oh my god please please please werewolf ldb in heat again but with Farkas......,....... I will literally give you my left ankle i did not know this was a thing I needed in my life until now. new kink unlocked fr
nsft - explicit sexual content. minors should not read or engage with this post in any way. unprotected sex, omegaverse dynamics (heat, slick, mating, etc).
no gender or anatomy specified for LDB.
Everything is too warm, too close. It's like they can't get quite get a full breath. The Dragonborn can hardly walk, relieved that most of their peers are out on missions and can't see them. They'd been so foolish, too swept up in the excitement of the Companions and joining the Inner Circle to properly track their cycle.
Something familiar and inviting invades their nose. Arousal blasts through whatever thought they'd been forming as they chase that high, carelessly hustling through Jorrvaskr in search of relief. Their skin prickles with the slightest gust of air, simple clothes more stimulation than they can stomach.
Of course. Farkas' room is blessedly empty and for one fleeting moment the Dragonborn is quite guilty for finding relief of this sort in his belongings. That clarity is swept away with the next inhale, his scent perfectly soothing their neediness. This fucking heat has stolen their capacity to think, nothing remaining other than the incessant horniness.
His bed is wonderful. Soft blankets and fluffy pillows that are drenched in Farkas' smell. They curl into his plush bedding and swear that it's only to take a nap. Despite the arousal pounding through every inch of their body they certainly aren't going to do anything else.
It must be an accident that they've grabbed the shirt lazily tossed across his bedside table. The Dragonborn is too dazed to feel truly guilty over Farkas' pillow being placed between their thighs. The contact isn't enough but it's far better than nothing.
Their hips shift but that heat keeps building. Not enough. It's horribly embarrassing but their hips continue bucking into Farkas' pillow desperately wishing it was him between their thighs.
Farkas is fucking exhausted. With his brother at his side the pair shuffle through Jorrvaskr in search of rest. Maybe a drink if he bugs Vilkas enough to share a bottle. Their joint assignment had been a success but Farkas is fairly sure he'll need to sleep for days in order to recover.
"Yeah, and if you -"
The instant his bedroom door opens something in Farkas shifts. There's a scent - arousing, musky, something that heats his blood in an instant. Farkas hasn't even fully registered the sight of the Dragonborn writhing in his bed before he's shoving his brother. A feral possessiveness steals his sense, previous exhaustion banished because Vilkas can fucking see them.
"Get out." He snaps, maddened by the thought of anyone else seeing them like this. The Dragonborn's hips rut into his pillow, his favorite shirt clutched shamelessly to their nose. Farkas locks the door, eyes rolling back as he's surrounded with the scent he finally recognizes as theirs.
"You're in heat." He states, tongue sliding over his teeth. Once again his body's working faster than his mind, cock already hardening under his trousers.
"I'm sorry," they sob into his shirt but their hips don't pause. Farkas' jaw tightens, gums pulsing with the instinct to bite. "I'm so sorry to bother you. I forgot what day it was."
"What do you need?" He must control himself. Farkas keeps his back pressed firmly to the door, a sick sense of desire stealing through him as the Dragonborn clumsily rolls onto their front. Their knees bend, ass so high in the air and Farkas is sure his heart stops beating.
"Need you," they whimper, back arching as if they're hell bent on enticing him. Farkas stumbles closer, kicking his boots across the room and wrenching off his shirt. He watches their fingers trail through the mess of their inner thighs, skin pink and begging to be bitten.
Farkas sucks in a deep breath as he cautiously kneels on his own bed. Two fingers trail up their inner thigh and Farkas watches the Dragonborn shiver. Something animalistic within him purrs at the sight of their slick dripping down his fingers. So wet. All for him.
"Tell me what you want." Farkas forces himself to clarify. Their hips wiggling back in search of his touch is more than an answer but he must hear the words.
"I need you, Farkas." The Dragonborn pants into his pillows, one hand reaching blindly toward him. "Need you to fuck me, please -"
He can't think anymore. The Dragonborn's words melt into a moan once his fingers sink into them. It's easy, their muscles pulsing around his digits as if they're already about to orgasm. Farkas nearly faints at the thought of them fingering themself in his bed and huffing his scent from his shirt.
He retains enough presence of mind to work them open. Slowly, thoroughly. Farkas tries to not derive too much pleasure from the way they're panting his name like a prayer. Even when the Dragonborn whines that his fingers aren't enough he stays in place. Farkas refuses to harm them even if his cock's beginning to hurt. His free hand grinds against it for a sliver of relief, eyes too busy devouring the sight of his fingers fucking into the Dragonborn.
"Please, please Farkas." They can't take it anymore. His fingers feel far better than their own but the arousal is burning. "Please fuck me, I need you."
His fingers slide out and they regret asking. A horrible emptiness leaves them whining, fat tears sliding down the Dragonborn's face. They've experienced heats before but not this intense, never before has it left them so thoroughly ruined. Farkas' soft lips trail up their back as strong hand hold their hips steady, his touch a balm against the heat simmering in their veins.
That last bit of restraint snaps. Farkas' cock slides so easily into their body and it's utter bliss. Their limbs quiver, orgasm stealing their voice as sheer pleasure jolts through their body. Farkas' warm hands and soft voice, the familiar scent, his cock throbbing exactly where they need him. It's all too good.
"You came from me putting it in?" They can't even be embarrassed by the teasing in his voice. "Haven't even done anything yet." Farkas' hands keep their hips upright, ass pressed firmly to his pelvis. The Dragonborn nods, drooling into Farkas' pillow because he feels right.
"D'you need me to be gentle?"
"No." They groan, unable to verbalize how badly they want anything but gentleness. They want Farkas to fuck them into this mattress, to breed them until his cum's dripping down their thighs.
He's better than any fantasy. Farkas' cock hits every place that turns their body into a writhing mess. The Dragonborn doesn't have the capacity to think about the way their needy moans of his name or pleads for his cock could echo down Jorrvaskr's hallways. Nothing exists other than Farkas.
He's less reckless than expected. A steady, sure rhythm of his cock fucking every thought from their brain. The perfect remedy for this monstrous arousal within them. Farkas' hips slap lewdly against their ass but shame was forgotten around the time they started humping his pillows.
They hope the shape of his hands are forever imprinted on their hip. He keeps them upright, fucking them through orgasm after orgasm but they're insatiable. Their slick and his cum coat their thighs but they can't get enough. The heat should have settled by now but their arousal is seemingly endless. It must be him.
