Level 32 | Minors DNI | Main Blog: auberghyn | Art Blog: auberghynart | Freelance Illustrator by day, Gremlin by Night | DO NOT USE MY ART FOR AI | DO NOT REPOST MY ART WITHOUT CREDIT | MULTIFANDOM | I DRAW TERATO @auberghyn on Instagram, Pixiv, Twitter | Currently Obsessed with Call of Duty
Hello! Welcome to my main Tumblr Blog. The name's Patty, I'm a professional illustrator by day, fanfic writer by night (32, she/her, bisexual) and I'm currently obsessed with Call of Duty, so this masterlist is solely for this fandom.
Please note that this list is a work in progress, and I will continue to add to it. Any stories listed without links are still a work in progress and will be posted once I've completed and proofread them; hence, the list will be updated accordingly.
I don't have a beta, so apologies if there are weird wordings in the stories. Also, English isn't my first language (though I am fluent), but sometimes I do get some BYElingual moments LOL.
MINORS DNI. This is a NO AI blog. All Artworks are drawn by me, all stories are written by me and my weird brain at 3AM.
I DO NOT consent to translations, reposts of my works (both art and written). I also DO NOT consent to you feeding both my works to AI of any kind.
I only post on Tumblr, AO3, and Instagram. If you find my work elsewhere, please let me know.
Enjoy~
—
CALL OF DUTY
TF141 x Art Teacher Reader
Story One: Palette (Machinist John “Soap” MacTavish x Art Teacher Reader (Asian Reader-Insert))
Rating: M+ | Category: F/M
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15
Story Two: Of Charm and Charcoal (Photographer Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Art Student Reader)
Rating: M+ | Category: F/M
Of Charm and Charcoal: Pentadrabble (Preview), Rating: T
Story Three: Captain John Price x Art Teacher Reader
Rating: M+ | Category: F/M
Story Four: Between the Lines (Vice-Principal Simon “Ghost” Riley x Art Teacher Reader)
Rating: M | Category: F/M
Between the Lines: Pentadrabble (Preview), Rating: G
ONESHOTS:
A Study in Blue (Work in Progress - Johnny x Reader), Rating: E, F/M
The Way That You Were (Work in Progress - Simon x Reader), Rating: M, F/M
—
Gallery 141 Series
Story One: Apartment 141 (TF141 Ensemble x Reader)
Rating: M+ | Category: F/M
Chapters: 1,
ONESHOTS:
A Brush Too Far (Johnny x Artist Reader), Rating T, F/M
A Bid For Your Heart (John x Artist Reader), Rating M, F/M
—
The Wildes Series
A series of stories set in The Wildes, a shadowed territory inhabited by unearthly creatures like Hellhounds, Gorgons, Demons, and more.
(Note: Stories are arranged in chronological order according to the series’ timeline. However, they may be posted out of order, depending on which one I finish writing first.)
THE DAYS OF OLD:
Silkbound (Work in Progress - Kyle x Reader)
Rating: E | Category: F/M
THE SUNDERANCE:
When You Live By Daylight (Work in Progress - Captain MacTavish x Reader)
Rating: E | Category F/M
THE AGE AFTER:
Bone and Blossom (Half-Giant König x Dryad Reader)
Rating: E | Category: F/M
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4,
THE NEW CONCORD:
More Than A Match (Work in Progress - Johnny x Reader)
Rating: M+ | Category: F/M
THE MODERN AGE:
The Necromancer’s Nursery (Hellhound John x Necromancer Paediatrician Reader)
Rating: M | Category: F/M
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
After Hours (Incubus Simon x Succubus Reader)
Rating: E | Category: F/M
—
Astral Entanglements
A series of stories involving spacefaring, sci-fi, adventure, romance, and more
When You Set the Stars Alight (Galactic Soldier Ghost x Plus Size Reader - Secret Santa Gift for Unseaworthy)
Rating: E | Category: F/M
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
—
The Little Things (Oneshot Collection)
Overall Collection Rating: T+ | Category: F/M
Story One: Phthalo Blue (Old Man Johnny)
Story Two: Payne’s Grey (Old Man Simon)
Story Three: Dioxazine Purple (Old Man Kyle, Work in Progress)
Story Four: Imidazolone Yellow (Old Man John, Work in Progress)
—
FAN ART
Palette Cover
After Hours: Incubus Simon
Johnny Charcoal Sketch
WIP - The Necromancer's Nursery: John Price
2026 Art x Fic Collab Masterlist (Will be updated Accordingly: Current: May)
Art by Auberghyn
Foreword
Chapter 1: The Princess
Chapter 2: The Seeding
Chapter 3: The Assassin
Chapter 4: The Keeper
Chapter 5: The Prophecy
Chapter 6: The Trial
Chapter 7: The Suitor
Chapter 8: The Ritual
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (The Grand Library F.K.A. 141 RECON Server) | Junepiter — Celestia (AO3 | Tumblr) (Galactic Knight!Johnny x AFAB! Reader) by @the-californicationist | Drawn on Procreate, Animated on Photoshop (No Process Video Because I am still working on it!)
This is the black and white version of the collab as I got hella swamped with freelance and won't be able to colour it until I fly back from my vacation in August ;w;. For now, here's a b&w GIF of Galactic Johnny o vo)/
2026 Art x Fic Call of Duty Collab Masterlist (141 RECON Server)
Decided to do a fun monthly collaboration with the awesome people in our server, so this masterlist will be a collection of stories written by my friends with accompanying art drawn by me! (The gallery will be updated accordingly. Stay tuned!)
Please Note: Majority of the pairings will be AFAB!Reader x C.O.D. MMC, unless stated otherwise by the author.
✍️ FIGUARY (Art Link)
Life Drawing Model!John "Soap" MacTavish x AFAB!Reader (FIC Link) by @youarehereyouaresafe | AO3
🤖 MARCH OF THE ROBOTS (Art Link)
Cyborg!John Price x Filipina OC (Dr. Tala Arao) (FIC Link) by: @the-californicationist
🩸 APRIL SHOWERS (Art Link)
Serial Killer!Simon "Ghost" Riley x AFAB!Reader (FIC Link) by: @silverlullabies
🐠 MERMAY (Art Link)
Merman!König x AFAB!Reader (FIC Link) by @konigs-lover
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (141 RECON Server) | MerMay — Mouth Full of Sea (Merman!König x AFAB! Reader) by @konigs-lover | Drawn and painted on Procreate (includes video timelapse below)
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (141 RECON Server) | April Showers — Marrow Sweet (Serial Killer!Simon "'Ghost" Riley x AFAB! Reader) by @silverlullabies | Drawn and painted on Procreate | Full Artwork on Silver's AO3 and my Bluesky
No process video included unfortunately because Tumblr keeps flagging it >:[
AFAB!Reader (Dryad) x Half-Giant Konig
Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Soft König (Call of Duty), Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Language Barrier, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Magical Pregnancy, Worldbuilding, Size Kink, Size Difference, Monster Lover
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4,
—
The cool mist enveloping the land slowly dissipated just as the sun peeked above the horizon, bathing the temple in a golden glow. Once dawn broke and the rays beamed down on the gathered figures, the soft shuffling broke the silence. It crescendoed as the crowd knelt in unison, then turned their heads toward the elevated podium, where Sister Nila led the sunbasking ceremony with a hymn.
She sang the tune of the ancients, a language only a select few knew through rigorous training, handpicked by the Temple Elders themselves. The song tells the story of the firstbornes who sprouted from the roots and bloomed to walk the lands, aiding Mother Sol in the days of old.
These stories were intricately woven with vines that spiralled along the temple walls, each tendril telling a part of history:
At the beginning, the imagery reveals a primeval era of nothingness, with a solitary figure at its center, standing amid the desolation — a vivid contrast to the lush greenery and flora that adorn her body, embodying the spirit of Mother Sol. She saw the land's pitiful state and made it her mission to impregnate the barren soil and spread life throughout.
Woven into the intricacies of the vines and flowers, it shows how, from nothing, Mother Sol bestowed abundance, and the land flourished, with kingdoms offering their reverence to the deity. They erected structures not only to celebrate her greatness but also as a reminder of the aid they received, so graciously given, a symbol of their everlasting gratitude.
With the land in pristine condition and deeming it perfect, Mother Sol returned to the gods’ dwelling, escorted by beings of higher order as her physical form crumbled into the soil, nourishing it further, her last gift to the lands. Solblossoms, portraying the coruscating light of that particular piece of history, bloomed brightly as the sunlight slowly flooded the temple walls.
The lands were populated by many: Orcs, men, and many more, even the ancient Harpies who once made the clouds their dwelling, gathered in the abundance and made it their home. Kingdoms were established, alongside scattered towns, marking a time of peace. Yet beneath the surface, division was rampant. A sense of othering, or racial superiority, led some to view outsiders as inferior, nothing more than tools to be used, objects to obtain, and discard when their value diminished. Soon, it became more than just oppression — soon, chaos transformed into subjugation, where weaker kingdoms were seized, towns were ramshackled, and the innocents were taken. The once pure land of greenery was now but a mere sea of blood-red, all shed by those who only sought peace.
The melody darkened as an ominous cloud passed by the temple, dimming the light. The song progressed through the darkest days, waged war against one another, robbed those who had nothing, and killed those who fought to survive. Ruin tore the earth asunder, and the gods, who were once proud of their creation, deemed it irredeemable; thus, they sealed the gateways, severing all contact with every folk. The lands were abandoned, forsaken, as wrath consumed all.
On the temple walls, one stark section depicts this havoc, its emptiness speaking volumes of the tragedy. Its surface is marred with a haunting display of rotting, rusted weapons collected from the Sunderance. Blood that had long dried out, stained its serrated edges, a memento from a time long past.
But amidst the decay and despair, one solblossom bloomed, its vibrant petals a striking contrast to the weapons of destruction, its leaves burgeoning as the song shifted to a softer tune as Sister Nila progressed to the next chapter of hope and endurance, a symbolic shift, and a reminder that despite the ruins, peace was inevitable.
Her voice echoed through the temple, an ethereal cadence that made the nearby flowers bloom, the leaves flourish, and the vines slowly crawl and thicken along the ground. You could feel your own petals and leaves rustle, not from a gentle breeze that passed by, but from the magic flowing through everyone.
A soft flute accompanies Sister Nila’s voice, led by Sister Roze, and soon enough, the whole Dryadic Order plays in tandem with the hymn, while the morning chorus from the wildlife all around echoes in the distance.
Once the sun was higher in the sky, shining almost blindingly, the ceremony concluded with a few words from the Temple Elders: the Sapling, the Root, and the Hollow, three figureheads of a lineage that began in the Age of Old — though only one among them truly belongs in that distant era.
The Root steps forward, spreading her arms wide to warmly greet everyone; the leafy vines adorning her shoulders cascade down like a cape.
“Welcome, my brethren, to another annual celebration of life, abundance, and perseverance!” Her voice boomed across the temple, reverberating in the air as she regarded the crowd with equal interest. In an instant, solblossoms bloomed for everyone in attendance, as the Root bestowed a flower upon each folk, a traditional gesture amongst Dryadic culture.
The Sapling came next, a little shy and reticent, younger than the Root. Still, her voice transcended as well, laying down the details of today’s celebration at the refectory, where everyone was welcome to fill their bellies with mead and fruit, then ending her greeting with gratitude and relief that everyone had made it safely to the temple.
Then, finally, the Hollow stepped forward, aided by Sister Nila, one arm steadying the figurehead as she took her place in front of the crowd. She was the oldest of the three, and probably older than the rest of the folk in the temple. Her skin had turned to bark — a sure sign that she was born from an era long gone, probably the last of her kind. The leaves in her hair, though not many, have yellowed, but you believed were once abundant in her youth. You could still see a few flowers adorning her head, sprouting like a small crown, but they had drooped with age.
The Hollow is ancient, very much so, yet her voice rivals the Root’s, albeit with a slight tremor.
“Conflict has reached further south,” she says, her hand shaking as she grasps her weathered oak staff. She taps the end onto the pavement a couple of times, the sound resonating off the temple walls.
“That is what they said last time, too.” She added, then scanned the crowd whose faces were laced with worry. She turned to the Dryadic Order as well, her face unreadable as she glanced at each member.
You were well aware of the ongoing crises outside the haven you call home, and your fellow villagers were not blind or ignorant to this situation either. Everyone worried about tomorrow, as the future was uncertain, especially given the current circumstances. However, they all tried to stay level-headed and focused on their duties to the temple and the village. Yet, while the Dryadic Order occupied their minds with the conflict, your thoughts seemed to wander elsewhere.
You recalled your brief encounter with the Centaurs. While there was no harm done, you knew they weren’t creatures to be trifled with. Although you were capable of taking down one if it ever attacked without reason, you wouldn’t stand a chance against a whole group of them.
König, on the other hand, likely had a better chance of survival. You knew he hunted big game, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he had faced several threats at once, considering the scars that marred his body, yet he had survived them all the same.
