#He is a hooved beast to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beskarberry · 3 years

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Unbridled

Centaur!Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: The woods have always been full of myths, but you never expected one to just show up at your doorstep. You promise them a night in your barn, but one of them takes your generosity as an invitation for more.

Rating: Explicitly delicious

Word count: 9.5k

Content warnings: Centaur fucking, horse cocks, size kink, oral f receiving, double fisted hand jobs, cum inflation, creme pie, so much fucking cum. Nonsexual: food mention and eating, horse puns, lots of swearing, Tovar being a dick but also being so soft.

A/N: I wrote this pretty quickly so it's kind of a hot mess but over all its just fun and sexy, with some quirky sillyness thrown in. Centaur!Tovar has been on my mind since before I saw the movie, I even did a little art of him and have been meaning to do a fic ever since.

The sound of distant thunder drew your attention away from where you were harvesting vegetables from your garden to look up at the clear, beautifully blue sky, and your brow creased in confusion. There were a few faint wisps of fluffy little clouds skirting along the horizon, preparing a nice comfortable bed for the sun to rest, but aside from that there was nothing to block the first few stars opening their eyes in the eastern sky.

And yet the rumbling continued.

As the sound grew louder you realized it wasn’t coming from the sky, it was coming from the nearby woods, and your heart sank at the familiarity of the cadenceless drums.

Horses.

A stampede of horses, surely, by the sound of so many hooves crashing through the forest, bearing their riders straight to your lonely little neck of the woods. You dropped your basket of vegetables, scrambling out of the fresh-turned earth towards your cabin. The log-and-mortar home of yours was just outside of town, but far enough away that you would never make it to the safety of the village before the raiders burst from the trees.

You had to make your stand here.

Being a farmer you didn’t have much in the way of weapons, but you had a heavy cast iron pan that had been the last sight of many a coon getting into your chicken coop. It would have to do.

You barricaded the door and backed yourself against the thickest wall right as the riders burst from the treeline. There were only two of them that you could see out the window, but they weren’t whooping and hollering like the last raid had. No, they were quiet aside from their horses feet, but that wasn’t the only thing amiss.

Their horses did not have heads.

Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping like raw ice through your veins and blurring your vision, but you swore that neither of the beasts had heads, and, now that you were looking more closely at the incoming bandits, you realized the riders also didn’t have any legs.

Wait, yes they did, they had four.

Are those... centaurs!?

The galloping creatures slowed their pace to a canter, then to a soft trot as they approached your home. They were well-armored and bristling with weapons, but they spoke easily to each other as they approached the door.

-Knock knock knock!-

“Hello in there!” spoke the voice of a man clearly from the High North, where tales of vikings and giants often drifted down from. “We mean no harm, we’re just looking for lodging for the night, can you help us?”

“Hermano, perhaps they do not speak English. Let me try. ¿Hola? Abre, por favor.” The one that spoke now had a much deeper voice than the other, gruff and rugged around the edges and lacking all of the bedside manner of his companion. “Open up before I kick this door in!”

“Pero! Have some manners!” You heard the clip-clop of hooves shuffling on your patio as the men argued. “Forgive my brash friend here, he was raised in a barn!”

“So were you, amigo!” the rude one said with a snort.

When you didn’t answer, hoping they would just go away, the nicer of the pair stated: “I don’t think there’s anyone here, hopefully they won’t mind us bunking down in the barn for the night then.” You tightened your grip on the cast iron pan, listening to the beast-men outside the door. There was the faintest clinkle of a bag of gold being set on the rocking chair, then the sound of hooves leaving the wooden porch and starting off towards the barn.

As much as you wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that the monsters were leaving, you couldn’t relax knowing that’s where your own horses were kept. Where your mares were kept.

Oh hell no.

Monsters or not, they weren’t touching your girls, and you burst out the door and into the warm twilight. “Hey!” You shouted, drawing the attention of the two half-men. Their sudden gazes sapped all the blood from your legs as fear curdled in your veins. They really were centaurs! And big ones at that, making them exponentially more terrifying without the heavy oak door to protect you. “You can sleep in the barn, but if you touch my mares I’ll turn you both into glue!”

The men looked quizzically at each other, then burst into laughter. “Mares?!” sputtered the one with the lighter complexion, blond hair, and russet fur; his blue eyes disappearing behind his cheeks. “We’re not animals, my lady! Well, I’m not. My companion here however I wouldn’t trust near a goat.”

“¡Hijo de puta!” barked the other, slugging the first one in the shoulder. This one was bulkier than the other, his broad human torso easily seen even under all his chainmail and armor. His face seemed to have a perpetual scowl, wrinkling the jagged scar that ran from his thick black locks almost to the corner of his lip as it passed over his eye; how the eye had managed to stay intact you would never know. There were numerous scars on his horse body as well, battle wounds running from shoulder to flank, interrupting his jet-black fur with streaks of pale white.

“If you promise not to touch my horses you can bed down in the barn for the night, but just one night! Got it?!” You raised your valiant cookware at them, and though they weren’t actually intimidated by you in the slightest, they agreed.

“Thank you, kind lady.” Said the blond, doing a mans’ bow with his top half and a slight bend in his forelegs in thanks. “My name is William Garin, and this jolly fellow is my companion, Pero Tovar.” The second centaur did not bow or flourish as the first, merely nodded his head with a snort. “You’ll see not hide nor hair of us until the morrow when we take our leave. And I promise we will not lay a hand or hoof on any of your horses.”

William thanked you again and turned away, dragging Pero with him towards the barn. The second beast’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than you thought appropriate, sparking with a faint grin as they walked towards your barn.

You watched them go, letting your pan drop and your shoulders finally relax, and it was then that you realized you were shaking just a bit. The man-beasts seemed gentle, though their weapons and armor told you that might just be a farce. Stranger yet was that they only seemed bothered with clothing their human halves, their horse bodies unarmored.

And unclothed.

And… completely naked.

You were used to horse butts, hell, your barn was chock full’a horse butt, but watching those flanks saunter towards the barn behind the bickering men made your face hotter than the iron pan usually got.

Maybe it was because neither of them were gelded.

Night came fast this time of year, though it was barely past supper, the sky was already dark sapphire blue, haloed with a slight edge of gold where the sun had gone to rest. You sat in your warm cabin, the blaze from the fire pit emblazoning in every reflective surface of your pots and pans, glittering like lost stars on the iron nails that held the wooden boards together. Herbs dried over the fireplace, basil and oregano, rosemary and thyme. A handful of cinnamon sticks sat in a jar on the mantle, a rare spice in your part of the world, but you only needed a few to entice the cozy aroma from them.

The vegetable stew in your mug should have brought you comfort and ease, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your somewhat-unwelcome guests. You slightly wondered if you’d imagined it, the woods playing tricks on your mind. But the occasional barrel-chested laugh wandered through the night air to your ears, sprinkled intermittently with rough-barked curses.

Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the nagging thought that you weren’t being a very good host, but either way something had you rising from your seat and packing up the stew pot and some utensils - do centaurs use utensils? You brought them anyway, half tempted to grab one of the extra feed bags you used for the horses as well, but decided against it.

The cool evening air made your cheeks prickle the moment you stepped out into it, the steam of the stew pot immediately visible. In a cloud of tasty-smelling fog you hustled to the barn, trying not to talk yourself out of being a good host. Or maybe you were just going to check on the mares, yea that’s it - though your only weapon of defense was a hot pot of stew. Look out, here comes a ~mighty warrior~.

You rapped on the barn door with your foot, feeling a little silly since it was, in fact, your goddamn barn, but thought it best not to be rude. A shuffling of hooves came from the other side before the barn door swung open to reveal the one called Pero. “¿Si?” he rasped, glaring down at you with hooded eyes, that seemingly-perpetual scowl digging furrows into the sides of his scruffy cheeks. Were it not for his stompy hooves and swishy tail you might have found him handsome, even if he did seem like a jerk.

“Do you eat people food or is the hay enough?” you said, hoisting the stewpot higher so he could see.

His torso bent where the horse’s neck would’ve been, making him tower over you even more than he already did. He took a handful of deep inhales, sniffing the pot curiously, then nodded with a grunt. “Not poisoned, is it?”

“I’m not that bad of a cook!” You barked back, making Pero chuckle just a bit, almost secretly. He stepped aside then, gesturing for you to come in with a wave of his broad palm and a swish of his tail.

“My lady!” called William as soon as he spotted you from where he was sitting on a pile of hay. Laying… sitting? His hooves were under him, tucked comfortably so his human half was upright, you weren’t sure what to call it but he looked happy. You glanced from him to where your own horses were milling about in their stalls on the other side of the barn, safe and untouched. “You didn’t have to bring us supper, but we are certainly appreciative, isn’t that right, Pero?” The dark horseman grunted as a form of response, but was circling you almost menacingly. You instinctively clutched the soup pot tighter, but William was already to the rescue. “Don’t mind him, fair maiden, he may be impolite but I’ve known that old dog long enough to know when he’s hungry and likes what’s on the menu.”

You glared at Pero, who clicked his tongue and trotted away, his intimidating demeanor thwarted by his companion. Setting the pot and bowls down on one of the tack tables, you made to take your leave, but as soon as you backed up you ran into a wall of fur and meat.

“Lo siento,” the sudden centaur huffed, pushing around you to get to the soup. “Hungry.” Pero pointed at the stew pot with one broad, calloused finger, stomping his hoof demandingly.

You pushed the ladle into his hand. “Here, help yourself. I’m not your servant.”

Pero, very good at ignoring people it would seem, dug heartily into the simmering broth, spooning it directly into his mouth.

“Tovar. Use a bowl!” William barked, ripping the ladle away and making himself a serving like a human person. “Be civilized for once in your life.”

“‘S’good.” he said, grabbing for the spoon, which William whacked him with before making him a bowl. Pero took it greedily, gulping it down in one go and immediately holding his empty bowl out for more.

“Good heavens Pero, you’re going to eat this poor woman out of house and home, she hasn’t even gotten a bowl for herself yet!”

“I ate already, these are leftovers.” You half mumbled, watching Pero bolster in for another serving. “Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so excited to eat my cooking before.”

Both of them looked at you surprised, though William was decidedly more confused than Pero, whose gruffness had been replaced with excitement. “She cooks and she curses? A shame you don’t have more legs, I would make you my wife.”

“A shame you don’t smell better, maybe I’d take you up on that offer, but I like my nose right where it is and would hate to have to cut it off.” Your retaliation made William nearly topple with laughter, and Pero grunt and stomp like an unruly stallion.

“Hmph! See if I compliment your cooking again then, señorita.”

“See if I cook for you again, ponyboy! At least that one is polite enough to use a bowl. He can eat people food, but you, I hope you like oats for breakfast because that’s all you’re getting!”

“How do you know I don’t like to eat people?” Pero snarled, standing up to his full height which put you barely at his human sternum. You didn’t know enough about centaurs to know if he was bluffing, so you stuck your tongue out at him and stormed out of the barn, slamming the door behind you.

As you plowed back to your cabin you could hear the two of them arguing in the barn, William disgusted with Pero for being so rude, and Pero utterly flummoxed about what he did wrong.

Morning came briskly, leaving spiderwebs of frost along the window panes, turning to crystal clear streams as the sun peeked over the horizon. You wrapped yourself up in your soft doeskin breeches, thick wool tunic, and a heavy fur cloak before you made to head outside for your morning chores. You usually made breakfast with fresh eggs from the coop after you let the chickens out, and you wondered if you would have enough today to make breakfast for your guests as well.

You made to let yourself out, but dropped your empty egg basket as soon as the door swung wide, finding yourself face-to-fist with one of the centaurs. Pero recoiled his hand from where he was about to knock, doing a little shuffle that the mares usually did when they were startled.

“Hermosa, erm, good morning.” he said sheepishly, carding a broad palm nervously through his hair. “What’s for breakfast?”

Wow. “Nothing for you, you threatened to eat me!” You barked, jabbing your finger into his armored man-gut since that was the closest thing you could reach. “William gets to have eggs and toast, if he wants. You get oats.”

“I don’t want oats, I want eggs!”

“You want eggs? You can get them yourself!” You pointed at the chicken coop, one hand on your hip in defiance. His wide-eyed surprise made you bold, “If you were my husband you would have to get your own eggs, and help around the farm if you wanted to eat, so go on, practice!”

Pero scowled and harrumphed, turning on his many legs and trotting towards the coop with basket in hand. You watched, befuddled that he had just… done what’d he’d been told, but were soon even more disappointed with him than you already were.

He trotted around the low wooden building, inspecting the small windows and the closed door. He tilted his head, listening to the chickens inside clucking excitedly, waiting to be let out to greet the day. Eventually he figured out to fucking open the door, jumping back when all your fat hens rushed out, looking for their breakfast. The birds didn’t seem too bothered by the horse man, but were quickly agitated that he didn’t seem to have anything for them to eat.

Pero ignored the hungry hens and bent down to look in the coop door. It was graceless to say the least. His horse butt stuck up in the air, his forelegs half-bent so he could get his human head and arms into the hole; but it wasn’t built for large men, only chickens; and certainly not horses. At one point he attempted to use the egg basket as a scoop, which also didn’t work. You struggled to stifle your laughter while the centaur reached and struggled to get to the eggs, cursing in a foreign tongue that he couldn’t fulfill his quest.

“It’d be easier if you opened the egg door there, brainiac.”

“I know that!” no you don’t. Pero fixed you with a glare and finally noticed the angled slope of the roof had hinges on one side. That opened into the coop so that he could easily reach in to get the eggs, and pulled them out like he’d won a prize. “See? Good husband material, no?”

“Mm.. no.” You cocked a brow playfully at him and held your hand out, demanding the eggs. Pero, miffed by your disagreement, trotted up to you with the basket full of breakfast, but when you reached out to take it from him he caught your hand instead. “Pero! What are you-”

“Hermosa.” He purred against the back of your hand, dragging the bristles of his scruffy lip over the sensitive skin and planting a lingering kiss there, his amberdark eyes never breaking from yours. “What must I do to earn a breakfast that is more than just oats?”

Stunned, you fought the tide of goosebumps coursing over every inch of your skin to pull your hand back from the overly-confident centaur. “Stop that! Fine, I’ll make you breakfast too-” You looked away from his kicked-puppy expression to the wagon at the corner of the yard, half-sunk into the mud after one of the wheels broke. “If you go pull my cart out of the bog.”

The kicked puppy was replaced with a snarling junkyard dog. “Do I look like a draft horse to you?”

“Yeah, actually.” you said over crossed arms. “And draft horses love oats.”

For just a moment you were almost sad that you’d only offered the centaurs one night in your barn, because bossing Pero around like this was a real treat. He chuffed and grumbled as he went, and as promised, you set about making more than enough breakfast for three… five? Does the horse body count as extra people? Better not overthink it, you’ve only got a dozen eggs.

As you moved about the kitchen, making a huge pot of scrambled eggs and toasting two whole loaves of bread, watching out the window over the sink that gave you a perfect view of your helper. For such a big beast he stepped carefully through the mud, looking for the best leverage to pull out the wagon. It would probably be easier if he asked William for help, but something told you this was now a matter of pride.

Pero found the front of the cart and wrapped the muddy ropes around his broad hands, pulling it over his shoulder as he strained against the swampy suction. Muscle stood out on every inch of his body, from his onyx flanks to his rugged arms, his bristly mouth turned in a snarl as he dragged the wagon from its mucky grave.

The smell of slightly-burnt eggs stole your devious gaze away from the brute in the yard, earning a slew of curses from you when you saw the edges of your scrambled eggs had gone brown; though you doubted the men would mind. You got all the food around - including some toasted oats just to be a dick - and a bottle of mead packed in a basket and made for the barn.

Pero was there with William when you arrived, though he was covered head to hoof in sticky dark mud. He didn’t seem bothered by it though, or bothered by the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, making his dark curls stick. William was all smiles, polite as ever. “Good morning, fair. lady! See you’re already putting this one to work, about time he did something useful.”

“¡Silencio! I have earned my breakfast, unlike you, culo vago!”

“Is he always like this?” You asked Will playfully, handing him the basket of breakfast. The northerner nodded, fighting to keep the basket away from Pero. “Hey, save some for me!”

“You heard the lady, Pero! You need to learn how to share!”

“First she makes me work, and then she makes me share?! Nevermind, I don’t wanna marry you anymore.”

“Oh no, woe is me.” you pressed the back of your hand to your forehead mockingly, “However will I live without your naked horse ass tracking mud all over my barn?”

Pero growled and snatched a plate of eggs and the entire bottle of mead, then stormed out of the barn to go eat outside. William might be the giggliest creature you’d ever met, because he couldn’t stop laughing at Pero’s tantrum. “I’ve never seen him like that, I think he likes you.”

You finished a polite, civilized breakfast with William before going to find Pero. He wasn’t hard to locate, the big beast taking up a sizable portion of your fence where he was leaning, using the wooden railtop as a table while he stuffed scrambled eggs into his piehole sans fork. The mud had started to dry, covering him in big patches of crumbling earth, matting his fur and probably making him uncomfortable; but if he was he didn’t show it.

“How’s the eggs?” You asked, leaning on the fence with him. He was still considerably taller than you, so you climbed up the fence and sat on top of it, putting you almost at eye level with the scowling creature.

He huffed and stomped his hooves a bit, but soon relented. “S’good. You cook good, hermosa. I wish I could stay longer and eat more of your food.” he said around a mouthful of eggs.

“You’d eat me out of house and home, big guy. Would have to earn your keep.” You were joking, there was no way you could continue to feed a centaur, let alone two, but the quick glance in Pero’s dark eyes belied his hidden excitement. It was a fleeting look, but you still caught it, and tried to bury it swiftly. “There’s lots of work to be done on the farm, especially since I’m out here by myself. Wood’ll need to be brought in for the winter, and the chicken coop needs shoring up. Not to mention the spring plowing and sowing.” You side-eyed the scars that pockmarked his body from countless battles. “It’s… boring. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Not boring.” he stated coldly, quaffing half the bottle of mead. “But like you said, I am too big, and I would track mud everywhere. You would not like me here.”

That wasn’t something you were ready to give too much thought to, but the muddy part you could do something about. “Thank you, by the way, for pulling the cart out of the mud. It’s been there since the summer rains and it’s been hell without it.”

“De nada.”

“There’s a creek not too far from here, I can show you if you want to get washed up? Might even have some horse brushes you could borrow.”

Tovar laughed like you’d said something ridiculous. “It has been ages since I’ve had a good wash.” He chugged the rest of the mead with a belch, dragging the scarred back of his hand over his beard and mustache. “Si, hermosa, please lead the way.”

You were not at all surprised that the big stinky animal hadn’t had a bath in a while, and William had a good laugh when you told him where you were going while you grabbed some brushes from the barn. Though you didn’t entirely trust either of them, you thought it would be smart for Will to know where you and Tovar were off to, in case he came back with a full belly but without you. The chestnut centaur smiled and winked as you left, but didn’t say anything insinuating besides ‘don’t get into too much trouble you two!’

The creek was nearly a river at this time of year, its banks swollen with the last of the fall rains that would soon recede and freeze in the coming winter. For now though it was cool, almost too cold, but you were a hardy woodswoman and had handled worse. You weren’t planning on getting in, but as soon as Pero saw it he was ripping off his armor and galloping towards it, splashing you with ice cold spray.

“Don’t get me wet, Pero! I’m trying to stay dry!” You hollered, though you’d already failed that task, nearly soaked from the playful pony. You wiped water out of your eyes to glare at him, but quickly averted your gaze from the now entierly-naked beast.

“What’s wrong, hermosa? Don’t like what you see?” He boasted, splashing more water at you so you had to defend yourself, uncovering your eyes.

“No! I mean- yeah- I mean, fuck, you’re naked!”

“I’m hardly more naked than I was before I got in, don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my cock. How is my chest worse to look at?”

The ice water nearly boiled off of your hot face, but he was right. It wasn’t like he could wear pants anyway. You couldn’t help looking at him now since he was so generously presenting himself, his human half streaked with water as it coursed over his body, making the hairline that dusted his human belly stick to his skin. There were even more scars on his torso than there were on his flank, long jagged ones, big circular gashes, and even one on his shoulder that looked like a bite mark from something impossibly bigger than he was.

And motherfucker was he big, unfairly so. Heavy muscle crisscrossed under his marred flesh with just the perfect amount of softness to cushion him. The fur on his body thinned abruptly where man met beast, but the dark fur stayed connected as it went up his belly and chest, begging for someone to run their hand through it.

Tovar noticed you staring at his mythical body, a slight pout creasing his plush lips. “Here, I have an idea.” He said, turning away from you and giving you a delicious glimpse of his back and shoulder muscles. As he waded further into the water, the bottom half of him disappeared under the waves until all that was equine of him was hidden from view, and you were left with only a half naked man, which was somehow worse. “Better? Come, join me.”

He was clearly being flirtatious, but the way he scrubbed at himself trying to get the mud off was anything but. “No, Pero, it’s too cold! And I already told you I don’t want to get wet.”

“I will keep you warm, come. I can’t reach the mud on my back. Which is your fault, by the way. Please, hermosa?” Tovar was playing every angle at once, flirting and guilting and pleading. One of them must have worked, because you were groaning to the heavens with slumped shoulders before kicking your boots and pants off. Unlike the centaur, you took a hot second to actually hang your clothes up to keep them clean, laying everything on a low tree branch.

You could feel Pero’s eyes boring through your spine as you undressed, and he didn’t bother averting them when you turned and faced him, naked as the day you were born. Quickly you covered yourself with your arms and dashed for the water, your eagerness to be modest blown to shit by the freezing cold water. “Fuck!” You screamed, flailing while your brain shorted out trying to decide if you should go deeper or jump out.

Neither of those were what you ended up with though. Instead you felt two tree-trunk like arms wrap around your middle, pulling you into a searingly hot embrace. “You’re alright, cariño, I’ve got you.” A man’s baritone rasped in your ear, his words hugged by the most secretive smile. “Can you not swim?”

“I c-c-can s-swim f-f-fine!” you chattered, half frozen. You kicked your legs to make a point, trying not to let your fear show when you couldn’t feel the bottom.

“Oh ok.” Tovar let you go, and though you could swim on a good day, the cold water made your muscles cramp, threatening to sink you. It was with no small annoyance that, as you were frantically treading water, you realized he was just fucking standing up. Stupid horse. “Are you sure?” he asked bemusedly, a lopsided smile crinkling his cheeks.

You couldn’t even say no, instead you just reached for him, and let him scoop you back into his arms. He hugged you to his chest, letting his heat seep into your body, making every muscle slowly relax; from your pebbled nipples to your tense shoulders, down your tight back and finally your free-swimming legs. As the warmth rejuvenated you, you let your legs kick forward slightly, brushing against where his forelegs were firmly planted in the riverbed.

The illusion he was putting on for you - hiding his beastliness below the water - worked well enough for you, at least for now, giving you a chance to only focus on the man. It pissed you off that he was even more handsome up close, even with his frown lines and his jagged scar. His eyes, hooded by a heavy brow, were so deep and dark you were afraid that if you looked into them for too long you would drown in their melted caramel depths just like you had nearly done in the river.

He did not give you long to stare into his eyes though, closing them as he leaned down, pressing the softest kiss imaginable to your lips. If he wasn’t so handsome, or so toasty warm, you might have smacked him for being so forward. But you’d undressed and ran naked into the water of your own volition, and sought him out to warm you of your own free will. So it was with your own free will as well that you kissed him back.

There was the tiniest gasp of surprise from the big warrior, slightly shocked that you’d melt against him so willingly, but he didn’t question it. Those big beefy arms tightened around your waist, one long forearm stretching up your back to bury strong fingers in your hair, letting him kiss you deeper. For such a rugged beast, his lips were more plush than the finest downy pillow, silky and sweet as they moved over your own. His scruffy chin nudged yours, and you felt his inquisitive tongue peep out to brush your bottom lip, careful and poilite. You rewarded him with a lap of your own, nipping his lip between your teeth and making him inhale sharply.

“Hermosa…” He growled into the cup of your mouth, returning your bite with one twice as strong. “How many wagons must I pull from the muck to be kissed like this again?”

“That was my only wagon, but I’m sure I can find more chores for you to earn your keep with.”

“To taste your lips, and your cooking, I would pull a thousand wagons.”

“Oh I see how it is, you just want to eat all my food!”

“Untrue!” He roared, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, leaving little kitten nibbles along the column of your throat. “I also want to eat all of you.” You eeped and squirmed in his grasp, but the beast was too strong, joyfully running his mouth over every inch he could reach; sucking, biting, kissing, leaving a trail of his claims that turned the water around you molten with desire. “I could satisfy you like no human man ever could, princesa. What do you say, eh? Say yes, and let me see if you taste as good as the food you make.”