Strong fingers twist into the back of their hair. Farkas guides their face into his pillow. Yes. Gleefully they follow his wordless instruction, hips rutting back against his. Farkas' breath comes out in short little pants and despite the handful of orgasms he hasn't slowed down. His lips fall to their back, up their spine, cock fully buried in them.
Sharp teeth graze over their shoulder and that alone is enough to wring another orgasm from them. The Dragonborn is a whimpering, sweaty mess but they recognize where his kisses are leading.
God yes. Bite me, mate me, make me yours. Yours, yours, all yours forever.
He's going to claim them. Farkas is going to make them his mate. They've never spent too much time worrying about finding a partner but this is Farkas. The Dragonborn is nodding before he even speaks, agreeing without a second thought.
"We can stop here if you want." Farkas whispers the words against the nape of their neck. His tongue slides over sharp teeth once more and he sucks in another lungful of their pheromones. He feels the Dragonborn tighten around his cock and they whine.
"Yours," they whimper, a hand slapping over his to keep it on their head. That possessive beast within Farkas roars to life at the sight. "Claim me, Farkas. Make me yours."
summary: Poor werewolf boys experiencing a rut. Luckily the Dragonborn is willing to offer relief <3
no gender or anatomy specified for Dragonborn.
warnings: explicit sexual content - minors should not read or engage with this post in any way. Omegaverse themes - rut/heat, pheremones/scent, etc.
feat: Vilkas, Farkas
original request from rut anon here
Vilkas is snappier than usual. He's tried to clamp down on it but he can't quit snarking at people for harmless remarks. They're too loud, too close, all of their smells too strong. Jorrvaskr is his home but like clockwork, every few months it becomes suffocating.
He's experienced this dozens of times. He knows what to do. But even after hours locked in his chambers that stubborn flame of arousal refuses to die. Vilkas' cock is sore but it still throbs in his hand, insistent and needy as if he hasn't wasted an entire afternoon jerking off.
It's because they're here. With their soft skin and alluring scent. They've disrupted his internal rhythm. Before the Dragonborn's arrival Vilkas could anticipate every change in his hormones, able to suppress the ruts with meticulous planning. Now he's reduced to nothing more than the young man he'd once been, ruled by his body's cycle. They've ruined him.
How long has he been clenching his teeth? Vilkas relents, pain zinging up his jaw with the movement. He scrubs at his face but the pain does little to distract from the instinctual twitch of his hips. Like they're searching for contact. Thinking of the Dragonborn had been a mistake.
Vilkas has never felt it before - not with such ferocity. The urge to fuck, to bite, to claim. Their friendship is barely more than coworkers but Vilkas can't shake the urge to sink his teeth in. To bend the Dragonborn over his bed, to feel them squirm while taking his cock, and bite until his scent is forever twined with theirs.
He's insatiable. Vilkas brings himself to orgasm once more but it's fucking useless. He's still hopelessly horny. Sweaty sheets stick to his back as he forces himself to stand. On wobbly legs Vilkas laces his trousers, grumbling to himself about needing to bathe. He should get out of town for a while, head down to where the river deepens. Cold water and silence may help regain composure.
Something in him tightens before the door fully opens. Vilkas takes a cautious step back but is too slow to hold his breath. The Dragonborn stares up at him with flushed cheeks, their delicious scent already invading his mind.
"What're you -" he mumbles, bracing a hand on the doorframe. Vilkas nearly buckles as the Dragonborn steps into his bedchambers. Waves of arousal are battering at his already weakened control. They're concerned, hands so wonderfully warm where they cup the clammy skin of his face.
"Sorry I, I wanted to check on you." Something as simple as their voice already has him melting. Vilkas can't contain the groan in his chest, forcing his eyes to the ground. He's sick, a depraved monster that they should flee from.
"I'm fine." He lies, salivating at the sensation of the Dragonborn's fingers curling around his jaw. They're staring up at him with an intensity that only fuels the need burning through his self control. Vilkas grits his teeth once more and struggles to form a plan. He must not harm them.
"You, you're so -" they stutter, eyes fluttering closed. Vilkas wrenches back but the Dragonborn follows him, taunting him with their proximity.
"You should get outta here." Vilkas is nearly moaning the words because the Dragonborn's nose is on his throat. There's a brazen inhale against his skin and that urge shreds all common sense - bite them.
"I want to help you." The Dragonborn whispers against his skin. Vilkas feels their body slide closer. He's at war with himself - he should tell them to run but they're kicking the door closed. He should handle this himself but the Dragonborn is here, looking at him with such blatant lust.
Vilkas has always been weak. The years of training and practice mean nothing when the Dragonborn's teeth clamp on his bottom lip. Instinct is the only thing that remains and Vilkas can repress his want no longer.
They taste divine. Somehow better than Vilkas had imagined. He finally feels a sense of relief only when they're mewling under him, gripping the bedsheets while Vilkas fucks them like his life depends on it. Sweat pours down his back and his hips are terribly sore but he can't think of that now, his brain consumed with the pulsating heat of the Dragonborn around his cock.
Can he even orgasm again? Vilkas isn't certain. He came too many times fucking his own hand but that doesn't stop the selfish way his hips thrust into the Dragonborn. It's the first bit of relief he's felt in days and somewhere deep down Vilkas is terrified of how easy it would be to get addicted. He's had partners during ruts before but this is something new, heightened to perfection purely because it's them.
It's difficult to keep his teeth clenched. The curve of their shoulder, delicate nape of their neck, their scent enveloping his chambers, it's all too tempting. He catches their hand running through their hair, clearing it away from the very place Vilkas is desperately trying to ignore.
"Knock it off." His attempt to sound stern fails as another weak, barely there orgasm steals his breath.
"Knock what off?" Their false innocence does not fool him. Vilkas hunches over the Dragonborn, cock throbbing where it's buried so deep within them.
"I know what you're hinting at." He seethes, indulging in a whiff of their pheromones. It ignites something dangerous and possessive in him. "I won't do it."
Farkas can't seem to figure it out, this itch that refuses to be scratched. He ate breakfast and lunch, practiced with his blade until his muscles nearly gave out, took a nap, and ran a lap around Whiterun. What more does his body want from him? He's given it food, water, and exercise - the only things it's ever craved but that itching sensation remains. Like there's something tapping at the back of his brain just out of reach. It's maddening.