You bit your lower lip, a habit you had when under stress, as you scanned the crowd without really focusing. Your mind seemed occupied with something else. Suddenly, you felt a sharp stare and noticed the Hollow’s milky green eyes meeting yours briefly. You thought it would be just a quick glance before she moved on, but her gaze lingered longer than expected, causing your heart to pound wildly in your chest with trepidation. Your eyes must have shown a different kind of fear, as she kept you pinned with her stare.
Her brows furrowed as she studied you, her eyes squinting as if she were trying to piece together your thoughts. Surely, she wouldn’t know the secrets hidden within your subconscious. Although telepathy was extremely rare among Dryads, it was hard to believe that the Hollow possessed such prowess… right? You recalled various instances that might suggest otherwise, but none came to mind as you tried to remain unshaken. Still, your pulse quickened with nervousness. The Hollow observed your face, oddly scrutinizing the crown of your head before shifting her gaze back to your eyes and then returning her attention to the crowd.
“Folk worry about the future and what’s yet to come, and you’re wondering what will become of us. But I say this to you all,” she pauses before waving a slightly gnarled hand, conjuring up a cup made of tightly woven vines, her thin fingers wrapping around its neck.
“Mother Sol has our cups running over. If they impede on this gathering, well…” she slowly shakes her head and sighs, “Let’s just say the soil calls for more nourishment, don’t you think, my younglings?” The vines under her cloak writhed, and a dark energy glowed briefly through her. You’ve only witnessed this once before, a time during the first border closures after a period of peace. Everyone was gathered in the temples; even the villagers were sheltered by the Dryadic Order in case the conflict ever escalated overnight. Sister Nila and the Elders were briefing everyone about another potential war, and whilst the Hollow was silent, resting atop her gnarled chair, you felt it first before seeing it.
You remember it like it was yesterday, how your nerves spiked with dread, your skin crawled, and your body shook with fear. And then, now, you notice the very same dark aura billowing the Hollow’s body, if only for a brief moment, before being replaced by the sun's glow, and a warm smile graced her lips.
“But that’s something they have to find out for themselves, if they so wish to, aye?” she remarked, and everyone chuckled, while the others, like you, were forebodingly wide-eyed. The Hollow wasn’t one to be messed with; despite her old age, everyone understood what she was capable of. Time may have forgotten, but you knew the bones that lingered deep within the earth, scattered throughout the vicinity of the Dryadic Village, bodies long smothered by vines, were a testament to that formidable force.
She hands Sister Nila the cup, then pats her arm before waving the crowd away. “Now, everyone, off you go. If you need me, I will be in my chambers,” she says as the Sapling and the Root assist her back toward the holy dwellings. The tension finally eases from your shoulders, heaving a sigh of relief as the celebration begins to ramp up.
—
The crowd slowly shuffled into the nearby refectory, making their way to the available seats. The beams hung low from the ceiling, adorned with dangling vines abundant with various fruit, ripe for the picking. The hubbub immediately filled the vast room as each Dryad mingled in their own groups, while others were alone or joined by another. You found it ironic that in a large gathering, where one was encouraged to socialize, everyone mostly kept to their own acquaintances.
You always stayed within the Order, but recently, you've started interacting more with the townsfolk, visiting the butcher or the apothecary from time to time. One person you often saw was the healer; even before your injury, you made it a point to travel to the village’s edge to deliver herbs and supplies that you had gathered for her.
Everyone always said it’s best to have allies you could turn to, especially in crucial times like this, but you chose to be kind regardless, believing it was better to offer peace without an ulterior motive. Every encounter, whether small or significant, opened you up to the world beyond the temple walls. These experiences changed you and gave you the courage to engage in conversation with the Dryads from Shadoweald.
They were your brethren from the depths of the Wildes. Although they shared a similar culture, their traditions were entirely unique. Even their appearances reflected this difference. Instead of flowers adorning their crowns, a mushroom cap speckled with spores that shimmered with an iridescent golden light sat atop their heads. The flecks reminded you of gathering gloomcaps with König, his gentle hands skillfully handling each fungus before passing it to you. You reminisced about the memory of the warmth he radiated, like sunlight against your skin, and you found yourself missing that warmth now — missing him more than you cared to admit—
"I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now," you mutter under your breath, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade. You chastised yourself for being foolish and wanton. This wasn’t the time to long for someone or entertain impure thoughts, especially at a gathering considered sacred. You could almost hear the elders' scolding, the utter disappointment evident in their voices.
You also recalled the way the Hollow had scrutinized you — surely, you thought, you weren’t that easy to read… Right? You weren’t like an open book. After years of keeping to yourself, a result of your upbringing in the temple, you convinced yourself that your face wouldn’t betray the telltale signs of the thoughts you shouldn’t be having—
One of the Shadowealdian Dryads caught your gaze and waved you over. As you approached the group, you put on your most welcoming smile and offered each of them a vine wristlet along with the customary greeting among Dryads:
“Life grow around you, my brethren,” you said with a nod. They conjured stalks of fungi and responded, their heliotrope-coloured eyes shining in the bright noonlight. You briefly bowed your head once more before sitting down beside them.
“I’m glad we could visit again,” one of them began, grabbing a chalice of mead from a passing temple acolyte. “We thought it would be the first time we wouldn’t be able to attend.”
“Great way to start the gathering on a depressing note.”
“I’m just saying. You should’ve seen what happened to the northern border; they torched the forest completely.” She says with melancholy, nursing her drink.
“It will take some time for the soil to recover,” the other adjacent to you said, a grim expression on her face. You listened as she recounted their story: how the fire wasn't confined to the north but could spread farther if it wasn't contained or the culprits weren't caught.
“Why would they destroy the forest? That’s barbaric!” the person beside you exclaimed, his voice rising with anger. A few shushes from the nearby table were directed at yours, and the group quieted down.
“They might be trying to drive the Centaurs off the borders, you know, so they won’t interfere with whatever illegal activities are going on.” They expressed their frustrations in a hushed tone, now wary of a different group of Dryads at another table who were giving your group disapproving looks, irritated at hearing about tragedy instead of celebration. This wasn’t the right time to worry about the outside world, even for a moment, as the gathering was meant to connect with new folk and catch up with loved ones. It was a tradition of mirth, and you understood that, so all you could do was nod along.
Although the conversation shifted to a lighter note, your thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the pathway that led to König’s cave. It was a long way off and completely sequestered; no one should discover his location or the cave-in you had repaired and sealed. He should be safe since his part of the forest was far from the conflict, but with the torching of the northern forest, you weren’t sure how long it would take to reach him or if the fire would reach him at all.
Besides the burnings that you were worried about, there were also the Centaurs patrolling the borders, and they had reached as far as König’s area. You knew they could scour through the lands for hours without stopping, as they were built for strength and endurance, their skills unparalleled. Although the Centaurs were usually neutral, serving as escorts for human caravans or even those who needed to pass through the Wildes to reach the port town in the far east, they were also indiscriminate creatures, deeming anything larger than themselves as a threat — bludgeoning first and asking questions later, something you were deeply worried about. Right now, you could only pray to the gods above that no Centaur would see König after dusk when he usually hunted.
He’s safe, you thought to yourself. He was no youngling with no sense of survival. Gripping the edge of the wooden mat you sat on, you tried to anchor your nerves and calm your weary head before you passed out from overthinking—
“Are you alright, Sister?” one of the Shadowealdian Dryads asked, breaking you from your thoughts. You quickly flashed a smile and nodded, trying to hide the unease that had been creeping up on you.
“Sorry, I’ve just been feeling a bit off lately,” you said, not wanting to get into details. You hoped they wouldn’t probe any further.
Fortunately, they simply nodded in understanding, and the conversation shifted to their home in the nearby Dryadic Temple in Shadoweald. It was smaller and cozier compared to the one you knew by heart, the one you called home in the Outskirts, but their routines were quite different since they mainly operated after sunset.
You came to understand that the Shadowealdian Dryads hunt, something they have in common with König, but instead of their bare hands and strength, some of them used poison, while others used their retractable, sharp spikes lining their limbs, which serve as blades to cut up meat. You inquired more about their methods and the game they hunt, curious as to how you could aid König once you get a chance to visit—
A looming presence standing behind you interrupted the conversation, followed by a gentle tap on your shoulder.
“Apologies, may I borrow our sister for just a moment?” the voice asked, and you didn’t need to look behind you to know it was Sister Roze. The three Shadowealdian Dryads nodded as she led you aside.
The din in the background seemed to grow louder as she pulled you into a corner. Leaning in to speak softly so you could hear her clearly, she said, “The healer wants your attention. She left this scroll for you last night.” With that, she handed you a rolled-up parchment sealed tightly with wax.
“She says to meet her before sundown,” she adds, squinting as she looks down at the scroll and then back at you, her eyes filled with curiosity. Blinking in surprise, you carefully slide the scroll into the holder on your belt. You try to compose yourself and give her a small smile, thanking her for delivering the message. There is still time to head back to the Shadoweldian Dryads’ table for more mingling when Sister Roze grabs your arm.
“One more thing: Sister Nila wants to speak with you.” She says, then gestures for you to follow her. You glance at the table and find the Shadowealdian Dryads deep in conversation, laughing and sharing stories that you can barely hear over the noise of the crowd. Turning back to Sister Roze, you follow her toward the main temple.
As you exit the refectory, the steps leading to the main area are long and winding. You walk in silence and find it odd that Sister Roze isn’t speaking or even looking at you, which is unlike her. However, you notice other Dryads from different territories lingering about, so you can only assume she doesn’t want anyone to overhear whatever the matter is.
Though this matter should not evoke anxiety, given that Sister Nila has often called upon you to inquire about the stock of herbs in the temple, a persistent sense of unease lingers within you, as if something is amiss.
Not long after, the two of you reach the entrance of the holy dwellings, passing beneath an intricate canopy of vines and leaves. Once you pass by a secluded area before the main chambers, Sister Roze pauses mid-step and turns to face you. Her expression is one you can’t quite decipher under the torchlight.
"You’re not heading out again, are you? We need you at the acolyte pledging," she murmured, concern lacing her tone. She glanced at the scroll once more, curiosity clearly gnawing at her expression. However, she knew better than to meddle in another Sister’s duties, so she remained silent, her lips sealed.
Your eyes widened as you remembered that it had been nearly two centuries since you had your own training. You were under the tutelage of Sister Nila since you were chosen by the Dryadic Council to prepare you to one day lead the temple. The decision was primarily based on root readings, an ancient Dryadic custom in which elders interpret the lines of blossomed roots. While you were never informed about what your birthroots revealed about you, it must have been favourable, as Sister Nila took you under her wing.
Despite this, the training was intense, and you struggled to keep up with the routine and the pressure to maintain order and discipline. You recalled the nights when you couldn’t sleep a wink, memorizing the oral traditions down to their very roots. Your cot was often filled with scrolls of ancient texts you needed to know by heart, and your bedroll was stained with tears of exhaustion.
It was a time you wanted to selectively forget, mainly because of the much stricter lifestyle imposed upon you. Eventually, the Dryadic Council recognized your struggles and the decline of your health, and they had no choice but to remove you from training. Initially, you felt an overwhelming shame, grappling with feelings of inadequacy due to your situation and the inability to find another mentor. Although it took a while, Sister Kleo stepped in and offered her guidance, taking you under her wing.
Sister Kleo oversees the Gathering Inflorescence, the branch of the Dryadic Order responsible for gathering and sustaining its resources. Most acolytes pass through it to learn the basics of healing and foraging, but training directly under her is an entirely different matter. It requires in-depth knowledge of herbs, resilience against the elements, the ability to defend oneself, and a deeper understanding of healing, though not to the level expected of those within the Healing Inflorescence.
The training typically took place in groups, but despite it being a task meant for more than two, you repeatedly demonstrated that you work best alone. It’s not that you disliked the company; rather, with your expertise in sneaking in and out of neighbouring areas undetected, you preferred not to have anyone holding you back, getting lost, or compromising your mission or your positioning.
You were never one for seeking success; you only wanted to serve, not lead. This is why you excelled at helping others. Because of this mindset, Sister Kleo regarded you as her most successful acolyte, having gathered hundreds of different species during your training.
Gathering is no trivial task; it requires great delicacy. With your extensive knowledge of this practice, you are now needed to train the next generation of acolytes, teaching them about temple life, what it means to be a follower of the Dryadic Order, and the importance of gathering herbs and supplies for the Temple and its community.
You gaze at Sister Roze as you grasp the scroll holder on your belt loop, contemplating your response. Before you could say anything, Sister Roze spoke up:
“You’ve been frequenting the Wildes; how come?” she asked, her tone casual rather than curious, indicating interest but not suspicion. You hoped your cheeks hadn’t flushed at the thought of König’s form flashing in your mind. It had only been a week since your last visit, and you weren’t due back for another one to avoid raising any suspicions, yet you worried you weren’t discreet enough.
Meeting König had been pure happenstance, and you never intended to stay for so long. However, after getting to know him better, you couldn’t help but return to his warmth, wishing you didn’t have to leave after a certain amount of time.
