Lines of in-game dialogue suggest that becoming a werewolf affects your non-werewolf form. Dragonborn is regarded as smelling like wet dog, and in some dialogues guards say: "Is that.. hair growing out of your ears?"
Which leads me to believe that becoming a werewolf leads to other physical changes. Imagine a female dragonborn becoming a werewolf. Imagine a few weeks after the transformation, her body is.. changing.
Hair grows thicker, muscle comes easier.. And she gets thicker, maybe going up a cup size. It's not long before Farkas notices, and he's loving it. Eyeing up the dragonborn when she's not in armor. Farkas feels like a teen again, cozying up to the dragonborn, hoping she'll catch onto his feelings.
And trust me, any insecurities the dragonborn has relating to her new body are dissolved immediately when Farkas gets her clothes off.
a/n: been thinking about this sweetheart a lot recently. he was the first skyrim character i married so he is near and dear to me :') reader is gender neutral and there's a friends to lovers vibe bc imo farkas is just perfect for that. ty for reading and reacting!
"You're still shaking."
"Of course I am." Your voice is on the brink of trembling too, as if to match the tremor in your hands. "You scared me half to death back there."
Farkas's eyes hold a mixture of concern and amusement. He watches you study him with a pinch in your brow and an intent gaze. You hold his face between your unsteady hands, turning it slightly to get a better look.
"You're a bit dramatic," he mumbles, his jaw moving against your palms as he speaks. He tries to grin. "I've gotten worse beatings from sparring with Aela."
"This isn't funny!" You snap, then soften back up with a pang at your chest. "I still can't believe you did that."
What felt like only moments ago, you'd been at the Drunken Huntsman with your fellow Companions, losing yourselves in a fun night of drink and chatter after a week of hard work. At one point, you and Farkas had been sitting at the bar, exchanging silly little stories and banter, when some guards stumbled up. They began to pester the two of you with loud, slurred ramblings, and even though they were too drunk to make any real sense, they'd managed to get under Farkas's skin. When you'd seen how tense and defensive he got, you advised him to ignore them, and for a while, he obeyed.
Then the guards started to insult you, and the situation spun out of your control.
Next thing you knew, there was a scuffle of shoves and fists and shouts, and even though it was only a brief moment before you broke it up, the damage had been done. The guards were dragged out half-conscious and bloodied, and to not agitate the pissed off owner even more, you rounded Farkas up and out of there as well, bringing him back to your quarters at Jorrvaskr.
He didn't come out of there unscathed, though. In the warm lantern light of your room, you can see the pink and purple splotches of bruises forming on his face. Two spots had been hit so hard that the skin had split a little, one at his eyebrow and the other on his lower lip.
"What were you thinking?" You mutter with a shake of your head. You let go of his face briefly to reach over for a small basin of warm water on your dresser. You dunk a washcloth in it and wring it until it's not so drenched.
"I dunno. Guess I wasn't thinking at all," Farkas admits. He stays seated on the edge of your bed, his shoulders still tense and hunched as he recalls the scene.
"Clearly. I told you to ignore them!"
"Yeah, I know. And I tried, really." His eyes flash into something hard and cold, looking like sharp pieces of silver metal in the dim light. "But when they started talking about you..." He clenches his jaw and immediately winces, as if it pained him to do.
You move back to stand in front of him, taking a hold of his face once more. One hand cups his swollen jaw, steadying him as you start to dab at the injury on his eyebrow.
"You still should have ignored them," you continue to chastise him.
Farkas scoffs. "Easier said than done."
You clean his brow with a gentle touch, being careful not to press too hard over the swollen skin. "Whatever they said could not have been worth that ruckus."
"It was to me."
The words are spoken softly, but hold a weight to them. Your gaze jumps down, breaking focus to glance at his face. His eyes are trained ahead, and you see a little storm of emotion brewing in them. Like early morning clouds, promising a mean downpour later in the day.
"No one should talk about you like that," he continues. His voice has gone so low and gruff that it almost sounds like a growl.
Now you can't help but wonder what exactly the guards said - you'd been unable to catch it with all the noise around you at the time. But it's clear it's distressing Farkas just to even think about it. He's as rigid as stone beneath you. It's unusual seeing him like this after being accustomed to his easygoing, friendly energy you spend so much time around.