He's left pacing through Jorrvaskr's lower halls, watching the rhythm of his feet as if the answer will suddenly present itself. He's filled all of his body's needs but his back is too tense, his senses heightened as if anticipating an attack. Has it been too long since he saw battle? It's been a little over a week since his last mission, the bloodlust has never gripped again so soon.
Something enticing tickles at his senses. Thoughtlessly Farkas follows his nose, excited by the prospect of finally finding what his body is so sure it needs. He rounds a corner and stills, suddenly too aware of what it all means.
The Dragonborn stares up at him, pausing where they've gathered their hair back. Their face looks a bit flushed and Farkas is vaguely aware of his heart racing. Arousal leaps through his body, stealing all rational sense.
Oh, he thinks. It's that.
"Hey big guy." They greet him with a smile that steals his heart. Farkas feels a bit guilty for the sudden urge to bend his friend over the nearest surface and fuck them senseless. He's never been too good at keeping track of these things but they've always been relatively easy for him to handle.
It's never felt like this. Farkas struggles to remain calm as his body seems to heat from sharing a room with them. The need climbs through him with every rapid beat of his heart until he's nearly salivating at the sight of the Dragonborn unfastening their armor.
It's like he can't breathe. Normal air isn't enough. Farkas takes one accidental step closer to them, nearly tripping over his own feet. The Dragonborn's little laugh sends his mind spiraling into a stream of fantasies of how his name would sound on their tongue.
"You alright?" They ask when his face is planted in their shoulder. Farkas nods, too busy filling his lungs with their scent to respond properly. His Dragonborn sounds quite nice. Farkas smiles to himself, glad to feel a playful hand ruffle his hair.
"Lemme help you." His offer is entirely selfish. Farkas is salivating at the warm skin under his lips. They're nodding, guiding his hands to the buckles of their armor.
Farkas can control himself. He reminds himself of this as the Dragonborn's armor falls to the floor, allowing him to fully indulge in their smell. Their scent, their sweat, all of it so perfectly scratches the itch that's eluded him for days. His hips rut against their backside, cock twitching and leaking from the slightest contact.
It all moves so fast, so easy. The fluid movement of the Dragonborn's hands in his hair, their lips on his, their tongue in his mouth. He falls to the floor, dragging the Dragonborn with him. Farkas can't bother moving to the bed. He can't think about anything other than being inside them.
"Farkas," they pant into his mouth and he nearly collapses atop them. The Dragonborn's legs are a vice around his waist, hips raised just enough. It's almost too easy to fuck them, to drown himself in their scent.
"Yeah?" He rasps, barely recognizing that they want his attention. His vision is blurry but Farkas focuses, trying to listen. His thrusts slow, cock grinding needily into the Dragonborn.
"D'you want this?" There's something like fear in their eyes that makes his heart drop. "Or was I just the closest person when your - y'know, hormones hit."
"I want you." Farkas' face is buried in their throat, teeth scraping against skin he longs to bite. He knows that it's wrong, that he shouldn't be confessing his love while restraining himself from claiming them, but he can't help it. Something in his soul demands them.
"Only you." Their fingers tighten in his hair as his thrusts pick up again, that animalistic urge overtaking him. Farkas fucks into his Dragonborn until they're a moaning mess, fairly certain he's already orgasmed but he can't tell. The pounding arousal doesn't relent.
He can't stop. Even when he's coated in sweat and certainly dehydrated Farkas can't stop fucking them. He licks up their spine, cock twitching as he slides back into his Dragonborn. They're still so eager in his hold, so vocal that Farkas can't bear to tear himself away.
His Dragonborn. All his. Farkas doesn't realize he's muttering it into their shoulder, his body folded over theirs as if he can consume them. Is he dreaming? It feels too heavenly to be real, to have the Dragonborn moaning his name and pleading for his touch.
"Mine," Farkas gasps into the sensitive skin of their throat, nearly drunk on their pheromones. "All mine."
hello tumblr would anyone be particularly interested if i tried writing some skyrim fanfiction? ive had an idea involving making farkas transgender for a while and i want to know if anyone would actually read it lol
𓃦(Y/N) has grown up in Jorrvaskr with Farkas since being rescued by The Companions. Slowly, as (Y/N) grows up, she notices Farkas grow cold and distant. When they are sent away on a mission together, (Y/N) learns why he has become so distant... It's the wolf inside of him that wants her, and he's been fighting it for longer than she knows.𓃦
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Life in Skyrim was short.
So short that (Y/N) remembered every aspect of it, even before joining The Companions.
She was a nord, the daughter of traders and treasure hunters with a vagabond lifestyle that would rival a wandering khajiit trader. There was never a time in which (Y/N) ever walked through a door and called the room inside her home.
The home of the (L/N) dynasty was under the stars. Though it wasn’t much, it was enough for the ignorance of (Y/N)’s heart, for she knew no walls save the mountains that watched the roads, and no ceiling save the endless vault of heaven strewn with stars. The turning of the seasons was her inheritance, and every winding path seemed not to lead her away from home, but ever deeper into it.
That was until they wandered into a cave that had no light, and when the light came, it was a cruel radiance that spilled from the depths like the awakening of something that had long been left undisturbed.
It came for the souls of her parents.
There was no cry that reached her, no farewell carried upon the stale air. The young (Y/N) was left alone in the coldness of the cave, left with all the treasure that a trader would pay a hefty sum of gold for.
Then one night, when (Y/N) had grown hungry and tired from listening to tales from the bandits that had made their home in the cave, they came.
There was bloodshed. More bloodshed than the mountain had swallowed in a hundred winters. The steel of greatswords colliding with shields caused the cave to shake. Firelight danced around screams that were cut short almost as soon as they rang.
Curled into the narrow crevice where she had hidden for days, (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, yet she could not escape the dreadful symphony. Boots thundered past her hiding place, allowing her the simple peace of thinking she was invisible.
Then, a lone figure appeared. Broad shouldered, with armor she had only seen on royal hunters. Suddenly, the figure paused before the cleft in the stone, right where (Y/N) was hiding.
"Come out," a deep voice said with a gruff. "There are no wolves left in this den."
(Y/N) did not move, choosing to cover her face with her arms as though they would shield her from his greatsword.
The figure then knelt, though the wolfskin draped across his shoulders still brushed the stone. His beard was silver as frost upon the pines, and the years had carved deep lines into his face, yet there was nothing of the brigand in his eyes. He looked upon her as one might regard a frightened fawn caught alone before winter.
“And who might you be?”
(Y/N) did not respond, but held her face tighter.
