#i had so much fun im so excited to write the next boys

MAN I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS I DIDNT WANNA STOP‼️ i want to do oneshots for ALL the ikepri boys (eventually) but here’s the first bit. next on the docket is clavis, yves, and nokto

beastie boys and the hunter — part I (prologue & chevalier) (NSFW 18+);

You are a Child of the Forests, raised in the wilds of the south with your kin, the Blackroot tribe. Four years ago you were honoured with the title of Matriarch, something given to the most skilled female warrior of the tribe. As a Matriarch, your duty is to venture into the worlds beyond the wilds and accrue knowledge for future generations.

prologue;

You broke into the palace.

You, what many of these folks would consider a lowly savage, broke into the palace of Rhodolite.

Perhaps it was a bad idea — it definitely was a bad idea — but you were raised to always protect your friends and allies, so by your pride as a Matriarch you simply couldn’t not do this.

As you were sneaking in, shrouded in the cover of night, you spot an unfamiliar man with hair the colour of lavender. High-born from the looks of his clothes. One of the princes? Seems likely.

For a moment, you consider killing him, but then you think of your friend Emma and decide against it. This was a rescue mission, not a hunt. You creep towards him on the balls of your feet, keeping as low and silent as you could. He hasn’t seemed to notice you yet. Good.

By the time he realises someone is behind him, it’s too late. You sling a cloth around his mouth and yank him backwards, and he immediately struggles against you. He’s stronger than you thought he’d be, most other city-dwellers are soft and squishy, but you continue to overpower him.

You leave him gagged and hog-tied behind a rose bush and enter the palace through the door he left out of. The halls were dark and empty, but you were trained to make use of other senses whenever sight failed you, and you swiftly make your way through the building.

The feeling of cold marble and wool rugs against your bare feet makes you cringe, but you keep your disgust from distracting you as best you can.

Arguably, you should’ve planned better for this. You don’t know where Emma is being held, and city-dwellers always have far too many rooms. You’re out of your comfort zone here, so all you can do is quietly try each door and hope your friend is behind one of them.

It takes longer than you like, but eventually brute-forcing wins the day and you find Emma reading a leather bound book by candlelight. You enter the room and close the door behind you in one quick motion, Emma still enraptured in the contents of her book. You sigh silently, she’s never as aware as she should be.

“Emma,” you call gently as you make your way towards her.

She sits up and locks eyes with you, “[Name]! You’re here— what are you doing here? How’d you know where I was?”

You hold a finger to your lips. “When I came back to town I tried to find you and Rio, but you weren’t there. The city-dwellers told me you’d been taken to the palace.”

“So you broke in?” She finally puts her book away and strides towards you, taking your hands in hers. “You could get into a lot of trouble for this! You need to leave!”

“I know. And you’re coming with me.” 

Before any heroic rescuing can take place, Emma’s door bursts open and light floods the room. Damn it. You wasted too much time searching the rooms. Four men enter, only one of them a familiar face, and you let go of Emma’s hands to draw your bow and aim an arrow at the towering blond’s forehead.

“[Name]!” Rio calls out, eyes wide in surprise.

“I knew it,” the blond said, glancing between you and Emma. “Someone was here for Belle.”

He sees your arrow trained on him and a dangerous glint shines in his dark blue eyes. His sword is drawn and he stares you down. You can tell by his confident movements that he’s well-practiced with that blade, and you keep your eyes locked on him.

“Do you really think you’ll get out of here alive?” he questions, his voice low and threatening.

“Maybe. Do you think you’ll be able to get me before I land an arrow between your eyes?” you answer. His lips quirk up a little in response.

You feel a shaky hand on your arm and look over at Emma, whose body is wracked with fear. “[Name], please don’t do this. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, let’s just talk about it, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment and glance to Rio. He’s also pleading you with his eyes. You scowl and return your gaze to the stranger in your sights. “What’s there to talk about? These princelings kidnapped you.”

“Kidnapped?” the man with dark hair muses. “I assure you it’s nothing so egregious. Please lay down your weapons and let us speak.”

