#I tried to keep this close to the length of the others' descriptions but my feelings got carried away
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Lace's Official Ranking of Couples from The Flash
1: Cisco and Kamilla
Best guy in the Flashverse meets best girl in the Flashverse. Instant recipe for perfection.
When I first heard via Tumblr that Cisco had a new girlfriend in season 6, my automatic reaction was, "Oh, Christ, ANOTHER one????" because while I don't dislike his previous love interests, I had grown tired of watching him fall head over heels for people who didn't care as much about him as he did for them. And given the less than encouraging (and wildly incorrect) criticism for Kamilla in the same post that I learned of her existence in, my expectations were very low, and I tried to just enjoy single!Cisco while he lasted, dreading what I thought would be yet another uneven and unsatisfying romantic arc for him.
So when a cute bartender offered Cisco a drink to cheer him up (half a season sooner than I was expecting her), and they struck up a conversation that felt so comfortable and effortless, a little wistful part of me was like, "Man, it's too bad he can't just date her. She's sweet and relatable and they have nice chemistry. If this was how he met the girl he ended up with, that would actually be really cute." AND THEN SHE INTRODUCED HERSELF.
Admittedly, I was still a little skeptical for a while, due to the frigid reception she got from the majority (or just the loudest members) of the fandom, but the more I saw of Kamilla, the more I couldn't help liking her, and she quickly became one of my favorite characters. A photographer, an artsy girl working a customer service job that she hates, who's attracted to Cisco's personality and decidedly turned off by all the stupid personas he tries on to try to impress her; who tolerates his chatty friend crashing their date with a smile, and is certain about her answer when he asks her if she really wants to update her relationship status.
Building a relationship with each other is easy, but it still takes some work. For Kamilla, it means letting not only Cisco, but his whole found family into her life, and accepting all facets of his life and dealing with all the craziness that comes with being part of a superhero team. For Cisco, it means breaking down his protective walls and letting himself be vulnerable with Kamilla, and trusting her not to let him down. And as their relationship progresses, they both support each other's careers (and get involved in them when needed) and never want to stand in each other's way. They're both fiercely protective of one another, and they have compatible aspirations that change at the same time, allowing them to grow together instead of having to choose between each other or themselves.
They are two very different individuals, but their differences don't interfere with their relationship, because they embrace them and work with them, instead of trying to make their relationship work in spite of them. It also works because they share a lot of similarities; they're both independent and driven, and they both understand this about each other and are able to balance their time spent together and apart. They're also both caring and loyal to their friends and a good ear to vent to and shoulder to cry on, and that carries over to their relationship with each other as well.
Kamilla makes Cisco happier than anyone he's ever been with, she's able to tell him when he's being an idiot while still being on his side, she's someone he trusts with things he's not ready to tell anyone else, while also understanding that sometimes the person he needs to talk to is someone who's known him longer, and what a lot of people mistake for a lack of chemistry is in fact just a lack of reliance/focus on sexual tension.
Even though they didn't get nearly enough storylines and they're criminally underrated, they're easily the second or third most developed couple in the show, and they are absolutely the cutest.
#I tried to keep this close to the length of the others' descriptions but my feelings got carried away#The Flash#Cisco Ramon#Kamilla Hwang#Kamisco#Ranking Flash Couples
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IN THE NETHERWOOD
PART III
KINKTOBER 2023 ♤ WEREWOLF!SANEMI X RED RIDING HOOD! READER
PART I HERE ♤ PART TWO HERE
A/N: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS BEFORE YOU REPORT. Special shout out to @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 for being my medical reference and @ghost-1-y for reading this behemoth ahead of time and helping me spot errors. I owe you both my firstborn. TW: dead dove do not eat • explicit violence/gore • references to non-con against several characters (not depicted) • mutilation • self-mutilation/injury (broken bones) • references to torture (not depicted) • brief description of dismembered body • Douma is a sadist • references/mentions of characters being eaten alive • death • angst CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • monster-fucking • werewolf fucking • Giant wolf cock • mates/mating marks • heat cycles • breeding • cum so much fucking cum • belly bulging • dick imprint • cum swelling • oral sex (F! And M! Receiving) • scent kink • breeding kink • creative use of the mating bond • vaginal fisting (?) (idk Sanemi has his whole hand in her at one point) • vaginal fingering • possessive/protective mates • discussions of pregnancy
The suffocating quiet of the Netherwood was broken by the sound of your high-pitched, breathy moans, echoing off the walls of the small den in which you’d spent the last three days.
You supposed you should watch your volume, given that you were in the thick of the Wood, surrounded by plenty of hungry, prowling creatures that would love nothing more than to gnaw on one of your limbs, but you found it increasingly difficult to care, given the presence of Sanemi’s head between your quivering thighs.
Oh well. If the two of you ended up some nightcrawler’s dinner because you hadn’t been able to suppress the sounds of your pleasure as the Huntsman’s tongue lazily swirled your entrance, then at least you would be leaving this world floating on a cloud of bliss.
Though, in fairness, you thought you deserved some credit for attempting to keep yourself quiet. You’d tried to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries and pleading whimpers as Sanemi worked you with his tongue and fingers, but the Wolf’s other hand had reached up the length of your torso to pull your arm away.
“Let me hear you, Lamb,” he’d murmured against your cunt between teasing sucks at your swollen nub. “You always make the most beautiful sounds for me.”
As if to make a point, he’d driven his tongue straight into your entrance, and you’d been unable to stop the answering wail that tore from your throat, or your fingers from gripping harshly at his hair, desperate to keep him close. Before long, the Huntsman brought you to climax once more with your legs locked around his head at your knees and his hands clenching tightly around the meat of your thighs. The moment the essence of your pleasure hit his tongue, Sanemi groaned, loud and wantonly, and pressed your core tighter against his mouth until you were certain he couldn’t breathe in anything that wasn’t you.
“Would it shock you to know I have a sweet tooth?” He panted after he pulled away, his cheek resting against your inner thigh as it quivered with the aftershock of your ecstasy. “Unhealthily so, as a matter of fact; it borders an obsession.” His eyes dropped down to your core which glistened with the combination of fluids from your pleasure and his mouth. His pupils blew wide. “And yet, I have never encountered a vice as sweet as you, little Lamb.” He pressed a sweet kiss against your slit before he danced his mouth across the delicate skin of your inner thighs, every touch of his lips soothing the way they trembled as you came down from your peak.
“I’m your glutton,” he whispered against your navel as he trailed his lips up your body, limp from equal parts satisfaction and exhaustion.
The Wolf covered your slightly shivering form with his, his head dipping to nuzzle affectionately at your neck.
“How are you feeling?” Sanemi asked shyly, moving to brush his nose against yours. “Have you any discomfort?”
You made a point of stretching against the furs, shifting each joint and flexing every limb to test its mobility.
“Perhaps a little soreness,” you said after a moment. “Though I admit, it is not nearly as bad as I would’ve expected.”
Sanemi’s hands stroked along your skin, the Huntsman directing you to guide him to where any ache lingered, his fingers stopping to gently massage any area where you’d even slightly twitched beneath his touch.
“That might be because of me,” he murmured as his fingers worked a tender spot on your hip. At your raised eyebrow, he added with a smirk, “My saliva heals.”
He rolled to his back, bringing you atop him, his hands threading gently through your hair.
“Do you feel any different?” You whispered, fingers painting circles in the dip between his generous pectoral muscles. “Now that I’ve accepted the bond?”
You felt him grin against your hairline. “You mean besides feeling the utter bliss of having such a beautiful, delectable, and downright sinful little mate?”
You rolled your eyes. “I was being earnest.”
“As was I,” Sanemi flipped you back under him, settling in the cradle of your thighs, his weight braced on his forearms that came to rest by your head. “You are truly an irresistible little creature.”
“But if you’re asking whether I feel changed,” Sanemi paused, dipping his head down to trail heated kisses along your neck. “Then yes, little Lamb. I feel the bond.”
Your hand found the back of his neck and tugged him down for a needy kiss. “In what way?” You murmured after you broke away.
Sanemi propped himself up on an elbow above you, his cheek resting on his fist, and he let his some of his weight press against your stomach. The Huntsman was quiet for a moment, his eyes tracing over your your features as he thought.
“The bond serves many purposes,” he began, the index finger of his other hand coming to trace the shape of his mating mark imprinted between your neck and shoulder. “I told you we would be able to feel the other’s emotions through it.”
You nodded, catching the hand toying with your mating mark in yours. Sanemi smirked as he interlaced your fingers with his, holding your hand tight.
“It is more than that. We can use the bond to communicate with one another in a way.”
“You mean speak to one another? Through our minds?” You tapped your fingers against his forehead.
Sanemi’s soft laugh was intoxicating. “Not quite,” he shifted over you until his torso rest flush against yours, his weight a blanket you wished would never leave. “Clear your head for a moment.”
You closed your eyes and willed your mind to still. Sanemi leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours and waited.
After a moment you felt a tug in the back of your mind — as though someone had attached an invisible string to your head and now pulled on it.
“Let your mind open,” came Sanemi’s quiet murmur, his warm breath heating your lips. “Let me in, sweet Lamb.”
Another tug on that string and you felt something bloom — like doors pushed open by a soft wind, allowing sunlight and fresh air to filter through its opening.
Eyes still closed, you smiled. “I feel you,” you whispered. “Though I don’t hear you.”
“Concentrate on the feeling — we can’t talk to one another, not like we are now,” Sanemi’s fingers trailed comfortingly through your hair. “But we can speak through our emotions.”
You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, narrowing your focus in on the emotions floating down your shared connection.
Sanemi’s presence in your mind felt like a question — no, a request.
Your eyes flew open. With a wide grin, you surged forward and pressed your lips hard against his.
Sanemi chuckled into your kiss, his hand sliding along your jaw as he deepened your connection for a moment, before pulling away. “That’s my girl.”
“That’s incredible!” You breathed excitedly. “All because of the bond?”
The Huntsman nodded, moving his lips down to kiss the hollow of your throat. “Because you accepted the bond, Lamb.” Sanemi settled beside you, pulling your hand up to his mouth, his lips brushing repeatedly over your knuckles and fingers. “And now, whenever you wish it, I can feel what you feel and contrawise.”
“So I will only feel you if I open up the bond to you, first?”
“Aye, though,” Sanemi added, “I suppose if whatever it is either of is experiencing at a given moment is particularly strong, the other will feel it even without first needing to open up the bond.”
You pursed your lips in thought. “So if, say, I was feeling exceptionally happy-“
Sanemi hummed in agreement. “If it was that powerful, I believe I would feel it, too, no matter where you were.”
“And if I was feeling something even stronger than happiness…” you continued, a faint blush warming your cheeks.
The Huntsman raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Aye, Lamb, I reckon I’d feel that, too.”
You had never been one to let your emotions run free, but you could think of no better time than to unlatch the chain that for so long you’d kept locked over your heart. With a serene smile you let go of that inner leash, allowing every ounce of emotion you’d come to harbor for the Huntsman who’d saved your life — in more ways than one — pour forth.
Sanemi’s eyes widened as he felt every bit of it — your gratitude, your joy, and most importantly, your love — surge forward down the mating bond.
“Oh, Y/N,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand caressing your face. “My darling little Lamb. I do not deserve you.”
“But I love you all the same.” He murmured before kissing you softly, reverently.
Though Sanemi had insisted earlier that the two of you needed to be on your way if you were to make it back to the Wolves’ territory before nightfall, it was he who coaxed you into wrapping your legs around his hips once more.
As he’d rolled gently into you, arms wrapped tightly around your trembling form, he allowed his own emotions to pour into you down the bond, until you could not tell whether you cried from pleasure or from the overwhelming depth of his love.
Home, you thought just before he helped bring you over the edge. Sanemi felt like home.
--
When Sanemi finally pulled away from you, the late autumn sun hung high overhead. With a groan, the Huntsman rose from your nest, running a hand through his rumpled hair as he cursed you for being “too damn enticing.”
You sat up and winced slightly at the warm fluid trickling down your thighs. Beneath the slight soreness that still pulsed through your lower body, between your legs felt slightly gooey and sticky.
“I don’t suppose we have time to bathe before continuing our journey,” you lamented. Sanemi looked over his shoulder back at you as he tugged on his breeches, his mouth pulled into an apologetic half-grin.
“Sorry, sweetling, but we need to move. We don’t want to be stuck here when night comes.”
He rummaged in his satchel for a small handkerchief, pulling it free before moving towards the remnants of the small fire that he’d put out and dousing the cloth in the water he’d warmed for tea.
He motioned for you to lay back against the furs of the nest. You obeyed, spreading your legs slightly for him. Sanemi looked almost proud at the mess he’d left behind as he gently wiped away the remnants of your coupling with the warm cloth.
You hissed slightly at the contact, still sensitive. Sanemi’s fingers were quick to massage the skin of your thighs to ease your tension. “This is the best I can do, for now.”
Once he’d cleaned you up the best he could, Sanemi brought you the layers of your dress from where he’d safely stored them before his heat struck.
As you dressed, it dawned on you that you had no idea what was to become of you, now that you’d been bonded to the Huntsman tasked with escorting you through the Wood.
You’d propositioned him with an amended bargain — to lead you to another human village, where you could decide whether you wanted to stay with him or part ways, but that was before the bite tying you to him; before you’d opened your body up to him to claim and make his.
Though you felt confident that Sanemi did not intend on abandoning you now, without a clear idea of your path, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty which sat like a weight in your stomach.
“Where do we go from here?” You kept your tone light as your fingers laced the cord of your stays. “Do you still wish to see our bargain through?”
Sanemi looked quizzically at you as he shook out his tunic. “You mean, do I intend to still take you to another human village?”
You nodded, letting the curtain of your hair fall before your face to conceal the way you chewed anxiously on your lower lip.
The Huntsman scoffed lightly. “No, Lamb. I am taking you home with me.”
You chanced glancing up at him. “Your home?”
“Aye.”
“The cabin, then?”
He shook his head. “That cabin is where I stay when I’m helping travelers through the Wood, but I don’t consider it my true home.” He looked at you with a soft smile. “We will go to the Wolves’ territory in the East. Where my brother and packmates live.”
Sanemi made quick work of clearing out the den once the two of you were properly dressed. He’d made a small fire to burn the furs used for the den nest, explaining the need to cover the remnants of your scents from any creatures tempted to follow after you as he tossed them one by one into the flames.
Once you’d secured your cloak around your shoulders and nestled your basket in the crook of your arm, and Sanemi his satchel across his back, the pair of you set off, anxious to reach the Wolves’ lands by nightfall.
You’d not been traveling for long when you spied a bubbling creek only a few lengths away from the path Sanemi had marked as safest to take, a ribbon that formed an unassuming partition that broke up the claustrophobic Netherwood. At once, the filth coating your skin – a mixture of sweat and sticky fluids from both you and your mate – felt all the more pronounced the longer you stared at the clear, crisp water.
“Are you certain we don’t have time to stop and refresh before continuing?” You shuddered at the thought of meeting the members of Sanemi’s pack unwashed with the remnants of your time in the cave den still lingering upon your skin – especially if they possessed the same sense of smell as your mate.
As if on cue, a piercing shriek tore through the trees, accompanied by an unsettling tremor that rippled across the forest floor. Above you, the Wood’s canopy shifted, though there was no wind to disturb the trees’ leaves.
Sanemi’s arm locked around your waist and the Wolf tucked you protectively into his side. His lips curled back in a snarl, his teeth bared as he scanned the tree line before you, his nostrils flaring as he scented out the threat. Save for the thundering beat of your heart against your sternum, you dared not make a sound.
Another distant roar echoed through the Wood before it was cut off by a sickening yelp. You tried to pretend the ominous crunching noises that followed was the mere product of your heightened and over-sensitive imagination, but Sanemi’s soft growl indicated he too, had heard the sound.
The crunching faded and a familiar stillness settled back over the Netherwood once more. Sanemi remained in his protective stance for a moment longer before finally relaxing, though the tightness in his features signaled he remained on high alert.
“Does that answer your question, Lamb?”
“Y-yes,” you answered meekly, voice high. The Huntsman nodded stiffly, casting one final look back toward the direction of the unnerving disturbance. His arm remained tightly around your waist as he gently guided you along, resuming your trek away from whatever danger lurked just out of sight, though at a more urgent pace.
“Talk to me, sweetling,” Sanemi squeezed your hip, bringing your focus back to him and away from the endless expanse of cursed Wood at your back. “Tell me about life in the village.”
It took you a moment to process what he’d asked. “You mean, before Douma?”
“Aye.”
You adjusted the hood of your cape over your head. “Quaint.” You decided after a moment. “We were so very isolated from any other village – stuck between the Netherwood and the base of a great mountain range.”
“It was rare to receive visitors from the other side of the Wood, and just as uncommon for any of us to attempt the journey. Only the truly desperate did that – usually to get aid for a sick loved one.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “That is how I lost my parents and ended up in my grandmother’s care.”
Sanemi nodded. “I remember you mentioned your parents disappeared into the Wood when you were a girl,” his arm dropped from its protective position around your waist in favor of looking through yours and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.
His other hand covered yours and squeezed. “And your grandmother?” He prompted gently. “You seem very fond of her.”
“I was,” you smiled, wistful. “She was my favorite person; she doted on me – and Kotoha, too, though we were always causing her grief.”
The sound of Sanemi’s quiet laugh helped still some of your errant nerves. “You, causing trouble? I cannot believe it – not my innocent Lamb.”
“I’m sure you can imagine what sort of strife two, rambunctious adolescent girls caused, especially for an old woman.” You said fondly. “I think Granny gave up hope that we’d mellow out upon reaching adulthood. She accepted she’d never have a demure, proper granddaughter.” Your heart squeezed under the mournful weight of her passing as it sunk into your chest like a stone. “I’m not sure she would’ve wanted it any other way.”
Sanemi hummed in agreement. “And Kotoha – she was your closest friend, no?”
“More a sister than a mere friend. We were joined at the hip from the time we could walk. Our families were neighbors, for a time.” You’d managed to keep your emotions in check as you’d spoken of your grandmother, but the mention of Kotoha brought a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow around, no matter how hard you tried.
“When her family learned she was with child out of wedlock, they tossed her into the street. My grandmother took her in.”
The hand you had nestled in Sanemi’s arm curled into a fist. “But Douma sent his proposal to her parents’ house, and they showed up not long after, demanding Kotoha agree to his offer. They claimed it would save her reputation,” you scoffed, a bitterness coating your tongue.
You remembered the way your Grandmother had vehemently argued with Kotoha’s parents, outright refusing to hand her over to deliver to the sinister Worship Leader, but it hadn’t mattered. Your friend’s parents were soberly aware of the rumors which swirled around the disappearances of Douma’s previous wives, and they still insisted on selling her daughter to the beast. “Their pride,” you seethed. “That was all that they cared about. Not hers; not her safety. Douma paid them handsomely in exchange for her hand – like she was fucking cattle.”
Sanemi’s sneer matched yours. “If there is one thing I despise about humans, it is how they treat their women,” he said darkly. “The utter disregard for their agency and willingness to sell them into violence for the sake of elevating their own status is abhorrent.”
He shook his head in disgust. “That her parents knew of the threat Douma posed and persisted anyways is unforgivable.”
You furtively rubbed at your eyes, hastily wiping away the angry tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. “Yes, well,” you said thickly, and Sanemi’s arm tightened around yours. “You know how the story ends: Kotoha’s bones dumped in the Wood.” A derisive laugh bubbled up in your throat, but you managed to hold it in. A tense moment passed as the two of you wrestled with the truth you’d left unspoken – that Kotoha’s death was what led you into the Netherwood, and it was the reason you’d found Sanemi at all.
You were alive and she was not.
Guilt settled like a blight over your heart that you were desperate to avoid. You cleared your throat, forcibly swallowing the lump of sorrow lodged there in favor of tucking it tightly away; you’d save that battle for another day.
“I’ve talked far too much,” you complained, twirling your basket in your free hand. “Is there anything else the bond can do? Beyond communicating through our emotions, I mean?”
“For example,” you glanced up at your mate. “Am I immortal now?”
“Even I’m not immortal, Lamb,” Sanemi said, a soft smirk on his mouth, and you were grateful for the ease with which he allowed you to change the course of your discussion. “So you most certainly aren’t.”
The two of you came across a small, rocky stream, frozen over by a thin layer of ice. It was almost too wide for you to leap across, but Sanemi managed to step over it with ease. He turned back to you and braced his hands braced either side of your waist, lifting you up and over the water, before tucking you back into his side. “Though, you might age slower. Wolves have a longer life span than humans; that mark might extend your life to match mine.”
“Not that I mind,” he added quickly, his hand squeezing yours. “I cannot imagine facing any stretch of years without you in my life.” His face darkened. “To not feel you down the bond — I don’t even want to imagine it.”
You looked at him, curiosity brimming in your eyes. "The bond can break?"
“Aye, Lamb,” and there was a heaviness in his eyes that made your heart clench. “Death severs the mating bond.”
You felt a chill run down your spine. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Sanemi confirmed. “Luckily it’s the only thing that breaks it — so no matter how far apart we may be, I will still be able to feel you, and you me.”
“There were legends that certain kinds of magic could sever the bond — without killing either mate,” Sanemi continued, the nostrils of his nose flaring every so often to scent the air around you for any signs of danger. “There were monsters — called Fae, though they were more like demons — that once roamed the Wood that had an appetite for eating other powerful creatures. They would manipulate the bond to create panic and lure out such beasts to consume.”
You shuddered. “And they had the power to cut a mating bond? Or at least manipulate it?”
Sanemi’s expression was dark. “Aye. Blood magic, they called it.” His eyes cut quickly to yours and softened at the sudden stiffness he found in your shoulders. “But it’s all legend, Y/N. No one in living memory has even seen a fae, let alone one that can use blood magic.”
The tightness you’d felt in your chest eased slightly at his assurance. “That’s a relief,” you smiled up at the Huntsman. “And it’s good to know I won’t accidentally cut it off should I ever become cross with you.”
“I can’t imagine how you could ever become cross with me, Lamb,” he replied cheekily. "And if you ever do, I expect all I'll have to do to get back into your good graces is drop to my knees and beg for your forgiveness with my tongue.”
You felt your cheeks heat. You stubbornly bit down on your tongue, too proud to admit the Wolf was likely right. You ignored his smug smirk as you cleared your throat, opting instead to push forward with a change in subject. “You’ve not told me about your true home — is that where your brother lives?”
“Aye,” the arm Sanemi used to escort you tightened slightly. “Along with a few friends.” His face turned dark for a moment. “What’s left of us, that is.”
Your hand squeezed his forearm in comfort. “You mentioned he stayed with a friend, but you never explained why.”
“Gyomei. He was the one who brought us to the Wolves’ territory – raised us.” His face tightened for a moment before he looked at you, affection brimming in his eyes. “And because you were being nosy.” Sanemi reached to tap the tip of your nose with his finger. “I didn’t want you prying. Not when you were going to leave in the end.”
You gave him a wry smile. “And yet I am still here.”
“That you are, Lamb.” He winked before sighing. “To put it simply: Genya is a boy who thinks he’s a man. He tries to act accordingly.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s got a temper and so do I.” Sanemi snorted. “Didn’t mix well in close quarters.”
You couldn’t fight the small grin forming on your lips. “You? Having a temper? I can’t imagine.”
He paused for a moment. “We got into an argument about him patrolling our lands by himself, and he ended up shifting in our den.” The Huntsman rolled his eyes. “Tried to take a bite out of me and everything, the little shit.”
���Patrol?”
Sanemi nodded. “We have a designated territory – it’s belonged to us for a few generations, going back to Kocho’s grandfather.” At your questioning look, he clarified. “Shinobu, that is. She was Kanae’s younger sister.” Kanae. It must have been the name of the one Sanemi had mentioned was once considered his mate-to-be before she’d disappeared in the Netherwood, never to be seen again. The very reason Sanemi had gone into self-imposed exile, committed to escorting lost stragglers through the Wood, if only to help them avoid her fate.
“Though our borders are relatively strong, we have to maintain regular patrols of the land to ensure no creature attempts to stake a claim,” the Huntsman continued. “As a result, the scariest thing which resides in our territory are the rabbits, which have a nasty little habit of shooting out from underbush and over your feet.” A playful smile spread across his face. “They make Shinobu jump every time.”
“And Genya -- how do you think he will react to me?” You asked carefully.
“He won’t be a danger to you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sanemi said quickly, before scoffing. “I’ll be shocked if the brat isn’t hiding under the bed, tail tucked between his legs.”
Your excitement over the limitless possibilities of your future was tempered by your unease over the unknown. Soon, so soon, you would be meeting Sanemi’s family, and you'd no idea how they would react to the arrival of his new, human mate. “Then let us make haste,” you said brightly, hoping your smile concealed some of your nerves. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
–--
Despite the odd growl or trill of creatures from beyond the Netherwood’s shadows, the rest of your journey was uneventful, particularly in comparison to earlier in the day. It was difficult to tell exactly how late it had grown, given the persistent darkness of the Wood, but with every bit of ground you two covered, Sanemi grew more and more relaxed. Furthermore, while you’d come to understand that part of the Netherwood’s sinister charm was the endlessness of its domain, forever dark and unchanging no matter how deeply you ventured into its howling void, you’d noticed a slight shift in the terrain under your feet, the ground slowing tapering into a downhill path. The trees ahead of you began to thin, allowing small slivers of light from the sky above to filter through the skeletal branches of the Wood’s canopy, enabling you to see more of the area without the need squint as you’d grown accustomed to doing elsewhere in the dense forest.
“We’re approaching our territory’s Western border,” Sanemi explained, having recognized the curiosity which bloomed in your eyes. “Once we pass through that thicket,” he pointed his chin to a small opening ten yards ahead. “We will only be half an hour from the dens.”
“That far?” Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Your territory is that large?”
“Aye,” Sanemi said smugly, his shoulders squaring in pride. “And our borders remain stable.”
“Come, Lamb,” he ushered, a newfound pep in his gait. “Let’s go home.”
--
The Western border was nothing special; it was merely a small clearing dotted by a few towering elm trees and a copse of brush and brambles. You were about to pester your mate with more questions about his territory and the Wolf pack when you spotted a familiar cluster of flora growing in a small thatch right at the edge of the border. You tore your hand from Sanemi’s arm, too excited by the sight to pay mind to his small grunt if indignation. “Snowdrops!” You clapped your hands joyfully. “You have snowdrops here! And they’ve bloomed!”
Sanemi answered your giddy grin with one of his own. “I’ve always wondered what these were called. Are you fond of them, Lamb?”
You knelt down without regard to the cold wetness that spread across the fabric of your skirt where your knee met the frozen, muddy ground. “They’re my favorite,” you said softly, stretching out your hand to graze your fingers over the delicate, bell-shaped petals of the small flowers. “My grandmother’s, too. We used to pick them at the start of each winter.” You frowned, thumbing at one of the blooms. “It seems too early for them to have bloomed, still. The Winter Solstice is still several weeks away.”
“Perhaps winter is arriving sooner than usual,” Sanemi hummed, plucking a single flower from the earth. Gentle fingers brushed back a lock of your hair, tucking the small bloom behind your ear. “Lovely,” his eyes roamed your face, full of quiet adoration, and his hand dropped to caress the curve of your jaw.
You felt your cheeks warm. “I’ll have to return here soon and gather more – for my Grandmother.”
Sanemi nodded and helped you stand. You brushed the front of your skirt free of any loose dirt, and together, the two of you ventured deeper into the safety of the Wolves’ territory.
As the small slivers of sky above you darkened, the dense cluster of trees grew sparser until the landscape suddenly blew wide, forming a yawning mouth deep within the Wood. As the two of you reached the edge of the tree line, you could see the way the forest floor tapered into a narrow path that gradually sloped downward before it opened, revealing a lush, hilly valley at its base. The rolling hills sprawled across the vale were broken up by smaller clusters of trees and brush, though it wasn’t nearly as dense as the Wood looming at your back. Standing above the gorge as you were, the peculiar arrangement of the foliage gave the distinct impression that the vegetation merely served to provide some privacy for the sloping mounds below.
Your position above the territory also revealed the curious sight of smoke drifting lazily above a few of the small hills. You studied the way it rose in steady, controlled columns, but you were unable to pinpoint its source even from where you stood at the outer limit of the Netherwood’s great maw. You gasped. “Is that --?”
“Aye,” Sanemi nodded. “Our homes are built into the hills themselves. Think of it as a cross between a wolf’s den and a cabin.” The Huntsman folded your hand into his and together, you descended the valley. As you drew closer, you realized the hills containing the dens were larger than you’d initially believed, with each standing at least two or three times the size of the cave den where Sanemi had claimed you as his mate.
The Wolf led you past the first of the foothills, and to your surprise, you caught sight of a small door nestled in the center of the cavern. It was with no shortage of delight that you spied small, purple flowers painted its trim. “That’s Kocho’s – Shinobu’s,” Sanemi nodded at the den. “She’s away right now; she often travels to human villages to the South – where you wanted to travel when we first met.”
“She makes that journey alone?” You turned to him in wide-eyed surprise. “Why?”
Sanemi shrugged. “Shinobu is something of a doctor – she studies medicine.” The small den disappeared behind you as he led you by your hand through the first small, twisting spinney of trees. “She often checks in on the humans in the villages on the other side of the Wood and provides aid where needed. Otherwise she purchases supplies she can’t collect on her own here.”
You walked a little way through the winding bramble, the trees lining the path bent towards one another, forming a half-tunnel of branches before giving way to another clearing. There, nestled alongside a small brook, sat another cave den, the slope of which was covered by a twisting mass of vines, browned and leafless in the late autumn night.
“And this is home,” Sanemi’s hand squeezed yours. “It looks better once the leaves have bloomed.” He led you to the small, wooden door built into the rock forming the cave. The border of the door’s frame was etched with small, delicate carvings, slightly faded from age and weather.
It seemed so…human.
Sanemi fished a small key free from the pocket of his satchel, strapped safely around his shoulders and slid it into the door’s lock. With a heavy groan, the door swung open under the push of his hand, revealing the homely cottage within. The Huntsman helped you over the raised threshold into the den, allowing the door to remain open so that the dwindling light of day could illuminate enough of the main floor of the cabin until he could stoke a fire to life in a great hearth at the center of the room. “It’s not much,” Sanemi admitted as the light from the fireplace bathed the room in its warm, orange glow. He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “But it’s –”
“Perfect,” you finished, breathless. You turned back to him and greeted his wide eyes with a broad smile. “Sanemi, it’s perfect.” And it was. The small entryway gave way to a surprisingly spacious and open room. The large mantle of the fireplace was its centerpiece, standing in the middle of the wall to your left. Straight back stood a large bed – larger than any you’d ever see – covered in thick layers of furs and knitted blankets. On one side of the large, logged bed frame was a sizable armoire; on the other, an antique washstand. A clay stove was nestled into a corner on your right, accompanied by a small wooden counter below a series of cupboards. While the room was open, there remained one corner obscured from sight by heavy curtains. You turned to your mate in question, eyes flickering back to the enclosed space in wait.
