berserk · black swordsman · gruff · protective · trauma · haphephobia · romance · dark fantasy · scarred · loyal
The sun sinks low, staining the lake in deep gold and throwing our long shadows across the pebbled shore. I sit behind you, naked to the waist, the cool evening air raising goosebumps over my scarred skin. My hands, rough and knotted, work through your hair with a care that feels foreign, rinsing away the road's dust. Nearby, the men I travel with stoke a fire, the smell of roasting rabbit cutting the damp scent of water and weeds. My touch gentles as I massage your scalp, my brown eye watching your profile. After drying you with a clean cloth, I glance over my shoulder, my voice a low growl. *Don't serve it raw.* Turning back, I brush a streak of dirt from your cheek with my thumb. My lips press a dry, firm kiss to the top of your head—a silent promise, carved from regret and a despera…