It was tempting to be sure, this gorgeous hunk of chevaline offering to please you, but it wasn’t enough to distract from his use of the word ‘human’. Water nearly steamed off of your cheeks at what he was promising you, having already seen what he was packing even completely flaccid. And was it even right to fuck a centaur? They already said they weren't truly animals. Even so, you weren’t entirely sure if his cock would even fit in you.

Pero could sense your hesitancy without you uttering a single word. “That is alright, hermosa, perhaps I need to do a few more chores around the farm to earn your love.” You half-heartedly agreed, bashful at his use of the L word. “I will prove myself good husband material!”

Again with this! “Pero-!” You started to refute him, but those strong arms dove under water and found the rest of you, hauling you bridal-style out of the cold water you’d grown used to and into the even colder air. “Shit fuck that’s cold!”

“I am clean now, let’s get out of the chilly water.” Pero, seemingly unaffected by the cold, hugged you to his broad, warm chest as he walked out of the creek. Water cascaded off of him as he stepped onto the shore, his jet-black fur even darker now that it was wet. He set you on your feet gently and took a few steps away, shaking himself like a big wet dog and throwing water everywhere, including your dry clothes. Fucksake.

He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d soaked your clothes, instead he trotted happily over to a dry, sunny patch of grass and immediately laid down, sprawling out in the warm sun. The way he moved wasn’t quite like a horse, but not quite like a man either, somehow meeting both in the middle; the strength and agility of a stallion with the intelligence and assuredness of a man. He rolled onto his back and stretched, showing off the most touchable tummy ever. Forget his stupid dick, you wanna get that belleh.

“Pero, can I, um…” You stuttered, trying not to shiver as your skin dried in the cool midmorning breeze. The stallion eyed you curiously, not so much lustfully as just plain… intrigued, wondering what was running through your mind. “Can… can I brush you?”

“You don’t even have to ask, pretty girl. Come, join me in the sun.” He rolled off of his back and onto his side, tucking his hooves under him and resting his human half on his elbow. “It would be an honor to be brushed by such a beautiful lady.”

The sunlight felt amazing on your bare body as you joined him in the patch of celestial gold, crackling heated pathways along your skin and drying you faster than being in the shade of the trees did. As Pero dried as well, the brackish smell of the creekwater faded, and you were able to smell his real scent. You were used to the horsey-ness of the barn, so you were noseblind to that, but the scent of warm body and a faint spice you didn’t recognize pooled blessed heat into your chest.

He didn’t budge as you approached him, only his tail swishing wetly while you kneeled in the warm grass beside him. The old, wooden boar-hair brush you used for your own horses almost looked like an insult compared to the mighty beast laying in the sun, but he seemed to enjoy it all the same as you started dragging the bristles through his fur. Water beaded along the edge of the brush as you went, falling in streams across his body, leaving his coat shiny and clean.

“I wish you were like me, hermosa, so that I could return the favor to you.” Tovar hummed, stretching a foreleg out so you could brush his shoulder. “Nobody has ever done this for me. It is… very nice.”

“Well, I mean you could brush my hair, but not with this brush. It’s too rough.”

“You would let me?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to see you better. You shrugged after a moment and nodded, making a bright grin split Tovar’s face from ear to ear. “When you are my wife, I will brush your hair every day.”

“Stop saying that!” you snapped, swatting him with the brush hard enough to make him jump. “Why do you think I’m going to marry you? You’re a centaur! What would the townspeople think if I walked into town… rode into town with you? On you? How would that even work? And, I barely know you! You’ve been in my barn for one night, which, by the way, is all you paid for.”

“I care not what the townsfolk think of me, and should they wish to challenge me I will cut them down with my blades, or stomp them to death under my hooves.” Pero waved off the imaginary hasslers with a grunt. “And I would gladly pay for another night in the barn if it meant the chance to earn your heart.”

“You’re a strange one, Pero Tovar.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” he said, cocking a bisected brow at you and watching as you picked the brush back up to resume your task.

“What do you even like about me anyway? We’re only half similar. Isn’t there a centaur out there that you like?” You didn’t meet his eyes as you continued to brush, but you could feel those warm depths on you, hunting your face for what troubled you.

“There have been many, but none have ever spoken to me so brashly as you. You do not need as many legs as I have for me to see how beautiful and strong you are.” He reached for your hand, twisting his upper body in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. “These hands have had a hard life, and deserve someone to make it easier.”

“And that’s you?”

He shrugged. “Could be.”

You pretended to mull it over, giving him a mischievous smirk. “I’ll… think about it. Let me finish brushing you.” Tovar snorted his approval, seemingly content with your answer and laying back down in the grass. He was almost entirely dry on this side, so you patted his flank asking him to roll over.

Instead of rolling onto his tummy, he rolled onto his back, stretching as long as he could and putting that super soft belly on display for you. You took your offering greedily, running the brush from between his forelegs and down his ribs, laughing when he twitched from the slight tickle of it. His vulnerable underbelly was especially sensitive, and he hissed and cursed at you while you brushed it, torn between enjoying the sensation and being tickled to death.

You managed to ignore his enormous-even-when-soft horsecock when he rolled over, letting you brush the other side of him clean and dry. Your mares would never let you touch their bellies, and would probably kick your head clean off if you even tried, but the centaur was smart enough not to do that. When you finished with his other side, you brushed your way up to where his human half grew. “If I had a softer brush I would brush your hair as well.” You said softly, tousling his damp locks.

“Your hands are fine, mi amor.” He said, nuzzling into your palm, demanding that you keep playing with his hair. Running your fingers through his hair squeegeed the water out so it ran down the back of his neck, but maybe the chill water wasn’t the only reason that he shuddered. Just for fun, you rolled his curls around your fingers, making little curly-q’s stand up from his furrowed brow.

Deciding that was enough silly time, Tovar dragged you into the grass with him,wrapping his broad arms around you and rolling you against his chest. He moved you effortlessly, pushing you onto your back and pinning you beneath him, his expansive chest blotting out the fact that there was a half-ton more of him you couldn’t see. Wet grass licked at your bare back, but you were too distracted by Pero caging you in for another kiss to notice.

It was a good thing you were a little bit of a nasty farm girl with no shame, because the way you instinctively wrapped your legs around his middle would have made a nun faint. His human ‘hips’, horse shoulders, whatever, were the perfect size for you to lock your legs around, though the closest thing he could do to ‘rut’ against you like this was to push his forelegs under your thighs to hold you to him.

“May I please you, hermosa?” he panted against your neck, nibbling his way up to your ear and growling when you nodded. “Gracias, princesa. I will keep my word, no human man will ever satisfy you as well as I am about to.” He stole one more bruising kiss before making his way down your throat, adding fresh marks to the quiltwork of blooms he had already left there.

Laving his tongue against the dip of your collarbone made you keen for him, arching your back up under his impressive weight. A dark chuckle boomed deep in his throat, excited at your neediness before he’d even begun. From your throat he wandered over to your breast, sucking marks into the pillowy flesh and taking your nipple between his teeth. Maybe he really was going to eat you.

His bite was soft and lustful, the broad hook of his nose dimpling the fat of your breast every time he pushed his face into you, the creases of his face smoothed away in his pleasure. Your other tit wasn’t left wanting, his heavy palm coming up to rest under it, gripping the flesh and greedily toying with its hardened bud.

Tovar unlatched from your nipple with a loud, wet smack, a lust-drunk look in his wide-blown pupils. “Feel good, no? And that was just the appetizer.” He shuffled down your body - an impressive feat for one so big - searing a trail of lingering kisses down your sternum and tummy; leaving a particularly slow one just below your naval.

Then he moved down to your mound, dragging his palms over the inside of your spread thighs, his callouses catching on the delicate skin. You were expecting his mouth right away, but he wanted to take his time, savoring every moment of his feast. The beast buried his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs, inhaling your scent almost obscenely deep. He hummed his approval and squished his face down further, making you squirm in his grip, your back arching almost painfully when his tongue found your clit.

“Better than breakfast.” He mumbled against you, dragging his tongue through your folds, flicking at your pearl with each pass. His tongue must have been bigger than a human man’s, because you could feel it part your lips and press its way into you, lapping deeply into your core.

His big appetite was truly to your favor, because the stallion licked and lapped at your blooming heat until your own arousal dripped down your thighs, mixed with his saliva and pooling under you before you’d even cum. Pero could feel you -taste you- getting close, locking his arms under your knees, burrowing his face in your cunt like a man starved until you gave him what he wanted, cumming hard into his open mouth. He drank every drop, sucking at your bud and making you cry out from the overstimulation. It wasn’t until you yanked him by his hair that he finally stopped eating you out.

Smiling and shining, Pero looked like he’d won an award, and was wearing his medal plainly on his face. “And here I thought your food was good, now I know that it is you that makes everything taste so sweet.”

You were too boneless to tell him that you weren’t cumming in the cookware, though you knew that’s not what he meant. He pulled himself out from your dripping cunt, carefully moving over you on his hands and whatever that fucking joint is called on his forelegs. Wrists? Elbows?

Anatomy be damned, his kisses were like fire and tasted of your passion, his lips puffy and slick from indulging on you. “Now, hermosa, it is my turn to seek pleasure.” Tovar pulled himself from your lips and rose, his body quickly towering over you as he found all four footings and revealing his fifth leg.

Oh fuck that’s a big boy.

Pero’s cock hung below him, swaying gently with his movements. There was nothing human about it, size or shape or otherwise. It was probably as long as your fucking arm, probably as thick, too; even thicker where he flared at the head. The base of him was as black as the fur it grew from, but as it continued -a long, long way- to his head his colors piebalded from black to pink, ending in the flush, dark purple head that wept with his arousal.

“P-pero…” you squeaked, your face draining of blood. “That thing is not going to fit!!”

“I can make it fit.”

“Pero!” You scolded, receiving a laugh for your blush. “It’s not gonna fit, at least, not like this.” You rolled over onto your knees, pushing your ass high in the air for him. “I can take it better like this, but you have to go slow, and if I tell you to stop, you stop. Got it?”

“Si, mi amor.” Tovar couldn’t reach you with his upper torso, so it was up to you to guide him. On your knees you were considerably lower than where one of his own species would be, but that would probably save you from being speared on his cock. The beefy thing nudged your ass, leaving big, wet kiss marks from its drooling tip. You reached back and grabbed it, instantly made nervous by him stomping his massive hooves so close to your head, but he was doing it in pleasure, not in fear. “¡Dios mío, por favor hermosa…!” He begged, and oh how you wished you could see his face.

“Go slow.” you reminded, lining him up with your dripping entrance. He huffed in affirmation and gently started pushing forward, and already you were worried that anatomy could not be damned as you had thought. Tovar’s horsecock split you like a log, the monstrosity making you wail into the soft grass. It ached, and for a moment you thought your insides were going to be ripped wide open, but once your cunt had stretched to accommodate him the ache was more pleasure than pain.

Along your spine you could feel Pero’s oversized lungs heaving, his body straining not to just fuck you into the ground. “Feels too good, cariño. C-can I move? I-I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, then verbally affirmed you could take it since he couldn’t see you. His cock slid back through your channel, the wide, flared head keeping him from dropping out before he thrust back in, bottoming out so hard you felt all your guts shift.

“Fuck.. fucking shit hermosa…” he grated through clenched teeth, his words stuttered by his monster cock pounding into you. “Need to get you s-something to s-stand on. Too low.” His forelegs spread as wide as he could, his human torso dropping between his equine shoulders in what had to be the strangest contortionary trick you’d ever seen. Face to upside-down face now, he was holding himself up on his hands, watching you take his cock. “Look at you, fucking gorgeous.”

You winked at the upside down man and leaned forwards to kiss him. He could almost reach, but it was awkward; your lips not quite meant to kiss this way.

“Pero, c-can you get on your back? Might be easier…”

“Anything for you, querida.” Tovar stole one more sloppy kiss and stood fully upright, allowing himself one more gut-scrambling thrust into you before pulling out. The head of him caught as it went, pulling you backwards and drawing a cry from your throat at the loss. You wouldn’t be left wanting for long though if the meaty thud of the beast hitting the ground was anything to go by. “I would never let anyone else ride me, but you? You may ride me to your heart's content.”

He sprawled on his back, his hindlegs curled up slightly to protect the enormous spire jutting from his groin. You paused to appreciate it, taking his cock between your hands and running up and down his length. The velvet skin was slick with his and your arousals, thick veins pulsing under the flesh, running hot with need. Tovar squirmed like he had when you were brushing his belly, but this time it was more with urgency than disapproval. Warm precum practically gushed from his tip, shiny in the meadow sun.

“Please, beautiful, I want to fill your cunt, not your hands.”

“I’m working on it!” You barked playfully, reaching up to use his foreleg as leverage to straddle his wide chest. Propping yourself up on your knees, you scooched your backside down until you felt him nudge your cunt, and this time he slipped into you with ease. You could watch him from your vantage point now, even if he was farther away than you would have liked; but oh how beautiful he was.

As his cock slipped through your silken walls his brow furrowed and creased, eyes going wide, lips parted in a desperate gasp. With him beneath you, you were fully in control, and you were going to use that to the fullest advantage. Slowly you rocked your hips back, fucking yourself on his enormous length, earning a needy whine every time the head of him bottomed out; though you were nowhere near the base of him.

The stretch of him had you seeing stars every time he found the end of you, his hips rocking up in time with your thrusts, demanding that you go faster or let him fuck you himself; but if he was so commited to proving himself worthy, he knew that he had to let you take the reins.

And you were happy to oblige.

You found a rhythm with him, taking him further and further into you, letting yourself get lost in the pleasurable ache of him filling you fuller than any human man could ever hope. You threw your head back, closed your eyes, and rode that pony, deaf to your own cries of pleasure as you chased your high.

“Hermosa…”

Tovar’s whine fell on deaf ears, too lost in your own bliss, in the thickness of him almost popping your hips out of their sockets.

“Hermosa!”

That got your attention, your eyes snapping open and fixing him with a confused glare. “What, Pero? Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”

“I was going to ask you that. Look!” He pointed at you from where he was laying in the grass, unable to reach you in his mythical anatomy. You followed his finger to your belly, a soft gasp escaping your lips when you could clearly see a bulge where Tovar’s cock was pushing through you. “Doesn’t that hurt?!”

You rubbed the strange new lump, making Pero convulse underneath you. “No, actually. Well, kinda, but not in a bad way.” You looked behind you to see how much of him was left, and found yourself firmly rooted at his base.

He looked up at you with star-struck eyes, as if you were the mythical creature here and not him. “Estrellas, I knew you were the one.”

“Shut up, Tovar.”

“Si, mi pequeña esposa.” Pero squeezed his forelegs against you as best he could, using his bestial strength to fuck you harder. With every thrust you watched your tummy, the bulge appearing and disappearing in time with him. You felt your own climax building, maybe more from the debauchery of being swelled by him than from being fucked on his cock, but either way you reached down to rub tight circles against your clit and bring yourself over the edge one more time.

Pero lost it at the sight of you touching yourself on his shaft, and fell over the edge with you when you came, your tight walls milking him for all he was worth. Molten seed poured into you as the stud came, pumping you full… fuller… fullest! His thick meat gave his cum nowhere to go but in, and in it did, swelling where his cock bulged your belly until you were round with him.

Both of you stared at the new roundness, panting heavily as you came down from your highs. You couldn’t help but drag your palm over it, feeling a strange heat build in your chest. Not one that came from arousal or passion, but one that came from love and adoration; and for a moment you wondered if you really could love this stranger.

“Can I feel it too?” He asked sheepishly, unable to reach you with his human hands and reluctant to try petting you with his hoof lest he hurt you. You nodded and clambered forward, feeling his softening length work its way out of you, but the moment the head of him left your swollen lips, so did his cum.

It gushed out of you, drenching you and the centaur in what had to be gallons of milky white seed. You were surprised to say the least, maybe a little disgusted as well, but more shocked than anything that all of that cum had even managed to fit in you. Shaky and sticky, you dismounted your stallion, wobbling foal-legged to where Pero was propping himself up, getting into a ‘sitting’ position so he could properly embrace you as you flopped into the grass.

“Gracias, mi amor.” he purred, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then your lips with languid reverence. His hands tangled in your hair, brushing it away from your sticky brow so he could kiss there too. “So, what do you say? Did I prove myself worthy of you?”

You kissed him back, savoring the sweet taste of his lips, giggling when his mustache tickled your nose. “Perhaps…” you mused coyly, splaying your palms over his broad chest, drawing little circles with your finger. Ignoring the butthurt look on his face, you followed the treasure trail of dark hair to his human tummy, following it with your eyes where your hands couldn’t reach down his equine keel towards his messy middle. “But first, you’re going to need another bath.”

Pero followed your gaze to the ridiculous amount of cum oozing over his belly, the string of it dangling from his cock catching the light as he laughed. “That is all I must do to earn your love now, cara mia?”

“Yeah ok, sure.”

He beamed with pride, excitement dawning on him like the new day. “Then I will be the cleanest centaur you have ever laid eyes upon!” He kicked his legs until he was on his hooves with you in his arms, trotting eagerly towards the water.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“No, hermosa, you must now earn my love in the same way!” Wind rushed around you as Pero full on galloped back to the stream, charging headlong into the icy water and chucking you in as well. You surfaced quickly and threw water at him, cursing up a storm for being subjected to the freeze again, though all your anger was false. “See? Now we can both be clean, and I will also get to be brushed again!”

The townspeople speak of a woman.

They’ve known her since she was a girl, but something about her always seemed off. Not wrong, just… off. She’s pretty yet unwed, works hard and keeps her farm running smoothly by herself.

Or, at least she used to.

She wears a ring on her finger, though no one has ever seen her husband. Some people say he is a great horseman, and takes his steed out into the woods to hunt, or ride to far away lands; which must be why no one has ever seen him. The villagers know he must live there though, as the woman buys more than enough food for two when she comes to market, bringing vegetables and hides to trade. Some have seen her riding with her husband on a very strange horse, though no one has gotten close enough to see why the horse appears to be missing it’s head.

She does well for herself, and she is healthy, happy, and loved; by a recluse, but loved nonetheless. It’s easy to tell by the smile on her face, the song in her heart, and the way her hair has been lovingly brushed every single day.

★TAGLIST★

@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kotemorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia

@simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackdogdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @beskarboobs @sunnnygiiirl123 @doin-stuff @marvelranger @ajeff855 @pintsizemama @dincrypt @booksarekindaneat @giselatropicana @yours-truly-r @babybelou

@mindidjarin @221bshrlocked @readsalot73 @mandocrasis @novemberrain221 @moodsare @thepoisonofgod @littlemisspascal @insomniamamma @ajeff855 @hrk-fic-recs

@screechingnutrunaway @mandoblowmybackout @mswarriorbabe80 @iwantadecentblogname @wildmoonflower @sirianisrock @tintinn16 @anaaaispun

#pero tovar #pedro pascal #the great wall #monsterfucking #teratophillia #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f reader

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yanderemommabean · 3 years

Note

Could Andy like a male farmer? I can imagine the male farmer being like, “No. Andy, listen! I’m not a heifer- hell, I’m not even a girl! I can’t get pregnant! Go on now! Get away!” And Andy just doesn’t listen (or he doesn’t care) treating him like a princess and not letting any other farmers near him. Maybe some smut ensues…maybe not…up to you 🤩

Working on the farm isn’t easy, with all the hard work you have on your schedule, but it’s a labor of love. All the hybrids on the property are rescues, fearful of their own shadows or aggressive to the point of harm towards workers. Some people get upset that rehabilitating these creatures isn’t instantaneous, and that they have to actually take the time to love and care for them.

Well you aren’t that type of man. You put all of your hope, faith, time and energy into making sure these creatures are once again free and healthy. Most of them trust you, nuzzle you and ask you for apples or peaches shyly while you wash them or brush their hair. It’s precious how they slowly open up to you, asking to be milked because they know you’ll be professional and not hurt them for asking to stop.

Most of the heifers and bulls are sent off to other sanctuaries or well known farms, but some get to stay and become a regular you meet in the morning. One of the lucky picks was the large, broad, muscular bull known as Andy. He was one of the worst cases you’ve seen, bloodied and infected, unable to even speak at first. You were worried he wouldn’t make it, but never left his side, even sleeping beside him some nights as he healed and needed hourly medicine.

You nourished him until he was back to a towering, buff, protective bull for the heifers who come and go. However, he isn’t exactly kind to the other workers, often charging them or outright picking them up to drop them over the fence. You’re the only one he won’t attack, and some farmers are a little annoyed that he’s so sweet to only you.

While you were washing the stable, you felt the warm breath of Andy against your neck, and turned to face him, your face meeting his chest as he looks down at you in confusion. “You...aren’t supposed to be here. Why are you in another bulls stall?”

Ah, it’s this conversation again. “Andy, he needs my help too. He was sick like you were and he needs a clean room”.

Andy just scuffs his back hooves in a jealous huff “there are also other farmers who can do that. Making a fine mate like you work is disgusting, just like my old home”. You wanted to scold him, remind him that this place is way better than where he used to be, but you decide against it. He’s just throwing another fit, he’ll get over it.

“Listen, I know you’re thinking I won’t care for you anymore, but Andy I love all the hybrids here! You included”. You gently reach up to play with his long, black hair, and tuck it behind his ear. For a moment, you think you got through to him, that he was at least less worried, but he abruptly picks you up. You grapple for a moment, clinging to his arms as he squeezes you tightly to his frame and trots off to the other barn, carefully sitting you on a pile of hay in his stable.

“Andy! What the hell has gotten into you?” you scolded, watching as the hybrid cornered you in and pressed his face close to your own. “You said you loved me...and the other beasts” he stated with a furrowed brow “I don’t like that your love is shared. That others get your care and attention”.

Sighing, you gently stroke your thumb over his cheek, his face nuzzling into it on instinct. “Andy, I can’t just stop working. That’s not right, you know it”. Andy’s face just scrunched up in anger, and he pressed you harder against the hay beneath you. “Wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. You’re my mate. Not their slave”.

“Andy, we’ve discussed this-” you begin, face flushing as the bull began to let his large hands snake up your shirt and tug at the unwanted garment. “You don’t have to be pregnant to be my mate...I can still stuff you full and make you happy though”.

He tugs off your boots and jeans, chuckling at the squeal that left you. “A-Andy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”. The hybrid bull chuffs, sniffing up your thighs to your stomach, purring as his tail sways. “Smell so good...love your scent. Everyone else makes me sick”. He gave a quick kiss on your chest, and another on your pelvis, nuzzling your pubic hair “So so good. Such a pretty cock from my pretty mate”.

Warm hand rub circles up and down your thighs, your boxers completely gone and tossed aside. You bite your knuckle while your cock pulses, slowly hardening. Andy purrs in approval, letting his long tongue swipe up the shaft of your dick, causing your back to bow and tighten as the appendage wraps around the base and slides up in a lewd slurp.

“My mate...always taking care of others, but who takes care of you? You’ll be so happy to be my little heifer” Andy kisses up and down your shaft, mouth reaching lower to suckle on your balls and cause another yelp to escape you. Your thighs were quaking in the bulls strong hold, your mind a haze of lust and humiliation as he continues to slide his tongue up and down your drooling cock, spit and precum dripping to the floor below as your thighs were held apart.

Tight, velvet heat surrounds your entire length, Andy’s head bobbing up and down in swift movements while you can only desperately cling onto his horns, trying not to erratically thrust in fear of choking him. After a few weak jerks, Andy pulls away and lets spit dribble down his chin.

“Let go. I can handle it. I wouldn’t be a good bull if I couldn't handle what you gave me. Use me”.

His voice was so gravelly, so deep and desperate, it gave another hot pulse through you. He once again wraps his tongue around your entire cock, sucking and slurping while bobbing his head up and down again. You throw your head back while clutching onto his horns, balls tightening and your slit pouring out precum while Andy devours you.

Embarrassingly, you couldn’t stop yourself, cumming down the hybrids throat with a deep groan and exhausted sigh. Andy growled, pleased, and didn’t pull away until he was sure he drank all you had to give him. With a wet pop, he groaned and licked his lips, teasing your sensitive shaft with the tips of his fingers, watching the spit and cum stick to his digits. “So good...so good for me. I need more, think you can do that for me?”.

His thumbs reach down and begin to spread apart your cheeks, exposing your hole that was begging to be stuffed and bred into oblivion. Andy wanted to slither his tongue inside of that cute little hole, having you become wrecked from just his mouth once again. Not just to open you up, but because he genuinely got rock hard at the thought of you using him like that. Like a good fucktoy that only HE could be, because he knows all of your needs.

“Y/N! Where’d you go?” a voice called out, causing you to panic and scramble away from the bull. Your legs were still wobbly, and putting on everything again was clumsy as you tried to wriggle past the still very much aroused hybrid. Andy didn’t put up a fight, only due to knowing it was simply lunchtime and his mate needed to eat before they tried to copulate.

