#Wyll'sWeek

[sorcerous-caress]

Yandere Wyll headcanons

[Soft yandere, Toxic protective Wyll, jealousy, possessiveness, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

Bedtime stories of love at first sight that his father used to tell him after tucking him in was something he thought he outgrow.

Yet on that day as he hopped down the grove's gate and faced the goblins, meeting your eyes amidst the battlefield felt like an arrow struck his heart.

A feeling he can't explain.

Wyll was hyperaware of your presence during the whole fight, of your safety. Casting a spell on the nearby goblin that might have taken you by suprise, completely ignoring the fact he was surrounded by a dozen of them himself.

In the aftermath, it almost hurt him to retreat back inside the grove, to leave you all alone out there.

He wanted to go and check on you, to ask your name at least.

But the tieflings urged him back, declaring him their hero as he smiled politely at the kids running up to him.

Please come back, he thought, please follow him.

It must be fate, and when you walked inside the grove and spoke to him, he was sure of it.

Your name sounded pleasent on his lips, and when you called him the blade of frontier he thought he might trip and make a fool of himself.

One thing led to another and he found himself back at your camp.

Much to his dismay, there were other tents placed Besides your own.

Even his reaction surprised him, why did his lungs burn at the idea of someone else staying near you as you slept? Why does his heart ache at the idea that he wasn't the first person you called back to camp.

The eventual meeting with the devil he was hunting ensures, and you're there by his side during it.

But you're looking at the devil with concerned eyes instead of disgust, you're lowering your weapon and asking if she's okay.

You ask for her name just like you asked for his.

Something ugly twists inside his stomach.

He takes over the conversation, steers it back to the purpose it once held before.

But you stop him, talk him out of it, and like any fool smitten in love, he can't refuse you.

Part of him is aware that he did the right thing, that your words rung true at the end, Karlach is no devil.

And as he pays the price for his change of heart that night, you still face him the next morning.

Still as handsome, you tell him.

You don't look at him with disgust, you don't prod at his horns and you don't avoid eye contact with his abyssal eye.

It really must be fate, for someone as kind hearted as you to cross paths with him.

He stays by your side that night, nods off to sleep with his head resting against your shoulder.

From that day on, he stays by your side and on your team.

Every attempt at getting him to go back to camp is met with refusal, you can only bring two other companions, the third will always be Wyll.

The world is too dangerous, the people are too greedy. He can't let someone take advantage of you, he can't let you out of his sight.

He shows off his power more in front of you, plays the heroic role with more flourish, targets the enemies that target you.

The other companions make a comment or two about how he seems to be inseparable from you, Wyll takes it in stride and plays it cool, yet never denies it.

Somehow each attempt they make at getting closer to you gets interrupted by some way or the other.

That time Gale attempts to share the weave with you, Scratch suddenly runs to you, your favourite boot in his mouth with chew marks and you completely lose focus and go after him.

That night Astarion invites you to the forest, it suddenly starts raining and it's too damp and muddy to do anything on the ground.

When Shadowheart called you to split a bottle, a cat jumps out of the bush and nearly makes her stumble off of the small cliff into the lake, both of you immediately make it back to camp.

As Wyll dismisses the familiar he summoned, he can't help but feel guilty and ashamed by his actions.

Just because he's not in a hurry to share his bed with you, doesn't mean that the other companions deserve it because they're easy.

Not to mention, you did promise him to dance with him eventually, did you not?

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 1/7

-Nice Trick (SFW): Inspired by in-game dialog of Wyll remembering Duke Stelmane. Him talking about his little boyish crush was so adorable, he’s just so cute! Coupled with a baseline desire for adoration, and you just know fancy tricks and smooth poetry were in his arsenal. He will get a smile out of you! (Centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)-

Even though it aches, Wyll likes to ruminate on his past.

Retrospect didn’t always bring pleasant memories. But he still spent time thinking about his life at home, despite how he was made to leave it.

His earliest memory is one of him tumbling behind his father; anywhere from three to five years old. Ulder had looked behind him briefly, smirking at the barefoot boy pitter-pattering behind him, before turning back around and greeting their usual courier walking toward their arched entryway.

He smirks to himself then, sorting supplies by his and Gale’s tents while the latter, Aiya, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart were out gathering resources.

He remembers when he first began sword training. It hadn’t been with Ulder, not that first day. It had been with Theya. She was a high ranked Fist, often at the Ravengard estate for conversations Ulder refused to have on base; someone Ulder considered a family friend. She was always kind with Wyll, despite being well aware of his very obvious and juvenile crush. But she always took the time to speak with him, recounting her latest excursions with the organization while omitting the details not polite for a child to hear.

And she had insisted on using wooden swords; never mind how he whined. He had been eager to go over slashing techniques, finally convincing her to go over those with him after he had surprisingly and successfully demonstrated proficiency with parrying. Ulder had not let Wyll handle weapons just yet, but Wyll had eyes. He had watched his father and other Fist members practice many of times on base. Baguettes were shorter, lighter, and probably not a proper substitute for swords, but his days of running off with two of them to practice had paid off when the time came.

She agreed to show him the most basic of slashing techniques, stepping him through the arch little by little. For what looked like a basic swinging move, there was certainly a lot to remember. His stance, his squat, his eyes. His face also, because being open and predictable in combat was a negative.

He felt excited after that session, raring to try with the real thing. But once again, Theya laughed and said no. But that had not stopped him.

That night, he had snuck outside to the shed armory and picked a sword. He remembers the lurch in his chest, knowing he was doing something forbidden, but not faltering.

He took to the dummy outside and began to go through the motions of what he learned that day, breathing labored breaths and smiling through it.

He wasn’t picturing the dummy as anything other than what it was; just a practice target. Rather, he was imagining impressing his father; showing him what he accomplished in a few hours. And he certainly liked the thought of impressing Theya just as much. With this, he attempted a flourishing move with the blade. He was going to flip the blade at the handle with his right hand, and catch it mid air with his left. He saw it done at a festival once. It couldn’t be that hard.

And as it goes, he failed to get a grip on the blade, fumbling it and inevitably slicing open his right palm in the flurry.

He cried out, stunned at the line of red that formed before blood seeped down his hand.

Needless to say, Ulder had not been pleased. He hadn’t chided him too bad, but he had let him know unsupervised training would not be tolerated; not until Wyll was older and more experienced.

“What is the rush, Wyll?” he asked, beginning to wrap the injured palm.

Ulder had set him on a study table in his bedroom when Wyll came walking in, voice shaking. He quickly grabbed medical supplies and began tending to the wound.

“I want to be good at it,” Wyll said, eyes trained to the floor instead of his father.

“And you will be,” Ulder assured, voice even and unperturbed. “But there is no need to rush. This was your first day.”

Wyll swallowed, finally looking up to meet his father’s eyes once his hand was tightly wrapped.

“I want you and Theya to see that I’m good at it.”

Ulder stared for a moment, before blinking slowly and smiling gently.

“We know you will be,” he answered, stepping back and gesturing for Wyll to hop down.

He walked Wyll back to his bedroom, which was down the hall and around the right corner, and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed while Wyll climbed back under the covers.

“Sorry, father,” he finally offered, feeling scrutinized with the man looking down at him.

Ulder sighed. “You just need to be careful. You’re young. You have plenty of time.”

Back in the moment, Wyll was satisfied with how his supplies were stocked in a small trunk he used for his personal items. He smiled at the memory, turning his right palm over and noticing the thin, white line of the scar left over.

Newer scars along with calluses had layered the evidence of his desperation. But his father was right. As he got older, his dexterity improved. By thirteen, he was comfortable writing and holding weapons with both hands.

Ulder had even walked him through how to perform the move. Wyll had explained to him how he tried to recreate it based on what he saw. Ulder corrected him and let him know.

“No need to flip the sword multiple times,” he said, standing off to the side while Wyll held a wooden sword. “Flip it once. Have your left arm raised halfway at your hip so you can be ready. When you catch the handle with your left, then you may flip the blade by the handle as many times as you like before resuming your base stance.”

It took him a few tries, but he was able to do it. He had always been a quick study. And Ulder had smiled. Theya had smiled too when he felt extra confident with the move and showed her (still with a wooden sword).

He heard Karlach greeting the venturing group as they returned back at the edge of camp.

“Find anything worth a damn?” she asked.

Gale nodded. “A few magical items I may use for my current condition. But mostly, wares that will most likely be sold unless anyone here can make use of them.”

Lae’zel set the sack near the campfire and walked off. Looting didn’t exactly seem like her thing, and Wyll could see the visible annoyance start to roll off her now that she was no longer being used as a pack mule.

He looked at Aiya then, as she sat on a makeshift log bench while beginning to go through the bag.

“First things first,” she started, pulling out a jar and holding it above her head to catch the attention of the man a few feet away. “Halsin, this is for you.”

It was a jar of honey, well preserved. The older man walked forward and accepted it gladly.

“Many thanks, Aiya.”

She continued to rummage, but still responded. “Thank Gale. He found it in a basement pantry,” she mumbled. “Among other things.”

She pulled out a weapon then. A slim blade, golden handle on the end.

“Wyll,” she said, looking up. “Can you make any use of this?”

He walked forward and accepted the sword from her. She had stopped for a moment, looking up at him as he examined the find.

“Hm,” he began. Then he smirked. He knew a great way to test its balance.

He tossed it in the air; one flip, then swung his left hand as it fell back to chest level, managing to swing it three times in his hand before bringing it down to his side.

“Balanced,” he answered, lifting it back up and holding it at eye level to observe the quality of the metal. “Light. In good condition.”

He looked down at her. “I can certainly take it off your hands.”

She smiled at him gently. “Nice little trick,” she nodded, and Wyll recognized it was only partly sarcastic, yet it still made something in his chest bloom. “Glad it will work for you.”

“Thank you,” he answered gently.

“How many times did it take you hurting yourself to get that one down?” She asked. Wyll laughed.

“You know, I was just thinking about that earlier. The times I snuck off to father’s armory and practiced flips and fancy deflects on dummies and barrels of hay. I have plenty of scars to attest to that.”

She smirked at him. “And how many noble ladies have you done that in front of?”

He inhaled in disbelief and huffed out another laugh. “I see I’ve been had.”

“Exactly,” she said, then starting pulling more items out of the bag. Wyll watched her for a moment, then asked if she needed any help splitting and sorting items. She denied, but thanked him for the offer.

Dinner was the same sort of chaos it normally was, considering the type of group they were. And it was decided they’d all pick up and move tomorrow. The team today had efficiently searched the area for any supplies that could be worth anything, so it was time to move on.

As Wyll lay in his bedroll that night, he let his mind wander again.

“And you think this will impress the young ladies?” Ulder had asked, mirth in his voice.

Wyll smiled wide. “I know it will.”

[sorcerous-caress]

For some Wyll angst, do you think you could write something where Tav is a tiefling and they're a bit insecure about their budding relationship with Wyll because he hates his devilish appearance so they're like “how could he possibly be attracted to me” (— Wyll girl dad anon)

Wyll with an insecure tiefling Tav

[Angst, comfort, image issues, tiefling Reader, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

You really tried to not let it get to you.

Each time he made a demeaning comment about his new appearance.

Sneered at the reflection of his horns, ones just like yours.

The way he stiffened when someone would focus on his red eye with the black sclera, preferring they face the sending stone one instead.

He has every right to be upset about his appreance getting forcibly changed.

And yet, despite it all, every word dug into your heart as if they were told to you personally.

Devil, demon, hellspawn, the humans loathed your kind.

You thought he was different, when you saw him being so gentle with the tiefling kids.

But a human, will always be a human.

Fear of the unknown, of what lurks behind the curtains, it was always a great motivator for the human kind.

Your horns, your tail, your bright flaming eyes and colorful vibrant skin.

Things your own mother celebrated in you as a kid.

Things your own father boosted about with pride.

Things that once were beautiful.

Marked you as a monster to the world.

Even when you fell in love with this world, left the safe nest of your own people to go explore.

it never loved you back.

So why would he love you back?

You don't remember when it started, but slowly, eventually, your beautiful reflection in the mirror twisted and cracked everyday.

Until you too, could only see the monster the other claimed you to be.

You thought he could see the beauty in you, that you too have a soul.

You were a fool.

Why would he see that when he can't see it in himself? Why would he love you when he is clearly disgusted by the idea of being like you.

You thought humans were pretty, plain yes, but pretty in their simplicity.

And even when he lost his resemblance to his own kin, you still thought that he was pretty.

Charming, beautiful, mesmerising, so many words could describe Wyll and fail to give him justice.

The lovely horns that felt like they were the missing piece to yours, the mapping of his skin with the ridges and pumps that made him even more sharper.

He clearly thought differently.

And so to protect yourself, you took a step back.

Distaned your heart, pulled back your curtains.

Wyll noticed it of course, your sudden change of heart.

But like any proper gentleman, he never addressed it, never felt like he had the right to when the two of you barely even shared a kiss.

You couldn't avoid him forever.

And so he waited until the celebration to approach you, to open the topic.

He was delicate with it, always knew how to spin his words correctly.

You were kind, always knew how to evade a topic politely.

An endless dance that was growing tiring as the night went on, as people retired to their tents.

Leaving just you and Wyll.

His flirting, words that once fluttered your heart, stung like a needle through it instead.

How could he possibly be attracted to you?

And you told him so, as you were getting fed up with this whole situation.

Told him to drop the act, he doesn't have to pretend to find you not hideous just because you're the group leader.

There was genuine suprise in Wyll's eyes, a flash of disbelief.

And for a moment the mask dropped, his charming flamboyant words that are usually dressed up were bare and forward instead.