Shrugging nonchalantly to ease your nerves, you gave Sister Roze a slight smile before answering her question with a half-truth.
“The Wildes are abundant with flora. I would journey further north, but with the torched forests, I don’t think that would be wise,” you said, shrugging. You didn’t mean for it to sound patronizing, so you added a soft chuckle that ended up sounding more like nervous laughter. Sister Roze pursed her lips, as if chastising herself for not remembering how dangerous it was to stray too far from the village, especially when alone during the Border Crises.
“You’re right; I wasn’t thinking,” she replied with a smile, although you could tell she was a bit annoyed by your statement. You tried to mirror her smile, adding more mirth to de-escalate the tension.
Silence followed as both of you avoided eye contact. Without exchanging another word, you two headed toward the expansive door. The wood was ancient oak, its grain so intricate it resembled a maze. You were nearby watching as Sister Roze’s vines crawled out from her fingertips to fill in the tiniest gaps. Soon after, the mechanism ticked until an audible lock clicked and the massive door slowly swung open.
The bright light flooded your senses as you stepped into the chambers. You barely registered the creaking of the doors closing behind you as you took in the vast space filled with roots and vines. Grid-like beams stretched high across the ceiling, allowing natural light to pour in and illuminate the room.
You could count on one hand the number of times you had been in this place under Sister Nila’s tutelage, and each time, you marvelled at the large indoor garden, ever-changing. Thin waterways lined the walls, their gentle streams nourishing the plants. Everything was as it should be, except for the larger collection of flowers in the center of the expansive space, arranged to resemble Mother Sol's silhouette.
You did not recall this feature being here; it used to be a fountain with a small marble statue of The Hollow in her youth at the centre. One arm was outstretched while the other held her oak staff. You wondered about the reason for the change, your hand itching to touch the sunblossoms that seemed to call out to you.
Before you could get closer, you heard a voice behind you.
“The Hollow always despised her statue. She saw it as idolatry, a contradiction to the teachings of the Dryadic Order, so we had to remove it,” Sister Nila remarked as you turned to face her. You bowed, a sign of respect for your elder, and conjured a stalk of gerbera daisies. However, she held up her hand to stop you.
“No need for formalities, Sister,” she said, angling her body as if to turn away.
She cocked her head slightly, her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t name in the bright sunlight.
“Come walk with me?” she asked, and without waiting for a response, she began to walk away, her stride confident, already knowing you would follow.
Every step she took, the flowers around her blossomed. It was only right, given her rank, those next in line to become the Sapling possessed immense power, built over years of discipline and training.
Besides being the right hand of the Order, Sister Nila was one of the leaders of the Dryadic Society, a figurehead representing the Outskirts. She oversaw every inflorescence within the temple. She may have looked young, but she was closest in age to the current Sapling, born at the height of the Sunderance, several hundred years ago.
You held her in high regard, so it struck you as unusual that she skipped the usual formalities.
She made her way toward the cluster of honeyspire flowers that filled the air with their sweet scent, her hand gently caressing the edges of the petals.
“How goes your journey?” she inquired, suddenly catching you off guard and nearly making you trip over a vine.
“I beg your pardon?” you asked, feeling a bit puzzled. She plucked one of the honeyspire flowers, and immediately, another bloomed in its place. She inhaled its fragrance before handing it to you.
“Your harvests for the village and the temple, how goes it?” she repeated, and you gazed at the flower, its warm yellow hue even brighter than the sunlight.
Pursing your lips slightly, you studied the flower, turning it this way and that as you responded to her question. “Good. Well enough that folks trust me with favours.”
Sister Nila stood upright as she nodded, dusting off her robes from the tiny flecks of grass that clung to them.
“Good,” she parroted. “I knew you would be efficient elsewhere. Shame, though, you had a lot of potential.”
As she moved around the bush to care for the budding flowers, she continued, “You would have made an incredible addition, with just more time and effort. But the Order needs someone who is fully committed, someone who pours their heart and soul into the temple instead of getting distracted by pursuits outside our purpose.” She delivered these words nonchalantly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an undercurrent of something more, especially with her added remark: “We can’t have that here.”
You both stared at one another in awkward silence. For you, it felt more uncomfortable than it seemed for her as she studied you, unmoving.
You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I…I see…I apologize,” you muttered. Sister Nila responded with a soft chuckle, shaking her head.
"You don't have to worry none. Mother Sol did say to help every folk. I'm just enthused you're more of use to others in the Outskirts," she says, though her tone feels a bit backhanded. You’re not sure if you’re overthinking things, but looking into her warm, glowing eyes, it seems like it’s probably no big deal.
“…Much appreciated.” You responded, and the two of you kept walking through the indoor garden.
Upon arriving under a huge wisteria tree, its leaves cascading down like a curtain, she lifted one hand to feel one of its ends, humming thoughtfully.
“In your journeys, any troubles you’ve come upon?” She asked, and you could feel your heart race once again. The questions were subtle, and you knew she was just inquiring about your safety, so you tried to keep calm. Yet you hesitated to mention the Centaur encounter, and they weren’t really hostile to your kind, but they do have an infamous reputation for stealing what’s not theirs.
You could lie, say that you’ve never encountered anything besides your accident, but knowing Sister Nila, she might already have caught wind of the Centaurs, so you spoke the truth.
“The Centaurs from the north were in the Wildes, and I’ve spoken to one of them.” Sister Nila stopped twirling the vines upon hearing this, then resumed, as if it wasn’t one of the troubling news she’s heard of in passing.
“Did they harm you?” She asked, still not looking at you, but fear spikes in your stomach as you could sense the dark aura from her. It wasn’t directed at you; malice on one’s brethren wasn’t condoned in the Temples; rather, she was fairly displeased with all the “aid” the Outskirts has been getting from outsiders.
You shook your head as an answer, followed by more truth spilling from your lips: “No, but they did steal one basket I had.” You said a little bitterly. Sister Nila turns to you, her brows furrowed to mirror your irritation before continuing her slow strides.
“I’m not surprised. We used to trade with them before the closures; their village should have medicinal shamans, but with them patrolling our area, it's making the Hollow feel…tense.”
She turned abruptly on her heel and stared at you, making you stop in your tracks, eyes wide. She studied your face briefly before her gaze moved up to the crown of your head, squinting slightly. Your hand automatically flew up as if to brush a stray strand of hair aside, causing a few leaves and flowers adorning your hair to rustle. She continued to stare for what felt like a long time before her eyes shifted back to your face.
There were no words spoken as she scrutinized your features and your form, as if she were inspecting something closely. You could feel your heart pounding. It reminded you of the past; under her intense gaze, everything had to be perfect, not a hair out of place, not a leaf or flower unpruned. That is why you couldn’t handle the strict routines; it was all too much to bear.
Finally, her eyes landed on the scroll hooked to your belt loop.
“You heading out?” She asked, one brow raised, and you nodded out of impulse, then your cheeks darkened.
“Y-yes. The healer calls for my attention.” You said, and you could see she hesitated for a moment before waving you off.
“Well, stay safe then,” she said before turning away and walking in deliberate strides. You noticed her pause briefly, as if recalling something, and then she glanced over her shoulder at you. With a look of concern, she added:
“Don’t stray for too long.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing dire,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, but she was already heading back towards the holy dwellings.
You watched her retreat to the sleeping quarters at the end of the hallway. The door slid shut, leaving you alone in the chambers.
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (141 RECON Server) | March of the Robots— Simulacra (Cyborg!John Price x Filipina OC (Dr. Tala Arao)) by @the-californicationist | Drawn and painted on Procreate (includes video timelapse below)
Here's another Monthly Collab with the lovely people from the 141 RECON Server! This time with @the-californicationist and a Filipino OC dedicated to me :((( LOL, that's so sweet, stop :'(((.
Anyway! Thank you for collaborating with me! This was really fun to draw. Also, please check Cali's fic, it's so hot <3 God :(( <3
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (141 RECON Server) | Figuary — Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Raphael’s Peruvian Man (Life Drawing Model!Johnny x F!Reader) by @youarehereyouaresafe (tumblr), petaltouches (Ao3) | Drawn and painted on Procreate (includes video timelapse below)
Hello! We’re back for the second installment. This month’s theme is Figuary (February). Please check out my friend’s hilarious oneshot for this prompt!
The Premise. After the world ended, it was women who rebuilt society – women who came to run emerging settlements – and women who carefully controlled the few men that weren’t taken by the apocalypse. Any “unclaimed” male is game to be captured by a settlement and used for breeding or labour. Each reader must make her way in a different version of this world, choosing to exploit, assist, or use the men she encounters.
The Stories. All fics are female reader self-inserts, but each has a different pairing. They are listed below with their authors:
Gaz & Ghost: @gloomwitchwrites
Graves: @silverlullabies
Nikolai: @verascrow
Nikto & Konig: @auberghyn
Price: @bunnyreaper
Soap (OG): @youarehereyouaresafe
Soap (Reboot): @unseaworthy
Please Note. These stories each come with their own rating, content warnings, and tags.
Stories will be released over the coming months. This masterlist will be updated with titles and links as they are posted. Enjoy!
2026 Art x Fic Collaboration (141 RECON Server) | Sowing Seeds of a Monster (Minotaur!John Price F!Reader) by @bunnyreaper | Drawn and painted on Procreate (includes video timelapse below)
Decided I’m going to do more fan art this year so I’m collaborating with a bunch of awesome authors in our server. For the Month of January - Creationuary, we have Minotaur!John Price
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E Category: F/M Tags: Secret Santa, Alternative Universe - Science Fiction, plus size reader, Sex Pollen, Strangers to Lovers, If You Squint, Mutual Pining, Forced Proximity, There Was Only One Bed, one bed trope, Star Wars Elements, space travel, Alien Worlds, Futuristic, Worldbuilding, excessive amounts of cum, Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Lots of it, Reader is Sassy, Reader Is Spicy, Ghost is Loving It, Multiple Orgasms, Art by Author Inside, Galactic Soldier Ghost
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
Status: COMPLETE
A/N: As promised, here is the last chapter :D. @unseaworthy I added a bit more details to it and answered some comments I got on AO3 XD. Enjoy!
CHAPTER FOUR: CITRINE
Ghost could barely contain the absolute hunger he felt the moment you challenged everything he was trained for, a mere utterance of two words — words that would become his undoing:
Make me.
It was a two-syllable statement, a short phrase and yet that's what broke the tether to the very last vestiges of his self-control.
It amused him how defiant you were, as no one had ever questioned his authority. Usually, they would cower in fear, avoid eye contact, and when told to hold their tongue, they obeyed — but not you. You were different right from the beginning.
He stood almost a foot taller, built from a life of nothing but an impeccable routine and discipline, a stark contrast to your own, formed by living a life of simple luxuries that he had never experienced.
None of the women in his Legion looked like you: fuller at the hips, limb circumference that nearly rivalled his own. Where they were always reserved and hollow-eyed, you were the opposite, and he could see the fire blazing in your eyes, the strength behind it, the drive to break conformity.
He found himself stealing glances from time to time, listening to your breath hitch or hearing you hype yourself up when you were about to do a task through faulty communication lines he still hadn’t told you about, finding your little quirks endearing. So, without thinking too much of it, he began to display small, human gestures, like keeping you company during meals instead of leaving as soon as he was done, and even just placing a blanket over your shoulders at night so you didn’t get cold.
But that was all he allowed himself, these simple displays of affection, each one already beyond his usual protocol. Other than that, he could only linger, keep his distance, swear to suppress these earthly desires. He was a Galactic soldier, after all, trained to observe, not feel, even as those gestures betrayed him.
And yet, the universe had other plans.
When you drove back with his driftpod that one time, he knew he should’ve immediately initiated inspection mode instead of doing it manually himself, his first lapse in judgment. But he found himself letting his guard down around you, forgetting to be a soldier for once, something he had never expected to happen.
With you, he didn’t have to be on high alert all the time, being able to be normal for once in his life. That, too, was his other mistake, not that he was blaming you for putting him in this predicament. But you were a fool, though, and a brave fool at that for opening your mouth to even regard him in a way that fuelled the desire he thought was long gone, only to be afflicted with a frenzied kind of primal hunger.
You should’ve avoided him, gone back to the sleeping suite, and yet here you were, an immovable force that held his piercing gaze.
The cleanse didn’t do jack shit to quell the absolute yearning he felt. Maybe it was pure, visceral need for release, one he had never known in his life, his cock throbbing for you, but it might also be a yearning for something more, something more profound than just the act of fucking.
You. He shuddered with need, his chest aching; he needed you. This sudden overwhelming desire for you should be a mystery to him, yet at the same time, it wasn’t.
This was the Legion’s ultimate misconception, their sole flaw: believing that grooming younglings into a life of hardship and servitude, and trying to erase all traces of emotion and any sense of vulnerability to make the perfect soldier, would make them immune to such a foolish thing as lust.