"Kodlak! The cave's clear." Another voice rang from deeper in the cave.
"See to the wounded. We'll be along shortly." He returned in the same gruff voice. But the man called Kodlak did not turn his gaze from the shivering child.
His companions moved away, their footsteps fading until only the old warrior remained.
"You've been here some time."
(Y/N) did not move.
"Hungry?"
(Y/N) then nodded, removing her arms from her face which earned her a smile from the old warrior who unfastened a small leather pouch from his belt. He pulled out a coarse heel of bread and a strip of dried venison. He set them upon the stone between them before easing back a step.
For the past month, (Y/N) had been eating the cold scraps and crumbs left from the bandits. It had been some time in which she had a meal.
"I'm not asking you to trust me. Trust isn't given because a man asks for it."
“Then why are you giving me food?” (Y/N) asked from her hiding spot.
"Because no child should have to wonder whether her next meal comes from thieves."
The small and frail (Y/N) hesitated before inching forward. Her fingers trembled as she snatched the bread, retreating into the crevice as though expecting him to seize her.
But he did not.
He simply waited while she ate. When she had finished, Kodlak rose to his feet and held out a weathered hand.
"My name is Kodlak Whitemane. You've nowhere left to go, have you?"
“No.” (Y/N) answered softly to his gentle question.
"Then come with me."
"Where?"
"To Jorrvaskr. There you'll find warm food, a roof that doesn't leak, and folk who know that strength isn't measured by the weight of a sword alone," He answered with a softened expression. “But you must first answer my question?”
(Y/N) looked at him with a confused look but took his hand.
“What is your name?” he asked.
And this time, she answered.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Kodlak carried her out of the cave, for her legs were too frail to walk. (Y/N) hugged onto him, as though if she let go then she would fall back into the cave.
Outside, the night air was sharp and clean, causing (Y/N) to take a huge gasp. A short distance away, torches burned in a loose ring where the Companions had made camp. Horses stamped softly at the edge of the firelight. Steel was being cleaned and wounds were being bound from their onslaught.
A young man stood near one of the horses, adjusting the saddle with the impatient strength of someone still growing into his own power. His hair was as dark as the night and he had war paint on his eyes that made him look tired. Even then, he was broad-shouldered and large—Farkas looked up when Kodlak approached.
“Kodlak,” he said, nodding as he looked between the girl that held onto the older warrior.
“We’ll be moving soon.” Kodlak responded.
Farkas glanced toward the cave entrance, where smoke still drifted lazily from the dying torches within. “No survivors?”
“None worth leaving behind,” Kodlak answered. “But this one’s coming with us.”
Farkas straightened slightly. “With us? To Jorrvaskr?”
“Aye.”
There was a brief silence. It was not judgment, just a short stint of confusion but alas, the one named Farkas decided to trust the older warrior who had years of experience above him.
Kodlak stepped a little closer to the horse Farkas was preparing. “She’ll ride in front of you. She’s not used to horses or people either . You’ll go slow. Keep her steady.”
Farkas looked down at the girl again who now stood properly this time. She didn’t look at him at first, only at the horse who seemed large and grand though scary at the same time. Maybe if she looked for too long, they would all turn into monsters.
Then, after some time, she did look up.
“Aye,” he said at last, giving a short nod. “I can do that.”
Kodlak gave a faint, approving hum. “Good.”
He placed a hand briefly on Farkas’ shoulder as he passed, a silent passing of responsibility more than command. Then, softer he whispered.
“Take care with her. The world has already been too sharp.”
Farkas didn’t answer with words. Instead, he went over to the horse loosened the reins, and held out a hand, not quite as gentle as Kodlak’s, but careful enough.
“Come on, then,” he said. “I’ll get you to a safer place.”
And (Y/N) stepped forward and Farkas leaned down, hooking his hands beneath her arms and lifting her onto the horse as though she weighed no more than a bundle of hay.
(Y/N) became stiff at her new found hight and her hands shot out to grip the pommel of the saddle until her knuckles went pale.
"Easy," Farkas said, swinging up behind her. "Horse won't buck. Not with Kodlak's lot around to hear it complain."
Something inside her loosened and she waited for them to move. The rest of the warriors gathered themselves in the dark as they attached their belongings and loot to their horses. . Kodlak rode near the front, though he glanced back more than once to where Farkas held the reins with the girl tucked against him.
They rode through the night. (Y/N) didn't sleep, though her eyes grew heavy more than once. She watched the mountains pass, their vast shoulders lost to the night, black upon black beneath a sky thick with stars like cold fire scattered across the dome of the world.
For the first time in a month, she did not feel the cold quite so sharply, wedged as she was between Farkas' arms and the warmth of the horse beneath her.
"You've got a name," Farkas said at some point, not quite a question.
"(Y/N)," she said, so quiet he nearly missed it over the wind.
"Farkas." He said simply before speaking again. "That's my brother's tunic you're eyeing, by the way. Vilkas won't be pleased I let a stranger stare at his stitching."
She hadn't been looking at anyone's tunic. But she looked up at him anyway, confused, and caught the corner of his mouth twitch, not quite a smile, but close enough that some of the tightness in her chest eased.
They came upon Whiterun as dawn was breaking over the plains, and the first pale light of morning lay like silvered mist upon the grasslands, stirring faintly in the breath of the wind. Far off, the city rose upon its ancient stone. (Y/N) had seen cities before, from a distance, always at the edge of some trade road with her parents pointing out which gate offered the fairest tolls. She had never ridden through one at the head of a company of warriors, never had guards on the wall call down greetings to the man riding beside her.
"Companions return!" someone shouted from above, and the gate groaned open before they'd even slowed.
As they entered the city, (Y/N) watched as market stalls were just beginning to open, the smell of sweet rolls from a bakery, a blacksmith already hammering away despite the early hour. And then, at the top of the hill, stood Jorrvaskr.
Farkas brought the horse to a stop in the yard below the mead hall's weathered steps. "Here we are," he said, and swung down first before lifting her off after him, setting her feet on solid ground.
Kodlak dismounted nearby, stretching the ride from his back before crossing to them. Companions filed past in twos and threes, some casting curious glances at the small girl standing stiff and silent beside Farkas, but none of them lingered on it.
"This way," Kodlak said, and started up the steps.
(Y/N) hesitated, until Farkas' hand settled briefly, lightly pushing her to follow the older warrior.