“The bath,” Sanemi nodded at the curtains. A wicked smirk curved his lips. “Plenty big enough for two.”
You blushed and continued your appraisal of his cave den. The floors were wood, but had been sanded down and smoothed, enough that you were sure you could walk across it barefoot without worrying about splinters. Several rugs were spread across the floor of various sizes, the largest of which was sprawled before the large fireplace. “This is incredible,” you murmured in awe. “I don’t know what I imagined, but your home is lovely.”
“Our home,” he said roughly. “This is your home now as much as it is --,”
The door to the den flew open with a sharp bang! startling both you and your mate. Instinctively, Sanemi swept you behind him, crouching slightly before you in a defensive stance, his hand flying to the hilt of his small axe where it was secured against his hip.
Before you stood a towering form of a man, though the figure’s face, as it came into view, bore all the telltale signs of youth, his features considerably softer than those of the Wolf softly snarling in warning before you. It struck you, however, that despite his lingering baby fat, the man – boy – before you, was a mirror of your Huntsman. Even without the jagged scar crossing his cheek and nose – a twin to Sanemi’s – the resemblance between the two brothers was striking. Though the he had darker hair, worn in an unusual mohawk that reached his shoulders, Genya possessed the same eyes as your mate, right down to the precise deep lavender hues of his irises.The younger Shinazugawa was lankier than his elder brother, but what he lacked in brawn, he made up for in height, possessing a good inch over Sanemi. Despite the clear presence of well-defined muscles slightly straining beneath his tunic and breeches, however, Genya possessed the lumbering awkwardness of youth. His shoulders hunched inward in an effort to take up less space than he occupied, and his arms hung stiff at his sides, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. The clumsiness of his frame complemented the gracelessness of his speech. “W-what – w-who?” He sputtered, gaping between his brother and you in wide-eyed disbelief. “Aniki?”
Beside you, Sanemi snorted under his breath. “Y/N. Her name is Y/N.”
You gave the young Wolf a warm smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you; your brother told me a great deal about you.”
Apparently, addressing the boy only served to fluster him more. He could scarcely meet your eyes, instead flushing a bright shade of red as he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Sanemi groaned, exasperated. “Gods above, Genya,” and the younger Shinazugawa looked sheepishly to his brother. “At least acknowledge her.”
Genya’s blush only deepened, his cheeks rapidly turning a deep shade of maroon as he mumbled apologies under his breath. His inability to meet your eye appeared to irritate the Huntsman, and Sanemi snarled at his brother in warning. Before he could snap at the bashful young Wolf, you laid your hand placatingly over his. Instantly, Sanemi relaxed, and his arm wound around your waist to hold you close as he settled.
Genya’s nostrils flared slightly. “A mate?” He whispered, looking to Sanemi in awe. “You claimed a mate?” His eyes flickered to you briefly, widening. “And she’s human?”
“Aye,” Sanemi nodded, though with a curious stiffness. “’S why I’m late. She was being tracked through the Wood.”
“A human in the Netherwood?” A spark of interest flared to life in his eyes, some of his blush fading as his curiosity dimmed some of his shyness. “Y-you managed to make it all the way to b-brother’s cabin?”
It was the first time Genya addressed you directly. “In a way,” you looked up to your mate with a small smile. “Though, I stumbled across him by chance more than anything.” You nestled affectionately into his side, and the Huntsman’s eyes dropped to yours. Feeling slightly bold, you fluttered your eyelashes at him, lips parting to give him the softest of smiles. Sanemi shifted beside you, pressing you harder against him. He cleared his throat and looked away, and to your amusement, you spied a faint blush creeping up the side of the Huntsman’s neck.
The moment of flirtation was lost upon the younger boy looking eagerly to his brother. “Was there a fight? Against the men following you? Does she –” his eyes cut to you and back. “Does she know?”
“She knows we are wolves,” and the brothers exchanged a meaningful look, one that did not slip past you unnoticed. Before you could question it, Sanemi added, sternly, “And she has accepted the bond. She is part of the pack now.”
Genya’s eyes shifted furtively back to you, but when he met your open, welcoming smile, he hastily dropped them back to the floor. “N-nice to meet you,” he mumbled shyly. Though his hulking mass suggested he was a fully matured man, Genya’s painful bashfulness gave away his boyishness.
Your grin widened. Oh, he was adorable. Absolutely precious.
Genya’s temporary embarrassment was fleeting, for he quickly looked back to his brother, clearly antsy to talk as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “How was the journey?” He asked. “Did you see any monsters? When did you find her – in a village? How long have –”
To your bewilderment, you felt the Huntsman at your side grow more and more tense with every question his younger brother pelted at him, his agitation nearly palpable. You were about to interject on his behalf when the white-haired wolf finally snapped. “Genya, fuck off,” Sanemi snarled, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.
You whipped your head toward the Huntsman, ready to give him the good verbal lashing he apparently needed, but the young boy only smiled, sheepish.“Sorry, Aniki,” Genya rubbed the back of his neck. “I forgot.”
“Don’t apologize,” you chastised the boy, gently. “It isn’t your fault your brother has lost all sense of decorum.”
Genya flushed. “N-no, it’s not,” he stammered in agreement. “B-but you see – well, when a wolf takes a mate…”The younger boy’s blush deepened to a near purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as he struggled to find the appropriate words.
Growling slightly under this breath, though more so in annoyance, Sanemi shifted himself behind you, pressing his hips against your rear. You felt his length, hard and throbbing against his breeches, as it dug sharply into your backside. Your mate’s silent explanation made your cheeks warm, and you wondered whether your blush matched Genya’s. “Oh.” You managed to choke.
Genya rocked awkwardly back on his feet. “I’ll come by later, Aniki.” He croaked. “Y/N,” he added, nodding at you though still unable to meet your eyes. The boy turned sharply on his heel, half stumbling out of the small cottage den in his haste to get away, proverbial tail indeed tucked between his legs.
The door had barely banged shut before Sanemi had you pressed up against the wall of the cabin, hauling you up so your legs had to wrap around his waist for support. “I shall explain in full later,” he promised, fingers ripping the cord out of your corset so he could yank it down along with your blouse, exposing your breasts. “But right now, I need to claim.”
“S-sure,” you stuttered, gasping as the Huntsman’s hot mouth closed around one of your mounds, his hands working to shove your skirts out of his way. One arm remained under your backside, keeping you propped up against the wall, and the other moved to shove his breeches just far enough down his hips to free his cock, already standing taut and ready to fill you.
Sanemi did not give any warning before he plunged his rigid length deep into your walls, though you were surprised at how readily you took him, you cunt sucking him in as though it too, had been waiting for him to remind you exactly whose mark you bore on your skin. The Wolf nudged your head to the side with his nose so he could bury his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. With a low growl, his tongue flicked out and caressed the crescent-shaped mating mark at the juncture between your neck and shoulder before he nipped lightly at your skin.
“Mine,” he snarled. “You’re mine.”
Despite being pinned against the wall by his hips, you managed to spread your thighs wider, opening yourself up further to allow Sanemi to pound into you without restraint, but he pulled away. You cried out at the sudden, cold emptiness you felt as Sanemi pulled out of you, leaving your core to wildly clench around nothing. The Huntsman soothed you with hot kisses against your throat, his thumbs rubbing circles into your outer thighs as he pivoted you away from the wall. Sanemi crossed the small room easily, making quick work in ridding you of your skirts and corset. Once the last of your attire had been discarded on the floor, he tossed you onto the delightfully plush bed standing against the middle of the wall, his gaze locked onto the way your breasts bounced as you settled. His eyes lifted back to yours as he wrapped one hand around the base of his engorged length and pumped, the other shoving the waistband of his trousers down his hips and legs until he could kick them off. “Turn over.” There was a darkness in his tone that thrilled you. “And get on your knees.”
--
You spent the remainder of the evening being filled again and again by Sanemi.The sun had set by the time he finally collapsed upon the bed beside you, strong arms locking around your middle to pull you onto his chest. You hummed contentedly against his warmth, your cheek sticking slightly to his sweat-slicked skin as you settled against him.
“I’ll confess, I did not know what to expect for my first day here,” You said, fingers tracing lazy patterns into the Huntsman’s skin. “But I cannot say I’m disappointed.”
Sanemi huffed a quiet laugh at your teasing. “This wasn’t what I’d envisioned when I first decided to bring you back,” he admitted, his hands smoothing over your back, gentle and light. “I didn’t realize how…wound up I would be since you accepted the bond.”
You propped your head up on the steel of his abdomen, peering up at him. “Is that why you snapped at Genya? The bond?”
“Aye,” the Huntsman admitted sheepishly. “I’ve heard that newly mated wolves can be territorial of their partners, but I’ll confess, I did not know how intense it would be.”
You felt warm and giddy at the idea Sanemi had felt possessive of you, even amongst family. “Your little brother posed no threat,” you playfully chastised him, peppering kisses across the expanse of his upper abdomen. Sanemi’s muscles clenched beneath your lips and you smiled; you’d learned he was ticklish, and you secretly enjoyed making him squirm.
“It’s not that I believed him to be a threat,” Sanemi caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up towards him, his expression growing smug. “I know I do not have any true competition when it comes to you.” He leaned down until he was but a hair from your lips, his warm breath washing over your face. “Because no one else could possibly keep up with your insatiable appetite, Lamb.”
You caught his lower lip between your teeth, demanding with a small whine that he kiss you. Sanemi obliged, but pulled back before you could slide your tongue into his mouth and deepen your connection. That smug grin on his face remained for a moment before melting into something slightly more serious. “But it’s not that I think I have competition — it is more so that I am hyper-aware of any potential threat to you. And my impulse is to eliminate it.”
You furrowed your eyebrows in curious thought. “Is it because you’re in heat?”
Sanemi nodded. “I must be, considering I still was able to knot you.”
“But you didn’t shift,” you wondered. “At least, not as you did that first time.”
The Huntsman’s fingers trailed up and down your bare arm. “True,” he sighed. “But you also hadn’t yet accepted the bond.” He thought for a moment. “And it was my first time with a human; I have better control over myself now.”
You lifted your head up in surprise, eyes wide. “Does that mean —?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “I don’t think that cloak of yours will be necessary again. At least, not while I’m knotting you.”
It would have been futile to make any attempt to stifle the thrill of joy that shot through you thanks to Sanemi’s promise, and so you didn’t bother to try. Your mouth spread into a grin, wide and feral, at the prospect, and your cheeks burned with your excitement.
“Gods,” he groaned. “I am beginning to think the animal here is you, Lamb, and not me.”
You traced your lips over his pectoral, sucking a small bruise into his firm flesh. “Then perhaps I should be the one who wears the leash, Wolf.”
Sanemi caught your chin between his fingers and tugged you up his torso with a growl. “I can arrange that, sweetling,” he whispered hotly against your lips before bringing you in for a searing kiss. Swiftly, the Wolf flipped you back under him, and to your delight, you saw his cock had hardened once more. “I’d rather like to see you restrained.”
You giggled as he nudged your legs open and settled between them. With a contented sigh, you arched your back as your Wolf pressed the head of his length to your leaking, swollen entrance and he slid home once more.
--
Your first few days in the Wolves’ territory passed by without much fuss. As it turned out, Shinobu was not the only one away on business; Gyomei, the one responsible for Shinazugawa brothers’ care as boys, was also on an errand, though Sanemi did not specify what that task was.
Genya had been glued to Sanemi’s side since he returned, giving his elder brother a full, detailed report of everything that he’d missed in his time away at his other cabin in the Wood. Evidently, Sanemi had not been home for several months, though you’d learned that was not uncommon; Sanemi spent the majority of the year helping humans cross the Wood, returning home only for a few weeks in the winter. You’d tried your best to bond with the younger Shinazugawa, but no matter what you did, the boy could scarcely meet your eye, always flushing the same, deep shade of crimson anytime you so much as acknowledged his presence. Truthfully, it was a little disheartening, but you were determined to make friends with him. You’d just have to get more creative, it seemed.
Shinobu returned to the Wolves’ territory almost a week after your arrival. Sanemi had been in the process of dressing after a particularly rigorous morning with you, which involved the Wolf making good on his vow to have you spend as much time perched upon his face while he feasted on your cunt, not stopping until you’d fallen limply to the side, unable to hold yourself up any longer. He'd been lacing the front of his breeches when his head suddenly lifted, head cocked toward the door to the cabin den as he listened. A broad smile spread across his face and he looked back to you, still wrapped in one of the soft furs on the bed. “Kocho’s back.”
Once you’d dressed and Sanemi had secured your red cloak snugly around your shoulders, the pair of you set off toward the foothills you’d passed when you first arrived. You savored the scent of pine and evergreen which perfumed the small pocket of trees partitioning Sanemi’s den from Shinobu’s, and spotted several witch hazel bushes peppering the needle-covered floor. Sure enough, there was smoke rising from the small, concealed chimney located atop the small hill containing Shinobu’s den, and the door was left open. Sanemi scented the air once and pulled you toward a small ravine across from the hillside, his fingers interlaced tightly with yours.
“Kocho!” He called as he navigated his way down the rocky cliffside, turning to you to brace his hands against your waist and help you down.
You spotted a slight figure kneeling by a small, shallow body of clear water. She stiffened as the two of you drew near, and rose gracefully to her full height. She turned to you, hands lowering the hood of her intricately patterned cloak. Shinobu was petite and rather doll-like; her lips were set in a serene smile, but her eyes – large, and a deep plum – were sharp, if not slightly cold. “My, my,” the female Wolf’s voice was as delicate a butterfly’s wings, and her nostrils flared slightly as she scented the air. “You’ve found yourself a mate, Shinazugawa.” Slowly, her eyes dragged down you from head to toe, considering. “A human one, at that.”
“That I did,” Sanemi frowned as he considered his packmate. Now that you’d closed the distance between yourself and his packmate, you saw she’d been cleaning off various sharp tools in the creek below.
Her piercing gaze lingered on the cloak around your shoulders. “What an interesting heirloom.” She sniffed the air around you. “What’s a human doing with an enchanted cloak?”
You were taken aback at her less than welcoming greeting. “It was my grandmother’s,” you said softly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around yourself in your self-consciousness.
“Tch, what has you all sour?” The Huntsman demanded, eyes narrowed at his packmate. “I don’t recall interrogating you when you finally mated –”
Shinobu’s eyes flashed. “I’ve just returned from a rather tedious journey – which went fine, thank you for asking,” she shot back. “And I am tired.” Those discerning, violet orbs found you once again. “Your name?”
You managed to keep your voice steady and clear as you answered her, even as your stomach twisted with nerves.
“A pleasure,” she nodded at you before turning her attention back to Sanemi. “I trust you’ll fill me in on the details of your time away after I’ve had a chance to settle, hm?”
He rolled his eyes. “Aye, as soon as you remove whatever stick you’ve got lodged up your ass.”
Shinobu’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, and a vein bulged in her temple. With a huff, the doctor quickly gathered her tools and primly stalked past you and and your mate, her shoulders rigid and spine straighter than an arrow. For a beat, you remained standing there, in shock. “That – that could have gone better.” You said quietly after a moment.
Sanemi turned and watched his packmate retreat back to her den, his eyebrows furrowed. Understanding suddenly dawned on his features, his hand rising to rub tiredly at his eyes. “Ah, I see.” Sanemi chuffed. “Don’t pay her any mind,” he added quickly at your raised eyebrow. “She’s irritable because her mate is on the other side of the Wood, preparing for the Winter Solstice. And I suspect Shinobu’s heat is approaching.”
He’d mentioned the young doctor was also mated. “What is Shinobu’s mate like? Is he a Wolf, too?”
“She,” Sanemi corrected. “And no. She’s a nymph. A Naiad.”
Your eyes widened, curiosity blooming in your chest. “A nymph! My grandmother used to tell me stories about nymphs – how beautiful they are, and how there is no sound sweeter than that of a nymph’s song –”
“Sweet?” Sanemi snickered. “I would not call Mitsuri’s voice ‘sweet,’” he shook his head. “Every time we cross paths, I seem to leave the encounter with a dull ache in my skull.”
You felt slightly mollified. “Do you not get along, then?”
“Mitsuri is Shinobu’s mate – that makes her part of our pack,” The Huntsman said firmly. “No matter how much the silly girl vexes me.”
“What is she like?” You wove your fingers between the Wolf’s. “I have never met a nymph.”
“Hn. Pink.” Sanemi snorted. “Very pink. Very talkative.” He took your hand in his and the two of you made your way back up the rocky slope of the small gully, in the direction toward home. “You’ll likely meet her after the Solstice. The Naiads still celebrate the old traditions of the gods, and from what Mitsuri has told us, such festivals involve weeks of preparation.” He rolled his eyes. “Kocho gets rather irritable when she’s away. Especially the closer she gets to her heat – usually during the full moon.”
Once you’d reached the path that led toward home, Sanemi looped an arm around your shoulders. “Try not to think ill of her, Lamb. She’s a good woman; a sister to me and Genya.”
You nuzzled into his side, grateful for his warmth against the brisk, late-autumn chill. “Perhaps I shall try to make her acquaintance again, maybe tomorrow –?”
“No you won’t,” Sanemi sternly interjected. “You did nothing wrong; she needs to come to you – and she will.” He kissed your hair. “But nevermind that for now – come, I’ll show you where Genya and Gyomei reside.”
--
Sanemi’s prediction rang true; for the next morning, not long after he’d departed from your den to go hunt with his younger brother, a knock sounded at the door.
It was Shinobu. She held out a small basket, covered with a cheesecloth. “I brought some rations – I wasn’t sure how much Sanemi had, as it’s been so long since he’s been home.” You lifted the cloth, blinking in surprise at how much the doctor had packed. From just a quick once-over, you spotted various saches of dried meats and nuts, as well as a few jars of clear liquid. “Syrup,” she added, as you accepted the bundle with a heartfelt thank you. “You can use it to preserve fruit and make jams, if you’d like.’
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I was wondering whether you’d like to assist me with some of my duties,” though she kept her head held high and her voice was clear and firm, there was a softness in her eyes as she regarded you. She gave you a warm smile, and you realized she likely did feel remorse for how terse she’d been the day before. “If you’re interested in botany, that is.”
You returned her smile with one of your own. “I used to gather all sorts of herbs and plants for my grandmother – for medicine and food. We were no doctors, but we could help villagers out with minor injuries and ailments.”
She brightened. “Even better,” she turned away from the entry to your cabin and lifted the hood of her intricately patterned cape over her head, shielding her from the dreary mist raining down from the gray sky above. She tilted her head back and sniffed the air once before turning back to you. “There is more rain to come; dress warmly and meet me at the cliff near my den. We’ll travel together.”
You nodded and Shinobu retreated back in the direction of her home. Once you’d dressed and wrapped yourself in your grandmother’s cloak, you gathered your basket and set off. “I apologize for our meeting yesterday,” Shinobu glanced to you as you walked down the ravine, the Wolf offering her arm to you for support. “The full moon is drawing near, as is my heat. I’m in the rather difficult position of having to endure it without my mate.”
You waved her off. “I understand, I did not think ill of you. Your mate – Mitsuri? Sanemi told me she was a Naiad.”
The raven-haired doctor nodded. “My heats are less frequent than the Wolves – the boys,” Shinobu said airily, humming as you walked along the winding path. “And unfortunately, Shifters and Nymphs do not have the best history. My presence among Mitsuri’s kind tends to cause tension for her.” Though her tone remained light, the sudden appearance of a small vein ticking at her temple betrayed the extent of her annoyance. “And while my love is earnest when she says she does not care what the others think, I care on her behalf. I don’t want her to feel ostracized by her own kind on my account.”
Your curiosity piqued at her use of Shifter as opposed to Wolf, but you were distracted by a pang of sympathy at the young woman’s revelation. “So you two must continue living apart?”
“Mmm, but not forever,” Shinobu sighed. “Mitsuri comes from a line of nobility among the Nymphs; as such, she is set to inherit her own river once she reaches her quarter-life day, which is only a little over two years away.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Once she lays her claim on her inheritance, she will be able to live separate from the other Naiads, as is custom in her culture. Then I shall join her.”
A low whistle blew past your lips. “I’d not realized the Nymphs were so…political,”
Shinobu hummed in agreement. “All Nymphs practice the old ways of the gods, and their internal hierarchy is merely one of the more archaic systems which has persisted over the centuries.” A sudden shadow passed over her features. “I cannot fault her kind for it – the Fae wiped out so many cultures and subsects of the Nymphs that they cling to what few traditions they’ve managed to salvage.”
“The Fae?” You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Sanemi mentioned something about them once – that they possessed magic of sorts.”
The dark-haired Wolf nodded. “No one knows how or why they came to be so entwined with magic; all that is known is that they abused it and sought to dominate all others – humans and creatures alike, and they sought to devour anything with power. They nearly eradicated Shifters like Gyomei and myself, as well.”
You barely suppressed a shiver. “What happened to them? Sanemi said the Fae had fallen out of existence.”
“They have, as far as anyone knows,” Shinobu held out a hand and helped you climb the small cliff leading back to the dens. Though she was slight in stature, her strength was still great, and she hauled you up with ease. “There was some sort of battle led by a clan of Sun worshippers – Phoenixes,” she explained. “It is said that they wiped out the Fae, but they too, have faded from existence.” She bit her lip. “It is all myth and legend now.”
Despite the presence of your cloak and the security of the Wolves’ territory, Shinobu insisted on walking you back to the cabin den you shared with Sanemi. “He’d probably rip my throat out if he learned I left you alone; we’re still in the Netherwood, after all.” She’d simply explained.
Once you’d arrived safely home and bid Shinobu farewell, you set to work sorting through the bounty you’d gathered, separating the flora into piles for medicinal use and sustenance. Sanemi returned from his patrol with Genya before sundown, his smile wide as he saw you standing in the small cooking area, stripping the leaves free from the winterberries you’d gathered to make jam. “Shinobu is quite taken with you,” The scent of pine and spice washed over you as the Wolf came up from behind to press a soft kiss against the nape of your neck. “I might have to battle her for time with you.”
You chuckled. “In that event, then perhaps I should run off with Mitsuri. I’ve heard that Nymphs can be ardent lovers.”
Sanemi’s teeth playfully nipped at the side of your neck. “Even those as licentious as the Nymphs would have difficulty keeping up with your desires, Lamb. ‘Tis best to leave that duty to a master.”
You glanced back at him over your shoulder, eyebrow raised in suggestion. “And are you my master, Wolf?”
“No,” He replied evenly, ducking to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your mating mark. Your knife clattered to the counter as your hand shot back to tangle in his hair, that familiar, sensual heat spreading thickly through your blood from where Sanemi’s lips caressed the brand. “But you are mine.” His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you tight against his broad form as he sucked at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A moan fell from your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing him greater access, but his hands fell away from you and he stepped back with a quiet laugh. Your eyes flew open and with a frustrated groan, you whipped around to glare at him. Sanemi’s shot you a devilish smirk as he walked back to the fireplace, tugging one of the wrought iron pokers free from its stand beside the hearth. “Someone must see to the fire,” he tsked.
“And yet you leave mine untended,” you grumbled, turning your attention back to your discarded task. Nonetheless, a comfortable silence fell over you as you both worked, though the quiet allowed your thoughts to wander back to your earlier discussions with the pack’s only female member, your mind snagged on a particular choice of her words.
“I wonder,” you hummed, crushing the berries with the flat side of your knife. Sanemi looked up from where he’d been stoking the small fire, waiting. “Why is it you and Genya are ‘wolves,’ but Shinobu refers to herself as a shifter?” You scraped the pulp of the fruit into a small jar, turning to the cupboard behind you to rummage its shelves in search of the small bottle of syrup Shinobu had given you. “Is it merely a difference in preference?”
Sanemi prodded a log in the fireplace with a poker, a sudden unease settling over him. “Not exactly,” he grimaced, rocking back from the hearth to dust his hands off on his breeches. “What Genya and I are is quite distinct from what Shinobu is, though we be pack-mates.”
Your fingers closed around the small vial of syrup you’d searched for and you turned back towards the small wooden counter, unstoppering the bottle.“Are you going to keep me on the edge of my seat waiting?” You teased, pouring the sweet, viscous liquid over the berry pulp you’d gathered into a small glass jar.
But the Huntsman gave neither snarky jab nor flirtatious quip in response to your barb. Instead, you watched as a darkness settled in over his face, his eyes fixed unseeingly upon some spot on the floor. You felt a heat creep up your neck, akin to embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to pry—“
“Genya and I were born human,” Sanemi said quietly. “On the outskirts of a village on the other side of the Wood.”
“Human parents,” his voice was heavy. “And four other human siblings.” You left the small counter where you’d been canning and preserving food for the winter, coming around to where Sanemi sat before the hearth, where you knelt before him, listening. “Our father was a bastard who got himself killed in a tavern brawl; no one was particularly sorrowful when his body was dumped at our doorstep,” Sanemi grimaced. “Though it did make us more vulnerable to outside threats; not having a proper man in the home.” His eyes cut to you. “I was no more than three and ten.
“I won’t pretend like it wasn’t difficult,” Sanemi continued, “but Genya and I made a promise to care for our family and we managed well enough.” He stared blankly into the fire, eyes not truly seeing the flames that danced in the hearth. “For a while, we were happy.”
You worked to swallow the lump forming in your tightening throat. Young – he’d been so young to take on the burden of caretaker for his family, and yet he’d done it without a second thought.
A pregnant pause followed before Sanemi spoke once again. “And then the beast came and it slaughtered them all.” He whispered, and the horror in his eyes looked as fresh as he’d undoubtedly felt it all those years ago. “We were getting ready for bed. Genya and I were helping put our siblings down for the night. Ma was so exhausted – she’d been working herself to the bone doing clothing repairs for everyone in the village. Every night, she came home nearly dead on her feet, and she’d still find time to tuck us all in and wait for us to fall asleep.” Sanemi’s eyes shone with unshed tears that made your heart clench. “She was a great woman, our Mother. Selfless. Kind. Determined.” He shook his head, his free hand wiping harshly at his cheeks. “It was a normal night – that’s what kills me about it all; it was just a night like any other, until it wasn’t.” His fingers squeezed yours. “That thing tore down the door to our home and it ripped my mother and little siblings to shreds.” Sanemi’s eyes shone with unshed tears, his voice thick. “Genya and I tried to fight it – even managed to knick it – but it cut us down like a pair of string puppets. By the time we awoke, the creature had been chased away, and there was nothing left of our family except their blood – splattered across the wall and soaked into the floorboards.”
Your own eyes began to prickle with tears at the heaviness that settled over your mate. Gone was the Huntsman’s usual self-assured swagger; now, Sanemi sat slumped against the floor, his shoulders curled forward in defeat. “It was Gyomei who found us half-dead near the door to our home,” Sanemi’s glassy eyes remained fixed on your joined hands in his lap. “And it was he who brought us to a Mage living on the outskirts of the Wood. Genya and I were in rough shape – convulsing, frothing at our mouths like a pair of rabid animals,” he snorted, derisively. “I s’ppose that’s what we were; a couple of beasts. The Mage – no one knows his true name,” Sanemi quickly amended. “And even those that do know only call him ‘the Master’ – but he worked tirelessly through the night to tame the curse set upon me and my brother.”
Sanemi withdrew his hands from yours and leaned back, and the distance between you felt like an unbreachable chasm. Gently, you prodded. “Curse?”
“I am no simple Wolf, Lamb.” Sanemi’s face was tight, and a cursory glance at his hands revealed balled fists, his knuckles white. “I am something far worse. Damned.”
“I don’t believe that,” you leaned forward and tried to cover his hands with yours once more, but he only shifted back, shaking his head.
“The seal the Master bestowed upon us allows us to appear and act as ordinary wolf shifters.” He looked pained as he lifted your eyes to meet yours. “The wolf you have come to know – that you believe I am – it is only a mockery of what lies beneath my skin.” He shuddered. “There is a beast sealed deep within me. No matter how many years it’s been, no matter how much time passes, I always feel it there. Lurking.”
You tried once more to reach for him. “Sanemi –”
“A Werewolf,” he croaked. “That’s what they call the thing sealed within me. Werewolf.”
This time, Sanemi did not stop your hands as they reached to gingerly cradle his face. His head dropped into your palms in apparent shame and guilt, as though you’d ever believe he would have anything to feel shame or guilt for.
“You were turned?” Your thumb stroked the silvery scar which marred his cheek.
“Aye,” Sanemi’s eyelashes fluttered against your palm at your touch. “Created by the very beast which slaughtered our family.” The Huntsman’s hands wrapped around your wrists but he did not pull them away. “Werewolves are made; no one knows how the first one came into being – only that it went on to create more, and those cursed creatures then continued to spread their filth across the land.” Gently, he removed your hands from his face, but he did not push you away. Instead, he folded them in his and brought them to rest in his lap. “All that is known is that a Werewolf creates others by blood – usually through sharing blood with its victim through some sort of wound.” Sanemi’s thumbs smoothed absently over your knuckles. “Yet we are a rare breed. I have never met another apart from myself and my brother.” He grimaced. “I don’t even know whether the beast that cursed us is still out there, praying on other poor, unsuspecting souls.” His voice quieted to a whisper, his eyes fixing hard on some distant point along the planked wood of the cabin floor. “After we saw the Mage, Gyomei brought us here. He didn’t think we should remain around humans at the time.” Sanemi’s face crumpled under the weight of his devastation. “I am a monster.”
“You’re not,” you insisted. “A monster wouldn’t help escort lost travelers through the Wood to safety. A monster wouldn’t have fought to protect a woman he barely knew from a group of armed men when it would have been so much easier to hand her over.”
Sanemi snarled softly at the reminder of the way Douma’s men tracked you through the Netherwood, but you only kept pressing. “A monster wouldn’t have offered to give up his one chance of mating another to someone for the mere sake of making her harder to track – for her safety.”
Sanemi’s eyes finally met yours and you hoped he saw the fire blazing within them as strongly as you felt its burn.
“So do not sit there and tell me you are a monster. Not when everything you’ve done has been for the sake of others.” You leaned forward on your knees, once again closing the distance he’d tried to put between you. “Do not insult me by thinking my love for you is so weak.” You took his face between your hands, forcing him to hold your stare. “The time for me to run has long since passed and I have never had the intention of doing so.”
Sanemi’s lips parted as he beheld the fierce conviction limning your stare.