And it will be difficult to properly clean his wounds if he's scowling the way he is right now. You need to try and get his mind away from it and diffuse the tension.
You go back to dabbing at his eyebrow. "And you called me dramatic," you say lightly, trying your hand at one of the teasing jokes you like to use on one another.
To your relief, it seems to work. Farkas exhales a little laugh and his brow relaxes under your hand. "You're rubbing off on me, I guess." His eyes shift as they look up at you. "How bad is it? I don't look as rough as they did, right?"
You snort. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Well, yeah. Would be embarrassing if I got my ass handed to by some shitfaced city guards."
You can't help but smile at that. "The bruises will lighten up in a few days. And don't worry, it doesn't look bad at all."
"Really?" Beneath your hands, his face lifts as he cracks a grin. "Still handsome?"
You dare to take another look at him, expecting that familiar glimmer of mischief or playfulness in his eyes. And while there is a hint of that, you're surprised to find that he looks relatively serious, and you know him well enough to see that he's seeking a genuine answer.
You nod, stroking a feather-light finger over his bruised cheek. "Very handsome," you assure him.
His eyes brighten. His grin softens into a gentle smile instead, and he finally looks at ease again. You recall seeing him like that earlier tonight, before the guards showed up. When it was just the two of you at that bar, sitting close enough to feel your shoulders brushing, sharing some fine mead and being all too aware of the fact that your lips were meeting indirectly on that bottle.
Your skin flushes warm at the memory. You slide your gaze over to the other spot needing attention, the small split on his lower lip. You start to dab and prod at it, taking caution not to press at the swollen skin there.
"I.. I should thank you, though," you speak up, a little awkwardly. "For sticking up for me. It was nice of you to do so."
Farkas's mouth quirks into another smile. "And it's nice to hear that after Vilkas called me a brainless oaf."
You laugh. "Well, he's not entirely wrong on that. It was foolish." Before you can see his expression crumble into another sad puppy-eyed frown, you add, "But I appreciate it nonetheless."
"Yeah, well... what are friends for," he replies flatly. He averts his gaze again.
Friends. The word once brought great comfort whenever you heard it coming from Farkas, especially in your early days at the Companions and he was the only one to welcome you with kindness. But lately you feel more of a disappointed jab in your heart at hearing it. Only because you've found yourself wishing you could be more than just friends. Yet you keep it to yourself for fear of ruining the friendship completely.
It's difficult to do that now, though, in your current situation. You keep thinking back on how gallantly he defended you, and how close you stand in front of him, the warmth of his body only inches from yours and his face cradled between your hands.
But Farkas knows you better than anyone, and he knows when something's off with you by the tiniest detail.
"You made a face," he remarks.
"No I didn't!"
"Yeah, you did." Farkas tilts his head up to get a better look at you. "I can tell when you want to say something else."
You avoid meeting his gaze. "Hush. You talking isn't helping me clean this cut on your lip."
"I don't think it even needs more cleaning." His mouth curves upwards again. "I think you just like having a reason to touch my face."
For someone who says he's not smart, he sure does pick on things well enough. He can probably see the color coming to your cheeks at his observation too.
You finally let your eyes land on his. Your heart flickers and flutters as you hold his gaze, recognizing that little glint of anticipation in it.
Maybe he's expecting you to brush him off, like you've done many times, to playfully push his face away and change the subject. But something compels you to drop the washcloth from his face and drop your defenses with it. Your hand comes back up, retaking its place on his cheek with a gentle touch. You make another brushing motion with your thumb, except this time, it skims over the corner of his lips.
"Maybe I do," you admit quietly.
Farkas is frozen for a second except for the deep breath he takes. Then he's smiling again, near grinning, and his eyes shine like little full moons.
"Yeah?" He doesn't need to wait for your nod to know you're telling the truth. "Next time I get hurt I'll come right to you, then."
"There better not be a next time," you retort.
He laughs. "No promises." There's a brief but heavy pause, and you can practically see him gathering his thoughts, contemplation written on his face. When his eyes meet yours again there's a soft seriousness there.