Asking why do you think he's pretending

Why would he ever find you hideous.

You were more confused by the second, is he feigning innocence? Or is he making fun of you?

Does he think you're a fool?

The dome collapsed and the walls cracked as your heart poured out all of the pain it contained inside, each and every one of his passing comments that were ingrained in your brain like a parasite digging at your skull whenever you thought you had a chance.

Mocking you for thinking a monster can be anything but a monster, for thinking a human can see humanity in others.

As you recalled every word you were a witness to, Wyll was horrifed by the end of it.

Of himself.

The raging flames of anger amidst your chest weren't rejected by him, but welcomed as he stepped into the flames and didn't attempt to forcefully douse them.

Instead, he apologied.

To you, for everything he said, for his naive ignorance, for being too obsorbed in his own view of what makes a human a human to truly comprehend what he was condeming.

Who he was condemning.

For it wasn't the devils he ended up cursing, but the innocent tieflings he was attempting to save.

How unaware he was in his blinded rage, damming the ones he was trying to protect.

Hurting the one person he loved.

Love.

For you were not a monster in his eyes, you were love, pure in essence, raging flames in passion, beautiful in core.

He confessed how he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw you, almost questioned reality. For how could one person put the sun to shame? How could one person rival the moon in grace?

And again, he apologiesed.

The night ended quietly.

And you noticed how Wyll lingered more and more on his own reflection.

Looked at his own horns the same way he admired yours when he thought no one was looking.

Traced the ridges on his face, gently.

And then you noticed it, a single charm.

A subtle gold trinket that one puts at the end of their horn.

Strangely, he only wore one, yet you were sure they came in a pair.

At the end of that day, you found the matching charm inside your tent with a letter underneath.

Your eyes scanned the paper, taking in the carefully written lines, the cursive words.

You held the charm in the other hand.

And nothing ever, could compare to Wyll's smile the next day as he saw you wearing it.

Although he would object, for he claims your own smile, sharp teeth and all, would make the flowers bloom in adoration.

And in a way, you were starting to see your own face again, your own reflection again.

The same could be said for Wyll, for his own monster too, quietly went to bed whenever you were around.

[sorcerous-caress]

this was originally for gale but this already fits wyll sooo

wyll being a prince and only having his maid (the reader) as a friend and slowly falls in love with them and thinking they wouldn’t like him

BUT THEY DO and they have to be the first one to confess bc wyll tried and it completely fumbled

i’m so sorry if this doesn’t make but also i love your writing! thank you!

Heaven was made for two | Wyll

[Fluff, romance, childhood friends, diots in love, confessing, getting together, kissing, prince Wyll au, maid!reader, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

The two of you met as children

During a festival, you let go of your father's hand and wandered amidst the crowd.

Going from one shiny thing to the other, you didn't realise how lost you got until it suddenly downed on you when you reached the riverside.

It was devoid of people around, just you and the muffled sound of the festival behind you.

You wanted your father, you felt scared.

And so you sat down, hugging your knees to your chest and closing your eyes before the tears could pour out.

You just wanted to go home.

That's when he first came into your life, a boy your age who sat down in front of you.

He asked what's wrong, how can he help.

You kept your eyes closed as you told him what happened through hiccups.

He told you his name, promising to stay by your side until your father comes.

His name sounded familiar to you.

You opened your eyes, and saw the same boy who was just holding the king's hand during the festival.

Wyll, the royal prince himself, the first heir to the throne.

To your younger self, you didn't know what to do, or how to react even to royalty.

But he didn't seem arrogant, if anything he talked to you like your other friends would, he seemed like a normal kid.

The two of you spent the evening playing on the riverside, chasing each other and rolling on the soft grass below.

By the end of it when the royal guards eventually made their way to you with panicked expressions, they found two children covered in grass and dirt from head to do, giggling as they attempted to imitate the frog on the other side of the river, hopping around.

When the two of you were brought back, you were met with the relieved faces of both your father and the king himself.

And suddenly it downed on you how serious Wyll's position is when the king informed the guard to call off the search, when the festival apparently came to immediate halt the moment Wyll went missing.

You were nervous again, wondering if you're going to get in trouble.

Worse, you saw your father feeling nervous and you felt like crying again as he kneeled down to hug you close.

To your surprise, Wyll was the first to speak up when asked about what happened.

He told them that you were the one to find him on the riverside, that you were the one to wipe away his tears and keep him company.

The king seemed very pleased and your father looked proud, you didn't understand why at the time.

His majesty extended an invitation to the both of you, to spend the rest of the festival together.

And you and Wyll were beyond ecstatic, smiling as you held each other's hands and kept walking around the festival with your parents nearby.

Wyll showed you so many cool things, and in return you introduced him to many of the local shopkeepers and your other friends.

Going back home that day, your father carried you in his arms as you slowly dozed off to sleep.

You made a new friend, you were very happy thay day, even without fully comprehending what it meant that your new friend was a prince.

Your father tried explaining it when you asked, but to your sleepy young mind, only a few words made it through your ears before you fully went to dreamland.

Unaware that this was the last time you or the kingdom as a whole would see Wyll for a long time.

Something was stirring in the castle, everyone was aware of it.

The older you got the more the rumours spread around that the young prince was sent to another kingdom for training.

And when you finally became an adult, the news of the prince's disgrace spread like widefire.

Wyll, the sweet boy you've met on the riverside who held a ladybug ever so gently to not hurt it by accident, made a deal with a devil.

The kingdom's beloved and only prince, exiled from his land.

You couldn't believe it, you desperately wanted the news to be false.

But when the king himself announced the denouncing of his son, you felt your own heart sink.

A kingdom without an heir.

You began helping your father around his job at that age, studying hospitality and caretaking.

The years went by as you made your way through varius jobs, eventually you passed the royal staff recruitments test and secured yourself a good position as a maid in the castle.

Yet something felt weird, the royal staff rarely scouted for more than 10 people per year, even then it was just as replacements for older staff.

And yet they request people in the hundreds, from teachers, trainers, chefs and maids.

Almost as if they were expecting a new addition to the family.

Yet that was impossible, the queen passed away during childbirth, and the king declined any and all attempts at getting him to remarry another, even after Wyll's exile.

You're assigned as a personal made, to attend to someone's needs and make sure they are safe and clean.

Yet no one ever told you who you were exactly assigned to, it was as if everyone in the original staff was in on a big secret that no one else knew.

You're walking alongside the river again, reminiscing on that teary eyed child you used to be, on how far you've come.

How much you've grown since, how your father looks at you with pride.

Some of your friends went away, some stayed close yet drifted apart, and some remained strong as ever by your side and the new friends you've made.

But you can't help and wonder what happened to that little boy you've played tag with, what happened to make him risk his soul just for a devil.

You spot someone on the riverside, a set of horns catches your attention.

They're sitting down on the grass, hugging their knees with their face buried down, only their horns remain visible.

You're reminded of yourself, you decide to become the person you needed most at that time.

You step closer to the man ahead, noticing the lack of tail, not unheard it but certainly unusual for a tiefling.

You're kneeling down in front of him, you ask if he's okay, if there's a way you can help.

A human face lifts to meet you, scaredd and jagged with demonlike features but still clearly human nonetheless.

The person starts a sentence, opens his mouth but suddenly goes speechless as he meets your eyes.

You see recognition in his mismatched eyes, but you don't remember these eyes no matter how mucj you tried.

You focus on the rest of his face, his nose, his lips and the his cheeks.

Like a puzzle the pieces fall into place slowly, despite the demonic appearance wrapping his human features.

But his hand, oh when you look at his hands you're immediately taken back to that one evening as a kid.

You haven't felt fear in so long, but at that momen you're terrifed to your core at this revelation.

"Wyll?"

...

He doesn't reply, he tries but no sound comes out, his lips tremble, there is shame in his glossy eyes.

He wants to hide, to run away.

He wants to go home.

You recognise each and every one of those feelings, read him like an open book.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he starts to get up, avoiding your eyes.

In a panic you try to stop him, fearing that you'll never see him again, that he will slip through your fingers before you could say hello.

You put all of your weight foraward and tackle him into the grass, a resemblance of a hug as the two of you stumble backwards and fall.

You hold him tight below you, you refuse to let go.

"Wyll please talk to me." You beg, "please tell me you're okay."

He's hesitant but you're patient.

He tells you everything, about Mizora, the deal he made, the contract he almost broke, the friends he has made.

And the bittersweet reunion with his father.

By the end of the story, the two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the river.

Holding hands.

You stay with him for as long as time allows, even when the sun goes down at the stars glitter through the sky.

He keeps holding your hand, he keeps you close.

The walk to the castle the next morning is a bit awkward after sleeping under the stars all night.

But you lend your shoulder for Wyll to lean on, remind him to hold his head high no matter what looks others might give him.

Only when the two of are in front of the doors to the king's private council, does he let go of your hand.

But he doesn't go in, instead he faces you.

"I haven't forgotten about you, since that day" Wyll confesses, "what I thought of as a mere childhood crush, flourished into something i could've never anticipated. When i met your eyes again, it reignited my soul."

He takes a step closer, "what I'm saying is, you're very dear to me."

You smile, touched at his words, "you're dear to me too Wyll, as your friend I'll always be there for you."

"Ah." Wyll clears his throat, "yes a friend."

He seems embarrassed for some reason that flies over you head, he turns around and goes to knock on the door.

"I'll make sure to drop by afterwards, is your resident still the same?" Changing the subjects, he attempts to make small talk as he waits for the door to open.

"Yeah actually, i live in the castle now, i work here."

Wyll seems pleasantly delighted by this information, but whatever he was going to say gets interrupted as the king himself opens the door.

His majesty doesn't seem surprised in the slightest by Wyll's changed appearance, if anything he smiles warmly as he invites his son inside.

The two of them bid you goodbye for the day, you give a courtsy bow before leaving too.

It turns out the king and the older staff were fully aware of the prince's return, some were kept in the dark about his changed appearance.

It's Wyll who you were assigned as a personal maid to.

Days pass, then weeks and months.

The colours seem brighter, the skies hold twice as many stars and the wind seems like an always pleasent breeze to you.

Serving Wyll felt less like duty and more like spending time with a close friend, the prince was very independent when it came to his own responsibilities and therefore you barely had any remaining tasks to preform.

So most of your time was spent walking besides him and offering help when you can.

Yet you can tell there is something he was keeping from you.

You weren't sure when he got so shy about holding hands or hugging you all of the sudden.

He would do it normally with others, yet with you his nervousness reared its head more often than not.

Truth be told, he probably wasn't the only one hiding a secret.

You couldn't deny the flutter of your hear when you saw him, the bounce on your step whenever you made your way to him chambers at the start of the day.

Your feelings of affection were too strong to deny, you weren't how to approach the subject or even start.

It's not like you can just walk up to him one day and tell him everything?

Or can you?

And that's exactly what you did, out of the blue one day while the two of you were eating breakfast together.

Or well, Wyll insisted on you eating his breakfast with him otherwise he wouldn't eat.

"Oh, by the way your highness, there is something I wanted to tell you about"

"I'm all ears."

"I love you."

It took 5 seconds of silence before he choked on his morning tea, staring at you with wide eyes.

"...surely you don't mean that-"

"I've always loved you, since that day you held my hand." You said with calmness, sipping on your own cup, "I'm not expecting you to return my feelings, I just wanted you to acknowledge them."

In less than a second he has abandoned his seat and is by your side, hugging you close and burying his head in your neck.

"I didn't think...I didn't expect." His voice is shaking, he holds you as if he's afraid to wake up from this dream, as if reality might just crumble around him at any second.

You're patient with him, setting your plate aside as you fully turn around to embrace him.

"I love you" you repeat.

Wyll lifts his head to face you, the happiest you have ever seen him, "I do too, more than life should allow possible, my feelings they are...indescribable."

His lips meet yours, it's short, sweet and tender.

I love you too."

[sorcerous-caress]

If you have the time, could you do a Wyll request with a durge!tav who is waaaaay too selfless to balance out the violent parts of their brain. Like Wyll is about to take a massive hit and tav just pushes him out of the way, taking the damage and bleeding out on the ground but they just offer a smile to Wyll in return. They don't know how to express that it makes them feel less of a monster when they do this stuff.

Into my arms | Wyll

[Angst, comfort, themes of indirect self harm/destructive behaviours, getting better together, Durge Reader, Nb!Reader]

[ part of the Wyll's Week event]

To bleed is to know you have a soul.

Oh, how reassuring it was, the sight of your own life essence escaping your veins. A cleansing shower of red that washes away all of your sins.

All of your father's sins.

To be bathed in your own blood, to bear the scars of every arrow and sword that you dived in front of, it's proof to the world of your innocence.

Your companions, your friends, the people who accepted you for who you are, you can't fail them.

So you closed off your walls, built a fortress of steel and enchanted the bricks to deflect all of your emotions and urges inwards, on yourself instead.

To protect the ones you loved, to spare the world of your cruel heart.

If your brain craves for blood to be spilled, it will be yours. A member to dismember, will come from you.

Wyll was the most vocal out of your other companions about his discontent with your ways of indirect self-flagellation masquerading as selfless kindness, your constant sacrifice of precious parts of you until you hoped nothing will remain.

“I am grateful for you sparing me from that arrow, truly,” Wyll sat down next to you just as Shadowheart bid her goodnight after healing your wounds, “but why put yourself in front of me? Why tempt death constantly by using yourself as a shield for me, for all of us.”

He sees the way you look at him, at all of them. As if they were something precious, as if they were doing you a favour by giving you a decent treatment. A stark contrast to how hollow your gaze becomes whenever you glance at a mirror, face your own reflection with disdain.