Oh, but how wrong they were to underestimate human desire for someone who, after all these years, had finally found what he could only describe as a mate.
It might be the lust talking, clouding his judgment completely, but Ghost knew, deep down, this was more than just wanting to spill his seed inside you, more than just to breed you.
He wanted more, so much more.
“Need to fuck you.” He groaned, a statement uttered from the very core of his chest, a guttural sound that should’ve had you tucking your tail between your legs and had you hightailing out of there. Although this wasn’t what he truly meant to say, with his body laced with ardour, he couldn’t help but let the control slip even just a little.
You should have been scared, and yet you kept surprising him, eyes heady with equal intensity, mirroring his own as if he were looking at a reflection of himself, without fear or hesitation. Who would’ve thought that you would be so willing, and it made his cock ache for you.
You bit your lip as you responded, voice a little shaky and airy, but determined: “Take me, then.”
That was all it took for him to grab your shoulders, turn you to face the wall and pin you there. He delved his fingers against your soft, plush form, dipping his hands along your curves to grab at your flesh, but the material became a barrier, and he growled in frustration — your suit needed to go.
He almost rips it off of you, but a millisecond in, his hand abruptly stops, just gripping the material. Then, he pinches the zipper and slowly drags it down to reveal your cleavage and your stomach, stopping just an inch or two below your navel.
In an instant, he pushes the sleeves off your shoulders, exposing more of your bosom as it overflows from its confinements. Your nipples immediately pebble in the frigid air, rolling them between his fingers before struggling to hold your breasts, their weight spilling beyond his grip.
He groans, pulling you closer, addicted to your softness against his rough, calloused palms.
One hand leaves your supple tits to trace along your side and slip into your suit, curving beneath your belly to dip his hand between your legs and find your mound already wet with slick.
A soft, broken sound escapes your lips as he presses two fingers against your entrance, teasing the folds before plunging halfway in, making you throb and clench around his digits.
He sinks in deeper, making you bite your lower lip as he grazes a particular spot inside you that has you seeing stars. He presses there a few times, pausing to edge you on, before thrusting again with equal measure.
You’ve lost count of the sensations he’s drawing from your body, and your mind goes blank from the prolonged teasing. Then he withdraws his hand just as you’re on the verge of coming.
He senses your expletives forming at the tip of your tongue from the way you look at him over your shoulder, eyes wild and hungry. But your protests are cut off as he pulls the rest of your suit down to your ankles and spreads your plump ass wide, lining himself up against your entrance before sliding fully in, filling you to the root.
It almost feels surreal how easily your body moulds to take him. He would've let out a breathy chuckle, thinking you were all bark and no bite, but it was just as you said — you can take him — and he was foolish for ever doubting you for one second.
Ghost stills briefly as he grinds his hips against your ass, pressing just a little deeper, hitting that spot inside that makes you see stars. His grip on your hips is bruising, anchoring him while guiding you down his cock. The room fills with the sound of your desperate pleasure. When he reaches between your legs, he dips them between your folds as he rubs you to completion.
“Come for me.” He rasps against your ear, and you shiver from his voice. With your body following his command, you come on his cock, gripping his hand that wouldn’t relent on your clit, every stroke bordering on overstimulation.
He follows not long after, spilling into you until you overflow.
You knew this was only the beginning when he paused briefly, fingers still stroking your folds, making you jolt. He was still painfully hard, still canting his hips upwards into you. He gingerly pulls out of your sopping core, then turns you around and removes the remnants of your suit from your ankles.
With swift, practiced ease, he lifts you to wrap your thick, shaky legs around his middle before driving back inside. Your jaw slackens as a strangled moan leaves you, the head of his cock pressing against your spot over and over.
His strong arms barely strain as he pins you to the wall, pistoning upward while you grind down to meet each stroke.
You are utterly undone, eyes shut tight, hands clinging to his shoulders as he coaxes another orgasm from you, your thick thighs bracketing his side, locking him in place and pulling him deeper as he spills his seed inside you once more.
Even when he pauses to catch a breath, he’s still craving for more, still twitching against your walls, and you barely register him carrying you toward the bed, still buried to the hilt. He drives a few hard, punishing thrusts before finally sprawling you onto the mattress.
“Ass up,” he demanded, and you tried to peek at him through your dishevelled hair. With your body still alight and tingling from coming apart on his cock, you struggled to follow. Ghost grew impatient and flipped you over with a grunt before pulling your hips toward the edge of the bed.
“I said ass up—“
“I heard you—“ your remark was cut short when his palm landed harshly on your ass cheek, making your skin ripple from the impact. You gasped as the motion drove pleasure straight to your pussy, making your slick and his cum drip between your legs.
You looked over to him once more and watched as he slotted himself back into your awaiting core, bottoming out in one stroke. He savoured the way you squeezed him, addicted to the feel of your walls just engulfing all of him.
It wasn’t long before he ruts into you again, biting back a strangled cry when his cockhead rubbed against your spot. When you let out a particularly wanton cry but held your breath, you felt him lean over and press his lips to your ears.
“No, no, let me hear, love,” he growls, grabbing at your cheeks with his massive hand. You wanted to be petty and stay quiet, but a particular hard thrust had you moaning out and almost stumbling forward.
He gathers your hair and holds a fistful of it to tilt your head back just a little before he noses against your throat.
“What happened to that mouth of yours? Cat got your tongue?” He teased, a soft huff escaping him.
“F-fuck you—”
“You already are.” He chuckled again before his thrusts crescendoed.
Your vision hazed over as you felt an odd pressure in your core. You tried pushing him off, but his iron grip on you had you pinned in place. When you came apart again, your eyes rolled at the back of your head as you felt a gushing sensation, almost pushing him out as you squirted on the bed.
But Ghost kept at his pace, pinning you down as your thighs helplessly quivered with every powerful thrust.
You’ve lost track of time, the hours, minutes and the details in between. Everything blurred altogether, and you weren’t sure how long you two were tangled in each other's arms, maneuvering and repositioning your body this way and that, just the way he wanted it to, and you were just there taking every last drop, milking him.
After some time, you were starting to get sore, but every press of his hips brought a new kind of sensation, something between pain and pleasure, pain that made your core ache yet unbound the knot of pleasure in your loins, growing tight then snapping as your body wanted more.
And more… and more, over and over, addicted to the intense release only he could pull from your body.
You whimpered like a bitch in heat, a willing hole to soothe his needs — and yours, pent up with years of nothing but rejection.
At some point, you found yourself prone on the bed once more, pinned down with his massive hand cradling your neck, his breath ragged in your ear. You could barely see your silhouette against the alloy wall in front of you, jarring from his brutal movements. Your mind blanks when he slips a hand between your sex and starts to play with your clit. The gentle stroke, in contrast with the hard press of his hips, pushed you over to the edge, probably for the final time, as you noticed his pace faltering.
When Ghost shudders on top of you, arms circling your shoulders in an embrace far tender than the bruising grip he has had on you for the past several hours, you know the affliction he was suffering from has finally eased as he stills. He hovers over you, elbows planted on each side of your shoulders, careful not to crush you with his weight as his breathing evens out, and you watch as his skin reverts to its natural colour.
The bed was utterly ruined, soaked to the very inner foam with your combined fluids. You started to feel the aftermath and ached all over, but it was a good kind of ache as your body thrums with the tail end of pleasure.
You didn’t even realize you passed out, just utterly boneless from everything that had happened. When you came to, you were clean, fully dressed, and the bed was spotless. You also found yourself sleeping in the middle of the bed, alone with a blanket over you. For a brief moment, you thought you had just awoken from the most intense sex dream of your life. Still, when you feel something bead in your entrance and then slowly pool out, you are suddenly flooded with the memory of Ghost seated deep inside you, his calloused hands on your skin, and his deep, rumbling voice that made you shiver. The most intense fucking you’ve ever had in your life replayed in your mind vividly, like a hologram projected in real life, and you felt a familiar ache in your loins. You blushed from the thought.
As you paced around the bunker — or tried to, on shaky legs — you thought about how you couldn’t believe you’d allowed a stranger to fuck you senseless so many times you’d lost count. Okay, Ghost wasn’t a total stranger, though; you’d known each other on a surface level for weeks now.
Still, it felt surreal and somewhat freeing to follow your body's instinct and not your moral compass for once.
When had it become so risqué, you wondered? When you left home, you only wanted to move on and look forward, focusing on yourself and what lay ahead, forgetting the expectations of many and society’s standards. You planned on doing it all until you weren’t able to, just basking in solitude, but you never expected someone’s company could be something you’ve been looking for.
You see Ghost through the viewport as he returns to fixing your driftpod. It shouldn’t mean anything, just a man trying to help you out and staying true to his mission, but you couldn’t help but think this is a sign that everything has gone back to the way things were, not that it was any consolation, back to normal could be just you and him as strangers, before the desperate night you shared, body and limbs entangled.
The sigh you let out wasn’t giving you any comfort. Usually, when things don’t go the way you wanted them to, you shrug it off and utter ‘c'est la vie’, but you couldn’t help but feel empty. You didn’t want to expect too much for things to change between you two for the better, you two barely know each other at all, besides the very surface level of first-name basis. You tried to smile, to be thankful that after this, after your vehicle is fixed, you’d be on your way, and he'll do the same.
But then night came, and he slips under the covers with you, surprised to feel him a little up close and personal than before. You chalked it up to the old arrangement you both had before the incident, pushing things aside, but when you felt his hand ghost over your suit, grabbing at your waist, you felt his breath flutter on your neck as he scooped you closer and pressed his warmth against your backside.
Your heart raced as he planted his face against the side of your neck and breathed you in through the mask, the material tickling your skin.
His touches weren’t as wild as they were the night before, a sign that he truly was back to the way he was before the bismuth-like object made you two go sex rabid. Still, it felt different this time, a little reverent, maybe even sweet as he caressed your plush stomach, not in a sexual way, but just appreciating the softness against his palms.
You felt him gently stir, maybe repositioning his body a little before he settled, and then silence followed.
Ghost had fallen asleep with you wrapped in his arms. You would’ve laughed at how ridiculous everything was, finding it hard to fathom how a gruff man could be so gentle. But you weren’t going to complain, as you find yourself where you want to be at the moment.
Despite the comforting warmth he once again brings you, you couldn’t help but think of the many possibilities. Would this meeting be permanent? Even if you parted ways after this, you’d still try to meet at one of the moons in this star system. Or would it be something temporary where he goes on his way, and you go on yours, and he’d be just a memory of someone who was the best fuck you’ve ever had.
Your heart ached as you thought of both, since you didn’t have the answer, too afraid to ask if this could be something more. But the way he holds you on other nights seems to make you think it’s a possibility.
But as the deadline looms, he seems to be a little bit distant. He wasn’t ignoring you or anything, but on the last night, he did sleep facing away from you, just like the first night you shared a bed, and it hit you like daggers.
You kept it to yourself, shrugging off your feelings, telling yourself you should know better. However, it was a good ten weeks while it lasted.
The engine came to life as Ghost gave your driftpod another intensive inspection, checking everything, from the internal machinations to as simple as the leather of your seat, if they’re comfortable enough on your journey, one gesture he shouldn’t have bothered to do, but he insisted.
Once done, he hops out from the main chamber to see you hauling your luggage back into the storage compartment. He grabs the last of your luggage and helps you place it neatly inside. When you turned to him, he could almost see the redness of your eyes, all from crying all night.
He knew why you felt this way; he wasn’t completely daft and heartless, but he did what he thought he had to do to cushion the blow. But maybe he shouldn’t have held you so tenderly all those nights, indulging in his own selfishness, wishing he could stay.
But it wasn’t that simple — things weren’t that simple, especially with the way things are, with constant wars looming around certain parts of each star system where his Legion would be needed to aid civilians, to do a covert operation, or to do escort missions.
He could hear you cursing him under your breath with faulty communication lines he still refused to tell you about, and he should’ve.
He could now, just to get one more moment with you before you two have to leave, but he’s been MIA for long enough, and the Legion was probably looking for him now.
He hesitated, shoulders rising and falling with each practiced breath. He wanted to touch you again, even just for a little bit; he wanted to feel your skin against his, hear your whimpers, but he wanted to do it properly, without the moonflowers influencing his body. It was foolish of him to think this now when he had multiple other days previously, after the affliction subsided, he could’ve made a move, he could’ve given you pleasure once more, but he didn’t.
He thought the memory of you shivering underneath him was enough to satiate him, enough to get him by, but with each passing day until the day you two had to part, he regretted not doing much more than just holding you at night.
He would’ve said something now, trying to mend everything, but he was rooted to the spot, unsure what to do.
Before he could speak, you reached towards his gloved hand, giving it a soft squeeze: “I’ll see you around?” You asked, your voice a little shaky, and he could see your hopeful eyes behind the visor.
The sound of a smile left his lips, bittersweet, as he pulled you a little closer and tapped your suit, where the small control panel was. With practiced precision, a small bolt of energy was released from his gloves. He couldn’t hear your soft noises anymore through the garbled static as he fixed your communication lines, an easy fix. He might not be able to listen to your voice going through at random, but your voice did sound clearer now, like no helmets were separating you two.