"...You're really special to me, you know," he confesses. "I would defend the other Companions too, but you... You mean everything to me. I'd do just about anything for you."
Your heart feels like it's about to burst. You smile at first, almost too choked up for words, but you do manage a teasing joke. "'Anything'?"
"Just about anything," he corrects you with another small smirk. "Maybe don't ask me to clear out a spider den with you or anything like that."
You laugh and his eyes brighten even more. His arms come up to wrap around you, one behind your thighs and the other on your lower back, and he pulls you closer. With him still being seated on the edge of the bed, his head sits beneath yours, giving him the optimal angle to look up at you with an adoring gaze.
"So pretty," he muses, and your heartbeat stumbles over itself. "I... I really wanted to ask you this back at the Huntsman, before those idiots showed up, but..." His hand spans out along your lower back, his broad fingers pressing warmth into you. "Can I kiss you?"
It's the easiest question you've ever been dealt, and it shows in the delighted grin and whispery "yes" you give in response. But just as you've started to lean into it, you halt with a hitched breath.
"Wait- your lip!" You sweep your thumb over the clean little cut.
Farkas shakes his head. "Yeah, I don't give a damn about that," he mutters, then tugs you the rest of the way in.
Your lips collide briefly and gently at first, testing the water with an almost shy, sweet caution. The second kiss is completely different. It's firmer, longer, confidence replacing nervousness, and you sink into a state of euphoria. You feel yourself smiling so much that you suddenly worry you might ruin it, but then Farkas tilts his head to kiss you even deeper and any worry you have vanishes.
Your hands still hold his face, the scruff of his cheeks tickling your palms, until you let one hand stray up and slide into his hair. He shudders beneath you, his breath coming out hot against your lips. Then he catches you off guard when his arms suddenly sweep you up and in with ease, pulling you down until you're gathered in his lap, your gasp of surprise turning into a giggle that dissolves with the next kiss. You melt against him even more, lost in the feeling of his arms wrapping around you and his tongue dancing with your own.
It's only the dizzying need for air that breaks the two of you apart eventually. Your chests rise and fall together as you recover with heavy, unsteady breaths. Farkas's arm around your waist reaffirms its grip, like he can't risk you slipping even a hair width away from him.
You stretch your thumb out to touch his lower lip again. "Did that hurt?"
"No," he replies, then hesitates. "Actually, yes, it hurt a lot. You should kiss it better."
You can't help but snort out a laugh again, yet you make no effort to protest. You lean into him and you both fall back into the kiss like it's the most natural rhythm in the world.
[all are gender neutral, but there is a mention of being called ‘pretty’] [this took me almost three hours 💀 I don’t like most of them:(]
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farkas
He could smell them from a mile away.
That’s weird, let’s start again, shall we? Farkas swung his sword at the giant, fighting the urge to turn and run towards the sweet smell approaching. The beast inside him begged— pleaded— for him to go and engulf himself inside that smell, to cover himself in it, whatever it was.
That’s when he saw them. They aimed a bow, a steel arrow shooting through the air and into the giants eye, making it roar out before Aela ultimately got the last hit and killed the giant on the farm. Farkas couldn’t keep his eyes off them, the smell was coming from them. He watched as Aela spoke to them, not even registering what she was saying as he watched this person— the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.
Later, he’d seen them at Jorrvaskr, watching them enter and sneak downstairs. Were they joining?
“Farkas!” He’d heard Skjor’s voice shout from Aela’s room, “did you call me?” He asks as he smells that sweet smell again, his eyes locking on theirs. He barely heard what Aela was saying to him, “uh— new blood? Oh, hello. I’m Farkas. Come, follow me.”
He’d spoken to Kodlak later that night, asking him what in oblivion that sweet smell coming from them was and why was it just coming from them?
Kodlak laughs, forgetting that Farkas could be a bit dense at times, “she’s your mate,” he says as he pats him on the back a little harshly, “your soulmate, in other words.”
His soulmate..
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vilkas
He’d had their stupid name imprinted on his wrist since he was just a pup, a name he’d never heard of in all his years. Vilkas had begun to doubt that his soulmate even lived in Tamriel, in Skyrim, how unlucky was he? First, his lycanthropy, now his soulmate was nowhere to be seen? Nobody knew of someone with such a name?