You would carve out your own flesh to feed them if you had to, it was written in your soul clear as day. And that notion was far too scary for Wyll's brain to comprehend.

You haven't given him a reply, merely smiled. Too tender and sweet of a smile for someone who's ready to sacrifice their own body for him, for someone who already did countless times.

He isn't blind, he is far too familiar with this kind of overcompensation. The idea that if you let the world punish you enough, drag your limbless form through the mud and dig deep, then maybe just maybe salvation will be an option.

An attempt to balance the scales of fate, the unfair hand you were dealt in this life, the child of a slayer god. Bathed with blood and adorned with carcasses since the day you were born, not that you had any choice in the face of your ever so doting father.

Where is he now? Wyll wonders. Where are any of the gods? When they turned their backs on him that damned night, when he begged on his knees for a devil to deliver what the divine couldn't care to.

They only reared their ugly head when it suited them, and yours seemed to only send you the best of gifts after forcing your own hand to rip something equally as precious from your world.

The campfire flame cackles at both of your miserable states, your joint desperation for approval.

Wyll tries to offer you what he cannot give himself, to be the person he needed most that night.

Reassurance.

“You're not a monster, you don't deserve to bleed just because.” He tells you the word he repeated to himself once before, “you don't have to be strong for us.”

You can be weak

Be weak and drop the weight of the world from your shoulders, be weak and fear death for your life is worth living. 

Be weak and cry when you get hurt, stay down when you fall, hug yourself when you crumble. 

Please be weak.

“Let me have your back, be your sword and shield.” The campfire light reflects off of his horns, he just like you, already paid the price.

The bandage around your waist where the arrow struck is still fresh, you wince as you try to get closer to him. Before you could force your body to move again, Wyll himself closes the distance, leaving his seat and kneeling on the ground in front of you.

“Please.” You see your reflection in his eyes, “promise me you will at least try, depend on me, on all of us.”

The words are dry in your mouth, his lips look especially lovely as he pleads his case.

So many words unspoken, so many thoughts swirl around your brain.

I can handle it.

It's my fate.

It's what I deserve.

I rather die than watch you get hurt.

It claws at my skin every second demanding I give in.

You deserve more than I can afford.

I'm death incarnate.

I should be hurt.

I can't handle it.

Then your mind blinks away, a blank state as you feel his lips, those same lovely lips, kiss your bruised knuckles.

Then, emotions.

You almost forgot you had them, almost forgot you deserved to feel them.

You cup Wyll's face gently with the same hand, hold him tenderly.

“I promise,” you vow, “I will try. For you, I will do anything.”

[sorcerous-caress]

Can we hear more about girldad Wyll 🥺🥺

Girl dad Wyll

[Fluff, wholesome, married au, nb!reader]

[Last part of the Wyll's Week event, it's been an amazing week <3]

Early morning

The bed is warm, the air slightly chilly. You cuddle further into the bundle of blankets, pretending not to notice the two little figures sneaking into your room.

Even when one of them giggles as the other shushes her, you feign ignorance as your daughters ready themselves to surprise you.

As they approach you, standing right in front of your side of the bed. You suddenly pull them into the bed with you, smiling at their screams of suprise that melts into laughter.

Your husband's voice calls out from the kitchen, the delicious smell of breakfast and fresh coffee following.

The gang of two toddlers keep you hostage on the bed, demanding to stay with you under the warm covers, how it's too cold outside.

You have half a mind to realise they just want to use you as an excuse to eat breakfast in bed, you oblige and tell wyll to bring it here.

There's amusement on his face when he arrives with breakfast, "and you say I'm the one who spoils them." He says, just as your two daughters suddenly wake up from their pretend sleep, courtesy to the two cups of warm chocolate.

Sleepover

"How come you're invited to their tea party but I'm not?" Crossing your arms, you eyed your husband with envy as he adjusted his clothes in the mirror.

"My love, it's their loss that they couldn't afford to have you," Wyll met your eyes through the reflection on the mirror, before his lips curled into a smug smile,"and I have better table manners, also I'm their favourite parent."

The knock on your bedroom door halted this conversation.

"Fine go on, your fans awaite you, your highness." You laid on the bed.

Instead of answering the door, Wyll joined you on the bed, swiftly getting on top of you. His lips so close to yours, you felt his hands caress your body, longing in his eyes.

A small gentle kiss, the soft touch of his lips against yours.

And just like that it was gone, he was gone as he got up and answered the bedroom door.

You could see your two little girls hurrying their father to come join their pretend teaparty with their friends. Wyll smiled at them as he picked them up in his arms, agreeing to whatever they demanded as they left for their room.

Oh well, someone has to go make the actual tea and bake the cookies for the said tea party, you might have not gotten an invite but you're sure not about to give up on being the favourite parent, just you wait and see your highness.

Treehouse

He built one with his dad before, he tells you, it was one of his most treasured memories. And so no wonder he got excited when the oldest of your daughters approached him with a crayons drawn map of her dream castle ontop of your backyard's tree.

And so you were ropped into it too, while you knew your husband wasn't above breaking a nail or two like a certain past friend you two had, he did lack a lot in upper body strength.

His lean athletic build did help him a lot in dodging around attacks, swiftly riposting swords, almost dancing around any battlefield.

Not so much when it came came to carrying to planks of wood, that's where you came in.

"My hero, what would I ever do without you." He sang your praises with practice, lifting the other end of the wood plank as the two of you moved it to the tree. You didn't have the heart to tell him that you were doing most of the lifting.

Nonetheless, the experience was as equally tedious and exhausting as it was memorable and surprisingly fun. Something about your two daughters cheering you own and bringing you their half-drank juiceboxes motivated the both of you to finish this tree house no matter the cost.

And the cost just happened to be your spine.

Dancing

He's gentle with them, patient and kind, even when they step on his foot by accident, even when the younger daughter gets overwhelmed from all the complicated steps while the older ones gets fed up with having to slow down for her.

Wyll diffuses the situation seamlessly, as if it was magic. He always knew how to be gentle with them and win their hearts.

You're sitting on the couch watching him guide them into dancing with each other, correcting their forms and helping them to keep trying.

Eventually, they get the hang of it, dancing with as much grace as two toddlers in pyjamas can manage. There's excitement and pride in their voice as they call for you, telling you to watch them, showing you what they learnt as if you weren't sitting there the whole time.

You compliment them like any good parent should, amazed at their fast progress and how adorable they looked. Wyll is clearly waiting for some compliments, too, from the way he has been clearing his throat and stealing glance at you.

Playing hard to get, you pretend not to notice his subtle hints. Crediting all of your daughters' newly found skills to them being natural at it rather than having a good teacher.

And just like their father, they visibly gleam at the compliments and let it inflate their egos.

You're not a bit surprised when your husband extends his hand to you next, asking you for a dance, in an attempt to bask in your attention for a while, hopefull you'll shower him in compliments after.

Maybe you will.

Under the stares

The two of are in your daughters' shared bedroom, bidding them goodnight. You just finished telling them a story and Wyll is tucking them.

There's only pure love and adoration in his eyes as he makes sure the sheets are nice and secured around them, fluffing their silk pillows and adjusting their bonnets so they don't slip while they sleep. Giving each one a kiss on the forehead as you wait by the doorway.

You knew him well enough to know that this was his favourite part of the day. When he gets to know his little girls are sleeping peacefully and protected, watching them grow up each day with pride.

It's the little thing that mattered, and to Wyll, there was no heaven greater than this little home with you and your daughters.

[sorcerous-caress]

May I request a wholesome Wyll & Karlach poly shenanigans?

Wyll & Karlach poly headcanons

[Fluff, wholesome, polyamory, nb!reader]

None of you are sure exactly who's idea was it to be together

It seemed to have developed naturally for all of you, as smoothly as a diverging waterstream creating a river.

Maybe it was the trip to Avernus together, afterall, not many people make it through countless hoards of demons without having the most possible trust ever in your companions.

And god were the three of you a force to be reckon with.

Wyll's blade, Karlach's strength and your leadership left all of your enemies akin to crumpled tissues in the aftermath of every battle.

Then it naturally progressed.

Holding Karlach's arm here, giving Wyll a kiss on the cheek there.

Their love for you wasn't subtle.

Well, Wyll's might have approached it in more subtle and delicate ways, while Karlach prefered to wake up up one day and announce how much she wants to ride you whilst Wyll choked on his morning coffee in the background.

They were the best of friends, yet they were words apart in terms of romance.

Each one giving you the best of both worlds.

The thrill of being ravished by Karlach.

The butterflies of being courted by Wyll.

The firey sharp teethed make outs with the tiefling.

The tender kiss at the end of a long slow dance with the human.

They couldn't compete, might as well bet the sun against the moon or race a fish against a bird.

Each day with them was an adventure on its own.

Even the lazy days were filled with fun and laughter, comfortable cuddling and warm food.

Wyll loved to lay his head on your lap.

Karlach loved to hug your back to her chest to sleep.

Wyll adored putting flowers in your hair.

Karlach can't resist kissing you good morning and good night.

They made hell feel like heaven, you can't imagine how dull your days would've been without them.

Karlach does help Wyll with his horns a lot, teaches him how to take care of them, how to shine and prep them.

Wyll is her shoudler to lean on when the world gets to her, when the unfairness of what she's been through prevents her from seeing the light.

He is very gentle when he needs to be, even when you feel like the world is closing its walls around you, Wyll is there to guide you out of that doomed fate.

You're also there for them when they need it.

As their previous leader and now lover, they can't help but look up at you. Clear admiration and respect in their eyes, your words weight a lot for their hearts.

[sorcerous-caress]

We die at the same time | Wyll

[angst, comfort, themes of depression, guilt, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

It was always the same, at the end of the day, the same quietness welcomed you back to the camp, an eerie contrast to the scream filled battlefield you were just at hours ago.

It was always the same routine, wash away the blood, wipe any pieces of torn flesh, heal any re-opened wounds.

Gather your companions and do a headcount, gather your supplies and gears, gather the lurching of your stomach as you force down food, gather your sainty and go to bed.

It was always the same, but it never got easier. How could it? How could you sleep after taking a life. You almost swear you could feel their souls tugging away at your flesh, that look of certain dread in their eyes when they know they'll meet their fate, it haunts you whenever you close yours.

Your companions were always the same, it seemed no amount of death could phase them. Beating hearts of stone, you wondered.

How does it come so easily to them? Why not you?

Why do they easily succeed without trying at something you've been giving your all yet constantly failing at.

It was never fair, life was never fair.

Death was fair at least, you thought, no matter how powerful an opponent might be, they all always met the same end by your own stained hands.

The glint of their eyes slowly vanishing as their dead corpse laid on the floor, still warm, blood confused in their viens on why the stream suddenly stilled, on why the breath suddenly dropped, on why the heart suddenly stopped.

The chatter of your companions faded, as they healed and regrouped, the druid and cleric tending to the others' wounds, the mage adjusting his prepared spells. You were granted a solid ten minutes of solitude to kneel besides the corpse, before life had to move on, and your group of misfits had to stumble into their next misfortune.

As you laid on your bedroll, facing the dim night sky, your thoughts wandered.

What's the point of it all?

The abyss whispered back.

What's the point of anything?

A clear dark sky, not a single star in sight, even the moon veiled away her light.

Endless darkness, a comforting familiarity, much like eternal death it was always the same. Everyone and everything was the same under the dark, a beautiful melody on a constant loop, until you could remember nought, not even your own name.

Maybe you too should join, you've always pictured your own image onto every corpse you've encountered, your reflection in their hollow eyes. wondered what your own body would look like in their place, how slow those ten minutes would feel for your companions before they too had to eventually move on.

"You seem deeply troubled, one might say the weight of the world was on your shoulders." A friendly voice, a warm ember amidst the void becones you.

Glowing as you cradle it, destilling your blood, melting the frozen ice off of your numb cold fingertips. Your own colour returns to your face.

You open your eyes, Wyll's asymmetrical eyes meet you.

"A restless sleep? You kept tossing and turning" his lips move, you register his words slowly.

Were you sleeping? Your heart is hammering against your chest.

The stars glitter above you, the lady moon shines brightly, half vieled yet still ever so elegant. Fire crackles next to your bedroll, your other companions resting peacefully.

"I'm fine." You say out of reflex, anything to get away from that concern filled gaze.

You lie and he lets you, you steady your breathing and he waits.

"Maybe a walk would clear your head?" He extends his hand, you eye it carefully.

"Do you have a place in mind?"

"You could say that."

His hands are not soft, yet his grip is firm and comforting, the grip of a hand which has felt the handle of a blade more than the comfort of bedsheets.

And so Wyll leads you to an opening amidst the forest trees, hand in hand as his other held a bundled soft blanket.

You can't help but eye his horns, they give the illusion of making him look taller. The small rigges bulging below his soft skin failed to make his smile any less warmer, to make his face any less charming. Mizora might have celebrated her small victory, yet the truth remained, she failed to strip Wyll of anything of value, of anything that truly made him himself.

You vowed to never forget his original eye colour, you've even written it out in a notebook stashed under your pillow. Even if he forgets it, you'll be sure to remind him.

If Wyll proved anything, it's that you can take everything that made a human human, everything but their humanity, and their humanity was everything.

Only when he let's go of your hand do you snap back to reality. Having already reached your destination, Wyll spreads the blanket on top of the ground below, a tight fit for two.

"Get comfortable, the air is fresh and the night is still young."

And so you do, sitting down on the soft blanket. Wyll joins you after, giving you the courtesy of choosing your own space as he settles with what you left for him.

You realise he is waiting for you to start after a few moments of silent.

"I don't know," you eventually say, "what I'm feeling I mean."

