,” Tove complained, squinting in the sunlight. Her book was resting against her chest.

“Hello, Tove,” Loki said, standing over her, his shadow falling across her face.

Tove jumped at the sight of the prince hovering over her, “Prince Loki, what are you doing here?” 

He moved to the side, no longer blocking the sunlight from Tove’s eyes, she winced at the brightness. 

“I was out hunting with Thor, but I spied a much more valuable target,” he smiled and Tove felt a weakness that made her head feel fuzzy. 

“Well, I’m sure that Prince Thor would be disappointed at you abandoning him for a servant.” 

“He won’t mind, besides... I still have my final gift to give you.” 

Tove went cold, all the dreams, the mystery gifts, they really were Loki’s doing all along. 

“That really was all you? Why the secrecy, why didn’t you come to me in person?” she asked, sitting up as the revelation sunk in. 

“I enjoy the chase; it makes for excellent foreplay. And... I’m here now, in the flesh,” he said, circling around the edge of her blanket. 

“My Prince, I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.” 

“I’ll decide what I want. You said it yourself, you want me. Why deny yourself the pleasure?” Loki shrugged.

“That was just a dream.” 

“That I created, for the sole intention of taking you for myself. Would you like to be mine, Tove?” 

Loki didn't wait for her answer, “There is no answer that you can give me that your own body hasn’t already told me, you could try to lie to me, but you'd be betrayed by your own heart. I can hear it, fluttering away beneath your breast, I can see the lust in your eyes, your chest rising and falling with your quickened breaths."

Tove knew he was right, and he was in complete control of her, all she had to do, was say the words he wanted to hear, “I want to be yours,” she answered, unable to contain herself anymore. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he grinned, kneeling down beside her on the blanket, “I’m going to have you, right here.” 

“Outside? In the open? My Prince, what if someone sees us,” Tove said, looking around. 

“No one will see anything,” he said, bringing his lips down to hers. 

The electricity that surged through her as their lips touched, was almost too much to bear. Her body arched upwards in an effort to get closer to him, he responded by wrapping an arm around her and lifting her up onto his lap, sitting back so that she was straddling him. Loki deepened the kiss and pulled at the belt around her waist until it fell away. Running his hands up inside of her tunic, his fingertips trailing up and down her spine, she gave a shudder of pleasure. His hands moved to the edges of her tunic, breaking the kiss briefly as he tugged it over her head. Her clip fell from her hair, sending blonde curls tumbling around her shoulders, Loki tangled his fingers in them, pulling at her head until their lips met again. Tove ran her fingers up the nape of his neck, eliciting a moan from his lips that vibrated on her own, she kissed him more forcefully in response. 

Loki buried his face in Tove’s neck, planting light kisses beneath her ear and then tracing his lips softly across the smooth skin of her collarbone until he reached the top of her cleavage. His mouth inched slowly downwards, Tove gasped as his tongue flicked over the tip of her breast, still confined in the soft cotton of her bra. A blissful tingle radiated outwards across her chest. 

Tove gave a small cry when he suddenly stopped what he was doing, “Don’t stop.” 

“Beg me,” he said, his voice low but firm. 

She wasted no time in complying, “Please, my Prince, I’m begging you... I want more.” 

Pleased with her response, Loki ripped off her thin bra, casting it aside. Tove threw back her head, grinding against his lap as he took the soft pink nipple of her breast in his mouth, his tongue grazed along it as he sucked gently. He moaned as Tove writhed slowly, she felt the hardness of him beneath the leather, longing to feel it against her bare skin. He pushed her upwards to stand her up, getting back onto his knees and pulling her pants and underwear down to her ankles. Tove stepped out of each leg and kicked them behind her, Loki was looking up at the gift he had just unwrapped, taking in the sight of her naked body in the sunlight. 

“I want to taste you,” Loki growled, nestling his face between her lips and letting his tongue glide between them. 

Tove’s legs almost buckled right there, but her held her steady, his hands gripping onto her behind. He kissed gently at her clit, giving a gentle suck now and then, while Tove’s fingers found their way into his hair, her hips bucking forward firmly as an exquisite warmth developed at the base of her spine. Her movements became more urgent, she was desperate for release. 

“Not yet,” he said, pulling away and getting to his feet. 

His clothes disappeared in a flash of green, and Tove witnessed the prince in all his glory. She had little time to enjoy the visual feast, for he had her in his arms again, lifting her up with ease. His strong arms made her feel weightless, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms draped over his shoulders. 

“My Tove,” Loki whispered, pressing himself up against her entrance. 

She kissed him hard, with a hungry desire, a silent permission to push further until he was deep inside of her. He nipped at her breasts lightly while his fingers dug into the flesh on her hips, guiding her steadily up and down, his cock sliding against her slick folds. There was a heat between them, in the places where their skin touched, their bodies moist with sweat. Their movements became faster, more erratic as they both lost their minds to the burning of their building climaxes. 

Loki’s head was resting against her chest, his hands splayed across her back, holding her firmly while she rocked herself up and down, her clit was rubbing against his abdomen. 

“Tove,” he moaned, passionately. His hips jerking rapidly upwards into her, his body trembling with each deep thrust. 

“My Prince,” Tove cried out, finally losing control in an explosion of overpowering pleasure. Her centre pulsed and she shuddered wildly. 

Loki’s eyes flashed as he watched Tove slip into a blissful abyss, her head rolling backwards. He continued his fervent thrusts, his lips hovering against her breasts as he fell from the precipice with loud groans of ecstasy. 

Loki lowered himself to his knees, laying Tove down on her blanket and lying next to her. He trailed his fingers over her stomach, waiting until her breathing had slowed and she was back in control of her senses. 

“You’re mine now,” he said with a wide grin, his playful eyes sparkling as he lifted her hand to his lips. 

“I’m yours.” 

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Holy shit I can’t believe it’s already the last chapter. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story from the start, and for sending me wonderful comments/messages of support. I really had fun writing this fanfic and interacting with you all, so I hope you’ll enjoy this last part of Hjarta. This story seriously means a lot to me, and it makes my day to know how many of you liked it. Stay awesome :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

THRYMR’S TOMB

A WHILE LATER

“Eivor!” Sigurd called out through the storm, forcing his way across the snow. “Are you there?”

The prince shielded his face from the frost with a protective arm and squinted, desperately searching for his lover as he wandered blindly through the fog. The young man had disappeared from the battle not too long ago, and seemingly taken Kjotve’s fate into his own hands. What became of either of them still remained a mystery to Sigurd, and as more time passed by, he found himself feeling increasingly worried for Eivor’s life.

“Eivor!” He repeated a tad louder this time. “Say something! Can you hear me?”

Much to his relief, a faint voice answered from a distance.

“...I’m here, Sigurd...!”

Inching closer towards the voice, the older man ventured deeper into the mist and peered forward, only to spot the outline of a familiar shadow trudging in his direction.

Eivor was sauntering underneath the sun’s blurred rays with a slight hiccup in his step, and fresh blood clinging to his axe. His face seemed to be wiped clean of all the energy that once burned in his eyes, and yet, he appeared to be... at peace.

A calming aura could be seen blossoming from his heart like a single flower in a barren field, and in a strange way, it almost looked as if he had completely forgotten about the war. Not a single hint of dread or terror weathered his blissful expression, and the ribbons of sunlight dancing above him only added to his soothing demeanor.

Sigurd picked up his pace and began jogging, eagerly rushing to rejoin his lover.

“Eivor...!” He said with a sigh of relief, immediately pulling the man into a hug. “There you are.”

Eivor allowed his head to sit on Sigurd’s chest, giving himself some time to breathe.

“...Sigurd,” he whispered out of exhaustion, “...I did it. I actually did it.”

The prince continued cradling the younger man in his embrace, providing him with a sense of warmth amidst all the snow.

“What happened to you, Eivor? Where’s Kjotve? I saw you run off with him earlier. Is he dead? Did you... did you kill him?”

Eivor nodded and closed his eyes, not even bothering to say a word.

“Truly...?” Sigurd asked, staring at the other man in disbelief. 

Could it really be possible that the battle was already finished? It hadn’t been too long ago that the prince was barely evading death’s grasp, and now, the storm had suddenly passed. Part of him found the news too good to be true considering the path they used to get here, and yet, something in Eivor’s tone rang with sincerity.

Sigurd tightened his grip on the smaller warrior and chuckled out of elation, nearly breaking into tears. “Then it’s over. The war... is finally over.”

He brought a hand to Eivor’s chin, lifting it gently so that he could see his face.

“What about you, my love? Are you well?”

The Wolf-Kissed displayed a subtle smile, radiating as if he were the moon itself.

“...I am. For the first time since that night... I’m okay.”

Sigurd returned the smile and cupped the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him close so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“Good.”

Staying snuggled in each other’s arms, the couple took some time to enjoy the peace as the storm steadily died down around them, allowing more and more of the sun to break through. The crippling mist that had built up during the battle was slowly beginning to fade, and soon enough, nothing but a vast blue sky remained hovering above them.

Unbeknownst to Sigurd however, a third party had already found them and walked in on their brief reunion, but had not yet announced their presence.

In the distance, Arngeir quietly watched the scene in front of him unfold with a sense of shock clouding his mind, causing him to gawk incredulously. Even though he suspected that the prince would be somewhere in the vicinity with his son, he did not expect the two of them to be enwrapped in such a loving embrace.

...How long had they felt like this, he wondered? Was their bond something that had been ignited due to the recent string of battles, or had this been carrying on ever since Styrbjorn first arrived?

The jarl was honestly at a loss. He held no disgust in his heart for the peculiar couple before him, but he couldn’t deny that he was taken aback. Despite his knowledge of Sigurd and Eivor’s friendship in the past, he never would’ve guessed that there was something deeper between them. 

Though, the more Arngeir thought about it, he supposed there really was nothing peculiar about their relationship. The knot that intertwined their fates was made of pure, genuine love delivered straight from the hands of Freya, and to his surprise, he just couldn’t bring himself to interfere.

It was something he hadn’t seen in ages thanks to the horrors of this war, but now that it was over, Arngeir figured he may as well let his doubts die with it.

He had had enough of tragedy. 

Turning on his heel, the jarl decided to leave the couple alone and returned to the other half of the island, ready to inform his clan of their miraculous victory. He still didn’t know whether he’d tell Styrbjorn about his unanticipated discovery or not, but one thing was for certain.

Kjotve’s kingdom had finally fallen. 

In spite of all the obstacles Styrbjorn’s people faced, his entire bloodline had been struck down, and his throne had been left unattended. No one in Norway would ever hear of his clan again, and his fortress would be left to crumble under the weight of the absence that consumed it.

The barbarian king was vanquished. Just like his legacy.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Sigurd placed the last of his belongings in the crate sitting before him, reminiscing as he stood in the middle of his chambers. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was first packing his things in preparation for the journey to Bjornheimr, and now, he was getting ready to leave.

After ages of enduring this war and accepting it as his reality, the prince had suddenly found himself in a world where Kjotve was no longer a problem, and his clan had been reduced to ashes in the wind. 

A new era had been brought about thanks to their victory at Thrymr’s Tomb, and the kingdom now celebrated in harmony to honor the peace that had finally been restored.

Despite the jovial mood of his people however, Sigurd admittedly didn’t know how to process the whole situation himself. Part of him rejoiced due to the fact that he’d never have to deal with Kjotve’s cruelty again, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have his regrets.

He didn’t come out of this unscathed, after all. The Raven Clan may have emerged victorious from their fight against the barbarian king, but there were still many wounds that needed mending... including Dag’s loss.

Sigurd still remembered his last conversation with the man as if it happened yesterday. Even though Dag proved to be a traitor in his final moments, the prince just couldn’t bring himself to discard the memories they once shared, or the fondness that followed. In his eyes, the fallen warrior would always be that same little boy who kept him company as a child, and pulled him away from the darkness when his mother passed on.

As for the Dag he executed, Sigurd would remember him as no more than a fragment of his childhood friend, and the result of a man who had been crippled by his own jealousy. He would be a reminder for the prince to never fall prey to his demons, lest he lose the soul he had fought so long to preserve. It was what he owed his parents after all these years, and to himself.

Letting out a remorseful sigh, Sigurd shook his head and silenced the thoughts that threatened to encompass his mind, not willing to entertain his grief any further. He would never forget the loved ones he had lost during the events of this war, but for his own sake -- he had to move on.

Lifting up the crate with a soft grunt, Sigurd secured the box in his arms and began striding towards the archway, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed someone waiting for him. 

At the moment, Eivor was standing on the other side of the door with his hands linked together and his head hanging low, clearly disheartened by Sigurd’s upcoming departure. His gaze swept in the floor in an attempt to avoid confronting the absence he would soon have to accept, and even the sight of the prince himself wasn’t able to lift his mood.

“Eivor...!” Sigurd greeted. “You came.”

The Wolf-Kissed stepped tentatively into the room, staring at his lover as if this was the last time they’d ever meet.

“Of course I did. I wanted to see you again before...” his expression sank slightly, “...before you left.”

Sigurd took note of the shift in his lover’s mood and placed the crate down for a moment, gently gripping Eivor’s wrist in a comforting manner.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “...you know I have to go.”

“I do. I just wish you could stay longer. We spent so much of our time worrying about the people we lost that... we forgot we still had each other. But now that you’re leaving, it’s all I can think about.”

Sigurd lifted a hand to Eivor’s cheek and brushed away a lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“You can still come with me. You know that, right? I realize we’ve had this conversation before, but if you truly want us to stay together, I can arrange that.”

In spite of his sorrow, the younger man remained staunch in his decision. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must remain here. As much as I wish I could go with you, Bjornheimr needs me. My father needs me. I’m the only family he has left apart from Randvi, and she’ll be gone too.”

Sigurd nodded sympathetically. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

Eivor paused briefly, switching to a different concern on his mind. “...You will visit me, right? This won’t be the last time I’ll see you?”

“Of course not,” the prince reassured. “I can’t say when I’ll have the chance to return to Bjornheimr, but -- I promise you -- as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, I’ll be here again.”

The other man didn’t appear any less forlorn, but accepted the promise nonetheless.

“I’ll be waiting. But until then...” Eivor leaned forward, pecking a goodbye kiss on Sigurd’s lips, “...stay safe, my love. I wish nothing but happiness for you.”

The prince pressed his forehead against Eivor’s, cherishing their last few minutes together.

“The same goes for you. My duties may require me to start a new life in preparation for the throne, but I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you. I mean it.”

Taking a few more moments to bask in each other’s company, the two of them simply cuddled in silence before separating the embrace, and retreating to the shells they so often wore around the rest of the village.

The sun had managed to climb to the top of the sky’s apex by now, and most of the Raven Clan were already gathered at the docks. The longships were fit to set sail after an entire morning’s worth of preparations, and their people were eager to return home. The only thing they needed now... was the presence of their prince himself.

“I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” Sigurd noted somberly, reluctantly taking hold of the crate once again. “Care to join me for the walk to the ship?”

Eivor concealed his pain with a friendly veil and stepped to the side, allowing Sigurd some room to walk through the doorway.

“After you, my friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking alongside one another as they headed towards the shore, Eivor and Sigurd strolled silently through the village with a bittersweet relief resting in their spirits, clouding their minds like the smoke of a cold pyre.

It brought them both great joy to see Kjotve’s reign finally come to an end, but they couldn’t stop themselves from wondering what waited beyond the horizon now that the war was over.

Was this the start of Sigurd’s life as a future king? Would he and Randvi truly be the rulers of Norway one day? How was he even going to raise a family? The prince had never planned to be a father, and a part of him wanted to scream at the thought of being forced to hide his true emotions once again.

He didn’t want to forget Eivor, or the things they experienced together. These past few weeks had been some of the best and worst moments of his life, and he dreaded the idea of allowing their bond to fade into a distant memory. But for the sake of his kingdom, Sigurd knew he had to leave the man behind if he wanted any chance of becoming a decent leader.

It was his duty, after all. Styrbjorn had managed to keep his end of the promise in regards to battling his addiction, so the prince figured it would only be fair if he upheld his own. Personal thoughts and desires no longer mattered within the realm of royalty. From this day on, Sigurd would be living to serve his people -- not himself. 

“There they are.” He remarked, gesturing towards the end of the pier. Eivor followed Sigurd’s line of sight, only to spot Styrbjorn, Arngeir, and Randvi all waiting by the longship.

“So this is it then,” he said, already missing the prince’s company. “This is where we part ways.”

Sigurd shared his partner’s disappointment, but tried to keep a strong face nonetheless. “For now. You and I will be separated for some time, but I’ll visit you as much as I can. And you’re always welcome in Fornburg too, should you ever wish to come to me instead.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Eivor placed a hand on the side of the prince’s arm, saying one last thing while he still had the chance.

“...Wait, Sigurd. Before you go.”

The older man came to a pause, giving Eivor a curious glance. “Yes? What is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed stuttered, admittedly unsure of where he was taking this. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted Sigurd to hear -- he just hoped to keep him around for a little longer.

“Erm, n-nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the comment despite Eivor’s awkwardness and chuckled lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I love you too, Eivor. Never forget it.”

Leaving the younger man with those words, Sigurd carried on with the task at hand and sauntered towards the ship, placing the crate down by the boarding plank as one of the oarsmen came to assist him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn greeted the two men with a cheery temperament, happy to get things going.

“Sigurd, Eivor!” The king exclaimed jovially. “It’s good to see you both in one piece after the battle yesterday. We lost many warriors during the assault at Thrymr’s Tomb, but now, we at least have the luxury of saying that their deaths weren’t in vain...” he turned to the Wolf-Kissed, “...and it’s all thanks to you, my boy.”

Eivor bowed his head in a humble manner. “I only did what was required of me.”

Styrbjorn let out a soft laugh. “Nonsense. Sigurd has told me of the tenacity you displayed on the battlefield. You showed great courage, and you fought with honor. It is thanks to your efforts that Kjotve now lies in a frigid tomb.”

Arngeir joined in. “Indeed. Had it not been for your valor, we would all still be bound by Kjotve’s chains. Varin would be proud of you, Eivor. And Ulfar too.”

“Thank you, father.”

Eivor brought his attention to Styrbjorn, trying his best to hide the sorrow lurking within him. “...So, I imagine you’ll be departing soon?”

To his surprise, the king appeared to have other things in mind. “Actually, there is something else your father and I would like to discuss first. Something that concerns you and my son.”

Sigurd froze at that, already suspicious of where this was leading. “...W-What do you mean?”

Arngeir stepped forward, hesitant to speak any further. “Forgive my being candid, but we are aware of the relationship between you two.”

Eivor instantly felt the color drain from his face, and he could’ve sworn he saw his own soul fleeing from his body.

“You-- what?”

“Do not be alarmed, my son. I am not here to pass judgement. Only to offer a proposal.”

“But... how? How did you find out?”

Arngeir crossed his arms in thought. “Yesterday, during the battle. Sigurd and I left the fort in order to search for you. We noticed you had disappeared at some point, and feared you may be in danger. Though, by the time I stumbled upon you, you had already found your way to the prince.”

“That means... you saw us...”

“...Embracing one another, yes. I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to intrude.”

The young man exchanged glances with Sigurd, terrified to see the outcome of this discovery. “So, what does this mean for us? Are we to face punishment?”

Arngeir shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary, actually. I realize it isn’t my place to speak about this -- and for that I am sorry -- but I admit I shared this news with Styrbjorn once we returned, for I had an idea in mind that I wished to broach.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “An idea? About what?”

Styrbjorn provided the answer. “About this alliance, of course. You see, when we first arranged this marriage between you and Randvi, we did so with the intention of forming an ironclad bond. A bond born out of love. We believed it would be a way to ensure that our clans never fell apart, since our families would be intertwined from that day on. Clearly however, we were mistaken.”

The jarl nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It seems that the bond we were looking for... had been between you two all along.”

Arngeir trailed off into silence for a moment, considering his next words.

“Listen, both of you. Styrbjorn and I had a long conversation yesterday once I revealed my discovery. We discussed many things pertaining to this alliance, and after our talk, we came to the conclusion that... this marriage is no longer necessary.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, are you saying that it’s over?”

“Ultimately, the choice lies with you. If you wish to end this marriage, and if Eivor decides to go in Randvi’s stead, then I have already told Styrbjorn that I have no qualms with it.”

The prince immediately looked at his lover, radiating with a newfound hope.

“Eivor...! Think about it. You could join me, just like we wanted.”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced at Arngeir, double-checking with him first.

“But what about you, father? Are you certain about this? I don’t want to abandon you.”

The jarl gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Do not fret, Eivor. You’re not abandoning anybody. If you choose to stay with Sigurd, then Randvi will remain here in your place. Neither of us will be alone.”

Randvi suddenly jumped into the conversation, encouraging her brother to follow his desires.

“Go on, Eivor. It’s okay. Father and I will have each other. We’ll rebuild Bjornheimr, and return this village to what it once was. By the time you come back, this place will be thriving more than it ever did. In the meantime, go with Sigurd. A new life awaits you in Fornburg. Don’t let this opportunity pass.”

“She’s right, Eivor,” Arngeir said. “All I’ve ever wanted for any of you is to be happy. If you believe that being with Sigurd is best for you, then go.”

The young man stumbled over his words, rendered completely speechless by how this scenario had turned out. When he awoke this morning, he never imagined that he’d be given the option to freely roam the kingdom at Sigurd’s side, living with him as if they were family. 

If anything, Eivor fully expected that he would be bidding the prince farewell, and left to wallow in the melancholy that had formed in his heart during this past month. So much anger and regret had taken control of his spirit’s reins ever since the news of Sigurd’s departure, and now... it was all gone. Just like that.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “...Thank you, father. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

A gleeful expression spread across the jarl’s face. “I’m glad, Eivor.”

Randvi wrapped her arms around her younger brother, pulling the man into one last hug before saying goodbye.

“We’ll miss you, little cub. Take care of yourself, and each other. Alright?”

“We will. I promise.”

The woman gave him a playful shove. “Then get out of here. And make sure to knock plenty of skulls. Let the world know who we are.”

Eivor chuckled at the response, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The Bear Clan’s name will be fluttering from the lips of every bard in Norway when I’m done. I assure you. Until then, farewell, and thank you for all you’ve given me.”

The Wolf-Kissed walked over to Sigurd’s side, openly taking hold of his hand for the first time since they met. The prince’s eyes were twinkling with a vibrant ray of hope at this point, and a familiar sense of contentment had finally returned to his soul.