Once you’re done, he’ll continue the process of making you see that he’s the only bull you need.

(Hey, tell me what you think! I hope this was at least semi-hot lmao -Mommabean)

#Andy the bullman #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere dubcon #yandere exophilia #male reader #yandere hybrids #yandere smut #yandere lemons #mommabean #gay yandere

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levi-my-beloved · 3 years

Note

Hii so i was wondering if i could possibly request a oneshot where the reader gets badly hurt on a mission but tries to hide it from Levi because he’s so overprotective but she ends up passing out. then afterwards he’s SUPER protective and sweet and takes so much care of her. ahhh idk just fluffy angst?

When The Battle’s Over

Pairing: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.2K

Warnings: Canon typical violence, severe trauma, descriptions of blood and injury

A/N: PLEASE this was the request that got me writing again i love it so much. i maaaaay have gone a little overboard with it… but i have zero self restraint AND i'm a sucker for fluffy angst. i hope it’s what you had in mind ^-^ also this hasn’t been proofread so please forgive me hehe

Tagging: @peace-for-levi (u asked be to bb)

The thundering beat of hoof-falls just about managed to drown out the thundering beat of your heart. Expeditions beyond the walls were always hit or miss, and today’s was definitely a miss. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. The Scouts were, quite literally, scouting, and unfortunately, your squad was placed as the backup’s backup. You were the Less Special Ops. You were the Pretty Damn Good squad. If the Special Operations squad failed, it was your job to pick up the pieces. Not that you ever expected them to fail.

That was, until now.

Too many smoke signals, not enough time.

And not a Levi Squad member to be found.

Dread bubbled and coiled in your gut. This was very unlike them. This was very unlike him. Levi was never one to just disappear without a reason. Usually word would get round to all squads that Humanity’s Strongest had to withdraw for some reason or another. Very rarely was there radio silence to accompany your terror. You had spotted a distress call from a few miles away, and since you hadn’t heard of any course change or direction shift, you ordered your squad to continue on, and promised you’d catch up with them. But once again whatever fates had decided how your day was going to play out, had not been merciful.

The village had been completely decimated. Most buildings had been almost flattened, with nasty, fractured-glass-like shards of wood piercing the skies from where they stood, mourning the loss of their structure. Phantom screams haunted this place, and bodies littered it. Limbs strewn about in awkward places and at awkward angles. It was harrowing, but not the worst you’ve seen in your time as a Scout.

You urged your mare on with a few clicks of your tongue, instantly noting how the beast listened to your command, and understood your urgency. Red smoke now danced with black. Red was never good. Black only worsened the dread in your gut. Praying to whatever cynical gods there may be, you gently pulled on the left rein, darting down what must have been a small gap between houses, but now stood as open plains, tile and brick pounded into dust on the ground.

But the further you galloped, the denser the structures became. This didn’t seem so much of a village, but rather a small town. Grass and earth occasionally broke out into the remains of a cobblestone street, and you promised to nurse your horse’s poor hooves when you returned home.

If you returned home.

Rounding the side of what looked like the town hall, you realised what all the fuss was about. There was barely enough time to engage your ODM gear before a 15m four legged titan was upon you, swatting at you like your mare’s tail in the summer months. You’d been here five minutes and the plan had already gone to shit. Feinting to the right, you allowed yourself to roll off your horse, the ground impacting your shoulder as you allowed the momentum to carry you. It threw off your pursuer, now confused between your fleeing horse and the small woman lying in a crumpled heap.

Not your smoothest dismount ever, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Not when your life had been put on the line so soon after arriving. But you weren’t a captain for no reason. You’d been placed within this duty of care and leadership for a reason. Stumbling onto your feet, you took a running start before engaging your gear, once again thanking those cynical gods that the damn thing still worked. The familiar hiss of gas rushed behind you as your anchors pulled you into the air. You couldn’t tell if this titan was either showing intelligence, or immense stupidity. You watched wide, hazel eyes follow you as you zipped past it’s bulbous head. For a second, it seemed almost human, as if you could read some emotion within it’s large eyes. But after your blades sliced through it’s nape like a hot knife through butter, you realised it must have been your own dream playing tricks on you.

This area was a mess of blood, screaming and smoke. And yet Levi still hadn’t shown up. You weren’t the type to worry about him, just like he wasn’t the type to worry about you. Okay, that’s a lie, he did worry about you. Far too much, if you were being honest, but you weren’t the type to worry about him. He’d always get there, always find you, but shit if he wasn’t cutting it a little close. Instead you switched your focus to the monumental task at hand. This town must have been attacked only a few days prior, the fresh bodies having only just started the decaying process. You breathed a heavy sigh, before jumping into the frey, assisting whoever squad had managed to get themselves caught up in such a massacre.

You didn’t count. You couldn’t count. Miche could shove your little competition up his ass, now really wasn’t the time to be tallying up how many monstrosities you’d managed to fell. And yet you found yourself slicing through yet another nape, saving yet another life. Riding your kill to the ground, you deftly jumped off, running to assist the injured soldier. She didn’t look too badly hurt, just perhaps some broken ribs from where she’d been grasped.

“Hey, what the hell happened here? Who’s squad are you on?” you questioned, and though your words were a little harsh, your tone was anything but. You knew she was scared, she didn’t look any older than sixteen for fuck sakes. She was just a kid.

“I-I was on uhm, I w– I was w-with Squad Leader Kris?” you took a brief moment to process the information. The left wing had been majorly compromised it seemed. There was no way Kris could reform his squad after this, if he was even still alive.

“Alright, you did well, can y–”

“Isn’t it strange how much blood the human body can hold?”

You blinked, confused by her question.

“I grew up on a farm,” –she continued– “I used to help my father slaughter pigs for meat. Do you know that saying? Bled like a pig? Well they would bleed. They would squeal and they would bleed and they would scream and I hated it and I hated it and I hated it so much but I had to do it please he made me do it I didn’t want to do it he made me please i’m so sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry–” she had gone into shock. The kid was barely sixteen and she’d witnessed more trauma than anybody ever should throughout their entire lives, let alone at her age.

Trying your best to ignore the screams of the soldiers around you, you crouched down to her level, attempting to look the poor girl in the eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t have a choice–”

“NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” her outburst had you reeling back, steadying a hand behind you so you didn’t fall. “You don’t understand! People have that much blood, she was screaming like the pigs, screaming and squealing as she was being slaughtered and I did the same as I always did and watched as she bled and bled and screamed,” –she gasped for breath, her breathing becoming erratic– “we used to play together, we used to play all sorts of games with all the animals, we would play horses and house and adventure and she loved the piglets so much but I couldn’t tell her we’d slaughtered their mummies and daddies because she would have screamed like she screamed when she was–” the girl stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and unblinking, entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind as you witnessed her mind shatter. She fell silent as you pieced the fragments together. She’d just lost her sister. Younger sister, from the looks of things and recounting of her story. You felt for the girl, you really did. You knew there was no way she would recover from this. She was a child, and already traumatised for life.

You stood, thankful that no titan had found you, and whistled for your horse. No response. You whistled again, a little more urgently, and found ice slowly drip-feeding into your blood. No, you had to get this girl out of here. You had to take her to the medical team and let them take care of her as best they could, there was only so much you could do. You were just about to whistle for a third time, before the angelic chorus of hoof-beats once again graced your ears, and you could have wept in relief. Two sets, to be exact.

Turning back to the girl, you placed an arm around her back and hoisted her to her feet. Her expression hadn’t changed. Her face hadn’t moved. It was like she was stuck reliving that moment over and over again. In fact, she probably was.

The soldiers in charge of the spare horses were honestly the unsung heroes of the Scouts. You’d definitely underestimated them beforehand, but thank fuck they were coming in clutch now.

With your focus entirely on the girl, you helped her onto the mare you knew all too well.

“Hold on tight, okay? You’re going to be alright, you’ll be safe where you’re going, I promise. They’ll look after you.” you tried your hand at reassuring her, but it seems to have fallen on deaf ears. With a look of defeated regret, you spoke to the second soldier. “Take her to the centre of the formation with the injured. She’s given all she can,” you instructed, not taking your eyes off the traumatised teen.

“Since when do you give me orders?”

An amalgamation of every emotion under the goddamn sun flooded your system. The primary one being relief. Rounding your mare, you finally came face to face with those silver eyes you’d fallen in love with. Despite your situation, comfort wrapped around your head and heart, your lips managing to pull into a smile as he dismounted from his gelding.

“And where the fuck have you been?” you asked, with no bite to your tone. From the looks of him, he’d been extremely busy elsewhere.

“We stopped to take a shit. Hey you! Where’s Squad Leader Kris?” When the girl didn’t respond, Levi turned his attention back to you, nodding slightly as you gently shook your head. He understood instantly. She was too far gone. “What happened?”

“Sister. Watching her die triggered some sort of childhood trauma, as if watching your own younger sister torn apart isn’t traumatic enough,” you explained as Levi’s expression softened slightly, instantly showing the more human side to Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

“Do we know her name?” he asked, the tone of his voice softening along with his expression. You sighed again, telling Levi everything he needed to hear. Running a hand through his hair, his other found your arm, prompting you to turn to him. “You okay?” he asked, though knowing there was no way he’d get a straight answer. You never told him when something was wrong, he always had to drag it from your unwilling lips. But this time you looked as if you were genuinely being truthful as you answered.

“Yeah… yeah, it was just... a lot,” you breathed, pity still throbbing in your heart as the girl gently swayed in your saddle, still lost in her nightmare.

“I know,” whilst on the surface it may not have seemed like much, but those words brought you more comfort than anyone would ever realise, because he did know. He knew more than most. More than anyone, in fact. He’d seen more death than a morgue, and you were perhaps the only person who knew how he really dealt with it. Many, many nights spent in a tearful embrace as you caressed the nightmares away. You took care of each other, whether that be running a bath or shower, changing sweaty sheets or on particularly bad nights, clearing up the remains where whatever that evening’s dinner had been hurled up. He knew tonight would be a bad one for you, and with those two words he affirmed that he would be there to help you through it.

You smiled a little weakly, before the moment was interrupted by familiar shouts behind you. Your head snapped back to the girl, hoping she hadn’t been startled by the new types of volume, but she still seemed to be consumed by her own mind.

“Captain!” you recognised the three as Oluo, Petra and Gunther, three members of Levi’s squad. You glanced at Levi, who also seemed to have noticed the missing member.

“Where’s Eld?” was his immediate question, and it was only because you knew him so well did you detect the slight urgency in his voice. It was a testament as to how much he really cared about his squad.

“He stayed behind to escort some stragglers from the town, ordered us to find you,” Gunther explained, glancing between the two of you and the teenager sitting on your horse. “Who’s that?” you opened your mouth to answer, but Levi swiftly waved off the concern.

“Doesn’t matter. Petra, Oluo, I need you to take this one to the centre squad, get her medical treatment, then return to me immediately. No detours.” you watched with quiet awe as the two squad members saluted in sync, both barking a quick “Yes Captain!” before each taking one side of the girl’s reins and prompting your mare into a swift gallop.

“Gunther, with me. I can’t imagine things are going smoothly with Eld…” there was no spoken word between you, only an understanding that of course, you’d be accompanying them. Without so much as a knowing look, you gave the obsidian gelding a quick pat on the neck, before bouncing into the saddle behind your lover, securing your grip around his waist for stability. Gunther didn’t do so much as acknowledge the proximity between the two of you. Though never explicitly confirmed, your relationship with the Captain was pretty fucking obvious, to Hange’s overwhelmnig delight.

“He’ll be fine,” your words caressed his ear as you gently squeezed your arms around him, providing what little comfort you could on the scene of a battle. Nevertheless, he seemed somewhat reassured by your words, sending you a soft-eyed glance over his shoulder, before his heels dug into his gelding’s flanks and he lurched forward into a gallop, in the opposite direction and back where Levi had come from.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to the girl, thoughts about her childhood plaguing your mind as you tried your best not to envision what she must have seen. You were no stranger to bloodshed, and you’d lost your fair amount of friends and relatives to the jaws of titans, but she was so young.

“It wasn’t your fault,” as if sensing your thought spiral, Levi’s voice carried down the wind to you, prompting you to huff gently in protest.

“I should have been there sooner…”

“You shouldn’t have been there at all. Where’s your squad?”

“I left Nikos in charge. He’s capable enough,” you explained, gently resting your chin on Levi’s shoulder, feeling the comfort spread through your chest like wildfire. “I couldn’t just let them die Levi,” a hand left the reins to gently hold your arm around his waist, as if acknowledging your resolve.

“I know. You never can. And as much as it worries me, I love it about you,” despite the hair whipping your face and your heart racing like a freight train, you still managed to find a sort of domestic happiness in his words. But any thoughts of relaxation promptly died as you came upon the scene Levi had left. Eld hadn’t exactly failed, but he wasn’t really succeeding either. “Stay close to me.” Levi quietly pleaded, however, already knowing your answer.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I know, but I thought I’d say it anyway.”

With a definite nod, and being mindful of Levi’s positioning, you drew your blades from their scabbards, reading your gear as the ravenette did the same.

“Don’t go dying on me now.” you smiled, planting a small kiss against his neck before firing your anchors and launching yourself from behind him. Levi had just enough time to whisper;

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Before he followed suit, Gunther too joining Eld in the fray. And as much as you hated to say it…

There was no way of saving everyone.

You’d been fighting for ten minutes and you were already painted crimson, and it wasn’t evaporating. Civilians and soldiers alike dropping like flies, teeth and tongue acting like sprinklers for the blood of the unlucky. God you hoped your squad was alright.

And that was the thought going through your head, the singular string that pulled you off balance. The final tap to shatter the spider webbing glass as an abnormal leapt from below. Not to eat you, but to simply swat you from the skies.

The one time you weren’t on your game.

The one time you’d missed the mark.

And you came crashing down.

You had no time to act. No time to think. Only the reflex to protect your head as sudden pain jolted your exhausted system, followed by a harsher stab of agony, consequently pulling you from your stunned daze.

Every sound was muffled, even the weak cry that flew from your lips didn’t meet your ears as white noise consumed your mind. Though adrenaline was still pumping through your veins, you knew you’d been hurt. Badly. And as the dust and debris finally settled, you realised what had happened. You’d been flung through a roof, slate, brick and wood scattered around you and on top of you. Managing to bring your senses back down to earth, you could hear clearly the battlefield sounds from beyond the four decrepit walls you’d been haphazardly catapulted into, and though fear once again trickled ice into your bloodstream, you made yourself look down.

And instantly regretted it.

It wasn’t huge, but the placement wasn’t exactly ideal. A large wooden splinter currently plugged up the scarlet dam behind your flesh, protruding from the side of your stomach. Removing it now would be a death wish. There was no way you could bandage yourself up in time to stop yourself from bleeding out. You didn’t even have bandages with you, you weren’t a medic. Tearing your wide eyes away from the most prominent injury, you held your arm out in front of you. Only a few small cuts and bruises littered your limb, and much the same for the rest of your body. A few would heal over and leave scars, but most would be nothing but a whisper of this past mistake. The fucking wood in your gut, however, might be more of an issue.

You thanked the soldiers who had lost their lives today, not only for their sacrifices, but, as morbid as this may sound, their blood. Coated in all shades of red, it was difficult to decipher if any of it was yours. There was no way Levi had to know about this. He could stay blissfully ignorant of this injury until after you get medical treatment. Although honestly, knowing yourself, you knew full well you were going to remove it and bandage it yourself as soon as you all got back to camp.

If you made it back to camp.

Panicked calls of your name brought you to your feet. Adrenaline sure was one hell of a drug. Though you could feel the slight thrum of pain, you knew this was nothing in comparison to what you would feel later. At least you could walk fairly well right now, as you tried not to limp your way to the door currently hanging from its hinges.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” you shouted to the skies, listening as the panicked calls stopped. You removed your hand from your side just in time for Levi to hastily land a few feet away and immediately run to your side. Knowing he would start looking for any sort of injury, you threw your arms around his neck, whilst keeping him at an awkward distance. It was a good enough distraction for him whilst simultaneously letting him know you were okay.

Even if it was a lie.

“Fucking hell, when I didn’t see you after we’d cleared them all out I thought–”

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m fine. I was just a little reckless, that’s all,” you hushed him gently, wincing as he tightened his arms around you, before roughly pulling back. His eyes held a cold glare, and you knew a reprimand was coming.

“Don’t. Do that. Again. Didn’t I tell you to stay close to me?” you rolled your eyes. It was a familiar conversation after a familiar scene. You managed to get hurt some way or another, he reprimands you for being reckless. But the system went both ways. You never shied away from giving him an earful whenever he’d do something stupid and reckless. But, you supposed, he was honest when he had hurt himself. You on the other hand…

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Just got distracted by the hundreds of titans around the place. How’s Eld? Is he alright?” taking extra effort to steady your voice, the adrenaline in your system was starting to drain, leaving you with an ever growing pain pulsing through your nerves. You couldn’t convincingly stand for much longer, your body screaming at you to remove the foreign object from your stomach.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He managed to cope well all things considered. We’ve had the signal to withdraw back to camp. No doubt Erwin is gonna rack his brains to try find a different route,” you were only half listening if you were being honest, too focussed on trying to stay conscious. But you heard the word withdraw and relief greeted you like an old friend.

“Let’s get back then. I’m done with today,” exhaustion accompanied your now throbbing agony, making it difficult to breathe. Levi was a perceptive man, especially when it came to you. He’d lost too many people in his life to lose you too. It would break him. But with your entire body soaked in blood, it was difficult to tell if and where you’d be injured. He just had to hope you’d be honest with him, despite knowing you never were when it came to your health.

Wordlessly, Levi mounted his horse, holding out his hand to assist you in doing the same. Fear briefly flashed in your eyes before you quenched that spark, taking his hand and stifling a pained gasp as your leg swung over the saddle. You hoped he wouldn’t think anything of your deathgrip on his shoulders, nails digging into the cloak and jacket as every galloped step brought another bolt of lightning through your system. You just had to hold on until you got back. Just hold on.

It wasn’t that the journey back was particularly long. You were lucky enough not to encounter any Titans, so all in all it would have been considered a success. For you however, you just wanted to find a quiet corner where you could finally sort yourself out. You’d been drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the entire ride to camp, passing it off as that aforementioned exhaustion whenever your raven-haired lover enquired about it.

What you didn’t anticipate, however, was how useless your legs had become. As soon as Levi brought his gelding back down to a walk, you dismounted, knees buckling beneath you as they thudded against the ground. Another torturous stab through your nerves had you whimper through gritted teeth, jaw clenched and eyes shut as you tried to focus on the feeling of the wet grass in the palms of your hands. Levi’s small questioning of your name brought your back to reality, having you realise you were still kneeling.

“M’ fine, just tired.”

“You keep saying that.” Levi’s remark was accompanied by a gentle thud as he too dismounted, delivering a few quick pat’s to his horse’s neck before cautiously kneeling down before you.

“Maybe because it’s the truth?” you raised a sarcastic brow, finalling lifting your head to look him in the eye for the first time since you’d left the site of the battle. You looked like death. Pale face, sunken eyes struggling to focus, your head was spinning, the stinging throb of your injury still at the forefront of your head. Levi’s eyes widened, worry now creasing his brow as he went to gently hold your bicep, only to have you flinch away and quickly rise to your feet, stumbling back a couple steps. “Pretty sure I said I'm fine. I just need to rest.” you snapped, feeling no guilt as you turned away.

It took every fiber of self control not to hold the side of your stomach as you walked, but as soon as you were out of sight and earshot inside your tent, your hand immediately flew to your wound, trying everything to calm the raging pain.

Shaking your head of the dizziness swimming in your vision, you haphazardly stumbled to your camping bed, bracing yourself on the frame as you began rifling through your pack. Though you may not carry bandages out with you in the field, you were all issued a roll before you left, as military standard. You placed them atop your camp-bed, alongside your canteen of water and a small hand mirror you’d packed just in case. Sometimes you really appreciated your past self for the random shit she did.

Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you braced yourself for the sight as you lifted your shirt, only to realise you were not prepared for what you were about to see at all. It’s all very well being able to deal with wounds and injuries on other people, but it’s a whole different ball game when seeing a jagged spear of wood stick out from your stained, swollen flesh. Your breathing quickened, slowed only by the fog in your brain clearing just enough for you to remember you needed to calm down. Going into shock now might just end your life.

“Okay… fuck, okay…” you took large, steady breaths as you brought the mirror in front of you, giving yourself a better look at the wound. It was impossible to tell how long the spear was, maybe because you weren’t a fucking medic, but you knew it was in deep, and it was stuck fast. Since it was impaled in your stomach, there was no way you could apply a tourniquet either. One of the few things you actually knew how to do. You would have thought, having been in the Scouts for so long, you would have picked up a few more medical treatments or techniques, but you vaguely guessed you were too busy slicing the shit out of titans.

Taking your canteen, you unscrewed the lid with your teeth, once again taking some calming breaths, before ice met fire.

All that escaped your lips was a small, strained hiss as water gently trickled down the broken skin, cleansing the wound as best you could before the main event. Were you stalling? Probably, but you couldn’t blame yourself. If cautiously pouring a small amount of water over the site hurt this much, just how much would yanking it from your abdomen hurt? It wasn’t a thought you wanted to mull over for very long, realising you would probably need something to bite down on. For once thankful that the tents didn’t come with built in floors, you grabbed any old stick in range, wiping it on your bloodied trousers so there was no visible dirt, before shoving it between your teeth.

Wrapping your palm around the intrusion in your gut, you briefly wondered how much Levi would look at you in disgust if he ever saw you with a random stick in your mouth, before you pulled.

Hard.

Agony ripped through your system as the spear was pulled free, a broken cry flying from your obstructed mouth as your hand tried to plug the hole in the dam, unsuccessfully. Discarding the literal thorn in your side, you floundered for the bandages on the camp-bed, your cold hand quickly warming as your own blood now soaked the floor. Desperation clawed its way into your heart, forcing it to beat faster as you began wrapping bandage after bandage around your midsection, hoping and praying the bleeding would slow to a low trickle, and this wouldn’t kill you.

Tucking in the end of the bandage into itself so it was secure enough, you looked down in slight horror to see crimson already seeping through the ivory. Not enough to soak the fresh, more comfortable clothes you were about to put on, but enough to keep that racing heartbeat. You knew you had to calm down, panic would kill you faster, but you couldn’t help it. You always thought you’d meet your end in the jaws of a titan, not from some stupid fucking mistake you made which led to you being thrown into a building and impaled on some stupid fucking piece of wood. But, what you did know, was that your stubbornness would be your downfall. If you’d just told Levi earlier when he’d asked. If you’d just been honest with him, his overprotective nature be damned, you should have been honest with him. And now, you’d likely die because of it.

You didn’t have the energy to clean up, looking at the pile of bloodied clothing, half used bandages, your empty canteen, a now stained mirror and the almost black puddle left in the grass, your fuzzy mind almost found it comical, like the scene of a murder. You supposed, in a way, it was.

You found the rest of the veterans sitting in a circle around a small fire, though the warmth failed to seep into your bones. Taking a seat on an empty box you knew was meant for you, you raised your head to acknowledge the group, taking in a headcount before realising one of them, the most important one to you, wasn’t there.

“Where’s Levi?” you asked, you tone so much quieter than you would have liked. Hange winced in pity, clearly having heard the day you’d just had. Miche and Nanaba stayed quiet, Moblit focussing on the drink in his hand and Erwin looked between you and Hange, concern written on his face.

“He mentioned going to find you earlier. I’m going to assume he didn’t have much luck,” you wanted to laugh, but your ever-growing exhaustion and sluggishness prevented you from finding humour.

“Oh…” you responded, eyes falling to your pale hands as you mulled over her statement. You finally felt guilt twist in your already tired heart. You’d snapped at him earlier. He was only making sure you were alright and you’d snapped at him. Yes, he was overprotective sometimes, especially after you’ve been hurt, but this… what you were doing… he didn’t deserve this. Fuck.

A sharp, panicked call of your name had you sitting bolt upright, the rest of the vets too immediately flew to battle stations, wondering what the hell had Levi so worried, since they all recognised his voice. In the small rush of adrenaline, you jumped to your feet, swivelling in place to see your lover, eyes wide with terror, running towards you. But upon seeing he was okay, you smiled, adrenaline draining from your system as your blood-loss finally caught up with you.

It wasn’t just Levi shouting at you then, you heard a chorus of your name, the dull tumbling of boxes falling over as your vision faded to black

Levi had been concerned ever since you stumbled from the dilapidated building. He knew something was wrong, his gut was screaming at him, but he ignored it in favour of believing you were telling the truth. But now faced by the scene of your lies, Levi took in the bandages, the canteen, the pool of blood. But what worried him most, was the crimson tipped spear of wood. Piecing together what had happened wasn’t difficult, and a surge of emotions raged through his mind. Betrayal, that you had once again lied to him. Anger, that you had endangered your own life in order to keep this from him. Guilt, that you felt as if you couldn’t tell him about this. He was more than aware of how protective he was over you, but he never thought you’d do something like this. And terror, that somehow he’d been too late, and you were already lying somewhere in the camp, bleeding to death.