“What was that for?” You asked, curious.
“Get your gear checked on the regular,” he said gruffly. “Wouldn’t want a pretty bird like you pulverized to dust by carelessness.”
It was meant to be sweet, but he heard you gasp, offended, followed by a laugh before you smack him on the chest.
“Asshole.”
Before you two could leave for takeoff, he gave you a two-finger salute, then went on his way, his driftpod a mere dot in the sky within minutes.
You settled in your seat for a few more minutes, basking in his presence that you already miss. You would cry again, but what good would it do? Crying wouldn’t solve anything, and yet your heart ached for him. This was just the nature of solitude, you sighed to yourself, this is what you asked for.
As you gather yourself, wiping the tears that threaten to spill with your gloves, you prepare for take off, checking the engine and other settings in your driftpod to make sure you have everything.
Before you could enable hover mode, a small bolt sparked on your suit, followed instantly by a faint sound wave going through your communication lines.
“Fuckin’ hell, could still hear you. Need to get your shit fixed.” Ghost says, and you see the faint dot of his driftpod on the horizon begin to arc back your way.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Sick and tired of living a mediocre life on this third rock from the sun, you set out on your driftpod across the galaxy in search of escape, hoping to find peace in solitude. However, amidst your journey, you encountered someone who was also drifting, searching for something that felt like freedom, just like you.
Rating: E
Category: F/M
Tags: Secret Santa, Alternative Universe - Science Fiction, plus size reader, Sex Pollen, Strangers to Lovers, If You Squint, Mutual Pining, Forced Proximity, There Was Only One Bed, one bed trope, Star Wars Elements, space travel, Alien Worlds, Futuristic, Worldbuilding, excessive amounts of cum, Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Lots of it, Reader is Sassy, Reader Is Spicy, Ghost is Loving It, Multiple Orgasms, Art by Author Inside, Galactic Soldier Ghost
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
A/N: My Secret Santa gift for @unseaworthy! This was a blast to write xD. I'm still doing a final pass on the last chapter, just need to proofread it one last time. But please do enjoy chapters 1-3 for now! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays :D <3
CHAPTER ONE: QUARTZ
In space, no one can hear you scream.
Or at least that’s what you hope, by the gods, you hope no one has their satellite tuned in to your location, or they’d be picking up every sound wave of your pleasured cries as you’re getting railed on the bunk, a massive hand nestled around your throat as the man you only know as “Ghost” drives himself deep inside you, probably for the nth time that night — or day, you barely know anymore. The hours have melted together, your head swimming with euphoria as your body succumbs to each press of his hips.
You still couldn’t fathom how you ended up in this predicament since your original plan had been simple: to travel solo, hop from moon to moon, explore alien terrain, experience alien traditions, enjoy the freedom from all the responsibilities and nuances of life, and gaze at the stars without anyone encroaching on your territory.
It was fool-proof, and yet here you were, all plans gone out the window, as if the universe decided that your solo travel had to stop at a certain point; sharing a single metallic bunk with someone whose presence set your nerves alight as well as the desire pulsing through your veins.
But if you were being completely honest, the change of pace didn't bother you too much. Not really. It was just…exhausting. Your body aches and pulses, leaving you dizzy, drained, and yet, impossibly craving more.
As soon as you hit thirty, you realize you’d never truly lived. All you ever did was work and work and work, confined to that menial third rock from the sun, a planet with days too short for dreams and years that flashed by before you could even blink.
You could only dream of what everyone else experienced, leaping across the stars, talking about visiting planets several hundred thousand light-years away, much as your ancestors once talked about quick trips to Aruba. And you? You were stuck in a routine of nothing but too much labour, coming home to an empty flat in Centretown, a cluster of affordable housing in this seemingly solarpunk paradise. Yet, the air grew more toxic every year.
The city you lived in was one of the cookie-cutter solutions by the One Government, an assemblage of buildings under a greenhouse dome. Outside of it was nothing but a wasteland, with remnants of old civilizations stacked up to the ozone layer.
Some people didn’t mind the change over time, attributing it to humanity’s adaptability. But you see it as a terrarium for humans, a sanitized box of false hope that keeps whoever’s left alive. At night, you hear the harsh winds scraping against the dome’s protective sphere, making you wonder about a time when it might fail, and humanity would cease to exist.
You might prefer it that way, so you don’t have to keep attending those accursed family gatherings where relatives feel obligated to comment on your appearance, saying you’re practically taking up too much space. You’ve already made peace with the natural way your body has grown fuller, softer as you aged, a progression that feels human in contrast to all the artificial and synthetic aspects of life around you. Then there are the other relatives reminding you to settle down and keep the bloodline going, and even worse, the ones who manage to nag you about both in the same breath. You just want to spite them all for their relentless pestering.
It was a sickening, repetitive tune. Even a couple of millennia into the future, the expectations for women never changed. You had just had enough of the nonsense thrown your way.
So, you snapped. You emptied your life savings and purchased a driftpod. It might have been the most impulsive thing you’ve done in your life, with relatives calling you stupid and all that, but you didn’t care; their words were meaningless to you.
As you let an escort ship shuttle you past the last safe checkpoint in the familiar solar system, you bid the vast yet enclosed space you were familiar with goodbye.
It had been three years then, hopping between moons, one jump after another, from star system to star system. You’d passed by planets that differed wildly from one another, a few that reminded you of home, others that were too icy or too volcanic for your liking, and then there were alien planets that rained molten iron or hurtled glass shards like a never-ending storm.
You didn’t have a galactic permit to land on any of the planets with safe terrain for a supply run or even a short visit, not that you could afford it in the first place, so you made do by heading for the bunkers scattered throughout the galaxies. They were built on moons that were either too big or too small, but that was the beauty of it — the isolation, the freedom to slip away from anyone else’s presence.
You were far from home — too far — but you preferred it this way, preferred the peaceful independence you felt when you pushed your driftpod into hyperspace, drifting across the galaxy without a care in the world.
Your previous stop had been Camrina, a moon with blood red soil, but you weren’t there for long, unaware of the war that was going on, so you hightailed out of there and found yourself wandering into the outer rim of the Coperyn System.
In the shadowed territory at the farthest end, you found a tiny, secluded moon where everything promptly went wrong. As it turns out, you weren’t the only one running from your problems.
You didn’t expect company in a single metallic bunker in the middle of fuckwhere, let alone to end up sharing its only bunk.
Your driftpod landed on the rocky terrain just as his landed a few metres away. You thought he was there to replace his solar batteries, but when he started unloading his belongings into the bunker, you marched your way inside.
There was hardly an exchange at all. He just sat on the bunk, motionless, watching you like you’d grown a second head while you berated him. Or at least that’s what you assumed, since you could barely read anything behind the skull fixture — which should have given you pause in the first place. A hulking man in a military-grade exosuit and a skull helmet should’ve been enough to deter anyone from engaging.
Still, you kept talking, completely incensed, and although your mouth moved to give him a piece of your mind, your thoughts drifted to the way his head tilted toward you, not in mockery but in a sort of interest — and that surprised you, since most of the stares you’ve gotten in the past weren’t with good intentions. You were well aware of the softness of your frame against the hard metal around you, but he didn’t seem put off. If anything, his posture eased, as though your presence didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and you weren’t sure if you’d take it as a compliment or an insult.
But then, you saw his shoulders tighten, and you thought for a split second he was about to lunge, and your mouth snapped shut. But he didn’t rise — he only rolled his shoulders back, flexing as if he’d been holding the tension for far too long.
You realized, then, that he hadn’t spoken a word back. You didn’t know if he was mute or didn’t understand Commonspeak, too riled up to put your translator on in case he was born somewhere you’re unfamiliar with, so you gave up, threw your hands in defeat, and went to prepare to take off to find another nearby bunker — only for your driftpod to have other plans.
After the galactic vehicle you’d spent a fortune on for your thirtieth birthday sputtered once and died, probably due to three years of nonstop use finally catching up, you tried contacting support, but before you could send the message, hands trembling with anger and disappointment, a voice rang out behind you.
“Y’need t’get that engine rebooted,” he said through comms out of the blue, and you almost screamed, totally unexpecting him to speak. When you turned to him, he remained unmoved, but you did hear a soft crackling huff, like a chuckle. The bastard.
With nary another word from him, he proceeded to inspect your vehicle, already taking his toolkit out from his gear pack.
It didn’t take him long to diagnose the issue. His assessment was immediate as he pulled himself from underneath the hull: “Engine’s burnt out. Gonna take five light days to fix,” he said, and you’ve only heard that term before a few times: a light day depends on the length of the sun in this particular territory, and after consulting your datapad, wanting to understand your situation more before you say anything else, your location dictates that it would take ten earth weeks.
You stared at the screen in disbelief, and for a moment, words didn’t make sense to you.
“Ten earth weeks?” You repeated to yourself, "That’s two months!"
You would’ve just gotten another driftpod delivered; it was that easy to get an astro-delivery dispatched. However, you were out of funds, so you really couldn’t do much anyway — not with your current financial state, which, in your case, means you literally have no money left. Unless you steal or plunder unsuspecting individuals, which you refuse to do, you would rather disintegrate to nothing before you commit a heinous crime and be brought to a galactic court.
As you turned towards him, you noticed he was back underneath the hull, already tinkering at the machine.
“Ever heard of maintenance?” he said, voice echoing slightly through the communication line, “when’s the last time you had this junk checked?”
You narrowed your eyes. “I have gotten it checked—”
“When?” he added further, and you immediately floundered, stammering to answer. Though the helmet hid your shame, you hoped he didn’t sense your unease.
“Why do you want to know?” you asked, all defensive, and this made him chuckle as he shook his head.
“Fuckin’ hell. You’ve never had this thing checked in your life, have you?”
You didn’t even bother denying it. He could smell the bullshit from light-years away. You never had the credits for proper maintenance, not after draining everything just to get off that godforsaken planet you called home.
You tried to dodge the embarrassment with an attitude: “Look, it moved. That’s all it needed to do.”
“Oh, it moves,” he said, tapping a scorched panel with his knuckles. “Miracle it didn’t blow itself to bits mid-jump.”
“It didn’t explode—”
“Because you’re lucky,” he cut you off, and then added a sly remark: “or daft. Hard to say.”
You scoffed at this but had nothing to retaliate with; he did have a point, for all you know, you could’ve become just another speck of dust drifting in space.
A spark that popped from the panel, followed by a gravelly swear in your communication line, broke your train of thought, and you see him pushing himself out from under the driftpod.
“Grab your things,” he said, turning to you, and you blinked in surprise. “Why?”
He let out a low, amused breath. “Plan on sleepin’ out here, then? Be my guest.”
A blush crept to your cheeks again, but he could only shrug, the grease on his gloves sizzling away from the suit’s nano-heaters.
You grumbled the phrase: “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it,” under your breath as you headed for the storage compartment, removing your belongings from the trunk when the comms crackled. You froze, realizing he had heard you, but he didn’t utter a word, only another huff of amusement, as if your attitude entertained him. You also didn’t have to see his face to hear the smirk in his tone.
You cursed softly at yourself, hauling one luggage out, then another, your arms straining from the weight.
You saw his shadow stretch over you, and he uttered a phrase that almost had you dropping your things: “Give it to me,” he said in a voice probably too deep and gravelly for your liking.
“What?” You asked, head whipping back so fast you almost whiplashed yourself.
He tilted his head, his hand still outstretched. "Give it here," he repeated, his fingertips curling slightly as he gestured for your belongings. Your thoughts lagged embarrassingly behind before you finally handed him your luggage, and he immediately secured the straps snugly against each side of his exosuit.
With your luggage out of the way, you weren't sure what to do next and found yourself staring at the skull helmet. He leaned in, as if studying your expression.
"You done starin’?" he asked, his voice rumbling through the comms, a hint of teasing evident that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine.
He didn’t wait for your reaction and swaggered back toward the bunker as if he hadn’t just said what he did.
When night came, or at least whatever time your suncycle tracker said it was, you had already stowed your gear in the bunker’s storage module, eaten your rations, and taken a quick rinse at the decontamination stall. Just as you were sliding your suit back on, the door hissed open, followed by the unmistakable weight of heavy boots hitting the alloy floor.
You barely had the suit halfway closed when his form appeared by the chamber entrance.
“Do you mind?” you groaned, annoyed, the sound of your suit closing hissed faintly.
He took a glance at you and deadpanned: “I don’t mind.” Before he stood in front of the stall and began removing his own gear, you gaped at the sight.
“What are you doing?” you asked, taken aback. He didn’t stop to look at you, but he did respond: “Gettin’ ready to rest,” and just kept removing pieces of his suit and laying them neatly onto the table.
He removed the skull helmet, and the armour clicked and puffed a cloud of smoke. You held your breath as you watched; you wouldn’t even deny your curiosity and excitement to finally see what he looked like underneath.