“Come, my love,” Eivor ushered. “Fornburg awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

Steadily gliding across the ocean’s hills, the longship broke free from the harbor and began heading out towards the vastness of the open sea, prepared to deliver its occupants back home after a long and arduous battle.

Petals of snow could be seen dancing along the surface of the vessel’s billowing sails, and in the distance, the sun’s light shone through the mountains, causing the water below to shimmer with a glittering streak.

Birds soared in harmony with the wind that guided the longship’s course and left a trail of feathers in their wake, accompanying the warriors who sailed beneath their wings.

All the creatures of Midgard seemed to band together in celebration now that the age of war had perished, and the earth cried out in relief due to the lack of blood littering its soil.

As for Eivor, the man simply rested against the longship’s walls and marveled at the view in front of him, listening intently while Sigurd entertained him with tales of Fornburg’s wonders. The prince spoke of his home with a great fondness and constructed vivid images using only the movement of his hands, painting a clear picture for his companion.

Meanwhile, the oarsmen behind them burst into song and began reciting a number of sea shanties, singing heartily as if they were performing for the gods themselves. Their voices rang merrily into the sky like a horn of victory, and the world around them seemed to bloom with revival.

It was the start of a new dawn. After countless years of pointless death and suffering, the clans in Norway had become united under one crown, and Kjotve had paid the ultimate price. His name had been blotted out with the stain of a mad tyrant, and his victims had been released from their ethereal chains in the afterlife.

Most importantly though, Eivor no longer felt the need to hide who he was. The fantasy that once haunted him in his dreams had become a reality, and now, he was free to love Sigurd as any man would love his wife. The times of fear and judgement were over at last, and the alliance between their peoples had been reignited with a different bond.

Their relationship would be the foundation of many things to come, and just like Ingrida once said, they had finally found their way home after decades of straying from their fate.

It was what the Nornir planned all along, and the one thing Varin always wished for his son -- the one thing he could never achieve.

Freedom.

[gliphyartfan]

Another small bit! Just a quick one!

@yandere-linked-universe @linked-heroes @imprisioned-in-the-hole @stars-for-thought @ice-cream-writes-stuff

Time finds bugs annoying. Especially when they get close to their betters.

'Really, I'm alright!'

'It just seems a shame that a young lady like yourself would be alone like this.'

'I'm waiting for my friend.'

'You've been here for some time, let me keep you company just to be safe.'

'No thank you, and please don't touch me.'

'You-ack!'

'What seems to be the problem?'

' Link!' Time raised an eyebrow at his name, immediately on alert.

He had been searching for her after the crowd swept her away, it was only luck that he managed to find a merchant who had spotted someone with her description heading the opposite direction from the others.

And what does he find when he reaches her?

An insect that dared act familiar with her.

Now, normally he would just take her away without a word,

But it was his name that caught his attention.

She never used their proper name when in another hero's era to avoid confusion. It was agreed that only when it was necessary was she to use their names outside of their eras or when it was simply the group around.

But here she was using it.

Which meant she was distressed enough to use it.

Which meant the insect whose wrist he caught was a threat.

Threats were not wanted near their angel.

'I've been looking for you (y/n),' he said gently, reaching out with his other hand and brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

'I got lost...' she mumbled, looking down in embarrassment.

'Well now I found you, that's all that matters.' And really, it was all that mattered.

He found her, so she was safe.

He smiled at her, and only after she looked back up and smiled at him did he finally look at his struggling captive.

'And why were you bothering her?' He asked, not even phased by way the insect pulled at his hold.

'I didn't know she was with someone!' He answered with a strained voice as the grip on his wrist tightened.

'That's a lie!' (y/n) exclaimed, glaring at the bug, more confident now that he was there. (As she should.)

'I told you three times I was waiting for a friend! You just wouldn't leave me alone!'

At least Time could tell the others that the slime of a man had three chances to escape punishment. Shame the fool of a man didn't listen.

'How was I supposed to know-Urk!!' The insect tried to pull his wrist free, but Time simply tightened his grip further.

'If she told you she was waiting for a friend,' he said coldly. 'Then it stands to reason that she was waiting for a friend, and I'm here, so she was telling the truth, understand?'

'Y-Yes sir!' Time stared at the insect for a moment, watching as he struggled against his grip, before letting go.

He and (y/n) watched as he fell to the floor, gripping his wrist, scrambling to his feet and running off into the alleys.

They watched him disappear before (y/n) sighed in relief.

'That was annoying.' She mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.

'And this is why we stick together.' Time said sternly, relaxing the moment her eyes looked up.

'I know, I'm sorry.' He huffed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

'All is forgiven, it wasn't your fault.' He smiled at her gently.

The smile he received was as beautiful as always.

'Let's return to the others shall we?'

'Hm!'

He began to guide her out of the alley they were in.

...But not before he glanced in the direction the insect went.

He really didn't care much for bugs.

--

Later that night

--

A man ran through the alleyways, gripping his wrist.

'That bastard! Bet she was his whore!' The shady man growled to himself.

He slowed to a walk, rubbing his wrist.

'Bastard was strong.'

He flexed his hand and decided to find someone else.

He decided to head deeper into the outer area when he heard something.

It was a deep low guttural sound.

A growl.

And it was coming from behind him.

He turned around and a massive wolf was slowly stalking toward him, teeth bared and eyes glittering under the light of the lanterns.

How did such a beast make it's way this deep into town?

The shady man took a nervous step back, then two, before darting down the alley, the beast giving chase.

He didn't know how long the wolf chased him, but a couple of turns and a few items knocked to the floor, he seemed to have gotten away.

(He didn't notice how the Wolf stopped chasing him after the first corner, staring after him before turning around and running back into the shadows)

'What a fucking day.'

He walks, catching his breath, grumbling to himself when he felt his stomach gurgle in hunger.

Deciding to forget the wolf and focus on his next meal, he scanned the night crowd for an easy mark.

He found one in the form of a youngster being picked up by the collar of his shirt by a slightly older man, wallet being flung around as the youngster flailed his arms.

'Lemme go!'

'Give me back my wallet!'

'Stop picking me up!'

'Stop stealing my wallet and I'll stop picking you up brat!'

'Stop making it easy!'

'You-!' The two began to argue, the youngster waving his arms around, the wallet in his hand slipping from his grasp and flying into the air, when it landed, the reds, purples, and blues of rupees glittered on the cobblestone.

'Look what you've done!' The older man shouted, dropping the youngster and kneeling to pick up the rupees.

'You were shaking me!'

'Brat-!'

The shady man ignored the arguing duo as he stared at the rupees in greed, but what really caught his eye was a twinkle of gold in between the blues and purples.

With barely a thought, he ran forward, and snatched the glinting piece of gold with a handful of rupees before sprinting away.

'HEY!!'

The shady man smirked as he ran back into the alleyway, the feeling of success running through his veins.

Finally, his night was turning around!

...

(He never noticed the way the two individuals picking up the remaining rupees were calmly staring at his retreating form.)

The shady man kept running until he made it back to his hole in the wall, making sure he wasn't seen.

Once inside, he opened his hand and grinned as he saw at least 300 rupees in his hand, but it was the gold glinting among the rupees that he was excited for.

It was a ring.

A ring that was covered in jewels. Even a lowly thief such as himself could tell that such a piece of jewelry was worth more than a small town could afford.

This is the score he was waiting for, this is what would set him up for life.

His mind swirling with thoughts, already imagining the things he would buy with the money he made off this one ring.

He took the ring and held it close to his face, gazing at the gems embedded into the gold.

Gazing deeply at each glinting gem.

The craftsmanship was exquisite.

It was hypnotic in way.

It was almost mesmerizing how the colors glinted even in the dark.

It was almost thoughtless how he let the rupees slip from his hand and fall to the ground.

It was rather foolish really,

How he slowly.

Began.

To put.

The ring on.

...

...

'We're back!'

'Guys where were you? You almost missed dinner!' (y/n) teased as the three missing heroes made their way into their rented room.

Warriors smirked at her. 'Apologies love, we got held up because SOMEONE tried to snatch my wallet and buy more than we needed.' Wind stuck his tongue out at Warriors.

'Stop making it so easy to steal it!' Wars playfully swatted at him, Wind dodging with a laugh and moving to take his seat next to (y/n) on the bed.

'Rather fortunate that the cooks were willing to let Wild use the kitchen.' Sky commented happily, grabbing his plate of food from Wild and sitting on his corner of the bed.

'The only good thing about this place really.' Legend grunted, sitting next to Time, his own plate on his lap.

'It's not all that bad if they were willing to let him cook.' (y/n) smiled, nudging Wind with her shoulder.

'Now what's this about a stolen wallet?'

'I assume there were no problems?' Time quietly inquired as Wind began to distract (y/n) with a exaggerated re-telling of their outing, with Warriors correcting him every other sentence.

Twilight smiled sharply. ' Rather dull actually. That reminds me.' He reached into his pouch.

'Vet can have this back.' Legend raised an eyebrow and held his hand out.

Twilight deposited the bloodied ring in his palm.

'At least you had the mind to grab it before some worthless fool did.' He sniffed, dropping the ring into his own pouch without a care.

'Wouldn't want to lose such a useful item anytime soon.' Twilight smirked, Legend snorted.

'If it goes the way it should, they should find his remains tomorrow afternoon.' Time mused, taking a sip from his cup.

'We'll be gone in the morning so it's pointless to care.' Legend huffed, turned away and focusing on the conversation and his food.

'I suppose so.' Time chuckled, he looked back at Twilight and nodded. 'Go eat, excellent work boys.'

Twilight gave a cheeky salute and took his place next to (y/n), Wild handing him his plate.

Time watched them interact, watched their angel laugh at the sailor's dramatic tale, the events of that afternoon nothing but a fading memory in her mind.

Good. Insects weren't worth her time.

Time took a bite from his plate and smirked.

Delicious as always.

[imnotwolverine]

Signs 2

Geralt of Rivia x reader (smutty fic)

Word count: 1.954

Disclaimer: Witcher signs in the bedroom *wiggles eyebrows*, oral (F receiving), mild angst

Author’s note: It’s Frisky Friday my lassies! In follow-up on the previous Signs; the saga continues! And yes that includes more “pleasant, but piercing vibrations”.  😏

Dive right in, or, read part 1 first. Or go to part 3

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

Fire roused in your loins as you looked over your shoulder.

He was there still, the mysterious monster slayer with his simmering eyes.

With an unreadable quirk of his head he looked back at you, his step remaining one behind you. As if you were leading him. But the both of you knew better. It practically radiated off of him. Like a calm aura that you only saw around the most ballsy of a pack. Alpha. Yes, that was a good word for him. Though of course he had no pack to speak of. He was but a lone wolf, leading you on to his den.

And that was just what you wanted. You had made sure that you were most definitely NOT going to your place of residence; a room in Madam Corella’s house. The woman had a stick so far up her butt that if that room hadn’t been so cheap to rent, you wouldn’t live there at all.

‘So my place it is.’ The Witcher had grinned, gesturing you to head into the direction of the only inn of this town.

Darkness had swallowed you near whole as the rowdy town square was left far behind, the silence drowning the last of the screams and belts of laughter. It was good to be in the fresh evening air, the heat on your blazing cheeks somewhat subduing.

‘Taking a right here.’ The Witcher stepped in beside you. You hesitated. Right? That’s straight through a bad neighbou…DAMNIT! The white haired wolf had already turned the corner, near leaving you behind in the gloomy street. Like the alpha wolf he was, he didn’t give a damn about bad neighbourhoods. Or what awaited you there. 

Quickly pacing to keep up, you followed him into a darkened alley, the fickle moonlight dusting the dark stone with a blueish light.  

‘I’m not sure if..-’

Before you could even express your concerns the Witcher snapped into motion, a violent arm appearing out of the dark and near catching him in his throat. But the wolf was faster, teeth snarling in the pale light as he conjured a frail sign in the air, magic lighting your surroundings as a few men were blown into a heap of hay. They groaned and huffed in dismay, their egos crushed beneath the Witcher’s grin.

‘DARN YE..-!’

‘Quiet.’ The Witcher snapped, a quick flick of his fingers drawing another sign in the air, white and sparkling this time. ‘We are friendly folk, as are you. Agreed?’

Soft mumbles came from the bale of hay, limbs still sticking out in all directions. You had to make an effort not to chuckle, the sight quite comical indeed. Offering you his arm, the charming Witcher grinned all the same, daring you to laugh with him.

‘Is that what you’ll do to me if I misbehave?’ You asked, the mix of shock and admiration working a treat between your thighs. This man..was something else.

He shrugged and took your arm as you had still not taken it, carefully folding it around his bicep before nudging you on.

‘I can still bring you home if you wish.’

You laughed. He may be gruff, but he sure had a sense of humour about him. ‘Say, Witcher. Did you use your magic on the square as well? Be honest.’

His dangerous, yellow eyes sparked in the dark, making your body shiver with scared arousal. As of yet you hadn’t decided whether it’d be better to run away again, or crush yourself into his large chest and let him show you some more of his wolfish ways.

—

Well. 

It became the latter.

With a slight swagger in your step you followed the Witcher up the steep staircase of the inn, a few drunkards playing Gwent in the far corner, but other than that the place was surprisingly quiet. The whole town seemed to be at the feast, meaning there was little audience to whatever was going to happen now, upstairs.

Biting your lip, you watched as the monster slayer turned his key, the taste of your recently cut lip making you swallow on the nasty tang of fear and blood.

‘Milady.’ He gestured, ember eyes taking in your form as you slowly stepped into the room.

It was simple, but comfortable. A recently used tub was placed in the corner, and some soiled clothes were hung over a chair - needing mending probably. And of course a bed. Quite small, but it’d do, especially now you felt a nose sniffing up your neck. You sniffled in amusement and wished to turn, but the Witcher would have none of that, his hands instantly grounded you, keeping you just as you were. 

Alright, play time was over. 

Without warning he bit down. Gently. Like he was testing if you were edible, teeth nibbling before his tongue soothed the little bite mark. His hands smoothed up your arms, pulling you even closer to his chest - which felt like a wall, so strong and broad. Again his nose worked up your neck, then your hair, though more wildly this time as he inhaled deeply.

‘MMmm that smell.’ He rasped, the rumble heard deep in his chest.

Your breath was starting to falter, the heat in your loins back where it had been when he had dry humped you on the dance floor. How was this for an interesting night, hmm? Tilting your head sideways, you allowed him more access, enjoying the way how his lips, teeth and hands became more demanding, more rough.

‘Do it again.’ You finally mumbled, hands reaching back to ground yourself on his large thighs as he nuzzled and nibbled you to mush. The Witcher hesitated for a moment, confused. 

‘The..the tingly thing.’ You breathed.

He chuckled and pressed himself fully against you, hard and demanding, until you could do nothing else but step forward, on to one of the posts of the bed. His hands drug up higher, one coming around your chest and the other working its way through your hair, undoing the lose do-up.

‘You liked that.’ He purred, pushing you against the bedpost until there was nowhere else to go but heaven.

‘Mhm.’ You hummed, your tongue flaking back over your swollen, throbbing lip - darn that bloody lip was annoying.

And then he did it again; making you lose all thoughts of bloody lips or unkempt hair. The hand on your chest braced around one of your breasts, sparking another one of those orgasmically good tremors down your spine. You moaned quietly, air escaping from your tight lips as the hand in your hair pulled your head back against him.

‘Little wren.’ He repeated, sending more little bursts of energy through his fingertips until all you could was shake. And you were glad you were pinned down, with nowhere to go. Before long your legs became putty as the energy surged through your veins, his demanding tongue and teeth nibbling deliciously on your exposed shoulder.

‘Mmmm..’ You hummed, your fingertips starting to spark, legs quaking.

And then he stopped. The bastard stopped.

With an annoyed grit of your teeth you felt his weight move away from you, though still remaining close. Turning slowly he was back on you before you knew it, this time your back pressed against that bed post, the whole bed moving that last inch back up against the wall with the sheer force, floorboard screeching. You yelped softly, hands grasping at his vest.

‘Can all Witchers do that?’ Your lips were nearly touching and all you could see was his face, his lips curling up in that weird, hideous smile of his. Though.. it wasn’t ugly. It just lacked the joy that should emanate from a smiling man. It was like he was not feeling joy but mimicking it, or.. his face just wouldn’t reflect what he was feeling.

It reminded you of a saying; Witchers don’t feel emotions.

‘They can.’ For a moment you had forgotten what you had asked, confusion striking your face before you noticed his ember gaze meandering down yours, locking down on your lips. Again his fingers worked around your body, gripping you tightly, but not painfully. As he bent down, nose nuzzling yours, another crescendo of sparks was sent through your limbs. With every inch he moved closer, the feeling increased, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp as finally his animalistic eyes closed, lips brushing back against yours.

It was the combination of the warmth that trickled from his tingly touch in combination with the mild fear of his hidden strength, that made you near come at the spot. Your whole body turned to mush as you felt that strange scared arousal again. It was addicting.

Breaking away from the tender kiss he inhaled deeply again, hip bucking inadvertently into you - as if the smell aroused him deeply.

‘And is it true..’ You whispered onto his lips, a tease in your voice. ‘..that all Witchers have a crazy good..stamina?’

He hummed, then within a flash he has pushed you onto the bed, your body bouncing off the feather mattress as the Witcher removes his vest and shirt in one smooth movement. It gives you a moment to look onto his built physique. And..well..it was your wildest fantasy in fulfilment. Large bulging muscles, battle scars worthy a great warrior, and..from the looks of it a rather good endowment. His breeches were filling out nicely with a happy-to-see-you bulge.

You sucked in your bottom lip as the wolf man pulled you by the ankle, your legs now dangling off the side of the bed, hands above your head. You let out a surprised chuckle, eyes blinking as he got down to his knees, hands slipping beneath your skirts.

Another surprised yelp erupted from your lips when in one quick flick of the arm he had revealed your whole bare bottom half, his voice humming somewhere in the back of your mind; ‘And now about that kiss to make it better.’

Oh, that..HA. You had forgotten about that complete-comple-com-HOLY..!!

Without warning he latched onto your folds, wolf paws spreading out your thighs as he drank like a man starved.

OH SHIT. This was new. Oh this was very new. No man would ever..ever…HOOO

Like a true wolf the Witcher went straight for the kill, your whole body convulsing like a fish on the dry, your control slipping fast as you moaned lowly. Thankfully, the monster hunter packed muscle..and magic. Digging his talons into your thighs a bit more harshly, he nailed you down to the soft bed, more sparks starting to fly down his fingertips as his tongue continued its lavish assault.

And this time the sparks were much sharper, stronger, wilder. You couldn’t open your eyes even if you wished. His wish was your command. And like a fiddle he played you well, your mouth singing the prettiest - and most vulgar - of wanton moans. It was as if the lack of fabric between you and him made everything more intense. Skin to skin. Lips to lips.

Without warning your body surrendered, a thousand sparks sending you off flying. And it had to be admitted; you had never in your life experienced quite such a thrill, your whole body still shivering and convulsing long after your body rocking orgasm had washed away. With a lazy grin the wolf got back up from between your thighs, hands brushing up your corset until he reaching your jaw, cupping it gently.

‘Better?’

Oh, he was a tease for sure! That shit eating grin was back on his beautiful wolven face and you couldn’t help but find a need to tease back. With a push you got up to your elbows, lip pushing out as if you were deep in thought.

‘HMm..ALMOST.’ You dropped back onto the mattress, shrugging. ‘I heard the third time’s the charm.’

--

Go to Signs 3

--

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Smutty squad: @cavillryarchive @wem412 @damnitasshole @consumedbyreading

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 11 | Of Delusions and Grandeur

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 8,500

*Warning* Our angry bean having some serious PTSD flashbacks, also death, quite a bit of death. 

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡  Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it! Also, I apologize for any mistakes, I probably didn’t proofread as many times as I should’ve 🤍

When she was a little girl, Visenya was called into Lord Stark's study nearly every day. She'd shuffle into the room, hiding a coy smirk and mischievous giggles behind a straight face, unable to look him in the eyes as she fumbled through unconvincing lies. At the time she thought herself the finest liar in the Seven Kingdoms, ego growing larger with each doe-eyed look, and words of denial laced with feigned innocence. And each time she stepped out of the room, she'd miss the small smile pulling on Lord Stark's mouth, eyes glittering with amusement as melancholy consumed him, reminding him of times when he was much smaller and the world much bigger.

With age, each step into that study grew less intimidating, the walls growing shorter as she grew longer. At some point between six and ten it changed, instead of swiping pastries from the kitchens, she was hiding away with Jon, waving around a training sword that's too large and too sharp; and inevitably, one morning a large cut blossomed on her face. She went into the study sobbing like an infant while holding a medical cloth to her wound, fears of getting in trouble making her anxiety soar high into the cloudy sky. But instead of sour eyes and trembling lips, she left with a beaming smile on her face and orders to begin training with Ser Rodrik. Immediately she was ushered to Maester Luwin and put on bed rest for the day - Theon called her a stupid girl trying to act like a man, whilst Jon brought her wildflowers from a field. She made sure to hit Theon extra hard during their sparring sessions.

Then there was the time she tackled Theon and beat him bloody when she was a girl of ten and two after he insulted her father; wailing like a banshee, screaming into the universe that Theon and his family were cowards. Her small fists beat into him with as much tact and technique as a wild animal. Everything he ate for a week straight had a metallic aftertaste, while Visenya wore her smugness like a crown. Lord Stark gave her a stern lecture about not hitting people just because they make you angry, yet she couldn't help but preen like a bird when noticing the glint of amusement in his icy eyes. Robb would laugh every time he saw Theon for a full month, meanwhile, Theon's glares didn't disappear until his final scar did. Only then did he begin to acknowledge Visenya's presence again. He never brought up her family again, and she returned the favor.

Of course, she could never forget the time she was brought in - shivering like a leaf, looking as if she'd slept in the deepest ocean - two guards at her side as they escorted her. Lord Stark dismissed them immediately, waiting with patient eyes and a kind smile for Visenya to explain where she'd run off to. The dam broke and she began sobbing, blubbering nonsense that not even she understood. But Lord Stark didn't yell at her, demanding she speak clearly. Instead, he stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and carefully approached Visenya. Kneeling to be eye level with her smaller form, he just hugged her, encompassing her with the fatherly warmth she couldn't remember ever getting from Rhaegar Targaryen. Maybe he did hug her when she was a child and the world wasn't crumbling around them, but if he did, she couldn't remember. So she just hugged Lord Stark so tightly she wouldn't be surprised if he had red marks where her arms were.