And it was that emotion that jump-started his search. Fleeing from the scene, Levi scanned the camp as he ran, hoping against hope that his eyes would catch sight of you. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you to his own fear of losing you. That’s where his overprotective nature stemmed from. He knew that, and you knew that.

Cold breath burned his lungs as he kept running, his instincts taking him to the small gathering of the people he considered friends. And it was there he finally saw you. But no relief calmed his system, only panic spurring him to run faster and shout louder. When he saw you on your feet, he questioned whether he’d pieced the puzzle together correctly. You seemed fine, a bit pale and a bit worn, but fine nonetheless.

And then you smiled gently at him. Then you staggered backwards, eyes falling shut. Then you collapsed, and Levi barely made it in time to catch you as you fell.

“Hey hey hey, stay with me, come on, stay with me,” he breathed, hands cupping your limp head and neck before resting you against his chest. Two fingers checked your pulse, a small reprieve from panic as he felt the faintest thumping against his fingertips. You were still there, but barely. “Shit, shit shit shit, HANGE–”

“I’m here, what can I do?” Levi managed to tear his eyes away from your unconscious form to briefly look at the scientist.

“Help her… please,” Levi, who was usually so calm and collected, was starting to lose his grip on his sanity. He saw recognition flash in Hange’s eyes, watching as they realised they would have to take control of the situation. Something the usually stoic captain would thank them for later.

Nobody had even seen your wound, and yet they knew this was a life or death situation. You were hanging on by a thread. And it was Erwin who spoke first.

“Nanaba, Miche, find a medic and bring them here as quickly as possible. Moblit and myself will be on standby.” before he’d even finished his orders, the two vets had taken off at a jog to find the nearest medical tent, but Levi couldn’t help thinking they weren’t moving fast enough. Your shallow breaths adding another layer of desperation to the situation, listening to them growing fainter was a timer he really didn’t need right now. His eyes immediately shot to your midsection as Hange lifted the comfortable shirt you’d thrown on, almost choking at the sight. All Levi saw was red. Figuratively and literally. The bandages you’d haphazardly wrapped around yourself had done nothing but absorb as much blood as they could, before letting the rest spill over. He’d never felt such paralysing fear in his life, not when Hange’s face dropped in defeat, refusing to meet Levi’s gaze.

“She’s lost too much blood…” they whispered, hands still pressing on the wound despite how fruitless it now seemed. It was then everything seemed so far away. Every sound made was muffled, every movement made was blurry. At some point Levi felt himself be dragged away from you. Felt himself fighting back, struggling against a force he couldn’t even decipher. Only vaguely registering Hange talking to two soldiers, the medics brought by Miche and Nanaba. But all he could focus on was you. Pale faced and dying. You were dying. Or you were already dead. He only realised he’d been shouting for you, screaming for you when he could no longer recognise his own voice, only the cracked, raw sobs of a broken man as he continued to fight against whatever held him back.

“Levi, you have to let her go.” deep, sympathetic tones of the commander cut through the grief stricken haze. He didn’t even know where he was. He didn’t know where he’d been dragged to. His eyes had stayed glued to the last spot he’d seen you before he was taken from the scene.

“Don’t ask me to do that. Please, don’t ask me to do that,” Levi stared at his hands unblinking, silver eyes taking in the blood beneath his fingernails, crimson lining the creases of his hands. He’d been sat down somewhere away from the commotion, Erwin staying by his side as they tried to save your life. He couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. If you felt like you could tell him about your injuries, none of this would have happened. If he wasn’t so overprotective over you, none of this would have happened. He knew you would tell him it wasn’t his fault, just like how he told you the fate of the girl wasn’t yours. But guilt still twisted his mind and heart into knots.

“Levi–” Erwin started, before he was interrupted by the arrival of a grim looking Hange, their own clothes and hands too seem stained in your blood. Looking up from his hands, Levi tried to read their expression, but found himself coming up with no answer to the most prominent question in his mind. Erwin voiced it for him. “Is she…”

“She’ll be okay. She’s lost a lot of blood, and is extremely weak at the moment, but she’ll recover. She’s currently resting, but the medic squad said you can see her.” For the nth time today, another wave of emotions crowded Levi’s tired mind. Unutterable relief that you would be okay. That he wouldn’t have to somehow continue on without you by his side. Rising from his seat, he immediately crossed the tent Erwin had dragged him to, pulling the flap to the side before Hange’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Just, be careful. Her stitches are fresh,” with a sharp nod, too afraid his voice would break even further if he spoke, before ducking beneath the tent-flap and finally realising where he’d been taken.

Time must have shifted, because how the fuck Erwin managed to get him all the way across the camp in what seemed like only a few short seconds he would never know, before reality dawned on him. It had been half an hour since you’d collapsed. Dusk had settled to night, torches and campfires illuminating his path as he strode through the quietened site, making a beeline for the medical tent.

The relief he felt when he heard you were okay was nothing compared to the crippling sense of gratitude he felt when actually seeing you, alive, asleep on a camp-bed. The slow rise and fall of your chest calmed his own heartbeat as he knelt by your side, smoothing your brow with his thumb.

“You scared the shit out of me.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair before resting his forehead against your own.

“Sorry…” Levi drew back a bit, mouth agape, searching your face just as you turned your head slightly to face him, eyes cracking open. He looked terrible, but you didn’t think you’d seen anything so sweet in your life. “Levi, I’m so sor–”

“Damn right you are. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life. I thought that was it. I thought I’d lost you,” though his words seemed harsh, there was nothing but gentle relief in his tone as he returned his forehead to yours, a hand coming down to squeeze your palm just to make sure you really were alive and this wasn’t some grief conjured hallucination. “Please… just tell me next time. I know I can be cautious and overprotective but I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I was so fucking scared my fear of losing you had somehow killed you.” you brought your free palm up to cup his cheek, gently guiding his face so you could look him in the eye.

“I know this is a really bad time to say this, but I can look after myself–”

“She says, from a hospital bed.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. But you don’t have to go into overdrive everytime I get a splinter,” –Levi raised a brow, eyes flicking to your now bandaged wound– “okay bad example, but you know what I mean.” you smiled at his soft chuckle, relishing as his lips once again caressed your hairline. He interlaced your hands, squeezing softly as his mouth trailed gentle kisses down the side of your face, to your cheek, and finally capturing your lips.

“I know. I’m sorry… but you’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going to let you lift a finger for the next three weeks at least.” it was your turn to chuckle lightly, wincing as it strained your newly stitched abdomen. Noticing your discomfort, Levi’s brows pinched in concern, thumb still smoothing over the curves of your face. “Is there anything you need? Food? Water?” he asked, looking around as if to catch one of the medics walking by, but you shook your head.

“Just… stay. Please.” his expression softened, nodding before dragging a chair to your bedside. You both stayed in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before inevitably your mind wandered back to the girl from before. “The girl from before… Do we know what happened to her?” you asked softly, worry lacing your tired tones. Levi shook his head gently, hating how your eyes fell in sorrow. You’d just almost died, and yet you were still concerned for others. It was something that had him falling for you right from the start, your compassion, and he would do anything to protect it.

“I think she’ll be assigned to the psych ward. Hopefully they’ll be able to help her in some way, but I dou–” seeing your expression sink further stopped him in his tracks, his heart clenching painfully at your response. Lifting the hand he still held in his own, he gently kissed your knuckles. “She’s alive and safe because of you. You saved her life. I know you think you should have been there earlier but truth be told, it’s impossible to tell whether you could have saved her sister as well. You did what you could, and that’s all any of us can do.” he murmured against your hand, prompting a teary smile to creep across your face as you nodded in affirmed agreement.

“Thank you.” you whispered, your body too focussed on recovering to do or say much else as you drifted back to sleep. A small, fond smile pulled at Levi’s lips, mirroring your expression as he leant down to kiss your forehead.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here. Always.”

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rmtndew · 2 years

Text

Out of The Woods

Summary: A woman finds a young man collapsed outside of her cottage and nurses him back to health. But the one thing she can’t mend is his forgotten past.

Pairing: Charles Brandon and OFC Amaya

Warnings: Amnesia, illness, mentions of death, thunderstorms. Probably pretty poorly written old English? Otherwise, this is pretty fluffy stuff.

Word Count: 10,300+

A/N: This was originally intended to be for my darling @lilliannaansallafics birthday two months ago. It took a while but here it is. For you, my love!

I donned my cloak and left my cottage behind. A storm was coming. I could feel it. Could smell it in the air. There was a short time that I could walk the forest and show appreciation for what it would bring before I was being brazen and not showing the fear and respect it deserved. The forest was darkening quickly despite the early hour and I knew the storm would be bringing something more than quenching rain.

My boots trod over rotting leaves that covered the forest floor, and fallen twigs, snapping through them. The sound was buried beneath the rumbling of thunder that shook the ground below me. If there was lightning accompanying it, it was lost through the thick canopy of trees above. Walking through the woods, I kept my eyes on my surroundings but stopped when I saw elderflowers up ahead. Knowing that they didn’t grow in such dark conditions, I believed they were to serve a purpose. I plucked them and placed them into the pocket of my apron beneath my cloak. I only took as much as I would use and placed my hands reverently atop the rest and thanked them for being there.

I continued walking until the air became thick with the encroaching storm and I knew I was suddenly trespassing in the forest and it was time to take my leave. Turning back, I returned on the path to the cottage. I could feel thunder charging through the forest floor but a sound cut through the storm and I realized there was something there with me.

I stood stock still and watched as a horse burst through the thick underbrush. I gasped and stepped back, frightened by the sight of it. The forest housed many animals but horses were not one. It stopped in front of me and reared up, braying wildly. Carefully I continued to step back, allowing the creature its space. It stomped at the earth, pacing around in a spooked manner, permitting me enough time to take it in before it charged off into the woods once more. I realized it wasn’t a wild horse; it wore a bridle and reins and carried a saddle but no rider. Whether the rider had abandoned the beast or the other way around, I had no way of knowing. The horse tore off through the woods, the sound of its hooves beating against the forest, calling down louder thunder to swallow it.

I hurried along the path, intending to reach my home before the storm arrived. As I emerged into the clearing where my cottage stood, I saw a crumbled figure at my door. I rushed forward. I could tell it was a man before I reached him but once I knelt at his side, I carefully turned him over. He was beautiful. He had dark curls that clung to his forehead while stubble in the same dark brown adorned his sharp jaw. He wore no identifying apparel - simply breeches and a white blouse that was soaked and clinging to the muscles of his chest. It wasn’t raining, not yet, so I knew something else had happened. My mind flashed to the horse and I began to wonder if this mystery man had been its rider and he’d been thrown into the creek. His breath was rough and uneven, his teeth chattering. He’d been wet for far too long; he was beginning to take ill.

I opened my cottage door and not without great effort, I managed to pull the man inside. He groaned but didn’t wake. Once he was safely under my roof, I removed my cloak and boots and busied myself in order to care for him. Quickly as I could, I stoked the fire slumbering under embers and ashes back to life, reviving the flames before feeding it with more logs. Soon it was roaring, its warmth clawing out to fill the small house.

I took blankets and pillows and made a small - but hopefully comfortable - bed in front of the fire. With another bout of strength, I moved my guest near it. Before attempting to bring him atop the fabric, I removed his boots. The water that poured out onto the floor as I did served as further proof that my assumption of him being thrown into the creek was correct. I placed his boots near the fire to dry and then stripped the soaked shirt from his body. Next I moved onto his breeches, removing them respectfully as possible, leaving a wee bit of modesty to the stranger with his smallclothes. Modesty was trumped by survival.

I checked quickly for any wounds and found none on his body but there was a slight gash on the back of his head. I presumed it was from falling into the water. There was no way to know how long he’d been submerged before making his way out but a cut such as that, it didn’t seem unreasonable to believe he’d been knocked unconscious and was unable to get out for quite some time. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been soaked to the bone in cold water as he was.

His shivering intensified as sweat appeared on his brow and I knew then why I’d been given the elderflower in the forest; he had a fever.

I moved him onto the soft pallet in front of the fire and covered him with a light blanket. He needed to warm up but not overheat. Once he was where the fire could do its job, I hung a kettle of water over it and then took some of the elderflower and carefully picked the petals from the stems, placing them into a bowl. When the water began to boil, I removed it from the fire and poured it over the flowers. Letting it steep, I turned to find a bit of cloth and dipped it into a cool bucket of fresh water. I wrung the excess out and returned to my guest, kneeling by his side.

He was shaking and shivering, his teeth chattering loudly. I pressed the cool cloth to his forehead, hoping it might alleviate some of the fever’s grasp upon his brow. I dabbed at his skin, feeling the warmth of it against my other hand as I brushed his hair from his face. He still shivered but there was something of a calm that took over him as my fingertips skimmed his temple. Perhaps it was too much and not my place but I couldn’t stop myself from trying to give him a bit of peace whilst he was in my charge. So I placed my other hand on his cheek, stroking it with care the way a mother would to a child in the same position. I watched his face relax despite the fever.

By the time the rag had cooled in my hand, I knew his tea was prepared. I went to retrieve it, quickly straining the petals out before pouring it into a cup. When I returned, I watched as he began to fitfully toss his head about on the pillow. I quickly knelt by his side again, placing my hand upon his cheek.

“Shhh,” I gently soothed him. “I’m here.” He sighed and began to calm once more.

Working quickly so that he wouldn’t grow fitful again with a loss of touch, I moved, kneeling behind him, and lifted his head and shoulders to rest on my lap. With one hand I brushed my fingers through his hair, comforting him, and the other I brought the tea to his lips and gently poured it into his mouth. Despite being unconscious, his instincts took over and he swallowed. I didn’t want to overwhelm him so I went slowly, only allowing him a small sip every few minutes. It seemed to work. Between the elderflowers and the fire, his shivering ceased while the sweat on his brow became worse. The fever needed to be fed to the point of breaking but no further.

I only moved to place the empty cup on the table and to bring a bowl of water and the cloth I’d used to cool his skin back to him. It amazed me how calm he could be while I was touching him but leaving him for mere moments seemed to cause him so much distress. When I returned, I took his head back onto my lap and wiped his face and forehead with the damp cloth. As I did, I comforted him by brushing his hair back from his face and singing a song that my mother had sang to me as a child when trying to get me to sleep. It had a similar effect on him and soon it seemed that my guest was resting peacefully.

Carefully I turned his head to the side and by the light of the fireplace inspected the gash on the back. It seemed straightforward enough. I cleaned it as best I could before applying ointment gently. Beyond that, all I could do was keep watch over him.

The storm had taken over the world outside by then. The sky black as pitch except on occasion when lightning struck across it, sending shards of white and purple to break through. The rain pelted the roof and windows. The wind howled. But inside my cottage, I was safe and dry, and so was the man before me.

Night swallowed the day, though the storm left no sun for it to devour. From noonday until evening, the same black sky prevailed. I had plenty to do inside. Not just for myself but my guest as well. I continued my care, nourishing him as best as I could in his state. I was preparing for bed myself when I heard a disturbance. My guest was waking.

I pressed forward towards him. By the light of the fireplace, I could see his head raised as he looked about wildly. I could tell he was confused but more than that, he was frightened. The fear only intensified as I moved into his sight.

“Stay back, specter,” he mumbled, his voice strangled.

Pausing, I glanced at myself. My white night dress illuminated by the flames of the fireplace must have cast me in a supernatural light. To anyone waking in a strange place, I could see how I could appear as something more - or perhaps something less - than a woman.

“Have no fear. I’m not a specter,” I assured him. “You fell in the forest. You were injured. You came to my cottage.” I moved closer to him. “Do you remember?”

He shook his head weakly but the frightened look seemed to ease the closer I came to him. “I have no memory…”

“Of your fall?”

“No,” he said, his eyes locking on me. “I have no memory.”

I knelt at his bedside. “None at all?”

“Vapers. They vanish the moment I try to grasp them.”

“You took a fall and you’ve had a fever. You need rest, then perhaps your memories will return to you.” His face paled. More sweat built upon his brow. He was awake but he was far from well. “Lie back down. Sleep. Nothing will harm you here,” I said. “Tomorrow will bring us a new dawn and together we will piece together what we can.”

He let his head fall back against his pillow but his eyes continued to dart to and fro in the dark. He no longer seemed to hold any fear towards me once realizing I was not the ghostly figure he first thought I was, but there was still worry. Without thought, I reached out and stroked his hair gently as I’d done before. He didn’t pull away but he seemed surprised at any tenderness being shown to him.

“Do you know me?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “No. Only that you needed my assistance.”

“Your name?”

“Amaya.”

“Amaya,” he repeated, his voice still hoarse. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” I said as I smiled and brushed his hair back from his forehead once more. His skin was both chilled and damp with sweat. Being near the fire brought no warmth to it, nor color to his cheeks. “Rest.”

I began to stand but his hand darted out, reaching for mine. He held it. The skin was rough but not the way it would be should his hands belong to a worker. No farmer, no farrier, no thatcher would have hands like his. He wasn’t royalty, that much I was certain, but he was no mere commoner. I felt in his hands strength, calluses from wielding weapons perhaps, but there were no symptoms of hard work. Despite the fact that he might be a warrior, he looked at me with the eyes of a little boy as he gripped my hand weakly.

“Will you…will you tarry for a little longer? Please?”

“Of course.”

I patted his hand that held mine. Had he any strength in his body, his hold could have easily bruised me, but as it was, he was barely able to clutch it. And soon the weak hold loosened, his hand simply resting atop of mine. The cold, damp skin of his forehead was echoed in the palm of his hand.

His breathing was coarse as his tired eyes searched the dark of my cottage. I began humming to him softly the same songs I’d sung to him earlier and I watched him release the tension he held coiled in his shoulders. He sank into the fabric below him. His eyes blinked slow and heavy, closing with a soft ‘hmf’ from his lips. I watched his chest rise and fall as his breath became less labored. Sleep had come for him and had taken him somewhere that he could finally rest.

There was no more fighting within his body. His face softened and despite his sickly pallor I could see how beautiful of a man he was. Handsome and not a commoner. Once the night had passed I was sure that there would be legions of men scouring the forest looking for him. But for the night, he was in my home, safe from any harm that wished to befall him.

I woke before the sun. Dressing quickly and then quietly leaving the cottage, so as not to wake my slumbering stranger. As the sun started rising, the world outside showed the wrath of the storm that had taken its hold the day before. Trees had been uprooted or angrily rent in half by lightning. The leaves that had thickly carpeted the ground just the morning before had been washed into heaps, bloated with captured pouches of rain caught beneath them. Rivulets of water streamed through the cracks, moving the heaps and making them look as if they were breathing.

I took my bucket and ambled down to the creek, the heavy smell of decay filling my lungs. The rain had stirred it up from the leaves and underbrush that had been peacefully rotting. Once at the creek, before filling my pail with water, I examined the area. There would be no evidence of my guest or his horse left in the dirt - the weather had worked to wash it all away had there been - but I thought they might be some effect of his that could help me understand who he was. But there was nothing. No token, no possession that could be linked back to him.

Once I concluded my search of the creek, I filled my bucket and began my walk back. My ears stayed alert for the sound of men or hooves beating the ground that would alert me to the party searching for him, but I heard nothing out of the ordinary. Only a waking forest and sleeping beasts.

Upon returning, I ventured to enter the house without noise so as not to rouse my guest, but my attempts were in vain. He was awake, stretching in front of the fireplace like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Hearing me arrive, he turned towards me. He was only in his smallclothes still but made no attempt to hide. He had no modesty about himself, which surprised me considering I thought him to be a nobel.

I turned my head, tearing away my eyes from his nearly naked form. Though I’d seen it the night before, it had all been in the name of healing. “Good sir,” I said.

“My apologies.” His tone made him sound as if he’d only just released his state of undress. “My clothes?”

I pointed blindly. “Near the fire. They were soaked. I feared you’d catch your death in them.”

There was a rustling and shifting and sounds of fabric moving about until finally, “You can turn, my lady.”

I felt my cheeks flush with heat. “I’m not a lady, I’m afraid. Just a simple woman of the woods,” I said, turning back to look at where he stood. Seeing him dressed, save his boots, painted him in a new light. No longer did he look the sickly, worried boy he had the night before. No. He was a healthy, strapping man. I swallowed thickly. “I trust you’re feeling better?”

“Much. I’m eternally grateful for the care you’ve given me. I fear I wouldn’t have survived the night if not for your kindness.”

“I only did what any decent person would do. You were the one who found your way to my door.”

His face seemed pained in its confusion. “Did I?”

“You still don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “No. Perhaps even less so than before.”

“You need time. That is all.”

“I wouldn’t dare taint your dignity by asking to stay. Even in the woods, a maiden’s honor is sacred.”

“Maidhood is sacred but my will is strong. Should you attempt to leave before you have knowledge of where you’re going, I will hunt you down, good sir,” I teased. “I know these forests better than anyone. If you were to leave on foot, there’s nowhere you could hide that I wouldn’t find you.”

He smiled and licked his lips before shaking his head once more. “My memories may be nothing more than wisps of smoke at the moment but I feel confident that no woman has ever threatened to hunt me down should I leave them. I fear the opposite may have been far more common.”

“Let there be a first for everything,” I said. “You must be famished.”

He showed more embarrassment in his acknowledgment of being hungry than he had in his lack of clothing, a curious thought considering he showed much concern over my honor. He nodded with a bowed head. “Quite.”

“Then allow me to prepare a meal for us.”

“I should like to help. If you’d allow. To repay you as best as I could.”

“There’s no need.”

“There is to me, my lady.”

“I’m no lady, good sir,” I reminded him. “You may call me Amaya.”

“Charles,” he responded immediately, then looked bewildered at himself.

I smiled. “See Charles? Not all is lost.”

“No, it appears not.” He nodded towards the bucket of water in my hands. “May I?”

I sighed. “If you’re truly intent on being put to work, I won’t hesitate to do so.”

He smiled back. “As was my hope.” He came towards me and took the heavy bucket from me with just one hand. He ducked his head to look me more closely in the eye as he reverently bowed his head to me. “Put me to work, my lady.”

I was never one to dishonor a request and so I set him about working. I didn’t press him so far as to strain his body to make certain he was feeling up to the task, but it was most helpful to have a man about the house that could lift this thing or that with little exertion. That had not been the case since my brother had been alive.

I kept him fed but made sure he ate slowly so as not to get ill. By eventide he seemed to have gained back whatever strength he’d lost the day prior - unfortunately his memories did not follow. He still had only a shallow grasp of it, his name being the only solid thing he could remember. Despite his willingness to work and heed my beck and call, I was still convinced that he was someone of rank - whether that be a noble or a warrior. As darkness overtook the day once more, I was rather confused as to why no men had come searching for him.

Since he was my ward again for another night, I showed him to a room. “It was my brother’s,” I explained. “As were the clothes in the coffer near the window. He was near your height and near your size so should you need, you could borrow from them.”

“Was?”

“He had the sweating sickness. There was little that could be done.”

“My deepest condolences,” Charles said. “And my immense gratitude that you would allow me to take possession of his chambers for an evening. Even though he’s no longer here, I suspect you will always consider it his. I promise to tread respectfully.”

“Thank you. But please, make yourself comfortable. You’ve been a great help to me today. You deserve a proper rest.” I smiled at him. “You deserved it yesterday as well. However, I lacked the strength to bring you here.”

He returned my smile. “You saved my life so I will forgive you for not being able to bring me any further,” he joked. “Though I admit I’m rather surprised that you were able to bring me as far as you did.”

“Concern for someone’s life can certainly inspire a great bout of strength in a person.”

His smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. “Was it truly so bad? You feared for my life?”

“I couldn’t save my brother. I was not keen to see that loss play out again under this roof.”

He nodded. “Selfish though it may sound, I’m thankful that you were not subjected to that, either,” he said. “I owe you my life, my lady.”

“I’ve told you -”

“You’re not a lady, yes,” he interrupted. “But to me you are. At the risk of your own honor, you’ve allowed me to stay here, brought me back to health, and you’re now entrusting me with your late brother’s chamber. That is enough to elevate you in my eyes.”

“You are too kind. I only did what anyone would do in my place.”

“Perhaps it speaks lowly of my impression of mankind, but I do not suspect that that’s true.”

“Pity that mankind has made such an impression on you that even though you remember naught but your name, you remember your impression of them,” I said. “Though I can’t say I disagree. My mother and father had their own reasons for building their cottage here in the woods where their neighbors were only the rooks and foxes.”