It was a normal day as any, Vilkas sat at the small table with Kodlak, the two of them wondering if there truly would ever be a way for them to be rid of the beast. The beat haunted Kodlak, he knew that, the old man wanted to get into Sovngarde as any true nord would. But the beast prevented that, he would end up in Hircine’s land hunting for the rest of eternity.
It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar person walked into the halls of Jorrvaskr, heading down towards the two men. Their conversation was cut short, “I’d like to join the companions,” their voice was nice, I stark contrast to the armour and weapons they had on their body.
“Would you, now? Here, let me have a look at you? Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak spoke, making Vilkas furrow his eyebrows.
“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting them?” He asks, making Kodlak give him a subtly pointed look, explaining they had empty beds for people with a fire in their hearts, “Apologies. But, perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”
The person sheepishly looks to Vilkas before they state their name. He freezes for a moment before he looks at them, Kodlak letting out a hearty laugh, making the person look at him with confusion.
“Vilkas, take them out to the yard and see what they can do.” Kodlak says before the person looks between Vilkas and Kodlak for a moment.
Oh gods..
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mercer frey
He’d known they were his soulmate from the moment he’d met them. Mercer saw the tattoo imprinted onto their forearm before they pulled their sleeve back down, he wasn’t stupid. But he’d never said anything, never gave them the hint he wanted them as much as they wanted him, not with the plans he had against the guild.
He’d let his guard down, it was so unlike him to bring any of his walls down but they made him. It was their fault, wasn’t it? He reaches over, his hand brushing against their cheek as they both stood outside in the backyard of his home, concealed under the stars, slone with no one watching them.
“I know,” they say suddenly, he furrows his eyebrows, “know what?” He asks in return, slipping his hand down to their neck, cradling it. He could choke them and end the misery of having him as their soulmate.
The grasp his wrist, carefully sliding down his sleeve to show the matching tattoo. His face hardens, pulling away as he covers the tattoo with his sleeve again, “it means nothing.”
He didn’t entirely mean those words, he yearned for them in secret, but he wouldn’t let his walls come down again. They didn’t need to get involved in his dirty work, he didn’t even want them in the guild anymore. It was to protect them.
“Leave, don’t come back, you understand?”
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brynjolf
The Dragonborn walks into Riften for the first time, almost laughing at how scared the guard outside had been when he realised they knew there was no tax. They make their was through the town, they liked the atmosphere even if they couldn’t see the colour of anything, it was better than dealing with the whole Alduin thing, anyways.
“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh?” Brynjolf’s voice sounds out quietly as he approaches the famous Dragonborn. Who didn’t know of them, being clad in such armour and that weapon? They didn’t hide it.
“I’m sorry, what?” They ask, looking up at the man before a myriad of colours struck their vision within seconds, overwhelming them. Their head ached at the sight before they finally got used to it and looked around, not noticing the look that Brynjolf was giving them, admiring.
“I’m saying you’ve got the coin, love, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly, I can tell,” Brynjolf says once their eyes move back to him, crossing his arms with an expression that matches flirtation.
“How could you possibly know that?” The Dragonborn asks, almost bewildered as they finally get a good look of him, he was handsome, effortlessly charming. It was almost.. irritating? No, that’s not the word, “wait— my wealth is none of your business.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, love. Wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?” They’d gone through with the plan, stealing what’s-his-face’s ring and planting it on the other who’s-his-name successfully.
“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go.. your payment, as promised,” Brynjolf hands them the payment he’d promised his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to get them into the guild, to live a life with them— even if the life was illegal.
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cicero
Poor Cicero hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak to the pretty assassin that had walked into the sanctuary the day he’d brought his dear mother. Sweet, sweet Night Mother. He was such a good Keeper, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t she just speak to him! No, he must be calm, that’s what sweet mother would want, isn’t it?
He spoke to the Night Mother now, they were alone, sweet solitude with the sweet Night Mother, “Have you.. have you spoken to anyone? No.. no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” He continued for a while, rambling to the mother.
Suddenly, he opens her coffin, gasping with confusing and repulse. Here, the pretty assassin was in the coffin with the Night Mother!