Then only four years later, she was called in again, only this time Lady Stark stood beside him, strained smiles and stony eyes greeting her, and held tightly in Lord Stark's hand was a letter, the parchment nearly ripping in half from his grip. It was nearly identical to the one she sent off three days prior, with Essos it's destination and Targaryen the receiver, signed with a desperation to connect with blood. Lord Stark gently explained to her that the King may see it as treason if she was found to be contacting the only other remaining Targaryen's, finding the reason to do what he's been itching to do since the rebellion. And Visenya couldn't bring herself to tear apart her family by selfish actions, not after everything they've done for her. That day she didn't walk out triumphant or ecstatic, instead, she burned with rage and shame; rage at the world and shame at herself for caring so much. She never tried to contact Daenerys again.

The final time she ever walked into that study was a week before Robert Baratheon was set to arrive at Winterfell. Lady Stark wasn't there, in fact, no one else was anywhere near the vicinity. He told her to sit down, not willing to delve into the reason that she was there until she complied. Ned Stark was never one to beat around the bush, finding it more practical to just say what needs to be said and move on. That was the first time Visenya ever saw him fumble over his words. Finally, he managed to tell her what exactly the King had demanded when he was in Winterfell. He wanted Visenya married off and out of Winterfell. She was a statue at that moment, having a million things she wanted to say, but simply nodded, turned, and left the room without another word. A day after the King arrived, so did her potential suitors. The King insisted he should be the one to choose her husband, completely crushing the dwindling hope that her future husband wouldn't be so terrible. The decision ended up being between a child of ten and two and a boy only a year older than that, both from two minor houses in the South; until Robb interrupted - respectfully of course - and declared that he would marry Visenya. She couldn't decide what was worse, the prospect of marrying someone she sees as a brother or watching Jon's crestfallen face. Jon wouldn't look at her until the night before he left for the Night's Watch, and she couldn't look Robb in the eyes until he did.

This time, standing in front of the door that leads into the room Jaskier and Geralt reside in, with damp hair and clothes sticking to wet skin, she is a storm. A flurry of emotions raging in her mind; anger, sadness, melancholy, and fear melting together until she can't feel anything, the sensory overload leaving her numb. She eyes the empty hall like an animal stuck in a cage, her heart pounding, seconds away from bolting out of the inn and never returning, living in the forest as far from people as possible. But then the sound of Jaskier talking and Geralt's angry mumbling filters into Visenya's ears. Her anxiety increases, but the storm softens as she straightens her back, all thoughts of running suddenly gone.

'The blood of the dragon must not be afraid.'

Visenya sends a prayer to the Warrior for courage and the Crone to give her the wisdom to not let her anger control her, not wanting to lash out again. She reaches a hand up, pausing it midair for a second. With one last silent prayer, she grasps the handle in hand and pushes open the door.

"--quit your complaining, you look great! Scary and dashing, what more could a Witcher want?" Jaskier says to Geralt, waving his hands wildly. Geralt stands in the room, wearing clothes suited for minor nobility, a stark difference from his usual armor, a scowl chiseled into his beautiful face.

He's in shades of blue: a Stark blue cotton jacket hugging his biceps, a stone grey shirt tucked into his leather pants that hug his toned legs in the most flattering way, wolf pendant hanging from his neck. His white hair is tied back in its usual fashion but appears to have been brushed, clearly the doing of Jaskier. Despite his obvious discomfort, he's like a piece of art, looking like the subject of a painting that hangs in a noble lady's room.

As the door clicks behind her, Geralt and Jaskier look at her. Jaskier's eyes immediately flicker away, face draining of all color as he takes a small step backward. It's small, the change in his demeanor, but it's enough to break Visenya's heart that she thought had been encapsulated by stone and ice. A million words nearly fall from her mouth, at the very tip of her tongue, but she finds herself losing the ability to speak. So instead she turns her attention to Geralt, feigning the smirk that usually naturally falls on her face.

"You clean up nicely. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't think you were just covered from head to toe in monster guts," she teases, willing her voice to sound as light as air, not at all weighed down by the anxiety in her heart. Geralt narrows his eyes, seeing through her façade the second she places it on, but he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and grunts, turning back to Jaskier.

"See, I told you it's fine. Now Jane, be a dear and put on that dress in the corner." Jaskier moves through the room like water, stepping behind Geralt and pushing him towards the exit, making Visenya step further into the room, flattening against the wall to allow them to slip past her. Geralt's shoulder brushes against her, and it feels like electricity. Not that she'd ever tell him that. Meanwhile, Jaskier is looking anywhere and everywhere, as long as he doesn't have to look at her.

The door clicks behind them, the shuffling of feet gone, leaving Visenya alone with her thoughts, again. She shuffles over to the other side of the room, seeing a bundle of dark fabric that must be her dress. She closes the distance, holding the fabric between her fingers. It's a deep purple and almost softer than anything she's ever touched. Sighing, she begins to pull her clothes off of her body, haphazardly throwing them onto the ground. She holds up the dress, the ends touching the floor; it's beautiful, with a silver belt cinching in the waist and a slit up the leg, allowing free range of movement. And for a moment she thinks Jaskier chose these colors on purpose, purple for the eyes she used to recognize, and silver for the hair that used to flow freely, but that's impossible. How could he know the importance of those colors when he doesn't even know her real name?

So she pushes those thoughts away and begins the process of stepping into the dress and pulling it on. The fabric drapes loosely off the shoulder, the back flowing into a sort of cloak style. It's light as air, moving in perfect sync with her, ideal for looking pretty but also loose enough to allow her to fight if necessary; nothing like the heavy and restricting dresses of the North. She clasps the belt, adding some shape to her body so it no longer looks like she's drowning in excess fabric. She holds Renfri's broach, the emeralds, and rubies shining and bright compared to her dress. She pins it in the place it always is, over her left breast.

She puts both hands under her hair, starting to pull it out from under the dress when there's a knock at the door. She starts to turn, the dress moving around her feet like a soft breeze, when the door clicks, creaking as it opens.

"Jaskier wanted me to bring you--" Geralt says, trailing off as Visenya turns to face him, the dress fully on display. A smile pulls on her previously dour face, as the last of her damp hair falls over her shoulders. In his hands are a pair of velvet black boots, the heels higher than her usual travel shoes, with a silver buckle adorning them, not as fine as what high royalty would wear, but certainly nicer than her everyday ones. His gold eyes rake up and down her body, mouth slightly agape.

"My shoes? Thank you, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go to this feast barefoot." She saunters over to him, making sure to take her time with every step. She stops right in front of him, tilting her head up to look at his face, Geralt's large form looming over her. His eyes follow her, tilting his head down as well.

She grabs onto the shoes, pulling until Geralt grip on them slacks. Without moving her eyes from his, she slips each shoe on, the inside lined with a soft fabric, making them hug her feet comfortably. Geralt breaths out a laugh, but says nothing else.

"You look nice." he finally says, his voice rougher and lower than usual, causing Visenya's eyes to light up as he struggles to swallow for a moment.

"You don't look too bad either." She raises a single brow, slowly raising herself to stand on the tips of her toes, inching closer to Geralt's face.

"Hmm." He just grunts, leaning down to close the distance between them. And when their lips are seconds away from touching she veers to the left, placing a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"See you out there." She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

o0o0o0o

"--keep your head down and pretend to be a mute, can't have anyone figuring out who you are," Jaskier mutters to Geralt as soon as they step into the Great Hall. Most of tonight's guests have already arrived, standing in small clusters that are interspersed throughout the large room. They're rowdy, much more like the Northerners that Visenya's accustomed to, tankards of Cintran Ale in the hands of every person. They're dressed in a wide variety of colors, most of the women wearing dresses made from velvet and much warmer fabrics than the chiffon that languidly hangs off Visenya. A season of jewel tones surround them: reds, greens, and purples as far as the eye can see.

"Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!" a voice exclaims, a slew of loud drunken shouts from the nearby crowds following the proclamation. A man in forest green finery that looks slippery to the touch begins to approach them. Well dressed, but certainly not the most expensive-looking man in the room. His shoulder-length thick black hair is pushed away from his face, a matching thick beard covering his chin. Light reflects off of the greying hairs that pepper it, betraying how old he is. His eyes, that are as green as his tunic, scan the three of them, lingering on Visenya but ultimately he focuses on Geralt.

"Oh shit," Jaskier mutters, glancing around the room, smiling and waving awkwardly at everyone looking at them.

"I haven't seen you since the plague," he says, silver tankard in hand as he draws closer, an easy smile on his face.

"Good times, Mousesack," Geralt says, his tone and posture rigid and uncomfortable; never one for crowds it would seem. The man doesn't seem put off by Geralt's dour demeanor, instead, he breathes out a laugh, pointing at Geralt with his tankard.

"I have missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now that the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost." he closes the distance, grabbing ahold of both of his shoulders, the smile on his face falling just an inch. "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?"

Geralt turns to Jaskier, his signature scowl on his face. Jaskier just turns to look at them, playing with his fingers, eyes wide and nervous, but ultimately silent.

"And who might this be," the man says, moving his attention from Geralt to Visenya. She grants him a smile, much closer to Geralt's stiff one than his easy-going smile. He holds out a hand and she shakes it, trying to match his firm grip.

"Jane."

"Mousesack, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He's charming, with a wide grin on his face and bright eyes. There's also a spark when he makes contact with her. Not the kind that plagues sappy romance novels, but a literal spark of...something that leaves the hair on her arms standing and her spine-tingling.

"Mousesack is a druid." Geralt answers her unspoken question, looking between the two of them with a blank expression.

"I see, and you and Geralt are friends I presume?" Visenya asks, slipping her hand from his tight grasp.

"Old friends, it's been what...50 years?" Mousesack says, glancing at Geralt for confirmation.

"Something like that." Geralt says, scanning the crowd. Visenya turns to him, eyes widening a fraction.

"How old are you exactly?" She asks, eyes narrowing. It never occurred to her that a Witcher would age differently. The passage of time here never occurs to her much. She goes to sleep at night and wakes up at dawn, spending the day traveling, sitting in inns, or looking threatening and mean to potential aggressors, only to start the cycle over again. How much time has passed since she first arrived? Everything seems to pass in a blur, she never bothers to think about it.

"Over 100," he gruffly responds, glancing over at her before returning his eyes elsewhere.

"You don't keep track?" Visenya asks mind short-circuiting momentarily. How is that even possible, to be over 100 years old, yet not look a day over 30? It has to be a side effect of being a Witcher, it's the only logical explanation.

"Why would I?"

"I guess when you're that old it doesn't matter," she says, brows furrowing as her eyes narrow.

"I never thought I'd see the day that someone matched your dour attitude. Come, walk with me," Mousesack merrily exclaims, words slurring together. He flashes Visenya another smile as he begins to effortlessly move through the crowd of people. Geralt follows beside him, Visenya keeping pace with him.

"I've been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they're of the earth. Like me," Mousesack says, people, cheering and holding up drinks towards him as he passes.

"Old and crusty," Geralt says. "How long before this horse-trading is done? I find royalty best taken in... small doses."

Visenya snorts as she observes the room around her, trying to memorize every tiny detail. There's a high table at the very end of the hall, with a large throne in the center, like a shining prized jewel. It's nothing near as magnificent as how she imagines the Iron Throne to be, but it's large none-the-less. Sitting by the empty throne is a girl, closer to Visenya's age than not if her appearance is anything to go by. With pale skin that glows in the dim candlelight, her golden-silvery hair compliments her beautifully. It's in an ornate braid on the back of her head, falling over her shoulder, a gold ribbon weaving in and out of it. Her emerald green dress is adorned with a large gold necklace, the small emerald jewels in it dancing in the candlelight, a delicate gold circlet resting on her head. Their eyes lock, and Visenya finds herself entranced by her bright blue eyes, unable to force herself to be aware of her current surroundings.

"I wouldn't count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta's hand. Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize. Who wouldn't want to be king of the most powerful force in the land?" Mousesack says, his only acknowledgment of Geralt's first comment is the small smirk on his lips.

"Hm. So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?"

"Come with me, there's much for you to see. It's not a fair bet. That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach An Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy's uncle, Eist Tuirseach." Mousesack says, pointing towards a large man with fiery hair and a matching beard that stands with a large crowd of people, easily one of the loudest people in the room.

Princess Pavetta's fair face wears a frown, similar to her own, but not at all with the fire Visenya holds. Instead, she looks more like a scared girl than a defiant dragon. Not at all unlike herself all those years ago, when she sat at the High Table beside Lord Stark in Winterfell, with weaves of traditional Northern braids in her hair as Robert Baratheon auctioned her off to the highest bidder, like a prized broodmare. But that's the life of a princess, exiled or not, your love is sold off for political and monetary gain. Marriage is never about love for royalty. Yet Visenya's heart aches for the girl who looks like a scared doe, rather than the daughter of the Lioness of Cintra, who fought and won her first battle at only fourteen years of age.

"She doesn't seem too happy about it," Visenya mutters, glancing back at Mousesack. He meets her stern gaze, bright expression dimming just a hair.

"No, I'm afraid not. Princess Pavetta is much softer than her mother."

"They almost always are," Visenya says, eyes moving back to Pavetta, feeling as if she's entranced. Something weeps inside her, shaking so fervently her body almost vibrates. If things were different, that would've been, no, should've been Visenya. But could've, would've, and should've been is nothing when destiny dictates that your world be nothing but ash and ruin. So she snaps her gaze away, unwilling to look at the image of what is always just out of reach.

Mousesack and Geralt continue speaking in low voices, Visenya following them like a ghost, lost in her head. A few minutes in, Geralt moves away, leaving her alone with Mousesack.

"You seem quite focused on the Princess tonight," he muses, pulling Visenya from her chaos.

"She's the most exciting thing in the room right now," Visenya says, raising a single brow at Mousesack, shoving away the sinking feeling that something horrible is going to happen.

"Moving past that insult to my character--" Visenya snorts. "I feel as though it is something more. I can see it in your eyes, you feel for the girl."

"It's hard not to. A man no matter how well-traveled and wise he is will never understand what it feels like to have your whole life laid out for you by someone else. Being sold into a marriage with someone not a good match for you only hurts worse when it's your own mother."

"Personal experience?" Mousesack raises a brow, mouth in a straight line.

"Nonsense, my mother died when I was a child," Visenya says, moving her attention away from him and towards the crowd.

His eyebrows raise causing small lines to form on his forehead, slight shock painting his features. He purses his lips, opening his mouth, only to close it again.

"The life of nobility." he finally says, letting out a sigh as he shakes his head.

"The life of a woman, no matter their status," Visenya corrects him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"All rise for Her Majesty, The Lioness: Queen Calanthe, of Cintra!" a man near the Main Hall entrance cries out, silencing any of the noise in the room.

"Luckily for the girl, horrible husbands tend to disappear rather quickly when you're royalty." With that last comment, Visenya disappears into the crowd, gliding past noble ladies and lords as she maneuvers towards the secluded corner Geralt claimed as his own.

Chairs scrape as everyone scrambles to stand and Jaskier quickly runs over to where the other minstrels are, lute in hand. Nearly in perfect synch, the entire room turns towards the entrance. Shortly after, a middle-aged woman strides through the parted crowd, a smirk on her blood-stained lips. She wears gold armor that's dull from the dark red blood that's splattered over it, fresh from a recent battle. Her dark brown hair is braided away from her face, but not as neatly as expected for an occasion like this, instead, it's wild and pulled apart, in knots and gnarls with dry blood. She holds a helmet in hand that she quickly tosses to one of the many people in the procession following behind her.

"Beer!" she exclaims, grabbing a tankard from the hands of a pompous noble as she passes him, taking a swig from it immediately. "Apologies, noble sers. A few upstart townships in the South had to be reminded of who was Queen," she says, voice oozing with confidence and a tinge of arrogance. This causes an uproar of cheering from the nobles around Visenya, waving their tankards in her direction as golden ale spills onto the floor.

"Fighting is good for one's blood and humor. Ready your suitor's tales of glory, good lords. My daughter is eager to have this over--" she says, taking another drink from her mug and turning towards the high table. "--as am I." She mutters. "Bard, music!" she yells, waving a finger in the air, towards Jaskier's general direction, stomping up the marble stairs. Jaskier starts the first note of a song, his sweet and delicate singing voice ringing through the room before the Queen swiftly cuts him off.

"No, no, no; a jig! You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes and continuing up the steps. Jaskier sighs, before counting down from three, beginning a much more upbeat song that swiftly blends into the background as the room's noise levels grow. People begin to fill the gap they'd created for the Queen, forming small rowdy groups.

Finally, she closes the distance between her and Geralt, grabbing a tankard of ale from a table as she does. She stands beside him, posture as stiff and straight as his, taking a drink from the cup, eyeing the party. She watches the Queen as she leans down to speak with her daughter, hands resting on the table, her words too quiet for Visenya to discern. Suddenly a man slams his tankard of ale on the table

"You lying little shite!" the man that Mousesack labeled as Crach An Craite yells. He stands to his full height, towering over a scrawnier man he's arguing with. "You never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, nevermind a manticore!"

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as the likes of you perish under my steel," the second man spits back, unfettered by Crach's intimidating aura.

"Under your bullshit, more like. How many stingers has it got?"

"Two."

"Ha. Go away and shite, it's got five. I know, I've actually killed one." Crach An Craite spits at him. He scoffs and turns away from the other noble, as the crowd around them grows more excited as the argument begins to escalate.

The smaller man rushes forward, grabbing onto Crach An Craite's tunic, the small crowd around them rushes in as well, eager for an excuse to fight.

"Enough!" the Queen exclaims, stopping everyone in their tracks. "We have a renowned guest tonight. Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth" she says, walking down the steps. In unison, nearly every turns to look at Geralt, and in turn, Visenya as well.

"Neither." Geralt says, not bothering to meet anyone's gaze.

"Are you calling me a liar, old man?" Crach An Craite mutters, face nearly identical in color to his hair.

"The Butcher of Blaviken bleeds utter nonsense," the smaller one says, dismissively waving his hand in Geralt's direction as he leans against a nearby chair. Geralt glances towards Jaskier, who is frantically shaking his head, with puppy dog eyes and a slight pout his only weapon. Geralt sighs, moving his attention back to the impatient nobles.

"Perhaps the lords encountered a rare subspecies of manticore."

The room is completely silent after that, the tension in the room quickly dropping. Visenya breathes out, clenched fist relaxing at her side. The Queen breaks the silence, loud laughter leaving her mouth, gaze solely on Geralt.

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" The room immediately breaks out into cheers. Fists pound on tables, tankards waving in the air, and nobles yelling so loudly their lungs might collapse. Visenya raises her brow, glancing at Jaskier with a disapproving gaze. That stupid song is nothing but embellished falsehoods, so wrong it's nearly infuriating every time Visenya hears it.

"There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut, when Filavandrel let me go." Geralt speaks up, silencing the room instantly.

Instead, their cheers are replaced with boos and loud groans, nobles shaking their heads at Geralt.

"But what about the song?" the shorter man exclaims.

"At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you good Lords, at your final breath, a shitless death." Geralt exclaims, bringing his tankard to his mouth, "--but I doubt it," he mutters, his words once again riling up the crowd. And if she didn't know any better, Visenya thinks Geralt just might like the fanfare, even if he won't admit it.

"It would've been your blade at Filavandrel's throat if you'd been there your majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." Lord Eist speaks up, a smug smirk on his face as he looks at the Queen. She looks at him, preening under all the attention with a smug look on her face. The movements cause the dried blood to crack and crumble onto the floor.

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Come, Witcher, take a seat by my side while I change."

Geralt simply grunts, rolling his eyes as the Queen turns away, moving up the stairs and disappearing through a side door, a handmaiden following dutifully behind her.

"Come on," Geralt grabs onto Visenya's hand, dragging her behind him.

"She didn't invite me."

"Well she invited me, and I'm not going through anymore suffering alone." Geralt says in between clenched teeth.

"How polite, throwing me straight into the lion's den just so you won't have to face it alone. I never knew you to be so thoughtful Geralt."

He simply grunts in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He moves up the set of stairs, boots pounding under the stone ground. One of the men that came in with the Queen directs Geralt to a chair beside the throne. Silently, he pulls out his chair, glaring at the finely dressed nobleman that is sitting in the chair by him. The man meets his gaze, and to his credit, manages to remain expressionless. However, he still stands, his legs wobbling just the slightest, and moves to the other side of the throne, sitting by the Princess. Geralt nods his head towards the now vacant chair. A smirk forms on Visenya's lips as she moves behind him and into her new seat.

"You get to deal with the Queen if she's unhappy with my presence."

o0o0o0o

The feast is even duller from the High Table. It hasn't even been a full hour, and yet all that's happened is a few arguments, suitors vying for the hand of the princess, and the Queen speaking with Geralt. Visenya sits in silence, scanning the crowd and listening in on the conversations around her. There's still that sinking feeling in her stomach, a dreadful fear she's unable to escape telling her this is all going to end horribly. Crach An Craite stands up from his seat, when suddenly the door is slammed open, a man in full plate armor barreling through, swiftly taking out the two guards by him. Like an unruly bull, he stomps to the center of the room, lowering himself into a kneel. The room is completely still, as Visenya leans forward, grip tightening on the knife in her left hand.

"Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, and for the misunderstanding with your guards. Please! I come in peace. I need but one moment of your time. I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage," he says, bowing his helmet-covered head.

The room is filled with gasps of shock, women all around covering their mouths in horror. The Queen becomes as stiff as a rock, veins faintly protruding from her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Visenya sees Pavetta go completely still, yet her face doesn't convey the same horror it has with every suitor before.

"A knight... of no renown... from a backwater hamlet... who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?" Queen Calanthe spits out, shaking in rage as her words burn like acid.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell." Urcheon says, not sounding shaken by the threatening aura swimming around Queen Calanthe.

"Bollocks to that," Lord Eist exclaims, moving forward and knocking the helmet off Urcheon's head. The metal clatters against the ground, echoing in the room, as the knight is revealed to be a...hedgehog man. Visenya leans further out of her seat, nearly laying on the table. Gold eyes wide in shock as she examines each and every needle that protrudes from his face, tracing his animal-like nose and beady black eyes. He looks around the room, very much looking like a cornered animal.