“Whatever else it is that you are, you are mine.” You said hotly. “That is what the mark means, does it not? First and foremost, no matter what, I am yours and you are mine.” You sealed your oath with a kiss, bruising and heated. Sanemi paused only for a moment before responding with fervor, his lips moving roughly against yours.
He broke away with a ragged pant. “Where did you come from?” He breathed in wonder as one thumb ran over your cheek. “What have I done in my life to deserve something so good?”
“You are good,” you insisted, catching his lips in another heated but short kiss. Your fingers untangled themselves from his hair to instead grip the collar of your blouse. With a sharp tug, you yanked it to the side and exposed the silver crescent mark seared into your skin. “And it does not matter, because I am here and I am yours.”
Sanemi’s hands dropped to your waist, holding you with a possessive tightness. His nose ran along the length of your neck before he buried his face against your mark. “I love you,” he murmured into your skin, voice raspy with emotion. “From now until the end of time itself, I will love you.” He pulled back to brush featherlight kisses over your eyes and cheeks. Sanemi looked upon you with such intensity that it made your legs tremble. If it weren’t for the grounding warmth of his hands, one cupping your face and the other braced against your lower back, you were sure you would have melted into the floor, nothing more than a puddle of love and desire and utter devotion. "My little Lamb," he cooed softly before he leaned in and brought his mouth against yours in a gentle kiss.
You could not return his declaration out loud - not as Sanemi lifted you from the floor to walk you back towards your bed. His tongue slid between your lips, nimble fingers making quick work of the lacing on your stays, and suddenly, words became too difficult to form. But your Huntsman had taught you how to communicate with your body as powerfully as you could with your voice. So with every layer of clothing shed, with every press of lips and gasp and moan pulled from your throats as your bodies slid together, you cast your heart into the ethos of the mating bond. I love you, you whispered down that shining, golden thread, again and again. I love you. I love you.
--
The winter solstice was rapidly approaching, now no more than a fortnight away. The days grew increasingly shorter, plunging the Netherwood into a near constant state of darkness with only a few, precious hours of dull gray light. The specter shifting lazily through the Wood was not bothered by the fading light of day; his kind had never been hampered by differences in time or the seasons. Instead, they’d prided themselves on being able to fluctuate with change; it was what allowed them to assimilate with their prey, foxes in coupes full of hens that preferred to turn a blind eye to that which they did not want to explain.
And it made it easy for him to follow the trail his prey had so kindly left for him and him alone, allowing him to linger two steps behind while the object of his desire was none the wiser. Soon, very soon, his patience would be rewarded and they would be reunited. If he timed his reveal just right, the Wolf and the Girl would be properly bonded, and the Girl would bear the proof. So with a hum, the specter continued his languid trek through the Netherwood, following that invisible thread only he could recognize, and he closed in on his target.
--
The days soon bled into weeks, and before long, half a month had passed since Sanemi had first brought you back to his territory to live with him. It was remarkable how easily you settled into life with the Wolf pack of the Netherwood, and you’d attained a great many things since arriving home with Sanemi: freedom to do as you pleased; stability.
A shadow.
That shadow was really a certain adolescent Wolf, who’d obstinately refused to get near you since your initial meeting the first night you’d spent on the Wolves’ land. You’d tried everything to engage with him; greeted him, asked about his day, asked if he would like to stop by your den for dinner – efforts of which had been sorely unsuccessful.
“Your brother still runs away every time I come within five meters of him,” you grumbled to your mate one night as you’d furiously chopped herbs. “It’s driving me mad.”
The Wolf huffed a dry laugh “Not surprised. Though I’m impressed you’ve kept at it; I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told him to piss off by now.”
“I have better manners than that,” you sniffed. “I just wish I could think of a way to connect with him, but he won’t get close enough for me to try.” Your knife work paused as an idea suddenly came to mind, Sanemi’s attention lifting away from where he busied himself with polishing his axe. “What about asking him to help me gather materials for Shinobu?” You asked, eyes brightening. “He always lurks whenever I’m in the Wood searching for the plants she uses for her medications and salves.” You chewed on your bottom lip, wracking your brain for your few, scant memories of Genya trailing behind you as you navigated the Wood. Though you’d sensed his presence more than you actually saw the young boy – he was rather adept at hiding behind the breadth of the trees – the few times you’d caught sight of him, you’d seen the intrigue in his eyes as you’d worked. “I think he might want to help with gardening.”
Sanemi blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He rubbed at his chin in thought for a moment, before a smile formed on his lips. “I think it’s a rather clever idea, Lamb.”
“I’m known to have them on occasion,” you replied drily.
The Wolf ignored your snark with a chuff. “You’ll need to needle him a little before he’ll agree,” Sanemi warned. “But just keep doing it while he’s around, and his curiosity will eventually get the better of him.”
You frowned. “I don’t wish to force the poor boy to make my acquaintance —“
“It’s not that,” Sanemi was quick to reassure. “He wants to — and he wants to learn about gardening. He has always had an interest in forestry and plants.” He shrugged as he added, “It’s you he’s afraid of.”
Your knife clattered against the wood of the small counter. “Me?” You turned towards your mate in wide-eyed alarm. “Because I am human?”
“No,” Sanemi snorted. “Because you’re a woman.” He set his axe down beside the table and stood, coming around to the side of the small island where you stood. He drew up behind your back and slipped his arms around your waist to reach for your discarded knife, picking up where you’d left off chopping the roots of the herbs you’d gathered. His breath was hot against your neck. “A very beautiful one, at that.”
You couldn’t help but lean back into his sturdy warmth. “Your attempts at flattery don’t change the fact that your brother can hardly stand to be within ten feet of me.”
“Not flattery if it’s true,” Sanemi countered. Before he could continue chopping the flora you’d gathered, you placed a hand on his forearm, stilling him. He laid the knife flat against the tabletop and loosened his hold to allow you to turn in his embrace and face him.
“I meant to ask you something – about your curse,” your fingers absently toyed with the leather tie on his tunic. Sanemi’s arms tensed slightly around you, but when he did not push you away or otherwise protest, you forged on. “You said your curse was sealed – by a mage,” and the Huntsman nodded as you looked to him for confirmation. “A seal implies something can be opened; unleashed.”
The Huntsman’s features drew tight in understanding. “You want to know if and how the seal can be broken.” You nodded, carefully noting the subtle shift in the shadows which haunted your mate’s eyes.
“I s’ppose in a manner of speaking, it can – anything can be broken,” he said evenly, his own fingers moving to toy with the end of your brain where it hung over your shoulder. “The real question is whether it’s likely.”
“And?” You prodded. “Is it?”
Sanemi smirked. “I don’t reckon it is. I would have to be pushed beyond the limits of my sanity for the seal to break.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “The way Gyomei explained it, is that I would have to lose all ties to myself to find the beast – and to let it take over.”
You stared blankly at him, eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t follow.”
“My humanity, Lamb.” Sanemi’s knuckle caressed your cheek. “As I said, I may now be a Wolf, sweet girl, but I was born a human – as was Genya.” His eyes tightened, a heaviness settling over his features. “My heart remains so, even if the rest of me is not.” His hands dropped to yours and he guided you gently to the fireplace, tugging you down to sit with him upon the great fur rug spread before the hearth. “So long as I have my humanity, the seal will never be broken. It is why I can shift into Wolf form – I have control over myself so long as I remain me.”
You leaned your head against his chest, quietly mulling over his words. “What would make you lose your humanity, though?”
“Nothing,” the Huntsman replied smoothly. “Which is why you have nothing to fear, my Lamb.”
“Since I answered your question, I have something I want to discuss with you as well.” He reached out to run the tip of his finger down your nose. His eyes softened at your slight giggle, and he audibly gulped when the grin slid from your face as you leaned in closer, waiting.
“What is it?”
“You mentioned – the first night we arrived,” Sanemi started; though he steadily held your gaze, there was a heat simmering in his eyes and a faint blush that crept onto his cheeks. “You asked that I give you pups — children.”
You flushed as the memory in question sprang to the forefront of your mind. The Huntsman was being far too generous in his recollection – you were quite certain you’d asked him to do something far more…scandalous than simply grant you the gift of bearing his children. Breed me, Wolf! You’d cried. Give me your children – your pups!
“Is it even possible?” You asked quietly. “That I might bear your children?”
Sanemi was quiet for a moment before nodding, slowly. “Once, it was not uncommon for Wolves to mate with humans – particularly, human women.” He leaned forward to cup your cheek. “The pups that were born from such unions had just as much power and strength as their pure-Wolf counterparts.” He paused, considering. “Sometimes, they were stronger.”
Your fingers wrapped around his wrist. “And what of your curse?” You asked gently. “Would that be passed on?”
The Huntsman tensed slightly before he relaxed, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, Lamb. The curse of the Werewolf cannot be passed along through offspring.”
Though you felt slightly relieved at his reassurance, you took care not to show it. “And you said it was your duty to impregnate me – as my mate,” you shifted forward, knees straddling his thighs as you settled in his lap. “Is that true? Is that the purpose of the mating bond?”
“Once,” Sanemi’s voice was hoarse, and his eyes dropped to your lips. “The mating bond was originally used for breeding purposes, yes.” You felt his cock stir beneath his breaches as one hand stretched behind him to steady himself, the other settling on your waist. “But that’s no longer its sole function,” a tendon in his neck pulsed as you began to softly rock against his groin. “Shinobu marked her nymph, though she cannot impregnate the girl. They are still tied – out of love.” Sanemi’s eyes dropped to your shoulder, where the silvery crescent of your own mark peeked through the collar of your blouse. “And I marked you for the same – not to mate and seed you, but to protect you.” His fingers ghosted along your sides, and even through the layers of your skirts and corset, you could feel his heat burning your skin. “Out of love.”
“But is that something you want, Wolf?” You trailed your fingers along the sharp curve of his jaw until they slid into his hair. “To fill me with children?” You leaned in until you felt his warm breath brush against your lips. “To breed me?”
A strained sigh of your name blew past Sanemi’s lips. “I can understand that you might say things while I’m inside you that you do not mean,” And though his hands stroked along the curve of your legs, pushing your skirts up as they went, there was a solemnity in his gaze. “But you do not owe me your body that way.”
You knew he meant it. “And if I wanted you to use my body for such a purpose?” Your thighs squeezed around him as you pushed yourself up his lap slightly so your lips hovered over his. “If I wanted to bear your children?”
Sanemi’s lips chased yours, but you rose just far enough out of his reach. “Then I would do everything in my power to see your wish granted.” His hand caught the side of your jaw, his fingers curling into your hair to still you. “I would give you as many as you desired.”
He pulled your face back down level with his. Just before he could reconnect your lips, you whispered, “I want it, Sanemi. Fuck a child into me.”
Sanemi sprang forward with a speed that made you squeal. Rather than finally close the distance between your lips, Sanemi laid you back against the rug sprawled before the great hearth, caging your body against the cabin floor with his.“If your wishes be true, then I won’t hold back,” he promised, his hips pressing heavily down against yours. You tried to fidget beneath him, to roll against him and feel the hardness that signaled he was ready to claim you, but Sanemi only pinned you harder against the floor. “But if there is even the slightest doubt in your mind, you must tell me at once,” and you froze at the gravity of his tone. “My instincts are to claim you as many times as necessary until my seed takes, Lamb.” His eyes darkened with his sensual promise. “Even if that means I have to fully shift to knot you; I won’t stop until I’ve succeeded.” His tone dripped with caution and yet you could not for the life of you imagine why he felt the need to warn you – as though you weren’t precisely aware of the stakes involved in asking a Wolf to breed you. “Is that what you want?”
As though you’d want anything else. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, that is what I want.”
The Huntsman’s pupils blew wide, and his breath became ragged. Your fingers lanced up his forearms, tensed and braced on either side of your shoulders. “Put your babe in my womb.” Your words made the bulge in the Wolf’s trousers grow harder. "Let me make you a father, Sanemi."
Wetness pooled between your thighs as your cunt pulsed with need, and Sanemi’s nostrils widened. “The gods as my witnesses,” he vowed, finally rolling his hips heavily against yours and granting you the stimulation you so desperately craved. “I will never be able to deny you, Lamb.” His mouth crashed down against yours and greedily, you drank him in, meeting each fervent stroke of his tongue with yours as it slid past your lips. His hands were urgent as they combed down your body, fisting and tugging at your dress as it slid up your legs. He broke away from your lips with a ragged pant, his mouth trailing hotly down your neck.
“After tonight, the next time I fuck you will be as a Wolf,” Sanemi swore as he shoved the hems of your skirts up. “But if I have to wait any longer to be inside you, I will go mad.” Once he tugged the bodice of your corset down far enough to free your breasts, Sanemi’s hands flew to the seam of his trousers to yank on the lacing securing them around his hips. With a hurried swiftness, he shoved them down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and leaking. He lined the flushed tip of his length up with your entrance. “How many, Lamb?” He asked as he gave one great thrust, embedding himself to the hilt inside your warmth without preamble. Your breath was sucked straight from your lungs as Sanemi began to move, fucking into you hard and deep on the cabin floor. “How many pups shall I put in your belly?”
You only moaned, your thighs widening to allow him to hit deeper. Since first taking his knot, you’d had the Wolf in more ways than you could count, but there was something about this – this frenzied, passionate romp that made you melt further into the great rug upon which Sanemi now fucked you. “Five?” Sanemi’s voice beckoned you back from the folds of endless pleasure he stoked with every push and grind of his hips. “Perhaps six?”
Your hips bucked wildly up from the floor to meet his frantic thrusts. “A-as many as you w-want,” you gasped, and your promise only made Sanemi fuck you harder. “I w-want to be a good m-oh.” Your eyes rolled back as the Wolf wound one arm around your hips and braced the other against the cabin floor, allowing him to plunge faster and deeper into you. “A g-good mate,” your voice was little more than a squeak. “I w-want – oh, Sanemi.” The floorboards beneath you creaked as Sanemi repositioned his knees to roll harder into you. Every snap of his hips against yours was calculated and powerful, and it was all you could do to keep yourself open to him to use for this most sacred purpose – to breed.
“However many times it takes,” he vowed. “I’ll fill you up with as many little ones as your heart desires.”
A high-pitched whine keened from your throat as you clenched harder around him. Your nails raked down his back and sunk into the firm muscles of his backside, pushing him closer and closer to you. It only spurred the Wolf on, Sanemi driving his cock into you with greater ferocity as the arm beneath your lower back forced you to arch into him even more. “Even if that means I have to keep you spread out in our bed for days, stuffed full of my seed,” Sanemi’s other hand pressed down below your navel, and you felt the tip of his cock brush against your innermost wall. His hand was large enough that his thumb could still stretch down and swirl around the nub between your legs. “If that’s what it takes, I swear I will do it – your belly will be swollen with my child by spring.” With his every stroke, the pleasure in your gut mounted and you knew it would not be long before you came apart completely. “If we are together, I will be inside you. From now until my seed quickens in your womb.” His head tipped back slightly as he angled his hips up, plunging even deeper than before. Your walls clenched tighter around him and Sanemi moaned, loudly and without restraint. “Can you handle that, Lamb? Can you handle what it will take to give you what you crave?”
The grip you had on reality grew more tenuous by the second, the Huntsman’s movements threatening to chase every last sane thought from your head. You spoke before you lost the ability. “I crave you,” you cried. “I crave a family with you – one that is born from my love for you, Sanemi!”
His answering groan cracked. His hands tightened around your hips, pulling you flush against his base as he ground harder into you. "Our love," he panted, voice strained. “Our family shall be born from our love.” Sanemi’s breaths turned ragged. His head was thrown back, and his eyes screwed tightly shut as he moved against you without rhythm. “I am a beast,” he groaned between the filthy curses that tumbled freely from his mouth. “But you are my salvation – gods be damned – you’re fucking heaven, Lamb.”
Your cries grew loud enough to rattle the windows as Sanemi continued to drive himself deeper and deeper inside you until you swore you could feel the tip of his cock pushing against your gut. “S-Sanemi,” you whimpered, back arching even further from the floor. “Sanemi.”
“I need to be closer to you,” Sanemi yanked you up from the floor and puled your chest flush against his. He balanced you atop his lap where he knelt on the floor, trembling as his thrusts turned sloppy. “Fuck – Y/N – hold onto me.”
The movement of your hips was beyond your control. It was all you could do to wrap your arms around the wide breadth of his shoulders and hold on while the Wolf bounced you up and down his twitching length. His hold around your middle made it almost difficult to breathe; his fingers promised to leave bruises where they dug into your skin, and yet, somehow, he still wasn’t holding you nearly tight enough.
With a snarl, Sanemi buried his face between your breasts, his mouth nipping and sucking its way across your chest, marking your skin with violent whorls of purple and red that he soothed with his tongue. “These shall be even more beautiful when filled with milk,” he muttered between harsh nips at one mound, his hand palming the other. “You’ll nurse our children so well, sweetling – don’t you see?” He jerked you harder against his lap to meet his frenzied movements. “Your body was made to be bred by me, Lamb. So – ngh– fuckin’ perfect.” Even through the boundless depths of the mind-numbling pleasure Sanemi stoked between your legs, you swore you could feel his cock begin to thicken with each plunge back into your heat. It had grown undoubtedly harder – almost impossibly so – but the sensation of his body began to echo that which you’d experienced during his heat in the cave.
But, it was clear from the way the Wolf drove up into you to the hilt, that no knot was forming at his base. Blearily, you forced your eyes to focus on him rather than allowing them to remain rolled up into your head as your mate worked you closer to your peak. To your surprise, you saw that Sanemi’s incisors had lengthened, sharpening into points closer to fangs than they were to human teeth. His eyes were still their usual shade of deep purple, but the whites around them had begun to glow, illuminating his irises into twin gemstones of amethyst.
It hit you, then, that Sanemi’s firm grip on his wolf form was slipping, and it had nothing to do with the moon cycle or his heat. He was losing control, simply too lost in his own instincts. It thrilled you. “Breed me, breed me please,” your sobs were almost incoherent. “I am yours, Wolf! Yours to fuck, yours to fill –”
“Mine,” he confirmed through clenched teeth. “Mine to mate. Mine to love.” With a growl, Sanemi tucked his face into the crook of your neck. A rapturous cry broke past your lips as the walls of your cunt seized down on his thick length, catapulting you into bliss. You were grounded only by a sharp prick of half-fangs before pleasure, unbounded and uncontrollable, slammed into you with such dizzying force that you began to sob.
Sanemi had sunk his teeth right into your mark, igniting a searing, electrifying euphoria that struck you like a bolt of lightning. Your mind disconnected from your body; you were utterly unaware of the scream that tore from your throat and your mate was in no mood to silence it, not as he sucked his claim harder into your skin and soothed its throbbing with his tongue. Your towering high only began to subside once Sanemi unlatched his mouth from your skin, and you would have melted into the rug beneath you had his arms not tightened around your waist, keeping you anchored to the moment – to him.
Sanemi came with a deep groan that was slightly muffled by the way he’d buried his face against your collarbone. His biceps rippled from the way he held you close as he pumped into you, flooding you with his rich warmth. The Huntsman’s hips finally stilled and he fell forward with you still wrapped tightly around him, his forearms shooting past you to brace behind you and keep you from thudding against the cabin floor. Once settled, Sanemi moved his hands to unwind your legs from where they were locked around his waist. Your soft whine of protest was soothed by his lips. “I need you to keep your legs up for me, sweetling.” He cooed, pushing your knees up until they nearly touched your chest. “We want to ensure all my seed reaches your womb.”
You mewled softly against the hollow of his throat, where you’d pressed your face. Your arms stretched lazily to wrap around his neck as you clung tightly to him, desperate to keep him close.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered, lips brushing against the top of your shoulder. “All you have to do is let me put my babe in you, sweet Lamb. I’ll do all the work.”
Sanemi let his body settle against you, his weight holding your legs in place, locked tightly against your chest. His movements caused a slight dribble of his seed to escape over where the two of you remained joined, and you whined, mournful of its loss, but he was quick to soothe you. “Shh, Lamb, don’t worry,” he began slowly rolling his hips into yours, his cock still hard. “Whatever is lost, I will replace double.” True to his word, the Huntsman began to fuck his seed right back into your cunt before he gifted you yet another load. By the end of the hour, you were hardly able to keep your eyes open, your belly slightly bloated from how thoroughly he’d filled you again and again.
Sanemi rolled you atop him, allowing you to use his body as your bed. His hands smoothed down your sides until he could grip under your knees, and he pulled your legs up until they rested on either side of his waist. You squirmed slightly against him, your cunt still pulsing around his cock with the remnants of your final climax. You felt Sanemi smile against your forehead as he pressed a sweet kiss against your brow. “You’ll have to keep me warm for the night, Lamb.” His thumbs stroked small circles against the side of your thighs. “Since we don’t have my knot to keep all of me in you.”
“You can’t knot at will?” You settled against his chest, hips finally relaxing in your new position. Your eyes fluttered as sleep crept in, and you were too exhausted to try and move anymore.
“Only during my heats and the full moon,” Sanemi murmured. His arms wrapped around you, his warmth and mass a better blanket than even the soft furs piled atop your shared bed. “Speaking of which, there is a full moon in only five days’ time.”
You nodded, not bothering to stifle the yawn that slipped past your lips. “So you shall knot me again?”
“Aye, my sweet love,” he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “Though I don’t need it to fuck you full of my pups, but it certainly helps in that endeavor.” His hold around you tightened. “You shall make the most beautiful mother,” he whispered, his voice pure honey.
You burrowed harder into his chest, sighing as you let the comforting beat of his heart lull you closer to sleep. Before the sweet promise of temporary oblivion pulled you below its waves, you heard Sanemi’s fading voice speak once more.
“Our children will know they exist not because of any mating bond, but because their father loves their mother more than anything in this world.” His promise settled over you like the warmest of blankets, and you let the world around you disappear until you fell into dreams of flowers the color of your Huntsman’s eyes, perfumed with the scent of pine and woodsmoke; for even the deepest part of your subconscious recognized him as your home.
And so, you dreamed of him.
--
Your knowledge of your new home expanded as the Winter Solstice drew nearer. While Sanemi often spent the majority of the dwindling daylight patrolling along the borders of their land, he took great care to devote every bit of his free time to you. On a few occasions, he brought you on patrol with him, allowing you to ride upon his back as he flew through the Wood. The Wolves’ territory was massive; the valley of the dens resided in the exact middle of the territory. The extent of the bounds of the land was wider than it was long, and you’d gone slack jawed when Sanemi informed you that it took him and his pack almost an hour to run between the Eastern and Western borders, even fully shifted. When you weren’t accompanying Sanemi on his patrol duties, or spending time with Shinobu in her den, learning how to extract oils from certain herbs to make more potent medications, you roamed the area surrounding the dens on your own. You didn’t feel quite so confident as to risk venturing beyond the cliffside ravine near the lip of the Netherwood, but the presence of your cloak was enough to keep you comfortable as you searched for other plant life you’d learned about from reading one of Shinobu’s many, heavy bound texts.
Though, you supposed you couldn’t really say you were alone on such excursions; your ever-present shadow continued to lurk just out of sight. You wouldn’t have known he was still trailing after you at all, had you not been able to spy the fluttering edge of his violet traveling cloak from your periphery every time you made a sudden turn or whipped around, desperately hoping to catch him before he could duck behind the nearest tree or boulder.
You knelt upon the frozen earth and pulled a small pair of gardening shears from the folds of your cloak. “Genya?” you called, unable to suppress the small smile forming on your lips. “You can come closer, you know. I won’t bite.”
There was no answer. With a grunt of frustration, you returned to your task, cheeks heating in slight embarrassment at the way the boy continued to keep distance from you like you were some plague. In your exasperation, you wrenched your shears through a bough of witch hazel with more force than was likely necessary, nearly nicking your finger against the blade’s sharp edge. A sudden idea took form. You shifted where you knelt, keeping your back turned firmly toward where you thought Genya was lurking. Your hands concealed from view, you feigned a struggle with severing another branch from the bush. After a moment, you let the shears slip easily from your grip, sending them scuttling across the earth, and you let loose a mock-groan of frustration. You threw a glance back over your shoulder, pretending to search the trees. “I see you standing there,” you called. Won’t you please join me? Silence followed for a moment until a face slowly peeked out from behind a tree only a few yards away. You’ll have to keep needling him, Sanemi had warned you. He has always had an interest in forestry and plants. You smiled to yourself. “I’d appreciate some help cutting these branches,” you gestured to the small witch hazel bush. “I fear I might not have the strength to cut the branches on my own.”
A lie, but an effective one. Timidly, Genya shuffled out from his hiding spot behind the thick bark of an old, decaying tree and shuffled toward you, arms crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes cast downward. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice soft enough to be swallowed by the wind.
Despite the surge of triumphant delight that rocked through you, you kept your features neutral, for fear of running the boy off. “Here,” you pulled a spare pair of pruning shears free from the folds of your skirt and handed them to the young Wolf. “I’ve been hoping you would join me.”
Genya gingerly plucked the blade free from your fingers. He kept his face turned down toward the ground, in valiant effort to conceal the brilliant blush coloring his cheeks.
You smirked. The boy couldn’t conceal the fuschia hue coloring the tips of his ears, exposed by the unique cut of his hair. Your gloat, however, was short lived, as Genya mumbled something you hadn’t the dimmest hope of being able to discern. But you would not give in so easily. “You’ll have to forgive me,” you said lightly. “My hearing isn’t as sharp as a Wolf’s.”
The young Wolf nearly dropped his shears. “I – I uh –” he sputtered, fumbling to re-secure his grip on the gardening tool. “I s-said, I thought you’d – you’d w-want – that you’d need someone to watch out for you.”
You kept your focus on the task at hand, sawing through the thick branches of the witch hazel bush and tossing your bounty to the side to be stripped once you’d gathered enough. “I appreciate it -- I’ve wanted company while gathering for Shinobu for some time.”
Genya’s blush did not fade, not even as you walked him through the process of stripping the witch hazel leaves, showing him how to tell the good branches from the bad, and how to best avoid any nicks from the shears if they slipped against the reedy bark of the branch wood. A silence settled over the pair of you as you worked, though it did not bother you. You’d grown used to soloing this task, after all, and you were rather grateful for the young Wolf’s presence by your side, even if he remained silent. “Y-you’re not afraid,” Genya’s gruff voice cut through the frosty winter air like a blade. You turned to him, curious. “Of us, I mean,” he said quickly, busying himself with stripping a branch of witch hazel with the sharp edge of his shears. “You’re human and you don’t seem frightened.”
You turned your attention back to the branches piled before you, hands resuming their task of sorting the good branches from the bad. “I’ve seen far worse than a few Wolves since entering the Netherwood,” you said dryly. “Your pack is perhaps the least frightening thing around for miles.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Genya purse his lips. “You weren’t afraid of Aniki – brother?”
“How do you mean?”
“In the past…other humans tended to be afraid of him -- his scars.” He hastily added. “Sometimes they’d even turn away his aid.” Genya’s eyes flickered shyly to you. “Were you? Frightened by him?”
“Of Sanemi?” you repeated with an airy laugh. You sat back on your haunches and hummed in thought, considering.
“Yes and no,” you decided after a moment. “I was frightened when I first saw him – but not because of him.” You dropped a few stripped branches into your basket and brushed the dirt from your hands. “By the time I found Sanemi, I’d been on the run for more than a day. I imagine I would have been startled by my own shadow, had I been able to see it.”
Genya said nothing, but it was clear he clung onto every word you spoke given the way his hands stilled, halting his task.
“It became clear rather quickly that he truly meant to help me,” you continued, smiling softly. “So no, I was not afraid of him; in fact, I found him rather vexatious at first.” You shot Genya a knowing wink. “Your brother can be rather aloof when he desires it. He was quite good at avoiding my efforts to make conversation.” You thought for a moment, and then laughed quietly under your breath. “Though, if you asked him, I’m certain he’d tell you he found me just as irksome.
The younger Shinazugawa remained silent for a moment, pondering. “My brother — he really cares for you.” Genya’s voice was so soft you almost strained to hear him. “I’ve never seen him so…,” the boy trailed off, grimacing as he struggled for the word. “Soft, I s’ppose. Not until you.” Genya’s head suddenly snapped to you in wide-eyed alarm. “D-don’t tell him I said that. He might bite my head off.”
You smiled as you wrenched another branch free from the witch hazel shrub. “I shall take it to my grave.”
Genya responded to your promise with a soft smile. For an hour, the two of you worked in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional question from him about life in the human village, his curiosity growing with your every reply. Eventually, he began to fidget beside you, his anxiety almost palpable. You were about to suggest returning home, when he suddenly dropped his shears, letting them thud to the earth.“You said you only came into the Netherwood because you were being pursued,” Genya’s words tumbled quickly out of his mouth. “Is that person still after you?”
The suddenness of the question – and the unexpected tangle it created in your mind -- took you by surprise. You turned to him and saw your own stunned expression on the young Wolf’s face, as though he, too, was taken aback. Genya’s blush returned. “F-forgive me – it wasn’t my place –”
“I don’t know,” the confession slipped out of your mouth before you could think the better of it. “I’d like to believe he’s given up, but that doesn’t align with the Douma I know.” A thin sheen of sweat coated your palms, and absently, you rubbed your hands against your outer skirt. “And I also know it would be foolish to believe nearly a month without incident means that I am free from his torment. But I –,” you faltered, head dropping to stare at your hands where they rest in your lap.
Genya shifted uncomfortably beside you. “You – you’re part of our pack, now.” His voice cracked slightly, but there was a firm conviction to his words. “Brother is strong, and I – I can fight, too. So can Shinobu.”
Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet the young’s boy’s. Your heart swelled as you recognized the stern assurance and determination in the boy’s gaze, even in spite of the reddening of his cheeks.
“And – and you’re safe here,” he finished somewhat lamely, but the weight of his promise held.
“Thank you, Genya,” you said quietly. “Truly, thank you. And thank you for letting me into your pack.”
The boy’s flush nearly matched the purple of his traveling cloak. “’S nothing,” he mumbled, embarrassed once more. His hand reached behind him to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “’Sides, once Gyomei and ‘Suri come back, you’ll have even more of us looking out for you.”
You gave him a wan smile, unable to bring yourself to admit that was precisely the opposite of what you wanted. The thought that Sanemi and the others would potentially put themselves in harm’s way for your sake was a thorn in your conscience you couldn’t seem to shake, and its piercing stab only grew more intense as the days passed.
Genya, thankfully, was oblivious to your inner anguish. “Let’s go, sister,” he shot up, dusting his hands off on his breeches.
You looked up at him in surprise, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Sister?”
The boy turned bright red. “Well – you’re Aniki’s – and that makes you –,”
You couldn’t stop the laugh building in your chest, thankful for the distraction. “It is perfectly all right, Genya,” you assured the stuttering young Wolf. “You can call me sister; I don’t mind.”