But just when you thought you would finally put a face to the grump, he revealed another skull mask beneath it, and you had to hold in an exhale that was a mixture of a laugh and a sound of disappointment as you shook your head.
Who wears a skull mask under a skull helmet? You thought to yourself, squinting your eyes at him. What an odd fellow—
When he bent to tug at the rest of his exosuit, you instantly looked away, but not before you caught a hint of skin — scarred and marred by burns. You felt ashamed for ogling, and you couldn’t deny the fact that the marks intrigued you, but you’d rather not ask about a man’s scars when you know what’s good for you.
Though you did find his lack of shame scandalizing as he just casually strips in front of you.
“For fuck’s sake, at least let me leave first—“
“No need.” He said, his voice sounded clear now, though the skull mask's material muffled it a bit. You barely registered the sound of the decontamination stall going off for a few seconds before he hopped out again. When you looked back, you saw him putting his exosuit back on.
With one final click in place, he was fully covered again.
Before you could react, his statement cut you off: “Get in the bed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You plannin’ on sleepin’ on the floor?”
“No, I—“
“Get in the bed, then.” He said again, a bit impatiently. You were still reeling, confused as if his words didn’t mean what you thought they meant.
You almost laughed, finding his statement utterly ridiculous as you glanced at the bed, then back at him. Surely, he wasn’t expecting to share the bed with you.
“You think you and I would fit in there?—“
“Yes. Get in the bed.” He said it with a finality that made you quiet, prompting you to sit on the edge while still maintaining eye contact. From this angle, he appeared taller and more imposing, yet despite this, you could feel a warmth of excitement pooling in your core. You knew this shouldn’t turn you on, but it did.
Without the helmet, you can see his eyes: smoky quartz, a bit jaded, a bit rough around the edges, but gentle all the same. His head tilted to the side as he let out a soft exhale, a chuckle almost.
“D’you women on Earth sleep sitting up?” His question was more rhetorical, and before you could respond, you realized it was pointless; the back-and-forth was getting old. And although you had to admit that his comebacks were exciting, you were tired, and sleep called to you. So, you scooted over to the farthest inner corner to create as much space as possible.
You felt the bed dip with his weight, the foam briefly undiluting with his movement before he was settled. You didn’t dare look, but judging by the warmth on your back and his backside barely pressing against yours, he was facing away from you.
Within minutes of dimming the lights, he was asleep, and you felt envious of how fast he was able to, while you were still wide awake, suddenly aware that you’re sharing a bed with a man — a man you barely know. You don’t even know his background, where he’s from, or his name.
But regardless of this, you felt surprisingly at ease, and you felt warmth caress your skin like a blanket, and soon enough, you were falling asleep, too.
You didn’t realize he had put a blanket on you and left himself without.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E Category: F/M Relationship: König x You (Reader) Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Soft König (Call of Duty), Female Reader-Insert, Half-giants, Lich, Dryads - Freeform, Monstertober 2025, Monster Romance, Graphic Description of Injury, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Language Barrier, Gentle König (Call of Duty), Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tender Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, soft angst with a happy ending, poetic prose, Monsterfucking | Teratophilia, Opposites Attract, plot heavy, Magical Pregnancy, Hybrids, Worldbuilding
Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Words: 8154
The sound of rustling vines echoed throughout the chamber as they sprang from one wall to the other, burrowing their roots into the rocks. More vines followed, weaving together to form a thick canopy that blocked the moonlight beaming into the cave-in. As the last of the vines held fast, the only light in what was once the sunlit chamber came from rows of clustered bioluminescent mushrooms growing along the walls.
It needed to be done. Anything that could lead wandering travellers or curious beasts into the cave would be disastrous, especially now with the border closures due to external conflict. Better for the opening to vanish beneath stone and root than to risk waking up to a wanderer's blade or a beast's serrated teeth at your throats.
You returned to the main chamber at the exact moment König arrived from his night hunt. Dirt and leaves clung to him, and the blue blood from the carcass smeared down his chest and back, falling in slow drops that marked a path across the stone floor. The sight should have unsettled you, the coppery tang pungent in the air, but you still found yourself giving him a shy, warm wave.
His eyes crinkled at the edges, a hint of a warm smile when he said your name and leaned in to gather you in his arms. However, he hesitated halfway, realizing he was covered in filth from the hunt and paused before his skin could touch yours.
He stepped back, looking a little wistful, and you couldn’t help but smile wider as you gestured for him to lean in. You lifted a hand to his clothed cheek, offering a gentle caress in place of a hug.
"Welcome back!" you called. He echoed your words with a grin, "Back!" His arm twitched as if to reach for you, then he shook off the impulse and turned to the farthest corner to clean his hunted game.
You watched as he got to work, skinning and cleaning, bits of viscera smeared up onto his elbows. You should’ve looked away, disgusted by the process, yet there was something in the way his back muscles flexed as he pulled the creature’s limbs from its sockets with his bare hands. His biceps bunched, forearms strained, and knuckles whitened as he tore the meat from the bone. The strength he possessed was haunting, almost terrifying, and then it hit you:
You had never seen him wield an axe or any weapon to take down game. He was using the very same bare hands that were now stained with blood, their power unimaginable. And yet, with the way he held you close, ever so gently, it was a stark contrast. Mighty to others, but tender towards you, his touch reverent and worshipful, like handling a delicate, precious flower.
Your skin still remembers him from the night before, the lingering warmth of his body pressed against you, and your sap dampens your skin at the memory, carrying the faint trace of him—
König paused mid-motion, his shoulders tensing before he slowly turned his head your way, his blue eyes wide. You could see the burlap shift ever so slightly, as if he were catching your scent, and your cheeks heated when you realized even with all the blood and viscera from the game, he could smell your sap underneath it all, subtle yet intoxicating.
The elders once told you that Dryads were born with temptation coursing in their veins. In the past, the sap secreted served a far more dangerous purpose, used to lure many a traveller to their deaths, vines smothering them the moment your kind deemed it necessary. It was always meant to protect the village or deliver swift execution when any one of your kin was threatened.
But that was archaic; it was only done during a time you only heard about in passing.
Although the effect remained the same, today it was nothing more than an aphrodisiac, meant to draw lovers close. That was precisely what was unfolding as you stared at one another now.
König’s head tilted as he regarded you with a primal hunger. He remained still, and his hesitation was evident in every subtle shift of his posture. A shiver coursed through him, not from the cold, but from the heat prickling his skin and flushing his scarred flesh. In those piercing blue eyes, his pupils had already dilated with longing.
You would have taken the initiative, as you had the night before, longing to feel him buried deep inside you, where no other man could ever reach, yet you held back. You knew he wanted the same, yet you couldn’t let it be only desire that drew you together. So you remained frozen in place, even as your eyes betrayed every ounce of the lust you felt.
Just when you expected him to close the distance between you in three quick strides — a thought that was both frightening and oddly arousing — he suddenly turned away and went back to cleaning, shaking off the primal urges that had crossed his mind.
To say you felt a bit disappointed would be an understatement, yet you chose to leave things as they were. It was for the best, at least for now.
As the day's work finally caught up with you after hours of patching up the cave-in, you shifted under the furs until you were comfortable. You let his lingering scent envelop you, and gradually, your muscles relaxed and your eyelids grew heavy until sleep took you completely.
—
When you rose in the wee hours of the morning, you noticed the chamber was already clean and orderly. Slabs of meat hung from a long, stripped branch laid across a pair of stakes, high enough above the fire that the smoke could cure them until the next meal.
König slept in the corner, his form a single dark shape where the furs draped over him blended with the shade of his burlap mask. As he shifted, his neck bent at an awkward angle that looked painfully stiff. Concerned, you walked over and touched his arm, your fingers gentle yet firm against his skin. When his eyes fluttered open and met yours, he blinked in confusion.
“Come to bed,” you murmured, pointing to the piles of furs before rubbing your own neck to show what you meant.
“You’re going to get a crick in your neck sleeping like that.”
His eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the words. “Stay here,” he mumbled in the Commonfolk tongue, already on the verge of dozing off.
You almost scoffed and nudged him again, making him grumble. At last, he relented, and with a soft huff, he gathered the furs he had with him and followed suit. You slipped beneath the covers first, settling on the farthest side closest to the wall, before he joined you and climbed in after, the bedding sinking under his weight.
Immediately, his scent flooded your senses, making your mouth water. Even asleep, his arm ghosted over you and scooped you backward out of instinct, pressing you flush against his chest. He was like firelight, never scalding, just a steady, comforting heat that slowly eased your breath until you, too, had fallen back asleep.
The sun filtered through the thick canopies, dappling your pathway with tiny patches of light as you headed for a small clearing to gather more herbs and flowers.
You had already collected everything the apothecary asked for the day prior. Yet, you found yourself searching instead for anything the village healer might need, even if she never asked you for any favours. It was partly to repay the kindness she had shown when she tended to your injury, and partly because you needed something else to focus on. Staying in the cave meant giving in to the desire that clung to you like a second skin, which was precisely what transpired that morning:
Sleep hadn’t quelled the urge you felt once you roused from slumber. As soon as you stirred awake, so did König, his large arm still slung over your waist.
You felt him shift, his body inadvertently pressing against your backside. You should have said something, or at least not goaded him, and you knew better than to stoke the fire, but when you purposefully ground your derrière back against the hard length of him, all self-control was thrown away, followed by your clothes.
The chamber was filled with gasps and praises as time seemed to slip by. Every thrust of his hips, paired with each eager swipe of his fingers over your sensitive bud, had you coming apart. It was all a little too much, teetering on overstimulation as your body quivered, and a long while passed before his rhythm finally faltered and slowed.
Although you would have willed your body to succumb for him once more, you were far too spent, and with a shudder, his climax surged through you, warmth filling you to the brim.
König shifted to lie on his side, taking you with him, still seated deep within you, softening slowly, holding you there for what seemed like forever, breathing in your scent. His arms held you close as he lazily gave your waist a gentle squeeze.
With a contented sigh, he brushed his clothed face against the top of your head like a kiss, then gingerly pulled out before staggering away, retreating into the darkness. You weren’t sure where he was going, and you would have followed, but you were completely undone.
If the Sisters could see you now, spend dripping and pooling between your legs, they would have sneered and called you unseemly names. But you didn’t care; if they see you unfit to be a part of the Dryadic Temple, so be it—
But that was just the lust talking, clouding your mind. You shook your head to clear your thoughts, trying to dispel the lingering high coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to be shunned by your brethren. Even though times had changed and some people began forming unions with others beyond their customs and traditions, the temple still frowned upon Sisters who broke its rules or stepped out of line.
Even as you tried to focus, gathering herbs primarily for treating stomach ailments and skin lesions, which were often scarce due to the high demand from the various folk who passed by the village healer’s hut, flashes of that morning clung to your mind.
The sensation of him flush against your body, as if reshaping you to take him fully, made your legs tremble as you bent over the plants. Maintaining your balance was challenging, and given your current condition, you considered collecting some herbs that might help with your boneless state since you were already out in the area.
After a while, though, you gave up and returned to the cave with only half of what you had intended to gather.
“Not much done this day,” you admitted to yourself.
Once back in the chamber, König greeted you with a warm embrace, and you melted as your face pressed against his scarred chest, inhaling his scent. It overwhelmed you, and a rush of emotion began to swell within you. On impulse, you quickly pushed him away, perhaps a bit too harshly. He looked confused, maybe even a little hurt, but you offered him a reassuring, sheepish smile.
He watched you with concern as you began preparing a meal, a stew for the two of you. When your hand trembled and the knife clattered against the table, König was immediately by your side, checking to see if you were alright.
All you could do, however, was laugh, leaving him baffled as you dabbed at the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
“I’m alright, König,” you said, still catching your breath. You weren’t sure why you were laughing; maybe it was too much euphoria, or perhaps something within you, your body still throbbing with need, had taken over.
You were puzzled, wondering why every time your arousal spiked, König, who should have been affected by it, seemed to have the opposite effect. It was as if he exuded his own aphrodisiac, intensifying your feelings even further. You had experienced desire before, but you had always been able to control it. Yet here you were, completely undone by his mere presence, a mess of longing and need.
You studied him with curiosity, intrigued by how easily he could sway your desires. His kind was unfamiliar to you: Half-Giants were not exactly rare, but they tended to be reclusive. Even rarer was the other side of him, glimpsed in the glow of his blue eyes and the unearthly tone of his voice.
Perhaps it was this hidden side, the part you had not yet understood, that drew you closer. In ways you could not explain, he had bewitched you, and you found yourself powerless to resist.
Trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy was impossible, and it became a push-and-pull, an unrelenting tension drawing you toward each other. Whenever your eyes met, an instant spark ignited, and you could see his blue eyes burning, ablaze with desire.
But he would look away, and so would you. This occurred once or twice as you went about your tasks around the chambers — him heading out to hunt while you gathered herbs or maintained the space. Yet, amidst all this, you found yourselves slowly overtaken by a hunger gnawing at your very cores.