The shorter blond one lays a hand on the taller man’s back. “Brother, please sheathe your sword. It’s clear she’s not an assassin. At least not for Belle.”

The warrior glares at you, but ultimately follows his brother’s wishes and lowers the blade. You follow suit and relax your bowstring, re-holstering the arrow. You don’t trust this, but you’ll try.

The man — who tells you his name is Sariel — leads you to another room teeming with books and paper stacks. Before an arched window stands a sturdy richly coloured desk surrounded by more strange men, and to your surprise the lavender-haired man is here as well. He catches your eye and scoffs, partly in amusement and annoyance, he didn’t seem to be a fan of getting tied up — but not entirely displeased either.

Sariel introduces himself and the eight princes. The ones you met in Emma’s room are Yves and Chevalier, the fifth and second princes respectively.

They explain the situation with Emma. For the past five days, she’s resided in the palace with Rio working as Belle, some kind of commoner that chooses the next King of Rhodolite. It sounded like rubbish to you, but then again so does most “civilised” culture.

In turn you introduce yourself. You are the Matriarch of the Blackroot tribe, roughly eighteen months ago you met Emma and Rio and you became friends. Whenever you came through Rhodolite after an adventure you’d return to the city to meet with them again. You cared for them both, so when you caught word that they were taken to the palace you could only assume the worst.

Sariel seemed strangely empathetic to this (maybe Emma’s influence?), and offered to let you stay for the duration of Belle’s service as an “unofficial knight” of sorts. You didn’t want to leave them alone in the hands of princelings, so you reluctantly agreed.

-

Chevalier Michel;

This wasn’t the first time Chevalier disagreed with the minister’s decision, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last. This whole Belle farce was bad enough, but now she was allowed two guard dogs in the palace? One of them a barefoot savage that preferred to sleep in the dirt rather than a bed, no less.

Ah well. He supposed it wasn’t all bad. Belle would almost certainly be targeted by their enemies, and if someone else was watching her it meant he didn’t have to waste time doing it himself.

A few days after the commotion, Chevalier rises early to head to the training grounds. He’s spent too long cooped up in a study, he doesn’t want his sword arm getting rusty.

He can barely hold back his displeasure when he sees a familiar scant-clad Forest Child already there. You’re training with your bow, lining shot after shot into the straw-stuffed training dummies, and internally he wants to command you away. He feels that you wouldn’t respect his authority even so, but he’ll try regardless. He does not want to deal with another headache right now.

Chevalier heaves a sigh as he runs a hand through his pale blond hair and approaches. “Stand aside,” he orders, “I wish to train, and you’re in my way.”

You turn back and frown incredulously at him. You make a vague motion towards the row of dummies that you weren’t practicing with. “There’s enough to go around, help yourself.”

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t want to get shot by one of your stray arrows. Move aside, now.”

After a few tense seconds of mutual glaring, you relent and put your bow away, stepping away from the yard. He thinks he’s won and turns to the dummies, but soon you return with a couple of crude hand-axes.

“What are you doing?” he grunts, not even looking your way. “Didn’t I just tell you to leave?”

“I decided I’d switch to melee practice. That way you won’t get ‘shot by one of my stray arrows’ right?”

He scowls. What a meddlesome woman.

An idea hatches in his mind, and instead of striking an inanimate object, he grabs a wooden practice sword and raises it in your direction. “If you’re not going to leave, at least make yourself useful. You will spar with me.”

You’re taken aback. Big old high and mighty prince wants to spar with a savage? And a woman, no less. From what you know of city-dwellers, women seemed to be treated as the more delicate sex, so it’s surprising that he’s willing to humour you.

“You want to spar with me, princeling?” you smirk, resting a fist on your hip.

“I’ve heard tales of the Forest Children’s aptitude in combat. If you wish to remain Belle’s protector, show me you’re worthy,” he answers nonchalantly. Then he looks at you with a challenging smirk of his own. “Not that I think you can touch me.”

You’re not too proud to say that you were enticed by his proposal. You drop your axes to the side and pick up a wooden sword like his, and return to face him.

“The rules are simple. Whoever lands a strike on the other one first, wins. And try not to feel too disappointed when you lose, Forest Child. Not everyone is made to be a hunter,” he mocks.