The doors of Jorrvaskr opened onto warmth and firelight and the low murmur of voices, long tables scarred by years of blades and tankards, the smell of mead and roasting meat thick in the air. It was louder and stranger than anything she'd known, and for a moment she stood still in the doorway.
“Come along,” Kodlak said. “We need to get some meat on your bones before we start training you.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Winters came and passed at Jorrvaskr, and (Y/N) was no longer cold. She now had blankets and a bed she found every night. She had grown taller and stronger with calluses that had grown on her palms from Farkas’ relentless drilling.
He was not much older than she, she would come to learn. Though he was stronger and faster and was in the circle.
She was no longer the frail fawn Kodlak had carried out of that cave, but a warrior who could hold a sword steady and could even hold her own against Aela, her shield sister.
The training yard behind Jorrvaskr had become as familiar to her as her family's old wagon once was. Sun-warmed dirt, the clang of practice blades, Aela's dry commentary from the sidelines, Vilkas' needling. It was home now, in the way the mountains once had been.
But Farkas had changed.
Not all at once of course, but she couldn't point to the day it started. It had crept in slowly, the way frost creeps up a window pane before you notice the whole thing's gone white.
Where he'd once ruffled her hair or tossed her an apple from the kitchens, now he mostly just nodded. Where he'd once lingered to talk after sparring, now he ended their sessions quickly, already turning for the mead hall before she'd caught her breath.
But to her, he had always seemed as steadfast as the mountains. Even as he grew to be the man every tale promised he would become. He was now as broad as Gildergreen, strong enough to split a shield with a single stroke, his laughter capable of filling the great hall when it escaped him.
Perhaps that was why her heart, foolish and unbidden, had settled upon him.
It had happened so gradually she scarcely noticed. A lingering glance when he returned from a contract. A warmth she could not name when he praised her footing. The quiet disappointment whenever he chose another training partner. She kept these feelings locked away.
"Get up, shieldsister" he said flatly, circling her with his practice sword loose in his grip.
The training yard echoed with the commonplace sound of its music.
(Y/N) lunged, but Farkas’ blade was too fast as it turned hers aside with his finesse. Before she could recover, the flat of his sword tapped sharply against her shoulder.
"Dead." He said. No humor in his voice. Not even the ghost of the crooked half-smile she used to be able to coax out of him without trying.
"I almost had you."
"You almost lost your footing."
He offered no smile, only another stance. So she offered hers.
(Y/N) struck, he parried, and the blow rattled up her arm hard enough to sting. He didn't ease off the way he used to when she was smaller. He fought her now like he fought Vilkas, no softness left in it at all, and some stubborn, foolish part of her chest ached at that. She wanted the softness back, wanted to know what she'd done to lose it.
"You don't have to knock me down every time." (Y/N) said getting up.
"If I don't, the Silver Hand will."
She searched his face for the warmth she remembered from years before, the patient young Companion who had spoken softly so she would not fear climbing onto his horse. But she found only stone.
"Farkas." She lowered her blade. "Did I do something?"
He didn't meet her eyes. "You're dropping your shoulder before you swing. Fix it."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only thing that matters right now.”
“When did you become so miserable?" (Y/N) nearly yelled at him, lowering her blade.
Farkas then lowered his blade in return.
"If you're tired, we're done." He said firmly.
"I'm not tired."
"Then stop complaining."
"I’m just asking why you treat me differently than everyone else."
The yard continued to serve its purpose around them. Axes and arrows struck their targets as their wielders laughed amongst each other. Farkas looked away, turning as to put space between them and realign his stance. He said nothing, giving (Y/N) the opportunity to say what she was feeling.
"Come on Farkas… I mean, you smiled more at the training dummies than you've smiled at me this spring."
Something moved across his face, and then it was gone just as fast as it appeared.
"Pick up your sword," he said in a way that told her the conversation was over whether she wanted it to be or not. "If you're going to be a Companion, stop looking for kindness in a sparring ring."
(Y/N) felt a pang in her heart, as though it clenched her ribcage.
It became dark, and the women's barracks lay hushed beneath the blanket of midnight. (Y/N) laid on her bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling above, replaying the whole exchange the way she always did. She didn't understand how that boy who had helped her on the horse and the man circling her with a blade could be the same person. It sat heavy in her chest long after the torches in the hall had burned low.
"You're doing that thing again," came a voice from the bed across the room. Njada, propped up on one elbow, watching her.
"What thing?"
"That thing. The sighing." Njada smirked. "Is it some boy in the market you're smitten with? Some farm lad who smiled at you buying turnips?"
"I'm not smitten with anyone."
"Mm." Njada didn't look remotely convinced. "So who is he?"
“I already told you that there isn't anyone.” (Y/N) said annoyingly, flipping herself over on the bed so that she was facing the wall.
"Is it some boy guard?" Njada asked, still not convinced. "One of those smith's apprentices? Maybe a merchant's son? You do disappear long enough after errands."
"No."
"A bard?"
"I'd sooner wrestle a troll."
Njada barked a laugh loud enough to earn a sleepy groan from another Companion.
“Or maybe it's a nord twice your size who won't say two nice words to you in the yard."
(Y/N) sat up sharply. "That's not … it's not like that."
"Sure it isn't. Go to sleep, lovesick pup. You've got an early spar."
(Y/N) threw a balled-up shirt at her, which Njada batted away without even opening her eyes, laughing quietly to herself in the dark. (Y/N) pulled her blanket up and said nothing else, though sleep was a long time coming.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
The seasons turned again, and again, until the girl Kodlak had carried out of a cave was a shieldsister any of the Companions would be glad to have at their side. She'd bled for Jorrvaskr, bled for Whiterun, bled for strangers on roads she'd never have walked if not for the wolfskin cloak she now wore over her shoulders.
The night it happened, the whole of the circle had gathered with nothing but torchlight casting their faces.
“You have proven yourself, (Y/N) (L/N),” Skjor said. "In blood, in honor, and in loyalty to this circle. Rise as one of us. You are Companion, and you are worthy."
(Y/N) then drank Aela's blood and became what the companions were rumored to be.
She had been given the blessing of lycanthropy.
There was a beat of silence, and then the hall broke into it, Aela's hand clasping her shoulder, Vilkas' rare approving nod, and Skjor’s low laugh and rough congratulations. Kodlak embraced her the way he had that very first night, with everything unsaid folded into it.
Farkas said nothing.
He stood near the back of the circle, arms crossed, and when her eyes found him through the crowd he only gave the smallest nod before turning and heading up the stairs, gone before anyone else seemed to notice he'd left.