"Witcher--" the Queen hisses, "kill it."

"No," Geralt says, intently watching Urcheon.

"Whatever the price," she continues.

"This is no monster."

"I order you," she continues, the same patience she previously possessed slipping away.

"This knight has been cursed." Geralt says, unable to be swayed by her words that hide serious threats.

"You're as useless as the rest of them," she seethes. "Slay this beast!" she exclaims to the rest of the room.

Two guards immediately move towards Urcheon, weapons in hand. With swift and highly skilled movements, he disarms the guards, knocking them to the ground.

"Lioness of Cintra, I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." he yells, pointing towards the Princess. More guards approach, and to his credit, he attempts to fight back but is quickly outnumbered. He's thrown to the ground, blood pouring out of his...snout. One of the guards lifts their halberd, seconds away from slicing into them. Geralt quickly jumps from his chair, moving past Visenya and down the steps at the speed of light.

"No!" Princess Pavetta exclaims.

At that moment time slowed down. Geralt reaches the scene when the halberd is mid-swing, pulling out his sword and cutting the weapon in half. The top piece slams on the ground and Urcheon catches the bladed part.

It's silent until the Queen breaks it.

"Kill them both!" she yells, pointing at Geralt and Urcheon.

o0o0o0o

Swords ringing, bodies crashing to the ground, and screams ricocheting off the walls into Visenya's ears. It's all familiar. A horror so intrusive and fresh in her mind that feels like only hours ago her whole world crumbled, leaving her vulnerable in a new reality. So different with its magic and dragons, but the same in the way its tragedy claws at her throat, phantom tears following her like the deaths of everyone she ever loved. Like an inescapable curse that continues to stalk her no matter how far or fast she runs. And maybe that's because none of this is real, a delusion she's created in the darkest recesses of her mind, happy enough to grant hope of a better life, yet enough devastation cloaking it to be believable.

She watches in a daze as Geralt moves through the room, dancing with his blade like a master. The porcupine man roars as he charges the oncoming guards, cutting into their flesh with less fluidity than Geralt, yet deadly all the same. Invigoration surging through his body from the White Wolf joining his side, more than happy to slice through anyone who confronts him, whether his foes wield sword or fist. The lords in their fine garb beat, stab, and strangle each other; using the chaos as an opportunity to take down their adversaries. A small group of nobles huddle in the far recesses of the room, cowering and whimpering in fear as the slaughter escalates. Women cry and the minstrels quiver, yet the queen and princess remain at their high table, unmoving. Princess Pavetta watches with glistening blues eyes while the Queen is clenching her jaw so tightly, her face is painted white.

Visenya's hand ghosts over where her blade should be, the empty spot where its sheathe would rest feeling uncomfortably light. A lord drunk on the adrenaline in his veins rushes Visenya, wild like an animal. She knows all too well how this will go if he gets his way: with her bloody and praying for the release of death. But she's not that little girl of five hiding in a crawl space as she listens to her mother's screams of agony. Now she breathes flames each time she talks, eyes like a city turned to ash.

She holds her arm up towards him with an open palm, the movements rigid and not her own, as if an otherworldly creature possesses her. Moments later he slams into her, the width of his neck perfectly fitting in her palm. Automatically her finger closes around him, tightening with each second as she locks him in place. She's emboldened with strength she shouldn't possess, as she raises her arm upwards, his legs dangling in the air, helpless. Gold eyes illuminate, embers of fire she's smothered igniting in that instant, festering pain bursting to the surface. Heat builds, the smell of burning flesh rising in the air, the crackle of skin against fire. He screams, a blood-curdling one that makes Visenya's insides turn. Yet she doesn't release him but holds tighter and tighter until his screams turn to choking, and then silence. With a dull thud, his body drops to the floor, unmoving.

A sharp pain pierces her left side, leaving her staggering forward with an unsteady footing. Howling like a wounded animal, Visenya turns to face her adversary, a heavily armored guard. He jabs towards her, but she manages to move out of the way just in time. She sneers, blood dripping from her mouth. He goes to stab again, but in full plate, he's too slow for her nimble movements. She ducks behind him, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the ground as she does. And before he can comprehend where she is, she stabs the glass into the side of his neck, watching the thick red liquid coat it. He coughs, choking on the blood pouring out of his neck. The guard wobbles, slowly losing his balance as he claws at the air for something to hold onto, then scratching his throat, attempting to save himself. Visenya watches, eyes cold and unfeeling. She lifts her leg and kicks him onto the ground before stepping over his body.

Each footstep thunders in her mind as she presses forward, every face nothing but a blur, and instead of tabards with three proud lions, she sees two blue towers united by a bridge. Every guard and noble that falls is a Northern soldier, with surprise and agony painting their face, while every attacker is a Frey. Sneers carved into their features; screams turning into shouts of glee as they cut through anyone in their way. In a flurry of blood lust, eager to drown her sorrows in the pain of others, she throws punches at everyone within reach, kicking bodies on the floor as they writhe in pain. It's intoxicating, living out her darkest fantasies without a care in the world.

It'll fade, the comedown far worse than the high, but at the moment, it's worth every second of loathing it'll inevitably create. A grunt follows a swift punch to the gut before Visenya grabs a hold of a chair, smashing the wood against the charging noble. His face morphs, no longer a nameless lord, instead, he's one of Walder Frey's sons who sunk his blade in her flesh as his friends shot her down from a distance. The chair breaks into a million pieces as he falls to the ground, unconscious. She roars as the adrenaline pumps higher and higher, the blood running in her veins faster and faster. Geralt appears in the corner of her vision, at some point they move towards each other like magnets, twirling around each other as if they've practiced it a million times. And just as soon as he's there, he disappears into the chaos as Visenya loses herself to the beast inside her.

Another soldier approaches her, a flurry of sword swings and spittle his greeting to her. She dodges out of the way of each of them, moving as if she's the water, her dress fluidly flowing with her. She steps to the side, taking advantage of his blind spot, due to his helmet that obscures part of his vision. She grabs a hold of his sword arm, managing to pull it back far enough to hear a gnarly crack, a loud clang following it, as his sword falls to the marble floor. He sneers at her, but she returns the favor. Yet before she can do anything, another burst of pain shoots through her, and her eyes flit down to the source, a dagger sticking out of her abdomen. She looks up at him as he twists it, before letting go and pushing her away, but instead of falling to the floor to bleed out, she pulls out the blade. Using his surprise to her advantage, she smoothly grabs his sword from the ground, using a maneuver she learned all those years ago in Winterfell to knock his helmet off his head from the back. And as it clangs to the ground, she drives the dagger into his throat.

She stumbles forward, hand clenching her new wound as blood pours out of it. She whirls around, determined to find safety, but a glimpse of auburn curls and Tully blue eyes with a direwolf coat of arms fighting a noble in rich blues captures her attention.

Robb.

Numb to the pain pulsing in her body and the wounds that are dripping with blood, she runs. But it's like walking through thick molasses, feet not moving as fast as they should, no matter how hard she tries to push forward. Desperation rips her apart from the inside out as she tries to stop what's inevitably going to happen, the very same thing she sees in every one of her nightmares. And when she's only a step away, the noble slashes low, throwing Robb off balance, and with one swift plunge of a dagger, he falls limp.

She's too late, again.

Her legs are never quite fast enough, reaction time a second too slow, and no matter how hard she tries to do it, she never manages to save Robb.

An ear-piercing screams tears through her throat, or maybe it doesn't, it's hard to hear anything above the ringing in her ears.

The noise is a culmination of a lifetime of sadness, but it's also a battle cry, promising nothing but fire and fury. And as Robb collapses, armor clanging against the ground, she reaches out and grabs the hair of the noble, pulling until there's a distinct crack and a shout of pain, a large chunk of brunette locks her prize. With the snarl of a wolf and tight tension on his head, she wraps her other arm around his neck, and a simple flick of her wrist is all it takes as his neck snaps, body crashing onto the ground.

And Visenya falls too, crumbling into nothing but a shaking form, sobbing so hard she nearly throws up all the contents in her stomach, trapped between the dead bodies of Robb and his killer. Tears mix with blood, staining the floor with her misery.

"Robb!" she cries out, but her voice is nothing more than a croak, getting swept away into the chaos of the fight. "Robb!"

A shaky hand reaches out, moving to brush his hair out of his face, but there's nothing there. And as her tears pour down her cheeks, Robb distorts, wild curls becoming a bald head and Tully blue replaced with bleak brown. She removes her hand as if it burnt her, and scrambles to getaway.

Bodies rush past, moving around her as if she's nothing more than a figment of their imagination. Everything slows down in the room, as salty tears slip into her mouth, dark spots covering her vision.

She blinks; once and then twice. Everything is blurry until it's not.

A sea of dead bodies, suffocating her. She throws a hand up, desperately clawing to escape, But each movement only traps her further under them. She screams, the sound muffled yet clear as day in her mind.

"Jane. Jane!" Someone's holding onto her, pressing onto her cheeks, the warmth of soft hands cupping her cheek. "Jane, are you alright?" The voice is distant, yet familiar all the same.

She blinks again, and once more.

Another scream rips through her throat, tearing apart her vocal cords. She continues to claw, fighting harder against the dead weight that presses heavily against her. Gold meets gold as the light shines in her eyes. The first rays of day hit the side of her face, illuminating the cast of dry blood caked with mud on her face. Eyes flicker from the left to the right, seeing, yet not, at the same time. It doesn't register in her mind, the ocean of death she finds herself swimming in, all she sees is daylight, while everything else is blurry.

"Please bring me water or wine, just bring me something!" The familiar voice echoes in Visenya's head, footsteps rapidly tapping against a marble floor following.

A glint in the light captures her attention, something piercing through her hazy vision. It blends into its environment at first, but with a keener glance, she sees it. With new vigor, she wiggles out of the pit, crawling on all fours, eyes on the prize. Six beats, that's all it takes until she closes in on her fixation. A person, a dead person.

The body doesn't have a head, but she already knows its face, the same one she sees every night in her worst night terrors. Unsteady hands reach out, tracing the cloak clasp, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat inside her. Hot fingertips trace over two direwolves meeting in the center. Then she forms a fist around it, holding so tightly small cuts form on the palm of her hand. No tears pour down her face, spilling onto the fine garb Robb donned for his own funeral, there's nothing left to cry. Her eyes are dry like a Dornish desert, she's cried too much to have any left. A second scream tears out of her mouth, sending any scavenger birds flying away with haste, slicing through the silence of the field that is drenched in dawn. It's harsh and coarse, leaving the ground beneath her quaking in its wake.

"What's wrong with her?" A timid woman's voice asks.

"I don't know. Let me see that." There's rustling, ice-cold water hitting her face moments later. "Gods Jane, you're bleeding!"

She blinks one more time.

The field disappears, a ballroom wrought with chaos replacing it. She's flat on the ground with Jaskier kneeling beside her, face hovering over hers. His eyes are wide with distress, gaze solely focusing on her. She attempts to stand, but the weight of her head is too much, so instead, it just bangs against the hard floor. Swords clanging and people shouting filters into her ears again, replacing the devastating silence that once resided in her mind.

"Jaskier."

"I'm here, I just need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?" he asks, holding her hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"A sheep can't command the dragon," she mutters, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open when something cold and wet splashes over her face, again.

"Well the next time we meet a dragon, I'll let them know." She glances over, seeing the weak smile pulling at his lips. His pale face is stark white, the flush of red usually in his face completely gone, with dark and deep bags under his tired and dull eyes.

"You already have, I am the daughter of dragons," she mutters, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

She opens them again, blinking a few times and finding herself back in the open field and kneeling over Robb's body. She stands with unsteady legs and a weary body. Visenya turns around, staring at Walder Frey's keep, eyes solid ice with a stony expression. One step, two steps, and another, and then another, staggering towards the keep. The anger simmers, burning so hot it's cold now. Fire dances on the tips of the fingers, the flames licking up her arms with each step she takes.

"Can you do something? She's been injured?" Jaskier's voice echoes in Visenya's mind.

"Possibly, step aside and I will do my best to heal her," another familiar male voice rings in her ears.

A comforting feeling fills her body, smothering her pain in all things that are warm and homely.

She blinks, opening her eyes and finding herself back in Cintra with Jaskier and Mousesack hovering over her. She's delusional, she has to be. The only problem is, she can't decipher which reality is true and which one is a hallucination.

"Are you alright?" Mousesack asks, grabbing Visenya's hand in his own. Between Jaskier and him, they manage to help Visenya sit up just in time to see Queen Calanthe meet Geralt in battle. She holds her sword up to his neck and Geralt meets her blade with his own.

"Stop!" the Queen yells.

o0o0o0o

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[scarlettwitcher]

Úlfur Minn Part Four

Request: by @laneygthememequeen: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2609

Warnings: angst, fluff, smutty smut smutter mcsmutterson(porn lol)

Author’s Note: Alas, this is the end! I’m sad. I loved writing and posting this series, buuuuuut I was thinking of starting a Witcher Series. Its basically the netflix show in words with reader added into the mix. If that’s something y’all would like, let me know. Shoutout to my babe @queenxxxsupreme for helping me throughout this series! If you were a tag for this series and would like to remain on the Witcher tags for future content, let me know. I might just move all of my Úlfur Minn tags to my Witcher Tags. I currently have a couple of WIP’s for Geralt, Steve Rogers, and a few Marvel characters so GET EXCITED! Requests are open so if you’re craving any specific story, hit your girl up! As always, thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome/needed.

Previously on Úlfur Minn...

“Úlfur minn, I’m not making fun of you. I’m being honest.”

“Like you’ve been when you tell me whatever that stupid name you call me means?” You felt yourself frown at his words as you tried to think of something to answer but came up blank again for the second time that night. “Yeah, thought so.” Geralt couldn’t explain why he was so angry. He was still pent up from the evening at the betrothal. He knew it was wrong to take it out on you but he was upset and he needed you to understand that you were too important to just be jumping in front of weapons for others. He stood and paced next to the bed you were laying on. Before he could further mess up the night with the woman he loved and say more, or in this case, yell more, he heard a soft whisper coming from you.

“My wolf.”

Now...

Geralt’s head snapped up to you. You weren’t looking at him but at your hands that rested on your lap. You didn’t know he hated the name, you had even hoped he liked it considering you only called him that and when you were ready, you’d reveal it to him. But as he confessed his hatred for it, you had no choice but to reveal it.

“What?”

“It means My wolf. If I had known you hated it so, I wouldn’t have kept usin-”

“My wolf?” You couldn’t trust your voice and only nodded as you kept your gaze planted on your lap. Geralt moved quickly to sit beside you on the bed again as he grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, making you look up at him. You could see the guilt brimming in his eyes as he stared into yours. “Dove, I’m so-” Before he could apologize, you had moved your hand up to his lips, stopping him from finishing his sentence, while shaking your head. 

“Don’t apologize. I should've told you what it meant from the beginning. I was just… embarrassed if I’m honest. You aren’t mine to call.”

You could've sworn that Geralt kissed the tips of your fingertips before slowly moving your hand away from his lips. He watched you with such softness as he cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb across your skin gently, as if you'd break under his touch. “What if I want to be?” You blinked, stunned, but before you could answer, Geralt had wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. He pulled you into him, brushing his lips tentatively against yours before pushing into your lips, kissing you deeply. You whimpered softly into his lips and a low growl came from his chest. Geralt was starting to lose his resolve with you. He knew it was a matter of minutes before giving in and having his way with you but he knew you deserved better and used every ounce of his strength to go soft and easy. But part of him needed to feel you, hold you. He pulled you into him, your chest flush against his. He was mindful of your wounds as he tugged you in his lap, straddling him. He pulled away from the kiss as he rested his forehead against yours. He hummed softly and kissed you even harder than the last kiss, desperate to taste you again as he held you against him, wrapping an arm around your lower back. It felt almost as if he was afraid of losing you. You pulled back when your lungs begged for air and rested your forehead on his cheek, panting quietly. It took you a minute to fully comprehend that you had just kissed Geralt. While you processed the situation, he moved so you were now laying down and he was hovering over you. His golden eyes looked down at you and in that moment, you could see all of his love pouring out of his sight. It wasn't long until it looked like his eyes were almost black, clouded with lust. Lust he felt for you. You blushed under his intense gaze and looked away. He took this opportunity to kiss your neck, growling against it. 

“How much I've wanted to touch you, taste you, mark you as mine. Tell me you feel the same, my love. Tell me you want me too. Tell me you’re mine.” You moved your head back and cupped his cheeks tightly, making him look at you as you conveyed all your emotions in your eyes.

“Of course I do Úlfur minn. It's always been you. I’m yours.” Geralt growled quietly at your words as he resumed his assault on your neck, leaving dark marks in his wake. He didn’t want to leave any part of your skin untouched as he placed open mouthed kisses everywhere. His fingers moved to your middle, unlacing the corset of the dress. The moment he felt it loosen, he tugged it off of you, tossing it across the room. You watched him with wide, lustful eyes. You knew you always wanted Geralt but to finally be there, you were nervous you wouldn’t be enough for him. 

As if he was sensing your doubts, he kissed his way back up your neck until he got to your lips, kissing you like he had never kissed anyone before. One hand came up to your chest and slowly tugged your dress down to your stomach, exposing you to the Witcher’s deep eyes. He hummed appreciatively as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth sucking and biting it. You whined out in need as he bit down harder after every noise you made. Satisfied, he moved to the other nipple, replaying the actions he did with the first one. You arched into his mouth and slowly snaked a hand into his white locks, tugging when he bit hard. Geralt groaned into your skin, and you know he liked it. He kissed down the valley of your breasts, tugging the dress further down your skin until it was to your hips. Geralt dragged his lips and tongue across your abdomen, marking you everywhere he could. He needed to see you belonged to him. “Úlfur minn, d-don’t be a tease.” You managed to gasp out, the feeling of someone else touching you intimately, so new, it was like your skin was on fire. He was everywhere all at once and it was overwhelming, in a good way.

“Be patient, my love. It’s your first and I want to do it right.” You blushed hard under his words. Geralt was able to determine you were a virgin after being with him a few months. It was like the topic of sex was taboo for you. After spending quite a bit of time with the witcher, you had come out of your shell a bit but still couldn't bring yourself to open up like that with just anyone. Geralt sat up on his knees as he dragged the coat off of himself, leaving him in his gray shirt. He wanted to feel you against him and quickly removed his shirt, tossing it to the side as he moved back on top of you, kissing you roughly as he pressed you tightly against his chest. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed the rest of your dress off, leaving you almost bare for him. He kissed back down your jaw before kissing down your chest, then your abdomen, stopping as he kissed over your panty clad core. You twitched at the sensation and whined once more, your sounds filling the quiet room. Geralt finally relented and got on his knees against the bed as he slowly tugged your panties down your leg. He took a deep breath as he stared at your soaking core. He was losing his patience. He needed you.

Geralt hooked one of your legs over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your thighs, alternating between the two as he slowly moved closer and closer to your core. One of your hands gripped the bed tightly as the other moved to cup your mouth. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself during your first time. Geralt blew against your core as you yelped against your hand. Geralt growled quietly and bit the inside of one of your thighs to get your attention. “Let me hear you, my love.” You obeyed reluctantly and pulled your hand away from your mouth, settling it back into his messy hair. He didn’t waste any time as he latched his mouth on your clit, sucking hard, before widening his tongue and licking against your core. You couldn’t help the moans he coaxed out of you as he ate your cunt like a starved man. You tugged roughly on his hair, everything you were feeling too intense but he didn’t relent. Geralt only went harder every time you tugged his hair. He swirled his tongue across your folds, fucking you with his tongue, as he drank all of your arousal with no shame. It wasn't long until he had you on edge, close to your first orgasm. There was a deep heat at the bottom of your stomach, building and building as Geralt continued his relentless mission to make you cum. 

“Geralt! Ah, w-wai-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Geralt sucked hard on your clit, your body reacting quickly. You cried out as bursts and bursts of pleasure coursed your body, leaving you a twitching mess. You were panting heavily as your orgasm slowly relented, leaving you in a blissful daze. You couldn't enjoy it for long as Geralt got back to licking all your juices up and you whined out, twitching from over sensitivity. He chuckled quietly against your cunt as he moved a finger inside, slowly pumping in and out of your heat before slowly easing in a second finger. You cried out quietly as he stretched you out but quickly silenced your cries as he kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it turned you on even more. Finally after what felt like eternity, he eased in a third finger. 

Once Geralt felt that you were ready for him, he pulled himself away from you as he untied his pants, dropping them on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You were about to complain about him leaving you before your eyes landed on his cock, and you swore your eyes were never wider. Geralt watched you and chuckled once more as he moved on top of you, kissing down your neck. “Ready my love?”

“Y-yes.” Geralt moved his hand to the side of your head on the bed to hold himself up as he grabbed his cock and dragged the head against your core. You kissed his shoulder urging him on as he found your entrance and slowly pushed the head in. You bit your lip hard, taking him as he pushed little by little in until he was fully sheathed inside of you. You had never felt so full in your life. You were both now panting as you tried to get used to the burn. It hurt. Geralt moved to look at you, concern in his eyes as he saw you scrunch your face in pain. Before he could speak, you did. “M-move, please.” 

The Witcher obliged and slowly started to rock his hips as he felt his resolve melting away. He grunted out as he tried to go slow. You watched how he strained his neck and the way he clenched his arms as he went slow. You hooked both of your legs around his hips, as you urged him on. “You won’t hurt me.”

“You deserve for it to be great.”

You felt a smile creep onto your features as you cupped his cheek and made him look at you. “Being with you is enough. You won’t hurt me.” He kissed you once before snapping his hips up into you in a hard thrust, eliciting a moan from you. He snapped his hips once more, this time, slamming the bed frame against the wall, leaving a dent as you held onto him tightly. 