Your fingers twitch in annoyance. What could this prissy little lord possibly know about being a hunter? You look forward to wiping that look off his face.

You ready yourselves and he calls out when to begin. You decide to take the easiest course of action: rush him first and gage his strengths.

You’re faster than he expects, but he blocks your feeble attack easily and flings you back. His movements are fluid and confident, he’s faster and stronger than the average man, you can tell he’s a deadly combatant. But despite all his strengths, you can see an opening. It’s small, but it’s something.

You exchange blows in a flurry of blades, neither of you giving the other any quarter as you attempt to make contact. Finally, you see an opportunity.

You swing at him again and he meets your sword with his, but before he can push you back you kick at his imperfect stance and topple him. He tries to regain his balance before he falls, and you take the chance to fling his sword away. You grab his outstretched hand and twist it behind his back, bringing him to his knees with you standing tall behind him.

With a tap of wood against his neck, you say triumphantly, “Dead.”

Chevalier huffs, or perhaps it was a laugh? And despite not being able to see his face, you can tell he’s not too broken up about losing. “Not a bad showing. Maybe the stories of your kind aren’t all baseless.”

Something in him stirs as you let him get to his feet. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and it’s almost like his consciousness is fighting against it, but he feels… respect? Admiration? Like he’s found someone useful for a change.

And he must admit, a woman with your kind of strength is… amusing. Maybe even a bit arousing — though he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself quite yet.

You don’t exchange any more words with him that day. And when you’re both in the training yard again the next morning, you say nothing then too. You spar again, another win for you.

The next day, he wins.

The day after that, you win.

It becomes a routine thing for you. Sometimes he manages to get ahead, but for the majority you’re able to best him.

A lesser man might feel emasculated, his pride damaged by the thought of being weaker than a woman, but Chevalier was no such man. Instead of brooding, he found your spars enlightening. Each morning he learned a little more about himself, and a little more about you.

For example, he hadn’t noticed that he guarded the right side of his body more than his left. Or that you reacted faster to sound than you did to sight.

You went from just sparring to discussing tactics, both on the battlefield and out in the woods.

“The ideal way to hunt is for the hunter to have already finished by the time the prey realises it,” he tells you simply as he thumbs through a tome. You bark out a laugh before you realise he’s not joking. “What, pray tell, do you find so funny?”

“I mean that’s… common knowledge isn’t it?” You tilt your head. “Obviously the best outcome for a hunt is to kill your target before it notices you. You can’t hunt something very well if it’s run off. That’s like saying ‘the best way to write a letter is with a quill and paper’, like… yes, thank you, I think everybody knows that.”

He scowls at you and lets out a disapproving snort. “Why did Sariel let a savage live on palace grounds, again?” A subtle glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s being playful, in his own way.

You lean back in your chair and throw your arms up. “Oh, so now I’m a savage. You’re fine with being seen as a hunter when it means you can use cool metaphors, but when the time comes to rip out a boar’s throat with your teeth and drink it’s blood you’re nowhere to be found!”

Chevalier stares at you silently. It’s unclear if he’s trying to determine your seriousness, or if he’s just completely unamused.

You weren’t joking though, you really did drink animal blood. It was a good way to offset the lack of fruits and vegetables in your diets. Roughly 90% of what Children of the Forest ate was meat.

“You…” he begins, but then he stops. He didn’t actually know how to respond to that, so he just decides not to. He turns back to his book.

You slump a little. “That’s it?” You were expecting him to get snarky at you so you could banter a little bit.

He notices your disappointment and smirks to himself. It’s kind of cute how you always want to pick a fight with him— wait, did he just think that?

Over time he comes to notice you more. Your curves, your muscles, the tattoos that sprawled across your body (a mark of being a Matriarch, you’d told him), and soon he became irritated with how little your leathers concealed.

It was common practice for Children of the Forest to run around half-naked or even fully naked, and at first he thought little of it but now it got on his nerves.

Were you intentionally trying to seduce him? Were you and your ilk always so shameless? Did you not know how other men would look at you? Did you not care?