“Do you ever get lonely out here on your own?”

“Rarely. I’m not one who minds their own company. But I admit…it’s been exceedingly lovely to have someone to talk to who can answer me back.”

He smiled. “The moment the rooks start answering you is perhaps the moment you’ll decide to leave here?”

I laughed and nodded. “I do think that would be an apt sign for me to take my leave, yes,” I agreed. “But until then, I’m quite comfortable here.” I looked up at him. “And I hope that you are also comfortable here.”

“I am. Thank you.”

“Then I will bid you goodnight, Charles.”

He bowed his head. “Goodnight, Amaya.”

The disturbances I was used to at night were nothing more than the howling of a wolf or wind. That night it was a howl of another sort. I woke to the sound of a man calling out. My mind still had a foot in sleep and thought it was Father or my brother. The harsh reality of their deaths came to me before I could fully wake so I knew with great heartache that they were gone and the sound wasn’t from them but it was a moment too long before realizing who it was: Charles.

There were few words spoken. It was an anguished cry that tore through the night. The moon gave enough light through the window to lead me from my room to his. I should have knocked. I knew it was inappropriate to cast myself into the room of a man with no relation to me and no invitation that I might enter, but the sounds of his sobbing forced me apart from all decorum as I sought to assuage whatever was causing him pain.

Upon entering the room, I saw that Charles, despite his cries, was asleep. He tossed his head fitfully as he had the night before when his fever was upon him but I could see that this was no illness that had taken hold; it was his own mind.

I rushed to his bedside and shook his shoulder gently. It took very little of my touch for him to wake. His eyes were wide, his breath panting. It seemed for a moment as if he was still seeing whatever visions had haunted his dreams but when I placed my hand upon his cheek, he stilled instantly.

“Who’s there?” he whispered, his voice not so strong or certain as it had been during the day.

“Amaya.”

He released a shaking breath. “What happened?”

“You had a night terror.”

He was silent for a moment, save for his attempts to calm his breathing. He succeeded very little as it continued to waver. “There was a battle. So much blood and screaming. And children…I can still hear them,” he admitted.

“Were you part of the battle?”

“I don’t know. I can’t…I can’t remember.” I could hear the frustration in his voice and I stroked his cheek gently, feeling him soften under my touch. His eyes found mine in the dark. “I feel as if I was somehow responsible for their screams but I don’t understand how that could be. I have no desire in my heart to harm anyone. Especially not a child. And yet…I can’t shake the feeling.”

“The responsibility we take on ourselves is not always born of truth. My brother, rest his soul, would have died no matter what. But I felt responsible for his death all the same. As if my lack of knowledge on how to care for him was what claimed his life and not the sickness itself. Had I known any cures, it would have just prolonged his death, not saved him entirely,” I said. “You have no memories. Only a name and the shadowy horrors of a battleground. Do not be so quick to take responsibility and guilt upon yourself because of a feeling. Not one that was born through a night terror.”

“But what if it was only a terror because it was true?” he asked. “What if I caused harm to those children I heard? What if I slaughtered them?” His eyes squeezed shut. “If that is the type of man I was then I don’t want to ever remember that life.”

“If that was the type of man you were then the only way to reconcile it is to become a different man now.” My thumb brushed against the stubble of his cheek and he looked at me once again. “Charles, no one is fated to be good or evil. It is a choice that we all make. Some early on, some every day, but it is a choice nonetheless. You are not beyond redemption.”

“Do you believe that? That I could still be redeemed if I did those things?”

“I do. Because that is not the man you’ve shown me to be today.”

He turned his head, looking out the window into the night. “How much longer before dawn?”

“I’m unsure. I suspect several more hours, though.” My hand slipped from his cheek and I desired to touch him once again. I knew it was wrong but I had been without another soul in my presence for so long that I had nearly forgotten how the touch of a person felt. “Go back to sleep. Rest.”

“I know I’ve asked far too much of you already but…would you remain here for a moment longer?”

“Of course.”

And so began a ritual. Almost every evening for two fortnights, Charles would have night terrors. I would go to him and rouse him from his sleep, then stay with him until he was able to rest enough to sleep again. In the daylight, his memories were still misty and shadowed but something about the night brought about recollections of the battles he’d fought in. I wasn’t surprised. I’d known he was a warrior by his hands. But I was surprised that someone so tender-hearted could hold their own in a war.

It became all too easy to forget society's rules with him there. We became accustomed to one another and it no longer felt as if his remaining in my home was putting my honor in question or in danger. And my presence in his chambers (and they had become his; releasing my brother’s ghost from its confines) never seemed inappropriate. The world beyond us and their customs were quickly forgotten as we became friends. Though I had told him true when I had said that I didn’t mind my own company, there was something to be said of having a companion. And that’s what he had become: a companion of the greatest sort.

The one subject I never dared broach with him was the one that plagued me the most: Why no one had come searching for him. I held in my heart the belief that he was someone who would not escape notice. If not in the military - for which he was most definitely a part of - then by some other person. He was handsome, and kind, and funny. But he never spoke of a wife or a betrothed. I understood that his memories were not returning swiftly but I had hoped that if there was someone he truly cared for, their memories would find a way to rise from the bottom of the pit his mind seemed to have been thrown in. However, that did not seem to be the case.

Everything about Charles had been unexpected. I’d lived my life in solitude after my brother had passed some three years previous, and we’d been orphaned for four years at the time of his passing, and had no expectations of a storm bringing a man to my door. But he was there and he was kind and though I enjoyed his companionship, it was laced with melancholy. I knew he was not mine - not my kin, not my husband, not my Lord - and therefore would have to forfeit him once his memories returned. And I felt a great swell of sadness at that prospect. I both wished for his sake that he would remember his life and for my own selfish reasonings that he would not. For if he never remembered, I could always keep him.

I felt guilty for my line of thinking and decided to take a walk through the forest to clear my head. After donning my cloak, I emerged from the cottage only to be greeted by the sight of Charles wielding an axe as he split wood for the fire. I stopped short, my feet halting on the threshold of the door as I watched him. I’d known he was a stout and strong man but I hadn’t quite seen the full scope of his strength before that moment.

His white shirt was tucked into his breeches and I could see the movement in his back and shoulders as he brought the axe down and split the log of wood clean in two. He repeated the same motions until there were four equal pieces of wood, which he stacked on top of the pile outside my home. I had cut the lumber it sat upon, I knew how difficult it was to cleave them in two, and yet as he placed another log atop the block, he cut through it with no resistance. I was at once both grateful for his strength and equal parts mesmerized by it.

My breathing seemed to quicken as I watched him and I knew it was time to take my leave. I gave my best effort not to make a sound, to measure the closing of the door with the chopping of the wood, but before I could take more than a few steps away from the cottage, Charles turned and spotted me.

He smiled. That lovely smile of his. The one I’d come to adore so. “Are you sneaking off?” he teased.

“No, sir. Only going for a walk. I didn’t mean to disrupt you.”

His smile grew. “You could never disrupt me, my lady. Shall I accompany you?”

“Please do not feel obligated to do so.”

“I’d be more than happy to.” He stuck the blade of the axe into the top of the log that was on the block before him. “The forest can be dangerous. Full of unseen perils.”

“I might find it in me to disagree considering I’ve known these woods nearly my whole life, however…you came to me from the forest and so I must yield the win to you on this matter.”

“Do you think me dangerous?” he asked, his smile showing the sharp fangs of his teeth.

“Frightfully so, sir,” I said, returning his smile with my own.

He left the chopping block and joined me at my side. “Have no fear, I intend to do no harm to you. You saved my life and for that, I swear my fealty to you. I pledge myself as your protector. No foul beast will sink his claws into you this day,” he said, barely restraining a laugh at himself.

I found my cheeks heating as I looked up into his clear blue eyes. My heart already felt as if it could be torn from my chest at the mere thought of him leaving and we’d only been acquainted for such a short amount of time. I’d had two young men show their interest in taking my hand in marriage when I had lived in a village when I was younger. But none had ever been serious with their prospects. The parting of ways with them - potential husbands - hadn’t hurt so much as the hint of losing Charles did.

“Then may I never lose your protection, good sir,” I said softly, hoping he did not understand the full extent of my meaning.

The forest was alive that morning with sounds and the sweet smell of earth. But as the morning wore on, a thick, white fog began settling down amongst the trees, rolling towards us. I saw no issue in continuing on but Charles was not so keen.

He stopped at my side and turned to look at me. “I think we should return.”

“Are you afraid of fog?”

He licked his lips and sighed. “I’m afraid we’ll lose the path should it get any worse.”

I took a step forward. “I’ve told you before - I know these woods. We will be safe.”

His hand shot out and took hold of my arm. “You know these woods. Not I. Lord forbid, but should something happen, I could not find my way back to your cottage. My tone earlier might have wrongly inferred that I was jesting when I said I would protect you but I truly meant it. I have no desire to see danger befall you,” he said. He looked at me, his eyes full of earnestness. “I beg of you, Amaya. Please.”

Truth be told, the warmth that spread across my skin at his hand touching my arm, the look in his eyes, the way I wanted something more from him than I would ever receive, I felt safer there taking my chance in the woods and nearly sent him back on his own. But I could not do that to him.

“Because you cannot fight the fog and protect me from it, I’ll concede in this one instance,” I said, attempting to make light of the feelings inside me. “We will return.” We turned around but the path had grown covered by the fog and soon Charles stumbled beside me as he tried to follow. I stopped and looked up at him yet again before extending my arm towards him. “Here. Take my hand.”

He looked confounded. “I beg your pardon?”

“My hand, good sir, take it and allow me to lead you back into the clearing.”

“I have no need.”

I tried not to take the slight to heart. I was sure he didn’t mean to appear to turn down the touch of my hand. He was a man; I assumed he didn’t want to seem as if he needed to be led by a woman. But regardless of his intentions, it hurt all the same.

“Put pride aside for a moment and think of your own argument: Should something happen to me, you could not find your way back. However, if something were to happen to you, I lack the strength to carry you home. I conceded. Would it be so terrible if you were to do the same?” I asked but he did not take my hand. I withdrew it. “Taking my hand would mean nothing except the recognition that you do not know these trails quite so well as I. But if you do not wish to take it, then by all means, watch your footing and pray that you do not take a tumble.” I began walking once more, leaving him behind me.

It did not take long for him to catch up. “Amaya, please,” he said. “If I’ve offended you somehow, I apologize.”

“You have caused no offense,” I said, though there was still hurt in my voice.

“I do not believe you,” he said, trailing behind me.

“You think I am a lair?” I asked, turning to look at him.

He halted his walking but not quite soon enough. He bumped into me. I waited for him to take a step back, to right his stance, but he did nothing of the sort. His face was softened as he brought it down close to mine. “My lady, I do not think you are a liar. I think you are trying to keep peace. There is a great difference,” he said. “You are offended that I wouldn’t take your hand. Why?”

“It’s of no importance.”

“It is to me,” he said. I did not speak and he sighed. “To think I have hurt you pains me. Please, Amaya, tell me what I’ve done.”

No words were able to leave me before a great gust of wind blew around me, rustling my cloak. The wind did not touch Charles and I knew it was a warning. My eyes cut through the woods around us, searching wildly for any sign of danger, however the fog was too thick. But then a thundering could be heard in the forest. Charles heard it as well. His head snapped to the side. In only moments, a horse emerged from the woods, appearing on the path beside us.

“Halt. Who goes there?” he barked the rider.

I opened my mouth to speak but Charles leveled a heavy glance at me before turning towards the stranger. “We are mere commoners, my lord,” Charles answered for us. “Attempting to retire to our home before the path is overtaken by fog.”

The rider looked down at Charles, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized his face. All at once, a realization dawned across his features. “Your Grace. My sincerest apologies, I did not realize it was you. You were thought missing.”

“Explain yourself,” Charles demanded. His tone betrayed a part of him that he had never shown to me: an air of authority that he held so strongly that he dared question a person of rank.

“You are Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, yes? The King declared you missing a month ago when your steed returned from an early morning ride but you did not.”

I kept my head bowed and my eyes down, not daring to give the rider any opportunity to chastise me. But my mind swam with thoughts of my dear Charles, my companion, being a Duke. It didn’t seem possible and yet I was under no impression that coincidence could be so strong.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, my lord. I am no Duke. My name is Arthur,” he lied. “And this…this is my wife, Amaya.”

The horse trotted backwards, as if spooked. “You are not the Duke of Suffolk?”

Charles shook his head. “No, my lord.”

The rider was silent for a long moment, his horse not happy with the air around us as he huffed. “Your home, is it far from here?”

“It’s difficult to make out the distance in the fog but it should not be too far away, my lord,” Charles answered.

“Take me to it. A storm is coming. I will ride it out under your roof.”

Denying his request was not possible. We had to bring him to the cottage. I did not like the thought of it. Did not like the ruse that Charles had conjured of him being called Arthur and he and I being married. If the truth were to come out, if I made a slip of the tongue, I could put us both in great peril.

I had to lead the way home slowly so that Charles would be able to stay by my side and it would appear that he was leading and not I. Once there, Charles tethered the horse under a covering where it would be safe during the storm and I led our guest into the house. Though we were only together for mere moments before Charles joined us, I felt greatly uncomfortable being alone with him. It was a feeling I’d never felt with Charles before.

The morning passed and I barely spoke to our guest. I fed him, provided everything that he needed, but stayed silent unless spoken to. I had never need worry about holding my tongue while in my own home. Even as a child, my parents had let me speak freely. And yet that day I felt more a stranger in my house than its owner. The rider had no qualms with demanding what he liked and I was ever so grateful to Charles who kept him occupied with conversation and ale, and as the day wore on, with cards. I prayed for the raging tempest to break and feared it wasn’t meant to be, but finally it traversed beyond us, revealing that the sun was still nigh, leaving enough daylight for the rider to travel by. Though I was filled with unease as Charles readied his horse, I did my duty as a gracious host and paid my respects as we saw him off. Seeing him disappear into the forest did not fill me with the relief I thought it might. Charles seemed to have noticed my apprehension.

He turned to me. “He won’t harm you. I would never allow it,” he said. “Forgive me for including you in my deceit towards him. However, my intentions of calling you my wife were to shield you from his attention, should he have been dishonorable.”

“There’s naught to be forgiven. You were protecting me and for that I am grateful, your Grace.”

His brow pulled together. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Because that is who you are.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you believe that there are two men who share your same name and countenance?” I asked. “You know as well as I that the chances of that are small. You must be who he spoke of.”

“Must I?”

He looked so pained and yet I could not understand why. “You have struggled to gain any of your memories back and here was a man who knows who you are. Why would you fight that?”

“Because if I am who he says…I would need to take my leave of you,” he admitted. “I do not want that.”

“You cannot expect me to believe that you would rather live here -” I spread my arms wide, indicating to the trees and mud and muck around us - “in the middle of the forest, heeding my beck and call as I put you to work when you could live freely in your life as a Duke, with servants that you order about instead.”

“And yet…that is what I am telling you.”

“I think you are overwhelmed by the prospects of what your life holds beyond your memories of war,” I told him, turning towards the cottage. “Once you remember fully, you will want to go back, your Grace.”

He heaved a sigh. “Please, do not call me that,” he begged. “I am not your Grace, I am your Charles.”

“My Charles? You make it sound as if I’ve laid a claim to you,” I said, turning back to face him.

“You have not but that has not stopped me from wishing it so.”

My breath caught in my lungs as an ache built deep in my chest. I shook my head. “You do not know what you are saying.”

He strode over to me. He paused only a moment before he reached out his hand and slowly brought it to my cheek. Though I had comforted him many times with the same gesture, it had never been returned and feeling it in that moment was almost tear-inducing. “I would swear the rest of my life to living in the honor of your servitude, if you would allow me.”

My heart felt gripped by a hand of fear. “Is that all that you wish to do? Be in my servitude?” I whispered, tears finally taking over my sight.

He shook his head. “No. I would serve you. I would heed your every order with a full heart if that is all I was permitted to do. But it is far from all that I desire.”

“And what do you desire?”

“You.” Charles held my face still while he brought his near to mine. I closed my eyes, tears trapped along my lashes, as I felt his forehead rest against my own. “Throw me out,” he whispered. “Leave me to the woods and wolves. Do whatever you want with me. But it must be known here and now that I love you.”

“And what if you have another love?” I asked, tears breaking free from my eyes. “Would you wish to break my heart once you remember her?”

“No. I never wish for you to be hurt, but especially not of my own design.”

“Then please, do not say these things to me.”

I broke free from him and took a step back, attempting to stall any further crying. He followed, taking my hands in his. “The first thing I remembered outside of the battles that have haunted my sleep was the day I came to you,” he said. “Though it’s clearer now, it first returned to me as a memory of unending sadness. A loneliness that had settled down in my bones. I remember traveling into the woods with no intent to come back. What happened during the wars I fought in, it weighed my soul down. I remember thinking it would never be recovered. I entered the forest with an intention to die but in all regards, you saved my life.”

He brought my hands to his mouth and kissed them reverently. “You…you who have not known me, who have sworn no loyalty to me, have given me greater comfort than I believe my heart has ever been given. Please…please, I beg of you, do not curse me for being unable to hide my affections for you any longer.”

“My dear Charles…” I shook my head as tears that I fought against in vain spilled down my cheeks. “I do not wish to curse you for anything,” I said softly. “But especially not for love. And especially not for one I share with you.” I took a quivering breath. “In the woods this morning, I was not offended that you would not take my hand. I was wounded. It felt as if you were not rejecting my offer and instead were rejecting me.”

“Oh, my darling, no.”

My tears increased. “Please, do not call me your darling. For there will come a time when I cannot keep you, when you will leave me, and I will be unable to bear the loss of you as a companion. If I were to accept your declaration towards me, or to acknowledge my feelings towards you…I fear the loneliness you spoke of would infiltrate my soul and settle into my bones as well the moment you depart from me. And I do not know that I would be strong enough to dispel it.”

“You may always keep me,” he said. “I am yours. I vow myself to you.”

“You vow yourself to me as one who does not know his whole worth,” I said. “You are a Duke, Charles. This changes everything.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because a Duke may fall in love with a peasant but he does not marry one. A Duke does not give up a title and an estate to live by the work of his own hands in a hovel in the woods. My Grace, you have a great many opportunity to marry someone of nobility and wealth. Someone who will bear your children and, should the Lord allow, sons who will carry on your name and bloodline for generations to come.” I shook my head. “You will not give that up. Not for this. Not for me. Nor should you.”

“I have already turned my back on it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Forgive me for my many sins,” he murmured softly. “I did not intend to deceive you, my lady, but my memories, though slow to return, have made themselves known to me.” His eyes searched mine. “I did not keep it from you to take advantage of your kindness but because as you said; I could not bear the loss of you as a companion.”

“You…you have known that you were a Duke?”

He nodded, then bowed his head solemnly. “I did not keep it from you with ill intention. I swear it.”

“When did you remember?”

“A fortnight ago.”

“A fortni-” I wretched my hands free from his. “Why would you hide that? What reason do you have for keeping something so gravely important as that from me?” I asked. “Have I not proven myself trustworthy to you?”

“Please, that’s not it at all,” he said, his eyes desperate as he reached for my hands once again. I kept them resolutely at my sides. “You are the most trustworthy person I have ever known. You are kind and gentle and pure of heart. Amaya, this is naught to do with you.”

“Then why? Why would you not tell me before now?”

“Because I thought if I did not acknowledge it, I would never have to face it and return to my life!” He shook his head. “I do not want a world full of politics and war. I do not want to face another battle. But as long as I am living my life as the Duke of Suffolk, I am at Henry’s command. And if the King commands me to slaughter innocents once more…” His face betrayed the broken man he was inside, his eyes brimming with tears. “My soul could not bear it,” he admitted with a trembling lip. “You told me that you believed I was not beyond redemption and I wish that to be true, but…I do not know if I could ever be forgiven for the atrocities that I have committed.”

Before I could speak, he fell to his knees, sinking into the mud at my feet. He began sobbing, suddenly taking on the form of a crying child as he had the first night he was brought into my home. My heart broke for him. He had kept his identity a secret from me but as I watched him, I knew it was without malice.

“I cannot absolve you of any sins. It is not in my power to do so. But I truly believe that you are a good man, your Grace,” I said, tears of my own still falling. “I understand the desire to run from what you once were, my parents sought the same here in the woods, and so I will never judge you for clinging to what small bit of salvation you have also found here. And though I may not be able to absolve you, I can give you a place where you can seek your redemption.” I brought my hand to his forehead, running my fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. “You may seek it under my roof and should you like…by my side.”

Charles pressed his face into my abdomen as his arms encircled my waist. He clung to me as he sobbed into my apron. I held him as best as I could, cradling his head as I bent to press a kiss to his crown.

I knew it was treason to even think such a thing but I determined in my heart right then that the King would never have command of Charles again. He was mine.

The days passed and, though I feared he might, the rider never returned. The forest had a way of becoming difficult to navigate if it did not want you in its depths. One morning I decided to venture out to show my gratitude for protecting us and on my return home, I was surprised to find Charles on the path.

I paused for a moment and pressed my hand to a tree. “You like him,” I accused in a whisper. A soft wind blew at my face and I smiled, then patted the tree bark. “I like him, too.” I turned from the tree and began walking towards him. “Are you not afraid of getting lost?”

He smiled. “No, my love. I could hear you humming and it called to me.” My accusations were true; the forest did like him. There was no other explanation for the wind carrying my voice so far for Charles to hear. “Although perhaps you journeyed out here to take your leave from me and I should not have followed,” he teased.

I smiled as we closed the distance between us. “No, good sir, I was not taking my leave from you,” I said, halting in front of him and looking up at his face. “I was simply thanking the woods.”

“Thanking them?”

“Yes. I owe them a great many things. They brought you to my door, did they not?”

He nodded. “Yes, my lady, I believe they did,” he said, licking his lips. “So perhaps it’s most pertinent for me to ask you a question that has been pressed upon my mind for quite some time now right where we are.”

“Of course. You may ask anything of me.”

He took a deep breath and let it out before his eyes found mine. “I love you. With all my heart and with every ounce of my being. And I swear with all my soul to everything honest and good in this world and the next that I will always love you,” he said. “I vow here and now that I will care for you, provide for you and protect you for the rest of my days. Ever faithful. Ever true.”

My cheeks flushed with heat at his words and I waited for more but there was nothing added. “I’m greatly flattered, my dear Charles, however…that was not a question,” I said. “Unless your question was if I feel the same. In which case, the answer is yes.”

He smiled and shook his head. “That was not the question, though I daresay I hope the answer is the same to the one I pose to you.” He took another deep breath. “Amaya…will you marry me?”

My breath caught in my throat as my heart sped up. But I did not hesitate. “Yes,” I answered quickly.

He released a breath of great relief as happiness shone plainly in his eyes. “Yes?” he repeated. I nodded. “Marry me now?”

“Now? With whom to wed us?”

“We will have a handfasting ceremony and exchange vows in the presence of God. In His eyes, we will be husband and wife.”

“I do not know the vows.”

“I do. I will guide you through them.”

“With the trees as witness?” I jested softly.

He laughed. “The forest is alive to you, is it not?” he asked. “Therefore, they would make a living witness, yes?”

“Perhaps,” I conceded. “Though I mean them no slight, I do not wish to be married in the woods. I would prefer a small bit of civility and should like to exchange vows in our home.”

“As it pleases you, my lady.”

My heart thundered loudly in my ears as we returned to the cottage together. Once inside, Charles carefully took my cloak from me and I put away my apron. I wondered aloud what we should bind our hands with and he procured a leather cording from his chambers. We stood in front of the fire and faced one another.

“Are you sure you want me?” he asked.

“I’ve wanted to keep you far longer than it has been decent for me to do so,” I said. “Now I shall have a rightful claim to you.”

“And I to you.” He smiled then took my right hand and clasped it lovingly in his. Then, with his other hand, he held the leather above our hands. “And now the vows: Will you honor and respect one another and seek to never break that honor?” he quoted, then looked at me. “I will.”

“I will,” I agreed.

“And so the first binding is made.” He draped the cording over our hands and brought it around, securing them together loosely. “Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it? Will you share the burdens of each so that your spirits may grow in union?”

“I will.”

“As you have already proven to me, my love,” he whispered. “And I vow to do the same.”

“You have as well,” I assured him.

“And so the second binding is made.” He wrapped the cord around our hands, lacing them together. “Will you share in each other's laughter, and look for the brightness in life and the positive in each other?” He smiled his beautiful smile at me as his eyes shone. “It would be my life’s honor and thus, I will.”

“As will I.”

“And so the binding is made,” he said, then bound our wrists to one another with the last of the cording. “As our hands are bound together now, so our lives and spirits are joined in a union of love and trust. Therefore, I Charles take thee Amaya to be my wedded wife, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

“I Amaya take thee Charles to be my wedded husband, to death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth,” I said, repeating after him.