“What? What treachery! Defiler! Debased and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!”
The pretty assassin’s eyes seemed to widen at his words, he couldn’t tell if it was because of his words or tone, but he didn’t care, “The Night Mother spoke to me! She said, ‘I am the one.’” Now, it was Cicero’s turn to widen his eyes. Those words! The words! His words! The ones on his arm, the ones his soulmate would say! His Listener!
Good luck with this one, dear Listener..
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ancano
Ancano had noticed them as soon as they’d walked through those gates. Another new apprentice, how bothersome. Still, he continued his conversation with Mirabelle, quickly growing more irritated by the treatment she was giving him.
The new apprentice was guided away by Mirabelle, leaving Ancano to his thoughts. It was odd, he felt drawn to them, though he didn’t know nor care why. He had business to attend to.
The apprentice was in the Hall of Elements with Tolfdir, the two of them watching the mysterious orb they’d found in Saarthal. Clearly, this mage was more troublesome than Ancano had thought. The Psijic Order was asking for them. So, Ancano had inturruped the two of them, gaining a temper tantrum from Tolfdir. It was only when they were alone that the elf had noticed a familiar scratch on the side of the apprentice’s neck- one that matched the one that had appeared on his not but a few hours before.
Gods be damned, this apprentice was his soulmate, “I need you to come with me immediately. Let’s go.”
For now, he wouldn’t say anything about it, this apprentice seemed to be too oblivious. Or, at least, that’s what they pretended to be with that stupid little smile on their lips.
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serana
Being trapped in a tomb for gods know how long wasn’t something Serana entirely enjoyed. I mean, who would? It was dark and cold, dreary and cramped, far too undeserving of even a vampire such as her. She just had to remember, she was doing this for her father and he would come back for her, right?
She hadn’t woken up until she was almost fallen on the floor, but her quick instincts helped her to keep balance. She was free, her father had come back..—
Glancing up, she noticed a person standing there watching with a small amused smile, obviously the one that had rescued her from the dreary space she was just in, obviously not a vampire. Obviously not her father. She was sure her father would’ve come to get his daughter, so who was this? Though, as their eyes met, a shockwave shot through her, the feeling of being alive again was strong, flooding her veins and undead heart. This was her soulmate, she’d waiting thousands of years for this, but why was she so reluctant now? Reluctant to go with them- to trust them, but a part deep inside her knew this was right, she could get used to it. She could get used to them.
“Who are you?” Serana asks, finally having gained her composure. She looks this person up and down, analysing anything and everything she can see. It was clear they were a vampire hunter. Great.
“Who were you expecting?” They ask, almost amused as they watch the pretty vampire, crossing their arms in a similar way Serana was.
summary: Playing relationship chicken with Farkas. Seeing how close you can get without either of you admitting your feelings.
feat: Farkas/gn reader
warnings: explicit sexual content. some swearing. not proofread
It began with something so insignificant - Farkas catching you staring while he sparred and noting the way your face turned pink when he flexed. He'd laughed and thrown the sweaty towel aside, stomach flipping as he leaned closer to you than he'd ever dared.
"Got somethin' on your mind?"
"Course not." You lied, squirming to reign in the urge to run your hands over the sinful display of his arms. He'd returned to his training with a cheeky laugh and left you to stew in whatever feelings you had for your friend.
It only grew from there. Hands lingering turned to hugs that lasted far longer than necessary. The occasional kiss between friends didn't have to mean anything, right? As long as you never give the topic too much serious consideration it doesn't hold any deeper meaning.
"Ready to tell me somethin'?" Farkas grins against your skin when you climb into his lap. He's too pleased by your grumble about being cold to push any further. He doesn't admit how much he enjoys the weight of you in his lap or the way you relax against him.
"No." You insist, shoving cold hands under his shirt. Surely the heat in your cheeks is due to the sudden temperature change. You just came in from a snowy evening and Jorrvaskr's fires are blazing. It has nothing to do with the warmth of your friend's chest under your nearly numb fingers.
What is there to even talk about? You're cold, he's chronically warm, and the alternative is sitting alone and roasting your hands over a fireplace. You're simply being cautious.