Other men… The thought of them seeing as much of you as he did bothered him. He tried to quash these feelings, but it seemed the harder he fought against them the more they grew.

He lost a lot more in your spars. He’d get distracted at the way your breasts bounced, or the intense look you’d get in your eyes. You noticed something was off, but you paid it no mind. At least, you tried not to.

But it had been three weeks since you arrived, and Chevalier had gone from improving rapidly to making rookie mistakes.

You knock him on his ass — something you normally wouldn’t have been able to do — and stand above him with your sword lined up to his face. “This is getting ridiculous now,” you chide him. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have a death wish? You expect to be King when you can’t even watch your stance?”

He glares up at you. “Hold your tongue, [Name]. My patience only goes so far.”

“So does mine!” you retort. “At first you were a worthy fighter, but now it feels like I’m whipping a new-blood!”

Damn it, you’re right and he hates it. He still fights just as well, if not better, with other opponents but he continuously falters with you. He wasn’t ashamed when he lost to you the first time, but he certainly was now.

He tries to get up to leave, but you knock him down again. “That’s enough, wildling. I’ve had my fill of you for the day, let me leave.”

“Then leave.”

Chevalier eyes you curiously and tries to get up again. Again you knock him down. He snarls at you, rage bubbling in his stomach at the act of being repeatedly humiliated.

When you knock him down again, he grabs the practice sword in your hand and pulls you forward. It’s enough to throw you off your balance and he’s able to stand while you fumble. He gives you a final glare as he spins on his heel and starts to walk away.

He doesn’t get very far before you dash in front of him and block his way. “You can’t own up to your mistakes, so you try to avoid them?” you spit. “Strike me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m not playing these games with you. I have more important things to do than play fight with a tree-hugger. Stand aside.” His aura is more commanding than it usually is. He isn’t playing with you, not this time at least.

You answer with only two words. “Make. Me.”

“If you think you can threaten me in my own home, you’re sorely mistaken. I am the rightful King of these lands, and savage or not you will respect that.”

You make no attempts to move, and he sees the only way to get through to you is force. He grabs the blade he’d discarded when you knocked him down earlier and readies himself.

Before you can blink, he’s on you. You only narrowly managed to block his attack and he winds back and strikes again. There’s passion in his hits now, something that was lacking these past few days, and you prepare yourself for a hard fight.

He moves faster than you’ve seen him before, but there’s still a sense that he’s struggling with something.

Like he’s running.

“You think you can just come into my palace and treat me how you want,” he grunts, landing blow after blow on your sword until the wood begins to splinter. “Who do you think you are?!”

When he pushes you back, you push him harder. The ferocity in his mannerisms continues to intensify, and you wonder if maybe he’ll win today. You’ll be damned if you make it easy for him.

“What do you plan to do about it?” you taunt, your breath becoming strained as you put more effort into your parries and attacks.

“You’re a fool, [Name], and I plan to put you in your place.”

The fight is the most draining one you’ve had thus far. You’re holding on, barely, and you notice the subtle signs of him struggling to keep up too.

Despite the sweat beading on your face, sticking strands of hair to your skin, you find enough energy to snicker at him. “Are you sure you’re not just horny for me?”

He pauses for a split second, and you knock the sword from his hands. He gains his composure and clenches his hands by his side, waiting for you to land the final hit.

But it never comes.

You toss your sword to the side and forcefully hold his chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Are you sure that you don’t want me to just takeyou?”

A scowl has once again carved into his beautiful features. “I want nothing of the sort. You insult me with these accusations, Forest Child.”

You let go and trail a finger down his jawline, following the contour of his neck and resting at his clavicle. He swallows thickly as a fire stirs in his belly, a primal desire the likes of which he’s never felt before.

“You city-dwellers are so prudish. Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. You’re not as subtle as you think, prince Chevalier.” You smile coyly at him, you know you’re riling him up. “I see the way you stare at my tits. And my ass. I’m not offended, I’m just amused that someone as strong as you can’t come out and simply ask me to fuck you.”

A trickle of sweat drops down his temple, and despite his best wishes he can feel his excitement growing. “You’re truly trying to seduce me so openly? Your people have no shame. A woman shouldn’t approach so casually.”