Genya nodded jerkily, still bright red. His brother’s influence on his manners, however, was clear, as the boy offered you his arm. Smiling, you looped yours through his, your basket full of witch hazel tucked safely in the crook of your free arm.
“Shall we?” You asked, and the pair of you set off back toward the Wolf dens – toward home.
--
You returned to your cabin den before Sanemi and tried to busy yourself by preparing the fire. Since your arrival, you’d filled the Huntsman’s cupboards with pots and jars stuffed full of herbs and preserved foods for the winter ahead, and you found yourself shuffling them around on their shelves, desperately attempting to let your mind get lost in the task of reorganizing them according to their type of use. Your distractions, however, were unable to temper the restlessness buzzing beneath your skin like a horde of angry hornets, growing more incessant as the minutes trickled ceaselessly by. Eventually, you found yourself standing before the cabin’s main hearth, staring blanky into the fire as it crackled merrily away, filling the room with its cozy, orange glow. Despite its considerable size, you only pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the comforting warmth of the flames unable to chase away the chill that seemed to linger on your skin.
A gust of early winter air dampened the strength of the fire as Sanemi pushed open the heavy oak door to your home, pausing only to quickly shake the snow from his boots before closing it quickly behind him. “I wouldn’t mind the winter so much if not for the damn snow,” he grumbled, tugging his cloak over his head and hanging it near the door. When you neither responded nor acknowledged his return, Sanemi turned toward you. “Lamb?” The Huntsman crossed the floor of the cabin until he too, stood before the hearth. A gentle hand grazed your shoulder, and his touch startled you from the maze that was your mind.
Your eyes were wide as they lifted to meet his concerned gaze, though some of the tension eased from your shoulders at the sight of your mate standing beside you. “Apologies, I just --,” your voice faltered, and Sanemi leaned closer to you, his expression serious. “Do you think Douma will find us?” You asked quietly after a moment. Your hands began to nervously twist the folds of your shawl where you clutched it around your chest. “Will he continue hunting me until the ends of the earth?”
Sanemi shifted forward to take your hands into his own, stilling their fret. “Our land is mostly secured – and even the weakest of our borders hasn’t been breached in over a decade, Lamb.”
His thumb moved soothingly over your knuckles. “And even if he could manage to track you all the way here, it wouldn’t matter. He’d have to get past several wolves, each of whom is more than dedicated to protecting their own.” One hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. “That doesn’t even begin to touch what I would do to him – what I would do to keep you safe.”
You closed your eyes and leaned into the sturdy warmth of Sanemi’s touch. “All I want is to be free,” you whispered. “To live without fear of the shadows lurking over my shoulder.”
The Huntsman’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Where is this coming from, Lamb? We’ve not had any encounters with those men since before I marked you.”
“I don’t know,” you admitted with a frown, your hand running nervously through your hair. “But I feel an unease that I can’t shake. It is as though something is pulling at me, trying to get my attention – like I need to be on guard.”You pursed your lips. “Douma has never struck me as the type to give up the chase. I half expect to see him waltzing through the trees with a small army of his sycophants, ready to string me up.”
Sanemi’s eyes were full of concern as you rambled on, anxiety bubbling into panic in your stomach. “That I might bring that sort of chaos right to your door – that I might threaten your pack – I cannot bear it, Sanemi.”
“My love, you have nothing –”
“He skinned my grandmother alive, Sanemi.” You whispered. “A helpless old woman, and he treated her like an animal. What do you think he would do if he were to capture you? Your brother?” The rate of your breathing increased until you were nearly panting, struggling to get enough air into your lungs. “What if he harms you, harms your family? What if –”
“Y/N, shh,” your anxious chatter was silenced as Sanemi shot to cup you by the back of your skull and pull you in. The hand splayed across the back of your head tucked you tightly under his chin, his other arm winding to curl around your waist and crush you against his solid form. His fingers rubbed soothingly against your scalp. “I will not let anything happen to you, Lamb.” His lips whispered against your hair. “I’ll protect you, I swear it.” It was difficult not to melt within the comforting cage created by his arms as he cradled you close. Your cheek rested against the warm skin of his chest, and beneath you could feel the steady beat of his heart. “My body is yours. My life is yours. There is nothing I wouldn’t do – nothing I wouldn’t become, if it meant keeping you safe.”
You shook your head. “Don’t say that,” your arms wrapped around his hips and squeezed, holding him close. “Your curse – your humanity is far more important.”
Sanemi gently pulled your head back and tilted your face up, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “No, Lamb. You misunderstand.” His thumb dropped down to run over your bottom lip. “You are my humanity.” He dipped low to brush a sweet kiss against your lips before he tucked you back against his chest, his hand smoothing over the back of your head. “So long as we are together, no harm will come to us – any of us.”
Your eyes fluttered shut as you let yourself melt in his embrace, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear more soothing than any lullaby. You wanted to protest; you wanted to tell him that Douma had garnered a reputation in your village for being merciless in his pursuits. After all, after his first two wives disappeared, the family of the third had tried desperately to get their daughter out of her engagement once the proposal arrived; they’d even begged the Village Head for an official decree banning the marriage, offering to pay handsomely in exchange for their daughter remaining unbound. It hadn’t mattered; Douma forced the wedding within the week, and by the time the sun rose the next morning, rumors of her disappearance were already snaking their way through the markets. Barely a month later, Kotoha had received her proposal.
But you wanted to believe Sanemi; you wanted to believe it had been enough, that his mating mark had altered your scent until you were nearly untraceable, and that you would be spending your days here, with your Wolf, happy and free. You wanted it more than you’d ever wanted anything. So, you burrowed further against Sanemi’s sturdy warmth, and you let his scent – pine and something spicy and smoky – envelope your senses and chase all thoughts of the Village Worship leader from your mind.
And you let yourself believe him.
——
Your restlessness eased considerably over the following days until Douma’s lingering phantom faded to the back of your mind, barely more than an easily disregarded whisper. Rather, your newfound bond with Genya occupied a great deal of attention, the boy now a constant presence by your side during the day. Despite his rather fearsome appearance, the young Wolf followed you around like an over-eager puppy, jumping to volunteer to carry your basket once you’d sufficiently loaded it with materials to replenish Shinobu’s stock of medicinal herbs and your own cupboard. You didn’t mind; Kotoha had been the closest thing you’d had to a sibling, and his shy kindness and readiness to help in whatever way he could started to fill the void she’d left behind. You grew closer with Shinobu as well, the young Shifter grateful for the presence of another woman. She’d even gifted you with a few new skirts and decorated outercorsets from her closet, waving off your protest over accepting the clothing without payment. As it turned out, she’d purchased them for Mitsuri, but her mate, like most Nymphs, preferred to wear less, no matter the season. As fortune would have it, your height was close to that of the Naiad���s, and the garments fit comfortably.
Above all, your love for Sanemi only deepened with each passing day. As much as you found yourself longing for the silkiness of his touch and the warmth of his smile whenever he was away, by far, the best part of your day was when he returned home. The moment he stepped past the threshold of your shared cabin, his arms would find you, and then lips, as he held you like the most precious thing to ever walk the earth.
He'd grown even clingier than usual as the Solstice approached. One particular evening had seen him hastily entering the cabin, barely discarding his cloak and axe before he’d hurriedly crossed the floor and swept you into his arms, crushing you against him. You chalked it up to the impending change in the lunar cycle, as you’d felt a similar need to be near to him as both the Winter Solstice and full moon loomed near. But that morning, he rose even earlier than usual, setting out well before the first rays of dawn had begun to peek over the horizon. Ever the gentleman, he’d still taken the time to properly fill you before departing, leaving you half-asleep but content with his warmth between your legs and a gentle kiss against your brow. Itt was well past dark when he returned. You’d been standing over the clay stove, heating water to make tea, when the front door to the den pushed open, an icy gust of early winter air rushing past him before he latched it shut. You called out your greeting, eyes focused on grinding up a portion of peppermint leaves to steep. Even with your back turned to him, you could feel the weight of Sanemi’s stare as he silently crossed the cabin floor to you, your heart skipping as the burning heat of his body drew nearer. A pair of muscled, scarred arms gently encircled your waist from behind, tugging you back against his solid form. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you savored the way his scent – woodsy and just a little spicy – enveloped your senses, washing over you until your body thrummed with want for him.
“There is something we should discuss,” he murmured quietly, his lips tickling the side of your neck as he skimmed his mouth across your skin. His hands smoothed over your belly and hips in unhurried, repeated strokes. From the growing bulge that had begun to dig into your backside, you could guess what discussions the Huntsman had in mind.
Your head thudded back against his pectoral, eyes fighting a losing battle against rolling up into your head at the intoxicating feel of his touch. “I’m listening.”
“I told you once before that I would shift while claiming you – fully,” Sanemi’s breath was hot as he exhaled against your neck, his body warm and tight where it pressed into every curve of yours. “And with each day that passes, I find it more and more difficult to restrain myself from doing so.”
Your stomach fluttered. You turned in his embrace and peered up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I don’t want you restrained.”
The Huntsman groaned as he dipped his head lower to trail his nose along your neck. “You say such dangerous things, Lamb.”
“Do you want to take me as a wolf, Sanemi?”
A beat of silence followed. “It is a rite of sorts,” he said carefully, his eyes tracking your face for your reaction. “For wolves to mount their mates in their natural form. It is meant to be the ultimate expression of the bond.”
“And,” he added, and his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Knotting as a wolf…tends to have more success in terms of siring pups.”
A luscious burn spread down your body from your mating mark at the implication of his words. With slight amusement, you realized your bond was reacting to his desires – to breed his mate – and that you wanted nothing more than to help assuage his most primal urge. You brushed a kiss against his chest, right over his thundering heart. “Then I am ready,” you said, simply. “You know what I desire – take me; claim me again.”
Sanemi’s lips pressed hard against the top of your head, and he sighed deeply as he inhaled your scent. You took it as an assent to your offer. “How should we start?” You whispered, tilting your head up to search his eyes. You ran your hands up and down the steely length of his forearms in an effort to sooth bothe his nerves and your own. “Shall we begin as we did in the cave?”
Sanemi’s grip around your waist tightened. “It won’t be here, Lamb,” he nuzzled his nose against yours. “This space,” he nodded to the cozy den around you. “Is too small for me to shift fully.”
“And I do not want to risk breaking anything,” he added sheepishly after a moment.
The weight of his promise – that Sanemi would indeed assume his full Wolf form while claiming you, taking that final step in making you utterly and indelibly his — sent heat flaring through your veins. But the excitement tittering within you was tempered as you considered the implication of his words. “Then — will you not take me tonight?” You fought the frown threatening to betray your rising disappointment.
Sanemi’s hand smoothed over your hair. “No, Lamb – this can happen now,” and his words made your thighs clench together. “Tonight will be a full moon. I have already made arrangements; we just have to travel a little way. But — are you sure you’re ready? I will not ask anything of you that you don’t want.”
You stretched up on your toes until only a breath separated your lips. “I want you, Wolf.” Your whisper made Sanemi’s eyes darken. “I want you in every sense of the word.”
Your hand crept up the unbuttoned collar of his tunic, savoring the warm, scar-crossed skin of his chest. Sanemi’s eyes fluttered under the silkiness of your touch. “Lamb –”
“I’m yours,” you breathed, leaning in to just barely graze your lips against his. “Utterly and completely yours.”
The Huntsman’s eyes remained shut for a moment longer as he exhaled once, long and slow. Your belly flipped at the hoary silvery glow beginning to tint the plum of his eyes when he opened them once more, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze.
“Look at me,” Sanemi caught your jaw in his hand, his grip gentle and firm. “And listen well.”
The quiet command stilled you and hitched the breath in your throat. His stare was formidable; at times, the vehemence of his gaze made you want to squirm, to curl in on yourself and hide. No one had ever looked at you with the same fiery zeal as Sanemi did. Often, you thought he might be looking straight through you, choosing instead to peer directly into your soul to assess you and everything you were. Yet, despite it all, you would happily peel yourself back, flesh and bone, and bare yourself to him if he asked. For if he were to examine your heart, he would see only his reflection, and he would know it belonged to him.
The way the Huntsman’s pupils dilated made you think he had, given how his hold on you tightened. “If at any time tonight things become…overwhelming,” Sanemi swallowed hard. “Or if you feel any pain or discomfort – and I mean any,” he stressed as your lips parted in protest. “You must tell me at once.”
“It won’t,” you insisted. “I will be fine –”
The sound of your name on the Huntsman’s lips made you fall silent. “If it gets to be too much, tell me to stop and I will. I swear it.”
There was an urgency in his eyes that made you pause. He was conflicted; torn between his desire for you and his fear of causing you harm. Your eyes softened, and your hand found his cheek, Sanemi leaning into the warmth of your touch. “I will.” You promised, and you meant it. For as much as it was clear Sanemi could not stomach the thought of causing you pain, you also could not fathom being the cause of his.
The Wolf nodded and swallowed hard. “Then come with me.”
--
The Solstice arrived and with it, had brought the full force of winter to the Netherwood. The cold was so sharp it made your lungs burn with every step, and the generous layer of snow coating the ground slowed your pace. Above you, the moon hung fat and silver in the sky, its light reflecting off the pristine white the thick blanket of white which had settled over the land, bright enough that you easily could have seen the land around you even without the flickering lantern Sanemi held out before you. With his free hand wrapped securely around yours, the Huntsman led you away from the small clusters of cabins and deeper into the Wood, the whipporwills and the jays having long since retired for the night.
On and on you walked alongside the brook that ran through the valley, until you drew upon the mouth of the stream, which widened into a small, rushing creek. There, you split away from the water, Sanemi guiding you into a line of evergreens packed tighter together than the small groves that separated the dens. You traveled until the dim lights from Shinobu’s and Genya’s homes faded, the darknes of the small pocket swallowing you whole. Sanemi’s thumb stroked soothingly over your knuckles as you trekked deeper into the brush, until the pair of you came upon a small clearing among a circle of trees.
On one side of the clearing – no more than three or four lengths across – crackled a small fire, just large enough that you could feel its warmth from where you stood. Lining the outer rim of the dell was an assortment of candles, all mismatched and of varying height, but each lit and flickering gently in the cold winter air. The effect of the candles bathed the clearing in a soft, warm glow, carving out a small sanctuary in the middle of the shadowy and mysterious Wood. Your eyes were drawn to the center of the clearing. There was a small divot, where snow had been gathered and pushed to the sides, revealing the frozen ground below. The ground, however, had been covered, as Sanemi had assembled a pile of clean furs, piles one on top of the other to form a soft bed.A nest; almost identical to the one he’d made in the cave den before his heat.
Romantic; that was the only word you could conjure to adequately describe the cozy display before you. It was utterly romantic. “Is this what you were doing today?” You dared not speak above a whisper, for fear of disturbing the intimate ambience so carefully curated by your mate. “Were you preparing this?”
“Aye,” Sanemi said hoarsely. “I wanted you to be comfortable – as comfortable as possible.”
“It is beautiful, Sanemi,” you pushed your chest against his lower abdomen, your arms winding around his waist as you peered up at him through your eyelashes.
The Huntsman’s hand caressed your cheek before it tilted your head up. Sanemi expressed his gratitude at your praise not with his words, but with his lips as he crushed you gently to him. You remained locked together for a while, lips moving slowly together in a sweet kiss that starkly contrasted with what you knew was about to unfold.
He broke your kiss with a soft moan, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close. Sanemi’s eyes bore heavily into yours, neither one of you daring to blink as his fingers trailed lightly from your shoulders to the front stays of your corset. Though he did not speak, you could see the question brimming in his eyes, and your chin dipped down in an almost imperceptible nod. The Huntsman held your gaze as his hands made quick work of the corset’s laces before he laid the garment carefully to the side. Sanemi then lifted your blouse over your head, his eyes never straying from yours even as your upper torso became exposed, your nipples pebbling against the bite of the winter air. The heady connection of your stare remained strong, even as he knelt to the ground before you, his warm, broad hands dragging down the chilled skin of your chest and midriff. You felt your cheeks flush as Sanemi’s lithe fingers began to work the buttons securing your skirts around your waist. The fabric loosened and your mate tugged each skirt down your hips, his mouth pressing hotly against the exposed skin just below your belly button, all while keeping his eyes locked with yours. His hands then found the tops of your wool stockings where they were secured around the middle of your thighs, and he rolled them down, one by one.
Arousal flared between your legs and you did not miss the way his eyes darkened almost to black as he drank you in, fully bare before him in that snowy enclosure. He rose slowly to full height until he towered over you once more, his eyes still burning into yours. A finger ghosted along your cheekbone. “Go lay down on the nest,” his voice was as soft as the caress against your face. “And open your legs.”
You obeyed his command without a word, lowering yourself to the bed of furs gathered on the ground. You propped yourself up on your elbows and your eyes remained fixed on Sanemi’s as you drew your knees up slightly before letting your legs fall open, baring yourself to him.
The fire in Sanemi’s eyes was nothing short of ravenous. “Touch yourself, Lamb,” he ordered as his hands rose to the laces on his breeches. “Touch yourself as I would.”
Beginning at your collarbone, you lightly dragged your right hand down the length of your body, pausing at one of your breasts to circle it, teasingly. Sanemi’s knuckles tightened around the fastenings of his trousers as you pinched your nipple between your fingers and cried out, another rush of wetness surging between your thighs under the weight of his dark stare. His breeches loosened, Sanemi grabbed a fistful of his tunic and hauled it over his head, exposing his mouthwateringly chiseled form. You fought the urge to clamp your thighs together at the sight of his body, so hard yet so warm, and so very capable of setting every nerve in your body aflame with want.
But your Wolf had given you an order, and you were desperate to show him how good – how obedient – his mate could be. And so, your hand continued its descent down your body, skirting from hipbone to hipbone before you dipped between your thighs – right where you knew he wanted. Your breath caught in your throat at the first brush of your fingers against your slit, already hypersensitive from the anticipation bubbling hotly within you. You were soaked – your arousal was already leaking forth, dampening your outer folds. With a shaky moan, your fingers spread wide the lips of your core, exposing your need. You gathered your wetness and spread it around your entrance, your legs trembling. Sanemi’s eyes were dark and full of want as he regarded you, bare before him and waiting.
Your lower lip quivered. “Sanemi.”
Instantly, he pounced, mouth moving feverishly against yours as he covered your body with his. His hands roamed every inch of your skin, grabbing and massaging whatever part of you he could reach, as though he could consume you simply through his touch. “I promise I will be good to you,” he murmured between desperate kisses. “I will be so good to you, little Lamb.” Sanemi pulled roughly away from you, breath fast and hard. “But I need to prepare you, first.”
You pushed your hips up against his with a whine. Boldly, your fingers latched around his wrist and tugged his hand between your thighs, pressing it flush against your folds, already slick with your desire.
The Huntsman could not stop his fingers from dipping between your slit, the action pure muscle memory. “I’m ready now,” you insisted.
Sanemi groaned as your honey coated his digits. His calloused yet gentle fingers spread your wetness around, swirling your sensitive bead before dipping lower, bringing it to your aching entrance. He mouthed at your breast, sucking a pert nipple between his lips to stifle another rumbling moan. “You’re ready to take me as I am now — but not yet as a Wolf,” his voice was strained. A single finger dipped inside your entrance and you moaned, your head falling back against the furs. “Do you trust me, Lamb?”
How could you not? How could you do anything but trust him, when he added a second finger inside you to join the first, his digits steadily pumping into you while curling and brushing against that sweet spot that only your precious Huntsman knew how to find?
Sanemi slowed the pace of his hand. “I need to hear you speak, sweetling.”
“Yes!” You gasped, hips rotating wantonly as you tried to stimulate yourself against him. “I trust you — just please, don’t stop —“
Your pleas broke off with a whine as Sanemi resumed the measured thrusts of his hand into your core. His thumb swirled and pressed against your nub, and before long, your thighs trembled and ached as your first climax drew near. When the Huntsman added a third finger, you swore, your back arching off the nest as your high washed over you, Sanemi’s name a fervid oath on your lips. The fourth finger had you crying out in both overstimulated pleasure tinged by the sweetest pain. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes as Sanemi spread his fingers wide inside you, touching parts of you you hadn’t known could be reached.
The sight of you writhing beneath him made the bulge between his legs grow painfully hard, his cock straining against his breeches. If he did not avail himself of the relief of your sweet body soon, he would end up soiling yet another pair of his pants.
Regretfully, Sanemi removed his thumb from your swollen clit. He dragged it down the center of your core until it reached your entrance, where he pressed down just above your opening and waited. Your eyes flew open at his signal. You looked down your body at him in alarm, your moans turning to squeaks the more Sanemi’s hand continued to work inside you. The Huntsman struggled to control his breathing as he looked over your disheveled appearance. Your cheeks were dark, and tendrils of your hair stuck to the edges of your temples and against your neck, the skin there sweat dampened and flushed. A gush of fluid surged from between your thighs as you realized he was waiting for your permission. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip. “I-I don’t know if I can —“ you started but Sanemi was quick to soothe.
“Just one more finger, Lamb, I promise,” he panted. “You can take it, sweet girl, I know you can.”
Your stomach clenched tightly but you nodded anyways, your heart pounding at the way his eyes darkened at your assent. Your chest was heaving as you felt the last of Sanemi’s digits prod your entrance, the others deep within your silken heat and still working you open. You could do it, you chanted to yourself. You had to do it — or else he’d stop, and you thought you’d die if he did. There was a slight pressure that made you wince, and then pleasure; warm, rolling pleasure, that made you spread your legs wider. “That’s my good girl,” Sanemi murmured, eyes locked on your face, darkening at the way your mouth fell open in a silent scream.
The Huntsman began to pump away, his fingers moving to massage and stretch your inner muscles. For a moment, even through the thick fog of pleasured bliss clouding your mind thanks to the Wolf’s ministrations, you were confused as to how he was able stroke different parts of your inner walls at the same time, rather than focusing on one or two spots as he normally did. You felt two fingers curl up, stroking that spot near the top of your groin that made you drool, while the other two continued to push deeper.
It struck you then that the Wolf had his entire hand buried deep inside your core.
“You’re doing so well, sweetling,” Sanemi’s other hand closed around your breast, squeezing softly. His fingers closed around your nipple, pinching it in time with the movements of the hand between your legs. He smirked at your needy whine, your hips churning desperately against his hand which was buried to the wrist inside your aching heat. “You’ll be able to take me soon, precious Lamb, I promise.” The Huntsman covered your body with his own, allowing his wrist to settle against your neglected pearl. You cried out as he began to press it into the apex between your thighs, the stimulation jolting your hips into movement of their own accord. Mind disconnected from your body, you ground against the ridges of his wrist, and soon, you felt the familiar coil of release begin to tighten in your belly once more. “That’s it, darling,” he praised. “Look at you, working so hard to get yourself ready for your Wolf.”
His approval only spurned you to move faster, your hips wantonly gyrating against him. Sanemi dropped his head to your breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth. He swore as he felt you clench tighter around his hand, your climax quickly approaching. He pumped harder into you. “Can you take this Wolf’s knot, Lamb?” He cooed, unable to stop pride from swelling in his chest at the eagerness with which you nodded, pitiful whimpers tumbling from your lips. “Will you let this Wolf fuck you full of his seed? Keep you warm and happy?”
Sanemi knew you needed only a gentle push before you would topple over the edge. “You’re going to let me put a babe in your belly,” Sanemi twisted his hand at the exact moment he felt your muscles seize around him. “You’re going to let me fuck an entire litter into you, aren’t you sweet girl?”
That did it.
With a guttural scream you came apart, your back arcing sharply away from the furs below you with the force of your climax as Sanemi continued to pump his hand into you, teeth gritting as your velvet head closed around him like a vice. The Huntsman praised you as the thrashing waves of your pleasure quieted to soft tremors, until you sank back against the nest, your limbs liquified and your brain close to melting through your ears. “That’s it, sweetling,” he murmured as he slowly withdrew his hand from your fluttering, aching core, finger by finger. “Now I know you’ll be able to handle me.”
You stretched out blindly towards him, fingers curling in the air as you beckoned him to cover you, to sear his skin into yours. “I need you,” you cried. “I need you, Sanemi. Please.”
His hands tore his trousers from his legs and carelessly tossed them to the side. At the first sight of his cock, thick and hard, you cried out again, your mark burning with the ferocity of his need and yours. Your eyes dragged over the shape of his length, snagging on his tip, already an angry red and leaking. A new desire flared to life in your belly, different from that which you usually felt when you wanted your mate to hold your legs open and fuck you until you couldn’t recall any name but his. Rather, the urge now spurring you to sit up from the nest and crawl towards him, was one born from the overwhelming need to make as much of a mess of him as he often did to you.
He watched, bewildered as you crept over the furs to him, before raising yourself into a kneel. Perched delicately on your knees before him, you leaned forward and experimentally pressed your lips against the leaking head of his hardened member. Sanemi’s reaction was instant, punctuated by a sharp hiss of your name as his hips jolted reflexively toward you.
You paused and peered up at him with wide eyes. “Is – is that okay?”
“Yes, Lamb,” his reply was strained, his muscles taught and rigid. “It is more than okay.”
You hummed, bringing your lips back against his length, and the vibrations of your mouth made the Wolf above you whimper. One hand flew to the side of your head, his fingers lightly tugging insistently at your hair.
“I might start shifting –” he panted, barely suppressing another moan as you parted your lips around his twitching cockhead and flicked out your tongue. “Into my hybrid f-form – fuck.”
His warning was cut off as you opened your mouth, taking in the top quarter of his cock. It was difficult to keep your eyes glued to his face as you began to move, the sounds falling steadily from his mouth your only guide apart from pure instinct. You tried to bob your head, but your movements felt slightly awkward, and your stiffened jaw made it difficult to work more of him into the wet heat of your mouth. The Huntsman’s hand dropped from its hold on your hair, with the other, he gently gripped you on either side of your neck. You halted the movements of your mouth and turned your eyes up to meet his blazing stare. He swore softly. “Ease your jaw,” his voice was rougher than gravel, but his fingers were light as they massaged the sides of your neck. Against the soothing circles he worked into your neck, your jaw loosened. “There you go,” he murmured, his hands lifting to brace on either side of your head. His fingers threaded through your hair. “That’s my girl.”
To your relief, you found it easier to hold him in your mouth and you resumed the bobbing movements of your head. Your confidence mounted with every stroke, and boldly, you allowed your tongue to flex against the underside of his length.
It was the right thing to do; Sanemi’s grip on your hair tightened, but his hips jerked against you, a stilted moan of your name falling from his lips. “Beautiful,” he panted, his hips softly rocking against your movements as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth. “You are utterly beautiful.”
It was messy, but you found that you didn’t mind the way your saliva slipped down your chin and dripped to your lap; you relished the way you steadily pushed the Huntsman closer and closer to the edge of his restraint, his muscles rippling as he tensed beneath your ministrations.
The first transformation happened more seamlessly than it did that first time in the cave. One moment, Sanemi was standing above you, his head thrown back as deep, wanton moans reverberated from his chest in time with every stroke of your tongue against his rigid length. The next, you felt him shudder, and the cock sliding in and out of your mouth began to thicken, complicating your ability to keep your cheeks hollowed around him.
A gentle brush of human fingers tipped with sharp, beastly claws through your hair was your only signal that the partial shift was complete. Slowly, you slid him out of your mouth with a wet pop! and sat back on your knees, face tilted up so you could study him in the moonlight.
Half-transformed, Sanemi was equal parts intimidating and beautiful. You’d thought that he’d grown somewhat when he partially shifted in the cave; now that you could see him better, you could tell exactly the ways in which his half transformation altered the body you’d come to know well.
The change in his eyes from lilac to silver, and the elongation of his fangs and ears were all familiar to you; it was the change in his manhood that was new. It stood straight up, nearly flush against his abdomen. It had grown longer and thicker than normal, his engorged tip bulbous and red as it smeared beads of his seed above his navel. The veins running long its underside were more pronounced, and you swore you could see the blood pulsing through them, making him twitch beneath the heat of your stare. At the base, his knot had already begun to form, and just below it, his balls were larger; fuller. Your mouth went dry at the thought of him emptying into you over and over until everything inside you had been thoroughly coated by his essence. The sight wrought forth a fresh wave of desire from between your legs, strong enough to make you whimper.
The Wolf’s nostrils widened, and the silver of his eyes grew nearly as bright as the moon above as he scented your arousal. “Turn,” he ordered with a deep growl, primal and domineering. “Knees.”
Your mark burned in response and you hastily scooted to the center of the nest to get in position. You laid your head down, cheek coming to rest against the soft furs below you. You fought to keep your breath even as you felt Sanemi’s clawed hands gently take hold of your hips, tilting them up so your backside was high in the air. You shifted your knees further apart in an attempt to balance your weight while still allowing yourself to present the dripping heat of your core for the Wolf at your back. Sanemi’s responding growl was low, his warm hand leaving your hip to slide over your exposed cunt, making you twitch. A single finger swirled appreciatively around your most sensitive spot, and you knew he approved of your new position.
You thought that he might taste you, given that he usually could not resist feasting on your cunt when presented the opportunity. But the warmth of his breath disappeared only to be replaced by the blunt press of the tip of his cock against your entrance, already clenching in anticipation. “Lamb,” he ran his tip up and down your slit, coating himself with your wetness. “Mine.”
Your breath choked out of you as Sanemi swiftly impaled you on his thick cock. Though your limbs initially stiffened in surprise at the suddenness of his movements, you quickly relaxed, your thighs spreading wider as you melted into the furs and sang his name in praise.
In response, Sanemi’s claws dug deeper into your hips as he jerked you harshly back in time with his brutal thrusts. Even during the first night of his heat, he hadn’t been this rough; his thrusts hadn’t been this bruising, this sharp. But the line between man and beast grew more and more blurred with every snap of his hips. You only wanted more. The clearing was filled with the sounds of Sanemi’s hips slapping roughly against your backside, though the clapping sounds of skin were not enough to drown out the steady stream of the Wolf’s low snarls or your growing cries of pleasure.
“Faster,” you managed to choke out. “Faster, Sanemi.”
His only reply came in the form of a growl, but he obliged. Sanemi’s hips began snapping against you with brutish speed and breathtaking force. Your limbs were steadily turning to mush, quivering and straining to keep you upright as Sanemi mercilessly laid his claim to your cunt. Again and again, the Huntsman slammed you back on his length, pulling desperate cry after cry from your lips, your pleasure rapidly overtaking every perception and coherent thought you possessed. You were ready to be lost amidst the euphoria of his body, resigned to be used for his pleasure and nothing more.
It happened without warning.