The air is gentle around you two, breeze tangling with the leaves of the nearby trees. An owl is perched up against a branch, eyeing the cricket nuzzled between the tree's roots. The forest never sleeps.

You continue. "Maybe I'm not strong enough for this. Each day, I wake up and I think it will become easier, but it never does."

The owl turns its head, feigning disinterest. The cricket goes quiet at the subtle sound of feathers ruffling, the branch creeks.

"And we've reached this far, we're almost at the city gates and i keep telling myself to just hold on a little longer, how much of a waste it would've all been if I gave up now."

The cricket moves, a simple step spelling its doom as the owl swifly dives down. A peak so sharp holds the fragile insect hostage, the owl flies off as it makes its way back home. The death of another will feed her children to grow strong and healthy, she seems proud of herself.

"But I just can't." You swallow down the urge to throw up, their blood is on your hands, their screams in your dreams, their flesh beneath your feet. "How do you manage? How do any of you function?"

And why can't you?

"In truth, no one does." There's defeat laced through his words, a deep seeded regret in the hollow of his cheeks, "You assume everyone else knows what they're doing."

"So we're all just pretending that this is normal?"

The baby owls cry and squeak, the sturdy nest barely makes a sound as their mother perches on its edge. The cricket must be digested before it's shared. Her babies will be fed.

"Isn't it normal?"

The cricket gives one final push with all of his strength, one last silent scream into the void. I was here, he says, I existed, and whilst brief my life mattered. His strength is not enough, the owl swallows him down, the world keeps turning anyway.

The death of another, the birth of another.

"It's a delicate balance" Wyll says, "we're doing this for a reason, to save a lot of people. We're not needlessly claiming lives and carving a path of blood for no reason, We've avoided as many fights as we could afford."

"Yet we still took many lives."

"Yes, and we shouldn't deny it, much like how we shouldn't deny that we tried, we really tried to make it better and no one can say that we didn't."

His hands look cold, you think, reaching over your hold them in yours. And you're correct. The warmth is fleeting from his fingertips.

Wyll leans closer as you softly blow warm air against his fingers, warming them and holding them close to your chest. There's a glint in his eyes, an awe.

To be met with such gentleness, to be mirrored the same kindness, his walls crack down.

"I dread going back into the city" Wyll confesses, "to tarnish the memory i held in people's minds with my current appearance. To many, the blade of frontiers died long ago."

He brings one of your hands to his chest just like you did, he presses it against the space between his lungs.

"But I haven't, and you haven't. We are both very much alive" his voice, a mere whisper, barely louder than the two heartbeats you're listening to.

"What makes you think we will stay alive?"

"We will, you will" Wyll says, "at least you will, I wil make sure of it."

His embrace is warmer than your bedroll. He looks at you as if you hung the moon in the sky in front of you, and yet you're held as if you were even more precious.

When a human touches your skin, when a human holds you close, when a human lets you in, it stays with you for the rest of your life.

"We will do whatever it takes." Determination drips from his tongue, "fight ever harder, be ever stronger"

To make you stronger is the only gift a person sure of their eventual departure could offer you. Wyll's arms hold you as if it was the last time he'll get the chance to.

Maybe it's what he's used to, never offered the luxury of security within a person's heart. Always fleeting, always sharpening the blade.

-

Each night is endless. You think the sun would never rise again, and the dark can be especially deceptive when you least expect it.

You've been here before, many times before, and you've survived the night and its dark thoughts, many times before.

As it always was, the sun rises again, the same.

You'll be here again, but you won't be alone, not anymore. Even if you were, his words will be the amber to shield you with its light until the morning comes, until your brain is clear again.

"What's my purpose Wyll? In all of this" you're laying on top of him, head buried into his chest, hugging of his arms to yours.

"What's the purpose of a sunset being pretty?" His mind isn't so sharp with the haziness of sleep clouding it, a yawn escapes him.

You stare at the sunset in front of you and try to see what he sees in you.

"What's the purpose of a dull blade if not to signal when the war has come to end, when peace has flourished." His other arm strokes your back, his voice is sleepy, his words are slow.

"You want to get dull? Get old and lose your edge with me?"

"I want to be loved, like many of us do." You see yourself in him, as he says that, see your worries mirrored, "a dull blade can claim no lives, a dull blade can raise no tragedies"

His lips meet the top of your head, a gentle kiss.

"I want you, I want to grow old with you. In any form, in any universe, in any way." His eyes flutter shut, the sunrays are comfortably warm against his body, your own bodyheat like a weighted blanket on top of him.

"You'd be with a killer."

"Then give me your sins and let's bear them together"

[sorcerous-caress]

Wyll has been overlooked in the fandom a lot, that gentleman is very underrated and that's a crime. I love the other companions too but Wyll deserves to have the spotlights for a week.

Details below!

The event focuses on celebrating Wyll, his storyline and characters as a whole.

Event duration: from December 1st until December 7th.

Make a Wyll focused work at least once every day of the week of the event. It can be fanfiction, ships or reader insert, character studies, fanart, ingame screenshots and edits!

You can include other companions as well, but the focus must remain on Wyll as a main character.

Have fun! Really this is just about showing Wyll more appreciation. Even a doodle or a short drabble would be appreciated.

Alternative universes are allowed, Vampire Wyll? Demon Wyll? Go wild.

Make sure to use the event tag #Wyll'sWeek

Feel free to reblog this and share it outside of tumblr!

As for my own writing blog, I will be re-opening requests again but only for the Wyll event. Thank you for reading I hope you have a good day.

[sorcerous-caress]

I haven’t seen one single thing with Wyllxdurge. If there is then I haven’t stumbled across it. I beg of you to make something with it, I lack ideas. The only possible one I could think of is the redeem ark for durge and Wyll being the good boy he is helping Durge. Or a FAT angst with durge giving into the urges and following through with their fathers demands.

Like can you imagine the daddy issues with durge and wyll and no one’s feeding into it😭

-⚫️ (I have no idea if your okay with the anon emoji thingy- I’m sorry if your not okay with it😭)

Wyll with Durge is a really interesting concept. Like I can't think of any other companion who's at the opposite end of the morality spectrum of Durge other than Wyll.

Sure Karlach is kinda there- Kinda, but not to the point that Wyll is. Even goody two shoes Gale is susceptible to corruption.

Wyll and Durge do fit the trope of the sun x moon or dark x light. On a murdering lunatic x selfless prince charming.

Yet both share the experience of being dethroned, both fell from their own version of grace because of something out of their own control. Both are forced to work together in order to survive.

In another world, Wyll would've been at the height of society, in the tallest castles mingling with the noblest, doing the whole song and dance for his father's pride.

While durge would've been at deepest temples of the earth, performing a vivisection on a barrage of sacrifices, mingling with their organs for their father's amusement.

Two sides of the same coin fr fr. Wyll is the rose and Durge is the thorns. Both stem from the same vine yet are world's apart in terms of difference.

Wyll had to deal with demons all his life, fight tooth and nail to survive. Durge had to supress their instincts, play polite and nice to get by.

What I'm saying is they will definitely solve each other's problems. Durge is more than capable of going down to the hells and dragging Mizora by the hair, bringing back only her dismembered horns as a gift for Wyll.

While Wyll is more than capable of charming entire societies of nobles, getting them wrapped around his finger as he uses his father's name for influence and fame.

I am okay with emojies for anons <3

[sorcerous-caress]

How about some angst for Wyll week? Maybe Grand Duke!Wyll x a Tav who he knows would be absolutely miserable as the grand duke's spouse? They're willing to give it a go for him, but he knows it'll never work.

You were always wild at heart, there was fire in your soul and that's what attracted Wyll to you like a moth to the flame.

Your crass language never failed to make him chuckle, your unkempt wild hair looked the best drenched with the blood of your enemies. There was an undeniable adventurer charm to how you constantly wore armour, or how your camp clothes left very little to the imagination.

Wyll adored that free spirit you held, the strong determination and the bluntness of your tongue.

Sometimes he envies you actually, if only he had half the courage you had, half the bravery you held, then he wouldn't have felled to the pressure of the noble society.

"Please understand my love, it's the best for both of us"

He's avoiding your gaze, eyeing the acron hanging from the necklace you're wearing instead. The same one he gave you long ago.

"Cut the bullshit Wyll, you don't get to make my decisions for me." You reply, sharp as ever.

His coronation was less than a week ago, and yet comments about the Archduke's lover started circling amidst the upper city like wild fire.

The same wild fire he once adored seeing in your eyes, snuffed out by a glossy layer of what could become pouring rain.

He regrets looking at your eyes, his stomach twists painfully.

"It's my own fault, I should have made this decision sooner." His gold ring, the same one you picked for him, is missing from his finger.

You're still wearing yours as his hand reaches out, placing the twin ring inside your palm.

"You have to understand that I cannot fail my people now, I cannot fail my father." He stands up, planning to flee like a coward, the blade of frontiers himself.

"Then what are you waiting for?" An eerie calm tone that turns into a shout as you push your chair away, "Fucking go Wyll" you throw the ring at his feet.

A drop flows down into the ground below, then another and another, you blink your eyes quickly to wipe them away.

And he leaves.

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 6/7

-Say Yes (NSFW, finally) Set the night of his proposal, and what happens after. (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

“Here?” She huffs, on top of him but still being cautious about lowering onto him.

“Right here,” he answers confidently, then his eyes widen. “Or rather, over there, where I put the blankets.”

She laughs, leans back down to kiss him. “And the pillows. And the candles. And the wine.”

“I wanted us to be comfortable,” he answers in between kisses.

The slide of their lips against each other is drawing something down Wyll’s chest, through his core and lower still.

“Comfortable for what?” she asks innocently, as if her hands hadn’t already started unbuttoning his shirt. As if he isn’t already straining against his pants. As if he hadn’t just told her a moment ago, before they started this tumbling, to get down here so they could start their happily ever after.

She had seemed pleased with his surprise throw, letting him revel in the success for just a moment before locking her thighs around him and flipping them both.

He’s going to get her on her back again, because he has things to do to her that require it. But for now, he is enjoying this view of her on top of him; he is enjoying the tease of her hovering over him instead of sitting.

And he recognizes her goading for what it is. He’s eager to play along. What good is him being long-winded if he couldn’t utilize it where it really counted.

“Would you like me to tell you, or show you?” he asks, stopping their kissing for a moment.

She smirks at him then; its slow, sure, and coupled with the glint in her eyes, predatory.

She leans back in, hovering above his lips before moving to the side of his neck instead.

“Both,” she answers, pressing her lips against his skin. He groans, shifting a bit, hips raising up minutely, searching for the contact he wants there.

“In that order,” she continues, moving her kisses across his throat to the other side. He likes her on top, wants to get her back there later. But as she darts her tongue out and licks the shell of his ear, he curses, moves his own legs around hers, and flips them again.

He’s careful about keeping a hand on the back of her head as he does so. And they still aren’t on the blankets, but they are getting close. He presses himself to her finally, letting her feel just where his intentions lie.

She licks her lips, and it is a gesture he has noticed she always does. When she’s lost in thought, particularly.

It’s not just a quick slip of the appendage over her mouth. It’s a slow, circling trail from her top lip to her bottom lip. And he has always found it distracting, silently chiding himself for thinking too hard about the action. It’s even more disarming now, with that look in her eyes again.

She likes being thrown around a bit.

He notes that for later as he leans down, mimicking her from a moment ago, and moving to the side of her neck. He decides to do worse than her, and lets his tongue make the first contact, followed by his lips.

The sound it brings out of her is a stifled moan, held back by her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. He wants more of that, unbound and louder.

He groans at the knowledge of what he’s about to do; what he has refrained from doing every time they steal away to run their lips over each other.

He moves up, and trails his tongue over the high point of her ear. He had always wondered if they were sensitive, and if they were, how sensitive. But he never asked.

He’ll never have to, now.

He got his wish from just a moment ago. She moans for him, open and needy. He does it again, and he can very well tell that an addiction to her noises is going to form.

He keeps doing it, dipping down to tease the middle of her ear instead of the shell, and she bucks against him.

He switches to the other side, hands clenching the grass around her as she begins to undulate against him.

“First,” he begins, moving to trail light kisses over her neck. “I’m going to lay you out on those blankets.”

She exhales a laugh.

“I’m going to get you out of your clothes, and anything underneath.”

He pulls back to look her in the eyes, bringing their noses together. He grabs one of her hands with his, lacing their fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, everywhere. Your wrists, up your arms, over your chest. And then down.”

He shifts again, lining the hard ridge of him up with her core.

“And?” she asks.

“I’m going to kiss your beautiful legs, then grab them behind the knee and push them back.”

She moves against him faster, a little frantic, compared to his expectations. He wonders how long it has been for her.

He is going to give this first round his best try. Because it’s been a while for him too, and coupling like this was an infrequent thing as well.

Contrary to their group’s jokes, yes, he had done this before.

“And you’re going to hold them, so I can have some room.”

“Oh,” she says.

“And I am going to spell out the rest right between your legs.”

She exhales sharply. “Wyll, come on.”

He adores her impatience, reveling in how it contrasts to her usual demeanor. She’s not a mess, not yet. But this is already so different from how she is with everyone else. She’s always focused, quiet, and collected.

He doesn’t want any of that tonight, not in this setting.

He gets off her, and they both move over to the blanketed area he set up earlier under the tree.

If she ended up not wanting to go that far tonight, that was fine. He had brought the wine, and a few snacks in a backpack hidden behind the tree.

She decides to start on herself first, unlacing her sandals and flinging them off her feet.

“You too,” she orders, moving her hands to unlace her pants.

“Not yet,” he answers, to both. He grabs her hands and moves them back to her sides. “Allow me.”