Your gaze drops to his lips. “Your backwards social norms mean nothing to me. I have always approached, and I will continue to do so.” The finger resting on his collarbone trails a lazy path down to his lower stomach. “Besides, I can hear your heartbeat quickening. I wonder, if I was to look in your trousers, would you be soft?”

Chevalier knew that was a rhetorical question. You already had your answer, you just wanted him to admit it. He deigned to say nothing, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you as you stepped in closer and undid his belt.

Before your fingers could make contact with his desperately yearning cock, he growled darkly. “If you do this, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

“You’re welcome to try, you wouldn’t be the first,” you chuckle. “But no one’s managed to come out on top, if you get my meaning.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. But his urges will let him resist no longer, and he watches you earnestly as you reach your hand into his pants and stroke the sensitive underside of his dick. He sucks in a breath but lets you continue.

You only stroke him a couple of times before you draw your hand away, and he almost groans in anguish. You hold your hand up to his mouth and say, “Spit.”

For a split second he’s confused, but he quickly gets the picture and leans his face down to your hand. He puckers his lips as a steady trickle of saliva drops down into your palm, and his deep blue eyes are locked on yours.

When he’s finished, he asks you, “Good enough?”

You grin at him. “We’ll see.”

Your hand goes back to his needy cock, and already he can feel the difference. The wet, slightly sticky feeling of his saliva coats him from tip to base, and his eyes almost flutter closed. His lips part slightly as he breathes out steady pants, his gaze locked on you through his long, pale eyelashes.

He’s quite big, you note, and his dick has a slight curve to it. You’re sure no one’s complained with him in the boudoir, but it takes far more than a big dick to impress you.

You twist your hand around him as you stroke, making sure that you touch every inch of him. You’re quite skilled, and Chevalier wonders momentarily if there’s anything you can’t do well.

The answer to that is read, of course. But you’ve never shared that with him.

The heat between you builds as you bring him closer to the edge, and unable to hold back anymore he leans towards you and captures your lips.

You smile into the kiss, and your satisfied snicker is swallowed by him. Chevalier rests his hands on your waist, running them over your hips and your ass as your tongues explore each other’s mouths.

His hips gyrate against your hand, and precum flows from the tip of his prick as you continue to work your magic on him. You part from the kiss and attack his neck with your teeth — thankfully, not to rip it out, but instead to leave a white hot trail of kisses and hickeys.

He groans as he tilts his head forward, feeling his release quickly approaching. “Fuck… just like that… you’ll make me cum, [Name].”

You laugh against his ear. “A prince getting jacked off by a wildling in broad daylight, how embarrassing.”

He grips your shoulders as he pumps himself into your hand. “You are… nngh.. an insufferable woman.”

You smile to yourself and he throws his head back as he shoots ropes of hot cum onto your hand and torso, giving a final grunt as he does so. His mind goes blank at the pleasure, and he slowly winds down as small spurts of cum drop to the ground beneath you.

You part — all too soon for his liking — and you have an annoyingly pleased look about yourself. Chevalier tidies himself up and goes back to his default state of looking mildly irritated. You’re the one who has his cum on you, so why does it feel like you just got the better of him?

“So,” you break the silence, “good talk. I should go get cleaned up, I’ll let you return to your princely duties.”

As you walk past him, you spare a hungry glance at his thick, firm ass and grab a handful. He jolts and twists back to face you, but by then you’re a couple steps out of his reach. “I’ll look forward to exploring the rest of you next time, Chevalier,” you say with a lecherous grin. That ass really seemed magical.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you perverted Forest Child,” he calls back. But you both know that’s a bluff, he’s just trying to maintain a semblance of his pride.

You wave a lazy hand in farewell as you saunter off, and he’s left staring dumbly in your direction.

This won’t work out. He’s sure of it. You’re from two different worlds, ones that can never merge no matter how many kingdoms he unites. Someday you’ll have all you need to fulfil your duty as Matriarch. Someday you’ll leave Rhodolite for the southern forests and it will be the last time he ever sees you, but for now…

At least for now, he knows he’ll see you in the morning.