One moment, Sanemi was thrusting wildly into you from behind, hips unable to stop the repeated, frenzied push of his engorged cock into your velvet heat; the next, he fell over your back, his hands landing on the ground above your shoulder before he stilled entirely.Your chest heaved from a combination of the exertion from having spent the last several minutes being ruthlessly claimed by your mate and the anticipation over what you knew was about to happen.
There was a great ripple behind you that made you clench around the cock still buried deep inside you, pulling a single cry from your lips. Then you felt a pressure as Sanemi’s length grew thicker within you, pushing against your walls until you felt like you might split in two. You forced your eyes to remain open instead of squeezing shut at the discomfort of Sanemi shifting behind you. You focused instead on the way the joints in his fingers and hands beside you contorted and rippled until there was a burst of white fur, and his human-like hands were replaced by large paws with thick, wickedly curved claws. There was a faint tickle of fur against your back as Sanemi continued to shudder violently above you. The pressure within you increased again and again until you had to push yourself up onto your hands, locking your legs and arms in place to brace against the growing size of the Wolf at your back. With one final, great ripple, Sanemi stilled. Your lungs expanded painfully against your ribs with every heaving gasp, your knuckles white under the strain of your clenched fists, the furs balled tightly against your palms.
Above you was neither the man, nor any hybrid you knew; there was only the Wolf, panting hard as your walls clenched and squeezed around his length, your body trembling violently as it worked to adjust to the sheer size of the beast at your back. It was incredible; the line between excruciating pain and infinite pleasure had been blurred beyond recognition, leaving nothing behind but the distinct sensation of being filled so thoroughly, you did not think there was a crevice in your body that the Wolf did not occupy, filling you an unquenchable thirst for him to move; to fuck; to claim. Your arms were held rigidly straight and your knees were firmly planted beneath you, spread wide to balance your weight, but you trembled nonetheless against the force of his movements. There was nothing you could do but hold yourself up for him, your mouth hanging wide open though no sound other than the occasional, choked grunt left you as you surrendered yourself to him.
The Wolf’s great head dipped down, his nose nudging beneath your arm. Between his jolting ruts, his tongue, long and wide, flicked out and wrapped around your breast. As the wet appendage flexed around your sensitive mound, you sobbed, utterly undone by the intensity with which Sanemi claimed you, yet unable to do anything but desperately push your hips back to meet his frantic, sloppy thrusts. The tip of one, great fang brushed delicately against your nipple and your elbows buckled, the sensation nearly sending you face-first into the nest. Sanemi repeated the movement, and a shriek tore free from the depths of your chest. You sobbed as your fingers sunk into the furs for purchase and you began pushing yourself back desperately to meet him, allowing his cock to seek impossibly deeper into you.
Through the thick haze of pleasured delirium, you felt a familiar tug pulling at something deep within. Your mind was utterly disconnected from your body, so even as your throat continued to burn with your screams, the corners of your mouth tilted up. When the screams echoing through the clearing did not cease, the relentless plunge of the Wolf’s length into your heat faltered. There was another tug, more insistent and slightly desperate that spurred you to open up your mind as much as you’d opened your body for him. For Sanemi.
The moment the bond between the two of you opened wide, you felt him, that sweet, warm presence as golden as the sun. You felt his anxiety, prodding after your welfare, an undercurrent of fear that this was too much and that he was causing you harm.
Every inch of you burned, but not from pain; with a moan, you let him sink into the vast sea of euphoria in which he’d submerged you.
The moment the towering waves of your pleasure washed over him, Sanemi was a goner. With a piercing howl, the Wolf pushed deep into you and erupted, his massive length pulsing as the first of several long, hot ropes of his seed began to fill you. Just one spurt from his twitching length imparted the same amount of his release as he’d expend at the end of his climax while human. In wolf form, however, Sanemi only continued to fill you, and within seconds you could feel it leaking hot and fast over your joint connection and down the back of your thighs.
Your head dropped down, breath hard as Sanemi continued to spurt his release deep within you. Your eyes fluttered against the sensation of being filled, but a strange movement beneath the skin of your abdomen caught your eye. Had you not studied it, you almost would have thought it was nothing more than a trick of shadow from the candles surrounding the nest. Yet, the longer you stared, the more you recognized the shape of the oblong lump in your stomach; the more you could see the faint ridges and curve of the length the Wolf behind you had locked inside. And you could see how it pulsed as Sanemi continued to pump his seed deep into your womb, the rounded head of his cock twitching below your navel. The walls of your core began sporadically fluttering, just as they had that first night you’d spent with him in his den, when he’d mounted you and swore he’d put his child in your womb.
Sanemi snarled softly in your ear, though the tremble in his throat tapered off with a whine as your cunt only pulsed around him more. His great nose pressed against the side of your throat in warning. Through the bond, you felt his command — plea — to stop milking him as though your very existence depended upon it. But you couldn’t stop; you couldn’t control the way your body vibrated and hummed under the intoxicating strain of him buried so deeply inside of you that your body was no longer your own. The Wolf behind you trembled, adjusting his stance over your body as his release continued. The shift inadvertently jostled his throbbing length against your trembling walls, causing you to clench down harder than you thought possible.
With a growl, the sharp, deadly tips of Sanemi’s teeth pressed against your throat, right against your mark. If he’d been trying to assert dominance by baring his teeth against the vulnerable point on your neck, he’d sorely miscalculated its effect on you. For the threatening prick of his fangs against your skin only made your heat tighten around him, a moan falling from your lips as your head tilted to the side.
Sanemi whined at your display, his hips canting against your rear. The stimulation from his movements distracted you briefly before your eyes flew open at the sharp sting of your entrance being stretched to its limit by something hard and round. You could not hold back the strangled cry which tore from your throat as the Wolf’s heaving knot pushed into your core. The burn of his intrusion quickly abated with Sanemi’s maw against your neck, his tongue lapping soothingly at your mating mark. The stimulation of the brand seared into your skin was followed by a familiar, gooey warmth that replaced any lingering discomfort with mind-numbing pleasure. Before long, some of the stiffness in your limbs eased, and with a moan, you pushed your hips back harder against your mate, silently pleading for Sanemi to push deeper. The Wolf obliged, and with a puckered pop! his knot was locked wholly inside your cunt.
Though your arms vibrated under the strain of holding yourself up, you could not resist the urge to lift one shaking hand to press against your abdomen, to see just how far Sanemi was embedded within your body. Your hand slowly dragged up the oblong shape of his cock that pushed through the skin and muscle of your stomach, the added pressure causing Sanemi to shiver violently above you. His length seemed to continue without end but your palm finally cupped around the thick, bulbous head of his cock, still twitching as it continued to spurt his seed. It was notched just above your navel. You supposed it would be a miracle if your guts hadn’t been reduced to a runny pulp by the end of the night.
Exhaustion slammed into you as you held yourself there, bearing a considerable proportion of Sanemi’s weight against your back in addition to the mind-numbing stretch of his cock fully sheathed inside your body. Dimly, you noted the hot slide of his release as it trickled steadily down the backs and insides of your thighs before saturating the furs spread out below. Had your brain not been utterly liquified, you would have laughed; of course, not even Sanemi’s knot was capable of holding in the copious amounts of his seed that had filled your womb until it bloated. Perhaps, had you been a wolf, it would have held, but you were only a human; even your body, it appeared, had its limits.
Gradually, you could feel Sanemi’s knot begin to shrink, though its diminishing size only led to more of his seed continue to froth over where you remained connected. Your arms shook hard as you struggled to hold yourself up, eyes straining to remain open as you felt the Wolf’s member soften inside you. With a grunt, he withdrew himself from your heat, your body convulsing slightly at the loss of his warmth as he pulled out and away. You managed to hold yourself up for another moment before your trembling arms finally gave in, buckling beneath you. You began to fall forward into the furs, unable to catch yourself and too exhausted to care, when a pair of familiar hands caught you.
“I’ve got you, my love, I’ve got you,” Sanemi murmured, arms enclosing you in a protective and tender embrace as he pulled you against him.
You lost the battle to hold your eyes open any longer, but you did not yet give into sleep. Your hand reached blindly for your mate, seeking the reassurance of his skin. Sanemi caught your hand easily and brought it to his lips. “You did so well, Lamb, so fucking well,” he cooed, raining kisses across your fingertips. His other hand rubbed soothingly over the skin of your waist as he continued to mutter words of reverence and praise, his lips kissing every inch of you that he could reach. “Talk to me, my darling girl; are you alright?” His hands seemed to smooth over your body as though searching for anything that might have been amiss. “Have you any pain?”
You shook your head, your neck stiff from exhaustion. “Don’t think so,” you managed, still unable to open your eyes. You felt his hand drift between your thighs, his fingers brushing gingerly against your swollen folds. You whimpered and shook your head harder, trying to clench your legs shut in an effort to still his hand, your flesh hyper-sensitive to the point of pain.
“N-no more, Sanemi, no more —“ you cried, hands weakly pushing at his chest.
Sanemi hushed your protests with gentle kisses. “Shhh, Lamb, I promise I will not touch you here anymore tonight,” he promised, and you relaxed slightly. “But I need to ensure you’re not bleeding.”
You nodded jerkily once, teeth clenched tightly together as the Huntsman brushed his fingers against your slit once more before pulling away.
“Not a drop,” he remarked in breathless awe. He wrapped you tight in his embrace, and you gladly melted against his skin. “You are a wonder.”
“I did well?” You asked shyly, turning to to bury your face against his chest.
You felt him tug a spare fur over your bare form before he lifted you into his arms. “Yes, Y/N. You are incredible; you’re absolutely fucking incredible.”
Vaguely, you felt the air around you grow cooler as Sanemi walked the pair of you away from the candlelit clearing and into the dark of the Wood.
“M-moving already?” Your voice was faint and slightly hoarse.
The Huntsman held you tighter against him. “Aye, Lamb, it is better if we return home as quickly as we can; that way I can get you safe and warm in our bed.”
You continued to babble nonsensically for the remainder of the trek, and before long, Sanemi was nudging open the door to your cabin den, allowing the warmth from the hearth of the fire to wash over you and chase away any residual chill from frigid winter air outside. The Wolf wasted no time in laying you gently upon the bed, moving quick to cover you with its cozy, thick quilts. You whined as he pulled away briefly to join you beneath the blankets, unable to stand the separation from the comfort of his body for even a moment.
“Hush, sweetling; I’m right here,” he soothed, bringing you back against his torso.
You burrowed your face against the skin of his chest, relying on his steadying warmth to soothe the burgeoning ache in your limbs and between your legs. Sanemi’s arms held you securely against him, his hands large and comforting against the bare expanse of your back.
“Rest now, Lamb, you’ve more than earned it.”
You mewled against him, arm flopping across his chest so you could tuck yourself in tighter against him. Sleep crept in quickly, washing away the comforting sights of your shared den; your home.
Just before you felt yourself be pulled under its restful waves, a finger brushed against your cheek. “I do not know what I did to deserve having you in my life,” you faintly heard your Huntsman whisper. “But you are my greatest treasure.” Lips softly brushed against the top of your head. “Thank you, Y/N, for being my mate.”
—————
Makomo regretted venturing into the Netherwood with every fiber of her being.
But Gyutaro and his beast of a sister, Daki, had made her so angry with their taunting, with their cruel and relentless torment of her young neighbor, that she hadn’t been able to resist their bait, as obvious as it was: to venture into the foreboding, cursed Wood and remain there until sundown. That was the price to end their cruelty towards the young Agatsuma boy.
What a stupid dare; what a stupid, stupid dare. And she’d been just as stupid to accept it. Makomo knew her mother would have her head when she eventually made it back home, especially once she learned why her daughter had chosen to stride purposefully into the forbidden Wood, chin high and eyes determined to shut up the village’s most odious sibling duo for good. She was, after all, of marrying age, and her mother had lectured her time and again over her behavior. When she wasn’t daydreaming, she was busy sparring with Sabito and Giyuu, always quick to grab a wooden stick and join in on their training sessions, happy to lose herself in graceful footwork and the fluidity of her movements as she parried their attacks – all, of course, to her mother’s great exasperation. She often wondered if her mother had fallen into the same trap so many others did – mistaking her outward gentleness and patience for complacency, failing to recognize the restless spirit and fierce determination that ran hot in her daughter’s blood.
A fat lot of good that restlessness had done her, because now, Makomo was lost – utterly and hopelessly lost. Something childish in her wanted to cry as her frustration mounted. It was bad enough that she had no idea which direction would lead her home, but the persistent darkness which plagued the Netherwood was salt in her wounded ego. The lack of sunlight meant it was all the more difficult to track exactly how long she’d been wandering the trees.
Makomo’s inner anguish was brought to a grinding halt as a twig snapped behind her. Her hand flew to the small knife she kept tucked into the belt around her waist, drawing the blade out and holding it defensively in front of her. “Who goes there?” She fought to keep her voice steady.
A man stepped out from behind a tree, his hands raised in surrender. “Please forgive me!” He kept a respectful distance from her, though Makomo did not let her guard fall. “I mean no harm!”
She didn’t lower her blade. “Who are you?” Makomo demanded, eyes narrowed, scanning him for some indication that he was anything but human. Apart from the unusual color of his eyes – a strange rainbow of colors – he seemed no more than an ordinary man.
He sidestepped her question with one of his own. “Are you lost? The Wood is dangerous for humans, you know. “
Though the concern coloring his words seemed genuine, Makomo took another step back. “Then what are you doing here? Are you not human as well?”
The strange man chuckled, shaking his head. “I cannot imagine what else I would be. But I know my way around here – you seem distressed.” He furrowed his eyebrow. “And it is getting dark. Are you sure you aren’t lost?”
She grimaced. “Perhaps I am.”
“How fortuitous our meeting is, then!” The strange man clapped his hands. “You are lost, but as it so happens, I am a guide. I have a reputation of sorts for guiding lost travelers like you to the other side of the forest.”
Recognition dawned in her eyes and relief flooded over her. “The Huntsman? You’re the Huntsman of the Netherwood?”
“The one and the same,” the man’s rainbow eyes flashed as he sketched a bow. “I am called Douma.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Makomo smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “I’ve heard you even help those stuck in some remote village on the other side, and protect all those in your charge from that which would prey upon humans.” The girl repocketed her small knife, feeling at ease. “You truly know the Netherwood that well?”
Douma flashed a dazzling smile that nearly made her blush. “I wouldn’t consider myself an expert; I seek only to help those most in need. Any expertise I have is thanks to them, not because of any special skill of mine.”
As handsome as the Huntsman was, his modesty felt like a front, but Makomo was too grateful for having stumbled into another in this godforsaken forest that she looked past it – especially when he knew how to navigate the dangerous, cursed Wood she’d so foolishly believed she could brave. “I am not trying to get to the other side; I am only trying to return to my village – Urokodaki.”
The Huntsman – Douma – nodded sagely. “I know exactly the place. I am on my way there myself – I shall escort you!”
Makomo’s cheeks heated. “Oh no, please – don’t feel obligated to take me all the way there. I should be fine if you only show me which direction –”
“Nonsense,” Douma interjected, his expression the portrait of concern. “I can’t imagine leaving you alone in any part of the Wood – especially since the route back to Urokodaki requires trekking through rather treacherous territory.” He shuddered, eyes closing against some phantom chill. “Territory that belongs to wolves – giant, man-eating wolves.”
Ever since she was a young girl, Makomo had prided herself on her courage, but even she could not suppress the icy unease that ran over her at the thought of stumbling onto land belonging to such vicious, terrifying creatures. “Very well,” the girl tried not to let her fear shine through as she smiled wanly at the Huntsman, lest he think her some sort of coward. “I would be very grateful for the escort – and your company.”
Douma answered with a feline grin. “Wonderful!” He held his arm out to her, every bit the perfect gentleman. “Let’s be on our way.”
Makomo accepted his offer, though she repressed her slight wince at the coldness of his touch. She shook it off; it was winter, after all, and who knew how long the Huntsman had been out, searching for others just like her.
“What an adorable little fox mask you have!” Her escort complimented, eyeing the mask the girl kept strapped to her hip. Makomo relaxed even further, launching into the mask’s backstory as the shadows of the Wood swallowed the pair whole.
----
You spent the next two days confined to your bed.
Thankfully, your mate was more than content to remain naked in bed with you, his taut, muscled body your mattress as you drifted in and out of sleep. Sanemi was more than just attentive; he outright doted upon you as you recovered your strength, more than content to remain tucked in bed with you, apparently just as clingy to you as you’d been with him.
Sometime the day after, a knock had sounded at the door to the den, but Sanemi only replied with a warning snarl, his arms tightening protectively around your nude form. Whomever it had been – likely Genya or Shinobu – left without a word, and Sanemi immediately relaxed, returning his attention to you. He nuzzled against your cheek, just barely exposed where you’d buried your face into the crook of his neck, and he peppered your hairline with kisses, his hands stroking up and down your spine all while he cooed softly in your ear. Though half-asleep, you pressed yourself harder against his torso, fingers running over the ropey, corded muscle of his sides and shoulders, as you drew upon his warmth to ground you. You hadn’t imagined you would cling to him any harder than you had since first taking his knot, but it appeared being claimed by Sanemi’s wolf form had reduced you to a hopeless, needy mess.
Fortunately, you’d managed to rise halfway through the third day. You were unquestionably sore, but you’d almost fully regained the ability to move as you normally did, and so, you roused yourself from bed and dressed, eager to spend the afternoon outside after more than two days sequestered in the den.
Sanemi had left shortly before you’d awoken, though he hadn’t gone far. He’d spent the morning at Shinobu’s, both having scented an impending shift in the weather. Sanemi reckoned ice was imminent, which had the effect of complicating the pack’s ability to scent out threats, and so he’d met with the Shifter to work out new patrol routes to get you all through the winter. You’d wanted to spend the last few hours of day pruning holly bushes now that their leaves and berries were at their peak, but you found yourself stuck inside, fighting the urge to tear apart the den piece by piece as you searched for your missing gardening blade. But if you thumped your head against the baseboard of your shared bed one more time, you thought you might scream.
Your teeth ground together as you strained your arm out in front of you again, hand patting blindly across the floorboards beneath your bed for the telltale kiss of metal belongings to your small gardening shears. Behind you, the front door to the den pushed open and a rush of cold winter air spilled into the main room of the cabin. You did not acknowledge your mate as he quickly pushed the door shut behind him and made his way toward the fire roaring in the hearth, eager to get warm. The Huntsman’s footsteps halted several feet behind you, and the air was silent as Sanemi considered the sight before him: his mate, on all fours on the floor, half-buried beneath the bed and swearing colorfully under her breath.
“Are we stuck?” Even with your back turned toward him, you could sense him shaking with silent laughter.
“No,” you grumbled, letting out a frustrated grunt as you failed once again to feel out your scissors. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
“Are you now?” His tone was light and teasing as he moved to the side of the room, near the small table and age-cracked washstand, giving himself a perfect view of your ass where it was held high in the air.
“Yes,” you insisted, and with a groan, you withdrew your arm from below the bed. You sat up on your knees and turned your head towards your mate, nose high in the air and indignant. “I rather enjoy searching under beds, you see.”
“I do,” he chuckled softly. “And I won’t lie, I quite enjoy the view.”
You shot him a glare as you rose to your feet, brushing your hands off on your skirt. “Perhaps if you weren’t so preoccupied undressing me with your eyes, you could have helped me, you dog –”
“Searching for these?” Sanemi pulled a hand out from behind his back and held it out. There, dangling from his fingers, were your gardening shears, the flickering light of the fire glinting from its blades.
You smiled, shoulders instantly relaxing and your mood improving. “Thank you — what are you —?” You reached to take the small tool from your mate’s hand, but he raised his arm high above your head. “Wolf.”
“I believe I deserve some payment for my efforts,” Sanemi simpered. “It took a great deal of energy to lift them off the washstand.”
You frowned, ignoring his slight barb – you’d checked the washstand, you were sure of it. Instead, you stretched up on your toes, reaching your arm to try and snatch them from his fingers, but Sanemi only held his hand higher, that teasing smirk growing wider and wider the more you struggled.
“It’s not safe to hold a blade over someone’s head,” you groused. You wobbled precariously on your toes in an effort to recover your blade, and you were forced to lean into Sanemi for support. An arm wrapped easily around your middle, locking you tight against him. “As if I’d let anything happen to you, Lamb,” his hand drifted teasingly toward your rear before he gripped the supple curve of your backside.
With a frustrating grace, Sanemi flipped the shears in his hand and tossed them, a distant clatter of metal hitting wood signaling they’d landed somewhere behind him. Before you could protest, the hand he’d used to hold your scissors closed around your wrist, still outstretched in the air, and brought it down, pressing your palm flat against shoulder.
“Much better.” He began to rock with you from side to side, pulling you into a slow dance set to the music of your own thundering heart at the intensity which slipped into Sanemi’s eyes as he watched you.
A blush spread across your cheeks. “If you wanted me in your arms so badly, you need only have asked,” you muttered, shyly averting your gaze by resting your cheek against his chest. “I wouldn’t have protested.”
A finger curled under your chin and guided your face to tilt back. Sanemi’s lips hovered near your own, pulled into an affectionate smile that made your stomach flip. “But where’s the fun in that, Lamb?” His thumb stroked your bottom lip. “I can’t help that I enjoy playing with my food.”
“So I am a meal now, rather than a mate?” You teased. “How romantic.”
The Huntsman cut off your snark with a quick yet bruising kiss. “You assume they aren’t one and the same, sweetling.”
You waited for him to kiss you again, to reignite the storm of passion and desire between you two that never seemed to ebb but he did not. Instead, the blush on your cheeks deepened as that blazing intensity returned to his gaze once more, Sanemi’s face uncharacteristically serious as his eyes searched yours. His hand cupped the back of your skull, bringing your head back to rest against his chest. “You are not just a mate to me, you know,” he said quietly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as you swayed. “I think of you as more than that — far more.”
You rolled your head to peer up at him. “How can someone be more than a mate?” You frowned. “Is that not the strongest bond there is?”
“Yes and no,” Sanemi brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear before his hand settled on the side of your face. “The bond is strong, that’s for certain — it’s why I can feel what you feel, why we can communicate without speaking; our souls are connected.”
You turned and nuzzled into his palm, but Sanemi’s thumb dropped to run over your lower lip. “But the bond is only the base; its strength can waiver, depending on the connection between the mates’ hearts.” The Huntsman’s other hand found yours and brought it up to rest against his chest, right against the skin exposed by the collar of his tunic. His own hand covered yours keeping it locked over his heart. “And what I feel for you here is stronger than any mating mark I could have given you.”
You felt the blush creeping into your cheeks, your fingers smoothing over one of the silvery scars that laced across his chest. “You already know what I feel for you,” you said shyly after a moment. Your free hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand Sanemi used to cradle your face. Slowly, you lowered it to rest against your bosom, parroting his hold against your hand on him. “Even if you’d never given me the mark, this belongs to you,” you murmured, and he returned your blush, a precious pink stain spreading over his cheeks. “It will only ever belong to you.”
The hand Sanemi had around yours against his chest tightened as he tugged you closer against him. “I may now be a wolf, but I was born human,” his voice was gravelly, but his eyes were bright. “I remember the significance of human traditions.”
Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning at the implication of his words.
“I’ve already taken you as my mate,” Sanemi’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “But I long to take you as my wife, if you’ll have me.”
Your heart skipped in your chest. Marriage. He was offering marriage. You’d had him in the most intimate of ways — had allowed him to sear a claim into you for all the world to see, had spread your legs and invited him to take whatever he wanted, to make you his. You’d begged him to breed you, for Gods’ sake, barely a few days prior.
Yet, he was still asking; giving you the choice to accept him, even if you’d already accepted him in every other way. It was more than Douma had ever done; then again, everything Sanemi was so much more than anything the monstrous worship leader could ever hope to be.
“Yes, Huntsman.” You said breathlessly, and the soft warmth that flooded Sanemi’s eyes made your legs turn to jelly. “I will have you as my husband.”
The Huntsman’s hands cradled your face as his head bent towards you. Softly, his lips met yours in a sweet, chaste kiss. “I will marry you according to the Old Ways,” he whispered between needy, passionate kisses. “At sunset, on the first night of the next full moon; beneath an old willow tree.” His joy mirrored your own as your hands cupped his cheeks. “Our hands wrapped. My cloak around your shoulders.”
Your heart squeezed tight. You could see it — the very marriage ceremony he described, for it had been the very one done in your village for centuries. An old tradition that could not be replaced, no matter how many grumbling worship leaders tried to insist otherwise. Words were not enough to convey the depth of your gratitude — of your devotion — for the Huntsman who’d claimed you as his own. Your hand wrapped around the base of his neck and tugged him down, your lips moving against his with a sweet yet consuming passion. There, ensconced in the warm and protective cage of Sanemi’s embrace, you felt a security you’d not felt in a long time. Before you’d left the cave den where he’d claimed you, you thought Sanemi felt like home; now you knew for certain that he was.
Sanemi’s kisses turned heated, his lips breaking from yours to trail down your neck and across your throat, his hands roaming the curves of your body. “I should like to celebrate our betrothal,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin.
You shivered as his lips moved to the mating mark he’d seared into your skin. “What manner of celebration did you have in mind, my intended?”
“I believe humans tend to turn a blind eye when a newly betrothed couple decides to consummate their impending Union,” Sanemi’s grin was wicked. “And lucky for you, there are no eyes to judge.”
You scoffed, even as you pressed yourself tighter against Sanemi’s solid form. “I believe we are well-past the consummation stage, Wolf.” Your fingers danced up his neck to twine in his hair. “In fact, I may already be carrying the proof of that.”
Sanemi scowled slightly, the hand on your waist tightening. “Unfortunately, I’ve yet to succeed in that endeavor,” and to your surprise, he looked genuinely disappointed. At your questioning look, he clarified. “I would be able to smell if you were carrying any pups.” His gaze darkened and his mouth pressed hotly against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. “But perhaps I shall try again,” he said lowly before his lips began a descent down your jaw. “And we have only consummated as mates,” the Wolf nipped at the sensitive spot beneath the corner of your jaw. “Now I want to fuck my betrothed.”
Before you could respond, Sanemi wrapped his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up, his mouth moving hungrily against yours as he walked you towards your shared bed, swallowing your soft giggle as he spread you out below him.
————————————
Once, when you and Kotoha were sixteen, she told you she believed there was a difference between the marital act and love.
You’d scoffed at her, for what she described was in theory, the same thing; it involved another doing things to you for pleasure — whether mutual or not. Kotoha had teased you for having such strong opinions with such little (nonexistent) experience.
But that night you learned that your late friend had been right; by the way Sanemi had you perched upon his lap, his hands resting steadily on your hips as he gently guided you up and down his thick length, you knew Sanemi was doing more than fucking you, or giving you his knot.
He was making love to you.
That was the only explanation for the way he sat, back resting against the headboard, face close enough to yours that your noses bumped every time you sunk back down into his lap. You could feel it in the way Sanemi’s lips seemed to chase yours, never letting you stray too far out of his reach, even when you broke away from his kiss to gasp, unable to hold in your breathy cries as he pushed against that spot that made you see stars. But he would always bring you right back to him, hand on the back of your head, tilting your face so he could swallow your moans with his feverish kisses. Between every break of his lips, he whispered his reverence of you; but that night, you were not his Lamb or sweetling; only your name fell from his lips, the single word of a song he sung only for you.
When you finally reached that sacred precipice, Sanemi’s thumb working between your thighs as he pushed faster and deeper up into you, he only held you tighter against him and told you to let go.
So you did.
Your lips against his, you tumbled headfirst over the edge and let yourself free fall through your pleasure with a pitched cry. Your hips slammed down on his length the moment Sanemi gave one final, great thrust up before he stilled, joining you in your descent as he filled you with nothing but him and his boundless love.
Once your highs finally subsided, Sanemi remained slumped against the headboard of the bed with you tightly wrapped around him, your face buried in the side of his neck. He had tried to pull out and away after a few moments, but you’d locked your arms and legs even tighter around him. You whimpered at the thought of the biting cold and emptiness you would feel if he took his warmth away, and you could not bear the thought of parting from him for even a moment.
With his hands tracing warmly up and down the length of your bare back, Sanemi maneuvered himself to lay down flat against the bed, keeping you atop him, his cock still nestled between your thighs. Your Huntsman cooed soft praises and adoration as his lips danced along your hairline, his fingers carving patterns over your spine. The familiar pull of sleep began to tug at your consciousness; and so, there, laying upon Sanemi’s chest and his length still safely sheathed within your warmth, you let yourself be pulled into sleep’s gentle embrace.
———
When you awoke the next morning, you thought you’d simply entered another dream. At first, there was nothing but warmth; golden, comforting warmth that enveloped you like the first rays of the sun in the spring, following months of bitter gray cold. Then there was an unbounded sense of security as you slowly registered that you were wrapped in a pair of strong arms that kept you tucked against something firm and solid. But then, a pair of fingers brushed lightly through your hair, gently pulling you from the throes of sleep and you realized you were not, in fact, dreaming; for this was so much better than any dream your brain could ever conjure on its own. This – this waking dream where you were cradled safely against the sturdy and warm chest of the man you loved – no longer merely your mate but your fiancé – this was reality and better yet, it was yours. It was heaven.
Heaven, you thought again as a pair of lips found your forehead, and then the tip of your nose, before finally dipping to grace you with a kiss. Utter, blissful heaven.
The arms wrapped so protectively around you tightened, pulling you slightly up the torso of the Wolf beneath you so that he could deepen your kiss, his tongue gliding along the seam of your mouth. With a contented sigh, your lips parted, and Sanemi’s tongue swept in to dance languidly with yours. Soon – too soon, he broke away with a pant, though his hand rose to cup your cheek and keep your face close to his. His lips slid to your jaw as one hand kept your hand tilted back, your throat bared to him. “I love you,” he murmured between heavy, open-mouthed kisses he began trailing down your neck. “I love you. I love you.” You squirmed atop him, ticklish under the attack of his lips against the sensitive skin of your throat. “Gods, woman,” he moaned against your skin as he nuzzled into your neck. “What have you done to me?”
Before you could question what he meant, Sanemi bucked his hips up and pressed the engorged tip of his stiffened length flush against your backside. Heat pooled instantly in your belly, your desire for him flaring to life. “Just slide it in,” you whispered, your own lips trailing lazily down his neck. “Take what’s yours, Wolf. I’m ready.” You shoved your hips back for emphasis and you did not try to stop your wanton moan when the head of his cock brushed against your already slick entrance.
The hands on your hips tightened as the Huntsman below desperately fumbled for his restraint. “Lamb,” he groaned. “I have patrol duty this morning.” He nearly whimpered as you swiveled your hips yet again, impatient and demanding. He said your name once, in warning.