His smile widened. “Now you are mine as I am yours. But first…we must seal the commitment with a kiss.”

“A kiss?” I breathed, my chest feeling tight in such an odd and unfamiliar way.

He brought his free hand to my cheek. His thumb brushed softly against my skin, causing me to inhale sharply, then passed it along my bottom lip. “Have you shared one before?”

“Long ago. When I lived in the village. A boy…”

“Boys do not know how to kiss.”

“They don’t?”

He shook his head as he brought his closer to mine. “No. They only care for themselves.” He kissed the apple of my cheek and my eyes slid closed of their own volition. “They take no care in pleasing others.” He softly kissed the other cheek. “They do not understand that pleasing a woman is where your true pleasure lies,” he spoke, his lips close enough to my own that I could feel them moving.

“It is?” I asked breathlessly.

“It is.”

His lips pressed against mine and they moved slowly against my own as he brought his hand to my neck. His thumb stroked my skin as he held my face so that he could continue his ministrations. The boy I’d kissed as a girl had tasted like winter. Cold and hard and unyielding. But Charles tasted of spring. Warm and soft, his mouth blooming open to caress the petals of my lips with his own. His kiss held a promise of more to come.

Our right hands were still united but I gripped him with my left, attempting to stay upright. When he pulled away, he did so gently, like a warm breeze. My eyes blinked open lazily to see his smiling face before he kissed the tip of my nose.

“Better than a boy in the village?” he asked quietly, still smiling.

It took me a long moment to understand the question but eventually I nodded. “Much,” I said. “Now that I know how it should feel, I daresay what he did was not even a kiss.”

“And so I am your first?” he said, his smile ever growing.

“And so you are, husband.”

He pressed forward and kissed me once more, soft and sweet. “I have a great deal more to share with you, wife.”

“Then let us begin.”

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Charles Brandon #Charles Brandon fan fiction #The Tudors #The Tudors fan fiction #Duke of Suffolk fan fiction #Out of The Woods

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divine-mistake · 2 years

Text

light, asunder

“Don’t ever do that again.” It would sound like his usual chastising, but Bucky’s voice is soft. If you weren’t crying so hard, struggling to catch your breath, maybe you would hear the note of fear within his words. “Don’t care how mad you get, don’t care how much I piss you off. You don’t go running off into the woods where I can’t find you, Star. Never again.”

You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, right above where his heart lay beating in his chest, and hope he realizes that it’s a promise. A swear.

Characters: merc!Bucky Barnes/princess!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), royalty!AU, violence and gore, death, suggestions of dubious consent (not made by major characters), blood, family trauma, strong language, mentions of war, reader uses a nickname (Star), enemies to lovers with a happy ending

Word Count: 8923

A/N: Thanks for reading! This is a commissioned fic for @pham-tastical! Thank you so much for your commission! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for your unending patience as I worked through mental health and physical health issues, I'm so sorry this took so long! But I really enjoyed writing this fic and there's a very good possibility to have a follow up fic in the future 👀 we'll see. Big shoutout to @loving-bucky-is-easier for hyping me up! If you are currently waiting on a commission, they'll be coming soon. Contact me for more info 💖

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The grounds are burning, and with it, your feet.

Behind you, the castle is swallowed by flames that grow tall enough to reach the stars, to scrape the sky above. The birds have long flown from the trees, escaping like the screaming servants could not—shot down with arrows, gored through by bloody spears. The ones who made it out were the ones who pushed past you, who didn’t look over their shoulder to help you, whose scrambling feet stomped over your trailing dress and tripped you until your knees were bloody from the fall.

Cowards. Traitors. The men who came from across the sea—their promises of a golden alliance were as cheap as the furs they wore on their back.

But you’re the same as them, aren’t you? Flames lick at the bare soles of your feet, heels kicked off and left behind, but you aren’t running for safety. Your dress drags along the blackened earth, trim nearly catching fire as its edges smolder.

You’re running for the forest.

“Princess!” He calls for you, voice loud over the crackle of the castle as it burns down to nothing. “Princess, please! Where are you?”

Gone, you think, breathless and tired. I’m gone, gone, gone.

“Princess!”

Your pursuer is fast, faster than many, but you’ve got a head start. Even as he calls for you, every step you take makes his voice quieter and quieter as you traipse into the forest, knowing not where you’re going. It’s silly. Some might call you stupid, airheaded, brainless. To wander into a forest while an army is after your head, not knowing the path, without even a weapon to defend yourself from the beasts that stalk the trees.

But this is your only escape.

“Princess!”

And doesn’t it feel good, you think as you run off into the woods, lungs wheezing for air as you emerge from the cloak of black smoke and plunge into darkness.

“Get up, princess!”

The name alone startles you awake, gasping for air as the wagon jostles you from the bale of hay you must’ve fallen asleep upon, tossing you against the barren wooden bottom. The wheels click and clack, the horses’ hooves click and clack, and your teeth click and clack in time with the pounding of your fearful heart. The farmer who graciously allowed you to hitch a ride, he knows who you are, doesn’t he?

But when you sit up, he’s not even looking at you. All you see is the shining bald spot in the back of his head, his figure outlined by a town on the horizon ahead. Finally, you think. Salvation. The scraps of your golden gown, shimmery and ruined by the ashes of your past life, are stuffed away in your bag. Your hair is shorn—shorter than before. The only thing you wear is the ragged, blood-stained servant’s dress you stole off a still-warm body, shoeless and blistered feet begging for reprieve.

“Town’s up ahead,” he says at you, not really to you. His worn, well-worked hands flick the reins in his grip. “This is as far as I’m takin’ you.” He punctuates such a statement by hocking a wad of spit at the ground, wheels of the cart you not-so-graciously bounce in running right over it. Your mouth tastes like soot and something rotten.

No. No one could know you anymore. You’re so far from that burning castle, from the bloodied stairwells carved out of marble and gold.

You’re not royalty anymore.

“Thank you,” you say, starting to gather your things. There’s not much that you have, but you gather it up anyway and sling your bag over your shoulder. “I wish I could pay you something.”

“Yeah,” the man gruffs. “Wish in one hand, piss in ‘nother. See which one fills up faster, princess.” He jerks his horse to a stop, cart following, and still refuses to look at you. But it’s a very clear sign for you to hop off.

Legs weary, feet worse off, you jump down from the rickety old thing and bite back a groan the minute your toes touch earth. “Thank you,” you bid the farmer one last time, but he doesn’t respond. He just strikes the reins against the horse’s back and off he goes, rattling away into town.

And now you’re left completely alone, bodies bustling around you as they enter and exit town. A woman rides her horse on the path back the way you came, so tall she blocks out the shining rays of sunlight. A poor beggar boy dressed in rags, not so dissimilar to your own, bows his head and holds out an empty bag for coins. A band of heroes, jovial from their latest conquest, strut into town.

One of them, a man with dark skin and a vibrant smile, teeth gapped in the middle, bumps into you. He grabs your arm to steady you, an apology tumbling out of his mouth, but you have no time to respond before a taller, brooding man shoves him forward, chastising him. They swagger off, not even looking back at you.

You’re alone.

Freedom is colder than you thought, somehow.

Freedom is also much more expensive than your daydreams made it out to be. When you would stay up late into the evening, staring at your ceiling, you pictured stealing away with your bag stretched fat with golden coins. You’d hide jewelry under a plain dress, wrap yourself up in servant furs, and buy yourself a ticket to anywhere.

You didn’t dream of fleeing home with nothing. Didn’t picture yourself dressed in cotton stained with blood.

And you most certainly didn’t think you’d be flat broke.

Hunger is painful, you realize now. Have you ever felt it before, truly? Gut empty, stomach howling for food. Painful pangs clawing up your throat, the raw taste of acid on your tongue. It makes you feel hollow, like you might fall at someone’s feet and start to beg for a crumb of bread.

Those beggars you once looked down on, not out of hatred but out of ignorance—you understand them now.

“Please—I just—I’ll do anything,” you tell the woman at the market stand, embarrassment hot across your cheeks as people begin to look in and stare. A princess, begging for food out in the open. How unladylike, how improper, how sad.

You’re not a princess anymore.

“Anything?” she asks, raising a brow. “Then why don’t you run along to the brothel down by the docks. I’m sure they would even have work for a dog like you. Some men need leather as tough as their boot to chew on. Begone.” With one flick of her wrist, she waves you off.

It hurts more than it should, her words. When you cut your hair by the blade of your dagger, it felt liberating. It felt like the wind always felt on your naked back, like water falling over your head and submerging you.

Now, it feels like an ache in your tooth, decay before death.

A hand pressed tight to your yowling stomach, you shuffle away from the stand. The rest of the market is crowded, but when your eyes glance over to the shopkeeper a few paces away, he refuses to meet your gaze. The rest of them, the ones who’ve heard your begging, they do the same.

You won’t eat tonight. Maybe you won’t eat tomorrow. Perhaps your freedom will die, along with you, at the jaws of hunger.

“You alright?” A woman’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling thoughts, and when you turn to look, she’s smiling at you. Her hair is copper, sun setting on the strands as if a lonely man weaved silk out of straw. She’s dressed well for travel, a white linen dress shirt billowing out from beneath a red satin corset drawn tight around her waist. Her brown leather boots rise up to her knees, dark breeches tucked inside the laces.

“Yes,” you answer dutifully, as a princess would. Pride hot in your chest.

“Are you?” she asks again, head tilting to the side.

But you are no longer a princess.

“I… No,” you say. “No, I don’t think I am.” You wring your hands together, wanting to cover up and get out from under her watchful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs, scrunching her nose at you. “Why don’t you come sit with us? The sun is going down, it’ll only get colder tonight. We have fresh bread and fish on the fire. Come,” she says, gesturing toward a well-worn path that leads to the forest surrounding the city, still smiling at you.

And though you want so badly to say yes, to jump at the chance for food, for a fire, for a place to lay your head—for a friendly face—you are too wary.

“Why?” you ask her, taking a step back. “I’m just a beggar, you don’t know me.”

The woman stares at you for a second longer, and you’re convinced in that moment that she’ll take back her offer as quick as she handed it out. But she doesn’t. Instead, she nods her head.

“Maybe I don’t know you,” she admits, “but you don’t seem like you’re just a beggar to me. Come, join us. Just for a night, won’t you?”

It prickles the hair on the back of your neck, makes your skin crawl. Does she know who you are? Could she recognize you, hair short and face dirty and clothes bloodied? Is she hunting you, luring you into her trap with the promise of a hot meal?

“Fresh bread and roasted fish,” she reminds you.

Your stomach will be the death of you, one way or another.

“Fine,” you say, and she smiles even wider. With gentle hands, she takes your shoulder and begins to lead you down the path, away from the town, away from the stares that make your face flush with heat.

“I’m Wanda,” she tells you. “What’s your name?”

And now you realize… you don’t have a name anymore either. Your name is one that will be spoken in the search parties, whispered at funerals, calligraphed on paintings where you looked drab and beautiful.

Your name stays locked behind clenched teeth now. The dead don’t have names.

As if a god could answer unspoken prayers, a breeze smelling of salt and sea rolls through the market and the chime of hollow shells bursting against one another catches your ear. When you look, dried starfish, shriveled and dead and dyed with indigo and safflower, hang on fishing line threaded through punched holes in their arms.

“Star,” you tell her, because you are like them. Free from drowning in the ocean you called home, hung out on a line to dry and die. “My name is… Star.”

Wanda’s eye starts to move to where your gaze lands, and you quickly snap away from the seashell chimes that blow in the wind. Her smile turns uneasy, brows narrowed as though she can see right through you. Maybe she can, with her eyes green and curious. Knowing eyes, your mother would have called them.

Hunting eyes, your father would have said.

“Come on then, Star.” She presses you forward, still gentle somehow. “Let’s get some food in you.”

By the time you reach Wanda’s camp, canvas tents pitched and a blazing fire spitting embers onto the barren ground, the sun sits on the horizon and sinks below. Wanda was right—it’s gotten colder as the light of day weans away.

You can hear them from afar, laughing and joking and strumming what sounds to be a lute, but you don’t expect them to look familiar at all. However, in the bright glow of the flames, the dark skin of the gap-toothed man finds you at the same time that he seems to. His smile is just as wide as it was when he bumped into you.

“Hey!” he calls, standing up from the ground and taking a few steps toward you and Wanda, meeting you there. “You bringing strays in again, Wan?”

“Perhaps,” she tells him, matching his grin. “This is Star, and she’s not from here.” You never told her that. “I thought we could share a meal with her for tonight.”

The other man, broody and broad from earlier too, scoffs and pretends that you don’t exist. You’ve never been scorned like that before, not so brazenly. If a member of court snuffed you like that, their head would roll from the block.

But you have no court anymore.

“I’m Sam,” the man in front of you says, holding out his hand. “Wanda and I run this traveling band of idiots. Welcome, Star. I hope you’re hungry.”

God, your stomach hopes he has enough to feed you.

You take his hand, almost shyly, and barely grip it. “A pleasure to meet you, Sam. Thank you.”

Before you can pull away, Sam brings your hand to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your dirty skin. It makes you recoil, makes you want to bolt and hide away. How could he? Many men and women alike have kissed your knuckles, but always freshly washed, bathed in lavender, swathed in silk. Does your skin taste of soot? Does it smell of the manure you mingled with in the back of the farmer’s cart? Does dirt not cling to your hands?

Wanda leans in close, whispering in your ear, and you think you must smell like livestock. “Sam is a charmer, watch your back.”

Another woman, dressed in leather armor and with daggers gleaming at either side of her hips, stands as well. Her hair is a shock of red, less copper than Wanda’s and more like fresh blood on snow. She doesn’t extend a hand, but her lips quirk up in something you assume to be a smile.

“I’m Natasha. Eat your fill, but don’t steal anything. I’ll have your hands for that.”

An indignant heat rushes through you, your royal blood spiking mad, but Wanda shoots her a chiding look.

“Nat, she’s not a thief. I invited her here, so I’ll take responsibility.” She nudges you with her elbow. “Nat is one of our mercenaries, protecting us weak little merchants.” Her tone is teasing, but you can’t force out a laugh to match her energy. “Our other merc is…”

Wanda trails off, her eyes darting over to the broody man still sitting near his tent. He’s sharpening his sword it looks like, still pretending you’re not here. Blatantly ignoring you.

“Well,” she says, unamused. “His name is Bucky, and he’s a bastard. Don’t mind him.”

The tight sound of the blade running over stone fills the air, sharp over the crackling embers in the fire pit. A shadow falls across his face, dark and menacing, as his eyes flick up to you for a split second. You can’t make out what color they are, not from the light that bends orange over his skin.

But you think, if he just simply smiled, he’d be more beautiful than any of the princes your father swore he would marry you off to.

Before you can say anything else, plucky notes from a lute start up again and then a silver-haired man with a boyish grin fills up your vision, stepping in front of you. His dexterous fingers move quickly over the instrument, a jaunty tune playing around the campsite. Behind him, Natasha groans and sits back down.

“Well hello there, my lady fair,” he says melodically, his crystal eyes studying your figure. “A fitting name for a starry dame.”

Wanda reaches out and smacks his shoulder. “Pietro, go away.”

Pietro’s brows shoot up, offended, as he strums his lute in a staccato. It matches the scene too well. But then his shoulders drop, the teasing gone from his visage, and he smiles warmly at you.

“My sister takes me for a flirt,” he says, and you can almost see the resemblance now in the faint creases at the corner of their eyes, the way their noses bridge. “But I’m harmless, I assure you, Lady Star.”

“You are,” Wanda deadpans, rolling her eyes and stepping toward the fire. “Get lost and let Star eat. Or better yet, why don’t you make yourself useful and go rummage up some donations from the tavern down the road, huh?”

Pietro sniffs. “You wound me, sister. Maybe I’ll go spend some coin instead.”

Shock is the only feeling you can identify within yourself right now. Maybe unease. This wasn’t what you expected when you took Wanda’s offer for a hot meal, but what had you expected at all? Certainly not a band of traveling merchants so lively as this to a beggar girl, to a stranger.

It doesn’t sit right in your stomach, not when you have no heavy emeralds hanging from your ears or gold-stacked necklaces sitting against your collar. Not when you are dressed in stolen rags and hungry enough to eat scraps.

And you almost do—eat scraps that is. You stuff bread and butter and cheese and fish down your gullet like you’ve seen the prisoners down in the dungeon do. No one laughs at you, no one comments. Only Wanda smooths her hand up and down your back as you eat, keeping silent, but soothing you anyway as if she can hear the nasty thoughts swarming your head.

You eat your fill, just as Natasha said. Bucky refuses to join by the fire while you sit with his friends, and he eats alone instead. They let you lay down by the fire and sleep, an extra straw pillow beneath your head. They say goodnight to you as though you are one of them, as though they mean it truly.

And in the morning, Wanda gives you new clothes and helps you wash your hair down in the freshwater creek in the woods. Sam feeds you bread and fresh juice from the market. Pietro plays a song that features your name. They tell you they’ll take you with them, that they’ll find you a job to do, that once upon a time, many of them were beggars just as you were.

When you help them load up their cart and everyone starts to scramble into their seats, Bucky reaches a hand down to you and helps lift you—as if you’re weightless—into the back. He doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t sit next to you as Sam and Natasha snap the reins against their two horses.

But his hand was warm and his grip strong as he welcomed you into your new life.

Freedom, you think, is staring at brooding bodyguards as beautiful as him.

“Come on,” he groans, a blistering look marring his face. “How many times are you gonna fuck this up?”

You huff, trying and failing to catch your breath. Sweat is pouring down your face, trickling through the river of tendons that make up your neck and disappearing down the valley of your breasts. It’s hot—unbearably hot here in this arid place, the sun beating down on your back and baking your skin.

“I’m trying,” you snap at him, back of your hand wiping the dampness from your temple. “Maybe if you were a better teacher I wouldn’t fuck it up so many times!”

With a growl, Bucky throws down the wooden sword he’s been using to teach you basic defense and takes two giant steps toward you, eyes flashing angry. You want to draw up your shoulders and cower away, want to take three steps back and flee, want to do anything but look him straight in the eye.

But once upon a time, a princess meant to marry off across the sea to secure allies, you were taught to never back down under an enemy’s stare.

Only the weak break under duress, your father said. Only the weak run from a challenge.

“What did you say to me?” he asks lowly, tone even but shivering with fury. The wooden sword in your grasp trembles.

“I said—” you spit out, “—maybe if you were a better teacher, I wouldn’t fuck it up so goddamn much!”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. In a mere second, he reaches out and grabs you by your shirt, pulling you to him. He’s so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, see how his nostrils flare mad. You’re forced to look up at him, steeling your eyes so he doesn’t see the fear glitter in them like a solar flare.

“I don’t have to do shit for you. I offered to help you out. Got that, princess?” The way he grits your nickname out is so violent compared to how they used to shower you in praise with that title. “You think I’m a bad teacher? Go find someone that cares then.”

He forces you away with a hard push, releasing your shirt from his tight grip and watching as you stumble away. Then, for good measure, Bucky picks up the wooden sword where he dropped it and forces it over his knee, breaking it clean in two. Splinters and slivers of wood burst from the break, and he tosses it back into the dirt.

You stand there, frozen in place as the heat of the day feels as though it melts you down like wax in a brass candelabra.

Bucky has always hated you. He’s hated you from the day you joined Wanda and Sam, has protested against taking you anywhere, and always argues to drop you off and leave you in whatever random town you pass through to sell wares. And though Wanda always vouches for you, reminding Bucky that you do your share of work, Bucky never believes it.

If the caravan ever got hit by bandits, you’re pretty sure Bucky would leave you to die. And he’d probably enjoy the thought.

Whenever you ask Natasha why he hates you so much, she just shrugs. Only once have you ever gotten an answer out of her, and she merely mentioned that Bucky thought you were useless to travel with because of your lack of skills.

He’d be right. It’s why he adopted your nickname, of course. Princess.

Wanda taught you how to wash your clothes and your hair. Sam taught you to cook. Pietro hasn’t taught you anything worthwhile, but he’s definitely taught you how to win at cards. And Natasha—well, Natasha taught you how to make coin in less than morally right ways.

So he’d be right. You lacked so many skills when they first brought you along on their caravan. But he’d be so wrong too. Because you’ve worked hard to learn so much, to learn to take care of yourself and take care of the others too. Maybe you didn’t pull your weight in the first few weeks, but you caught on quickly.

And as soon as Natasha revealed this, you’d gone to Bucky and begged him to teach you self-defense. It took him a whole week to finally say yes.

Now you’ve gone and ruined it. But how many times can a person be called a fuck up? How many times can you face being called a mistake? It reminds you of a life left dead now, piles and piles of books written in different languages all stacked on your desk, your father striding from one side of the room to the other, barking out that you’ll never be a proper princess if you can’t learn to speak four languages at once.

It hurts somewhere deep in your chest, behind a locked door you refuse to uncover. A place to mourn that haunts you. The catacombs of your heart carrying your father’s tomb all heavy with marble and stone and bones.

Don’t cry, you tell yourself. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

Swallowing back a burning in your throat that tastes like salt and something mean, you turn and pick up the wooden sword you don’t know when you dropped. It’s still intact, unlike the one Bucky used. You swing it around in a movement that he taught you, taking a stance you know he’d call “too wide” until he helped you adjust, mimicking a parry and a thrust. With no partner, it just seems silly.

“Fine,” you say to no one. “I don’t need you anyway.”

Swinging that little sword, practicing those maneuvers Bucky taught you begrudgingly, you head further into the forest and away from camp. You don’t want to be near him. Don’t want him to come back and give you some half-assed excuse as to what crawled up his ass and died. Don’t want to hear him bark about your failures anymore.

Determination is running through you, hot like liquid metal. Once, when you were too small, you snuck out of the castle and ran away to town and the blacksmith there let you fan the flames of his forge. The heat was immense, hotter than anything you’d ever felt before. The embers that blew back at your face made you cry, though they didn’t singe you.

It’s what you feel now as you find a tall oak that sits wider than Bucky’s frame, bending your knees and falling into a defensive stance. You can hear his voice in your head like he’s circling behind you. Head down! Eyes up! Shift back! Twist forward!

You breathe in through your nose, out past your lips. And then you twist on your heel and lunge out to strike.

Today you’ll master this move, even if it kills you.

You’re unsure of when the sun started hanging low in the sky, or even when it started sinking below the plains. All you know is the cooling sweat down your brow, the taste of blood where you bit your tongue, the smell of upturned mulch under your boots as you strike at the bark of the tree again and again and again.

Bucky would be proud, you think. You’re sure of it. And then you wonder why you care so much about his approval—you don’t need him. You have everyone else to give a shit about you. Why does Bucky not caring make you so goddamn angry?

Not angry. Hurt.

With a battle cry that comes from the bottom of your stomach, all mean and empty, you thrash your sword against the tree’s trunk one last time and it splits with a loud snap that echoes through the darkening forest. Panting, you stare at the remains of it, littering the ground.

“See?” You huff a laugh. “I can do that too.”

There’s no answer back.

Now, you realize that the light of day is retracting from the horizon, disappearing under the earth. It’s a long walk back to camp, especially with how exhausted you are. You can’t drag your feet—not if you want to make it back before nightfall.

A memory flashes through your mind. Grand horses, a blond knight who lifts you onto the saddle and climbs behind you to take hold of the reins. A princess doesn’t walk, someone tells you, an unfamiliar voice. Your slippers are dirty.

The hem of this dress is ruined, you say to them, almost smugly.

Your mother won’t be happy, he replies, and you can almost conjure the smell clinging to his neck.

Like a ghost is tailing you, cold creeping up on your spine, you hurry off toward the edge of the forest. You need to get back to camp, the others will start to worry if you don’t show up soon. And more than that—you shiver as a cool wind blows by—you don’t want to be alone once the world dips down into the inkwell of night.

Monsters live in the woods at night, you remember your mother always telling you.

No worse than the monsters that dwell in court, your father would scoff.

Something is telling you to flee the forest.

Though every muscle, every bone in your body protests, you pick up your pace. But with the shadows moving, the sun setting, the sky turning dark as time moves, the trees start looking unfamiliar. What path did you take? Had you taken a turn before? You don’t recognize this foliage at all, are you going the wrong way?

You wince with every step, exhaustion from pushing your body so far setting further into your limbs. Panic is starting to rise in your throat, making it harder to breathe.

Violet light filters through the forest and you realize you’re lost. Chest heaving, you stop in your tracks, frozen in place, anxiety gripping you. You’re lost.

That’s when they find you.

A pair of arms wrap around your torso, pinning your arms to your side. Before you can inhale enough to scream in fear, a dirty hand covers your mouth, muffling the sound. You struggle against your attacker, but nothing gives. Nothing at all.