“Fuck.. so fucking tight, dove.” Geralt let all his resolve leave his body as he snapped his hips harder and faster with every thrust until he was pounding into you. A relentless pace into your cunt. You moaned loudly as you held onto Geralt tightly. You knew he had marked you and part of you wanted to mark him too. You leaned up to his shoulder and bit down hard. He grunted and moaned loudly into your ear as he let his head fall on your shoulder. His hips started to falter since he was close, too close, to cumming. Your cunt was unbearably tight. It surprised him how quick you got him to his orgasm. Reaching between the two of you, he rubbed circles onto your clit, wanting you to cum once more before he did. You yelped at the sudden increase of pleasure as you dragged your nails hard against Geralt’s back, leaving long marks against his skin. He grunted from the pain but only bit into your shoulder, marking you one more time just as you had. The bite was what pushed you over the edge as you couldn't hold back as you let the orgasm hit you even harder than the first one. As he felt your cunt clench tightly against his cock, he couldn't hold back as he came inside you, milking you for all that he had. Ropes and ropes of cum filled your womb as you both laid there, panting heavily. Geralt was the first to move as he pulled out of you, falling onto the bed beside you. You felt him cum drip out of your core but you didn't care. Geralt moved and pulled you into him, laying you on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat, drawing invisible figures on your skin. He hummed quietly as he watched you. It wasn't long until you drifted off to sleep in his hold. The Witcher was content with just watching you sleep peacefully in his arms. 

As if fate didn't want you to be in contempt quietness, Jaksier barged into the suite before appearing at Geralt’s room. “ You couldn't have waited for me?!”

“Jaskier, be quiet.” Jaskier frowned at Geralt as he saw a girl laying in his hold. He noticed the dress by the door and took a quick look at it as he recognized it as your dress before he pieced everything together. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he pointed at your sleeping form.

“Is that Y/n?”

“Jaskier-”

“Oh my! We need to celebrate!”

“Jaskier, out before I cut you in half.”

“This is going to be an absolutely amazing ballad. The day The White Wolf finally bedded the Amazingly Fair maid- Ouch!” Jaskier looked at Geralt in disbelief before looking down at the shoe he had thrown at Jaskier. 

“Out.”

“Fine! Fine! But this will,” Jaskier motioned between you and the Witcher. “Be a ballad.” Geralt groaned as he watched the bard leave the room before looking back down at you, still deep in slumber, glad you hadn't been woken up. "Wait." Jaskier reappeared at the door as Geralt grunted in utter annoyance. 

"What Jaskier?"

"Did you happen to tell her about, you know, the kid you both now have?" 

"Jaskier, I swea-"

"Because I kind of think it's important for her to know that you inevitably made her a mommy and you a dad-"

"Jaskier, I will hurt you."

"You have to tell her. Tell her now." 

"No." 

"Tell me what?" You answered sleepily. Both men went wide eyed as they heard you. They slowly moved their heads to look at you. You looked between the two, frown lines appearing on your forehead. 

"It's nothing important right now my lo-"

"Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise for saving Duny for the both of you, and now, you have claim to his unborn child. Surprise!" It took you a second to take in the words Jaskier just blurted out. 

"W-what?"

"Congrats Mommy!" You felt like throwing up as you looked at Geralt, all your love being replaced with rage at that moment. He cowered a bit under your stare but you looked at Jaskier, plastering the world's biggest and creepiest smile. 

"Jaskier, please leave the room, for I am about to kill this Witcher brutally and I don't want you to watch."

The End... for now bwuahaha..

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[crowleyellestair]

Maybe... Injured! Geralt x freezing!soakingwet! Reader? Like reader is so focused on take care of Geralt (he's unconscious) they forget that they are in cold, wet clothes. Every inch of there skin is wet. They're so cold that they're shivering and their lips are a slight shade of blue. Hewakes up when reader is finishing taking care of his wounds. Reader is now shivering harder and Jask and Geralt kind of freak out. Angst but with a fluffy ending please (this is my last one for a while I swear)

AN//// Another amazing idea!! Keep em coming if you want, I love these <3

  Kayrans. Nasty sea dwellers that can live for decades, unnoticed, sinking ships and eating livestock close enough to the coastline. They are rare, and mostly found in the Pontar or the Gulf of Praxeda. Of course, those are known habitats, not rules, and creatures are allowed to migrate. The Nimnar river sat just before the Kestrel Mountains, branching from the Buine, arching to the town of Ghelibol. It was late autumn, and being in the north had put a toll throughout the area. Frost lasted till late morning, and kids weren’t allowed outside without an extra layer.  

 Wind carried nothing but silence as the trio scoured the area. Jaskier had huffed, watching as his breath tumbled out of him visibly. His arms wrapped tightly around himself as he plopped onto a tall rock, trying to get a great view of their side of the river. Geralt had been trying to listen in on the movement around him, but he couldn’t distinguish anything. The river was only partially frozen, the waterfall at the end of its wake throwing down a current from its high vantagepoint. He could distinguish the heartbeats of his companions, but the life below the ice bubbled together.

It was what caught Y/n’s attention that had gave the silence a deathly tone. The frost and dirt that rolled over the top had blurred her vision to the moving thing under the surface. She carefully kneeled down, brushing her leather clad hands over the ice cap, trying to clear the debris. An orange, reflective tendril slithered just out of view. The day had an overcast, light dull and dreary, and that is what cave the creature away. Y/n didn’t know much about types and attributes of fish, but she was sure no fish could reflect as bright on this kind of day. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword that was strapped to her hip. Her eyes remained to the ice, standing fully quickly, but careful to not lose her balance.

“Geralt. Here.” The warriors free hand pointed to the ice, and the witcher took a step towards her, away from the edge of the cap. “Tentacle looking thing. Are there any monster eels?” Jaskier was trying to make his way down safely from the top of the rock, but stopped to question her logic, his tone sassy.

“Eels that live by themselves and comes to shore, eating any animal that passes. Or is big enough to take down ships?” Y/n scoffed at his tone as she looked to the bard. Her stance had become relaxed, hand going to her hip.

“Ok, I was simply asking-.”

“Geralt!” The bards voice resonated in the dead air despite the open fields surrounding them and the river. Fear pierced the woman as she whipped her head to the witcher. Daggers flooded her veins, but not for fear of her own safety. There was an arsenal of emotions that lived in her whenever she thought of the White Wolf, and most of them pertain to love and caring. When she caught sight of what the bard had, a large orange tendril raised high and ready to strike, she knew that she would trade spots with the man in a heartbeat. Y/n’s mouth opened, but nothing would escape her tightened throat.

The wolf had easily dodged the appendage as it finally swung at him, pressing the flat face against the arm. He ran it against the scales while pushing it towards the ground, quickly cutting the bulb pulsing halfway up the length of the arm. His foot pressed it into the ice as it started to squirm, cutting into the opened bulb and severing its arm. Golden, worried eyes flew to the edges, yelling to his partners behind him.

“Kayran! Y/n, I want you off the ice.” The woman shuffling her way to the man while finally finding her voice once more.

“No chance. Go for those bulb thingies?” A low grunt could be heard, and she made another step towards him, but shattering ice could be heard immediately being her. Shards flew around her, and she heard Jaskier yell once more. She tried to steady herself, but her steadying step sent her straight through the ice. It wasn’t the first time it had happened in her life, so she didn’t flail. Her head popped back up after catching a glimpse of the creature. The body was closer to Geralt, and she knew she had to get out to warn him. Wiggling back onto the surface, trying to be quick, yet disburse her weight as much as possible, she watched as the ice became red around a kneeling Geralt.

The daggers she had felt before returned in full force. Her lung seazed, and her whole body felt hot. Her vision tunneled around Geralt, watching as he arched his sword, catching and slicing another bulb. That brought the Kayran to the brink, heaving its body onto the ice. The movement sent Y/n slightly back into the water, making her work harder to get back to her witcher. Geralt had two fend off two remaining tentacles, and by the time she had made it out ad to him, he cut another tendril. The creature shrieked, Geralt taking the opportunity of its open jaw to throw a bomb in.

Y/n threw herself under his arm, trying to help haul him off the ice, barley making it to the grass as the explosion shattered the rest of the ice cap. Y/n lowered the witch to the ground, calling to him. Her calls started to become gargled through the wetness behind her eyes. His skin was as white as now, blood splattering over his jaw. A shoulder paulron floated in the water, the tendril that hit him had ripped it off. The silver spikes and hardened leather cut through the meat that connected his neck to his shoulder, the gash deep. The bard’s hands were felt on her shoulders, but she easily shrugged him off. Furious eyes flew to him.

“Get the damn bags!” There was a response, but she couldn’t hear anything but ringing. Breathing became hard, and her whole body shook. Though, Y/n thought it was from fear.

Y/n had been a friend of Geralt’s for as long as the Bard had been, joining the two five years in. Y/n had been around to pick up the pieces burned from his heart in the aftermath of the toxic relationship he had shared with Yennefer. The only problem is that she hadn’t done anything with those pieces. She tried to glue them back to him with kind words and a caring hand, but the glue never seemed to dry. The warrior watched as he threw himself into contracts or brothels to try and forget the emotions he apparently wasn’t supposed to have. There had been multiple times where he had been on death’s door, but even then, she couldn’t bring herself to say something. While it broke her inside to be brought so close to never tell him how much she truly loved him, she was certain he didn’t feel the same. And because of that, she wanted him to be peaceful, not having to war over her confession as he passed into the afterlife.

Their medical chest was shoved into her, and her hands flew to her eyes trying to wipe away the tears. Jaskier’s lute calloused hand gently pressed a needle and surgical thread into her arm, and she leaned over Geralt brushing his hair away to get at his neck. Blood still poured, and she couldn’t wipe away much, but she could see the gash easy enough. Her fingers pinch the skin together, and she started to curse herself allowed for having a shaky hand.

“Y/n, let me.”

“No, I was backup, just-.” Her head leaned down, keeping her eyes close to the wound. It took what felt like hours, but really only minutes, to finally seal the wound. She grabbed White Honey, pouring some over the wound, and when nothing bubbled, she continued to clean in. A sharp breeze blew over the trio, and Jaskier stood between her and the brunt of it, his arms going around her again. Again, Y/n tried to shrug him off, her head snapping to look at him. “I need to focus-.”

“Y/n.” Her name was grunted from under her, and her heart skipped a beat. She turned, her hand grabbing Geralt’s cheek. Her smile was short lived as anger and worry flew over his features. Despite her small grunt of protest, Geralt shot forward. His hands clasped both of hers in one of his large ones, his other hand clamping behind her back, pulling her to his chest.

Y/n, confused, still let out a relieved sigh, feeling the heat of fear and adrenaline leave her body. Maybe too quickly. Why is she turning so cold? Once she tried to shift in his arms, she felt how tight her skin was. How even both Geralt’s and Jaskier’s hot breath felt like cold breezes. The bard left once more, stepping back to where he had been originally, picking up the discarded blanket. She looked to his angry eyes as he huffed, forcing the blanket around her shoulders, and back over Geralt. Her head fell onto the witcher’s uninjured shoulder as a wave of nausea hit. She could hear her hair crunch against his armor when her head fell, and she tried to stop the shaking that came from her body worse than ever before.

“If you throw that blanket off one more time,” Jaskier’s finger wagged as he threatened. “Geralt’s blood was already clotting at the edges, you could have used the half-second it takes to keep the blanket on.”

“Well-.”

“Y/n.” The wolf’s gruff tone rolled to her heart, tightening now not just from the cold, but from the twinge of failure. She hadn’t truly failed in anyway, but in her mind, his tone was displeased. It was, but she never wanted to hear it being presented towards her. “I would have been fine.” She tried to reply, but she had to pry her lips open, and when she had accomplished that, her voice waivered and her jaw continued to clamp close as she chattered.

“You don’t-t-t know that. I-it was ba-bad.”

“You don’t know that either.” Y/n forced her torso away from the man, regret unperceived yet as anger and worry flooded her.

“You wouldn’t-t open your…eyes, Geralt! For all I k-knew, you wouldn’t op-pen them again!” He huffed as he yanked her back against his chest. The bard’s hands were on her back, trying to rub heat back into it. The witcher tilted his head so her lips were flush against the corner of his own. When they landed there, a shiver racked through him, Y/n sighing at the heat flooding through their connected skin, feeling following and flooding her numbed parts. After a minute of the two trying to put heat back into their warrior, Y/n’s shivering was lessened immensely.

“I rather you be warm.” Geralt’s tone had softened once he felt her skin warm. She scoffed once more, her voice quiet, but finally even.

“How would you know if you had died?” She felt Jaskier’s fingers twitch on her back before they clench the blanket. The White Wolf pressing her face into his neck.

“If you had died from this. From helping me, even if I was brought to that point, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” The breeze once again carried silence, but only for a moment. “What would I have to live for if you were gone?” The woman’s heart pounded in her chest, and she nuzzled closer.

“I..I’m sorry. I feel the same, and I will happily trade my warmth for your safety.” Geralt tilted his head again, placing a kiss to where the corners of their lips meet.

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 11

masterlist

it’s 1:40 am and I finally finished proofreading this thing, thank god. in this chapter eivor and the reader fight it out, then fuck it out.

content warning for choking/breathplay, nudity, rough lesbian sex, spit and just general filth. if you’re not into that, you can stop reading when the reader and eivor go back to their hut and come back for the next chapter.

inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

Sapphism

“What are you talking about, Eivor?”

You were standing with your back to the wall of the longhouse, Eivor’s hands pinning your shoulders to the cold wood. Her eyes were full of rage and her face completely white with anger, making the red rune on her forehead stand out even more.

“I’m talking about you snuggling up with that little roach all day. Were you actually right where you belonged when I pulled him off of you the other night? Have I made a fool of myself chasing after you while you enjoy yourself with Norvid?” She spat out his name like a curse.

“Eivor, I did nothing of the sort! He apologized to me this afternoon and I forgave him, he was a drunken fool after all!” You shot her a meaningful look. “After that, he just kept appearing at my side, which was neither my desire nor my fault!”

She shook her head and now there was not only anger but also hurt in her gaze.

“I had you on my mind all day, through everything, and I come back to see you huddled together with Norvid, whispering sweet nothings and not even noticing me. What is it, did he offer you a bed to sleep in as well? Was I just a temporary solution until you found something better?”

You had enough of this nonsense. In one quick motion, you slammed down your hands on Eivor’s arms so her elbows bent and she had to let go of you. Then you grabbed her and pulled her around you, knocking her against the wall and pressing your forearm against the base of her throat. Her eyes widened in surprise. She could have easily fought you off and thrown you halfway through the village, but she stayed where she was.

“That’s enough!" you yelled. "I have never shared more than that stupid drunken hug with Norvid! He is a nice person and he just so happened to turn up at all the wrong times today. But that does not change how I feel about you! Put yourself in my shoes, I spent all day waiting for you!" Y ou added more pressure to your arm on her throat and saw the anger in Eivor’s gaze fade slowly, leaving behind only confusion and sorrow.

“Imagine running to meet your lover and being greeted with a blonde corpse!” You slapped her chest in frustration, tears streaming down your face. “I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how that felt? And when I finally saw you, you did not even look at me, not a single word of greeting. You did not even give me a chance to comfort you, to tell you what I had been waiting forever to tell you! Instead, you run away as soon as you see me talking to Norvid and ignore me for the rest of the day. And now this! What gives you the right to insult me like this, to put all the blame on me when all I wanted was to be yours ?!”

You let go of her and pressed your palms to your cheeks, trying to regain control of your breathing. Eivor stared at you, a storm of emotions washing over her face. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I wanted to tell you today. Tell you that I am ready to face this new year with you at my side, that I choose you for now and forever, that there is no one else I would rather give my heart to.”

Your chest was convulsing from the cries you were trying to hold back.

“But I cannot give you my heart anymore...” You let out a desperate sob and Eivor’s eyes widened in fear. “- because you have already stolen it from me the day you rescued me from my terrible fate and brought me here with you. I am yours, I have always been only yours. Why can’t you see that?”

Eivor pushed herself off the wall and started pacing back and forth. You turned around to her, waiting for the final blow. It felt like your heart was slowly eating itself, the pain was unbearable. Finally, the warrior turned to you.

“Freya’s tears. I have been so stupid.”

She took a few steps toward you and fell to her knees in front of you.

“Oh Y/N, I have been so terribly wrong. Gods, I was blind. Blind with love, with passion, with jealousy. I should have trusted you more, but I was so scared of losing you, I could not see that you felt the same. My love, will you forgive me one more time? I know I do not deserve it after all the pain I have put you through -”

She fell forward and wrapped her arms around your hips, pressing herself against your legs and looking up at you, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Please forgive me Y/N, forgive me for my foolishness! I promise to cherish and care for you for the rest of my life and eternity in the afterlife, I promise to never doubt or hurt you again. Just please, please, take me back. I love you!”

You gently placed your hand on the top of her head and traced the red sigil on her forehead with your thumb.

“Get up,” you whispered softly.

She stood up and took both of your hands into hers. Her skin was warm and rough, her fingers calloused from hard work and fighting. Her eyes were full of desperation and you could feel her breath on your face.

“I forgive you. I wish I could say this was the last time, but I know I could not hold the worst crime against you for long. Our hearts are bound together, as painful or wonderful that may be.” You brushed a strand of that beautiful blonde hair behind her ear.

“I love you, too, Eivor. I will love you fiercely, deeply, and sincerely until this world turns to ashes and even after that.”

Your hand rested on her cheek. Carefully, you raised yourself on your tiptoes, your faces now at eye level, Eivor’s shaky breath dancing over your lips. Time seemed to stand still when your lips finally met. Eivor’s lips were incredibly soft and did not move against yours, not yet fully taking in what was happening.

You kissed her again, with a little more pressure this time and finally, your drengr reacted. You both drew in a breath at the same time, desperate, as if you had been underwater for too long and now finally breached the surface. She wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you in, her lips still innocently closed until you ran the tip of your tongue over them. She opened her mouth for you and for a moment, you both just breathed each other’s air. Then Eivor pressed her lips to yours again, her tongue pushing against yours as she pushed you back against the wall.

When your back hit the wood, you let out a small whimper and Eivor immediately pulled back, concern on her face as she cupped your cheek with her hand.

“Have I hurt you?”

“No,” you mumbled before wrapping your hands around the back of her neck and burying your fingers in her beautiful blonde hair, gripping it tightly and pulling her closer. Something changed in her expression, a spark ignited behind those icy blue eyes and she kissed you fiercely, teeth clashing together and her tongue dancing around yours as her hands on your back wandered lower.

You lifted a knee to her side and she immediately picked you up, wrapping your legs around her waist and pressing you against the wall. You felt almost drunk, completely encased in the beautiful chaos of the last minutes. Was this really happening? Eivor rolled her hips forward against you and you sighed into her mouth. Yes, this was real. The tension between your legs was getting more unbearable by the second. You grabbed another fistful of hair and pulled the drengr’ s head back so she had to stare up at you, her throat exposed and her jawline as sharp as a knife.

“Take me to bed, Eivor.”

You could actually see her pupils widen, her eyes almost completely black as she slowly let you down. She took your hand, then you both walked in silence, passing the great bonfire and the people around it without paying them any mind, and finally rushing up the path to Eivor’s hut. She opened the door with shaky fingers. The room was dimly lit by the fireplace and Birna was still laying on Eivor’s clothes. You sighed in relief - you would have felt guilty for banishing her from the bed.

You had just stepped over the threshold when Eivor turned around, pushing the door shut behind you and trapping you between her and hard wood yet again. You leaned your head back against it and let your eyes wander over your lover’s face, her smooth forehead, her fiery eyes, the deep scar on her cheek, her chiseled cheekbones, the other small scar splitting her upper lip. You could not imagine how much pain and violence Eivor had seen in the course of her life.

You lifted a hand and slowly drew your digit along the scar on her cheek. She closed her eyes. You went on to her lip, feeling the notch where the scar was, a healing cut on her bottom lip, the soft skin on her chin. She swallowed as your hand wandered lower to her throat, caressing the little dent between her collarbones and then slowly pulling the strings that held the fur around her shoulders, loosening the knot and letting the fur fall to the floor.

In turn, Eivor gently slid her hands under your coat and slipped it from your shoulders. She smiled as her hands encased your waist, content with your choice of clothing.

“Beautiful,” she mumbled as she loosened the golden buttons on the short, pale blue overdress, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side. You were left in the forget-me-not-blue long linen dress that was closed with a golden brooch at the back. Giving Eivor an eager smile, you turned around and placed your hands on the door while you waited for her to open the brooch.

She gently brushed your hair to the front before opening the clasp and letting the dress slip to the floor. The only thing still covering your body was a long strip of linen wrapped around your hips and covering your most intimate places. Eivor softly whistled through her teeth and you suddenly remembered the runes Valka had painted on your skin. You could feel the drengr trace them with her fingers, slowly wandering down your back until your entire body was covered in goosebumps.

You turned back around and Eivor let out another small, surprised noise when she saw the rune on your chest. She lifted a hand and placed it between your breasts, closing her eyes as she took in the warmth of your skin. You opened the clasps on her belt and the holster around her chest, letting the heavy leather fall to the floor, then you pulled on the strings that closed her pants. They immediately fell to the ground and Eivor, now only wearing a tunic, stepped out of them, pulling you with her toward the bed.

She let you sink on the mattress first, then she lowered herself on top of you, her legs intertwined with yours. You placed both of your hands on her face and pulled her in for a kiss. It got heated quickly, the pressure of her thigh between your legs a godsend. When Eivor pushed her hips forward, grinding into you, you moaned into the silence, immediately covering your eyes in embarassment. What were you, a little harlot?

Eivor gently took your hand from your face, grinning down at you.

“Don’t hide. I love hearing your voice, especially when it tells me how good I make you feel.”

Before you could reply, she had pinned down your wrists next to your head and started kissing your jaw and your neck, nipping the soft skin there and sucking on it, making you arch your back involuntarily. You had to fight not to cry out when Eivor rocked her hips forward again, her hot breath in the crook of your neck and the skin tingling where she had bitten into it. Your fingers found her tunic and pulled it toward you, revealing the same undergarments and a tattooed back, muscles dancing under pale skin. Eivor let out an annoyed grunt and ripped the tunic over her head, throwing it to the side before returning to you.

She kissed her way down your chest, grabbing one breast while sucking on the other and leaving red marks where her mouth had been. You had seen those marks on some of the other maids and stableboys before, but you had never understood how they had come by them. Now you knew. Oh, what a beautiful pain.

Eivor’s lips wandered lower, softly kissing your stomach while your fingers frantically worked the linen around her chest until the strip finally loosened and you could pull it off. She was now kneeling between your legs and you felt a strange thill come over you. How perfectly scandalous, how hot, how wonderfully forbidden this moment was. Flushed and spread out before her, your Viking lover gloriously decorated with tattoos, her breasts illuminated by the light of the fire, her small, hard nipples standing out in the cool air.