The pride she felt that night dimmed.
Later, when the hall had thinned and most had gone to celebrate properly with mead upstairs, Aela found her alone near the training yard.
"You're wondering why he didn't say anything."
(Y/N) looked up at her.
"I'm not … "
"You are." Aela said sharply. "Listen to me. Stay away from him. There are things about him — about what happens in the circle… that you don't understand yet. Things you're not ready to carry."
"Then tell me."
"Not tonight." Aela's hand found her shoulder, firm. "Just trust me on this one thing. For your own sake … keep your distance from Farkas, whatever you're feeling toward him. Let it go before it becomes something you can't."
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
It wasn’t long before (Y/N) and Farkas were arguing again.
(Y/N) had been readying herself for a day out in the town when she noticed she was missing her…
"My dagger!" She said loud enough for all those around her to hear.
Farkas didn't even look up from the stone in his hands as he sharpened his own steel dagger.
"What about it?"
"My elven dagger. The one I took from that cave near the mountain."
"I don't know." He responded. The scraping of steel against stone continued and of course, Farkas did not look up.
"You don't know? It was on the nightstand above my bed this morning."
"Mhm."
"And now it's gone."
"So find it."
"I am finding it," (Y/N) said as she planted both hands upon the table between them. "And somehow I've ended up here."
"...Meaning?" Now Farkas finally looked up.
"Meaning you're the last person I saw anywhere near my room."
Around them, conversations throughout Jorrvaskr had begun to die as the rest of its inhabitants began to eavesdrop on the growing argument.
"Oh, this should be good." Vilkas said as he leaned comfortably against a pillar.
"I know you took it," (Y/N) insisted.
"And why," Farkas asked slowly, "would I steal your dagger?"
"Because mine is sharper than yours."
Laughter erupted from half the hall and Vilkas nearly dropped his mug.
"I have six other blades."
"None of them are mine."
"I don't want yours."
"Then where is it?"
"I don't know, (Y/N)!"
They had become loud enough for Skjor to emerge from the end of the hall, his footsteps were loud which caused everyone to turn and look as he walked by, obviously not in a good mood.
"What in Shor's name..." His gaze swept over the gathered Companions before settling on the two standing nose to nose. "...is this?"
Both of them answered at once, their voices frightening over each other.
"He stole…"
"She’s accusing me of…"
Skjor raised one hand and yelled "Enough!" for the whole hall to hear.
He sighed the sigh of a man who had dealt with this far too many times.
"Farkas."
"I didn't touch her dagger."
"(Y/N)."
"He absolutely did."
"I absolutely didn't."
"I don't care." Skjor's eyes flicked between them. "There's a troll problem harrying travelers on the road near Riverwood. The two of you are going to go deal with it. Together. And you're not welcome back in this hall until it's handled and you've remembered how to speak to each other like Companions instead of children."
(Y/N)'s smile vanished.
"...Together?"
"Together."
"That wasn't a request." He was already turning away. "You'll spend three days on the road together so I suggest you pack your things and leave quickly."
(Y/N) then shot Farkas one last look before storming to her bed, packing fresh provisions into her satchel. Farkas found his way into the stables and was tightening the straps on his armor when Vilkas wandered over.
“Three days on the road with her,” Vilkas drawled, voice low enough that the stable hands wouldn’t overhear. “Alone. Just the two of you, the wilds, and that pretty little warwolf you’ve been pretending not to notice.”
Farkas didn’t look up. “Not now, brother.”
“Oh, I think now is exactly the time.” Vilkas pushed off the post and stepped closer, voice dropping further. “ I can smell it on you, Farkas. The Circle can smell it. That beast inside you doesn’t give a damn about your noble silences anymore. She’s one of us now. And it’s only gotten worse, hasn’t it?”
Farkas finally straightened, turning to glare at his brother. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to grab an axe. “She’s a shieldsister. That’s all.”
“A shield-sister whose scent makes you want to pin her against the nearest tree and mate her until she is claimed. Don’t bother denying it. I’ve seen the way you watch her when she shifts back after a hunt. You are howling for her, brother. Loud enough that even Kodlak’s probably noticed by now. You nearly broke Torvar's arm because he called her pretty.”
"He called her distracting."
Vilkas folded his arms.
"I've spent so many years telling myself she was the frightened little girl Kodlak carried home..." Farkas’s eyes flicked toward the doors of Jorrvaskr, then back. Heat crawled up his neck, not all of it from anger. The beast inside grew at his words. "...that I don't know when she became a woman."
Ever since (Y/N) had joined the Circle, the pull had become unbearable. Her scent had changed, deeper, richer, laced with the same feral power that ran through his own veins. It called to him in ways no ordinary woman ever had.
“But I’m not some mindless beast,” Farkas growled.
“She’s stronger than you think. And she looks at you the same way, but keep snarling and pretending. See how well that works when you’re sharing a campfire for three nights and her scent is all over the wind.” Vilkas then stepped back, noticing (Y/N) approach the stables. “Try not to mount her against a rock before you even reach Riverwood. Or do. Might solve both your problems.”
Vilkas disappeared before (Y/N) approached Farkas with her satchel slung over her shoulder and her bow at her hip.
“Ready?” she asked.
He gave a short nod, swinging up onto his horse without offering her a hand up her horse this time. The wolf inside him paced and growled, thrilled and tormented by the coming journey.
It was going to be a long journey for the both of them.
And a long journey it was.
On the first day, they were ambushed by a group of orc bandits. (Y/N) was scrapped but nothing came of it, Farkas didn’t even offer to help her tend to her wound.
On the second day, they covered more ground than they expected until they were ambushed once more, this time by a troll. The troll clawed at (Y/N), causing her to be thrown off her horse and for the stallion to run off into the tree line. It was only when (Y/N) gave her finishing blow to the troll did she notice her horse was gone.
She screamed into the treeline for him to come back.
Farkas brought his own horse around at a slow walk, surveying the empty tree line where her stallion had vanished. For a moment he remained quiet, and she braced herself for some cutting remark about her horsemanship, or lack of it.
Instead he just sighed, and reached down to check the strap of her satchel where it hung crooked off one shoulder.
"You're bleeding."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine, it's dripping down your side." He said as he swung down off his horse. He closed the distance between them and pulled back the torn edge of her tunic to look at the gashes beneath. "Deep enough to need binding," he murmured, already digging through his pack for cloth. His hands were rougher than she remembered, but he made sure to be careful.