“Caught you,” a voice whispers in your ear. “Did you think you were safe?”

Suddenly, you can smell it. The paint as it burns, acrid and heavy. You remember it so perfectly in your mind, watching from the hidden corridor as the flames of their torch swallowed the portrait of your father.

“The king is dead,” a knight, muffled by his helm, shouted down the halls.

You never stuck around to hear the rest of their war cries.

They’re here for you. They’ve come to get you. Tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, riding along with a caravan of merchants too nice to turn away a girl who needed help. Will they kill them too? For abetting a princess whose kingdom has been conquered? Will they slash Wanda’s neck and gut Sam alive? Will Natasha fight back, only to have her neck broken as she tries to save Pietro from death?

Will Bucky curse your name as his sword clashes with a knight’s, vindicated that his words about you were true?

But when one of them steps in front of you, grinning in victory, you realize—

“Pretty little dancer girl,” he says. “I have a proposition for you.”

—it’s not them. It’s not the men who came from across the sea with promises of a golden alliance, only to behead your father in his throne and let his body bleed across the marbled floors.

These are men from the nearby town. They’re dressed in ragged clothes too nice to belong to beggars. Bandits, you think. They must be, with the swords that hang from their belts and the bows on their backs and the teeth missing in their gums. Your eyes dart across the scene, counting one, two, five, six, of them.

Too many to take on your own, if you could even pull it off. You have no weapons, know little self-defense. Bucky was right. Bucky was right.

“We saw you dancing in the market.” His hand sits on the hilt of his sword, shoulders lax and casual but still a threat. “Pretty little dancer girl, do you like it? Dancing for everyone?”

“I dance for coin,” you snarl at him.

“What about for your life?” he asks, lips curling into a menacing smile. “We want you to come dance for us. We’ll keep you fed, keep you dressed—not much, but it’ll do.” He laughs, toothless, and his men chuckle along with him.

You think back to earlier that afternoon when you twirled through the market streets dressed in gauzy fabric swathed across your shoulders, sparkling hem trailing the dusty cobbled paths. The hem of this dress is ruined, it echoes in your head as your hips move to the strum of Pietro’s lute. Your mother won’t be happy, it follows you through the crowd as you smile at the men who watch and throw gold coins at your slippered feet.

Mother’s never happy with me, you think you must say to the knight who smells of warm clove.

She is, you think he must have said back to you. She loves you very much, Princess.

The sound of a man screaming snaps you out of that faraway memory. Your head snaps to where blood spurts from a new wound, where it drips fat onto the forest floor. Swords rush from their sheaths as the bandits prepare for battle, but you know they’ll be too slow.

Because Bucky’s blade is pulled from the corpse and he slashes it in an arc, fatally wounding two more men in one sweep.

He’s beautiful, and you hate it. Those blue eyes of his, like sapphire gems set in a silver crown, are narrowed in focus and fury. Not the kind of anger that he directs at you, glaring down at you and making you feel small beneath his stature. It’s something more feral than that as he slices through another bandit with precision, a wild strand of his long hair falling from its messy braid.

The man who’s been holding you drops his grasp and lets you fall to the ground in favor of fighting, pulling his bow from his back. Without even thinking about the consequences, you lunge at his legs and throw him off balance, taking him down. Bucky’s blade is quick to follow, sent straight down the bandit’s throat.

Warm blood splatters your cheek. It smells like the servants who littered the castle halls, all trying to run from certain death.

All is quiet in the forest. The sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving only the moon’s light to shine down through the canopy of the woods. You stare at the bodies, chest tight and breathing labored.

He moves before you do, sinking to where you’re collapsed among the leaves. His hands swallow your shoulders, grip tight but not painful, as he looks down at you.

“Are you alright?” There’s something in his eyes, blue and bright and not so steely now, that you’ve never seen before. Is it worry? “Star—God’s sake, Star—Are you alright?”

You blink up at him, sucking in a shaky breath. “I’m—I’m okay, Bucky. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, your eyes burn like they did as you fled from your home, smoke trailing behind you and stinging until tears flooded your lashes. They do now, too, even though there’s no smoke to be seen. “I’m so sorry, fuck.”

Bucky pulls you into his embrace as you sit there, trembling, hiccupping on apologies. It’s the first time he’s touched you longer than a few seconds to adjust your stance or help you onto the cart before the caravan pulls out of town. He holds you against him, letting you bury your nose in the cotton of his shirt.

“You’re okay,” he whispers gently. More gentle than you’ve heard him before. “You alright now, I’ve got you. Fuck, Star. What were you thinking? Why did you come so far into the forest? Don’t talk now, I’ve got you.”

Like a child clinging to their mother, you cry against Bucky’s chest, wailing into the night. You wonder if you ever cried to your father before, if you ever hugged him before he lost his crown when his head rolled across the castle floor. A wolf howls in the distance, somewhere far off, and its mates join in.

Bucky scoops you up into his arms, cradling you to him, and begins to navigate back out of the woods. He finds the path much easier than you could and carries you to camp still murmuring soothing words to you.

You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, right above where his heart lay beating in his chest, and hope he realizes that it’s a promise. A swear.

(Your return, by the way, is met with many, many hugs. Wanda cries. Sam swears not to let you out of his sight. Pietro apologizes for ever suggesting you and him perform for money. Natasha watches Bucky very, very carefully.)

Things change, slowly. And by things, you mean Bucky.

After the day he found you in the woods, he hardly lets you out of his sight it seems. When you go out around the towns you travel to, he insists on coming, usually with some excuse that is so transparent it doesn’t seem like an excuse anymore. When you go to the streets and dance, Pietro behind you whistling on his flute or plucking his lute, Bucky is never far from the crowds, watching you with burning eyes. He asked you, once, if you would stop dancing. That Wanda and Sam always made enough money, that you could learn to play Pietro’s harp, that you could do anything else.

But you said no. Dancing was the only thing you had, the one thing you loved, the one thing that could pull your weight on the caravan.

He had looked so stricken by your words—his own words thrown back in his face—that he never asked again.

So you dance, and you dance, and Bucky watches. You make coin, bring it to the market stalls and buy yourself honeyed treats, and offer him one. He always takes what you give him, never says thank you, but he always sits on the cobble and eats with you before he walks you back to camp.

He teaches you more, too.

The wooden swords from so long ago never make another appearance. Instead, Bucky teaches you hand-to-hand combat for self-defense. Many times, he puts you in the same hold that the bandit kept you trapped in and murmurs soft commands in your ear on how to break it.

Bucky doesn’t go easy on you, but you learn anyway. And the first day you break his hold is the first day you see him grin all toothy and gorgeous—at you, and no one else.

And one day, the day that will be burned into your memory forever, he presents you with a dagger.

“It’s sharp,” he warns you as your fingers run over the blade, unsure of what to say. “It’s meant to save your life. Maybe I won’t be there next time.”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto his. “You won’t?”

Bucky stares at you, an impossible look flashing over his visage.

“I will,” he promises. But he presses the dagger further into your hands and closes your fingers over the hilt.

Bucky changes slowly, and with him, so do you.

When the caravan pulls into Izark, a seaside town that’s almost reminiscent of the one you first met Wanda in, you’re expecting it to be like any other town that you travel to. You’ll head to the markets, your friends will set up shop, and you and Pietro will dance until the sun goes down. Maybe you’ll perform in the streets, maybe in whatever tavern will let you, but you’ll dance until you’re gasping for air and smiling so brightly it rivals the light of day.

But Izark isn’t like that. Almost as soon as your crew heads past the gates of the city, you realize something is happening. People are bustling through the center of town, the markets crowded not with stalls, but with tall arches decorated with fresh flowers and twine.

In fact, there are a lot more flowers than those on the arches. Flowers cover nearly every surface of the city, and people carry bundles in their arms. You glance at Wanda, who shrugs.

After asking around, Sam finds out that Izark’s annual Flower Festival is tonight, and that everyone is welcome to join. It’s something you’ve never considered before—that you could join in on a festival where you weren’t sitting below your father’s throne, watching, but never participating. Excitement, like lightning, crackles through your body.

It’s decided, right then and there, that you’ll all stop here for the night and enjoy the festival, then try and catch some travelers on their way out in the morning to make some coin. Pietro rambles nonstop about the beautiful ladies he’ll surely find until Wanda smacks him quiet.

Later, when you’re perusing through the shops, Natasha comes up behind you and blocks you from Bucky’s view.

“You should buy yourself a new dress for tonight,” she suggests, hand running over the silk fabrics you’ve been looking at. You don’t wear silk anymore, only cotton.

You raise a brow at her. “Why would I do that? It’s only a night. One of my other dresses will do, won’t it?”

Natasha hums. “But it’s been so long since you’ve worn something nice, hasn’t it, princess?” She says it with meaning, with weight, pulling a gown of gold out from the rack of others as if to show you. Her eyes don’t meet yours, her body language so nonchalant.

Your mouth is dry. The scraps of golden, burned, charred fabric of your past life are buried deep in your bag, your hands unable to rid themselves of it.

“Gold’s your color,” Natasha says. And then, as quickly as she arrived, she’s gone again. You’re left staring at the dress in silence, unsure of what to say or do. Unsure of what this means. Unsure of everything.

But when you glance back, to catch her, your gaze falls on Bucky. He’s standing outside the shop, leaned against a stone alleyway, arms crossed over his chest and staring at you. As soon as you meet eyes, he glances away—almost shyly—but doesn’t move from his spot. He’s always watching over you, isn’t he? Would he watch over you at the festival too?

When you step out of the shop, a package wrapped in burlap and tied with twine, you smile at him. “Were you waiting on me?”

“No,” he gruffs, still not meeting your eyes. “Let’s go, the others already left.”

And then he pushes off the wall, gesturing for you to start walking. Shoulder to shoulder, Bucky just one step behind you to match your stride, you head back to camp. The gown stays stuffed under your arm, and you wonder if you’ll have the courage to wear it.

It’s beautiful, you think. Or maybe it’s the sweet wine Pietro’s let you sip on that makes the stars in the night sky look so much like the diamonds you used to wear around your neck. The world spins as he twirls you around the town square, the gossamer of your dress floating on air and revealing your leather boots as they click against the stone.

Freedom, you think, is dancing to music played loud by the common people, fresh flowers braided into your grown-out hair in a crown much lighter than the ones you’ve worn, as a silly boy grasps your hands and spins you out in a crowd.

In this moment, bright and pure and happy, you forget that your name isn’t Star. You forget that you come from a kingdom that burned in war. You forget everything that isn’t the here and now as you dance beneath the moonlight. Fire burns the torches that light the festival and the smell of smoke doesn’t make you dizzy with memories of death.

You feel reborn—This life is the one you were always meant to lead.

The music comes to an end and everyone stops, laughing and panting and clapping their hands for the musicians. Pietro’s gaze seems to spot a young, pretty woman in the crowd of dancers, and he gives you a wink and pulls away. With no partner and the music starting back up, you turn and look back.

And there he is, as always, watching you dance. But this time, he’s moving toward you, that unreadable look on his face yet again.

Bucky approaches you, clearing his throat and offering his hand. “Would you—”

“I shall,” you answer before he even finishes, placing your hand in his as daintily as a princess should, and he looks surprised. Like he didn’t expect you to say such a thing. If the glow of the lamps and torches weren’t so bright, you’d think his cheeks might be the slightest bit pink.

Without another word, Bucky gently leads you into the crowd, his warm hand falling to your waist and pulling you just a touch closer. It makes you swallow, makes you wonder if he likes the feeling of the silk under his palm. You think about all the times he threw you down on the ground while he taught you to fight, all the times he refused to recognize your existence, all the times he was so standoffish to you.

And then you think about all the times he protected you, watched over you, made your heart race in your chest when he praised you in the little ways.

It’s racing right now, too. Hammering against your ribs, chasing something on a faraway horizon you’re not sure even exists. But you want it. You want it.

Whatever it is, you want it.

The music that the band plays isn’t slow at all. It’s jaunty and quick and the people laugh and dance and sing around you. But Bucky keeps you close, closer than even a prince would be allowed to at a ball, and moves you in gentle circles. It’s slow, and the way his blue eyes gaze into yours is heady. It feels like time has slowed between the two of you, matching the patient crawl that was your relationship.

His lips part to speak, tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips. “You look…”

Beautiful, you hope he says.

“...like sunlight,” he says instead. “You look like a ray from the goddamn sun, princess.” His hand, careful and soft, pulls at the thin, gauzy layer of fabric that sits atop the silk gown.

It makes something hot—not anger, not fear, not anything you’ve felt before—rise up within you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, cheeks feeling flushed by that unfamiliar warmth in your chest. “It’s not—It’s new, I don’t know why I bought it.”

Bucky flashes you that rare smile, lips curled but pressed together. “I’m glad you did.”

And that’s it. That’s all. Bucky dances you around and around and around in tight circles, slow and not in much of a rush, as the music plays on all jovial and quick. It doesn’t seem to bother him much that he’s dancing out of rhythm, and when he pulls you even closer to his body, you don’t seem to mind it either.

After another song, his eyes catch yours again, and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“Will you walk with me? Not far, just—just to the water.” There’s a hint of something else, something nervous maybe, in his voice.

“Yes,” you say, because why would you ever say no to him?

Bucky seems to relax at this, clearing his throat as he pulls away just a step. Your hand, that’s been clasped in his as you dance, falls to the crook of his elbow easily. It’s a perfect fit. As you both walk through the square, out to the edge of the town, slipping through toward the docks, the music fades into the distance until it’s just a hum in your ears. Further out here, the lamps go unlit, and the water is blacker than the night sky all lit up with stars.

Bucky shifts, turning to you and taking your hands in his. They’re so much bigger than yours, swallowing your fingers up in his warm palms. He stares at the ground for a moment, as if trying to figure out what he wants to say. He’s always been a man of few words. When he speaks, he’s usually sat on his thoughts for a long while. And now, it seems he wants to sit on them for just a little longer.

When he does speak, his voice is quiet. “I’m sorry.”

Your head falls to the side, confusion marring your face. “For what?”

He swallows hard again. “For the way I treated you when we first met. If I could take it back, I would. I’m—I’m ashamed of the things I said, the way I must’ve made you feel. I just… don’t take kindly to strangers.”

“I know,” you tell him softly, squeezing his hands. “I know, Bucky. It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” he presses. “I made you feel useless—”

“I was useless,” you cut him off. “I didn’t know a thing! I was stupid, naive, and completely worthless—”

And now Bucky cuts you off, his hand cupping the back of your head and bringing your face to his, lips meeting yours in a kiss. It isn’t rough, but forceful. Steady. Unyielding and unwilling to give up. It’s so Bucky.

It’s so perfect. So wonderful. Better than you ever imagined it might be.

Freedom, you think, tastes like Bucky’s lips against yours.

His lips are chapped, his scruff rough against your skin, but his lips move as if he’s trying to say he wants you. And when he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath, he says it, too.

“You aren’t any of those things,” he tells you. “And I should have given you a better chance. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

How the hell could he ask that when he just kissed you senseless? It burns you something fierce, and you reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for another. And another. And you keep him there for another, lips melding into one, noses bumping into each other, hands scrambling to feel something on one another, something, anything.

“Forgive you?” You laugh sweetly at the thought. “Bucky, I think I’ve gone and fallen in love with you.”

He looks stunned for a moment, blue eyes all wide and beautiful, a look you’ve never seen before on him. When he doesn’t reply, just stares down at you, you realize you’ve gone and ruined it just like before. In the end, you really were just a naive girl, weren’t you?

But Bucky takes your hands again, raises them to his lips, and presses a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes are closed as he takes a moment to think of what to answer with, or maybe he’s simply enjoying the instance you two are locked in.

“Good,” he finally says. “That’s good. Because I’ve been in love with you for a while, Star.” He leans in to kiss you again, and it’s so sweet, but it’s so painful, so fucking painful, aching like a leaking wound in your chest where he’s gone and reached into your chest and pulled your heart from where it belongs.

Because that’s not your name.

Your hand falls to his collarbone, pushing him away gently. His brows draw together, looking confused, thinking he must have done something wrong.

“Bucky…” you whisper, staring at the hollow of his throat because you can’t bear to look at him. “Star—Star isn’t my real name.”

“I know that.” He ducks down, trying to catch your gaze. “Couldn’t be your real name, I knew. But I don’t care where you came from, princess. Don’t care what kinda past you’ve got. Just want you, is all.” His voice is almost pleading. A tone you’ve never heard from him before.

It breaks your heart into pieces, makes you want to believe him. Because you want to tell him all of it. Want to tell him about the burning grounds, the paintings they set on fire, the people they set alight. You want him to know your father’s name, your mother’s name, the name they chanted as they conquered your kingdom.

You want to tell him your name.

“Can I…” You inhale deeply, trying to find courage somewhere in your bones. “Can I tell you my name, Bucky?”

His eyes meet yours in a clash of color, a hint of worry behind those stormy blues, but he nods. “‘Course you can. I want to—I want to know. I want to know everything about you, want to love every part of you, if you’ll let me.” He says it like truth, like he wants nothing more than this one simple thing for the rest of his life.

There it is—the little bit of courage you need.

And right when you’re about to say it, a name that belongs to the dead, unfamiliar on your tongue, someone else calls it out for you.

Your eyes snap to a figure cloaked in black, every vein in your body seizing as the stranger comes closer. Bucky steps in front of you, a hand on his sword, ready to jump into action to protect you.

But the figure pulls back his hood, revealing a head of blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.

“Princess,” he calls to you, eyes boring into you. “I’ve finally found you, Princess. It’s time to come home—Your kingdom needs you.” The brooch that holds his cloak together is made of your family crest, something you thought you’d never see again.

“Steve?” you ask, unable to breathe.

“Your people need you,” he repeats, face grim. “They need their queen.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #royalty au #divine masterlist #thanks for supporting me!

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lambden · 2 years

Note

that cliche prompts post is so good,, if youre still taking requests i actively need geraskier for 33 honestly <3

i made this extra cheesy just for you <333 thanks for the prompt! this one is so perfect for them aahhh

33. Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because you're dangerous G, 1.1K, no content warnings

The clouds rumble as Geralt cleaves the last drowner’s head from its shoulders, and when the beast slumps onto the riverbank a drop of water hits his temple, inoffensive but perfectly aimed. Geralt grimaces; how fitting. When one problem ends, another begins. And he’s sure that there won’t be only one raindrop— they tend to come in hordes.

By the time he’s done looting the bodies for alchemical supplies, he’s starting to loosen a little. His limbs are still bitterly stiff from the potion racing through his blood, and he knows he must look a fright, but he doesn’t feel so on edge. Geralt abandons the unsalvageable drowner corpses and returns to Roach’s side, patting her neck and whispering softly. Perhaps the susurration will calm her enough that Axii won’t be necessary to distract her from the oncoming storm.

The dirt path back to the village quickly liquefies into sticky mud that he’ll have to pry out of Roach’s hooves later. These people should thank their gods that they don’t live in any colder a climate, or else the rain on the road would freeze overnight. But it’s temperate even with the downpour, and Geralt finds himself in surprisingly a good mood. He hadn’t needed to dip into his reserves, and shortly he’ll have the promised reward from the contract. The locals can return to their fishing, and Geralt can pay for a hot, clean bath and even share it with Jaskier.

As Roach canters and Geralt’s mind wanders, he nearly misses a woman hurrying past in the opposite direction. When he notices her their gazes meet, and then she screams so suddenly that he and his horse both startle. Geralt hadn’t even hung a trophy from this contract off of Roach but the woman shrieks anyway, tripping over her own feet as she lands in the mud.

Geralt pulls the reins in one hand and leans out of his saddle to offer her the other, so shaken by her sudden appearance and distress that for a moment he forgets his appearance. For a moment, reaching out with bare fingers and an open palm, he forgets who he is.

Then the villager spits, “Don’t touch me! Get back!” and scrambles backwards, dragging her dress through the mud without a care. Geralt stiffens, returning to sit straight in his saddle, but the woman’s screams follow him even as he rides away. “Go away! Monster! Monster!”

A similar welcome awaits him on the edge of town, where some children running through the rain gawk at the sight of him and hop a fence in their hurry to get away. A merchant packing up his wares for the evening stares in obvious terror at Geralt. Should he have bathed himself in the river? He reaches up to wipe the slimy monster blood from his neck and jaw, wishing the rain was more torrential. Then no one would dare step foot outside, and he could pass through the village without frightening a soul. Perhaps he would emerge on the other side of the storm cleaner than before.

But he can’t pass through the village without stopping. There’s a spot for Roach inside the stables, and more importantly, there’s a fool awaiting him inside the tavern. Sighing under his breath, Geralt deals with the first matter before rushing to the second. He can always collect payment later when the storm has let up. For now, he wants someone to look at him without screaming.

Even though the bard has seen him in far worse states, Geralt is still nervous when he approaches the tavern. He ducks into an alley to try and scoop some rainwater from a puddle and rinse off his face, but it only ruins his hair and leaves slimy streaks down his armour. Then when he steps out of the laneway a villager heading for the tavern sees him, gapes, and whirls right around to run back to his house.

There’s no avoiding this, so Geralt gathers his complicated emotions and shoves them deep down where they won’t bother anyone. He enters the inn slowly, easing into the soft music and pleasant buzz of conversation. But the music stops quickly, notes lingering in the air as Jaskier bounces over. Geralt tries very, very hard not to give away how pleased he is to see his friend, deadpanning before Jaskier can say a word, “You’re performing. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Geralt, that wasn’t a performance!” Jaskier scoffs. He smells of wildflowers, and Geralt is all the warmer just standing near him. While every other person had near shit themselves at the sight of the wild witcher, Jaskier drinks in Geralt’s appearance the same way Geralt is staring at him. “But you aren’t going to make us leave now, are you? I mean, I’ve only just got my hair to sit nicely, and that dreadful downpour out there will fuck it all up again.”

The bard pats down an invisible cowlick atop his perfect head, lower lip slipping out as he pouts. Geralt can’t tear his eyes away. If Jaskier only asked, Geralt would move into this bumfuck village and never want for anything again. He’d bury his medallion and trade it in for a ring or a collection of fisherman’s sweaters, retiring in peace and love. “I shouldn’t stay,” he tells the bard, carefully neutral. Neither peace nor love are on the table for someone in his profession. “Not sure these people are used to seeing a witcher.”

“Then show them what they’ve been missing,” Jaskier continues without hesitation, with that familiar gleam in his eye that always precedes some bullshit. “We have coin for drink, and there’s a fellow in the back corner with a Gwent deck. Why not take a load off just until the storm lets up?”

Because it’s easier than trying to hammer in the point that these people do not want him here, Geralt merely says, glancing back over his shoulder through the grey window, “The rain will never stop.”

He thinks Jaskier might know what he means anyway. His friend tilts his head but there is no pity or indignation poisoning his smile. Only love— enough to frighten Geralt into nearly saying something he shouldn’t, or stepping forward to get drowner guts all over Jaskier’s fancy doublet. Voice trembling with that same love, Jaskier says, “Then there’s no rush.”

“... Hmm.” Geralt glances over at the barkeep, who very quickly pretends to not have been staring at the pair of them. “One drink, and you’re buying.”

“Then you’d better repay my investment later,” teases Jaskier, looping his arm through Geralt’s without a care for the viscera or how soaked his armour is. Geralt inhales the scent of wildflowers, and warmth, and a love so deep he could drown in it. He can’t sense any fear coming from Jaskier at all— he never has.

#geraskier fic #geralt #jaskier #my writing #geraskier #ask meme #faeriepan #i was so happy to see your username in my inbox! also all these prompts are so sweet thanks to every1 sending them in #i am slowly but surely making my way through them i promise #i think at this point we're going to cover the whole list #asks

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semisolidmind · 3 years

Text

The Beast of the Dark Woods

Me waking up: wasn't I going to do something today?

Me, 10 hours later and during my work shift: OH RIGHT

Also me several paragraphs into what was supposed to be a quick drabble: hey, wasn't he supposed to be a fucking vampire?

Please accept this humble offering and also I'm sorry if I messed up the grammar, writing in the present tense is not my strong suit ahhhhh

(oooohoohoo this is very good :) definitely liking where this is going)

You can still hear the echoes of the shouts in your ear as you run. The ground is unsteady beneath your feet, the earth still soft and slick from the ongoing winter thunderstorms. With a gasp you catch yourself as your toes snag on tree roots hidden beneath the shifting mud, the impact ripping the sole of your shoes loose and causing the other to sink beneath the slurry. Of course they were party shoes, hardly meant for anything more challenging than a dance around polished ballroom floors, but they were all you had.

The sky lights up overhead, the blaze followed by a crash of thunder that isn’t quite loud enough to hide the distant gallop of hooves that are only growing closer. With a decisive twist, your yank yourself free, abandoning the useless strips of fabric and leather. You can’t stop here. If you did, you would be resigning yourself to a truly terrible fate.