"You wanna talk about it?" You tease breathlessly. Farkas' hand still cups the back of your neck and you can practically see the stars reflected in those soft brown eyes. His face is flushed red and the taste of his ale lingers on your tongue.
"Nah." He laughs, drawing your lips to his once again. Your best friend's body is so warm compared to the chilly evening, nose bumping into yours and callouses rubbing so gently over your cheeks.
He can't help it - you just feel like home. The sound of your laugh or the way you say his name make something in his chest ache. Farkas just wants to be close to you, to kiss you and touch you, to belong to you. To stay with you forever - isn't that what every best friend wants?
"This what friends do?" Farkas laughs but you can hardly parse his words past the pounding in your ears. His cock rubs against your ass, one large hand planted on the small of your back to keep it arched against him.
Why do words suddenly feel so difficult? You try to retort or tease him back but Farkas' free hand knots into the back of your hair, hips rolling against your ass and the only words you can summon is a plea for him to remove his pants.
"C'mon, nothing funny to say now?" God, his voice sounds so fucking hot. Your heart is in your throat and every inch of your skin burns for more of his touch.
Farkas wants you to beg. To ask him to fuck you, to say the words that will break his willpower. To admit that you want him as desperately as he wants you. This game is fun but so fucking frustrating - he loves being your best friend and making you feel good but it only goes so far. The two of you always stop before hitting a point you can't laugh off.
Farkas refuses to lose this game. Even when you're writhing under his hold and his blood feels hot enough to drive him mad he won't give in. He likes to play with you this way, to see how far you can push the boundary of friendship before he gives in.
"Ready to admit it?" Your voice is harsh, fingers curling around Farkas' jaw and forcing him to meet your gaze. His mouth falls open and the shape of your teeth remains down his throat and across that broad chest. Your closest friend looks up at you like you hung the stars in the night sky, fingers curling around your hips in a silent plea for you to stay close.
"Admit wha?" Farkas slurs, his eyes falling to watch your lips. He guides your hips against his again, rolling them back and forth until he dissolves into a mess of whimpers in your arms.
Farkas whines your name against your bare chest, thick arms around your waist and fuck he feels so pathetic but he can't get enough of you. Every inhale carries your scent and Farkas swears it's imprinted into his brain - he could be blindfolded and pick you out of a crowd. Your body moves against his once more, fingers scratching through his hair and tickling over his scalp and his mind goes blank.
You, you, you. Your name is a rhythm in his mind, the only word that Farkas knows. Your kiss is mean and demanding but the taste of you is so sweet. The possessive grip on his hair drives him mad and Farkas swears he could die happy here in your arms.
"Should we talk about it?"
Farkas' forehead rests against yours and the only clothing on your body is his shirt. His bed is terribly warm and one thumb traces over your face so tenderly.
You could make a snarky remark and move on but suddenly the little game doesn't seem so fun anymore. Something is welling up deep in your chest, a bubble of emotion sitting right behind your sternum that demands to be addressed. For some odd reason your eyes feel watery when you nod once, suddenly too shy to meet his gaze.
Your one little nod sends his world into a spiral. Hope and fear and everything in between swirl together in his gut because finally. Farkas curls impossibly closer to you and swears that the racing of his heart lines up with yours.
"I don't think we're friends." You say those words he's prayed for ages to hear. He can't string a sentence together even though he's imagined this moment so many times. Farkas stutters but can't seem to say anything, just watches helplessly as tears gather in your lashes.
"I think I love you." He finally blurts, face bright red and fully aware that he's wrecking this. He expects you to laugh at him, to shove him onto the bed and make some joke out of the situation but your smile melts his heart.
"Yeah, I think I love you too."
Farkas (Skyrim) x Reader | Farkas writes a letter to Vilkas, regarding Reader
Dear Brother,
I'm sorry that I have to write you a letter, but I've been told you wouldn't be back from your mission before I leave for mine, and I believe this cannot wait. I know you do not like my writing and struggle to read it, so I will try to make this short.
This is about our latest recruit. I am pretty sure you rolled your eyes reading this, but this has nothing to do with their charm what you're thinking of. As you know, I have been sent along on their first quest, so I could prove their honour. I have told everyone else that it all went well, because I am not quite sure what I should actually think about their behaviour. And since you are the smartest of us two, I now seek your opinion.