She lifted up one of your legs and kissed her way from your ankle up to your hipbone, then her nose wandered over the thin fabric that still separated her from you. You knew far too well how drenched the linen was, how wet you were with anticipation, ready for her to take you, to do whatever she wanted with you.

But Eivor was slow, she was careful and gentle. You knew she was still scared of hurting you. You lifted up your hips and caught her gaze as she began to tug on the linen, revealing you in your entirety.

“I am all yours,” you whispered. “Only yours.”

She nodded, her eyes nothing but dark abysses of lust, and lowered her head, her breath on your sensitive skin sending shivers up your spine. Finally, she opened her mouth and dragged her tongue all the way from deep between your legs up to that sensitive spot that was already pulsating in tune with the drumming in your ears. You could not resist pushing your hips up against her and Eivor took that as a final yes, wrapping her arms around your legs and holding down your hips as she attacked your core with her mouth.

Her tongue that had been so soft at first was now roughly pressing against your folds, tasting your juices, prodding into you, and making your gasp her name. You lost all sense of direction and reason, dragging your nails over her shoulders and fighting against her hands on your hips, burying your fingers in her hair as you begged her for more. She took her time driving you to the brink of madness, one moment licking you with broad strokes, then flicking the tip of her tongue over that little bundle of nerves, then pushing it deep inside you, making you jerk up and fall back into the soft pillows. You were yearning for her to fill you, to put those long, strong fingers to use, but you could not bring yourself to ask.

When Eivor finally looked up at you, you saw a vicious gleam in her eye that could mean nothing else but her already knowing what you wanted and toying with you anyway. She knew you were still shy despite everything and she would not go any further without you asking for it.

“Eivor… more… please,” you mumbled while taking her hand and pushing it down between your legs.

“What do you want, dove?” She was teasing you and she knew you would have to oblige.

“Your fingers.” You felt yourself blush, but before you could think any further Eivor had pushed a slender finger inside you, just halfway, looking up at you as her pink tongue slowly ran up and down over your folds. Your breath stopped as you watched her push in further. You were mesmerized by her eyes, her magnificent mouth, and her digit that slowly curled inside you. Slowly, you let your head fall back and closed your eyes, feeling Eivor pump her finger in and out a few times before adding a second, stretching you out while dragging her tongue over you lazily. Your eyes rolled back into your head as she started stroking you faster, her mouth joining in the rhythm of her fingers until you started to feel a familiar pull between your hips, all of your muscles beginning to flex and cramp up as your breath got quicker and your whines louder.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking down at Eivor as you came closer and closer, your legs starting to shake on her shoulders. There was an explosion of heat in your core, sending sparks through your limbs and making you cry out in ecstasy. Eivor was still caressing you with her tongue, your flesh becoming more and more sensitive until you had to push her head away, breathing hard and not yet fully in control of your senses.

The blonde gave you a devilish grin and made her way up your stomach, then she kissed you hard. You could smell yourself on her skin and taste your juices on her tongue. It was incredibly dirty and so, so heavenly. Eivor wanted to roll off of you but you held her close.

“Lay on me, my love. I want to feel you, to prove that this is real.”

She hesitated for a moment, then she lowered herself down on you, resting her full weight on your body. You felt as if she might crush you, but it was the most wonderful feeling. You could feel her heartbeat echoing through your chest, the thin layer of sweat between you both, her hips pressing down on yours, her thick thighs between yours. Slowly, your hands wandered over her warm back, exploring the soft skin interrupted by old scars, the tiny hairs at the back of her waist, the linen still covering the parts of her you wanted to see the most.

Your hands wandered lower, caressing her firm, round ass and squeezing it playfully. Eivor immediately rolled her hips forward, chuckling into the crook of your neck. You hooked your thumbs under the linen bandages around her hips and she lifted them slightly so you could loosen them and pull them off to the side.

She let herself roll off to the side, one leg still between yours, both of you completely bare now.

“How do you feel, little dove? We don’t have to do anything you do not want, we can just sleep.”

Sleep was the furthest thing from your mind. You brushed some stray hairs out of Eivor’s face.

“I feel reborn. You truly are a master at anything involving your hands.” You grinned at her and she had to smile, too. You could almost swear she was blushing.

“Eivor, I never want to sleep as long as I can love you. I want to explore every inch of your beautiful body, I want to learn about every kind of pleasure from you. I want you to show me heaven with a single twist of your fingers.”

She placed the tips of her digit and middle finger on your bottom lip. You slowly opened your lips and sucked her fingers into your mouth, your tongue pressing up against them. Eivor’s mouth hung open in awe, her breath hot on your cheek. You kept eye contact as you sucked her fingers in all the way to the knuckle, your hand slowly making its way down her toned stomach. She was paralyzed by your gaze, incapable of doing anything but letting out a shaky sigh as your hand finally found soft curls and her hot, wet cunt. You had never felt anything like it. You wanted to make her feel the way she had made you feel before, make her moan your name, taste her and feel her, fuck her until she lost her mind.

You dropped her fingers from your mouth while pushing the leg she had draped over yours away so she lay open and bare, her legs spread wide for you. You drew your fingers along her drenched lips and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. Without thinking, you pushed two fingers inside her, moaning as you felt her soft walls encase you. Eivor gasped, pressing her forehead to yours. Slowly, you pulled your fingers out again and played with her pulsing lips, choosing to torture her some more.

“Again…” Eivor whispered. “More. Please.” She stretched her neck to kiss you and you dragged your tongue over hers, pushing your fingers inside her at the same time and relishing at the sound of her moaning into your mouth. Her cunt made a deliciously filthy noise as you continued to thrust into her, plastering wet kisses on her neck and chest.

Your drengr was writhing beneath you, her breath quick and her hands all over you as your mouth finally reached her hips. You dug your fingers into the firm muscles of her thighs as you settled between her legs, then you lowered your head and inhaled the wonderful musk of your lover, the familiar mix of sweat and tree bark, pine soap, and the sweet scent of her juices. Eivor was getting impatient, burying her fingers in your hair and pulling you toward her, yearning for some kind of friction.

With a sigh, you obliged and dove in. You had never even seen another woman’s private parts before, let alone touched them, but somehow it was the most natural thing. You dragged your tongue over her slowly, then you spread her lips with your fingers and began swirling your tongue around her pink nub, answered with hissing and cursing from the top of the bed. You decided to take it slow, lapping at her at a more moderate pace and massaging the insides of her thighs with your hands.

“More, please... Y/N, your fingers…”

You ignored her and when she pushed her hips up against you, you stopped altogether, giving her a stern look. She mumbled an apology and you had to force yourself not to laugh. She was all flustered and sulky, strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her cheeks flushed and her stomach convulsing every time you touched her. You began your slow pace again, your hands resting on her hips. She groaned but did not dare to rush you again.

Finally, you ate her out harder and faster, sucking on her folds, pushing your tongue inside her, drowning in her wetness and in sweet bliss at finally tasting your lover, having her all to yourself. You dragged your nails along the inside of her thigh and Eivor started whining as you caressed the skin just next to the center of her pleasure.

“Please, Y/N, dove, please don’t make me wait any longer, this is torture!” she cried out, her voice breaking in desperation.

You pressed your tongue to her pulsing nub and slowly pushed two fingers inside her. Her cunt sucked your fingers in eagerly, contracting around you as Eivor moaned in relief. You curled your fingers upward and she cried out your name, grabbing your free wrist so hard you were certain she would leave a bruise. Having found her sweet spot, you continued to fuck her while leaving lovebites on her hips and thighs, the sting making her hiss and close her thighs around your head. Her moans got raspier, her breathing faster and her curses more ungodly.

Just when you thought she would reach her peak, she hooked a leg under your hip and flipped you both around in one swift motion. You were now lying on your back and Eivor was straightening up on top of you, her thick thighs framing your face and her shins pinning your shoulders to the mattress. You took in the breathtaking view, her flushed face, looking down at you with blown pupils, her round breasts, her slender stomach, and her throbbing heat right over your mouth.

Eivor wasted no time getting back to where you left off, grinding down on your face and almost smothering you with that perfect, swollen cunt. You gave up any autonomy and just opened your mouth, reveling in the softness and the sweet and sour taste of her juices on your tongue. Eivor leaned back and braced herself on your hips. She looked glorious riding your face, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders and shining in the light of the fire, the droplets of sweat on her chest sparkling like diamonds. She threw her head back and moved faster, her moans getting higher and higher as you tried to control your breathing. You would have been happy to die right there on the spot, smothered by Eivor’s thighs as she found her release on your tongue.

And she did find it, panting and moaning on top of you, her legs beginning to shake as she pushed down into your mouth, her body twitching and her hands digging into your hips as she rode out her high. Breathless, she fell to your side and lay splayed out on her back, her eyes closed as she tried to regain control of herself. You were just as thunderstruck, staring at the ceiling and trying to comprehend how monumentally your world had changed in the course of an hour.

“You’re going to be the death of me, little bird. Tell me who taught you to torture a woman like that, I will kiss them and then rip their head off.” Eivor’s voice was shaky and as you turned your head, you could see her thighs still twitching. You reached out and gently brushed your fingers over her pulsing mound. She jerked up and slapped your hand away.

“Don’t make me punish you. You’ve done enough.” Her expression was stern, but her eyes were still cloudy from the high. You just threw her an innocent smile and she gave you her wonderful crooked grin.

You sat up. How could you tell her that this was your first time without scaring her off? She had been gentle with you at first, yes, but that was surely because she knew of her own strength and did not want to hurt you.

“No one taught me," you said. She raised her eyebrows.

“So you just naturally know your way around a woman’s loins and did everything right from the first time?”

You lowered your head.

“Well, you tell me. Did I?”

She sat up as well and lifted your chin with her fingers, forcing you to look at her. The fire lit her face from the side and her eyes were practically smoldering.

“Are you telling me this was your first time? Come on, don’t joke about those things.” You swallowed.

“It was. Forgive me for not telling you, I thought it did not matter. You were perfect, everything was perfect.” You cupped her cheek with your hand. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, concern, and astonishment.

“Freya’s tears,” she mumbled, “you should have told me. I would have been more gentle, more careful. My love, did I hurt you?”

You smiled at her, overwhelmed by your love for your gentle warrior.

“Eivor, as I said, you were perfect.” You crawled on her lap, straddling her thighs while holding her face in both hands. “In fact, you were almost too gentle. I am not made of glass, my fierce drengr .”

You licked your lips, grinding your hips against her. Eivor rolled her eyes at you. She wrapped one arm around you and held you tight to her chest, then she pushed herself up with the other and scooted up to the headboard, leaning her back against it. She ran her fingers through your hair, looking up at you in awe.

“Y/N, you are incredible. You amaze me every day.”

You placed a soft kiss on her lips before moving on to her jaw and down her neck.

“I’m learning from the best,” you mumbled against her skin and gently bit down. A small moan escaped Eivor’s lips and you rolled your hips forward again. Her hands wandered up your thighs and around to cup your ass, gently at first. As you left another love bite on her neck, her grip on your ass tightened and she began guiding your hips, rocking them against her, grabbing your cheeks so hard you felt your already wet cunt open up for her.

You moaned and pulled her hair back so she would look up at you. You could see her strained throat contract as she swallowed. She opened her mouth and you let a string of spit drip from your bottom lip onto her tongue. Her eyes were full of raw desire, a hunger that you had only seen in them when Eivor had set out for her last raid. A wave of heat came over you and you lowered your head, running your tongue over your lover's and mixing your spit with hers, your tongues dancing between you as more blood rushed between your legs and you could feel your own wetness run down your thigh.

You placed one leg between Eivor’s and began rocking back and forth on her thigh, her hands so tight on your ass you knew she would leave more marks. As you looked down, you could see her skin glisten where your dripping cunt had slid over it. The sight only made you hungrier and you pressed down on her, groaning at the friction. You grabbed Eivor’s jaw and made her look at you, then you pushed your thumb into her mouth, watching as she sucked on it, her hands never leaving your body. God, she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

One of her hands wandered further down between your cheeks and suddenly you felt her fingertips at your entrance. You let out a deep, almost feral moan as you pushed back against her and they slid in easily. Continuing to rub yourself over her thigh, you arched your back so Eivor could go deeper and she did, pushing them in to the knuckle and twisting them until your eyes rolled back and you could not even scream, your lungs giving out at the overwhelming sensation.

“More,” you whispered. Eivor grabbed you and threw you to the side. You landed on all fours, her fingers still inside you as she knelt next to your hips and thrust into you from behind. She added a third finger, filling you up, stretching you, and making you cry out first in pleasure, then in pain when her hand came down hard on your ass. You pressed your face into the mattress to stifle a scream. The sting was delightful.

Eivor was ravenous, thrusting into you at a relentless pace, slapping your ass again and again, the sound ringing in your ears and the sharp pain making your blood rush. You were almost there, a whining, moaning mess beneath your warrior, and she knew. She reached around your stomach with her other hand and began rubbing circles into your pulsing flesh, brushing the rough pads of her fingers over your sensitive nub, riding the knife’s edge of not enough and too much. You saw nothing but red, heard nothing but the wet sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of you and her groans, then something inside you dissolved and your high hit you like a gigantic wave. It knocked the wind out of your lungs at first, then it made you scream out, Eivor’s fingers pressing on the perfect spots inside and out as your juices covered her hand and you collapsed on the bed, devoid of all control of your muscles.

Eivor lifted you up with ease, pulling you into her arms so your head could rest on her shoulder and pulling the thick quilt over your body. Her fingertips caressed your back as you fought for air and she pressed her lips against the top of your head, humming into your hair.

“I think you broke me,” you mumbled, your voice cracking. Eivor chuckled and pulled you closer.

“I think I finally wore you out for the first time. I always wondered during training how much you would take without complaining or tiring, now I know.”

You wanted to protest, to tell her you were still ready for more, but you could not even lift your head. Instead, you sighed and asked for a kiss. Eivor smiled at you and gently pressed her lips against yours.

“Sleep now, my precious dove. We have all the time in the world.”

The last thing you felt was Birna jumping on the bed and curling up at your feet. You had completely forgotten about her. Sending her a mental apology, you drifted away into a dreamless sleep.

-

When you woke the next morning, you were no longer in Eivor’s arms. Your eyes flew open in alarm - had she left again? But she was still next to you, a thin blanket covering only her legs and hips while her bare chest lay free, her muscular arms thrown over her head. Her long, blonde hair was splayed out on the pillow around her head, making it seem as if she was blessed with a halo. Her breath was deep and steady, her mouth hanging slightly open. God, she was a sight to behold.

The next thing you noticed were your sore muscles. Every part of your body hurt, partly still from training, partly from what had happened last night. You felt blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of what you and Eivor had done. How excitingly forbidden, how perfectly blasphemous, how deliciously vulgar it had been to finally give yourself to the woman you loved. And for her to give herself to you as well. You laid flat on your back and stretched your arms over your head, trying to get rid of some of the pain, but it was no use. You closed your eyes and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep again.

The second time you woke, you kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, drinking in the beauty of the morning. The fire was crackling again - Eivor must have already woken up and started it - and the air was so warm you had balled up the blanket next to you in your sleep and now lay naked on the mattress. You could feel Eivor lying next to you, the heat radiating off her body and her breathing, now different than before. She was no longer asleep.

“I know you’re awake,” came her voice from next to you and you opened your eyes, turning your head to look into the deep blue eyes of your lover. She gave you a vicious smile.

“Spread your legs.” You blinked at her in confusion, instinctively closing your thighs at first. Blood rushed right to your core and you noticed how swollen you were, your cunt still sticky from last night’s juices and already wet again, ready for your drengr to take you. You felt untamed and fantastically filthy.

“Eivor, I’m still so sore from yesterday,” you whined, but you knew your eyes were saying something entirely different, wandering over her lips and down to her breasts, finally resting on her hand that casually waited on the bed between you.

“Open up,” she ordered, her voice deeper and more stern. Slowly, you opened your knees and let them fall to the side, the muscles in your thighs screaming at the strain.

Eivor’s hand began to move over your breasts, your nipples hardening right away at the mere thought of her touch. She rolled one of them between her fingers and you gasped at the sensation. Her fingers slowly brushed over your stomach and hipbones, then she scooted closer, bracing herself on her elbow and cupping your mound with her hand. You could not keep your hips still and they buckled up into her touch.

She hummed in satisfaction, then one of her fingers dipped into your pooling wetness and dragged it up between your folds. You bit your lip to keep yourself from crying out, but Eivor gave you a fierce look and you let your mouth hang open, taking a deep breath to brace yourself for what was to come. Before you could tell what was happening, she had pushed three fingers deep inside you, sending shockwaves through your body. Eivor swallowed your moan with a deep, wet kiss, then she began pumping her fingers in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace, opening you up for her and making you hers.

After a while, she sat up and knelt between your legs, her eyes fixed on your swollen cunt and her fingers inside you. Slowly, she reached down and her hand vanished beneath the dark curls at her center. She looked down at you through half-closed eyelids, her tongue quickly running over her bottom lip before she let out a low groan. Part of you wanted to get up and touch her, another part wanted to lay down and watch her in all her glory.

Eivor made that decision for you when she lifted one of your legs and scooted closer, straddling your thigh at first. Then she rolled her hips forward against you and your cores suddenly touched. It was like nothing you had ever felt before. Hot and wet, her pulse beating against yours, connected at your most intimate points as Eivor let her head fall back and groaned your name. You quickly found a perfect pace, both of you grinding your hips together and interlocking your fingers with each other as your voices got louder and your moans got higher.

You were close and you could tell Eivor was, too. You wanted to reach the peak with her, to experience this high together. She lowered her head and your eyes met. Her movements got smaller and she increased the pressure, the smacking noises of your cunts rubbing against each other filling your head along with the rush of your own blood.

“Come for me,” Eivor growled and just like that, you were over the edge. You held on to her hand for dear life as you watched her arch her back and cry out on top of you, both of your moans and whines building a beautiful song of pleasure.

Your warrior collapsed on top of you and you relished in the feeling of her weight pressing down on your chest, her body encasing yours and shielding you from the world while you laid in intimate togetherness and breathed each other’s air.

After a few moments of silence, Eivor let herself fall to the side and stroked your cheek with her thumb. Her gaze was full of love.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back, wrapping an arm around her waist.

A meow from the door made you both lift your heads and look over to a grumpy Birna. Eivor laughed.

“I’m sorry my dear, I will free you in a moment. You will get a feast from me tonight, I promise.”

She turned to you.

“Fancy a bath?”

-

Author’s note: As always, thank you for reading, I hope you’re doing well! If you like my work, feel free to drop me a message or buy me a coffee 💕

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Linked Universe: Our Nightly Confidant 1

Wind From Home

Twilight considers himself a simple man. A farmer at heart, even if he has the hands of a hero. He's grown in a small village, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. Community is a sense that's been cultivated in him as well as pumpkins on a sky island (whatever that saying means).

He loves his brothers and his sort of dad. This quest... he doesn't want to say it's a blessing. It isn't. The monsters threaten many. Their group hasn't always saved everyone. It's no blessing that hurts so many. But he can't help rejoice the opportunity to meet so many heroes. To find his place in the legacy of the Hero of Courage.

As a Hylian from a human village, he's never worried about his place, but he does find peace in belonging to a group with no such innate distance.

He's one of the oldests, weird as that is. Most of the group are like little siblings to him. Weird, insane and irreverent little shits that give him grey hair. No, he's not thinking exclusively about Wild (Wild's a special case). He's attuned to their moods.

Four asked if he had a special sense for this, the second time he'd done it. A 'special' sense, he had insisted in the middle of their training camp, meaning wolf senses. No. Twilight doesn't feel one side of him bleeds into the other. It's not like that.

It's not what makes his eyes trail after Wind today. His youngest brother (barely losing to Colin by a season) is currently laughing his ass off on a tree stump over Warriors tripping on Legend's items. It is denied, not very convincingly, that the items weren't left there on purpose. Little shits, he's telling you.

The truth is more down to earth, the way Twilight likes it. Dogs train themselves to recognize hylian expressions. They know what sadness and joy and anger look like all too well. They know when to cheer their big two-legged friends. And a wolf? Well, a wolf better learn fast the difference between a real smile and a fake if it doesn't want to end up stuck in a bear trap.

***

First watch is always a bit nerve wracking. Unlike second and third watch, Twilight can't just shift into wolf form to sniff out enemies and make sure the whole forest is secure. Links don't fall asleep easily. Legend wakes up at the slightest noise for the first two hours he looks asleep. Time might just stare at the sky the whole night, not getting a wink of sleep. Sometimes, Twilight himself just... can't stop thinking. Wondering where she is now. If she's alright. If Ordon's safe without him. Once in a while, he'll close his eyes and hear Lumi crying, and Uli's quiet steps to shush her.

The other half of the time, it's staying asleep that's the problem. The Goddesses know they all have plenty of material to fuel their nightmares (he's never forgetting Yeta's face, he's resigned to that).

When the moon's path has almost reached its zenith, Twilight hears the first few moans. His heart drops. He hoped. But he's not surprised. Sometimes, the heart can't take the weight of the mask people plaster on.

It starts small. It always does.

For a time, it's mostly sniffles and choked sobs. Then a small 'I'm sorry.' Twilight grimaces. None of them show their scar easily. The deep scars, at least. Wind wouldn't appreciate an audience. Unfortunately, Twilight can't exactly leave. The next best thing however is to try and cut it short.

So, decision made, he creeps around camp, places himself behind Wind and shakes his shoulder. (Carefully. The group collectively learned not to take sleeping Links lightly. At least, Sky had laughed out the black eye with grace.)

“Hey, Sailor,” he whispers, hoping none of the others react. “It's your turn.”

In truth, it's a touch early for that. But he knows he made the right call when Wind rubs his eyes and freezes at the wet feeling on his fingers. He'd been in the middle of turning around, but he immediately fakes a stumble and buries his face in his rolled up blankets instead. It's a good cover to wipe tears without being too obvious.

Twilight would be impressed if that didn't send pangs of worry through his chest. Oh, Wind...

“Mrm,” Wind mumbles. “One minute?”

“Sure, I gotta take a leak anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” Wind waves him off from under the blanket.

Twilight smiles to himself. He should ask Wind to direct a play next time they visit his Hyrule. Queen Zelda was always in need of entertainment for the stuffy dignitaries. Jackasses couldn't crack a smile if they were whipped.