“And what of your duty to take care of your mate – your fiancé?” You hummed, raking your nails lightly down the scarred mass of his pectorals. You smirked as Sanemi instinctively bucked up, seeking you out. “Especially when she is so warm and wet and ready – “
A hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you with a muffled mmph! Innocently, far too innocently, you turned your eyes up to meet those of your mate’s as they glowered down at you. “You’re a menace,” Sanemi growled. “A devious, tempting little thing who’s going to get me in trouble with my pack.” With a groan, your mate rolled you gently off him, taking the time to ensure you were properly tucked under the blankets before he rose from the bed. You burrowed quickly into the spot where he’d lain, greedily clinging to the warmth he’d left behind.
Sanemi crossed toward the small armoire and tugged it open, pulling free a fresh pair of trousers and tunic. He dressed quickly, and before long, he was strapping his satchel around his broad shoulders, his own traveling cloak already fastened securely at the hollow of his throat. “Will you be alright, Lamb?” Sanemi turned toward you, a soft smile forming in his lips at the sight of you buried beneath the quilts.
You hummed sleepily. “I think I might venture out and gather more tea leaves — I saw a peppermint bush near Shinobu’s den.” You perked up at the memory of what grew on the edge of the Wolves’ territory — those precious flowers that reminded you of home and of Grandmother. “The snowdrops!” You looked at Sanemi, eyes brimming with excitement. “I almost forgot — and their season is nearly over!”
The Huntsman tensed. “I do not think it’s wise for you to venture so close to the edge of our land, Lamb,” he said carefully. “It’s on the opposite side of where we’ll be patrolling.” At your quizzical look, he continued. “That border isn’t as secure as it should be; I do not want you trekking out there alone.”
Your excitement dimmed. “Even with my cloak?”
“Aye,” Sanemi looked apologetic as he settled on the edge of the bed. “I know what creatures lurk in this portion of the Wood. It’s too risky, and you are far too tempting, Lamb.”
Your head dropped back against the pillow, deflated. Sanemi’s frown deepened as he stretched a hand to caress your cheek. “I’ll take you another time; I promise.” The Huntsman turned his head toward the cabin door and waited, listening. Whatever he heard with his enhanced abilities made him look back to you with a mischievous smile. “I still have a few moments before I must leave,” his fingers slid below the quilts and grazed your outer thigh. Gooseflesh erupted over your skin beneath this touch and your cheeks warmed. “I should like the taste of something sweet before I depart –”
“No,” you said primly, flinging the covers off your nude form. “I also have very important things to get to that cannot be delayed.”
Sanemi groaned, but you kept your back to him as you dressed. Once you finished lacing the stays on your outer corset, you padded over to the washstand and splashed your face with some of the water left in the basin. Refreshed, your fingers pulled your hair over your shoulder and you began combing through your slightly tangled locks, still mussed from the previous night’s activities.
The Huntsman was silent as he slid from the bed and quietly made his way over to the stand, his hands bracing your waist from behind. “Allow me,” his voice was husky and his breath warm as it brushed as it tickled your ear where he’d leaned in close. He spun you to face him and took your hands in his before leading you back to the edge of the bed.
He sat and spread his legs wide before tugging you between them. “Here,” he murmured, patting his thigh. “Sit.”
You did without question, your heart fluttering in your throat. Sanemi’s eyes remained locked with yours as he lightly turned your head to face away from him and slid your hair back over your shoulder. Gentle fingers carded through your hair, gathering different parts into sections. With a surprising nimbleness, Sanemi began weaving your tresses into an intricate yet secure braid. Within minutes, he secured the end of with a small leather cord, before dropping it over your shoulder.
“How did you --?” You asked in wonder, fingers jumping to caress the plait in awe.
Sanemi shrugged. “I had younger sisters, once.” He shyly dropped your gaze, a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. “And I wanted to help my Ma out by learning.”
A warmth bloomed in your chest. “You never cease to surprise me, Wolf,” you murmured in awe. Your thumb stroked his cheek as you leaned in and brushed your lips softly against his. “Thank you.”
Sanemi moaned into your kiss. With a sly smirk, you pressed harder into him, tilting your head as though you were about to deepen it. You swiped your tongue along the seam of his mouth and instantly, the Huntsman’s lips parted, but you broke away.
“You have patrol duty.”
The Wolf groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me, Lamb.”
You pulled off his lap with a giggle, Sanemi grumbling under his breath at the unfairness of your teasing. You hummed as you crossed the floor of the cabin to the entryway, grabbing your basket from where you’d left by the door and tucking it into the crook of your arm. Your hands found your cloak and you pulled the thick, red wool over your shoulders, fingers working quickly to fasten the front clasp until it rested flat against the center of your collar bones. Once secured, you slid your arms through the small openings hidden among the cloak’s crimson folds, one at a time, allowing the fabric to settle fully against your frame. You turned back to your mate, eyes expectant. “Shall we?”
With a sigh, Sanemi rose and joined you across the room, grabbing his satchel from where he’d hung it on a nail in the wall and looping it around his shoulders. You braced yourself against the impending onslaught of cold air that lay beyond the comforting warmth of your cabin as your hand moved to wrench the door open.
“Hold it,” The Huntsman’s hand closed around your wrist, halting you from stepping through the mouth of the cabin den and into the world beyond. Sanemi spun you towards him and pulled you flush against his form. Your eyes widened in surprise and anticipation, and your cheeks warmed as his hands lifted up, brushing lightly against your neck.
“Can’t forget this,” the Huntsman whispered, his voice like honey, as he brought the hood of your cloak up over your head. He hummed softly, pleased. “There,” one crooked finger brushed under your chin and Sanemi leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Perfection.”
The sultry heat of his gaze flustered you and reflexively, your hand closed around the knob of the door and turned, accidentally pushing it open. You stumbled as the support of the heavy wood disappeared from behind you; you would’ve fallen flat on your backside in the snow, had the Huntsman not locked an arm around your waist hauling you back against him with a wide, smug grin. As you sputtered, the impatient howl of either Shinobu or Genya rose above the blustering icy wind in the distance, beseeching Sanemi to hurry up and join them. But the Huntsman was utterly uninterested in removing his arm from their place around your waist, his hands stroking up the column of your spine beneath your cloak. “Try not to miss me terribly while I’m gone,” he said cheekily.
You rolled your eyes. “I think I can make do; whether you can is another question.”
“Not in the slightest,” his answering grin was unabashed. “I miss you even when you are asleep beside me.” He cut off your answering giggle with an eager kiss, one arm leaving its place on your hips in favor of winding around your shoulders, keeping you anchored to him. Sanemi never kissed you once; either his kisses were long and slow, seamlessly melting into something more frantic and heated, or they were rapid, lingering pecks against your lips, just as he was giving you right then. “When I return,” he said between two quick brushes of his lips against yours. “I expect to find you in bed,” another kiss. “And ready for me.”
Your giggle was swallowed by another sweet press of his lips against your smile. “Shall I await you already nude? Or should you like the honors, Wolf?”
His grip around you tightened slightly. “It matters not; the night will end the same, my beautiful betrothed.”
Your stomach fluttered at the reminder that the two of you were now promised to one another. “And how does the night end, Huntsman?”
Sanemi ducked to brush his lips against your pulse point. “With you nice and warm and full, Lamb, just as I know you love to be,” the promise in his tone made you clench your thighs together. “And, the gods’ willing, with my babe growing in your belly.”
It was an effort not to grind down against the thigh he’d slipped between your legs. You chanted, over and over to yourself, that Genya and Shinobu were within hearing distance, and if they could hear, they certainly could smell the way your body was desperate to react to your mate’s promise. But that sobering reminder didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy teasing him a little more. “Then you’d better hurry back,” you pressed your lips against his ear, exhaling hotly.”"Or else I may have to begin without you.”
Sanemi loosed a warning growl. “If you deprive me of any of those sweet noises you’re prone to making while I’m inside you, the only thing you’ll be taking tonight are your own fingers.”
“Then you’d better not dwadle, dear Huntsman,” you cooed, catching his ear lobe between your teeth before pulling away. “After all, I’m prone to making trouble.”
“That you are,” he retorted. And, without regard to the fact that his brother and friend likely could hear every single word of your exchange, Sanemi’s hands bunched your skirt up your legs. You yelped as you felt him reach between your thighs, and with a devilish smirk, his fingers dipped between your folds and circled your sensitive bead.
He leaned in until his lips nearly touched yours, but stilled before they could. “But so am I, love.” His fingers slid down and plunged quickly into your cunt. Your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging hard into the skin and muscle beneath the layers of his tunic and cloak as you clung to him. Your walls clenched tightly around his fingers as he pumped his hand once, twice, before abruptly drawing away, ignoring your indignant screech.
“Y-you --!” you glowered at your mate, wanting nothing more than to wipe that insufferable, lopsided, smug grin clean from his face.
“Behave, little Lamb,” he tutted. “I shall see you soon.” With a wink, he lifted the fingers he’d had inside you only seconds before to his mouth and sucked them clean. He then turned on his heel, and sauntered away toward the trees, leaving you blushing and sputtering in his wake.
---
More than an hour had passed since you and Sanemi had parted ways, and to your great annoyance, your cheeks still burned hot.
You wandered the grounds of the Wolves’ territory with mild interest, having already spent much of your time combing the Wood for various species of plants and flora since your arrival. Admittedly, you’d stopped paying close attention a while ago as you ambled along, concerned only with your desire to make time go as quickly as possible so you could return home to your Wolf and pay back his torture tenfold. The miserable tease.
You paused your strolling to inspect the woodland scenery around you. Your gut lurched in panic when you didn’t immediately recognize your surroundings. Swallowing your rising panic, you whipped your head back and forth, desperately scanning the landscape for anything that was vaguely knowable, anything at all –
At the familiar sight of holly bushes smattered amongst towering pines, your heart leapt for joy. Though you’d had every intention of heeding Sanemi’s wishes — and warnings — about seeking out the snow drops you’d spied when first arriving to the Wolves’ territory, you’d somehow nevertheless found yourself near the Western border.
You paused where you stood, cocking your head and squinting at what lay beyond the spread of trees and winter foliage. If your memory was correct, the clusters of the precious wildflowers grew no more than fifty paces from where you currently stood. It wasn’t that you were letting your guard down — after all, you knew as well as anyone that the relative silence which settled over the Netherwood did not mean there was nothing sinister lurking beyond the pine trees which formed a barrier between you and the outermost boundary of your sanctuary. You knew that.
But.
Boundaries were boundaries, were they not? And the Wolves would not have the territory they claimed if those boundaries had been compromised. The risk was marginal, you rationed. After all, it wasn’t as though you were stepping outside of the Wolves’ claimed land; rather, you were only toeing the line of demarcation.
And you really wanted those flowers.
You tugged the hood of your cape over your head, allowing the blanket of its protection to bolster your confidence. Your step was even as you crunched softly over the frozen terrain of the forest floor, taking care to avoid the slick icy patches of mud. As you breached the line of pine trees, a low-hanging branch you hadn’t noticed ensnared itself in the fabric of your cloak, tangling you in a flurry of pine needles that rained down as you shoved the branch away. Another thirty paces later and you spotted the familiar, drooping bell-curves of your favorite flower, clustered in small patches that dotted the winter-hardened earth.
“Yes!” You clapped your hands in glee. Though your cheeks stung under the icy bite of the forest air, a warmth bloomed in your chest at the sight of the snow drops. They were in full bloom, their petals emitting a soft, ivory glow that posed a lovely contrast with the emerald of their stems.
But even as you knelt among those cherished flowers, you could not deny the heaviness that settled into your chest as your fingers grazed the delicate bulbs. For as much comfort as the sight of the snow drops brought you, they also brought the bruise of your Grandmother’s loss back to surface. How she would have loved to see them here, growing without restraint or mind as to the harsh conditions of winter. She’d always reminded you that their resilience came from their fragility; their perseverance in spite of conditions that withered even the largest and most colorful of florae. You pulled your gardening shears from the bottom of your basket. With a wistful smile and a heavy heart, you began cutting the stems of your cherished snow drops, filling the bottom of your basket with the delicate mementos of the life you’d once had.
A crack of a tree branch startled you, the garden shears dropping to the earth with a dull thud. Your head snapped up in alarm, eyes alert and apprehensive as you scanned the trees, praying that the sound was only the result of some small animal or bird. But your assessment of your surroundings was complicated by the sudden arrival of a strange, icy mist that curled around the gaps between the trees, creeping closer and closer to where you’d crouched to pick the snow drops.
The fog brought forth a precipitous drop in temperature, eliciting a violent shiver from you. Your eyes strained to see through the mist that descended around you, thick enough that the even the enormous, gnarled trunks of the Wood’s ancient trees were soon concealed from sight. And it was quiet; not quiet in the way you’d come to understand the Netherwood to be, but quiet in a way that suggested all sound had been sucked from the forest. A void.
Tendrils of the fog stretched toward you, icy fingers clawing your cheeks with their sharp, frigid sting until your skin felt raw. The shift in the air also brought forth a change in scent, chasing away the familiar dirt and rot of the Wood with a cloying, sickly sweet odor that strangled you with the pungent yet distinct scent of flowers.
With trembling limbs you forced yourself to rise to full height, just as the frosted mist parted to let a dark figure step forward through the trees. The first thing you saw were his eyes – two, floating, multicolored orbs that glowed brightly in the shadows, leering at you with a predatory hunger. Your shallow breath died in your throat as trepidation melted into pure terror. You knew those eyes; your very presence in the Netherwood was because you’d fled from their soulless cruelty. Some base instinct buried deep within you begged you to run; to scream. Yet, your feet remained rooted in place, as though you too, were nothing more than one of the ancient, towering trees of the Netherwood, unable to do anything but observe the violence that was about to unfold within its shadows. The eyes were followed by a flash of teeth – sharp and deadly – as the figure took the form of the one you feared most.
Fuck. Fuck.
Douma wiped a single tear that fell down his cheek. “I’m so relieved to have finally found you, darling! You have no idea how long I’ve searched for you.”
He took a single step forward that sent you scurrying three steps back, your feet sending your basket skittering to the side. “Get away from me,” you warned. “Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out from.”
In a flash, he was on you, hand locked around your throat and eyes cold. “Where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” Fingers tipped with long nails — sharp, pointed, black nails — dug into the flesh of your forearm, easily piercing through the linen and suede sleeves of your blouse. His speed had knocked the breath out of you — he’d been fast, abnormally, monstrously fast. The horror sluiced through you as you realized no human could move that quickly; could wield the strength with which he now used to keep you rooted in place.
Douma wasn’t human.
As though he’d heard that very thought the moment it solidified in your brain, Douma smiled, revealing four, sharp fangs, longer and more wicked looking than even Sanemi’s in his half-shifted form. He took a step closer, his sickeningly sweet breath fanning over your face as your former fiancé practically thrummed with excitement. “The things I have planned for you,” he murmured, tracing the curve of your cheek teasingly with one clawed nail. There was a sharp prick followed by something warm.
He’d drawn blood. Douma leaned in close and let his tongue — slimy and cold, just like his skin, trail teasingly up the line he’d drawn, humming at the taste of your blood. “You’ll serve me well, Y/N,” he cooed, his hand squeezing your cheeks roughly. “Just like all my wives have served me well; just like Kotoha.”
You could not stop yourself from swallowing, hard, as you tried but failed to find courage as death — painful and cruel looked you straight in the eyes. Sanemi! You tossed out desperately down your bond, tugging on that internal string with all your might. Sanemi, it’s him!
You willed yourself not to cry; not to tremble, as the monster with the iridescent eyes looked at you like you were the main course of a feast made only for him. SANEMI.
Douma’s smile was predatory and it made your knees buckle and your resolve crumble. You were going to die. Slowly. Painfully.
The village Worship Leader trailed a hand down the side of your throat until it came to rest on that spot between your shoulder and neck. Right over the top of your mating mark. “We can’t have him interfering before our fun begins,” Douma shook his head, his eyes mocking. “After all, I need him good and wound up when he comes for you.”
Fear melted into something more primal in your gut — something hotter, more paralyzing, that would not let you look away from his monstrous gaze no matter how much your brain begged you. Douma hummed softly to himself as he sunk a nail into your skin, tearing easily through the layers of your cloak and tunic. You screamed as he dragged it down, directly across the mating mark Sanemi had given you all those weeks ago. The mark that was supposed to link you to him; to give you a direct line of communication to your mate when you needed him most. Beneath the hot burst of blood that trailed Douma’s nail as he ripped your skin open, something cold washed over you, like a flame being snuffed out by a burst of winter wind.
Douma’s hand wrapped around your throat, choking off your scream. “Sleep,” he commanded. Your stomach dropped with the realization that the Netherwood had begun to fall away as your vision tunneled. You desperately tried to tug on the bond once more, pleadingly, to alert your Huntsman that you were well and truly doomed. But there was nothing there; no invisible string you could pull, no connection with Sanemi that you could draw upon to let him know. As your consciousness faded, so too did shred any remaining hope you’d had that he would come for you.
For the mating bond had been cut.
--
The Wolf pack slowed to a stop at the edge of their land’s Eastern border. Shinobu’s small, violet-black form trotted away from her male companions, her small bag clutched tightly in her mouth, and disappeared behind a cluster of holly bushes to shift back to her human form. With the Shifter out of sight, the two Shinazugawa brothers also re-assumed their human-like appearances, Sanemi snatching up his satchel from where he’d dropped it on the ground and hastily tugging his clothing over his naked form, teeth chattering in the cold.
The white Wolf had just barely tugged his cloak back over his shoulders when his female friend emerged from behind the brambles, dressed warmly in thick layers of wool and deerskin, her hands working quickly to secure her hair in a knot at the back of her hair. Genya, too, had redressed, though he still shivered violently where he stood. He shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands before his mouth and huffing out hot puffs of air in an effort to warm them.
“All seemed calm on the way here,” Shinobu remarked, though her mouth was set in a grim line and her brow was pinched. “It makes what we discovered on the Western front even more unsettling –”
“Or,” Sanemi countered. “It only supports that it was an anomaly; mere coincidence.”
The Shifter’s luminous, lilac eyes narrowed at her companion. “You will not convince me that was…normal, even for a place like the Netherwood.”
The Huntsman dragged a tired hand over his face. “I’m not trying to dismiss you, Shinobu. What we found was,” his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Disturbing. I don’t deny it.” He paced a little ways ahead, drawing near a cluster of rose bushes demarcating their territorial line, the blooms of which had long since withered and died. “But we’ve found no other sign of anything amiss.”
Genya looked helplessly back and forth between his brother and the Shifter who he considered another sister. Though sixteen and perfectly entitled to voice his opinions to his packmates, Sanemi knew he still struggled to assert himself – especially when conflict arose.
The raven-haired doctor held the elder Shinazugawa’s stare for a moment longer, her head cocked and her lips pursed. After a heavy pause, Shinobu sighed in resignation, clicking her tongue. “Fine. But that doesn’t mean we should let our guard down.”
“And we won’t,” the white Wolf said smoothly. “We never do.”
The pack fell into their standard patrol formation of an elongated triangle, with Sanemi and Genya at the back and Shinobu heading the front. A silence which settled over the three pack mates carried some of the tension from the earlier exchange between the two eldest, but it wasn’t uncommon. Their senses had to remain on high alert as they took note of every scent, sound, and shift within the Netherwood. The Huntsman’s eyes were sharp as he scanned the land making up the easternmost point of their territory. In truth, he didn’t think there was much to really look at, apart from piles of snow and dead trees and plants. And it was precisely because of the endless sea of decayed brown and white that made up the winter Wood, that the sudden appearance of emerald green stuck out like a sore thumb that snagged his attention.
Sanemi drew to a halt even as Shinobu and his brother continued forward, his eyes drawn to a small thatch of wildflowers poking up from beneath the snow coating the Wood. While he was not as familiar with the various florae and vegetation which grew in the Netherwood, his mate was, and Y/N had been particularly vocal about her love for one particular flower which bloomed only in the winter.
He squatted down and thumbed the dainty bell petals that drooped toward the ground, their white almost a perfect match to the snow below. He smiled to himself. There was no doubt; these were his Y/N’s beloved snowdrops.
The Wolf had felt guilty when he’d gently broken the news the Western border where she’d first spotted her favorite flower wasn’t safe enough accommodate her to venturing out there on her own. His Lamb was a curious one, but he’d been relieved when she hadn’t pressed him for any further explanation; if she had, he didn’t know what he would’ve told her. Because truthfully, he still had difficulty making sense of what he and his packmates had discovered laying right at their Western border only a week earlier.
--
“What in the name of the gods?” Genya whispered in horror.
Sanemi grimaced. “A monster did this, not the gods.” His fists clenched as he looked away from the grisly sight. “The gods likely ignored this poor girl as she cried for their mercy.”
Shinobu said nothing, only making a small squeak before she turned away, taking a few, quick steps toward the trees to collect herself. Sanemi couldn’t blame the young shifter for needing a moment to breathe. Though she was a doctor and had seen her faire share of ghastly wounds and missing limbs, Sanemi couldn’t quite recall the last time any of them had come across carnage quite like that which was splattered across this small section of the Netherwood, just outside of the territory’s Western border.
It was a girl, likely no more than eighteen, though the way her disembodied head was left crudely sitting atop a broken tree trunk, eyes wide and her mouth stretched open and frozen with her final scream, made it difficult to say with certainty.
The rest of her body – or rather, the pieces of it – were strewn about, soiling the otherwise pristine winter landscape with her gore. Truthfully, it was difficult to see what was left of her; her torso was barely more than a shoulder joint and a few rips, the remaining skin ragged and torn. Upon closer inspection, Sanemi thought he spied teeth marks – vicious and cruel – which had punctured the surrounding flesh while the mouth of whatever monster had found the girl ripped into her, feasting on her meat. It was the bottom half of the girl that disturbed him, disturbed all of them, the most. For there, just in front of the tree trunk upon which her head was displayed like some sort of prize, the girl’s lower body was posed, her legs lewdly spread and propped open, exposing her. Beneath her thighs, Sanemi could see where blood had saturated the ground so deeply, no snow remained.
“A monster?” Shinobu returned to the boys, her hand pressed tightly against her mouth. She looked away, unable to stomach the scene. “What monster would leave so much behind?”
Sanemi made to look away, but his eyes snagged on the sight of a fox mask, partially buried in the snow. From where he stood, he could see it had been broken in half and spattered with the girl’s blood. His stomach roiled. “We’ve seen other monsters leave parts behind. It’s not uncommon.”
Shinobu’s mouth set into a hard line, her fists clenched. “What monster do you know that…poses its victims?”
The white Wolf fought the shudder that licked down his spine. She was right; errant body parts, disemboweled humans, that was all to be expected when one traversed through the Wood. It was common; unfortunate and a dastardly waste of human life, but common. But, as Sanemi wracked his memory, he found that he could not recall a single instance, in all his years of living in the Netherwood, of a monster that made such a gruesome display of its victim.
Shinobu looked to where the girl’s head sat, and her expression darkened. “This is a message.”
Genya’s head snapped to the young shifter, fear creeping into his eyes. “A m-message? But why? We have no enemies."
“No, we don’t,” Sanemi agreed, voice hoarse with emotion. He turned away from the sight, fearful that he might begin to dry heave if he did not. “Shinobu, where is that coming from?”
The Shifter turned to him; her face ashen. “What else could it be? That --,” she lifted a shaking hand to point at the head staring blankly in horror at them. “You don’t think that isn’t some sort of signal? A warning?”
He winced. “It is a tragedy; but not one we haven’t seen before.”
A vein pulsed in the young doctor’s brow – a telltale sign of her anger – and she turned away from the two brothers, fists clenched as she worked to calm herself. Her back remained rigid as the seconds ticked by, but with a shaky exhale, she turned back to her packmates, face stony but neutral.
“What do you suggest we do?” Her voice was hollow and it made the Huntsman’s gut twist.
Sanemi’s eyes found the girl’s where her head sat atop the broken tree stump, wide, but lifeless. “We bury her,” he finally spoke, voice rough with emotion. “Whatever beast is responsible took her life, but it cannot have her dignity, too.”
--
“Aniki?” Genya called from several yards away, having only just noticed that his elder brother was no longer walking with the other two wolves.
“I’m coming,” Sanemi called back, fighting off the shudder rippling down his spine. He shook his head in an effort to clear the disturbing memory from his conscience and swiftly pulled his pocketknife from the pouch on his hip. With a quick swipe of the blade through the viridian stalks of the flowers, the Wolf gathered a handful of snow drops and tucked them safely inside his satchel. Flowers secured, Sanemi jogged to catch up with his pack mates, hoping that his small offering would make up for his inability to take Y/N to pick the snow drops herself.
--
The pack continued to patrol for a little while longer before breaking for lunch. They’d come upon a small creek bed, dried up for the winter, but with several sizeable boulders that provided them with adequate seats to sit and eat their rations of dried beef and fruit.
Though he’d butted heads with the pack’s doctor earlier, Shinobu and Sanemi fell back into easy conversation, if for no other reason than to ease Genya’s palpable anxiety as they ate. Sanemi was watching with amusement as Shinobu busied herself with teasing Genya, who’d slyly asked after when Mitsuri was due to return for a visit, when suddenly, the world around him fell away, a violent ringing shrieking in his ears.
Sanemi Shinazugawa was no stranger to fear. Fear was a rational experience; it was what kept him alive, kept him moving, even when everything within him begged him to give up, to stop. He’d known fear that day when the monster attacked his family, maiming him and Genya while killing everyone else. He’d known it again the first time he shifted, the moon ominously down upon him as his skin rippled and his joints contorted.
But this was not mere fear; this was terror. Pure, unadulterated and boundless terror like he’d never before known. It was paralyzing; the kind that locked you where you stood and would not let your body move, no matter how much your brain screamed at you otherwise. It broke him out in a cold sweat, his body unable to regulate its own temperature as it trembled.
And yet, the terror was not his own; not there, sitting with his pack mates as they rested during their routine patrol. It was precisely because it wasn’t his terror to begin with that ever hair on Sanemi’s body stood straight on end as the sensation rippled through him like the aftershock of some earthen calamity. There was only one way for him to feel such soul-shattering trepidation when he was otherwise safe and sound; because that meant Y/N — his mate — was anything but.
Sanemi sprung to his feet, not caring at the wide-eyed alarm of his closest friend and brother as they voiced their concern. He was far too focused on thundering her name down their shared bond, demanding that she answer, that she give some sort of sign as to her location so he could run to her, help her, protect her —
Another surge of that hot, frantic alarm and then nothing.The bond went silent.
And Sanemi knew terror — true terror.
—————
For miles, Sanemi and his pack tracked the scent of his mate, having immediately sprung into action the moment he’d been able to choke out her name and the word “danger.”
At first, they followed the trial back to the heart of their territory, right to the home they shared. Some foolish part of him had hoped they would leap into the valley surrounding their cabin-dens and see smoke billowing merrily from the chimney, signaling that Y/N was bustling away inside at the hearth. Desperately, he’d hoped the sharp flare of panic he’d felt before the bond went silent was a mere fluke; that his fiancé was safe and warm and unharmed. But, as the pack drew closer to the small, clustered hilltop dens, Sanemi knew his feeble attempts at optimism were futile. His mate’s scent continued well past the Wolves’ dens, and he dreaded the way the Wood seemed to swallow every last trace of her whole.
Y/N’s scent continued in an unbroken trail due west, and with each bit of ground the Wolves and Shifter covered, the knot in Sanemi’s gut tightened. By the time the small pack closed in around the very edge of their territory, Sanemi’s anxiety had devolved into utter dread.
The Western border. She’d gone to the Western border.
The Wolf sped ahead of his pack and launched himself through a small break in the trees – right at the outermost limit of their territory. Nausea crept up the back of his throat as his mind registered his mate’s trail led precisely to the same spot where he and the others had discovered the brutalized, half-eaten remains of the girl with the fox mask mere days earlier. Sanemi thundered to a stop, his chest heaving as he looked wildly around the clearing. There was a sickening sweetness in the air that made his nose burn, but beneath the poisonous stench of flowers — lotus flowers, Sanemi noted grimly — he could smell it. Though faint, the scent of clove and juniper berries was unmistakable; Y/N. But the scent of Sanemi’s home was undercut by the pungent, lingering bite of her fear.
He traced a path to where her fading scent was the strongest, his gut souring as the trail led to a patch of snow drops that had been laid flat against the earth, crushed. But it was the sight of her basket, toppled and discarded haphazardly to the side, that sent the fur on his back standing straight up. With a shudder that hardly registered, the Huntsman shifted back to his human form.
He bellowed his mate’s name, the echo of his anguished plea reverberating off hollow bases of rotting trees.
The ground trembled as both Genya and Shinobu skidded into the clearing behind him, eyes alert and ears pricked for any sign of danger — or of their friend’s missing mate.
Sanemi paid them no mind, continuing only to roar his fiancé’s name, the sound of Genya’s pleading, cautious whimpers lost beneath the waves of his tormented howls. The Wolf could not bring himself to care that he might call forth every foul creature which resided in the Netherwood out from the shadows. Let them come, let them attempt to get between him and his mate; Sanemi would relish tearing through them with every swipe of his claw and snap of his jaws. Nothing would stop him from finding her, even if it meant he had to burn the Wood to cinders.
“Her scent tracks north,” Shinobu’s voice cleaved through the roaring in Sanemi’s ears. “As does whatever this — floral stench is.”
The Huntsman’s lips curled into a snarl. The sickly-sweet odor of flowers set his teeth on edge, made his stomach twist and contort into a knotted, sour lump.
Genya paced ahead a few feet; eyebrows drawn close together. “A-aniki,” the tremble in his brother’s voice made Sanemi’s blood turn to ice.
Both he and Shinobu turned apprehensively towards the youngest Wolf who was standing beside a gnarled, ancient oak tree whose bark was blackened by rot. Genya leaned forward, carefully lifting something that had been ensnared around the tree’s roots jutting up through the frozen earth. Cold dread settled like a stone weight in Sanemi’s gut. For there, pinched delicately between his fingers was a piece of scarlet wool, its edges ragged and torn. And though it blended in against the crimson of the cloak, all three wolves caught the unmistakable scent of iron which adorned the fabric: blood. Human blood. Y/N’s blood.
Shinobu’s violet eyes settled on Sanemi’s quaking form. “Can you feel the bond?”
Sanemi knew that she already knew the answer, just as he knew what the Shifter was truly asking. After all, there was only one sure way that a mating bond could be severed: it did not simply ebb and reappear at random. He could not control the claws which burst from his fingertips, but he clenched his fists tight to keep the others from seeing how his control fractured. “She’s not dead.” He snarled.