The letter came a month ago. It had borne the seals and insignia of a neighbouring kingdom, and within it had been a message. A proposal really, between you and a man you barely knew. A man whose name now filled you with fear and rage.

Your family barely counted as nobility. Your only claim to the adjective was a patch of land and a distant relative that you had never spoken to outside of the rare yearly reunions or during kingdom-wide fetes held at the palace. That was where you had first met King Peter.

Sometimes you wished you could kick yourself for that day. If only you’d known better, you would have made excuses and steered clear of the creep the moment he’d sat down next to you in the gardens. Instead you had brushed his flirtations off as the fumblings of an awkward man, and explained away his inexplicable knowledge of your hobbies and whereabouts as him asking other people. It wasn’t strange that he’d started visiting your place of work, it was a fairly popular dining establishment and TK was an excellent bartender. Of course it was a coincidence that he’d showed up at the flower-shop whenever you happened to be there. He had claimed to have an interest in horticulture.

Then you’d woken up one night in the middle of a nightmare to find the man lurking at the foot of your bed and going through your basket of laundry. You’d screamed for your parents, but he’d leaped out the window and disappeared with the sort of horrifying efficiency that told you this was not the first time he had done it. The letter had come the very next day.

What could you do? Who could you tell? Your parents were ecstatic, practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of their future status. Besides, who would believe the word of a jumped-up waitress stuck to the fringes of nobility, against a king?

No one, and he had known that. You’d seen it in his grin during tonight’s dinner party, felt your heart clench in terror as he had raised his wineglass and proposed a toast to his upcoming wedding. The cheers and congratulations had drifted over your head as you’d sat woodenly in your seat, the sounds growing louder and louder until they threatened to smother you beneath their weight.

And so you had run.

The dark woods had earned their moniker well, although that wasn’t their true name. Folklore swore that using the true name of the forest would summon the monster that dwelled within it, but you had no other choice. This was the one place in the kingdom where no one would dare to tread. At least if you did die crushed between the jaws of a mythical creature, it would a far less ignoble thing than whatever Peter had planned for you. Plus, it would be on your own terms.

Eventually you stop sprinting and lean against one of the many pine trees. Panting hard, you strain your ears to listen for the thump of hooves, but hear nothing. Had you finally outpaced them? Exhausted and shaking, you slump to your knees in the dirt, fighting back tears.

Not for the first time since the whole debacle you wish that DJ was still there. He had been a knight at the castle while you were apprenticing there, and had always had a smile and kind word for you whenever you saw him in-between both of your duties. Ridiculously tall and ridiculously strong, you’d used to tease him that he had been more beast than man. When you’d said that, he would laugh and grab you around the waist, pretending to bite at your throat with his sharp canines.

“Well sunshine, they say monsters have a taste for pretty little things that go wandering into other people’s business.”

You chuckle to yourself, curling up tighter against the tree and focusing on the fond memories to keep the chill and damp at bay. That had been years ago, you doubted DJ even remembered who you were. Still, it was a nice thought to have after the last few months.

Slowly you drift off to sleep, unaware of the eyes that watch you through the trees. The forest quickly goes still, the sound of rain and night-time happenings replaced by heavy wingbeats that don't wake you up even as the dragon lands beside you. Scarlet red and obsidian black scales, thick twisted horns, and slit pupils that focus on you with a loving intensity that would have perhaps unnerved you if you had been awake to see it.

The monster begins to shrink. Scales fade into skin and talons grow more blunt. The creature, now a man, kneels down beside you and rises with you cradled in his arms the way he’d dreamed of doing for years. It was too bad you were asleep now, but there would be plenty of time in the future. After all monsters were selfish, and dragons even more so, but there were plenty of ways to make you stay. He adored you so much, and you deserved only the best. Only comfort.

DJ smooths a hand through your hair, taking in your torn, mud-stained clothes and bare feet with building fury. Flames pour from between snarling teeth as he turns to glare in the direction you had come from where he can still hear voices demanding your return.

Not to worry sunshine, he would take care of everything. By the time you woke up, everything would just be a bad dream.

#submission #DJ #dragon man gonna steal back his treasure

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

The Faun

- Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

Side note- Reader is part of my Of Monsters And Men series (she’s a dhampir and a longtime lover of Geralt so this takes place a couple years after Blavikin)

Summary: On the hunt for a cure to Roach’s peculiar new deformity by an unfriendly bog witch, you and Geralt take a rest one rainy night in a bustling tavern.

Warning: fluff, smut, Geralt being seggsy

Crouching behind some thick greenery, you keep as silent as a mouse. Your breaths are slow and quiet and your foot placement is positioned atop of fluffy moss. You are unseen to all on the opposite side of this bush, just as you’ve intended.

The sunlight shines its beams of cascading light onto the forest floor through the arms of the trees above, you sniff the soft breeze that blows your hair about. The scent of earth and deer flows into your sensitive nostrils while your crimson irises scan the bank of the tiny creek.

The water shimmers in the sunlight great blues and deep greys, no fish swim as the water is too shallow. Alas it is enough for thirsty wildlife to gift themselves with a little drink, even a monster or two.

Your right hand presses into the soft moss while your left rests upon your knee; movement across the creek draws your attention up to the bushes where a little spotted faun cautiously breaks into the open. She raises her tiny snout to the sky and sniffs for danger, satisfied there is none, the faun takes a couple steps forward.

You remain silent, this is the first time in a long while that you have seen a faun in such a peaceful place. It’s adorable, it’s thin and fluffy, spots of white printed down it’s sides and back that helps keep it camouflaged in the woodland so great nasty beasts do not find it.

It’s small hooves press into the grass until it reaches the creek, the faun stops, then looks around before dropping her mouth to the water. She sips the icy cold liquid as you observe her actions from the shadows. So innocent, so small, so helpless.

The world doesn’t deserve this faun. She’s too pure.

But you desperately need a couple of her precious hairs in order to cure Roach of some curse given to her by a pissed off bog witch. Roach now has two pointy horns above her ears and a couple scales scattered about her body. So here you are, hunting down the first faun in sight in order to cure your lovers dear horse, Roach.

The little thing raises her head to look around again, she drops her face to the water and takes another drink. You pull out a small dagger no larger then a quill, the faun is none the wiser to your intentions as you do so. This will be quick and painless, just a couple hairs, nothing more nothing less.

Slowly rising to stand, a sticks snaps from behind you and with that the faun raises its little head before taking off into the woods. You curse under your breath and pick up a rock to throw at the person making all the racket within the thick shrubbery behind you. You make contact.

“Ow what the fuck?” Grumbles your Witcher as he pushes past a branch to meet your annoyed gaze. “Did you just hit me with a rock?”

“Yes. And you just compromised my newest quest. So thanks for that you blundering dipshit.”

He steps to lean against a tree, “Didn’t know you were trying to fix Roach.”

“Well I am and I could have just collected the last of the ingredients until you decided to come stomping into the area. What happened to you telling me you were staying to take a nap?”

He shrugs, “I missed you.” That smirk tells another story.

“Oh you missed me huh?” You shake your head at him, “Sure, now you have to accompany me on my quest to find another faun.”

“Good. I like hunting with you.”

“We’re not hunting Geralt.”

“I like walking in the woods with you.”

You crack a grin before turning around and waving for him to follow, “Yes. And you also like looking at my arse when we travel hence why you keep behind me most times.”

“You’re just the faster traveler.” Reasons Geralt.

“Uh huh.”

“And you protect me from monsters on the road.”

“Aren’t you the Witcher?”

He pushes past some bushes and steps into the opening by the creek where you’re standing, “Are you not half vampire?” Asks your lover as he stops by your side to playfully nudge your shoulder.

You throw him a look, “Maybe I should reconsider asking you to join me.”

Geralt keeps his smile hidden behind that stoic face as he reaches up to move a piece of hair out of your eyes, “Forgive me then. I do not mean to irritate you Y/N.” You swiftly grab his wrist. He raises a brow.

“You didn’t. Now come, we need to find that damn faun.” You plant a kiss upon the back of his hand and leave him there wanting more, he quickly follows your lead into the forest.

“Y/N I believe he went right.”

“And I believe you need your eyes checked.”

——

With lack of a faun, rain soaked from head to toe, and dripping like a horny maiden on her wedding night. You stand outside a tavern in the small little town of Lornruk on a stormy evening. You feel no chill due to your vampiric origins, however your wet clothing has become a sort of hindrance on this night, and anyways who likes soggy clothes stuck to your body? No one.

You hate getting rained on, and this cloak isn’t doing much by any means to shield you from the brunt of the downpour. Geralt comes to your side, holding a lantern he hadn’t been carrying before. “Now who’s the sorry soul taken pity on a damp Witcher?”

He snorts, “I stole it.”

“That’s not very chivalrous.” You tease.

“Did I ever claim to be a knight?”

“No, but you did claim to find us a room in that tavern over there.”

Geralt’s golden eyes glance stoically over to the tavern emitting muffled music and drunken yelling, “I don’t recall ever making that claim.”

“You definitely did, I remember it well. You told me, “Y/N my dear beloved I will do this for you so your enchanted bodis will not have to” and then I said that sounds good and now we’re here.”

Your snowy haired lover blinks slowly, amused by your character yet he is loathed to go inside that tavern and initiate a transaction with a barkeeper, that never usually goes well. “Must I?” Mumbles Geralt begrudgingly.

You take a moment to look over his face before crossing your arms and pouting, “Well you don’t have to. But I deserve a good fucking if this goes well. So don’t fret, I shall return to you my dark prince.” And with that do you swagger off towards the tavern, rain pouring down upon your dripping vessel the whole time. Not very sexy in the slightest as your figure is obstructed by the large cloak, however Geralt knows exactly what delights linger underneath the fabric.

Geralt stands there, absolutely entranced by you in every which way, so much so that he doesn’t mind the rain for a second until a crack of lightening hits a tree too close for comfort. Sending him to find some cover near the taverns entrance.

A few minutes later do you open the creaky old door, your beautiful face lighting up the instant your eyes meet. “Ah my love! Get yourself inside, we have a room.” He’s then gifted with a mischievous wink from you. O gods hopefully he can contain himself till then.

Grabbing the lantern from out of his gloved hands, you set it on a hook by the door before taking his hand and pulling all 6”4 of him into the warm tavern. Lively music plays from pipes, fiddles, and drums alike as the musicians perform for the drunken lot. People dance and attempt to sing as a bard leads the song near the hearth, you almost wish Jaskier was here to join in. He would no doubt have this place belting out Toss a coin to your Witcher until you would like to strangle him so he’d shut up.

Not interested in that shit nor craving any kind of food or drink, you look to Geralt, “Fancy a drink?”

He makes a face at the bustling crowd, “I’d rather not.”

“Fair choice my love, here, I have the key to all our hopes and dreams. Let us go find a room.” He nods as you turn to lead him around some tables and past at least three separate women with their tits out getting fondled by a man they happen to be seated on. Good for them.

Ignoring that scene, and smells, you lead Geralt up four steps and down a hallway where you hear a strange mumbled moaning and groaning coming from the door to your right. Geralt hears it too and stops to listen closer, “Y/N?”

You raise a brow and press your ear to the door, sniffing the air until you make a disgusted face before recoiling back into Geralt, “There’s an orgy happening in there!” You whisper yell before taking a step away and giving him a shrug, “Hate to be the poor bastard in charge of cleaning that mess up tomorrow.”

Geralt simply chuckles as you continue on down the hallway, at last finally do you reach a room. Pulling out the key, you turn the lock and open the door. Walking into the room, you’re greeted with relative darkness and lack of a fire. “Shit. No fire.”

Geralt slumps his pack onto the wooden ground, “Any wood?”

He can’t see in the dark nearly as well as you can, so your eyes look to the fireplace, “Enough to dry our clothing. I’ll get it started just take your damp clothes off.”

“Hmm.”

Smirking at his usual vocabulary he saves for when he’s tired and being spoken to by anyone else other then you. Geralt begins peeling away his soaked layers as you head on over to the ashen fireplace to see what you can do.

In no time at all have you conjured up a relatively large fire enough to warm up Geralt and dry off your clothing at the same time. Standing up from your previous kneeling position by the coals, you stand back to admire your work before turning around to see…

“I didn’t know I walked in on a whore house.” You cackle with amusement at the sight of Geralt bare ass naked crouched over his swords as he fishes for something in his ruck sack.

His head immediately snaps up to see you losing your shit, “You told me to take my wet clothes off.” He protests half defensively though a smile begins to tug at the corners of his lips.

Holding your sides as a couple more giggles slip up, you can’t help but let your eyes wander all over him, “Hmm, don’t you just look absolutely delicious.”

He raises a brow, hand no longer moving around in the ruck sack as he halts all movements, “Can I get something before we do this?”

“Do what?”

“Y/N.” Mutters an almost grumpy Witcher at your shenanigans and the current state he’s in.

“Oh right, you promised to sleep with me you old perv.” He simply rolls his eyes at you before mumbling out a gravelly yes.

Letting him be for the moment, you decide to strip of all clothing while setting your wet attire near the fireplace in order to dry it. “I can see your bum.”

Looking over your shoulder, you send Geralt a wink, “Enjoying my assets are we? Thought a weary traveler like yourself could enjoy a show.”

He smiles at your cheekiness, “You know what a man wants after a long day on the road?”

“I know everything.” You slyly answer with, turning around to face him fully now, breasts out and not a care in the world who sees. Geralt strains to keep his eyes from wandering about, you know exactly what you’re doing, as does he.

He doesn’t move as you take another step across the creaky floorboards, “It fascinates me though, can a Witcher last till dawn? Considering, well you know, you are no simple common man after all. And no simple common man has a treasure like that upon his person.” You smirk mischievously with a raised brow, “How lucky the woman to have that lovely beast between her legs.”

His member twitches at your words, you’re his absolute weakness. He leans down to then pick up his wet clothing, “May I set my clothes out to dry first, Y/N? Then I will pleasure you all night long if that is what you wish.”

Your fangs show in the dull firelight as you grin excitedly, “Don’t be too long, Witcher. I’ll be on the bed when you’re ready.”

He shakes his head at your never ending ability to tease him, he loves when you put on a show for him like this and pretend to have never met him before. He’s been by your side for about forty-three years now yet you can still turn him on with just a word and a look. He could never get tired of you if he tried.

Laying provocatively on your side, bedsheets tousled to hide your neither regions intentionally. You lean upon your elbow, other arm placed casually upon your naked hip as he sets out his rain soaked clothing and leather armor on a wooden chair to dry. Satisfied with his work, you watch as Geralt turns to put all his focus onto you, the immodest vixen on the bed.

“How are you so beautiful?”

You give a casual shrug, “Same reason as to how I seduced a fearsome Witcher like yourself. It’s destiny my love.”

He scoffs, “Fuck destiny.”

“Agreed.” In a flash do you have him pinned to the mattress, arms outstretched as your hands hold down his wrists, faces inches apart, “I like this position very much. What are your thoughts?”

“What if I was to take you from behind?”

You wiggle your brows, “An enticing idea indeed. However I cannot promise you I will be able to behave on my knees, it excites the beast inside me too much at times…fair warning.” You purr in his ear.

Geralt pulls his knee up to push your bum, you go unsteady for a second as he chuckles below you, “I like it rough.”

“I bet you do.” He then sends you a telling look at that challenge you’ve just given him, sending a thrill up through your spine when he presses his lips to yours for a heated embrace.

Your lips move messily against one another while your hands slip from his wrists to fall to either side of his face. Breasts pressed flush against his chest as his hands move downward to wrap themselves around your body, calloused fingers trailing your precious skin. It’s a passionate sight of deep intimacy, sloppy wet kisses all over your lips and cheeks. A tangle of hands and arms rubbing up and down skin, along past scars stained in flesh.

Sweat builds with the body heat rising, hair falling around, sticking to foreheads from the sweat. Moans and whispered mutterings of sweet nothings chance the air as the fire crackles with sparks. A cock rubs dangerously close to your soaked entrance whiles hands trail and grip all around your body.

Your womanhood warms with anticipation, slicks up ready for Geralt’s size to fill it to the brim, it knows what luxuries await it. His lips press firm against yours, moving left to kiss your cheek as he whispers, “I’m going to fuck you till dawn.”

You lean your head back to see his pretty eyes, “Then fuck me already, you silly Witcher.” Geralt smiles blissfully before rolling you onto your back, elbows to either side of your face. Cock brushing up against your inner thigh.

“So beautiful just like this, I could stay here forever.” He kisses you, “Yet I know you are impatient.”

“I am, and I want you inside me now.” He lets out a breathy laugh at your annoyed demand, picking himself off of you and onto his knees as he sits up on the bed. Admiring your spread legs and smiling form laying upon the mattress.

“Turn around for me.”

“Ooooh so bossy.” You tease dramatically, closing your legs and rolling onto your stomach, purposely arching your back so that your bum sticks out better. You give a little wiggle. “All yours.”

Geralt’s lips curl with a pleasant smile gracing over his handsome features that goes unseen to you from this positioning. Although soon enough do you feel a hand pressed against your left butt cheek while a pair of lips kiss gently the right one. Your hands grip the blankets as your legs tighten together, goddamn is he driving you insane.

He kisses your bare bum again when you whisper a desperate, “Please.” He pulls away to grip the sides of your hips with both hands.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Quips Geralt in that gravely voice of his as he uses his strength to prop your lower body up by your knees, ass sticking up while your legs part to keep you stable. Face pressed into the soft mattress while he sits up on his knees, hands to either side of your hips as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You know it’s coming, but not when, until the tip of his cock touches the flesh of your two mounds sending a thrill of electricity throughout your vessel. Your hands grip the covers tightly as his whole length pushes into you, stretching your walls oh so fine. You groan with the familiar sensation.

Geralt takes a breath, “Feel good?”

Filled with Witcher cock, face pressed into the bed sheets, you mutter out a simple yes. Taking this as a positive sign, he pulls out again only to thrust himself deep into your core, sliding in and out with ease due to how wet you are now. And that has nothing to do with the rain this time.

For the next few long hours do the two of you fuck each other until you’re no more then moaning messes, switching various positions and places throughout the room as you go about. Vaguely remembering at some point in all of this when a pissed off tavern goer yelped from behind the locked door for you two horny rabbits to shut the fuck up. This person was obviously ignored as Geralt continued to push into you relentlessly, though soon enough the taverns music and chattering died down after this when drunken villagers began to tire.

And with that has dawn indeed found herself over the cold horizon. You on the other hand have found yourself, in well.....

His member twitches inside you with each new thrust, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he fucks you hard into the mattress like it’s the last time he’ll ever touch you again. Your mind feels like mush with every inch of him stretching wide your soaked walls. Soon his grip grows tighter and more fierce when he starts to slam your body onto him as he thrusts into you at the same time for maximum friction.

You can’t help the loud moans escaping from your throat as your lower body is lifted from the bed by the strength of your powerful Witcher and his iron grip. Your back curves, ass high in the air, and legs spread apart as his large vessel presses into you. His grunts are prominent while you moan, high building with every new thrust into your womanhood.

Your knees return to the bed as Geralt leans completely over your body, muscular arms to each side of your shoulders as he fucks into you from behind once again. Your breasts bounce as skin slaps against skin creating a pleasurable rhythm overthrowing the crackling of the firewood. More moans emit from your parted lips as Geralt spills inside you with a gravelly array of whispered fucks rolling off his tongue.

You moan at the sensation filling within, coating your aching walls, spilling out and down your legs as he continues to relentlessly take you from behind.

“Ohhhh….oh fuck…oh gods, oh…” You mumble before cumming all over his cock, walls clenching around him while he thrusts up into you. Creating quite the wet mess all over the designated spot on the bed. But you two don’t care in the slightest.

White hair tickles the side of your cheek as Geralt leans his head down to press his forehead against your right shoulder while he pumps his hips back and forth. Rocking your body and the bed simultaneously, lips pressed to your hot skin. You reach a hand behind to hold the back of his head while he leaves a trail of kisses all around your shoulder leading up to your neck.

Continuing to slid in and out of you, Geralt’s lips grace over your glistening skin as he makes his way from your neck up to your jaw, and finally the corner of your lips. You want to kiss him desperately but are too lost in the ecstasy of your fucked out high, that your mouth remains agape, head tilted back though you face the wall still.

Geralt moves his right arm forward to turn your head to the side, your crimson eyes open to see his handsome face and those two gorgeously golden irises, “Hello my love, so beautiful….so very beautiful.” Mutters your Witcher in that gravely voice of his as he leans in to kiss you fully now.

Whole body pressed flush to his looming vessel above you, he’s remarkably gentle with your frame compared to his bodily size and strength. He kisses you with such passion and tenderness you could honestly stay in this room forever with him if the world would allow it. He keeps inside of you, enjoying this intimacy for as long as he can while your body remains underneath him.

He loves you so very much, more then he’s ever loved anyone or anything, more then all the gold in the entire continent. You have refused to ever leave his side, and if the circumstances were ever right or he could afford a nice jewel, Geralt would have thought to marry you. However you are half vampire and he is a Witcher of Kaer Morhen, it doesn’t matter much in retrospect, but it would be quite the wedding if it so ever came about.

Kissing you passionately one last time, Geralt releases your face before kissing your naked shoulder and pulling out of you. You can’t help but make a mumbled groan at the loss of his large cock inside of you. Though he soon lays himself by your side, reaching an arm over your back before pulling you halfway onto his broad chest.

He kisses your forehead as you smile blissfully up at him, too exhausted from the rainy trek to the tavern and your intense love making session to do much else for the night..er morning. You let your head lay atop his left peck as your hand trails up to grip lazily onto his right forearm.

“Goodnight.” You mutter tiredly.

He smiles as your soft breaths fan against his chest, his free hand trails up and down your naked back, “Goodnight Y/N, sleep well.” You don’t hear him, as you’ve already fallen into a deep slumber.

——

Rousing from your slowly fading dreams, your eyelids flicker open to the snoozing face of your sleeping lover. White strands of his hair lay across his face like pale vines of snow, he’s naked save for the thin blanket covering the lower portion of his extremities.

You however are fully nude, exposed to the eyes of little mice who scurry about on the floor in search of possible fallen crumbs. Your fingers move to part his hair away from his eyes and nose so you have a better view to watch him sleep. Lasting only for a minute, you can’t help but lean in to press a chaste kiss to the side of his cheek.

Geralt stirs, taking in a deep breath before reaching a hand out blindly until it touches your own, fingers quickly interlocking. He brings your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles sweetly before opening those two golden eyes of his. A sleepy grin forming upon his face when his gaze falls onto your beautiful visage.

“Oh so you’ve decided to awaken?”

Geralt let’s out a breathy laugh, “Now that, was probably the gentlest way you’ve ever greeted me in the morning.”

“Pfff I am always gentle.”

“You usually shake me awake.” Protests Geralt as you lay there giving him a puzzled look.

“I do not. I’m being tender when I do that.”

“Your idea of tender and gentle are very different compared to the average person.” He reasosn while you roll your crimson eyes, sure Geralt.

“Wake up before me then.”

“You need less time to sleep then me, I can’t.”

“It appears I can’t help you there. Maybe I’ll just have to kiss you awake then.” You scoot closer to him and press a couple kisses across his cheeks, “Like that, and like this.” You attack him with more sloppy kisses all over his cheeks and lips until you pull back to witness a pink cheeked Witcher smiling back up at you.

“That wasn’t a bad way to do it.” He mutters.

“No, not at all. But if I start doing that we’ll end up wasting a whole half the day before getting on the road again.”

“That’s not much of a problem to me.”

Running a hand through his messy hair, you shake your head at him, “Not to me either. However the world needs us, and fucking around in the woods isn’t as much fun as finding a cozy tavern bed after a long day of traveling. You see my point here?”

“You just enjoy shaking me awake, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” You mutter before breaking out into a childish giggle, “What? I enjoy watching the way your brows furrow in annoyance until I gift you a kiss and that smile returns to me. It brings me joy, alright?”

Geralt hums, “Can’t argue with that.”

“No. No you can’t.” Your lips press against his, shutting him up real fast from any witty comeback he’d otherwise have spoken to push your buttons, playfully of course.

Pulling away once more, you move some hair that went over his eyes, “Time to get up my love, I think our clothing is dry.”

Geralt glances over at the dried clothing near the dying fire embers, he reaches a hand down to touch your naked neither region. You gasp as he smirks mischievously, “Really? And you’re still wet.”

“Geralt.” You warn, tone less then threatening as you reveal a fangy grin, “Maybe that faun will have to wait.”

Tagged (all my Geralt lovers and people tagged in OMAM series): @diegos-butt @a-girl-who-loves-disney @haleypearce @kmuir1 @seninjakitey

~anyone else who wants tagged in my Geralt stuff I gotchu just tell me

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher x y/n #of Monsters and Men series

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