That faint irritation pushes him toward the end of the camp line, out of the clearing. Once he's out of sight and hearing range, he grabs onto his cursed necklace and sneaks through the underbrush. His senses make navigating through the twigs and branches child's play, and the lack of any pig-like stench reassures him that there's no malice-infected monster around. In less than a minute, he has circled around the camp and positioned himself the near opposite of where his hylian form left through. Generally, people don't make the association if he leaves a few minutes tick by. Out of sight, out of mind.

It's a bit embarrassing how well that trick works.

Wind's head is turned in the direction he disappeared earlier. Skittish, like a rabbit looking out of its hole. Wind must be waiting for him to return from his manly business, which is a bit of a lost bet at the moment. Seconds tick with only the faint brushing of leaves on his fur and the nightly wind for company. Then, all at once, Wind stands up and stomps his way to the stump Twilight had been using for his turn at the watch.

“Damn it!” Wind curses under his breath. The tears are held at bay, barely. “There's no way he didn't see... calm down, calm down dammit, he's gonna come back soon!”

A small boot kicks off some dirt. Twilight flinches in his hiding spot. That's more anger than expected. He's not sure what to do with that. None of them like vulnerability. None of them are used to being allowed vulnerability. He's worked on Wild and Time for a while now, and he's making progress, even if it's only them opening up to him.

It's that same instinct that pushes him to walk through the bush and reveal himself. He's as non-threatening as a large wolf can be, but Wind still whirls around with his sword drawn. Recognition is a second slower.

“Wolfie!” Wind whisper-yells. “Bad dog! I almost skewered you!”

Twilight raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. He is most certainly not a bad dog, and he is quite experienced at dodging last second hits by flailing, surprised preys. Not that he even thought of Wind as prey, never, but Wind didn't have to imply he'd be that stupid.

“Oi, what are you looking at?” Wind grumbles, dropping back on his tree stump. “Stupid dog...”

Twilight fights the urge to growl. He's here to help, not pick a fight. Unfortunately, his struggle had been obvious, because Wind deflates and sheaths his sword.

“Sorry. It's just... I'd been doing so well so far,” he whispers. “Even if they're big mother cuccos about me sometimes, they still listened to me.”

Twilight feels his tail curl between his legs. He knows he's overprotective. He knows it's annoying Wind, but he can't help it when every other time they fight, he sees Colin rushing into the path of King Bulblin.

“Hey, hey, don't be sad.” Wind cajoles, patting his knee like an invitation.

Twilight's too happy to question the change. He plops his chin on Wind knees and looks up. Small, calloused hands run into his fur.

“Do you have family, Wolfie?”

… What? For a second, he slips out of grasp just to better stare at Wind. Then, he sniffs his breath for a second, and whilst there's a fair amount of onions there (dental hygiene, Sailor!), no traces of booze anywhere. So, he softly woofs, tilting his head to the side.

“Do you have a she-wolf and a litter of little pups that trip all over themselves? I bet you're a good dad, aren't you?”

Twilight can't help the shocked whine that burst out of his throat, nor the flattened ears on top of his head. Him? A dad? He was far too young for that! Being a brother to Wild alone was trouble enough as it was, fatherhood remained firmly beyond his grasp. Besides... it wasn't like he had someone with whom...

“Aww,” Wind cooed, scratching behind his ears, “I didn't want to scare you, Wolfie. I just thought you take good care of us, s'all. I bet you'll be a good dad someday.”

Flattered as he is, he can't help puff and huff into Wind's shirt. He's a noble beast, talked down to like a lap dog. At least, he successfully distracted Wind from what nightmare he had.

Together, they listened to the crackling embers, moving only when the flames needed another log or when a critter stumbled too close to camp (a very curious rat that scampered when it met Twilight's eyes).

“How much did he drink?” Wind mutters, a bit later. “Did he pass out with his breeches down?”

A low growl rumbles into his chest. The disadvantage of others not knowing he's Wolfie is hearing that kind of crap about himself. He's a misunderstood man condemned by the judgemental Links of the world.

“What? Don't like him? Twilight's okay. Most of the time. Like, he saw me cry. I know he did. He knows I know, but he still pretended not to... you know?”

Twilight's best deadpan glare expresses that yes, he knows. More importantly, he puts a paw on Wind's chest, making a small inquisitive noise. Why? Did he need to share it with a very innocent wolf that doesn't judge anyone and anything except Warriors' morning hair?

The fragile grin on Wind's face falters. His eyes dart around. “I... it's not like... You won't laugh, right?”

Twilight nods emphatically.

“It's nothing too bad. I just miss my sister and my grandma.”

Oh, Wind...

“... Please don't tell the others,” Wind said in a tiny voice. “They already have a hard enough time taking me seriously. I don't want them to think I'm being a baby who cries about his family.”

The confusion can't overtake the lance of shame and heartbreak that spears through Twilight's body. Had... had they pushed Wind into this? Made him think that because they hide their tears, they'd laugh at his?! Goddesses... Uli would smack him with her wooden spoon for making a mess like this.

Again.

He might have been a bit overbearing once his quest had ended. Colin had been happy about the attention... the first three days or so. Afterward... well... Uli and Rusl had taken him aside, put their feet down and helped him let go of his dead grip on his little brother's safety. And half the monsters he'd faced had nothing on the challenge of letting Colin make his own mistake. He thought he'd gotten better about this.

But he might have forgotten Wind was not nearly as tolerant or hesitant as Colin.

“I'm a Hero too. I'm strong. Why would I cry over nothing? My grandma and my sister are fine. I bet we'll be portaled in my Hyrule soon and I'll have worried for nothing and Twilight and Warriors will be right to treat me like a fragile little boy again.”

He's not. They all know he's not. He's just... the youngest. The most cheerful, most innocent, most... most well-adjusted of them all, and they want so badly for Wind to keep that. He's a wonderful young man. They're all so proud, so impressed with him.

He's gonna have a few conversations with Warriors and Time tomorrow. Goddesses!

“Hey, Wolfie... I know you don't like being around too long, but... Do you mind staying a bit?”

Twilight chuffs, stubbornly burying his face even deeper in his little brother's shoulder. As if someone would be able to pry him off Wind before morning.

***

“Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?”

Wind looks up sharply, startled but unwilling to admit it. He'd been polishing that long view of his by himself. “What?” he says, and there's an implied 'the fuck?!' in there. Pirates...

Twilight brushes the grass and then sits on the hill, staring past the coast at the red sun. “My father told me that, the day before I left on my quest. Neither of us knew then I'd have a quest soon, of course. But it stuck with me.”

For a long time, Wind's expression shifted between fascination, embarrassment and a bit of confusion. Twilight really needed to teach him how to maintain a poker face before he played cards with Warriors again. Still, there's no rush.

For all that it tears him in half, dusk also has a way to sooth his old aches. It's a peaceful time. A moment when the day dies, when the living settle and close their doors.

“It's the horizon, for me,” Wind admits. “When I... the first time, I'd never ever left my island, and all of a sudden, I had to leave because that huge ass bird had kidnapped my sister. So I had to leave my home for the first time, and I was on Tetra's boat, staring at Outset Island shrinking and shrinking till it was gone. Even when I pulled out my sister's long view, all I could find was the waves of the Great Sea.”

“Ah, a boar and a bulblin got my brother, my childhood friend and a bunch of kids. Knocked me right out with a hit to the head.”

Wind pulled his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “Well... I didn't get hit or anything, but Tetra threw me out of a cannon so I could infiltrate the fortress. Hit my face pretty hard too. That counts?”

“It wasn't a competition!” Twilight laughs, ruffling Wind's hair. It causes a flinch, and that's the light-hearted mood gone. Great. Twilight breathes through his nose. “You know, sometimes, I really want to smack my dad upside the head.”

Wind blinks. “... Okay?”

“Every goshdarn time I see the sun set, I remember him and my mom and my brother and sister, and... home. Every sunset reminds me of home. Makes me miss it so bad. Now I can't help feel that strange sadness every time.”

Silence.

A snort.

“Goddesses damned!” Wind wheezes out through his laugh. “He...”

“Yup,” Twilight says, leaning his chin on his fist. “He didn't think that one through. Bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, ain't it? So, I do want to make him think before he spouts philosophy at me.”

“Hey, hey, Twilight!” Wind says, impish, tugging on his sleeves. Then, the second he has Twilight's attention, he puts on the most serious face he ever wore. “Do you ever feel a strange sadness... as you put on your pants?”

“You little shit,” he says, brimming with affection.

Wind, not to be undone, jumps to his feet. “Do you ever feel a strange sadness... as you drink milk?”

“Oi,” Twilight stands after him, darting right after the brat.

“Not the strange sadness of being chased by a goatherd!”

Two minutes. Two minutes and six variations of the most profound saying his farmer dad told him. Butchered. Butchered like a lame goat in winter. Twilight is both furious and delighted and it might be why, when he does catch Wind, he unleashes the noogie from hell.

Wind's screams, so closely related to that of a dying piglet, are very satisfying. Worth the kicks to the ribs.

And when retribution is served, Twilight shifts the hold into a one-sided hug with the smooth grace of a man who regularly pretends not to be the wolf that is never seen with him. Wind freezes, realization sharp on his face when he notices the tears gathering in Twilight's eyes.

“But the first thing I'd do if I saw him tomorrow... is hug him. Tell him I'm glad he's okay and that I missed him. Then I'd smack him and run for the hills, because Rusl happens to be the only guy in my village that knows how to use a sword.”

After a whole body shudder, Wind gives up and buries himself in his big brother's shoulder.

[ardenssolis]

@caemthe​ said (inbox):

[ fantasy, conall ] The first times he had arrived at this kingdom, in an official manner at least, he had been one of the guests, just one of King Conchobar's nephews. But this time he was one of the warriors tasked with protecting the nobles during the trip. Despite his terrible reputation, Conall's skill had shown that he was worthy of one of the most important tasks outside of the battlefield. And now, the young wolf looked quite pleased despite the fact that it was already time for his homeland's diplomats to leave, which meant he wouldn't be able to see the prince for months.

And yet, he was smiling, crimson eyes locked on the prince while some servants took care of the last details and Cathbad the druid talked with this land's king. "You look like you've got something to say, princess." More like something to 'do' because of the bet he made with the other a few days ago while training. "Your face is turning really red... So whatever it is you have to do or say, hurry it up, so you can have a doctor check on you soon." Conall really was the worst!

     HONESTLY, OZYMANDIAS HAD THOUGHT that Conall would have forgotten about that sparring incident. It had been a few days since it had transpired, and thus, surely they had other things on their mind than something as trivial as a kiss. The training had been enlightening since he did learn quite a bit from fighting with the other just as he knew he would, yet at the same time, Conall sure had been smug about his ‘victory’ at the end of it all. Arms crossed over his chest as he watched his father speak to Cathbad, no doubt wishing them safe travels and the like as they returned to their homeland. It was then that his gaze came to meet with Conall’s, those bright eyes practically gleaming with a kind of mischief that said quite a lot without the other boy needing to open his mouth and speak. ❝My face is red because the temperature is a little hotter today,❞ he huffed, cheeks beginning to burn far more than from the sun’s rays. This brat! He really did remember that aggravating little bet! Ozymandias had thought he would land at least one hit on the Mactíre, but there was a clear difference in combat experience and skill between them…

     Aggravating!

     Did he really have to do all of this? Kissing the other in front of everyone? How much embarrassment could the young prince take? He was already sporting aching muscles still from holding that sword and attempting to keep up with the other boy. Being knocked flat on his back a few times or losing his weapon had been terrible enough, but at least he could suck up his pride with that. This was an entirely different matter altogether! Whatever! The sooner he finished this the sooner he could try to collect his dignity and act the very image of how a prince should be. Grumbling softly so soft that not even Conall would be able to make heads or tails of what was said, he stepped closer, reached out and grabbed the other’s shirt and then proceeded to pull them closer. It was so abrupt that he nearly bumped heads against them, just managing to narrowly avoid that potential disaster as he pressed his lips against theirs (or more like crushed). It was clumsy, it was atrocious, but the abruptness of it all did help quell his nerves.

     Pulling away, he cleared his throat, not wanting to look and see whose eyes were lingering upon them as he reached out to brush his fingers along the front of the other’s clothing in an attempt to straighten their appearance. ❝For luck, I guess. Not that you need it.❞ Whoever chose to fight Conall was the one who was going to need luck. Quickly he turned away, practically marching away from the other as color remained upon his cheeks and with each step he was half-tempted to just flee. Idiot! Fool! That damn Conall---!

[antiloquist]

With Passion and Fervor

Lord help me, I’m back on my bullshit.

Hildibrand/female Viera Warrior of Light. Rated E. CW for heat cycles.

Summary: The Warrior of Light gets hit with an unexpected heat at what might be the worst time possible. The only person there to help her? Agent of Inquiry Extraordinaire, Hildibrand Manderville! It would probably be far less embarrassing if she didn't have a huge crush on him.

(Spice under the cut!)

You really shouldn’t have ignored the warning signs. The slight vertigo, the sudden full-body sensitivity, the hot flashes… they were all signs that your heat was bearing down on you. Foolishly, you’d simply figured you were coming down with something and decided to take it easy in Kugane for a few days to recover. But no… it couldn’t be this early, could it? You’d just had your last one a few months ago, which you’d managed to tamp down with the usual suppressants as you knew it was coming. But this time, you’d had nothing to curb it with and once it was in full swing, it was too late anyway. Maybe it was the stress of everything you’d been through over the past few months, running back and forth between Ala Mhigo and Doma for this and that. When things finally slowed down, when you finally had a chance to catch up with your friends that you had outside your circle as the Warrior of Light… boom. It had also picked the worst possible time to hit you. That time just happened to be in the middle of the day, right near the busy streets of Kugane, while you were walking with (of all people) your good friend Hildibrand. The two of you were investigating the possible merits of the recently captured Kugane Wolf Burglar when suddenly everything got far too intense for your liking. That was, it was suddenly too warm, too loud, too… smelly. Not to mention that deep inside you you had an ache you couldn’t deny. No, you were far past denial. You were in the middle of a raging heat in public. Twelve take you. You hit the ground before you even realized you were falling, sounds and sights a blur around you. For a moment, you laid on the pavement, spinning and aching. You were burning up, burning to a crisp. Hells, you’d take fighting Ifrit again over this. It was too hot and you were wearing too much and- Faintly you were aware of someone calling your name. You cracked open one eye to see a very concerned Hildibrand, crouched right above you. (Looming, powerful, ready to take-) “My friend!” he exclaimed when he saw that you were finally looking at him. “Are you alright? You suddenly collapsed!” Before you could respond, Hildibrand had whipped off one of his gloves and was pressing a bare hand to your forehead. The contact felt as if Ramuh himself had come down upon you with a Shock Strike, and you moaned softly. “Oh dear, this is not good at all! You’re burning up!” “H-Hildy…” you replied weakly, trying to sit up. When the act of moving made you dizzy all over again, you gave up, flopping back down and hoping the pavement would swallow you whole. This had gone far beyond embarrassing; this was downright mortifying. It was fortunate, at least, that you’d chosen a relatively quiet side street to collapse upon. The last thing you needed was a crowd of onlookers surrounding you. You turned to the side, curling up in a ball and shuddering as the feel of concrete against your skin was multiplied by your condition. “We must get you assistance immediately!” You nodded hazily. Yes, assistance. Assistance in the form of a strong mate to take you and take care of you was what you needed. Wait. No. You were in public, you couldn’t lose yourself here. “I-I need…” Thoughts were hard to come by, your mind swimming. You took a deep breath in through your mouth, careful not to breathe in the scent of everyone around you. “I just need to rest, Hildy. Give me a moment and I can get up and get back to the inn.” Hildibrand shook his head. “Nonsense! I shall carry you there myself!” “Wait, n-“ Any potential response was cut off by Hildibrand scooping you up into his arms bridal style. The shock of it combined by the disorientation of being moved so suddenly caused you to inhale in a gasp. The most prominent scent near you was, of course, Hildibrand. He gave off a powerful musk that was normally undetectable. During your heat, however, it was all you could perceive. Up until your collapse, it had been distracting but manageable. Now it was overwhelming. You groaned as Hildibrand cradled you against his chest. He felt so solid, so strong- “Yes, I know, you are capable of caring for yourself. You have told me this many times! However, I cannot in good conscience leave you to battle this illness alone on the streets of Kugane! What kind of gentleman would leave his comrade in such a state?” It seemed he’d mistaken your vocalization of lust for one of frustration. That… was probably for the better, as the last thing you wanted right now is for him to know in what manner he was currently occupying your thoughts. Hildibrand started off towards the inn at a brisk pace, taking care not to jostle you as he did. You buried your head in his chest so that the motion blur of people around you wouldn’t make you sick. Of course, this just made your scent problem worse. Lesser of two evils, you supposed.