When an ache you could no longer contain surged through you, and you caught his gaze as he prepared to head out for a hunt, you heard him take a sharp breath and murmur softly in his foreign tongue. The sound was both shy and playful, as if he were in disbelief, silently telling you that you were insatiable.
You didn’t deny it; a wicked smile danced at the corners of your lips, a smile you couldn’t suppress. Your body mirrored his entirely, heat radiating between you, and your mind fogged with desire. You wondered why he bothered hunting at night when he could be sinking his nails into you instead. Your eyes spoke volumes, revealing all the temptation and longing you felt.
Drawn to you like a moth to a flame, he closed the distance, hunting forgotten, and soon you were pressed together again, bodies aligning as if by instinct.
And then, it became a cycle, a repetitive rhythm, a back-and-forth cadence where his body seemed to be always at your beck and call — not out of obligation, but from mirrored hunger.
You could have put a stop to this whenever you wanted; a gentle push or even a look would have him pause in his tracks, one that he wouldn’t object to if you ever say “No”, but you don’t, letting your desires take the reins.
One brief stroll the next night led your basket to lie forgotten, leaning against the edge of a fallen tree, its contents jostling in tandem with König’s powerful thrusts. His hips collided with yours as you were bent over the gnarled trunk, your hands firmly planted against your lips as you muffled the sound you made every time he bottomed out.
After the little romp, with even shakier legs, you ended up sitting on the log, unable to walk further, so you directed König on where to go.
“Moonblossom,” you said, gesturing with your hands to form two petals dangling on each side. “The one with silver leaves and a white blossom—yes!” You exclaimed as he finally identified the right plant and gingerly dug it out along with its roots.
He strode leisurely toward you, placing the flower in your open palm where a sheet of wax paper lay. Gently, he wrapped it up and added it to the basket.
You held up three fingers. “I need three more Moonblossoms,” you said, and he nodded slowly before returning to the cluster of plants nearby.
Once you were able to move, or at least waddle, the two of you ventured to a new section. You contemplated silently, thinking of other herbs and flowers that the healer might need while studying the flora in front of you.
You sensed König’s presence behind you as he hovered nearby, ignoring the heat radiating from his skin as you walked away.
Leaning over briefly to examine another plant—a flower with shimmering pink petals curling at the tips and adorned with red dots—you dug it out from the ground using your vines and handed it to König.
“Erb?” he repeated the word you had taught him. You smiled and shook your head.
“No. It’s for you,” you explained. He tilted his head, confused. He glanced behind him at the basket, assuming you might need it, but you took his hand, redirecting his attention back to you.
“No, König, this is for you,” you reiterated, placing the flower in his palm and urging him to close his fingers gently. Understanding dawned on him as he inspected the plant; his eyes sparkled with delight.
You gave him a pat on the arm before returning to your gathering, expecting no more distractions.
Or so you thought.
He wrapped his arm around you, lifting you to his chest, and you squealed with laughter as you hovered a few feet above the ground.
He whispered sweet nothings, nuzzling your neck and hugging you tighter.
“König!” you laughed, playfully hitting his arm.
“Put me down! We need to get back to work!” But he didn’t relent, burying his face against your hair and inhaling the scent of flowers and leaves in your scalp.
After a moment, he finally let you go, and you turned to face him.
“You have to stop distracting me!” you exclaimed, though not angrily, as laughter followed your words. He feigned guilt, hunching his shoulders. He tried to scoop you up again, but you dodged his touch.
“No!” you yelped, pointing a finger at him. “Behave!” you added, still laughing. He flashed you a knowing look, one that seemed to say, “You’re one to talk!”
Moving to a different section of the forest, both of you tried to keep your composure, but it was either one of you distracting the other or vice versa.
As you walked a little further ahead, he shot you another playful look, and you could see the sultry glint in his eyes.
You were about to yell at him to go away when you suddenly paused, feeling a strong instinct reverberate through your body.
König halted mid-step, curious about the sudden change in your expression as you charged toward him.
Gripping his wrist with both hands, you led him down a small hill and hid under the overhanging rocks. He tried to say something, but you shushed him. Vines jutted from the ground, overgrown and clinging to the underside of the rocks, helping to hide your location.
You could barely hear the conversation, but judging by the sound of hooves clicking against the ground and the mix of voices, it was a drove of Centaurs — quite far from their territory since the borders were closed. You weren’t sure why they were there, as they rarely stray from their area to patrol these regions. If they were venturing further south than usual, you suspected there was turmoil somewhere, either forcing them to relocate or sending them out on a hunt. However, centaurs typically hunt in the morning and in pairs, not in a large group.
You held König's arm tightly, hoping they wouldn’t come down the hill. Your pulse quickened at the terrible thought of them discovering your makeshift hideout. You didn’t want König to get hurt if a scuffle broke out.
As you glanced at König, he bristled, alert, his eyes flickering like flames in the dark. You stared at him, pressing a finger to your lips to signal silence and stillness.
“Don’t…” you whispered. He remained tense but didn’t move.
“Looks like someone left their wee basket in th' forest,” a voice called out, rough and raspy, as the sound of another pair of hooves approached.
“Take it. We need all the supplies we can get,” one of them said before they seemed to leave the area. It felt like an eternity had passed, though it was only seconds, when another voice rang out: “What’s this?” one of them asked, his voice clearer and much too close for comfort. Your heart skipped a beat as you dreaded what would come next, hoping to the gods above that they didn’t notice where you were hiding—
“It's just a flower, mate. Leave it.” An irritated scoff erupted from one of the Centaurs, followed by more rumbling as they moved away from the area.
You hesitated to come out of your hiding place, clinging to König. He seemed to be staring at you, his eyes filled with concern.
“What?” you asked. He held your gaze for a moment longer until you understood what he meant.
“It’s just a basket, König; I can make another,” you said, but he still looked devastated, his eyes a bit sullen.
“We can gather again. It’s no trouble,” you added slowly.
The forest fell silent again, apart from the rustling leaves and the wind whistling through the rocks. You waited a few heartbeats before releasing the vines. Only then did you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
When you finally emerged from your hiding spot and inspected the area where you had left, you discovered, as you suspected, that your basket of herbs was gone, and the grass around you was crushed, marked by hoofprints. You simply shrugged it off; it wasn't a significant loss as long as both of you were unharmed.
You noticed König kneeling on the ground, and when you took a peek, it was the flower you gave him, but it was trampled. He seemed stricken, and even if you placed a hand on his shoulder, his gaze was fixed on the crushed petals.
“It’s alright, König.” He turned sharply toward you, not in anger, but with a deep sense of grief, as if the little blossom held far more significance than you had realized. You almost smiled, not out of amusement, but in surprise at how deeply he seemed to care for something so small.
You glanced around at the chaos once more and shrugged your shoulders; there was nothing to do here since your belongings had been stolen.
“I guess it’s time to head back,” you said to him. But before you could start walking, he opened his arms to you. You blinked in surprise as he lifted you before you could protest.
“I can walk, you know,” you said, chuckling. However, the look in his eyes conveyed a different message as he squeezed your thigh, reminding you of what you two had been doing in between your tasks.
You could see a cheeky grin beneath the burlap, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
—
By morning, you had woven a new basket from your own vines, slightly smaller than the one you had taken. You told König you wouldn’t be long, then headed a little south toward the river you had visited a few nights ago.
You collected multiple items this time, from herbs for fevers to ones for gut health. You even paused by the moonblossoms, considering that although their petals were still closed, you could gather them and temporarily plant them by the gloomcaps in the cave until they bloomed. That was your plan — until a shiver ran down your spine, the odd sensation of being watched, followed by the sharp click of hooves behind you.
You immediately turned to look and saw one of the Centaurs from last night. He didn’t move closer; instead, he stayed where he was, a few feet away from you behind the tall grass, but you could see him clearly. His towering form stood out. He wasn’t as tall as König, but he still towered over the tallest stalks of grass.
He backed away a little further, as if to indicate that he meant you no harm.
“Mornin’ lass,” he greeted, your breath caught in your throat as you nodded back in return, your eyes wary and your pulse quickening. He eyes your basket for a brief moment before he speaks again.
“Strange place for a Sister tae be wanderin’ alone in these woods, so far frae the village,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Did nae one warn ye no’ tae stray?” His tone carried a patronizing lilt, and you bristled at his words.
You held the basket closer, fearing it would get stolen again and unsure of what to say. He raised his hand when he noticed vines slithering around you for protection.
“Ah meant nae harm, lass, jist passin’ through tae keep watch.” He chuckled as he stepped back, but your vines held fast. It was unwise to tangle with strangers, yet anger coursed hot through your veins.
“Why are you here anyway? You’re also far from home,” you said, but with a tremor in your tone. He tilted his head at you as if taken aback by your courage.
“There’s unrest up north. We’re here tae keep folks safe,” he said, briefly swiping a hand along the dagger at his side, one you hadn’t noticed until now. Before he fully turned away, he added one last warning:
“Best be careful in these parts of the woods, lass. There’s an auld creature that haunts this place. Half man, half beast. Best steer clear of it.” You squinted your eyes, unsure of what it meant, and didn’t know what to say. You only nodded, keeping yourself calm.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
He lingered for a moment longer, glancing at your basket again, before he turned and galloped away, disappearing past the thickets.
You waited until the hoofbeats faded before letting out the breath that had been stuck in your throat, relieved there hadn’t been a scuffle. But now you had to return to the cave earlier than planned.
Gathering the few remaining herbs you had been trying to organize, you used your vines to create a makeshift strap and slung the basket on your back before walking away, almost running, toward the cave.
“What a curious thing to utter,” you hissed, struggling to grasp the meaning behind that warning. Yet, as the Centaur’s words about the “beast” in the forest echoed in your mind, a sense of unease began to creep upon you.
Half-man, half-beast.
A creature of old, you recalled, piecing it together:
A creature of old resided in the depths of the dark woods, fierce and formidable, born of towering strength and strange, unnatural lineage, said to haunt the shadows and prey upon those who ventured too far from home.
The warnings from your childhood came rushing back — the cautionary tales your village spoke of to younglings for their own safety.
Bar your doors and windows, and fear the howl that rode the wind.
Half-man, half-beast.
Then it hit you — they were talking about König.
Anger coursed through you as you realized there was still fear disguised as hatred lurking in the hearts of many toward misunderstood creatures. It was sad that folk still saw others as beasts.
But knowing the creature himself — knowing König, and having seen firsthand how he had proven the rumours wrong…
“A beast?” you bitterly muttered under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. What beast is heartbroken when a flower is trampled? What beast tenderly holds you close, wrapping you in strong arms, uttering your name in a whisper so quiet it feels like a prayer uttered into the night? His size might intimidate, along with his strength and prowess, and yet no one had ever made you feel the way König made you feel, and no one ever would compare—
You gasped as warmth prickled against your skin. He was no beast, no creature of formidable lore — he was but a man, powerful yet misunderstood, lonely and isolated for centuries. The realization made your heart thrum, and a shiver of sensation pooled in your core.
You almost dropped the basket as memories of the past few days flooded your mind, a dizzying mix of longing, desire, and something more, something deeper than mere lust.
Before you could speak, you realized you were slipping through the small crack König had made when he pushed the slab of rock aside for you to enter the cave, then rolled it back in place.
He uttered your name with the sweetest lilt as he took the basket from you, placing it atop the cart with the others full of herbs. Before he could move away, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close, burying your face in his back.
He repeated your name as a question, as if to ask if you were alright. You didn’t want to share the details of the encounter, not because you feared him, but because you were worried about what he might do. You didn’t want others to learn about him or where he was hiding; if they already knew, you didn't want them to rally together and hunt him down.
He was too precious, nothing like the warnings you had heard; if he had terrorized the vicinity for centuries, you would’ve known as the pulse of the earth would warn you of his evil, but he exudes no such energy, no such malice. Rumours were just rumours.
König twisted in your grasp and lifted you higher in his arms, burying his covered face in your hair as he whispered words you didn’t understand.
You held him tighter, pressing his face against your chest. You chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all, at how ridiculous others’ perceptions of him were. You are a daughter of nature, a maiden attuned to the pulse of the earth, yet you would go to great lengths to protect him, and if anything went awry, you would shroud those who ever tried to harm him, ensnaring every single being nearby with your vines—
A sound escaped König’s mouth, and you didn’t realize you were smothering him until he pulled away for a breath of air, his eyes wide.
He cautiously said your name, and you apologized for getting lost in thought.
“Sorry, love,” you said with a cheeky smile, gently caressing his clothed face. He gazed into your eyes and noticed a look he hadn't seen before. He didn't recoil; instead, curiosity softened his expression. That intensity didn't frighten him; rather, it pulled him closer, making the air between you thrum with unspoken anticipation.
It was your last night together before you had to leave and return to the village. You had been away much longer than intended; while you would have loved to stay longer, you worried the Sisters might grow suspicious of your absence.
You carefully packed everything back into your cart, dividing the items into baskets for easier handoff. Most of them were for the apothecary, with one basket set aside for the healer living at the edge of the village.