He slowly trails his hands up her stomach to her neck. He lets them linger there, lighting grasping the sides of her face.

She is jittery. Maybe he doesn’t need to draw this first one out.

He brings his hands back to her stomach again, but this time it’s to ease her shirt up, revealing skin where he doesn’t normally see it.

He sighs, and she sits up to help him take her shirt off easier.

What’s underneath catches him by surprise.

“Oh,” he says, staring at her chest. “That’s…where did that set come from?”

“Figaro’s,” she answers, smug. Glad to have caught him off guard.

“Noted,” he says, leaning down to kiss her again.

It’s a flattering, sage colored bralette. The material is no mere cotton. Rather, shimmering with what is supposed to resemble snake skin. It looks gorgeous on her skin. He wasn’t aware Figaro’s was making wares such as these. But he knows where to shop in the future for her, if he wants to see more of their work.

He moves down, kissing over her neck, and stopping at the top of her chest, reaching for one of her arms instead and starting there.

“Wyll,” she says. “Don’t tease.”

“So impatient,” he whispers, trailing kisses up her inner arm. “You told me to tell you, then show you.”

“Then can you tell me more?”

He smirks, reaching her inner elbow and planting a kiss there before mirroring his actions on the opposite arm. He kisses up this one slower, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“I want you quivering on my tongue.”

“Oh my-

“I want you moaning for me.”

She nods, lip drawn back between her teeth, thighs pressed together.

“I want to taste you, especially when you peak.”

“Wyll,” she moans.

“And I want to see it. Because I have to know how you do it.”

“Wyll,” she says more urgently.

He puts her arm down then leans back to finish unfastening her pants.

“Have to know if you go silent or if you scream.”

“Oh hells.”

“If it rushes out of you, drowning me in your essence. Or if it trickles out of you.”

She exhales again, a high pitched whine in her voice.

He has her pants undone, and reaches for her waist to start sliding them down.

“If you’ll let me keep going, even though you just came. And if I can slide a finger inside you and feel where I know you’re going to devastate me the most.”

She moans, long and needy. “Wyll, please. Please.”

He’s done teasing her for now, because he’s messed himself up in the process of trying to mess her up as well. He reaches for his own pants, undoing the laces and giving himself a little more room. He finishes sliding the fabric off her legs, smiling at the matching set of underwear covering her.

She looks so pretty in them. But she’s going to look better with them off.

He hooks a finger under the line of fabric on her hip, and teases.

“Wyll, for the love.”

He laughs at her insistence. Likes that he’s got her bossy here. He hopes his love for her will grant him enough stamina to stroke that tone out of her.

If not the first time, then later on. They really have all night.

“Take that off” he points to her bra, and starts to undo the lacings at her hip.

He undoes both sides, using a hand to grab them off her at the middle and tossing those to the side.

“Fuck,” he says lowly. “No, keep them spread,” he adds on, once he sees her closing her thighs out of sheer reaction.

She whines, doing as he said, and opening her legs.

For now, he’s done teasing. He grabs one of the pillows from the side and plants it under her lower back. He grabs another and asks her to sit up so he can set it under her head.

He grabs her legs and folds them back, and she remembers what he said and grabs the backs of her knees, fully baring her lower half to him.

He places a palm over himself and presses down as he stares at her. He stares at the hair there, getting a little light headed at how shiny she already is.

He looks further, daring to stare at something else he’s been wondering about, but isn’t ready to confess just yet.

He look at her face, sees the slight nervousness there, mixed in with her attraction.

“So beautiful,” he assures her, leaning down to kiss her stomach. “May I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

He kisses above her lower lips first, sighing at the touch of her curls against his mouth. When he goes lower, she jolts hard, already losing her grip on one of her legs.

“You alright, my love?” he looks up to ask.

“Yes,” she says. “You can keep going.”

He nods, maintaining that eye contact as he leans back down, pressing a kiss to her again.

He continues to do it, holding her gaze and watching her chest heave the more intense he goes with it. He slips his tongue out, adding it to his kisses, filling the air around them with the sounds. She is whining gently, but she is keeping her legs supported still.

He wants to make her buck again.

He opens his mouth and latches it onto the nub he was slowly coaxing from between her lips.

She hisses. “Oh. Oh, Wyll.”

He hums into her, closing his eyes for a moment and indulging in her taste. She’s already so aroused, it is strong on his tongue.

He wants to know specifically what she likes. Every body is different, and he wants to learn which actions were going to get her mewling for him the fastest.

So he tries a few things; he continues to suck at her, which causes her to grunt behind her bitten lips. He licks her; long, deep laps from the flat of his tongue. She likes it, and it causes more of her arousal to slip out of her.

He takes one more lap before curling his tongue and flicking it over her gently.

“Fuck,” she yells. “Yes. Yes, like that.”

He continues, alternating with flicking his tongue, sucking her into his mouth, and pulling back to breathe.

He chooses to move the time clock up a bit. He wants to slip a finger into her now. He shifts a bit from where he’s laying, bringing his right hand up to rub over her.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mesmerized by the motion of his own hand over her.

“Yes.”

He brings his hand down, flipping it palm up, and teasing his pointer finger against her opening. He gently eases it in and out, sinking more into her every few strokes. He’s panting, because she feels so silken and wet and-

“I cant wait to be inside you,” he says, continuing to move his finger in and out.

He goes back to her nub, continuing the pattern of flicking and sucking, along with moving his finger in and out of her.

“Can I put another one in?” he leans up to ask. “Huh?”

“Yes,” she whines. “Just…be gentle.”

“Of course, my love,” he whispers, bringing his middle finger up and teasing its entry as well. “I’ll be very kind to her.”

He slides it in along his first finger, and already feels that this is a tight fit for just two of his fingers for now. He gets lightheaded just thinking about pushing his cock in.

“Hmm,” she says. “It’s okay if you’re a little mean to her sometimes.”

He laughs, dark and suggestive. “Is that so? My love likes to be roughed up a bit?”

“More than a bit.”

“You’ll have to teach me how,” he reminds her.

“I will,” she assures, throwing her head back and letting herself get lost to the sensations.

He isn’t sure how long he’s at it, but he switches from staring at her glistening, heaving chest to his own fingers pumping in and out of her. He experiments with the speed, finding that a moderate pace with intermittent flicks of his tongue is what keeps her mewling. It takes him a moment to notice, but his own hips are thrusting into the ground.

She manages to keep her legs balanced while reaching her hands down to grab his horns. And though he had hoped she would, though he had thought about this, and picked this position specifically for that reason, it throws him.

He pulls back and hisses, feeling himself get a bit more untamed, opening his mouth slightly and letting drool slip down onto her.

She says something in praise, but it’s slurred and unintelligible. He thinks it was something in astonishment at his boldness. And he will be smug about that later when he can focus; he’s too lost in her right now to make sense of it.

It has been a while since he’s done this. A long while. But even when things went no further than this, he was always happy to engage in this activity. There was something so thrilling about having someone supplicate to him for something he could provide. Power of the tongue, and all that.

“Move,” she orders.

He takes his mouth off her and looks up. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m close.”

He grins, looking back at his current obsession, languidly thrusting his fingers in her. “Aiya, I didn’t know you were hard of hearing,” he accuses her.

She starts to curse him, head glued back to her pillow, and he laughs.

“You told me to tell you, and I did. I want to see how you do it.”

“You fucking-

“Are you going to soak me? Did you get shy about flooding my tongue?”

“Wyll,” she cries out. “I just…wanted to warn you.”

He thrusts harder. He might, unfortunately, finish in his trousers due to this. It’s fine. He has time with her tonight. Time he is going to spend stopping the clock.

“And I’ll heed your warning,” he says, before he sucks her once more. “But I’m ready.”

She exhales, and starts panting.

He discovers that when she’s finishing, at least from this, she goes relatively quiet. It’s just her breath, no bass to it. No true use of her vocal cords. Just her heaving chest, dry throat, trembling legs, and seeping cunt.

The tell-tale sign of her climax is the forceful stream that hits his mouth, rushing over his lips and down his chin. Some of it rushing up to his nose.

This is a prepossessing form of torture. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t care because he is taken by the rush of her covering his face. The uncontrolled rise of her hips to his mouth is enough to melt his mind, and he stays there, letting her thrust against his face and push out that onus that’s been locked in her walls.

He notices he’s been separated from her because she is pushing him back by the horns. He stops resisting when he hears her whines, knowing she needs a break. But his brain-to-mouth grapevine is still telling him to use his tongue, and he latches onto one of her inner thighs and makes out with her there.

She is coming down, whole body trembling. It’s only when she sobs his name that he is broken from his reverie, lifting up to look at her face. And it is better than what he even imagined. Because she didn’t scream, and she wasn’t exactly silent either.

When she comes, she cries.

The tears flowing down her face are in pleasure, but he still swallows and moves over her, coming up to wipe them.

“Aiya,” he breathes.

“Fuck…you,” she responds, no real threat in her voice at all. Only the horrible realization of what he’s done to her; what he can do to her, when given the chance.

He leans down, letting his lips linger above hers before she demands a kiss, and meets her with tongue. Her taste is on him, in him. And he shares it with her freely.

It’s nothing else, for a bit. Nothing but their lips, tongue, and spit; swapping back and forth while she settles. He is bristling, but he can hold out a bit longer for her.

“Soon,” she says, disconnecting her lips and gazing up at him. “I’m going to shove your cock down my throat and keep you there.”

“Hells,”

“But right now, I need you inside me. I need you to stretch me more.”

He thrusts against her without thinking, letting her soak through the seat of his pants. “Are you sure?” he breathes. “I can let you take a moment.”

She sits up, pushing him further back while rising to perch on her elbows.

“The only thing I want to take is you,” she says confidently. “But I would prefer to be on top. It’s easier for me, that way.”

He nods, kissing her deeply once more before pulling away completely so they can switch their positions.

He adjusts the pillow supporting his head the way he needs it for his horns. Since his pants were already unlaced, he starts removing them without her assistance.

He pulls them down, and sighs in annoyance that he didn’t grab his underwear along with it too. Once his pants are off, he reaches for the top of them, but she stops him.

“Allow me,” she says, on her knees between the spread of his legs.

He moves his hands and lets them fall to his sides, fingers already sporadically curling into the blanket underneath them.

He suddenly feels a slap of bashfulness as her hands are pulling his underwear off, because while everyone has seen these horns, they haven’t seen-

“Fucking hells,” she says.

And he knows it’s a compliment, but his face still gets warm.

“You weren’t joking,” she continues.

And he knows he’s talking about the comment he made about himself the night of the Tiefling party. The ridges and prongs in unmentionable places. He is surprised she remembers.

She pulls the garments the rest of the way, sliding her thighs on either side of his waist while looking down at him.

“How are you going to explain this to the others, hmm?” she asks, lowering herself to grind against his pubis. “How are you going to tell them how I died out here?”

He is so swept by the movement of her hips right above the head of his cock, but he burst out in laughter anyhow.

“You are dramatic,” he says, shaking his head.

“And you,” she combats, sliding down further to nudge herself against him, “are going to kill me.”

He moans, low and long because gods above and below she is drenched. She is wetting his cock with herself and he is now fearful that this will last exactly however long it took for him to realize he found her pretty. Which was no time at all. He realized it as soon as they had dispatched that small troupe of goblins outside the grove; noticed it while she was panting and sweaty and somewhat covered in blood.

And it’s not as though he’s had much alone time lately. With their new and temporary sleeping arrangements, he has less privacy than he had before. The luxury of a bed and four walls around him, but no luxury of a tent, perched a certain distance from others.

He hasn’t been indulging himself that much. But he certainly had, once or twice, slipped his hand underneath his bedroll and thought about her while he pleasured himself.

The contented attitude he had about taking her apart with his mouth has evaporated under the weight of her gaze and the thrust of her hips.

She sits up, lifting her hips up with it, and he still moans because he knows what’s coming.

“Let me know,” she says, grabbing him by the base, stroking her fingers around the ridge there, “if you need to stop.”

“Don’t let me finish inside you,” he responds. And it’s not because he doesn’t want it; it’s because it isn’t smart. And because he just knows once she sinks down, all higher thinking for him will cease.

Her smirk at him then is just fiendish, and perhaps he made a mistake, thinking that he had this force of a person bested.

“Is the Blade of Frontiers feeling beside himself?” she asks, letting her head loll back for a moment while she enjoys the heat of his tip teasing her opening.

He exhales, clenching his fists tighter. “I’ve never faced a threat like you.”

She doesn’t smile. In fact, her face falls. It settles into a gaze so serious and all-encompassing that he has to hold his breath.

When she attempts to make him sink into her, it’s only by a bit, and it’s enough to make him groan openly and loudly.

“Is that so?” she asks lowly. She leans over his torso more, keeping her hand where it is on his cock, and continuing to move herself up and down on his tip.

The wet squelch of her already has him undone. He wants to ask her to not talk while she does this, at least not now. Because it will be over embarrassingly quick.

But he can’t say anything right now. He is trying to even his breathing while feeling the best he has in his life, in a setting like this.

She does this for a few more moments, eyes closed and biting her lip while she concentrates. Despite his attention on her earlier, she isn’t quite opening up how both of them want her to.

Power of the tongue, truly. A maxim that extends to all kinds of settings.

He moans and speaks to her. “Let me in.”

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen, and she presses down onto him harder and lets the tip of him stretch her.

They both groan. The feeling is like coming home after a long, arduous day. It feels like he was supposed to know this all along. It feels like he’s supposed to be here.

She moans and moves her hand, letting both of them support her on his damp chest while she slowly moves back and forth, letting him breach her bit by bit.