The slight young shifter kept her chin high, though her voice softened. “Sanemi, I know –”
“She’s not dead,” he snapped, baring his teeth at his packmate. “She is alive and wounded, but not dead.”
Shinobu was wise enough to keep quiet, but Sanemi refused to meet her eyes anyways; he knew what he would see swimming in those luminous violet orbs if he dared to look.
Doubt. Pity.
He could stomach neither.
“Her scent goes north before splitting into different directions,” Sanemi said with an unnerving calmness, pushing forward to the edge of the territory’s border. “One goes northeast and the other tracks west.” He turned back to his brother and friend, ignoring the tightening in his stomach at their wary, timid expressions. “Shinobu, go back to your den and wait. She has lost blood and will likely need your help once we find her.”
“Genya,” Sanemi turned his attention toward his brother, who straightened. “Y/N’s scent is weaker to the west than it is to the north. See what you can find, but if you haven’t found her by sunrise, come back to me.”
The young boy nodded, and Sanemi felt a rush of gratitude at the fierce determination which blazed to life in his eyes. “And if I find her?”
“Howl but do not wait for me – get her to Kocho’s.”
Genya nodded and turned to shift but paused. “And if you find her, brother?”
The white Wolf’s eyes darkened. “Listen for my howl and come to us. I will make sure Y/N is safe, and then the two of you are to go straight home.” Sanemi’s voice dropped to a low growl, vicious and lethal. “And then I shall deal with Douma.”
---
Time was an odd thing. When you’d first entered the Wood, you’d lamented your inability to track time as it passed. You’d only vaguely been able to identify that you’d been running for just over a day and a half before you’d found Sanemi, but you’d been utterly unable to discern whether it was morning, afternoon, or evening when you’d stumbled upon that creek bed. Now, however, you had no concept of time. Though, that had less to do with any shortcomings of yours and everything to do with the monster who kept bringing you in and out of consciousness, awakening you with a sharp press of his taloned nail against your forehead just so he could beat you, only to send you careening back into the darkness when he decided your screams and cries had grown too loud for comfort.
You’d been straddling the thin, wavering line between consciousness and oblivion for what felt like hours. You were helpless to accept yet another brutal, sharp kick square to your abdomen, thanks to the way Douma had you restrained. Your arms were stretched out uncomfortably on either side, weighed down by twin, heavy cuffs of iron that your captor had locked around your wrists before you’d regained consciousness after he’d initially stolen you away.
“Now, now, Y/N, that won’t do,” Despite the cloying sweetness of lotus which clung to his skin, Douma’s breath was putrid as it fanned over your face, smelling distinctly of rotted meat. “You need to keep those pretty eyes open for me, hm?”
Against your will, your eyelids were forced back open, and you could not avoid the chilling sight of your Village Worship Leader’s cruel smile, the sharp points of his fangs far too close for comfort. You wanted to recoil from his proximity; but the monster – the Fae, he’d gleefully confirmed earlier – had you helplessly trapped. Anger boiled under your skin as you glared at him, your mind clearing with each second you were forced to bear his rancid breath.
“Tell me, you lovely little creature – when you spread your legs for him at night, did you truly believe yourself to be beyond my reach?”
“What would your dear grandmother say, Y/N?” Douma shook his head mournfully. “To think that her precious granddaughter would allow herself to be so sullied by a beast –”
“Fuck you!” You snarled; your teeth bared in a defiant display of rage belied by the weak way you tugged against your restraints. “You are the one who stole her from me – don’t you dare soil her memory!”
The beastly village worship leader merely shrugged his shoulders. “She tried to conceal what was mine.” He tutted. “Is being a beast’s whore really more preferable than marriage, my love?”
“I would rather be a beast’s whore than your victim.” You spat with as much acid as you could muster. “You’re nothing more than a wretched murderer.”
“Is that so?” Douma intoned, as though growing bored with your conversation. “Even still, whores can serve a fruitful purpose. Kotoha did, after all.”
“Don’t you say her name,” you snarled. “You murdered her in cold blood and dumped her body in the Wood.” Hatred, hot and venomous, coated your tongue, igniting a newfound boldness. “She was kind and good and loyal, even to you – and you killed her.”
“Killed her?” Douma repeated, eyebrows raising in surprise before he waived his hand dismissively. “Oh, please don’t let your ire with me trivialize what I do with my wives, Y/N. It wounds me.”
“I’m no murderer, my dear,” the Fae’s temporary irritation with you melted into unrestrained, savage glee. “You see, my wives serve a far more…enticing purpose beyond that which even your feeble little mind can comprehend.”
You paid him little mind, instead pulling harshly against your restraints, your anger vicious enough that you wanted to tear free, to sink your nails into his skin and rip him open –
“I was going to consume Kotoha on our wedding night,” Douma’s smile was wicked and cruel as you froze. In an instant, all your fire was extinguished, doused out by a bucket of water as icy and chilling as the malicious glint in the Fae’s eyes. “I was going to bed her and devour her, just as I did with the previous three girls.” His voice dripped with poisoned honey. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like, my lovely girl? After all, all living creatures are driven by two, distinct hungers – appetites of the flesh and of the stomach.” He licked his lips. “You cannot blame me for combining both to sate mine.”
Douma let his words hang heavy in the air. For a moment, there was no sound but the wind as it whipped around and howled through the barren Wood, edged only by your ragged, panting breaths. Your knees shook hard enough that standing was nearly impossible, especially in your restrained state. Bile rose in your throat. It was worse – the fate that had greeted your friend had been so much worse than you’d imagined.
“So I planned to use Kotoha the same as the other three, but when we returned to my Estate, I noticed something peculiar about her,” Douma sighed dreamily. “Her scent – it was unlike anything I’d ever come across before. Mouthwatering.”
“Her pregnancy,” he confirmed, delighting in your horror. “The village whore was only a few months along, but the moment I scented her, I knew I could not rush something so delectable; so unique. I elected to wait for her to ripen. Trust when I say it was an exercise of restraint to not enjoy her sooner.” His grin could have curdled milk. “However, I can be patient when I know there is a reward at the end. And the girl did satisfy my other appetite — though not exactly in the way I prefer.” Douma waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t find willing partners all that exciting, but a cunt is a cunt. Again, patience is my virtue.”
“You are vile,” you choked, blood coursing hot through your veins. “Kotoha was a good girl, who only wanted to be taken care of and loved!”
“I did grow fond of her,” Douma continued smoothly. “In fact, I considered even allowing her to live and remain with me. Simple as she was, she was quite entertaining — always singing the sweetest songs. Even that boy of hers was adorable in his own way.” Douma sighed, suddenly wistful. “It was unfortunate - my men, though loyal, are pitifully stupid. They seemed to have been hopeful that, before I had my way with Kotoha, I would allow them to have a small taste. I suppose even they couldn’t be satisfied fucking their own wives — or horses.” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “As if I would allow them to sully my feast with their filth.”
“Regardless, Kotoha overheard them and was offended. She tried to take her child and run — straight into the Netherwood, the imbecile.” He fluttered his eyelashes at you in a mocking display of affection. “The poor simpleton didn’t have your resourcefulness, I’m afraid.” The fae shook his head, mournfully. “I caught her near a cliffside waterfall — she’d barely made it half a kilometer into the Wood.” He looked to his nails, so monstrously sharp and curved, and picked at something beneath them, disinterested. “The stupid fool tossed her child over the cliff — as though it would save him.” A smirk unfurled across his mouth. “No matter; it made bringing her back to my Estate all the easier.” Douma stretched his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers and exhaled, the portrait of nonchalance and carelessness. “And then she joined my other wives before her. It was almost difficult to tell which was tastier in the moment — her body or her flesh.”
“I do miss her sweet voice,” Douma added after a moment, ignorant to the way you slumped against the forest floor, legs no longer able to support your weight. “But I suppose that will always be a part of me now, wouldn’t you say?” The rainbow-eyed Fae looked to you and smiled. “Besides, then I set eyes upon you, and all was forgotten. I knew I simply had to have you.”
You no longer trembled in fear; the horror of his revelation sat too heavy in your limbs, as did the realization that would not see your beloved Huntsman again. “So what shall you do with me?” Your voice was low, flat, as you lifted your eyes to meet those of the smirking beast. “Shall I join my sisters before me? Am I to now share their fate?” It was a masochistic question, for certain, but one you needed him to answer. If you were to die like Kotoha and the women before her, then you would do everything in your power to cling to the last remnants of your dignity. You would not cry; you would not scream — no matter how he tortured you.You would not give him the satisfaction of your suffering; you couldn’t. But you needed time to prepare — no matter how clear it was that yours was up.
In a flash, the Fae closed the distance between you and took your face in his hand.“Oh Y/N,” Douma’s eyes swam with a pity that did not match his tightening grip on your jaw. “I am worth far more than some pathetic, scrappy village girl.” Your eyes prickled at the way his nails dug into the skin of your cheek. “Especially now that you’ve led me to something far more suitable to my tastes.”
Your stomach flipped violently against the putrid stench of the Fae’s breath as it washed over your face. Douma tilted your head from side to side, inspecting. “Remarkable, isn’t it?” He hummed. “That an insignificant little girl like you could enchant a Wolf.”
“And not just an ordinary shifter; a Werewolf,” he practically glowed with his excitement. “One of the rarest yet most powerful beasts to walk our Earth. Imagine my surprise, then, when I tracked you right to that little cave den after you let him mark and fuck you.”
Your eyes widened and a shaky breath wheezed from your lungs. He couldn’t have known — shouldn’t have known that Sanemi marked you. The bite changed your scent — the Huntsman had confirmed it. And yet, when he’d found you on the Wolves’ western border, he’d known exactly where to strike — exactly where to sever the bond between you and your mate and render you entirely helpless. “H-how—?”
The Fae’s finger was cold as it caressed your cheek. “Did you honestly think you were safe simply because you let a beast rut into you? Is that why you debased yourself so — allowed a Wolf to fuck you in the middle of the Wood like some wild whore?”
Your stomach seized with violent nausea. There was no way he could have known what you’d done with Sanemi in the Wood; not unless he’d been far closer than either of you were aware.
“Magic begets magic, stupid girl,” Douma dropped the sugary sweet syrup coating his voice, dropping to something more vicious; menacing. “Your cloak has been calling to me from the moment I stepped foot in the Wood. It left a trail only I could follow.” His fingers crudely pinched your cheeks, pulling a small, discomforted whimper from the back of your throat. “You were never going to evade me, darling Y/N. I am inevitable.”
It felt as though the ground below you had opened wide, leaving you to free fall through the air with no end — not safety — in sight. The realization slammed into you with savage, bruising force. The mating mark had done nothing to conceal you, after all; this whole time, Douma had been toying with you like a barn cat did a mouse.
“Your cloak was enchanted with the same magic my kind is made from,” he purred. “The fae have always had a certain proclivity for finding and possessing objects we recognize as kin — and your precious cloak is no exception.” Douma pressed the knife-like tip of his nail into your lower lip until you felt a bead of blood gather and slide down your chin. “Try as you might, your darling little heirloom led me right to a prize beyond my wildest imagination.”
His grip on your face loosened and Douma’s fingers dropped to toy with the ends of your hair. “Werewolves are capable of slaughtering a hundred beings — whether human or monster, in a matter of seconds.” Italian was with no small amount of horror that you realized the fae was drooling. “But as I said, they are rare. Only a Werewolf can create other werewolves — and only through blood.” Douma’s eyes found the juncture of your shoulder, to where your mark lay torn and bloodied. “Magic — including curses — is fickle like that. Most magic requires a blood debt; by blood it is done, and by blood it is undone.”
“I’ve only ever met one other Werewolf — years ago. I barely escaped with my life.” He grimaced slightly. “But, that was a seasoned beast; your Wolf has kept his curse under seal, hasn’t he, sweet Y/N?”
For once, you were grateful that your fear and dread had swollen your tongue leaving you incapable of speech. But your silence only served as confirmation for the demon fae, whose sickening grin returned.
“Humanity is a curse,” Douma tutted, chuckling to himself. “I do not imagine it would take much effort to push your Wolf past his breaking point.” He clicked his tongue. “His heart is still human, after all; and the human heart is so very malleable — so easily swayed by suggestion.” Douma shifted away from you and moved toward another tree. Bending quickly behind it, he lifted something from the ground, damp and sodden with both snow and your blood, and turned it over in his hands.
Your cloak. “I do apologize for helping myself,” he sighed, nose crinkling down at the rumpled fabric in distaste. “It was such a darling little cloak. I’m sure you must have been quite fond of it.” Your stomach folded in on itself and you began to tremble once more. It was not enough that Douma had stolen your biggest source of protection — and apparent damnation — clean from your shoulders before you’d regained consciousness. Now, the demon regarded your precious heirloom as though it was the key to some treasure only he knew how to find.
“I was quite kind, was I not?” Douma turned his attention back to you. “I allowed you both a few blissful weeks together — I let your bond deepen, and your love blossom like the most delicate of flowers.” He paused, looking at you expectantly like you were going to throw yourself before him in a simpering display of gratitude. When you did not, he frowned. “Surely, you should be grateful for the happiness I’ve permitted — it should comfort you to know that you will be free of the torment of your pitiful little existence having at least known the love of another, if only for a short while.”
“But as for your beloved Huntsman,” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head mournfully. “He shall have to grieve the loss of his sweet mate before he can assume his true form.” He looked back to you suddenly, eyes wide. “You should be honored!” He said with an excitable gasp, clapping his hands together. “Your death shall free you both.”
Despite the frigid chill of the air, a cold sweat broke across your brow. Your lungs constricted to the point of pain as Douma’s intentions settled over you with suffocating weight. No. Not him. Not Sanemi. “Take me,” you pled, quietly. “Do to me what you will — torture me, brutalize me, take me by force; devour me until not even my bones remain — but take me in his stead.”
Douma seemed to revel in your resignation as you slumped against the base of the tree in defeat, your head bowed in submission, but he made no movement toward you. “No, my dear,” the accursed fae hummed. “As tempting as I find you to be, one thing I did not consider in allowing you to whore yourself out to your Wolf was how it would affect your appeal.”
“You smell revolting,” he explained with a sickly sweet smile. “I’ve smelled mangy dogs that stink better than you.” That frozen, unnerving smile fell away. “It is a shame,” Douma admitted, tilting your head from side to side. “You are quite beautiful; no doubt fertile, even though your beloved Wolf failed to impregnate you.”
One taloned hand dragged down your front, squeezing. “And you’re very soft, my dear fiancé,” his voice dropped to a coo. “Delectably so.” The Fae stood, brushing his hands off as though the mere act of touching you had soiled him. “Perhaps I will still take you once I’ve consumed your mate,” Douma said casually. “If there’s anything left of you to have, that is.” He looked to you in faux-concern, his eyebrows knit and mouth serious. “After all, the Netherwood is full of monsters, Y/N — there are so many beasts that would kill for a taste of your pretty flesh.” That mocking smile returned and Douma turned to leave, your cloak safely draped around his arm. “Take care!” He called over his shoulder, hand lifted in the air in farewell.
“DOUMA.” You shrieked after him, arms straining as you pulled against your restraints with all your might. “DOUMA.” But the Fae disappeared into the icy mist, and silence fell over the Netherwood once more.
—
The scent of lotus flowers had grown stronger – oppressively so – the more ground Sanemi covered. It was an odor he was sure he’d never before encountered, even if it felt vaguely familiar, though he could not, for the life of him, understand why. Though the stench of the aquatic blossoms made his nose sting, the Huntsman persisted, desperately clinging to the faint scent of juniper and clove which ran with it.
The fur on his back rose; he was drawing closer, he could feel it, even if he did not know what awaited him at the end of this trail. What he did know, however, was that his mate was likely harmed, and he would need to tread carefully in getting her back, no matter how much his instincts roared at him to find Douma and rip him limb from limb. But Sanemi kept her face in his mind’s eye as he nosed his satchel from where it was hung around his neck and shifted back to his human form. He dressed quickly, taking care to tuck his hand-axe into his belt. He resumed his trek, cautious, every one of his finely tuned instincts buzzing in his hypervigilance.
Something jerked in his gut, halting him in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight, and his ears picked up on a subtle movement to his right. Though the moon had long since faded, with dawn rapidly approaching, he still watched the shadows between the trees, his eyes shining as he scanned the dark, and waited. An icy blast of wind cut through the silent, still trees of the Netherwood, stirring up a flurry of snowflakes where they’d settled upon the earth. The frigid bite of the winter air tore right through the layers of Sanemi’s clothes, bruising him with its cold. From behind the ancient, gnarled trunks of the blackened, skeletal trees that surrounded him, came a thick, icy fog. Sanemi blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his vision, but the haze persisted, overwhelming his senses. Despite the prevalence of the fog, Sanemi’s heightened sense of sight was able to discern the faint outline of something dark and solid as it made its way toward him. As it drew closer, his stomach dipped with the realization that the shadow was not a thing, but a person.
The figure emerging through the mist was preceded only by the nauseatingly saccharine stench of lotus blossoms that made Sanemi’s gut twist and knot. Though he’d never laid eyes on the being now standing before him, with those unnerving, rainbow-hued eyes and hollow smirk, Sanemi knew he’d found him – Douma. And, it suddenly clicked why Douma’s scent seemed familiar even if the leering figure before him was not. Magic. Douma’s poisonously sweet stench was edged by the distinct fragrance of magic; one that he’d come to know intimately thanks to his Mate’s enchanted cloak. Horror, cold and violent, raked its talons down his spine. It was impossible; no man could carry the distinct aroma of magic with him, so entwined with his own essence as to make it nearly impossible to separate the two.
Only Douma wasn’t a man. He was Fae; a demon Fae, at that.
The more Sanemi weighed his opponent, the more obvious it became. His skin was pallid and gray, his unnerving, multi-colored eyes too bright, too luminous against the muted darkness of the Wood. The Huntsman dropped his gaze to his long, spindly fingers stained dark red, and saw that they were tipped with wickedly sharp, black claws.
Douma’s grin only widened, the tips of his upper fangs extending nearly to his lower lip. There was no doubt about it; somehow, in spite of logic, Douma was Fae and that changed everything about how Sanemi assessed the threat he posed. Worst of all, there was no sign of the mortal woman who held his heart.
“You must be the Wolf who stole my dear betrothed away,” Douma’s voice was as slimy as his presence, and Sanemi fought to suppress his shudder.
“‘Tis hard to steal what does not belong to you,” Sanemi retorted coldly. “I wasn’t aware of any law that permits one to lay claim over another against their will.”
“Her grandmother accepted on her behalf,” Douma’s lie was easy and smooth, and its obviousness made the Wolf’s blood boil. “The girl broke the agreement struck between our houses by fleeing; I had the right to pursue her.”
Sanemi clenched his fists hard enough that his nails broke through the skin of his palms. He drew upon the resulting grounding throb to keep himself calm, to not take the bait the Fae was dangling to brazenly before him. “If that’s the case, then your grievance is with me,” He kept his voice calm, but firm. “As the one who usurped your fiance. There’s no need for her to be involved at all.” The Huntsman’s hand fell to the grip of his axe where it was secured safely against his hip. “Let’s settle this like reasonable men. You against me.”
“I am no more a man than you are, Wolf.” Douma’s tone dripped with poisoned honey. “Let us not pretend otherwise – it would be so boring.”
Sanemi lifted a hand before him and flexed, allowing his own claws to punch through the tips of his fingers. “As you wish, demon. But you crossed into my territory and stole one of my pack away. Return her and then we can play.”
Swirled, multicolored irises rose to meet him. “I’d heard the Wolves’ borders were nearly impenetrable. You can imagine my disappointment when I found that not to be the case.”
“So pretty,” Douma sighed. “She was so very lovely in that red cloak of hers, picking flowers. Like something out of a dream. A chilling smile revealed four, sharp fangs. “She was even more beautiful when she began trembling in fear.”
“I will kill you,” Sanemi’s promise was as cold and severe as his tone. “But I might be inclined to make it less tortuous if you tell me where she is.”
Douma whistled lowly, shaking his head. “I’m afraid my fiancé won’t be joining us, Wolf.” He strolled towards him, hands casually folded behind his back. He came to a still about two meters away, his stance relaxed; unbothered. “You’ll have to excuse her absence.”
“Where is she?” Sanemi snarled, gripping the handle of his axe with crushing force.
“The proper question isn’t where,” the white-haired fae tutted. “It is a matter of what’s left.” Douma’s eyes flashed. “And to that I say — not much.”
Sanemi felt as though he’d been plunged into an icy river, his body enveloped by a cold that would neither let him breathe nor move, rendering him helpless to be thrashed and broken against the rocks concealed beneath its rapids.
“I was beginning to think I was going to be denied what is mine, Wolf.” Douma continued, apparently oblivious to the anguish mounting within the Wolf before him. “But luckily for me I found her wandering around the Wood — the silly girl, she must not realize how dangerous the Netherwood truly is.” The Fae’s voice softened slightly, a mocking smile revealing two pointed, sharp fangs. “So dangerous, in fact, it seemed she let someone else stake their claim to her.”
“Not that I minded,” he shrugged. “After all, I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her in the village that she would make a delectable little bedmate.” His affectionate chuckle made Sanemi’s skin erupt in gooseflesh. “So feisty — and so very beautiful.” Douma winked at the frozen Huntsman. “I understand now why you couldn’t resist her, Wolf; that little body of hers was so delightfully soft and warm.” His eyes turned cruel and his smile widened. “And so very tight.”
The Wolf’s blood ran cold. No. No.
Douma covered his mouth in mock-shock. “Oh! you will have to forgive me — I know wolves can be territorial when it comes to sharing their mates with others in that way,” he shook his head mournfully. “But she was my fiancé first — I had a right to claim her as well. I do hope you forgive me for taking that liberty.”
Sanemi’s heart lurched, his stomach twisting sickeningly in his gut. Beads of sweat gathered along his brow despite the frigid winter air. The rainbow-eyed fae savored his horror. “Human women are so very delectable, don’t you think?” He sighed dreamily. “So good at satisfying both appetites.” Douma frowned for a moment, considering. “Though, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a taste for yourself,” he laughed to himself, like he’d made the most amusing little joke. “At least not in the way I like to taste them.”
“Perhaps you should give it a try!” Douma clapped his hands together in amusement. “After all, fertile human women are the most nutritious.”
Sanemi knees nearly buckled and Douma’s demented smile twisted into something cruel.
“She didn’t scream, you know, while I was enjoying her.” There was a cold malice in his eyes that made Sanemi want to run no matter how firmly the fae’s words rooted him where he stood. “Not so much as a little moan to let me know how well I was fucking her.” The monster with the kaleidoscope eyes shrugged, nonchalantly. “Though, that could have been because she was too busy trying to fight my men. She was a squirmer, your mate — I’m sure you knew that.” Douma’s clawed fingers twirled a lock of his silvery hair, his feline grin nothing short of predatory. “But they managed to hold her down well enough.”
“I was so close — your little mate’s cunt was still so sweet, even after she let you defile her.” Douma’s smile was nothing short of vicious, his voice dropping to a growl. “But when I finally tasted her — oh.”The fae’s eyes slid closed, as if in bliss, as he recalled the memory, shuddering in delight.“Then she started screaming,” Douma’s grin widened. “They all start screaming when I taste them.” He sighed. “She didn’t last much longer after that — I started with the neck, after all. Right on that little mark you gave her.”
A sickening grin. “But she did hold on long enough for me to finish. The same couldn’t be said for that little friend of hers I had before.” Douma wrinkled his nose. “I had to finish after I’d already consumed her.” He waved his hands placatingly at the shaking Wolf. “Oh, but please don’t worry!” His voice was pleading, as though he wanted to soothe Sanemi. “She still only had feelings for you! After all, it was your name she screamed.”
Sanemi could hardly control the tremble in his voice. “You’re lying.”
Even the muted light of day could not conceal the glint of Douma’s fangs as his grin widened. “It is a shame you think so,” the Fae simpered. “I suppose, then, you have no interest in this?”
There was a flash of red as Douma tossed something mishappen and lumpy at the Wolf. Without breaking eye contact, Sanemi’s hand lifted up and snatched it easily out of the air. He held Douma’s gaze for a heartbeat longer, before finally looking down at what he held in his hands. The tense breath he’d been holding wheezed out of his lungs at the sight of Y/N’s all too familiar scarlet riding cloak; or rather, what was left of it. The fabric was dirtied and torn, its edges and ends shredded as though it had been caught by something sharp — like claws. Or, Sanemi realized with a sickening wave of horror, like teeth.
He turned the cloak over in his hands, as though perhaps his mate was somehow tangled up within its folds. Sanemi’s heart seized as he realized his beloved Y/N was not hiding among the remaining threads of her cherished, tattered heirloom.
But something else of hers was; her blood. A great deal of it. It had dried in crusted patches along the crimson wool, blending in with the other dirt and grime coating the material; but the scent of iron was unmistakably hers. Sanemi’s eyes were wide and unfocused as he clutched the remnants of the cloak — of his mate — to his chest with trembling hands. Gone. Gone. She was gone. Just a sunrise and a half earlier, she’d been safe and warm in his arms, and now she was gone.
“It is a shame, though,” Douma confessed mournfully. “That you failed to impregnate lovely little Y/N before I found her.” The Fae’s lower lip stuck out in a mocking pout, oblivious to the way Sanemi shook with rage. “I so wanted to know what a pregnant woman tasted like – especially one carrying a little mutt.”
Had the Wolf anything in his stomach, it surely would have made a reappearance all over the forest floor. The idea that the monstrous creature smirking at him would have defiled something so sacred, something he and his mate so wanted –
Every one of Douma’s fangs were revealed as a sickening smile spread wide across his face. “It matters not; I’ve never been so full in my life – her flesh was a succulent little treat.”
Even the wind seemed to still as Sanemi’s eyes snapped to the Fae’s savage grin.
“Just like her cunt.”
The Huntsman’s vision went white as something vicious and primordial roared to life in his chest. A splitting, piercing screech echoed in his ears, drowning out the gleeful peals of laughter from the direction of the demon Fae, and the Wood around him fell away into nothing.
Somewhere, deep within himself, Sanemi stood before the open mouth of an iron cell. He could sense something stirring in the dark; but whatever door had kept the thing locked tightly away had been ripped clean from its hinges, and now, the Huntsman was left utterly before its mercy, though he could not for the life of him remember why he should care.
Because Sanemi could not stop the images assaulting his mind. He could not stop seeing her, face screwed tight in pain and anguish, as Douma’s men held down her arms and legs, trapping her as their leader had his way with her.
She’d screamed; she’d screamed as Douma violated her again and again, all while his teeth ripped into her flesh and he devoured her alive. She’d screamed for her mate to come help her; to come protect her and save her, the way a mate was supposed to protect and keep safe.
She’d screamed for him.
I swear it. He’d vowed to her. I will not allow him to lay a finger on you.
He hadn’t come. He hadn’t heard her, hadn’t been able to feel her desperate pleas and cries and pain down the mating bond. He hadn’t even known. She’d died alone; scared. And now, there was nothing left of her.
Beneath the rage that boiled beneath his skin, making him tremble and shake where he stood, Sanemi despaired, lost and broken. Somewhere, buried so deep in Sanemi’s psyche, a voice told him to give in; to let his curse take him over completely, and rip the fae before him limb from limb, to shred him until there was nothing of him left, just like he’d done to her. It was easy — so easy, for him to give into that instinct, so base and primal; to allow the beast he’d kept locked deep within out. He would do it to avenge her; avenge his mate.
Y/N’s face was the last thing he saw before Sanemi let the curse of the Werewolf consume him entirely.
--
The iron manacles Douma had snapped around your wrists weren’t conjoined — a fact you were grateful for. Rather, each shackle was connected to its own, heavy chain that he had looped tightly around the base of an ancient, gnarled oak tree that towered ominously over your head. There was a small sliver of space between the crude, thick metal of the iron cuffs and your wrist. You agonized over trying to worm at least one hand through the gap, certain that if you could get one hand free, the other would take only half as long.
You gripped the manacle of your right hand with your left and pulled, pushing the metal as you tried desperately to wiggle out of the cuff. The iron dug sharply into your wrists, the rough edges chafing your cold-sensitive skin. The outer curve of your thumb caught against the rim of the bind and your hand would not move further. You pulled and pulled until your right hand turned nearly purple with the strain, your teeth clenched so tight you feared they would crack as a frustrated scream tore from your throat.
“Damn it all!” You swore, arms relaxing for a moment while you caught your breath. The longer it took you to work yourself free of Douma’s chains, the more likely your chances of being sniffed out and devoured by one of the Netherwood’s beasts became. But your looming, grisly death in the maw of one of the Wood’s resident nightmares was the least of your concerns. Sanemi was in trouble; you had to get to him before Douma found him. Before he triggered the curse.
You shook your aching wrist in frustration, tugging sharply at the chains around the base of the tree in a half-hearted hope that perhaps Douma was, in fact, an imbecile, who neglected to secure them properly. But he wasn’t, you realized grimly, for the chains did not so much as loosen against all your tireless efforts.
Your eyes burned with frustrated tears that you knew better than to let fall. You couldn’t give up; not when it had been your own stupidity which had landed you in this mess in the first place. Not when it could easily lead to the death of the person you loved most. You took two, steadying breaths and rolled your shoulders, glaring down at the iron shackles locked around your wrists. After another moment, you turned towards the tree around which you’d been trapped. You pushed the excess chain against its base before placing one foot firmly against its rotted bark, trapping the iron chain beneath your heel. You twisted your right hand into the position you thought would give you the best chance of slipping free from your restraint and took one last breath. On the exhale, you pulled with every ounce of strength you possessed, a scream ripping through the silence of the Wood as the metal bit into your skin. It did you no good. On and on you continued, yanking and twisting and pulling at your manacles until the skin of your wrists turned bloody and ragged, the flesh in some places hanging off in ruined strips. Below you, the snow had turned an unsettling pinkish-red, and with no small amount of nausea did you realize you were making it even more likely some creature would sniff you out and tear you apart.
You kicked the base of the tree. “Fuck!” You snarled, spitefully stomping a few more times on the chains binding you to its bark. “Fuck!”
The issue wasn’t that your hands were too big to slide through the cuffs — rather, you felt almost certain that if given a little grease or sweat, you might just be able to slip them out. The problem was that here, in the middle of the frozen, snowy Wood, there was no such lubricant to be found. Furthermore, you realized as you grimaced down at your ruined wrists, there was an additional problem posed by the bones of your thumbs. That was where the manacles snagged every time you nearly pulled yourself free; those damn thumb joints.
You had no idea how much time had passed since Douma had strutted away, leaving you for dead in favor of seeking out your mate, but you knew that every minute which passed you by brought Sanemi closer and closer to catastrophe; and that was assuming it had not already befallen him. Douma had taken everything from you; he could not have Sanemi, too.