König sat near the wall, eating his supper. He tore small pieces of cured meat, pulling his mask forward to tuck them into his mouth beneath.
After laying everything out, you helped wipe away the stray bits of grass and plant remnants that cluttered the table.
This was the part you disliked the most: returning to the village. But it was necessary. König was a secret you kept from others, and you intended to safeguard that secret.
When a shadow fell over you, you felt no fear, only a comforting presence.
König whispered your name with reverence as he played with the ends of your hair, then leaned in to inhale your scent while gently pulling you into a warm embrace.
“Stay?” he murmured into your hair. You placed your hand over his large hands.
“I would love to, but... I have to head back,” you replied, and he understood, though he didn’t let go for a while.
He slowly turned you around, and when you pulled away, it was only briefly; you both gazed into each other’s eyes, seeking the same answer, and you saw the sultry look that ignited a spark between you.
You felt a deep hunger within you, one that no food could satisfy. You craved something more primal, a visceral sensation that offered warmth and longing — something only he could provide.
You could see the gears turning in his mind, as if he were trying to recall the right words to say.
“Want… you,” he whispered, uncertain if he had spoken correctly. When your cheeks flushed, he repeated his words with more confidence:
“Want you.”
He placed you on top of the table, the height a tad lower than he preferred, but in that moment, he didn’t mind. He turned you around, positioning you on all fours. With a swift motion, he lifted your skirts, perhaps a bit too forcefully, and bunched them around your waist. All you could do was laugh and sigh as he pressed you down against the surface.
Before you could question his next move, you felt a soft, wet, pliant tongue licking your sensitive bud before he dragged it upward toward your entrance and gingerly pushed his tongue inside you.
You moaned out loud as he drank your sap, too lost in pleasure to hold back. His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider as his thumb swiped over your bud in steady, repetitive strokes.
It dawned on you that he had his face buried between your thighs, something you had only ever dreamt about. Your legs quivered as he sucked on your folds, the sounds so obscene you might have recoiled and shied away. Yet the way he feasted on you like a starving man receiving his first meal in years held you in place. You could not have pulled away even if you wanted to.
You whined when his tongue left your nethers, the edge of release slipping out of reach, though he gave you a few more languid licks before pulling back, but it still wasn’t enough.
You were already soaking wet, quivering, sap dripping down the edge of the table and onto the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him sit on his haunches before he gently pulled you onto his lap.
He felt like a furnace against your skin, the leather of his breeches drawn tight around his massive length. Once he untied and shucked them off, he lifted you without a moment’s pause. The crown caught at your entrance, and the needy, guttural sound of your name on his tongue made your breath hitch as he eased you down, slow and steady, until he was buried fully inside you.
Every press of his hips and every slow drag of his cock against your walls ignited a fire inside you. He caged you in, rutting deep into your core, and all you could do was cry out and surrender to the wave of pleasure consuming you.
There had to be something wrong with you, for no matter how many times you took him, your body still hungered for more. And he was just as willing to give again, and again.
He sank so deep that his shape rose faintly beneath your skin. You touched that place, and he twitched within you, pulling a moan from your throat.
Each movement was slow yet deliberate, your body moulding around him as every thrust made that bulge rise again. Your thighs bracketed his, dangling on either side, as he lifted your hips without effort and pressed you down, savouring the way your walls clenched around him.
He trailed one hand from your hips down between your thighs, spreading your sap over your sensitive bud. The reaction was immediate. Your body sang with pleasure as he finally pushed you over the edge.
“F–Fuck!” You cried out, clamping down around his generous girth and feeling so utterly full. You tried to push his hand away from your clit, but he did not relent. He kept thrusting up into you with a pace that grew harder, jarring your bones.
“K–König! Wai—” your voice broke into a silent scream as he willed your body into another orgasm, your release nearly pushing him out as you gushed sap down his thighs.
“Fuck…” he muttered in a breathy exhale, echoing your own words. His grip tightened as he held you close, rising to his feet and turning toward the furs.
As he lay you down, the bedding sank beneath his weight while he hovered above your smaller frame. Your hair fanned out across the furs, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still trembled with need. He leaned down to nuzzle your cheek before trailing lower, his clothed face grazing over your bosom.
His blue eyes met yours, and he spoke in his foreign tongue, posing a question as if seeking your permission. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, and although you didn't understand his meaning, you nodded anyway, intrigued to see what he would do next.
He brushed his hands upwards until he held the strings to untie your top, carefully unwrapping the linen and pushing it aside to reveal your breasts.
König pulled the burlap mask forward, letting the hem fall against one of your breasts as he bent down. His tongue flicked over your nipple, rolling the peak, and a sharp gasp escaped you. His free hand kneaded your other mound, teasing the sensitive flesh until you trembled beneath him.
You barely registered him pulling away to slip your skirts off for easier access, your mind still hazy with euphoria, every nerve alight and craving more.
Moments later, he lifted your hips to press his face against your core, the mask shifted just enough to reveal a hint of alabaster skin before he delved his tongue into you.
Your body arched instinctively, head pressing against the pillows as shivers of pleasure rolled through you. Warmth pooled between your thighs as you gasped and whimpered while he lapped at you with deliberate, hungry attentiveness, murmuring low praises that made you mute. Each flick and glide of his tongue drew a moan from deep within you, and you could feel him drinking you in with fervent intensity.
By the time he finally pulled back, your body was trembling and slick, utterly undone, and he rose to his knees, pulling you flush against his hips once more. Your bodies pressed together, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each press and glide matched in hungry synchrony, the air around you thick with heat and the dizzying scent of desire.
He grabbed the base of his cock, the tip weeping and dripping onto your mons, and entered you in one slow, deep thrust, stretching you to your limit. The sensation alone was too much, cumming instantly from being filled once more.
You clung to him desperately as his gentle demeanour wavered, and his grip tightened around your waist. His fingers left bruising divots in your skin. Your body was alight, limp and spent, lying there and surrendering to him. You reached for his wrists, as if to tell him to slow down, but you were just as lost as he was.
König moaned your name like a prayer, bottoming out and holding until the pressure made you burst again, tears spilling down your cheeks from overstimulation.
“Too much,” you whimpered as his hands left your hips to wrap around you, pulling you close while still being careful not to crush you with his full weight.
“More…” he moaned, thrusting in short, deep strokes, and you could only wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer while clinging to him for dear life. He nudged that spot inside you again and again, willing you to cum.
“More…” he repeated, his voice strained, and your trembling only worsened. “I can’t—I can’t, König, it’s too much—” you mewled, pleading, but he nosed at your cheek and repeated the word again: “More.” You could only whimper as he kept an unrelenting pace, certain it was impossible to give him anything more.
Then he slowed, sliding one hand between you, his thumb swiping over the sensitive nub with deliberate precision. The gentle pressure, paired with the steady glide of his cock, drew another shattering orgasm from you as your chest arched into his, mouth agape in another silent scream.
Before long, his pace grew messy and his control slipped, and with one final, deep thrust, his cock twitched, spilling his seed deep inside you, leaving you utterly sated and trembling in the aftershocks of pleasure.
The air around you was thick with desire. Vision blurred, he held you close, softening slowly inside and twitching occasionally with the last remnants of his release.
You did not even realize you had fallen asleep, exhausted, limp, and spent, until you woke in the middle of the night to find König had rolled you on top of him, both of you pressed together on his chest, completely passed out. He did not stir when you shifted, just as boneless as you, and you gazed at the two dark voids where his eyes should be, the inky tone around them almost blending with the darkness of the burlap.
You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to where you thought his lips were, before letting yourself drift back to sleep, warm and safe in his arms.
You left König's dwelling in the early hours of the morning, just before the sun began to rise over the horizon.
As you both stood near the entrance, your touch lingered longer than it had before, and a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you as he held your hand. You drew him down into a warm embrace, pressing your lips against his clothed cheek, and then, lowering slightly, you placed a tender kiss to where his lips should be beneath the burlap mask.
He didn’t want to let you go just yet, his large arms enveloping you in a tender hug. You inhaled his scent: an earthy aroma with a faint trace of yourself, and blushed at the thought that you must have left some residue on his skin from the previous night.
When he finally set you back down, you conjured up four stalks of lilac, tying the stems together with a small vine before handing them to him.
The promise of your return lingered in the air. As you carried the baskets away, you turned to look at König, who gave you a small wave. Although he looked a bit despondent, he didn’t seem as sad as he was when you first left.
—
It took you some time to reach the village border, as you had to stop and eat a few berries to regain your strength. You planned to make a quick visit to the local healer to get your ankle checked, using it as an excuse before returning home. You wanted to avoid people questioning the peculiar way you were walking.
As you entered her hut, the beads and shells hanging by the door chimed softly. The old woman looked up and greeted you with a gentle smile. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if she could see something beyond your limp — perhaps a hint of longing or affection in your gaze. There was also a playful glint in her eyes that you found somewhat unsettling.
“How are you, my dear? Is everything going well?” she asked, preparing a concoction for your ankle. You shrugged at her words, replying that you were fine, but her gaze lingered longer, her eyes squinting as her smile remained unchanged.
You sensed she didn’t wish to pry, but a soft giggle escaped her lips. “You seem... happier,” she remarked, her smile widening like a friend who had caught wind of some delightful gossip.
“Is that so?” you said, giving yourself a quick once-over as if dusting off your skirts and linen shirt. Surely, there was nothing that would betray what you had been up to, unless you showed her the faint fingerprints König had left on your hips after gripping them a touch too tightly the night before. You tried to recall each place he had pressed his lips against yours, and there were none on your neck, where they would be obvious. He had to lift the burlap mask to reach your breasts, and that brief glimpse of his lower face had been the first and only time you’d seen it—
That realization made your heart flutter. His piercing blue eyes were familiar, but the rest — his mouth, the curve of his jaw — mainly remained a mystery. You found yourself tracing that fleeting glimpse in your mind, wishing you could press every kiss you had ever longed for against lips mostly hidden.
The old woman saw the change in your expression and let out a joyful, teasing laugh. Her eyes glowed faintly green — non-threatening, yet knowing — and you realized she could sense something, a faint trace of another magic clinging to your skin.
Before you could defend yourself, she waddled to the corner and retrieved a salve, a slim bottle with a bluish sheen. She handed it to you, still grinning.
“Might want to apply this to your vulva when you return to your sweetheart,” she said matter-of-factly, and you felt your cheeks flush as you stammered, realizing the implication of her words.
“Wh—I—There’s no one—“ The old woman raised her hand to still you, clearly amused by your flustered state.
Panic set in as you tried to justify that you had merely been out gathering herbs, which was true but also a half-lie; you and König could hardly keep your hands off each other like lovestruck younglings.
She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, drawing you back to the present. Her smile remained steadfast. “It’s alright, dear. No need to feel shame. It is the sign of the times. Folks are changing—the world’s changing.” She gestured with her hands as she sauntered back to the table.
“You can love whoever you want,” she said, regarding you as she ran her fingers over a necklace that flickered briefly from an iridescent white to obsidian.
She continued to prepare the healing ointment for your ankle as if she hadn’t just read your thoughts like an open book.
You looked at her, curious about how she knew, but she seemed to read your mind and simply shrugged. “It’s in the eyes, my dear. They reveal what’s in your heart.”
You had not realized how easy you were to read, but with her healer’s intuition, she gave you some comforting words:
“You’re alright, darling. You’re safe here,” she assured you, yet you remained unconvinced despite her soothing tone. You knew she was mainly neutral; she would never betray your trust, but anxiety gnawed at you nonetheless.
She placed the wooden pestle down and approached you again as you held your breath. You towered over her by a few inches, trying to remain calm, though your pulse quickened in your ears.
She tilted her head, studying your face, and you nearly flinched when she lifted her hand to brush your hair aside, tucking it gently behind your ear.
“Your petals and leaves are in full bloom—such an otherworldly beauty. No wonder someone of that nature is taken with you,” she remarked, a playful wink accompanying her words. You squinted your eyes, blushing at the compliment but also puzzled by her meaning. She didn’t elaborate further and returned to get your salve.
With you seated upon the bed, she knelt before you, gently massaging the salve into your skin. A sense of discomfort washed over you; you could have managed this task alone without her kneeling before you in a manner akin to a mother tending to her child. When you attempted to protest, she merely tutted and continued to fuss over you, unfazed.
“Thank you…Um, I gathered some herbs for you whilst I was out,” you offered, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face, realizing you should have mentioned this sooner. You placed the basket by her table, poised to take your leave, when she called your name.
“When do you plan to return to him?” she inquired, and you froze at her words. Yet she smiled warmly, as if she could see right through you.
You stammered again before you found your voice: “I’m not certain…The Sunbasking is but a few days away; the Sisters expect me to join them,” you replied, watching her nod in understanding.
“I see. Should you find your way back, I shall need more supplies—help an old woman out, dear?” she said, and you blinked at her, striving to return her smile, albeit shyly.