When she reaches the first ridge, she squeals. She compliments him and sinks lower, more of her arousal covering his cock.

“Aiya,” he breathes, already feeling dangerously close, and she hasn’t even reached the root of him.

She doesn’t respond, just continues to undulate her hips so that more and more of him can fill her. When she sinks to the root, his lidded eyes are still open enough to see a tear slip out of one of hers.

He reaches a shaky hand up to her face.

“Are you alright?”

She shakes her head no, closing her eyes and letting her neck fall back again. “You’re perfect.”

It’s not exactly an answer, but he understands it well when she starts lifting and sinking herself on his member, slowly and steadily.

He keeps his hand there, despite his arm trembling. And the other takes place on her stomach, pressing there while she moves.

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes still closed. “I fucking love you.”

He should warn her now, he thinks. Go ahead and tell her that she maybe, at best, has a few minutes before he erupts. But he doesn’t; there is something more pressing he has to tell her.

“I love you too,” he responds, feeling the joy of the statement wash over him. “Now, show me.”

She makes him eat those words.

Despite his impending loss, he knows that as long as he gets to have her like this, he’ll never stop challenging her. He wants to continue winding her up with his words as much as he can, making her take it out on his tongue and throbbing cock. He wants this woman to end him, over and over and-

“Aiya,” he says, urgently. “I’m-

She answers by leaning back down, causing his hands to move and plant elsewhere instead. They support themselves on her ass as she continues moving on him.

“It’s okay, Wyll,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss one side of his neck. “Do it.”

“I am,” he groans, gripping harder. “But you need to move.”

She continues laving at his neck, moving up to his ear to entice him. “No.”

He loses it then, lifting his legs up at the knees and beginning to thrust into her instead.

“That’s it,” she encourages softly. “Take it.”

He doesn’t register the sounds leaving him that much. He knows they are open and needy and flowing through a staccato beat. But he keeps moving.

“It’s okay,” she continues, licking over his ear. “We’re okay. Magic has all sorts of uses.”

He growls, thrusting into her harder. Trembling with the implications.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes closing.

“Yes,” she answers. “Inside, Wyll. Let it out inside me.”

He gasps, thrusting once more before feeling his entire body quake as he finishes inside her. His eyes are closed, yet he’s still dizzy. There’s no one out here but them, yet he’s sure he’s too loud. He should pull out still, but after the third rope, he’s locked to her.

Even as he comes down, he fears he’s too loud. But he will excuse it, this time. He hasn’t finished like that in…ever. Not even his first time, with the one he had known longer than Aiya.

She kisses him for a long time, moaning in annoyance when he slips out of her. But he can feel a drop of the mix of them fall back on his member, and knows it won’t be long before he’s ready to fill her again.

-

“So have you done this a lot, or…” she asks, trailing off to take a sip of her wine instead.

He huffs, caressing a hand over her stomach. “Define a lot?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how to measure this by human lifespan standards. And honestly, it doesn’t need a measurement at all. I suppose what I’m asking is have you done this with more than one person?”

“Yes.”

“And,” she continues, setting her wine goblet back down on the flat stone by her head, “were they all partners of yours?”

He hesitates.

She turns to him then, long hair flowing over her pillow, and stares with something in her eyes. He asked her to get comfortable and take her hair down while he re-arranged the bed set he brought out here so they can rest for a bit.

“I see,” she whispers. “I know about your first one. Nasina, who I would like to meet, by the way.”

His brows show up. “You want to meet her?”

She shrugs. “You are the next Duke of Baldur’s Gate, if you choose. Gortash will cease to exist and your father will step down eventually. I assume all of those who were one your friends will want to come back. Especially your real friends.”

“I feel so stupid,” he begins, “asking you this now. After all this time, but Aiya…how old are you?”

She laughs; cackles. Loud enough to cut the air. “Oh my gods, I thought I had told you already. I’m one-hundred-forty years.”

He lets it sink it for a moment, not able to stop himself from making the very expected joke. “You are old.”

She’s gasping, trying to gather her bearings. “Wyll, I swore I told you.”

He is educated enough to know that is not that far above the age of maturity of Elves. He is unsure about Dragonborns.

“You certainly did not,” he says, bringing his caressing hand up to her face. “But it’s no matter.”

She smiles at him, bare body hidden underneath the sheet. “The last time you did this, when was it?”

“You insist on bringing up the past,” he laughs.

“For a reason.”

He studies her face, only finding intrigue there. He thinks he knows where this is going, but the only way to know is to jump over the edge.

“I was in Plainwater.”

She hums. “Nothing plain about that place. Anyway, go on.”

He swallows, turning to look up at the swaying tree branches above. “They do not use the standard terms of monarchy there, but by all definitions, this person a monarch.”

“I’m already hooked.”

“It was a deluge,” he says, setting the scene. “And it had ruined half their house’s crops, which were the most plentiful in the town. Without those, the support it provided the community was smashed.”

“Ah, so not a monster.”

“No,” he sighs. “Just the forces of nature, but it gave me the opportunity to help their house, and sharpen my diplomacy skills. The town had a meeting regarding their status. Their name was Ainsel, by the way.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“Somehow, I was involved in mediation. And somehow, I convinced the prominent townspeople to continue to respect their house as an authority. They were kind, and good. Had I not thought so, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to defend them.”

He looks at her, and notices her eyes are closed, taking in the story. “I am unsure what I said that turned the tides, no pun intended, but it worked.”

“Congratulations.”

“And Ainsel was so…gentle about suggesting they thank me in a more…intimate way than gold. They still paid me in gold, by the way. But yes. It became physical.”

She opens her eyes then, gold staring back at him.

“Go on.”

“You are terrible,” he says. “What about this is enticing for you?”

“If you don’t want to continue, you don’t have to.”

“I…okay. Well, they insisted on thanking me in the most based way you could think of. And I tried to resist, truly. I didn’t believe doing good was a cause for any compensation like that.”

She turned toward him, supporting herself on her right shoulder. “So, what happened?”

“You want to know the details?” he asked with incredulity in his tone.

“I’ve only been asking.”

“Okay. Well, they cornered me behind their library door and insisted on using their mouth on me.”

“Now we’re getting to it.”

“It was…lovely. I truly was not going around the Coast looking for that kind of entertainment. But that time, I agreed to it.”

“That is so sexy.”

“What about that do you find sexy?” he asks, reaching a hand up to run through her loosened locks.

“I’m a bit too old to deny how gorgeous the image of one pleasing another is” she answers, a serious note in her voice. “You are handsome, and kind, and conscientious. To gift those qualities to another…I don’t know; it’s nice to think of.”

He loves the compliment, even if he has difficulty understanding the appeal of it.

“I gained an appreciation for the art of the tongue, after that.”

“As if you didn’t already have one.”

“Yes, but in an intimate way.”

“Yes, and I just bore witness to that.”

He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. “And what about you? Do you have an admiration for the same?”

“Oh, Wyll,” she answers. “You have no idea. And if you want an idea, I’m glad to show you. Only if you’re ready.”

And he is ready, except he…isn’t.

“Actually,” he says. “I need to…relieve myself first.”

He turns away, expecting her to laugh, but when she doesn’t make a sound, he looks back at her, only finding curiosity in her expression.

“You don’t have to go too far,” she suggests.

He is shocked; speechless.

She sees the look on his face. “Too soon? Another time, perhaps.”

“Please, have mercy,” he says, rolling over to go find a distant bush.

-

The wine is half empty, but it’s a good thing he packed water to keep them hydrated.

He’s on top of her, kissing her again. It is slower this time, lacking the desperation from earlier. But it still builds heat in his core.

He’s going to let her make good on her earlier comment, about what she wanted to do with her mouth. This time, instead of lying on his back, he props himself up against the tree trunk; a couple pillows supporting his back.

She’s lying down between his legs, already reaching for him. He’s already erect for her, but when she pauses her mouth right over his tip and looks up at him, he hardens even further.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back a bit, wincing at his sensitivity, then moaning at the soft acceptance of her mouth.

Without thinking, he ends up propping up his legs at the knee, reaching his hands down and placing them on her head. He’s not moving her, but he just wants to feel her move.

She translates the action a different way.

She inhales through her nose and moves further down, taking him to the hilt. He groans and asks her to keep going, keep moving. But she doesn’t.

He looks down at her, and sees her looking up at him expectantly. He tests the waters by rolling his hips up first, languidly. She moans around him, and it causes his grip to tighten in her hair.

The next few moments are bliss for him. He’s gently thrusting his hips up, reveling in the soft sounds of him pressing against the back of her throat. She’s focused on being an opening, so she’s not focused on the mess that drools out of her mouth and onto his pelvis.

He pulls her off, keeping one hand buried in her hair while the other fists his cock.

“Will you, shit…Can I?”

She smiles at him, and that’s all the answer that he needs before he is releasing on her waiting tongue, holding her in place so she can take all of it.

He’s not as loud this time, groaning tenderly while he comes down. He welcomes her body coming up to press against his; enjoys the taste of himself in her mouth.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. “So beautiful.”

He gets her to lay back down and finds his face between her thighs again. She is less sensitive this time, as in she’s not shaking at every movement of his tongue, but she is responsive.

He wants to be on top his time, and he makes sure that’s okay before moving back up her body. He grabs one of her hands and laces their fingers, placing them by her head. His free hand is what he uses to tease himself and her; rubbing his cock over her.

“Get inside me,” she says, moving her hips up.

He presses against her opening, and slips inside, bit by bit. She hasn’t been opposed to the size of him at all, and she seems to adore the features this form has given him. But he is still cautious about moving in and out of her until he feels her open up and accept the rest.

He raises his other hand and links their fingers there too, leaning down to kiss her and thrust lazily into her.

It’s quieter this time. It’s just them, the wind, their sounds of love, and the slide of the sheets against the grass. Neither of them are thinking about anything outside of this moment; not what came before, and not the near future. He’s just a person loving another person in an archaic way.

He moves faster when he hears her gasping; he’s determined to get her to finish around him in the way he didn’t have stamina for earlier. It requires a steady, sure thrusting of his hips, and one of his hands slipping between them.

This thumb is pressed to her nub, and his fingers are splayed against her pelvis and the bottom of her belly. He presses down and she whines.

“Keep going, just like that,” she begs.

He does. The rock of his hips is only difficult to hold because he wants to move harder. But he is barely letting the fronts of his thighs kiss the back of hers. This is less about force and more about aim.

Her eyes are watery again, and he sighs, tells her he loves how she looks when she cries for him like that. When she asks for more, that’s when he thrusts harder, adding more sound to the air.

“Wyll,” she says, voice cracking. “I…

“It’s okay, love,” he says, biting his lip momentarily. “I have you.”

She locks eyes with him, letting the shine of them coupled with her whimpers tell him her end is near. He feels a prick behind his eyes as well, although it’s not from his oncoming climax.

He just loves her, and he loves this moment. He would never forget it for the rest of his life. And he hopes she understands that he meant what he said earlier before they started this physical dance. He wants her forever.

“Aiya,” he breathes, wavering. “I love you.”

She whines, whole body tensing. “I love you too, Wyll….Wyll, can I-

“Yes, love.”

Her face scrunches, and her high pitched keen falls to a low, broken moan as she releases around him. He thinks he might enjoy this feeling more than tasting her while she does this. He couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

The fitful pulse of her orgasm does bring him closer than he thought he was. When she loosens, when her shaking stops, he lets force overtake aim, just for a few more thrusts, before pulling out and releasing her on stomach.

They are panting, covered in sweat, and so, so in love.

-

“Is there something you really enjoy doing in bed that we haven’t done yet?”

She hums, content in her position of lying on his bare chest. “Quite a few things, actually. But I did not assume we were completing the entire itinerary tonight.”

He smiles and keeps his eyes closed, running a hand over her back. “To narrow it down, then. Is there a position you prefer that we haven’t already done?”

“You’re asking me what my favorite position is.”

“Well, yes.”

She sits up, gazing at his relaxed expression. He cracks his eyes open slowly when he feels her fingertip trailing over his nose.

“We haven’t done it, yet,” she answers. “I’m tempted to let you guess.”

And Wyll knows there are so many angles they can do this from. So many ways they just can’t get done before the sun splits the horizon.

So he’d rather her just tell him, or show him, what angle truly ignites her so he can learn it, thoroughly.

He moves her searching fingertips, and kisses them.

They make out for a bit, more weight in their kisses this time. She seems primed and ready to go with the knowledge that he will be taking her in the way she favors.

She moves, asks him to move, and takes the space where he was, with her back toward him.

“Is that so?” he groans, one of his hands already wrapped around himself and stroking weakly. She is on her hands and knees, and she answers him.

“No,” she says, her tone leading elsewhere. Then, her body sinks onto the ground, front pressed against sheets. “This is so.”

He feels sweat prick the back of his neck. He may not be able to see her face, but he will still be close to her this way.

He leans over her, letting his length thrust between her cheeks and kissing the back of her neck when she sighs.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He prays she is.

“Fuck me,” she answers, pushing her hips up.

The angle allows him to slowly thrust into her, moving in and out until he gets the signal to start pounding her back to the ground.

This round feels a bit more primal. She’s loud and encouraging, and he’s propped up on his hands while dripping sweat onto her back.

His own sounds are high pitched and breathy. He does what she asks, and moves against her harder, disturbing the air around them.

It’s still the dead of night, but he has a brief wonder of what would happen if someone walked by. They are secluded, he made sure of that. But what if…what if-

He’s sure her cries would attract any potential passerby. They would clearly know what was happening just by the sound of it, but would they follow her siren call?