He wrapped her wound with the clean cloth, and she watched his face as he did so. At the war paint that dripped down from his eyes which were sharp and cold.
"There." He tied off the bandage and stepped back, some of the distance already creeping back into his expression. "That'll hold till we make camp."
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He grunted something that might have been acknowledgment, then looked past her toward the empty road, the problem of her missing horse settling over his features. "Riverwood's still the better part of a day off. Can't leave you here to wait on a horse that might not come back at all."
"So what, I walk as a beast?"
"You'll slow us both down walking with that wound." He said it plainly. For a moment he looked around the trees. They were close enough to the town now, and if anyone were to see her in her beast form she would surely be attacked and their presence unwelcome. After a long moment, he spoke again. "You'll ride with me."
“But…”
"Unless you'd rather wait here alone in troll country," he said, already moving to remount, "in which case, good luck to you."
(Y/N) huffed but moved to jump behind the saddle behind him.
"Hold on," he said, gruff, not looking back at her.
She hesitated only a moment before her arms came around his middle, hands finding purchase against the worn leather of his armor. He was warm, and solid, and smelled of pine sap and horse and steel, and she was suddenly, acutely aware of every inch of space that no longer existed between them.
Farkas said nothing, but she felt him take one slow breath before nudging the horse forward, and the wolf pacing behind his ribs went quiet. Or at least he tried to make it quiet, but being in close proximity to the unclaimed woman made it hard for him to keep focus.
Farkas could feel (Y/N)’s untamed heat, and the sound of her heart as it beat against his back.
When they laid out their bedrolls for the night, Farkas found himself unable to sleep while (Y/N) had found perfect rest.
She slept curled on her side in her bedroll a few feet away, the clean linen of her fresh bandage just visible beneath the edge of her cloak. The wound he’d bound earlier still carried the faint copper tang of her blood on the night air.
His body betrayed him.
The wolf inside stirred again, drawn by the lingering scent of her.
He shifted, as one of his hands unconsciously pressed down over the growing hardness as if he could will it away.
She’s hurt. She’s unclaimed. She’s… right there.
The thought came unbidden, raw and primal.
He could cross the space between them in two strides. Peel back her bedroll. Wake her with his mouth on her neck, his hands sliding under her tunic to feel the warmth of her skin, the curve of her waist, the softness…
The wolf growled approval at the thought, urging him to claim what his instincts screamed was his to take. To bury himself in her and drown out the constant pacing in his blood.
Farkas sat up slowly, muscles coiled tight. His breathing had grown heavier, the front of his trousers tented obscenely. He stared at her sleeping form, the way her hair spilled across the ground, the subtle rise and fall of her chest. One step. That was all it would take. She might even welcome it.
But he stopped himself.
His fists clenched at his sides until the knuckles cracked. The wolf howled in protest.
He forced himself to lie back down, turning onto his side away from her. The ache in his groin throbbed insistently, but he ignored it.
“Damn it,” he huffed under his breath.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
They reached Riverwood by midmorning, the mill wheel turning lazy and steady over the river, smoke curling up from chimneys into a sky gone the color of pale steel. Alvor met them at the edge of town, wiping soot from his hands, relief plain on his face at the sight of two Companions riding in with weapons already drawn.
"Thank Talos you've come. Lost two sheep and near lost a boy last week, thing's been coming down from the hills past the old mill, tearing through anything that moves..."
"Big one," Farkas said, crouching to look at the tracks.
"Big and hungry," (Y/N) added, testing the draw on her bow.
It didn't take long for them to find it. Trolls rarely hid and when they did, they weren’t that hard to find.
Farkas drew its attention head-on, greatsword flashing, while (Y/N) circled wide and put arrow after arrow into the thing's hide until it staggered. When it finally turned to swipe at her, Farkas was already there, blade opening its throat before it could land the blow.
"That's that," Farkas said.
(Y/N) lowered her bow, some of the tension she'd carried since the ambush finally draining out of her shoulders. "They will be pleased."
They walked the horse back toward town together, the animal plodding along riderless between them now that the danger had passed, and Riverwood came alive with quiet gratitude as they passed through, a nod from the miller, a murmured thanks from a woman gathering her children in from the yard, Alvor himself pressing a small pouch of coin into Farkas' hand.
By the time the sun began sinking gold behind the mountains, painting the river in long amber ribbons, (Y/N) could feel the ache of the last three days catching up with her all at once. She turned towards the inn ahead and at Farkas who kept his gaze straight.
"We should stay the night," she said. "At the Sleeping Giant."
"Skjor said to handle the trolls and come back."
“But it will be dark out soon. I’d rather sleep tonight in a bed with a hot meal and possibly a sweet roll. I'd rather not reopen this wound riding through the night."
He considered it a moment before giving her a nod. "One night."
They led the horse to the stable round back, and (Y/N) pushed open the door of the Sleeping Giant to a wash of firelight and the smell of roasting meat.
"Companions," Delphine, the innkeeper, said, setting down a rag. "Heard there was trouble up near the mill."
"Not anymore," Farkas said.
"Good." She reached beneath the counter for the keys as they exchanged coin.
(Y/N) took one key, and Farkas took the other.
(Y/N) lingered at the top of the narrow stairs, key warm in her palm. The hall was quiet save for the low crackle of the hearth downstairs and the occasional creak of old timber. Farkas stood at the door across from hers.
“Goodnight, Farkas,” she said softly.
He met her eyes for a beat longer than necessary.
“Sleep,” he grunted. “You need it.”
She slipped into her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. The bed was lumpy but blessedly soft after three days on the road. She peeled off her armor, cleaned the wound as best she could with the water basin, and crawled beneath the furs still wearing her light tunic. Exhaustion pulled her under quickly.
Hours later, the inn was silent with nothing back the sound of crickets offering noise.
A soft sound pulled (Y/N) from sleep, a faint thud of a boot outside her door. She sat up, heart suddenly pounding, hand instinctively reaching for the dagger beneath her pillow. The floor creaked again. Someone was there.
She rose on bare feet, padded silently to the door, and cracked it open just enough to peer out.
Farkas filled the doorway.
Before she could speak, he stepped forward, pushing the door open with one massive shoulder. In the same motion he crowded her back into the room, one large hand closing the door behind him with a decisive thud. The next second her back hit the rough wooden wall, the impact not painful but firm enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
He loomed over her, one thick forearm braced beside her head, the other hand gripping her hip hard enough she could feel the heat of his palm through the thin tunic. His chest rose and fell with heavy, controlled breaths. The war paint around his eyes looked darker in the moonlight, his gaze burning as it dropped to her mouth, then lower, tracing the line of her neck and the curve of her breasts.