By the time he’d gotten you up to your room door, you barely had the brainpower to undo the lock. Instead, you were consumed by thoughts of what it would be like for the man currently carrying you to pin you to the mattress and- “On the bed?” Yes, on the bed, over the table, against the wall- Wait. That wasn’t what he meant. “Yes, please,” you gasped. Hildibrand deposited you (somewhat unceremoniously) on the bed, and the soft surface was a welcome feel against your sensitive, overheated skin. He then stood over you, contemplating his next steps. (Again with the looming-) “Hildy…” Gods, he was so tall, and he looked so powerful standing above you like this. It would be so easy for him to just move forward and pin you down and- “Is there aught I can do for you, my friend?” You clamped your mouth shut before you could reply ‘breed me’. Instead, you took another deep breath through your mouth before you started talking. “I think all I need is some rest and-“ “Ah, I know! I shall procure you some soup! Mother dearest always did the same for me during my boyhood illnesses, and now I shall do so for you!” He gave you his signature flex and grin, and the heart flutter it usually incited in you was amplified to a full on shiver of desire. Hildibrand, of course, misinterpreted this. “My word, why didn’t you say you were cold!?” Before you could protest, he had shed his jacket and placed it gently on top of you. “There, that should help! Now where was I? Ah yes, soup! I shall procure you the heartiest of broths at once!” And just like that, he was off. Classic Hildibrand. You looked down at the jacket he had given you. It was only a few days old, his last one having been shredded in pursuit of the Kugane Wolf Burglar. Nonetheless, it had had plenty of time to accrue his scent, and he’d left it here with you... Oh gods, you couldn’t. That would be so weird! But you were aching so badly… In a flash, you’d stripped off your clothing. The feel of the soft sheets against you was like a gentle caress, and you moaned. You pressed your nose to the collar of Hildibrand’s jacket and inhaled, your head falling back with near delirium at the strong musk that lingered on the article of clothing. You’d always liked him. How could you not? He was such a kind and valiant man, giving his all to help others and expecting nothing in return. He was selfless and determined and everything you aspired to be. Despite the world seeming at odds with him on a daily basis, he faced every challenge with a flex and a smile. He treated everyone equally, even you who had felled gods and liberated nations. You were never the ‘Warrior of Light’ to dear Hildibrand, you were just… you. He was merely happy to have you along for the ride as a friend and confidant. Never once did he think of you as simply an asset or a weapon. And you loved that, you missed it when he wasn’t there. And that was just his personality. It didn’t hurt that he was also a very handsome man. It was easy for some to overlook, given his penchant for making silly expressions, but you never forgot it for a second. Tall, well-dressed, well-groomed (save for the odd explosion or other mishap)... gods, what a catch. With one hand pressing the fabric of Hildibrand’s jacket firmly to your nose, you slowly snaked the other down your body, each brush of your fingertips leaving a flame trail of sensation in its wake. Would that it could be his hand instead of yours. He’d always had such nice, big hands. Without hesitation, you slid two fingers inside yourself, meeting absolutely zero resistance. You were sure you were already making a mess of your sheets but that was something you would worry about later. Right now you needed to relieve this ache before it drove you mad. As you tended to yourself, you imagined Hildibrand standing above you, his russet eyes wide with lust and interest as he watched. What would he do? Would he lay his hands upon you at your request? Or would he be too bashful to do so? You could see it going either way. You’d seen him in (innocent) action, though, and gods, he was so strong… It would be so easy for him to move you this way and that as he took his pleasure and took care of yours. You envisioned him above you, pinning your wrists to the mattress as he roughly took you, heated kisses swallowing your cries of pleasure. But that really wasn’t his style, was it? Hildibrand was a lover, not a fighter. He frequently talked about how he eschewed roughness and violence and you figured that would likely extend to the bedroom as well. Would he take his time with you, then? Would he savor each caress, each curve of your body? As you inserted a third finger, you could almost feel the touch of his hands as they traced your form with reverence. Yes, he would be a gentleman throughout, wouldn’t he? You let a moan of his name slip from between your lips as you imagined his own slowly traveling down your body, planting heated kisses all over. He could still manhandle you as much as he wanted, of course. You wanted him to put that godlike strength of his to good use. In your mind’s eye, you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he picked you up to carry you gods-know-where for a round whose number you’d long lost track of. “Hildy… Hildy,  please…” Finger number four made its entrance as you sped up your pace, pumping in and out and wishing all the while it was his thick cock instead. Your thumb worked at your clit as salacious wet sounds filled the room. Oh yes, you were close. This wouldn’t sate you, of course, but it would allow you a few scant moments of rest before your biology riled you up once more. You took in another deep breath of his scent as you imagined him flipping you onto your stomach and taking you from behind. The force would be enough to make the bedframe knock against the wall, and there wouldn’t be a soul in this inn that didn’t know what you were up to. “Hildy… I need you, Hildy… please, take me…” You imagined him finishing inside you, filling you to the brim with seed that was sure to take and grow and provide you with what your body so desperately craved. (Never mind that you were still under the effects of a long-term contraception spell you had refreshed every so often) Not only was he a strong mate, he would be a caring one too. You knew he’d pamper you through every step of what was inevitably to come of your coupling. Maybe that’s what attracted you to him, the promise of being treated well. As you neared your peak, your cries became louder and higher in pitch. You were being noisy but at this point you were far from caring, the only thing on your mind being the promise of temporary relief. “Hildyhildyhildyhildy please-“ And then there was a crash. The crash was both you toppling over your peak as well as an actual physical crash complete with a sound and all. Orgasm completed but ruined, you yanked your fingers out of yourself as you jerked back out of surprise. You removed Hildibrand’s jacket from your face and pulled yourself up into a sitting position to see no other than the man himself, standing among the ruins of what looked to be a soup tray with a hand clapped firmly over his eyes. Well, you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted to be. There was no way you were going to convince him this wasn’t what it looked like. In your temporary post-orgasm clarity, the mortification over what you had done finally began to set in. How loud had you been? He must have heard you, there was no way he didn’t. “Hildib-“ “My deepest, sincerest apologies!” he exclaimed, catching you off guard. Wait, what? He’d caught you using his jacket for untoward things and yet he was the one apologizing? You blinked at him for a moment. “Uh…” “If I had known you were taking some personal time, I would never have entered! I knocked but I thought you said..." He shook his head. "Do forgive me for such a horrid intrusion upon your privacy! I shall take my leave at once!” Hand still covering his eyes, he turned and fumbled for the door handle. If you let him go now then things would be awkward between you two for the rest of forever, if he could even look you in the eye ever again. “Wait! Hildy. Please… wait. I need to explain something to you.” To your surprise, he stopped. “I… I am listening, my dear lady.” He swallowed heavily, lump in his throat bobbing as he did so. You cursed yourself over how transfixed you were on it. You pulled the bedsheet so that it was at least over your lap and slipped the jacket on to cover your chest. His scent was now cloyingly close but you were able to push it to the back of your mind for the time being. “You can open your eyes.” He did so but only spared you a glance before averting his eyes again with a hearty blush. At least he kept them uncovered this time. He noticed a chair nearby and went to sit in it. You noticed he spread his legs wider than usual upon doing so and decided to stray your eyes away from the area lest your clarity of mind become short-lived. He sighed deeply, and you wondered what was going through that mind of his. “H-how familiar are you with Viera biology, Hildibrand?” “Not at all, I’ll admit. You are the first one I have ever met. Apologies once more for my faux pas upon our first meeting!” You chuckled softly as you remember how he’d complimented you on the craftsmanship of your ears on the way back through the Sagolii after returning him to his senses. The look of shock on his face when you informed him that they were your actual ears was priceless. “Water under the bridge.” You thought for a moment. “Okay... Are you familiar with Miqo’te biology, then?” This was more likely to have an affirmative answer, considering his best friend and most astute assistant was one. She must have told him a thing or two here or there. The two were far from the same, of course, but the principle you were applying was similar enough that comparisons could be drawn. There was a beat of silence, and you could practically hear the proverbial cogs in his brain whirring. “There were a few paragraphs in one of the textbooks I read in my childhood schooling. I must admit.. though my powers of deduction are strong indeed, I haven’t the foggiest what this would have to do with your sudden illne-“ “I’m in heat, Hildy!” you exclaimed, cutting to the chase. His eyes widened with understanding, and you breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that he at least had been told about the birds and the bees at some point. (With Hildy, there was always that possibility that he hadn’t.) “Ah.” He coughed awkwardly. “So then… you would be feeling an intense desire to-“ "Yes.” The heat on your face was more from embarrassment than any lingering lust at this point. You wondered how much time you had left before another wave hit you. Hildibrand frowned, standing from his chair and beginning to pace. “Naturally occurring, I assume?” You nodded. “Very well, I do believe that solves the mystery of your mysterious ailment! There is one thing, however, that escapes me.” “What’s that?” “How did you know I was standing outside your door with soup? I heard you calling to me.” You blinked, unsure if he was joking or not. Surely he realized that you were- Well, this was Hildibrand after all. He was brilliant in some places and completely stupid in others. “Uh, I didn’t. I was, uh… I was actually…” Oh gods, were you going to have to spell out to this dense man that you were getting yourself off to the thought of him? (Probably) “You were…” “Thinking about you, Hildy! I was thinking about you, while I was…” Thankfully he didn’t need any elaboration from there judging by the way his practically non-existent eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his jaw dropped. You hung your head in shame. He probably thought you were a degenerate or something, and the thought of having earned the disdain of a man who thought so highly of most everyone was- He cleared his throat. “Well! I must certainly say I am surprised!” he finally said. “And somewhat flattered.” “Y-you aren’t angry” “Angry? Nonsense!” he replied with a shake of his head. “In fact, I apologize if I have caused you undue suffering due to my proximity!” You weren’t sure you followed. “Suffering…" “Why, yes! Considering you’ve spent the past few days with me and almost no one else, er, compatible, it stands to reason that you would pick me to, to, er…” It seems he was just as embarrassed about this as you were. Maybe this was something you could laugh about later. “And I must admit I myself have been feeling rather distracted as of late, and thinking more often than usual about-“ He stopped himself. “Er, that bit isn’t important!” Oh, he must have picked up on the mating pheromones you’d been unconsciously secreting. The purpose of those was to attract a suitable mate and therefore they adjusted to what was needed to bring a specific one in. And that meant that your biology had indeed latched onto the idea of copulating with the man who stood right in front of you, pacing. You felt a prickle of heat travel down your spine. Uh-oh. It looked like another wave was approaching. You had to get him out of here before you embarrassed yourself further. “Is there a… a treatment?” he asked, blushing further. “Er! I mean a-a potion, perhaps, that I could acquire for you at the market?” He clarified that last bit a touch too quickly for your liking, and you frowned at the implication that he was repulsed by all of this. The mortification mixed with the creeping heat threatened to overwhelm you once more, but you managed to keep it back for now. “Not once it’s started, no. Before, yes, there are things to suppress it, but it’s… too late now. I’ve got no choice but to, uh, endure it.” You were about to say ‘ride it out’, but that conjured up mental images of you riding something else entirely, something attached to a certain inspector. Hildibrand, true to form, was pondering away about how to help you despite his personal bashfulness. He continued to be as sweet and selfless as could be despite the touchy subject matter. (It wasn’t helping curb your desire for him. In fact, it was making it worse.) “Alright then, is there any way to make it less… unbearable? Clearly, you are in agony!” Oh. He’d asked the question you’d been dreading. There was indeed one way to alleviate the discomfort, but that would involve… “Uh. One way. But you probably won’t like it.” “I am open to suggestions! I could not in good conscience leave you like this.” You shook your head. “One of the ways to help a heat is to… fulfill it. And it’s best done by… the person chosen by the heat-bearer.” He blinked, turning redder than a Tomato Knight. “Ah. I see. Indeed.” He paced faster. “So in your case, that would be…” “You, yes.” You wanted to pull the sheets up over your head and hide for a good hundred years. “See, I told you you wouldn’t like it.” “That is most certainly untrue! I would find such a prospect to be most enti-“ It seems he’s realized what he’s said, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. So there was a chance. That was all you parsed out of what he’d just said. The desire trickling back into your core turned into a roiling boil at this point. “Y-you would?” “Er, that is, I meant to say… I could never!” Oh. And suddenly there was a layer of ice cold water poured on top of that roaring fire. “N-no?” Hiding in the sheets sounded better and better by the second. “O-of course not! You clearly are not in your right mind, your decisions clouded by your condition! I could never take advantage of you like that!” Oh? That was his problem? Did he seriously not realize that for the past few years, you had been- “I’ve always liked you, Hildy!” you blurted out. It was now or never, and there would never be a better opportunity to confess your feelings. It was his turn to blink in confusion. “Truly?” You nodded, hands each taking a fistful of sheet in front of you and balling up to give you the courage to push through your mortification. “Yes, since the day we met pretty much. H-how could I not? You’re so sweet and selfless and you never let anything get you down!” You buried your face in the balled sheet and tried not to wallow in how hopeless this was. Hildibrand just stood there for a moment, contemplating. “I never knew you felt that way about me.” “I thought I made it pretty obvious,” you said, peeking up at him. This was indeed true; you flirted with him very frequently and always made it a point to be touchy-feely and affectionate. It, of course, all went right over his head. “I was told frequently from a young age to never read too much into a woman’s kindness. My mother was insistent I learn that to prevent any social mishaps. I know that simply because a lady is kind does not necessarily mean she’s interested.” You nodded, conceding that that was indeed a fair point. “And your mother is a smart woman, I know. She’s right. Most times people are nice to be nice, or because they have to be because of something or another.” You pulled the sheet back down to look at him fully. “But me, I… I’m definitely interested!”

It was Hildibrand’s turn to look bashful. “I… I have always thought you were rather lovely…” Your heart skipped a beat. “Y-you’ve never said anything.” “Of course not! After what you did to that one Brass Blade when we were in Costa del Sol, I figured it quite prudent to keep my opinions quiet!” Oh yeah, you remembered that. After the man in question had grabbed your arse, you’d delivered him an ass-kicking so potent he’d needed to see a healer. “He shoulda watched his hands…” you muttered. “I quite agree, though as you know I eschew violence…” He coughed awkwardly again. “Anyway! What I am trying to say is that I know better than to make unsolicited advances on someone!” You sighed. This man was so dense. “T-this wouldn’t be unsolicited, Hildy…” “I-I suppose not, no…” “I want you. I need you.” You let the waves of heat you’d been holding back wash over you once more, and you bit your lip as you let your eyes wash over his form. Without his jacket, you could easily see the muscular forearms he possessed, left bare by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. As always, his undestroyed clothing was impeccably pressed, from the center of his bowtie down to the creases in his slacks. (Slacks that were, you now realized, looking unusually tight around the groin area) You licked your lips as you took him in, and you could see his face grow redder by the second. “F-far be it from me to deny you the relief you so desperately need,” he said. “You can say no, I promise. If you’re not comfortable with it, I don’t want to make you.” He shook his head. “I… I do apologize for my brazenness but I very much want to! I simply… never imagined it happening this way.” You tilted your head at him. “What did you imagine, Hildy?” “A lengthy, proper courtship! With dates and conversation and the wooing you so verily deserve!” “Hildy…” you said, breaking out into a fit of giggles. “Life’s too short for that sort of thing.” Well, too short for him. As a Viera, you still had many years to go, but he didn’t need to know that. He wrung his hands. “I must warn you… I don’t have much in the form of experience… well, that is to say, hands-on experience! I’ve read about this plenty from… novels.” Ah, so he had a guilty pleasure after all. “That’s okay. I can show you what to do if you’d like?” You were about two seconds away from throwing the sheet off your lap, you were overheating so much. He nodded, taking a step towards you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he fully turned his attention to you for the first time since he entered the room. “May I… may I gaze upon you, my lady?” he asked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his bowtie with one hand to loosen it while he took off his monocle with the other. His monocle as well as his gloves found their way on top of the chest of drawers behind him. He did not undress further than that. “Yes, of course!” You wanted to expedite this, so you tossed aside the sheet you’d been using for modesty’s sake, leaving his jacket as the only cover that sat between your bare form and Hildibrand’s russet eyes. His eyes immediately shot to your legs before quickly looking away. He then looked back when he remembered you’d given him permission to do so. “You’re stunning…” he murmured, taking another step forward. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” you shot back, using all your willpower to stop yourself from just jumping him. He swallowed thickly, taking yet another step that put him at the foot of your bed. You reflexively spread your legs for him. “Ah, first let me, er…” he made a conflicted face. “I would very much like to at least kiss you first!” You snickered, lifting a hand and crooking a finger at him in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Then do it, oh brave and valiant inspector.” As if under a spell, he did so, kicking off his shoes as he crawled onto the bed. You reached for him and your lips met in a heated kiss. He wasn’t as bad a kisser as you had feared. Maybe he’d had some practice somewhere. You pushed that thought to the back of your mind to prevent jealousy from springing forth, opting instead to deepen the kiss. It was everything you had wanted and more. With this, the floodgates burst open and all the passion you’d held for him came bursting forth. You nibbled his lip and slipped in a bit of tongue as your hands wandered down to explore his muscled chest. He groaned softly as you did so, the first noise of pleasure he’d given this whole time. The reciprocation spurred you onward and you grabbed at his shirt and pulled. Hildibrand gasped as suddenly buttons flew here and there, some clattering against the hardwood floor. He moved back just a little to assess the damage. It seemed you’d torn every button off his shirt in a fit of passionate strength. You covered your mouth with your hand, utterly embarrassed. “Oh Twelve, I am so sorry, Hildy!” Instead of being upset, however, he merely chuckled and shook his head. “Not to worry, my dear! I have many replacements.” With all the times you’d seen his clothing get ripped and torn and dirtied, this tracked. You couldn’t help but laugh along too. At the beginning, you’d been worried this would be awkward and stiff, but being with Hildibrand just felt so right. Your heart fluttered as you pulled him in for another kiss. When you next broke for air, you moved to shrug off his jacket and were a little surprised when he stopped you. “Ah, I was wondering if perhaps I could make a request?” He was incredibly bashful already, as if he were expecting you to refuse without even hearing him out. Instead of refusing, however, you tilted your head at him. “I’m all ears,” you joked, gesturing to your long ones. He laughed, feeling a little more at ease. “Ah, well! I was wondering if perhaps…” He flushed deeper. “Perhaps you could keep that on while we, ah… while we…” Oh, he was feeling a little possessive. You couldn’t help but moan softly as another wave of heat and lust rolled through you. The noise brought out one of his own, and you saw his blush travel from his face down his neck and settle in his chest. You followed it down, carding through the light dusting of brown hair he possessed. “Gladly,” you purred. He let you explore as you pleased, leaning back a little to give you better access. Under your fingertips, you could feel his racing heart, and you were sure yours was beating in time. “Is that what you want, Hildy?” you teased. When he looked at you quizzically you merely smirked. “Do you want to claim me as yours using your jacket? Mmm, that’s a little forward, don’t you think?” Hildibrand looked conflicted. “I-I would never purport to own you, my dear! You are your own person who-“ You placed a finger to his lips to silence his nervous rambling. “Relax, I’m just teasing you a little. I’m more than happy to wear this for you. In fact…” You bit your lip, wondering if you should confess this so readily. “It’s something I’ve definitely fantasized about before…” It was now your turn to be flustered. Hildibrand, however, was determined to outdo you, it seemed. “Ah, I see! That is…  that’s rather… I must say that is rather flattering!” You could probably reach out and physically shut Hildibrand’s jaw, he seemed so surprised. “Don’t act so shocked, Hildy,” you said with a giggle. “I’m sure you have more fans than you realize.” You leaned closer. “And besides… you can claim me any which way you want.” You nibbled his earlobe. This seemed to spur a reaction in him, as he turned and kissed you deeply. Yes, there was the power you knew he could display. His hands came to rest on your hips, politely awaiting instruction. “How would… how did you want to...” he tried to ask when you broke for air. Grinning, you turned so that your back was facing him, your rear up in the air. Doubtless he could see how soaked and desperate you were for him. “Take me, Hildy.” You wiggled at him for emphasis. (To your relief he did not ask you where you wanted him to take you.) “Ah, yes, let me just…” You could hear him fumbling with the fasteners on his slacks. When he audibly breathed a sigh of relief, you looked back to see he’d undone them enough to pull out- Well. That would be more than satisfying. And gods, he was thicker than you’d imagined. You wiggled even harder in anticipation of being filled. When he didn’t enter you immediately, you glanced back to make sure he was alright. “Hildy?” You weren’t sure you could take much more of this. “Are you certain about this, my dear? I know from my, er, research that consent is the most important part of any intimate encounter and-“ “Stop talking and fuck me before I go mad!” He did as he was told. With his large hands taking hold of your hips, he thrust forward with a surprising amount of force, burying himself to the hilt in you in one singular stroke. You practically screamed with relief as you felt him stretch you. Yes, this was exactly what you craved, what you needed. Relief and salvation were here and they had come in the form of the eccentric inspector you adored so much. “A-are you alright?” he called from behind you. Doubtless that had gone faster than he had intended and now he was concerned he’d hurt you. “Yes, I’m great, I’m wonderful, please move!” you urged, balling the sheets up in your hands once more. He did as he was told, slow and cautious. His hands on your hips tightened slightly, but not to bruising level. He was gentle, he was patient and utterly sweet. Ordinarily, this would be something you loved. But right now you needed more. “Hildy…” you whined. He paused, breath hitching in his throat. Clearly your cries affected him in some way. “Hildy, please, I need more…” You were this close to begging, but your pride wouldn’t let you break down just yet. You could practically feel the conflicting feelings of lust and hesitation dripping off of Hildibrand. “Are you su-" Growling, you slammed yourself back onto him, causing him to let out a low, pleasured groan. “Yes, I’m very sure. Now, are you going to fuck me into the mattress or am I going to have to do it myself?” This threw Hildibrand for a loop, causing him to sputter. The way you could feel him throb within you, however, told you he wasn’t averse to hearing it. “A-as you wish!” And so this time, he did. You were surprised at the sheer amount of force he put out with each thrust, but then again Hildibrand was never a man who did anything by half. With each thrust you blurted out something about how he was doing great, how wonderful it felt, how amazing he felt. Hildibrand seemed to thrive on praise, so you gave him all the praise he deserved, which was a lot.

The room soon filled with the lewd sounds of skin against skin. At your instruction (and about a dozen reassurances that no, he was not hurting you), you had Hildibrand pin you down to the mattress and take you roughly from above. He learned quickly how to use his weight to his advantage, dropping straight down to the hilt but catching himself before he could fully put his bulk on you. He was by far the largest you had taken in many years, and you knew you were most likely going to be very sore by the time this heat was over with. Was it worth it? Absolutely. You’d not felt bliss like this in ages. Previous heats were usually fulfilled with partners of convenience, those you’d had agreements with beforehand but had no true attachment to. But to be with someone you truly cared for? Nothing could compare. There was one more thing he could do for you, however… “H-Hildy… gods, I adore you, Hildy… Hildy, aah, please…” He slowed down just a touch, likely to gather enough brainpower to talk. “Y-yes?” You let go of the headboard with one hand and reached up to smooth your ears down so they were easier to reach. “P-pull my… my ears… gently…” It was an important part of a Viera mating ritual and something you were loath to disclose outside of intimate circles. A Viera’s ears were highly sensitive to touch, and oftentimes only mating pairs were allowed to touch one another’s ears.

(You had delivered many ass-kickings to numerous folks in Eorzea and surrounding areas who had thought it was okay to just reach up and cop a feel without asking.) This time he was willing to do so without confirming twenty times. He took one hand off the surface of the mattress where he was supporting himself and grabbed hold of your long ears with the other and pulled. The effect was instantaneous. If you hadn’t been close before, you were now. “Like this?” he asked, sounding close himself. He refused to squeeze them, but rather began stroking them softly as he tugged. Like he had been before with his thrusts, he was very gentle in this as well.

(This, you were perfectly okay with, as you weren't very keen on having your ears permanently stretched by any sudden feats of strength) “Y-yes, just like that!” He hit a very sensitive spot deep inside you that caused you to gasp. “H-Hildy, I’m going to…” You clenched hard around him in an attempt to savor the sensation. A deep groan was your only response as you felt him shudder above you. In that moment you knew you were being filled just how you wanted and that was enough to send you toppling over the edge, screaming his name. Your legs gave out and you collapsed, boneless, to the mattress below. Hildibrand followed suit, but at least had the good sense to roll slightly to the side. You whimpered at the loss of fullness as he pulled out of you to lay by your side. For a moment, there was nothing but you two and the afterglow. You laid there with him to catch your breath, your mind blissfully clear for the first time in a few days. It wouldn’t last, of course, but at least now you had someone to ride it out with. (Or on.) You were the first one to break the silence. “Are you doing alright, Hildy?” you asked, half expecting him to have fallen asleep by now. Instead of being asleep, however, he responded by reaching out an arm and pulling you close to him. His heart was still racing, but in a way that showed he was slowly calming. “I… I have never had an experience like that before in my life,” he admits. “How exhilarating!” You giggled. “I suppose that’s a good thing?” He nodded vigorously. “But more importantly! How are you feeling?” he shot back. You stretched out on the large bed, feeling the first ghosts of aches to come settling into your bones. “Amazing. More clear-headed than I’ve been since this mess started. Thank you, Hildy.” You kissed him on the cheek. “Happy to serve, my lady!” He gave you a twinkling grin which just made you giggle even more as you buried your face in his muscular chest, basking in his warmth. For a while, you laid there with him, drawing shapeless patterns on his bare skin. The heat would be back, but with Hildibrand’s efforts, it would be a few bells rather than a few moments before it became a problem again. As you were just starting to drift off, Hildibrand sat up suddenly, jerking you back to full awareness. “I almost forgot!” he exclaimed. “We must needs begin planning!” You blinked in confusion. “Huh? For the investigation?” He genuinely had you confused here. “For the wedding!” Okay, somewhere along the line you two must have had some sort of miscommunication. “W-wedding? What wedding?” Hildibrand looked at you incredulously. “Why, ours of course! If you are to be with child, we must be wed immediately!” You looked at him for a solid ten seconds before you burst out into laughter. This only confused the poor man more. “I fail to see the joke here. I am a man of commitment, my dear!” “Hildy…” you said after composing yourself. “You are sweet, so very sweet.” You took his hands in yours. “But there’s no marriage needed.” He didn’t quite seem to follow, and his confused expression just made you burst out into more giggles. “I have a spell done on me every few moons by a healer. It prevents… accidental conception but sadly doesn’t stop heats.” Hildibrand nods. “So this was more of a, uh…”

“Psychological heat, yes. Hurts just as bad even if it isn’t going to result in anything.” You made a face but the expression quickly softened. “I should have probably told you that first off. Sorry about that.” “I see. That is… a relief, actually! I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding! And my mother would kill me!” You grinned, pressing your forehead into his. “She probably would.” “Nonetheless, I am very heartened to see that I was valiantly able to cure your condition!” Oh. He thought you were done. Oh-no…

“Actually… that was just one wave. A true fulfilled heat takes about… half a dozen waves to subside.”

“Because that increases the chances of…” He seemed to be getting it now. You nodded. “Exactly! So, even though that bit isn’t a factor, I would still need your, uh, help.” You smiled bashfully at him. “If you want to, of course!” “Of course I do! It would be horrid to leave you to suffer if I am the only one with the cure!” He blushed. “And besides… I… I very much enjoyed that!” “I enjoyed it too, Hildy,” you said, laughing as you pulled him in for another kiss. “Get some rest. It won’t come for a few hours yet.” You laid down and shut off the aetherial lamp. It was still daytime, but with the blinds shut it was dim enough for sleep. Hildibrand, however, was still sitting up, seemingly contemplating something. “Hildy?” you asked, cracking one eye open. “I suppose this is why Nashu told me she likely wouldn’t see me until tomorrow at the earliest…” Fuck. Of course she would know.