She makes him think of things that he hadn’t seriously considered, previously. He doesn’t want anyone else to see her like this, per se. But he doesn’t not want them to see him pleasing her like this.

It’s strange, yet the unfamiliarity of it entices him to fuck her harder, loving the whip-crack of her sounds.

“This is it?” he asks. And obviously. Obviously. She put them in this position. But questioning her seems to turn her on, in this environment. She mewls an affirmative, and turns her head to kiss one of his inner arms, right by this wrist.

“Together this time,” she whispers against his skin, resuming her peppering affections.

The soft press of her lips against his arm while he is doing nothing short of knocking her into her next orgasm makes him growl. And she doesn’t seem to want to raise her hips, so he cant really get a hand underneath her. But the wet sounds from between her legs makes him wonder if she’s already as close as he is. He can’t really tell this time around, because she’s been pulsing nonstop.

He learns down, licking one of her ear tips. “Are you close?”

She groans. “Yes. Yes, Wyll. Can you…just a little bit more?”

“As long as you need,” he lies. He doesn’t know why he says it, when everything about him right now is telling of his approaching climax. But something about the statement seems to kick her into high gear, and she nearly yells.

“Oh. I’m…oh. Wyll, love. Wyll!”

“Now?” he asks, burying his face in the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she hisses.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Inside you?”

“Please.”

“Deep?”

“Wyll-

“Say it.”

She’s already crying, and nearly out of breath. “Come inside me, please. Please, love. You feel so good; I want it.”

“Yeah? I make you feel good?”

She can’t answer him anymore. Any remaining breath she has is expended on her panting and moaning. And that’s answer enough for him.

It’s not quite synchronous. She is wailing, and she was already clenching, so the staple sign of it is the forceful rush flowing out of her and soaking him.

“Holy-

He can’t finish that statement. He grunts hard, keeping his hips locked to hers, filling her over and over. There’s nothing holy happening here, not in a pure way. Perhaps in a divine way.

 Exhaustion finally seeps in. He slides out of her to flop on his back, cringing when his horns remind him they are there. But he reaches for her and pulls her in, letting her pant into his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you so much. I-

He grabs the back of her neck and gently moves her away so he can lean up and kiss her. “I love you, too. My time-stopper.”

-

The sun is barely up by the time they return to the Elfsong. They are quiet as they enter, hoping no one was already awake.

He swats her ass right as they get to the hall door, making her gasp and laugh before to leans back to kiss him over her shoulder.

She opens the door as quietly as she can, steps silent as they creep in. No sunlight has breached the room yet, but they do both stare at the companion sitting by the unlit fireplace.

Jaheira is sitting in a chair, book in hand. Yenna and Grub are a few feet away from her, still asleep.

She gives them a knowing look, smirking and whispering into the air. “Really, you two? All night?”

Aiya shakes her head and tries not to laugh. Wyll smiles and places a finger over his lips, warning her not to wake the others.

It is very much back to business once the sun is present and everyone is awake, but Karlach cannot read a room, and asks what time they got back in last night.

“Last night?” Astarion responds. “They crept in with the sunrays this morning.”

A few of their companions praise them for finally breaking the mold. Aiya is so clearly embarrassed, and Wyll pities her. But they are not too cruel, and he doesn’t care too much.

He loves her. And he wants everyone to know it.

[sorcerous-caress]

a wyll with a beefy, brutish, pushy bitch of an oath-breaker paladin girlfriend 🥺 HELP

That's what I'm fucking talking about anon. Wyll has the perfect setup romance to end up with someone he wants to treat like a prince/princess. So imagine him ending up with the most scruffy and battle worn-out women.

Your arms are hardned from carrying a great sword or a gaint shield everywhere, faded scars and a combat trained body. You've seen more fights than Wyll ever has, and she doesn't take bullshit from anyone, completely jaded to the world.

Intimidating people, putting them in their place and being outrude rude came second nature to you, you didn't care niceties or manners, you were hardned around the edges.

And you sees Wyll, a fresh new hero with stars in his eyes and a bounce to his step, the adorable thing carries a single blade despite being a spellcaster. He is still a green soldier in her eyes no matter how many fights he has won.

You makes the first move, and it endearing how coy he is. How only a kiss was all he could offer during the celebration when half your companions were ready to climb you like a tree.

He's like a breath of fresh air, especially with how dim life has become after you devowed your oath, after you saw just how cold and cruel the gods can be, after they forsake you.

You successfully implae a spear through Mizora the first time she comes around, you're quicker than she is. In a panic she teleports back to the hells to heal, Wyll is both stunned and speechless.

Demon, angel, god, it didn't matter to you who was after him. You're strong, you're capable, you will protect his spark of hope for humanity if it was the last thing you'll ever do.

You'll indulge his song and dance, take the lead, and make him wrap his arms around your neck, hold his waist, and spin him around.

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 7/7

-What Time Brought (More NSFW, Fluff, and the babiiiiessss). Here they were, navigating parenthood, and everything that fell outside of that. He loves this life, but would very much like some alone time with his spouse. (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

A light roll of thunder slipped through the halls of the estate.

“Thank gods,” Aiya praised, sliding into her side of the bed. “That dry spell needs to break. So much more difficult to garden when there hasn’t been rainfall.”

Wyll closes his book shut and sets it on his side table. Truthfully, he hadn’t been focused on it. The past few days have left the both of them too busy to really even chat before sleep came. He had been pulling late nights and early mornings, and she had an estate to look after, among other things.

And he wanted to make up for it.

She is barely settled in before he is rolling over, encouraging her to lie on her stomach and laugh into her pillows.

“Duke Ravengard,” she teases. “You should let a lady sleep.”

“I’ll get you to sleep,” he responds, making her laugh harder.

“You really should get some rest,” she tries again. “You’ve been going nonstop lately.”

He had. His back hurt from all the sitting, his throat was dry from all the talking, and his left hand was actually swollen from how much writing he had been doing.

The summer season was coming to an end, meaning preparations for the cold were in full swing. Another storehouse needed to be built, because they had another influx of citizens settling in the city and around the outskirts. Travel ways needed to be cleared and secured in case of another freeze. Last winter had made the ports all but inoperable, and so many shipments had been delayed due to no way for the boats to travel.

Not to mention, the autumn season contained many annual celebrations in one stretch. The city would start putting out decorations soon. He had spent his lunch break earlier writing a letter to Sorcerous Sundries regarding preparations.

And yes, the heat had been harsh lately. He was just as thankful as she was to hear more cracks of thunder splitting the skies.

But right now, there was nothing else he’d rather do but have some intimate time with her.

These past few days left little time for them to talk, but their life in general lately had left even littler time to make love. And he missed her, dearly.

He threw one of his legs over her side, straddling her thighs without sinking down.

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he asks, lifting his hands to lightly massage her back through her night gown.

She sighs, but makes no further commentary. For a moment, she is content with the tender care, but eventually starts to squirm and breathe deeper. And Wyll knows that’s his signal.

He leans over her, moving her braid to the side and kissing the back of her neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she answers. “So much.”

His chest swells at hearing it.

He moves down her body, hands already sliding up her gown. She fakes sounding put off.

She has on nothing underneath, and Wyll is ever so thankful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, staring at her body. “I’m so blessed.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He leans back down, kissing the small of her back, planting his hands on her hips. The days of being on the run and fighting to survive had kept her lean. But with a life where her basic needs were met, along with other factors, she had more weight to the muscle that had built there. He loved to sink his hands into it whenever he got the chance.

“I see the pink with the rising sun, and the purple of its’ setting everyday, too. And am no less enthralled by its beauty. Always ready to see it again.”

“Wyll,” she sighs.

He encourages her to lift her hips up, groaning quietly at the sight and smell of her; ready, for him.

He’s barely able to lean in before their door is opening.

Wyll flings himself to the side so quickly his head meets the headboard. He rubs it, briefly thankful that he no longer had horns to worry about. That would have scratched the wood for sure.

“Daddy? Mommy?”

Aiya is still buried in her pillow, trying to quiet her laughter. Her hands had already reached behind her and slipped her nightgown down.

This isn’t exactly how he wanted to spend this night, but he should have thought about it more. Nima didn’t like thunderstorms.

“Come here, Nima. Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

They already know the answer, but she shakes her head, and climbs up to his side of the bed. He picks her up, joking about her being too heavy for this, making her giggle. He lays her in the middle.

“Mommy. Are you sleeping?” voice lowering into a whisper.

She is certainly not, as she lifts her head from her pillow and has tears of laughter in her eyes.

“No, mommy’s awake,” she says, turning back to her side and moving in closer. “Your daddy hit his head.”

“Oh no,” Nima responds, with every bit of concern in her voice that a three year old would have about something they truly care about. “I can kiss it and make it better.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, sitting up and giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you, bean,” he says, kissing hers in return.

“Where’s your other half?” Aiya asks.

“He’s sleeping,” she answers, sliding back down and choosing to lay sideways, leaving her head on Wyll’s chest, and feet extended in Aiya’s direction.

“He’ll be along soon enough,” Aiya mumbles. “He’ll know you’re not there.”

Seiha didn’t have a problem with thunderstorms, or loud noises in general, like Nima. But he did have a problem with not knowing his sister’s whereabouts, and not being in her proximity.

Nima starts talking about her day to Wyll, and he listens and comments with intent. They hear another patter of steps at their door, and in pops the other bean at large.

“Nima, mommy, daddy.”

Seiha trots over to Aiya’s side of the bed, climbing in over her to join the gathering.

Aiya is quiet as she watches the three of the interact. They are very sweet on their father, and he is over the moon for them. Two was certainly a surprise. At a midpoint check up, when the midwife hovered her glowing hands over her swollen stomach and her eyes widened, Aiya wasn’t sure if she should be afraid.

Wyll had not been with her that morning, but Ulder had been so kind to stay at the estate with her until her appointment was over. When she walked out of the bedroom and told Ulder the news, his eyes lit up in a way she had never seen before.

Her and Wyll were both only-children. Both had expressed to each other how having a sibling would have been nice. They are glad Seiha and Nima have each other.

It’s only been three years, but the shock of it still grips her sometimes. How had they done something so wonderful?

Nima goes a bit quiet when the thunder picks up. “When will the sun be back?”

“In the morning when you wake up,” Aiya answers, grunting when Seiha accidentally shoves a cold foot into her stomach.

“Can you tell us a story?” Seiha asks, brown eyes staring up at his father.

Wyll sat up a bit more. “One story and then we all go to sleep.”

The twins cheered in agreement, and Wyll reached back over to his side of the bed and grabbed the book from earlier. It would have its uses now.

As he starts reading the first sentence, Nima interrupts.

“Wait, can Papa come?”

Both Aiya and Wyll answer. “No.”

-

The next morning, Ulder has a child on each side as he walks them out to the carriage waiting to take them closer to the city. The kids were in school, and Ulder was happy to take them each day. He claims it was so Aiya and Wyll could have a small break, but they both knew he would do it even if they were willing.

Aiya is glad he stayed. At first, it was awkward, living with her fiancé and his father. The estate was large enough that no one was stepping on each other’s toes, but she wasn’t accustomed to seeing the man every day.

As she was, she didn’t open up to him very much. And despite Ulder’s political experience, he had difficulty navigating getting to know his soon-to-be daughter-in-law better.

When he had brought it up to Wyll, he told him that Aiya’s tendency to be more reserved was for a reason, and she would open up over time. And not that he retold their private conversations, but he did let his father know that Aiya wanted him to stay. She didn’t grow up with a large family, and she really didn’t want him to leave. Especially when they explored expanding their family in the future. She wanted whatever child(ren) they had to be surrounded by as much love as possible.

That settled his father a bit, and now here they were.

They kissed their kids as they prepared to leave for the day. As soon as Ulder opened the door, Nima yelled.

“Hello, sun!”

They set off, pulling Ulder along with them.

Aiya and Wyll sighed, standing there and watching them load up before they departed.

“Leaving soon?” she asks, still looking ahead.

“I should. But…

He trails off, and she nods her head, glad that they both seem to be of the same mind.

“Athenia and Hallael won’t be here for another hour to start on the garden. We have time.”

Once the carriage was riding off, Aiya gently closed their door, then turned around to find Wyll staring at her with mischief in his eyes.

She hardly had time to react as he picked her up and began carrying her bridal style back to their bedroom. She laughs, kicking her feet and telling him she can walk. But he kisses her face and tells her to let him have his moment.

They can’t go as slow as they normally like. It’s been weeks for them, and despite it being their home, they didn’t want to be tangled up together when more of the groundskeepers arrived to help for the day.

But he does keep their fingers interlaced, planted by her head as he kisses her. His hips move with a determination to get them both there quickly. But his searching lips make her feel like they have all the time in the world.

They hadnt even bothered taking their clothes off. He peeled off the robe she wrapped around herself and pushed her nightgown back up. And she had reached down to pull him out of his sleep pants.

“I love you,” he gasps, hips stuttering.

She looks up at him, adoration and devotion in her gaze. “I love you too,” she pants.

They finish together, his hands gripping hers to an almost bruising degree. It may not be the slow, sensual, communicative loving he preferred to give her, but it was enough to make her spine bow , and cry out his name.

He falls over to her side, both of them laughing at the mess they’ve created; chests heaving.

“We made good on time. I don’t hear anyone yet,” she said.

Wyll hums, still a bit too stunned from his climax to say much right now.

Time, he thinks. Him and time used to have an onerous relationship. He briefly recalls the night he confessed his desires to her, how he led with that speech about time erasing all.

But time has been kind to him lately. His father was here, their relationship stronger than ever. He had a council he trusted to help take care of this city and its inhabitants. He had not one, but two extraordinary parts of his and Aiya’s souls running across the house every day.