The recruit is an amazing fighter. While I am not an expert regarding lighter weapons or bows, they perfectly switch between sneaking, shooting, and fighting. However, as we had left Jorrvaskr, while I believed we were on our way to the Cairn, the recruit went across the whole country, completing an absurd amount of tasks with my help. I do believe I would have accepted to help if they had asked, but I do not understand why they wouldn't tell me beforehand. Maybe Sjkor had told them I could help ?
But this, however, was only a slight inconvenience (though a long one). During their quest, I was about to compliment their fighting ability, but as I turned to them I was flabbergasted to see them cracking coffins open and stealing the few coins they found inside. I do agree that those may not be useful for dead people, but this seemed rather disrespectful...
Moreover, for some reason, the recruit wouldn't walk on normal paths. They kept jumping on tables and shelves, would open any closet they could find, even read through most of the old books there. While this wasn't a problem, I felt strangely spooked.
And lastly, you see, we have run into a few bandits on our way back. You know that, of course, it wasn't much trouble for us, and neither was it for them. But after we were done fighting, the recruit observed the bodies in silence. I curiously looked too, and the second one's armor emitted a light glow, the recruit —and believe me, I am not making this up— the recruit began stripping them naked ! I looked in horror, wondering if we had mistakingly hired a thief, and when they met my gaze, they asked for my help !
I now understand why you had told me before that I should learn to say no, as I have indeed helped to strip the corpses.
I could go on about their behaviour for more pages, but these are the parts on which I need your opinion. I believe none of these things are against our rules, but should I warn Kodlak about it ? Please, do not make fun of me, brother. I am truly lost.
Respectfully,
Your brother.
PS: They ate a surprising amount of cheese during the whole adventure. Could this have to do with anything ?
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Just a quick thing i thought of while playing haha
W A R N I N G S: mentioning of blood; reader is injured in Vilkas'; gender neutral!reader; 2nd person.
#VILKAS
This man notices straight away, and he is right there by your side—he told you to stay home. He had a feeling that something would happen like this.
His hands take a grasp of you, picking you up from the ground, "Come on, let's get you home, yeah?" His gravelly voice was softer than usual as he wiped the dirt from your cheek; the blood dribbling from the cotton of your torn shirt; the fur of your armour was long disregarded on the floor during your panic.
The horse galloped back, your hands pressing into the wound as each click against the floor jolted your body, sending shots of excruciating pain throughout your body.
"Come on." He says, helping you from off the horse, leading you back up to Jorvaskr with strong arms and hurried legs.
Once back, he is at your side until you feel better. He stays up when you sleep. He makes sure to keep your wound clean, to check up on it to know that it's healing correctly; he's worried sick, really.
#FARKAS
You woke up under the weather, and you best believe that this man feels terrible for you—he just doesn't really know how to show it.
So, instead, he places a tankard of water beside you on the bedside table. He plays with your hair as he presses a kiss against your forehead.
Farkas makes sure that you stay in bed and that you rest up properly.
He doesn't want you to be anymore ill than you already are—especially since that Whiterun is beginning to cool due to winter.
He doesn't speak much, he doesn't know what to say, so he shows his affection and worry by just simply looking after you.
"I don't understand why you vampires feed like that," Farkas scoffed. "It would be quicker if you'd rip through the flesh more."
Serana ignored him and continued to feed off of you. It was painful yet pleasurable - her fangs moved along with the sucking motion of her mouth, causing them to jab the insides of your wounds, contrary to her soft, wet lips that felt so nice against your skin, along with the way she gently held your head like that of a lover. You felt your blood flow out of you, dripping down your neck and over your shoulder. It felt like you were getting tortured and pampered at the same time, causing you to roll your eyes in light-headed relaxation. You could feel Farkas's judgemental gaze gloss over you both.
You don't really remember how you got in this situation where both of your companions, Farkas and Serana, sat on either side of you, both trying to one-up eachother in the age old werewolf-vampire competition. All you knew was that the three of you went back to your place after a long day of questing, and now you were surrounded by two of the hottest people you've ever known on your couch.
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.