“I tried to stay away,” he growled, voice low and rough, edged with the wolf. “But I can’t. Not tonight.”
(Y/N) could feel the hardened press of his member against her core. It proved how much he needed her, making (Y/N)’s breath hitch as she grew weary.
“I need you,” he rasped, the words dragged from deep in his chest like a confession. “Like a man needs a woman.”
The rawness of his voice sent a shiver racing down her spine. Before she could respond, his mouth crashed down on hers. His kiss was wanting and hungry, showcasing the years of his discipline breaking.
Here she was: limp as he pressed her against the wall, ready for him to take.
Farkas grew harder as his length throbbed against her, trapped between them. He rolled his hips, grinding into her as she panted against him.
Heat pooled low in her womb, making her thighs clench around the solid muscle of his leg. (Y/N) looked up at him, lips parted, eyes dark with the same need.
“Then take me,” she whispered.
A deep, feral growl tore from his throat. In one swift motion, he shoved her tunic up around her waist, his large hand gripping the back of her thigh and hoisting her leg up around his hip. He pinned her firmly against the wall with his body, the rough wood biting into her back as he freed himself from his breeches. His thick, heavy cock sprang free, hot and throbbing, the head already slick as it nudged against her entrance.
“Good girl,” Farkas rasped against her ear, the praise low. “So fucking ready for me.”
He didn’t wait. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt, stretching her open around his girth. (Y/N) cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as her walls clenched tight around him.
His fullness was overwhelming, but the burn melted into sharp pleasure almost instantly.
Farkas groaned, pushing deeper into her core as he began to thrust.
The song of her moans and his grunts filled the small room as he fucked her hard against the wall, each thrust driving her higher up the wooden planks.
“Talos… you’re so tight.” he growled.
He kept her pinned, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her ass as he drove into her again and again. The angle had him hitting that perfect spot inside her with every roll of his hips, making her moan and whimper against his neck.
“That’s it… good girl,” he praised, breath hot against her skin, fangs grazing her throat. “Take every inch like a good girl.”
The wolf was fully awake now, rumbling in his chest as he fucked her like he’d been starving for her.
(Y/N)’s back arched as she tightened around him, her core growing wetter.
Farkas snarled in satisfaction as he came inside of her, filling her with his seed. He stayed buried deep, holding her pinned against the wall as aftershocks trembled through both of them, his lips brushing soft, almost reverent kisses along her jaw.
“…Good girl,” he murmured again, softer this time, voice thick with lingering hunger. “But we’re not done yet.”
Farkas held her there for a moment longer, buried deep inside her as her walls fluttered around him. Then, with a low, possessive growl, he pulled out and spun her around in one fluid motion. Before she could catch her breath, he scooped her up and threw her onto the bed.
(Y/N) landed on her stomach with a surprised gasp, the furs soft beneath her. She barely had time to push up onto her hands and knees before Farkas was behind her, knees sinking into the mattress. His big hands gripped her hips hard, yanking her ass up and back toward him.
“On your knees,” he ordered, voice dark and rough.
He didn’t give her a chance to settle. One large hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her chest down into the furs while he kept her hips raised high. The new position left her completely exposed to him.
“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick as he rubbed the thick head of his cock along her folds. “Look at you… dripping for me… Do you want more?”
(Y/N) had tears in her eyes as she nodded, pressing her ass against him.
Then he thrust back in, tearing deep into her core. (Y/N) moaned loudly into the furs as he filled her again, even deeper due to the angle.
Farkas groaned deeply as he sank back into her tight heat, the slick sound of her pussy taking every thick inch filling the room.
“You want this, don’t you?” he growled as he slowly dragged his cock out and slammed back in. “You want me to fuck you like this… hard and deep.”
(Y/N) moaned helplessly into the furs, nodding frantically. Her body trembled beneath him, completely at his mercy. The bed creaked loudly under the force of his thrusts, each one driving him impossibly deeper.
“That’s right… good girl, You want my seed, don’t you? You want me to fill this tight little cunt until it’s dripping with it.”
He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, making her cry out. His pace grew faster, more primal, the wolf riding him hard now as he fucked her relentlessly from behind.
“Answer me,” he demanded, one hand sliding up to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her possessively as he railed her. “Tell me you want my seed. Tell me you want me to claim you as my own.”
(Y/N) whimpered.
“You do want it. You want me to pump you full until it takes.”
He reached beneath her again, rough fingers circling her swollen clit while he drove into her without mercy. His thrusts grew, more desperate as he neared the edge, whispering filthy promises against her skin between heavy breaths.
He seeded her again, coming inside of her as his body stiffened. He pulled out from her and laid down next to her, tracing her breasts with his finger tips.
Farkas rolled over, his back now towards (Y/N). The sudden shift left the air between them strangely cold despite the heat still lingering in her body.
“You should get some sleep.” He said.
(Y/N) lay there for a moment, chest still heaving, thighs slick with his seed. She reached out slowly, fingertips brushing along the warm skin of his back.
“Farkas…”
He tensed under her touch, muscles tightening like coiled steel, but he didn’t pull away.
“I shouldn’t have come in here. “The wolf… it doesn’t settle easy around you. Especially not after that.”
He rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling beams. One arm came around her almost instinctively, pulling her against his side. His hand resumed its slow, absent tracing along the curve of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in lazy strokes as if he couldn’t quite stop touching her.
“You’re hurt. We’ve got a long ride back to Whiterun tomorrow. You need rest.” His voice softened just a fraction. “Not me keeping you up all night like some damn beast.”
Despite his words, his cock twitched against her thigh, already half-hard again.
(Y/N) shifted closer, draping one leg over his, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I’m not complaining,” she murmured against his warm skin.
“Greedy woman,” he said, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. He turned his head to look at her, eyes still dark with lingering hunger. “Sleep. That’s an order.”
He pulled the furs over them both, tucking her against his large frame.
For now, though, he held her close and tender after the way he’d just ruined her against the wall and on the bed.
They would return in three days, and he would hope that his scent would disappear from her in time.
Or else he’d never hear the end of it from Vilkas.
Thank you for reading! I would like to thank : @/im-not-a-pleeb for making the beautiful dividers (the sword ones) and also @/droideplane for the rose dividers.