And as he turns his head, and sees his love lying there with her eyes closed and a gentle smile on her face, he silently thanks time for what it brought them too. They found each other in darkness; on the edge of the world with an abyss in front of them. And they still created something out of that. Life-long friendships with others, and loyalty to each other.

Time took him away from his father for years; left him wandering the lands searching for purpose. It brought long nights of loneliness, and many unanswered questions.

But time had given him answers too. Nights full of company, now.

Because time did erase, but it always began anew.

[sorcerous-caress]

I know most people like roll their eyes at the girl dadifcation of male characters (I do too sometimes) but I know in my soul Wyll is a girl dad. He's practically a fairytale prince of COURSE he is going to their little tea parties and playing dress up

Those people are weak anon! What's better than a girl dad? I feel it in my bones, Wyll, Gale, Minthara and Halsin feel like absolute girl parents.

Shadowheart feels like a toxic boy mom but let's not go there.

Anyway so let's focus on Wyll. In my "how would they be as parents" fic I did imagine Wyll to have two girls when I wrote it but I kept it gender neutral at the end.

I like to imagine that the oldest girl would take after her dad, she brings a wooden sword with her everywhere and tries to act like a knight in shining armour. She is secretly very impressed by his history of adventures but tries to pretend she isn't because she wants to be even cooler than her dad.

The second one is more the princess type, she is runs to her older sister whenever she wants something.

Both of them do rope Wyll into tea parties, the youngest as the princess and the oldest as her bodyguard Knight that also must attend the tea party.

Wyll was raised as a noble, he definitely brings out all the etiquette and manners he learned from his dad. All the dances, the pinky lifting and the flattery words, his two daughters copy it with awestruck eyes.

He gets to wear a crown, he happily carries them to dance to slow music, he definitely takes them to balls and dresses them in the prettiest gowns he himself picks. He does their hair and accessories, adds small crowns and makes sure his own outfit matches theirs in colour.

He is an absolute girl dad that wakes up at 6am to do his daughters hair before school, he smiles as he helps them put their shoes one.

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 4/7

-There Is Hope Yet (SFW, but has more kissing): Tav (Aiya) cant help but tease Wyll about how big of a flirt he is. Anything to brighten the mood. (there is some angst here though) (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

He’s certainly attended more parties in the time frame of this journey than he would have expected.

They have a long way to go, but cleansing Moonrise Towers was the beginning of the road to victory. Jaheira encouraged them all, after their proper burials of the Harpers they’d lost, to have a drink and socialize. They were all to be allies from this point forward.

And here he is again, not participating.

The water sloshes against the docks quietly. He wonders just how much life is left in there; if anything of the aquatic variety survived this curse. He wonders how long it will be before the land heals. Halsin seems to have dropped a weight off his shoulders. He was practically glowing about having saved Thaniel and Oliver. Wyll has witnessed many things unheard of, but the personification of nature being present in those children was going to stand out in his mind forever.

They had been a step behind Gortash and Orin, and his father had been infected. What Wyll feared had arrived. With the Duke under mind control, the time clock for their necessary intervention had been cut by a third.

He has a drink in his hand, and another bottle set by his feet. He had hoped a little wine would ease the anxiety swirling in his stomach.

He had hoped for a lot of things. He knows he is the one always toting to never give up, because nothing was over till it was over. But now, he wonders if his opportunity to reconcile with his father had been decimated.

He hears steps, and is in a bad enough mood that he feels annoyed about having been disturbed. He just wants a few moment to himself. How hard can that be?

“Wyll,”

His annoyance evaporates and is replaced with something else. That feeling she generates in him every time they have a moment together.

Perhaps he doesn’t mind, if it’s her.

He turns around to greet her, plastering a half smile on his face for appearances. She doesn’t seem to be buying it.

She seems stiff, and when she’s at his side, he can see her hands pressing into her lower back.

She notices him watching, and shakes her head. “If we make it out of this, I know I’ll have to live with the life-long injuries I’ve gotten on this little trip. I swear I’ll never recover.”

He hums in agreement. “I’m certain I did something to my right shoulder that will haunt me terribly in ten years or so. Maybe less.”

“From this or from your Frontier days?”

“Both,” he shrugs.

It goes quiet then. He wasn’t really in the most festive of moods, and it didn’t want to bring anyone else down with him. He admires everyone so much, especially when they chose to celebrate in the darkness. Grief was forever, but true joy was temporary. It was important to create it where they could.

But he’s not feeling so chatty. And this doesn’t feel like one of their moments where they just sit and enjoy the silence.

“Wyll, I’m sorry.”

He snaps his head to the side then, not expecting that and not understanding what in the world she could be apologizing to him for.

“Whatever for?” he asks, crouching down to set down the wine bottle.

“That we couldn’t make it to your father in time,” she answers. Her hands are still on her back, but her head has fallen forward. She had taken her hair out of her standard braid, so the tresses were blocking her face.

Water droplets started hitting the dock, and for a moment, Wyll foolishly thought that rain had returned to the land, but quickly realized it was Aiya.

She was crying.

“Aiya,” he breathes. He’s a little unsure what to do, he’s never seen her quite like this. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I know, but” she strains. “I promised you we would save him.”

“And there may still be time yet,” he assures, walking over to her and gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

But that touch only seems to make her worse. She shuffles her shoulder and steps away, prompting Wyll to remove his hand. Something painful grips his throat for a moment, before he clears it.

“My apologies,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

“No, Wyll. It’s fine. I just-

She lifts her head, and when her hair falls away, Wyll can see the moisture on her face, and the tears brimming in her eyes.

She begins to sniffle. “Sorry. I just don’t…like being touched when I’m upset. It makes me even more…upset.”

“Of course,” he nods gently. “I will make note of that and act accordingly in the future.”

She lifts her hands and wipes at her face, pressing her palms into her closed eyes hard enough to blur her vision.

The tears seemed to have stopped falling, but the sniffles are still there.

“Would you like to sit?” he offers, gesturing to the edge of the dock. She nods and gets closer to him, both of them sitting down and dangling their feet over the edge.

Oddly enough, he finds that the brooding feels better with company. More evidence giving weight to the age-old adage about misery.

Or maybe it’s less misery and more so that he’s just happy to have time with her, even if it isn’t as pleasant as their other shared moments. They had not touched or kissed since their dance, and he did not ask her why. He wondered, of course. But things had become incredibly busy and bloody once they had to defend the portal for Halsin the following day.  

In the meantime, he hadn’t been able to find any items worth gifting. The flowers here were mainly things she used for ingredients, so he wasnt sure if those would suffice as a romantic gift. He thought about writing her something nice, a poem perhaps. But he wasn’t sure what to say just yet. He didn’t want to record one he already knew. He wanted to be original for her.

“So,” she begins, trying to make conversation to lighten the moment. “Any recommendations for places to visit in Baldurs Gate? Giving that it will be left standing.”

“Oh absolutely,” he answers, smiling. “I used to sneak off to…well, I probably wasn’t sneaking; my father probably knew. But I would go to a lounge in the lower city near the harbor. I would go with my friends Nasina and Yudi. Yudi’s dad was a high ranking Fist before he was forcibly retired. Him and my father still remained friends. And Nasina was the daughter of our seamstress, Kali.”

He sighed. “We were no more than sixteen, and Yudi was the one who started dragging me there anyway. But it was like a tavern, and the age ranges were close enough to ours. It mainly seemed to be younger students. But the barkeeper clocked our ages the second we sat at the bar, telling us to take these waters and go somewhere else.”

She laughs, and he smiles at the memory.

“It’s the music that I enjoyed the most. Some people would play and sing for fun. Some for coin. I ended up there on the stage more than once singing quite off key with my friends. Lots of good memories in that place. If it’s still standing, I would like to take you there. And this time, we can get a bit crocked.”

He looks at her, and it seems that she has calmed down some. “That sounds great,” she says. Then she cocks her head. “Did you have a lot of friends, before?”

“Truthfully, only a few friends. The rest of the nobles in my age group were acquaintances because of family and money. I may have been popular, but Yudi and Nasina were my crew.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. The popularity part. You’re quite the catch. And quite the flirt.”

“Hah,” he laughs. “That last bit isn’t exactly true.”

“Oh please,” she moans, rolling her head with it. “You have been the biggest flirt on this journey!”

“How so?”

She opens her mouth in shock. “How…how so? You’ve complimented literally everyone in this camp.”

“People should be appreciated.”

“Yeah, but when Lae’zel tried to make good on it, you backed out.”

He sits forward quickly. “She told you about that?”

“Of course she did,” she bubbles with laugher. “Don’t be upset with her. She didn’t mean anything by it. There are quite a few discrepancies between social conduct here and among the Githyanki. But then there’s Shadowheart. Who shot you down very quickly.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t making an attempt, exactly. She’s just…beautiful.”

“Then Karlach-

He interrupts her. “Now, even you know.”

She bites her bottom lip before laughing again. “Yes. Yeah, that one is completely understandable,” she says, staring off in the distance before snapping back to the moment.

“You called Halsin a thick hunk.”

“Was that a lie?”

“Then there was that comment about Astarion’s tongue.”

“Which you all took out of context.”

“You made that joke to Gale about his magical touch.”

“Now that was meant to be suggestive, yes,” he points.

“You’ll probably start complimenting Jaheira in a moment, since she’ll be joining us.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Wyll!” she laughs. “The point is, whether you mean to or not, many things that you say and do come off as flirtatious. And I refuse to believe teenage Wyll wasn’t making the ladies swoon with his words. Maybe some of the gentleman too.”

He doesn’t have a defense. Not at all. So he just banters. “You think you have all the answers, don’t you?”

“No,” she wheezes out, still full of giggles. “Tell me I’m wrong. How many did you recite poetry to?”

“A few.”

“Exactly, Wyll.”

He shakes his head. “But I truly wasn’t that bad. A few recitations here and there, and of course there were the dances, but there was someone in particular I was interested in at the time. And I was serious about showing her.”

“Ooooh,” she teases. “What’s her name?”

“Uh, well. It was Nasina.”

“And did Nasina know this?”

“Well, yes. We were together, after all.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding slowly. “You were going to omit that little fact.”

He grimaces. “I didn’t mean to. We were friends, over everything. And together only for a short amount of time before we resumed our friendship. ”

“Relax. I’m teasing,” she assures. “But that’s really cute.”

He looks at her, and shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m glad you find it so.”

She looks away, smile still on her face. He thinks he’d let her pick and prod at him all she wanted if it made her laugh.

“And what about you?” he asks. “I understanding Elven lifespans are measured differently, as are Dragonborns. But what was the equivalent of your teen years like?”

By the way her smile falters, he knows he asked the wrong question. He tries to regroup the moment quickly.

“Of course, you don’t have to answer.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she sighs, shrugging. “But it was…hard, I suppose. I didn’t exactly get a proper coming-of-age experience. Or life, really. But I did have a few friends. I left quite some time ago, though. I haven’t kept up with anyone.”

He nods, ruminating on her words. He still knows so little about her. About her home, her family, her upbringing. But from the small things he’s gathered, like her aversion to talking about it, he supposes it’s not something she really wants to discuss.

When he thought of home, it was painful because he missed it. But it seems when she thought of hers, it was painful just because it was painful.

“And what about now?” he asks. “I mean, I know you weren’t in Baldur’s Gate when you were captured. But where you were, did you have friends there? Or any family?”

Or a partner, perhaps?

“Not really,” she says, not elaborating. “Sorry. It’s probably so rude to not really answer any of your questions when you freely answered mine.”

“That is not an issue,” he adds. “Although I do hope to learn you, in time.”

She looks at him in exasperation. “That. That right there.”

He looks the other way, sees nothing, then turns back to her. “What?”

“What you just said!” she points, then smiles. “You cannot just say things like that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries to convince. “Or, I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way.”

His explanations only send her back to laughing.

“Gods,” she sighs. “This has been a day.”

He nods. “That it has. You should rest.”

“I should.”

It goes quiet again, and the expression on her face becomes curious.

“I should,” she says again, and Wyll notices her eyes flick down momentarily. He exhales.

“Now who’s being the flirt?” he asks.

She leans closer then, looking up at him. “I’ve been spending too much time around you, I suppose.”

They linger there, neither moving any closer. But Wyll feels the air charge, rolling with tension.

“May I kiss you?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer her verbally, but he does close the gap and press his lips to hers, gently.

They separate and do it again. Then again. Then again.

He wants to keep going, desperately. But the moment was boiling to a temperature he wasn’t braced to reach yet. He was still committed to working this process slowly.

There is a soft, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave him after their first kiss, the night of their dance. He hates to pull away from her again, but it’s for the best.

“Would you like me to walk you back?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” she answers him quickly, agreeing to end the moment. “I’ve done enough this evening. First the crying, then the laughing. Then that.”

And when she’s to her feet, she sways just a bit.

“Aiya,” he begins, smile beginning to bloom on his face.

“It’s Karlach’s fault,” she says, confirming his suspicions. “She’s an enabler. I’m not drunk. Honestly. I think the exhaustion, plus the healing potions, then the wine was a bad trio. No, it absolutely was a bad trio.”

“You probably are just tired,” he stands, grabbing the two bottles he brought back with him. He’s going to return them to their storage because he no longer needs them for what he brought them out there for. The anxiety that had been eating him earlier had been blanketed with her presence, her jokes.

Her kisses.

“But knowing that you are under the influence, I will walk you back for safety purposes.”

“We have killed everything even remotely within this radius.”

“Just go with it,” he encourages, holding out his free arm for her to grab onto.

“My lady,” he nods.

They start walking back, footsteps cutting through the silence, and laughter ringing through the air.