You cast your eyes wildly around the forest floor, looking for anything that could aid your escape. You were about to resort to your earlier approach of attempting to force your wrists from the manacles once more, when you landed on a small cluster of rocks, just to your left.
You cocked your head in consideration. Tentatively, you stuck your leg out to the one closest to where you were shackled and used the toe of your boot to pull it towards you. Once it was within reach of your aching hands, you picked it up and turned it over in thought. The stone was a little larger than one of your hands, and heavy. It had a decent amount of ridges and its edges were sharp, but it was solid, and not too difficult to hold. Your eyes flitted back to your other hand, bruised and torn and limp under the weight of the iron. An idea, terrible and horrifying as it was, began to bloom in your mind.
Sanemi had given everything he had to protect you; he’d put his life on the line for you after knowing you for a matter of minutes, without hesitation. Time and time again, the Huntsman had sacrificed his well-being to give you a fighting chance here in the Netherwood.
What had you done, aside from being his biggest liability?
Your fingers clenched around the heavy stone as you made up your mind, fiery determination running hot through your veins. It was time to repay Sanemi for all of his sacrifice and selfless acts of love.
You knelt upon the frozen ground of the Netherwood and laid your left hand against the earth, your thumb facing up. Your right arm trembled as it rose high above your head, but your fingers tightened around the stone, allowing the grit of the sediment to steady you. You remained like that for a moment; huddled over your hand, the other poised high in the winter sky as you summoned every last ounce of your courage and nerve.
You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling once and holding your breath. Once you counted to ten, you opened your eyes with renewed focus. A deafening hush fell over the Netherwood, as though the very trees themselves waited with bated breath.
A lamb no longer; it was time to be a wolf.
Your arm cleaved through the winter air as you brought down the rock with all your might and smashed it into your hand below.
--
Newly freed, the sharp winter air burned your lungs with every heaving gasp you took as you stumble-ran through the Netherwood. Your feet caught on nearly every upturned rock and tree root protruding from the frozen earth below you, but you would not allow yourself to fall. Instead, adrenaline, hot and sweet allowed your legs to keep moving, kept your brain focused and sharp even as the world around you swirled as a result of your blood loss.That adrenaline also helped to dull whatever pain you knew you should feel at the ends of your arms, where your hands hung limply from your wrists. Purple and bloodied, your bones jutted out at odd angles from your repeated blows with the heavy stone you’d found.
In retrospect, perhaps the decision to liberate yourself from your bonds by shattering your hands hadn’t been your finest plan of action; especially considering you had no idea where Sanemi could be in the endless expanse of thickly clustered trees that made up the cursed forest. But that decision had been better than simply waiting for some man-eating monster to stumble upon you, chained and helpless against some rotting tree, and so, you could not allow yourself to regret your choice. Even if it meant you never fully recovered the use of your hands.
Regardless, you couldn’t worry about that now; Sanemi was the priority. And to save him, you first had to survive getting through the Wood, a feat made all the more difficult in the absence of your grandmother’s cloak. Without its protection, it was even more likely that you would fall victim to one of the monstrous creatures that assuredly watched you as you struggled through the trees, waiting for you to slow down enough to ambush you and sate the hunger in their belly.
You cursed as your foot caught on yet another tree root that threatened to send you sprawling across the dirt without the ability to even catch yourself. By some divine intervention, you managed to steady yourself just before you hit the ground, though your thighs ached under the strain of your attempt to remain upright. The dark outline of the Wood grew blurrier by the moment. Briefly, you wondered whether you would pass out from the combination of your exhaustion and blood loss. So concentrated were you on trying to push yourself forward, on forcing yourself to remain upright and in motion, that you did not hear the crack of branches under foot, nor the rustle of leaves as something made its way toward you; not until it was too late.
A piercing howl echoed through the Woods, sending you ricocheting into mindless hysteria. You made to dart around a tree in a feeble attempt to evade whatever it was that had cornered you, but instead of escaping, you slammed into something solid and warm. The force of the collision sent you stumbling back, but before you could fall, something else shot out, gripping your forearm and yanking you back to steady footing. But the thing that had you in its grasp would not let go, and it sparked a new panic in your blood as you began struggling to wrench yourself free from its grip, to run -
A startled, urgent gasp of your name snapped you out of your panicked trance. Your head snapped up to meet the face of the thing – the person – standing with his hand around your arm, your eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to focus. At the familiar sight of mowhaked black hair and wide, anxious violet eyes, you loosed a cry of relief and flung your arms tightly around his neck. Genya’s arms hung frozen at his sides for a moment before hesitantly, but firmly, winding around you.
“Genya!” You gasped, “where is Sanemi?” Your voice sounded foreign, dry enough to crack thanks to the harsh winter air you’d been gulping down yet shrill with panic.
You half pushed yourself over his shoulders by your forearms, frantically scanning the tree line behind him for the sight of that familiar mop of snowy hair, but the face of your home was nowhere to be seen.
“Y/N – thank the gods –”
You pulled away, eyes wild. “Where is your brother?”
The young Wolf blinked rapidly. “H-he – we picked up t-two scents,” his eyes raked over your bloodied, beaten form in horror. “He f-followed the trail that was strongest –”
You swore loud enough to startle a few birds from their perch nearby. Your legs were shaking hard enough that your knees buckled. Genya shifted, allowing you to lean into him for support. His hands slid down your forearms as he scanned you for further injury. His face drained of what little color remained. “S-sister, your hands – “
“Don’t worry about that right now,” you pulled your arms away from him in an effort to conceal your ruined hands from sight. “Can you track him? Can you find his scent?”
Genya gulped. “Y-yeah,” his nostrils widened. “But you’re b-bleeding so badly – you need help,”
But you were already shaking your head. “Genya, we need to go,” you pushed away from the boy and walked aimlessly around him , as though you had any clue as to what direction to pursue your mate. “We have to find him, we have to get to him before he does –”
The younger Wolf sputtered as he stumbled after you. A gentle hand closed delicately around your bicep, tugging lightly to turn you back around. “Sister, you’re wounded. We n-need to get you to a doctor –”
“No!” You cried. If you could have shaken him, you would have. “We have to find your brother – quickly.”
Genya looked pained. “Y/N, you’ve been missing for over a day – you’re barely standing –”
Panic bubbled the more you lost precious time. “Genya, Douma wasn’t after me,” you rested your forearms on his shoulders, attempting to squeeze him until he understood. “At least, I am no longer his priority – it’s Sanemi – Sanemi’s cursed form he wants to devour.”
The dark-haired Wolf’s eyes grew wide. “Y-you mean make him become the Werewolf?” He shook his head, his hand trying to tug you back in what you assumed was the opposite direction – toward safety and not Sanemi. “That’s impossible, the curse is sealed, Y/N – please, we need to go –”
“You’re not listening to me!” You exploded. “Douma – he’s going to unseal it somehow. He knows, Genya,” with a wince, you placed your purpled hands on either side of the boy’s face in a silent plea for him to understand. “He broke the mating bond with just a finger – he can do worse because he knows worse.”
Genya finally halted his desperate attempt to get you out of the Wood. The poor boy looked tortured, and his breath was choppy and hard.
“Sanemi once told me it would take something extremely traumatic for your seal to break – something that would make you want to give up your humanity,” and Genya’s eyes widened slightly as he nodded jerkily. “Think, Genya – what would trigger his curse? What would push him that far?”
The younger Shinazugawa was quiet for a moment, his eyes falling to the snow-covered floor of the Wood in thought. His face turned gray. “You,” he whispered. “If anything happened to you – I don’t think Brother would think twice about giving into the curse.”
Everything inside you went cold as Genya’s admission settled over you. You stumbled back from the boy, head spinning and the world threatening to disappear out from under your feet. Genya called your name worriedly, his hands wrapping around your biceps to steady you, as he tried to pull you back to reality.
“But you’re still alive –” the words tumbled from his mouth in a panicked jumble, as though the young Wolf was trying to convince himself that their situation was not nearly as dire as it undoubtedly was. “The bond broke, but you’re still here. Sanemi could track your scent in another direction –”
You froze. There was one way Douma could convince the Huntsman that something horrible had happened to you – something that, when coupled with the severed mating bond, could force him to believe the Fae had done the unthinkable. “My cloak,” you whispered in horror. “He took my cloak. And it is covered in my blood.”
Genya’s expression contorted to match your own frozen terror. For a moment, all you could do was stare at one another, breaths panting out in small, rapid puffs clouding the frigid winter air.
“You must take me to him,” you said flatly. The younger Wolf opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. “Genya, if Sanemi believes I am dead, nothing you do or say will convince him otherwise. He needs to see me.”
He blanched. “Y/N – please, it’s dangerous,” he pled. “We’ve only ever heard tales of what a Werewolf is capable of doing – if Sanemi loses control like that, he may not be able to tell friend from foe.”
You stepped closer to him, eyes blazing. “If you can get me there before Douma has a chance to spin his lies, then we won’t have to worry about the curse at all.”
He hesitated again. “Sister –”
“I am not asking.”
Genya shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot as his logic warred with the severity of your command.
“I will do it,” he said quietly after a moment. “But if Aniki has already begun his transformation – you can’t go near him. You must let me deal with him.”
You nodded and tried to ignore the guilt you felt at the reproachful look in his eyes; for you both knew that you would not hesitate throwing yourself in front of your mate, no matter the risk. With a grimace, Genya retreated behind a cluster of elmwood trees. All was quiet for a moment before a large wolf stepped out hesitantly from the shadows. Genya’s wolf form was slightly larger than his elder brother’s, though he possessed the same brawn. His fur was an inky black that bordered violet in the watery gray light of winter, and slightly curly; but his eyes were the same glowing silver as Sanemi’s.
One massive paw stepped cautiously forward. A sharp exhale of air was tinged by a small whine as Genya looked mournfully at your mottled hands. He lowered his body until he lay flat against the ground, a single wag of his tail signaling you to climb atop his back. You braced your forearms between his shoulder blades, wincing slightly at the sharp, bone-splintering ache in your hands as your bruised and blistered skin brushed against his fur. You clambered on top of the young Wolf awkwardly, throwing your leg over his side to use as an anchor until you could wiggle yourself into a position that felt vaguely proper.
You leaned forward until your chest was pressed against his back and you wound your arms around his thick neck. “I’m ready,” you whispered. “Hurry, Genya.”
The younger Shinazugawa chuffed his acknowledgment before crouching low. With a great jolt, the Wolf sprang forward and launched into a fierce sprint through the Netherwood. As the trees around you melted into an endless blur, you cast out a single, desperate wish that you would not be too late.
--
Genya crashed through the Wood at a break-neck speed, howling every so often as he searched for his brother. Your panic began to melt into pure hysteria, when the young Wolf suddenly slowed, his ears perked as he listened to what you could not hear.
He growled, and your heart leapt into your throat. “Is it him, Genya?”
The Wolf huffed and launched into a sprint, forcing you to press yourself flat against his back. The winter wind was brutal and unforgiving, but you only set your jaw, the direness of your circumstances more painful than the icy gale that ripped at your hair and face.
Genya began to slow and you chanced pushing yourself up to see over his great head. Though winter Wood remained muted and dark even as the first rays of the morning sun trickled through the small gaps in the canopies of the trees above, the identity of the two figures that stood in a small clearing only a few meters ahead, was unmistakable. On one side was the loathsome Fae, identifiable from the odd style of his silvery hair. On the other, was him – your mate. Your Sanemi.
The scene before you was odd – unsettling so, as you hurriedly slid off Genya’s back and began stumbling toward your Huntsman. The Fae and the Wolf were not engaged in any battle; rather, there remained a healthy distance between the two. As you drew closer, it became obvious why; Sanemi was trembling – violently so, his head thrown back and his mouth stretched open. Heavy, choked gasps rattled out from his throat, and his hands were held out before him, their joints locked and contorted into odd angles.
Dread licked up your spine. You were too late; his curse had already been triggered.
“Sanemi!” You called desperately as you crashed through the brush. Douma stood with his back to you, eyes locked gleefully on your mate’s rippling form. “Sanemi!” You made to shove past the excitable Fae, but a clawed hand shot out before you were clear, gripping you sharply by the hair and wrenching you back against his chest. A hand rose before you to grip you by your cheeks, forcing you to watch the way your Huntsman violently trembled.
“Look, Y/N,” Douma’s cold, malicious voice hissed in your ear. “Watch as the beast slips his chains.”
You thrashed against his hold, but the Fae only chuckled, his icy, rancid breath sending violent chills down your skin. “Run, little girl,” he crooned. “Run to your Wolf, and see if he won’t tear you apart.” With a shove, Douma sent you stumbling forward. You obeyed his command, desperate to reach your mate as he shuddered under the strain of his curse.
“Sister, no!” Genya cried, but it was of no use; without hesitation you flung your arms around your mate’s rippling form, trying to still him.
“Sanemi, stop!” You cried. “Don’t do this — fight the curse —”
The Wolf’s claws had grown longer and sharper than you’d ever seen. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as Sanemi’s hands rose up on either side of you before his claws sunk deep into your biceps. Your breath wheezed out of you at the sharp pain exploding beneath where his nails were embedded into your flesh. Your stomach dropped at the unmistakable sensation of your blood running hot down your arms, but you still did not relent.
“Sanemi! Please!” You clung to him desperately, trying to force him to look at you, but it was useless. His eyes had gone a milky white, his fangs longer than you’d ever seen, saliva dripping from his mouth like that of a rabid animal. You hiked your arms higher around his trembling shoulders, trying to ignore the sting of his claws dragging along your skin so you could wrench his head down and press his face against your ruined mating mark. Perhaps if he could scent it, whatever remained of it, he would come back to himself — perhaps he wouldn’t let the beast within take control.
It wasn’t working. You shook him, desperate and frustrated. “It’s me — I have returned! I’m sorry— I’m so sorry I made you worry!” Tears welled in your eyes. “Please come back to me!”
Sanemi’s claws dug deeper into your arms, your blood staining your sleeves a deep crimson. “Gone,” he managed to snarl through the growls and choked sounds of his body undergoing the sinister shift to his cursed form. “She’s gone.”
Beneath that vicious growl was pain — raw and deep. It did not matter that you were standing right there before him; he could not see you, not when he’d begun to turn into a Werewolf without a mate.
“I’m here! I’m right here!” Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as you urged him to see, to know you once more. “I’m with you! Please, Sanemi, I love you – I’m begging you, please, please come back to me!”
He tried to push you from him, his claws retracting from where he’d buried them into your skin. “Gone!” he howled. “GONE.”
“Sanemi — NO!” You shrieked as he shoved you back, but it was not enough. The Huntsman exploded, fur and claws and teeth erupting from him as Sanemi fully let the Werewolf take him over.
There was a flash of something curved and sharp as it neared your face. Half a heartbeat later, there was nothing but pain; hot, agonizing, searing pain erupting down the side of your face, as you felt yourself being torn open.
Your scream reverberated through the Netherwood like a cannon blast. You dropped to the ground like a marionette doll whose strings had been cut, hands jumping to your face only to meet sticky, hot blood and ragged pieces of your torn flesh.You laid there, crumpled against the snow, broken hands pressed desperately to the left side of your face in an attempt to stop the bleeding. You couldn’t even assess the damage, as you had to throw yourself out of the way to avoid being caught in the jaws of the creature now lunging for Douma. As the flurry of white passed you, you caught glimpse of the beast’s crimson-soaked claw.
Soaked, with your blood. Sanemi’s claw had caught you right down the left side of your face as he’d transformed, ripping it wide open.
Genya screamed your name, but his anguish was lost under the howling, vicious snarls from the snapping Werewolf and the crazed, giddy peals of laughter from the demon fae.
It was hard to see, and you knew you couldn’t risk moving your hands from the flayed side of your face for fear of bleeding out all over the floor of the Wood. But your other eye also filled with blood that spilled over your nose from the marred side of your face, leaving you to blink rapidly in a desperate attempt to lock eyes on your mate as he battled.
Vaguely, you were able to see a white mass swiping and snapping its massive jaws at the giddy Fae. While you’d known Sanemi’s Wolf form was massive – larger than a horse – the Werewolf was at least two times the size of your mate when fully shifted. Each of its limbs were nearly as long as you were, and covered in thick, ropey muscle. Your vision clouded red once again and you rapidly blinked, wincing at the strain the movement made against your wound. It was getting difficult to hold your head up, the pain excruciating. A helpless cry sounded weakly from the back of your throat as you rolled over, putting your back to the savage confrontation that raged on.
A new set of snarls joined the fray, and distantly, you realized Genya must have joined the fight with his brother. Douma’s exalted peals of laughter melted into vicious snarls of his own as he fronted attacks from two opponents rather than one.
At least the young Wolf was able to do something. You’d never felt more useless than you did right then, curled pathetically against the snowy floor of the Netherwood, broken and bleeding out. But then a sudden yelp of pain tore from the fray, and you flipped over just in time to spot a mass of black fur – Genya – being sent flying back from the embattled Fae and Werewolf. Your feeble wail of despair went unanswered as Genya slammed against the base of a distant tree before thudding heavily to the forest floor. He did not move again.
Fucked; you were all fucked.
You clenched your jaw tight, clamping down on the frustrated sob building in your chest. How utterly pathetic you were, helpless to do anything but lay there in the Wood and die. Your mangled hand did little to staunch the blood spilling over your nose and your mouth, running in thick rivulets over the unharmed side of your face. The hot, coppery liquid dripped down to your opposite ear before it began to slide down your chin and throat. It would not be long before your blood would begin to pool beneath you. Bitterly, you mused how it would be just your luck that some other creature would creep out from the shadows, unable to resist the tempting smell of fresh blood and finish you off, as the demon fae and Werewolf continued their battle across the way.
Before you could fully resign to your fate as some beast’s evening meal —a fate you’d so assiduously tried to avoid before dooming not just yourself but your mate as well — a sudden burn at the juncture of your neck and shoulder erupted, sending hot flames of agony licking across your skin. You want to laugh at the relentless cruelty of your pain. It was not enough that, in the matter of two days, you had been beaten, slashed, and mauled beyond hope. No, the universe apparently thought it just to now turn your blood into flame that seared the skin where Sanemi’s mark had once been —
Your breath snagged violently in your throat. The mark.
By blood it is done, and by blood it is undone.
Your blood — fresh blood — had run and gathered right against the ruined crescent shaped mating mark that Douma had broken with his magic; magic that had used your blood to sever the link between you and Sanemi.
You coughed weakly, the blood bubbling between your lips as your skin burned hotter and hotter. But then you felt it — that familiar, honeyed warmth that began to trickle through your veins, filling in the ragged hole that had been left by the cessation in connection to your mate.
You wanted to call out to him — to Sanemi, but all that left you was a gurgled cry as the mating bond between you and the snarling Werewolf snapping at the demon fae in the distance reignited once more.
——
Everything was dark; cold. Sanemi felt as though he’d been submerged in a sea of frigid, black water that stretched endlessly around him.There was no end and no beginning to the void in which he’d plunged himself, and Sanemi couldn’t find it within himself to care; couldn’t feel much of anything, to be honest. There was no reason for him to fight; to live. The Werewolf was the manifestation of his rage — it would exact his revenge and then roam the earth without aim and without purpose, just as he deserved. He would remain there, curled into himself as he floated alone amidst the silent, dark expanse of his infinite despair. For there could be no light — no warmth — without her.
Time passed, though he did not know how much, nor did he care. He only burrowed deeper into the dark, content to ignore the distant echoes and snarls of the battle raging above the surface of this empty sea in which he drowned. Hopeless. Hopeless. It was all hopeless.
Despite the suffocating numbness of his black prison, Sanemi swore he could feel something pulling at him. He thought to ignore it, assuming it was nothing more than an echo of what once was, a phantom tug at a string tied to a future that would never be his.
And yet, the tugging grew stronger, the string tauter, demanding acknowledgment. He wanted to growl at it; to snap his teeth in warning, for he could not give it the attention it commanded. The Werewolf was in charge now, not him; the string could take it up with the beast above. Black water swelled up around him before exploding into flame, and Sanemi suddenly found himself in a sea of fire that set every nerve of his body alight. His eyelashes singed from the fire’s heat, but he could not close his eyes, could not turn away from the hot, rippling agony which now consumed him.
He shouldn’t have felt it — he hadn’t sensed any of the movements or strain of the Werewolf's battle the entire time it had blazed on, so there was no reason for him to feel such intense, blinding pain now. But he did. His traitorous heart lurched with a hope he desperately tried to stamp out; but then, above the flames roaring around him and licking at his skin, rose smoke scented with clove and juniper. The smell of home — a home he’d believed had been torn apart and devoured. The smell of her. The string at the back of his mind pulled tight, frantic and desperate, begging him to swim, to claw his way to the surface and fight. Fight for her — for himself. For them.
With a defiant roar, Sanemi tore into the inky, bottomless sea with his talons and fangs, clawing for it – for the beast. He met matted fur and began to rip fistfuls of it, ripping through flesh and sinew in great, vicious fistfuls that snarled and snapped its jaws at him. Sanemi laughed savagely as the beast bucked under the onslaught of his rage, each ruthless movement weakening the creature bit by bit.
A vicious claw ripped the darkness around him wide open, revealing a sliver of light, and trees, and the dull grayness of winter. Sanemi howled as he clambered for the opening, the beast snapping ferociously at his heels, desperate to drag him back into the dark pits of his own hell. But Sanemi did not relent; he kicked back, his foot meeting the solid mass of the beast with a sickening crunch, and the Werewolf fell away, and the Huntsman launched himself through the vale.
One moment Sanemi saw only the fire signifying his bond with his mate, and the next he was in the Netherwood, struggling against the iron-tight grip of the fae at his back, working to crush his neck with his brute force. Sanemi twisted and bucked in Douma’s sinewy arms. The brief moment of hesitation he’d had in retaking control over his own body had given the fae the opening he needed to wrench free from the hold of the Wolf’s jaws, trapping Sanemi in his own death grip as a result. The fae’s arms wound around his neck and squeezed with brutish force, twisting and jerking in an effort to crush him. Sanemi’s paws clawed uselessly at open air, unable to land any decisive blows that would give him even the slightest advantage.
It was over – it was over, and he’d failed, he’d lost, and Y/N, wherever she was, would be doomed as well once Douma finished him off –
The Fae’s death grip around Sanemi’s neck suddenly loosened as Douma began to scream in both fury and pain. Twisting away from the demon’s convulsing form, Sanemi watched as Genya, who’d launched himself from the line of trees at Douma’s back, sunk his teeth right into the fleshy juncture between the Fae’s neck and shoulder and tore one of his arms clean from his body. Before the disembodied limb could thud uselessly to the Wood’s snowy floor, Genya’s great maw closed around Douma’s newly vulnerable side and began tearing away chunks of his flesh in great, heaving mouthfuls.
Not ready to repeat his earlier mistake, Sanemi twisted quickly around and lunged for the Fae’s head. Before the demon’s howl of rage and anguish could finish cleaving the Netherwood into two, the white Wolf locked his jaws around the soft exposure of Douma’s neck and Sanemi ripped his throat wide open. Inky, black blood sprayed across the Wolf’s face and flooded his mouth with its filth. Sanemi paid little mind to the oily, rancid taste of the fae’s cursed blood as it slid down his throat and dripped from his maw. On and on he rampaged, turning the Fae into nothing more than a few nondescript piles of pulped flesh, each chunk of skin more indiscernible from the last as Douma’s carnage was strewn across the Netherwood.
Time dragged on, and while eventually Sanemi’s teeth stopped tearing at the Fae’s corpse, his claws did not. Every swipe of his paws was vicious and brutal, but even they began to dull as Sanemi continued to reduce what was left of the demon to a blood pile of rotten, shredded meat. The sharp, deadly curve of his claws gradually retreated, blunting and rounding out until his fingers and hands resembled that of a man’s, curled tight into a pair of fists that dealt alternating blow after blow into the gore that had once been the fae pinned below him. The shudder that rippled through him barely registered as Sanemi’s fur and teeth and claws gave way to scarred flesh and blood-soaked hair. The only thing on him that remained of the Wolf was its cold snarl which kept his lips curled back, his teeth, bared.
“Aniki,” his younger brother’s weak, tired voice broke through the hazy fury of his mind, but it was not enough to slow the rain of Sanemi’s fists against the shards of bone and scraps of flesh splattered across the snow. “Brother. Sanemi.” Genya’s human hand shakily reached to clasp Sanemi by the shoulder. “Brother, Y/N – s-she needs –”
A gasp tore free from the Huntsman’s throat, one bloodied, bruised fist halting midair as Sanemi’s full awareness returned to him. Y/N. His mate; his fiance. She was alive – she had to be. Otherwise, Sanemi wouldn’t have felt that string pulling him back to the bond; back to himself.
“Where,” Sanemi sat back on his haunches, chest heaving and arms shaking with exertion. “Where is she.”
The look of horror on Genya’s face nearly stopped his thundering heart cold. “Y-you don’t remember…?” His brother’s voice was drowned out by the sudden ringing in his ears as the wind howling through the Netherwood shifted. Suddenly, Sanemi became all too aware of the overpowering scent of iron clogging the air. Only this iron carried not the oily stench of the demon fae he’d helped reduce to pulp. No. This scent – this blood – was entirely too familiar; and entirely too close.
He spied paw prints – large, monstrous tracks trailing through the snow, leading right to where he and his brother had dueled with Douma. Sanemi felt leaden dread press down upon his lungs, threatening to choke him, as his eyes raked over scarlet-streaked slush, packed down into the distinct outline of his own cursed claw prints. His nostrils flared and everything within him turned to ice. There was no doubt to whom the blood belonged.
Sanemi looked up to his brother, his eyes wide and desperate. “What did I do?”
Genya’s face was the portrait of tortured devastation. Sanemi knew, as he watched his brother’s features crumple, that whatever had transpired in the time between him losing his humanity and the mating bond snapping back into place, was a hell entirely of his own making.
“What did I do?” He repeated, though whether the was pleading to his brother, to the Netherwood, or to the gods themselves, he could not say. “What did I do? What did I do?”
The panic built hot in his gut, and the Huntsman began to hyperventilate. She shouldn’t have been there; her blood shouldn’t have been smeared all over the snow, painting the winter landscape a violent crimson. But there was no mistaking it; as much as the Huntsman willed the opposite to be true, he could not change the fact that somehow, some way, this small clearing deep within the Netherwood had been coated with his mate’s blood.
And it had not been there before; not when he arrived. Not when he let the Werewolf exact his revenge.
Sanemi looked frantically around the wreckage of Wood, eyes wild as they scanned for any sign of her. There, about five meters ahead, he spotted her bloodied, unmoving form. A strangled howl of despair tore from his throat as he tried to rush for her, but Genya caught him sharply around the bicep. The boy’s face was tortured, and it only made Sanemi’s desperation increase tenfold. “Aniki — wait —“
Sanemi tore free of Genya’s grip with an anguished roar, stumbling over his legs in his haste to get to her, curled against the forest floor. He almost fell as he scrambled towards her, snow kicking up in a flurry of powder as he half ran, half-dragged himself to where she lay, limp and broken.
“Y/N!” His voice cracked, and his arms slid under her, pulling her across his lap and cradling her against his chest as he knelt in the snow. She whimpered, her hands still pressed tightly against the wounded half of her face, blood running thickly between the seams of her black and red stained fingers. Sanemi’s hands shook as they coveted hers. “Let me see,” he said hoarsely, pulling lightly. “Let me see it, Y/N.”
She did not pull her hands away entirely, instead choosing to lift them only a few millimeters; just enough that the water gray light of the winter sky should have trickled through the gaps between her fingers. But she moved them enough to reveal the oozing, bloody wound. Sanemi’s breath caught violently in his throat, and his heart stuttered to a halt in his chest. With wide-eyed and sickening dread Sanemi beheld the four, thick jagged lines of dark scarlet which had ripped his mate’s face open, shreds of her flesh hanging to the sides in blooded, torn scraps.
Where her eye should have been was nothing but a dark, gaping and bloodied hole.
At first, she seemed not to have realized the extent of what happened - of what he’d done. Her face contorted and with horror, Sanemi realized she was trying to blink, as though attempting to clear something that clouded her sight. Her right eye squinted and strained, darting wildly around until it settled on him, hunched over her.
The realization began settling over her as she tried to look to her left. “Genya?” His mate warbled, voice high. “Where are you?”
There was a beat of silence as Genya hesitated. “I’m over here, sister.”
On her left; but she could not see him. She could not see anything at all. Tears began to well in her right eye. “Sanemi,” her voice trembled with panic. “I can’t see – I c-can’t see.”
Sanemi was hyperventilating as he cradled her against his chest, her hand pressed tightly over her wounded eye as her blood seeped through her fingers.“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he said desperately, trying to tug her hand away. “It’ll heal — it has to heal.” He rocked with her against him in an effort to calm them both, his lips pressed hard against her forehead. “I’ll make it better – I promise, I will make it all better.”
Sanemi awkwardly bent his face towards her, slanting his mouth over hers. He tried to ignore the overwhelming taste of her blood as it ran over his lips, focusing instead on pushing his saliva into her mouth. “Swallow it,” he begged when he pulled away. A sob only bubbled up in her throat, and it made Sanemi’s grip on her tighten. A hand worked its way to her neck, his fingers gently massaging the sides of her throat, trying to work it open. “You have to swallow it, Y/N,” he croaked, struggling to blink away the tears clouding his vision. “You have to let me fix you.”
“Brother — we need to take her to Kocho —“
“I can fix it,” Sanemi chanted again and again. “I can fix it, I can fix her.”
“Sanemi,” the sound of his given name falling from his little brother’s mouth made him freeze. “Please, brother — she needs a doctor.”
He knew his brother was right; she’d lost far too much blood already, and his saliva didn’t seem to have any impact on healing the thick, jagged lines that curved down her face. Sanemi blanched the longer he studied her wounds — wounds he inflicted — and realized he could see the faintest trace of white beneath the flayed skin of her cheek.
Bone. He’d clawed her to the bone.
“…Let me carry you,” Sanemi’s head snapped back to meet his brother’s petrified yet determined stare.
“What?”
“Let me shift and carry you,” Genya repeated. “I can run faster, Aniki — and I don’t think — I don’t think —“ The younger Shinazugawa gulped. “I don’t think Y/N can hold herself up on your back.”
Sanemi clutched his mate tighter against him and nodded, not trusting his ability to speak without croaking. He knew his brother was right; but Sanemi also didn’t think he could stomach letting her go, even if it was to carry her home – to safety and to help. “Your tunic,” the Huntsman rasped. “Do you still have it?”
The younger Shinazugawa nodded and quickly limped toward the distant tree line where he’d shifted, a hand clutching at his side. Genya returned, the linen balled in his fists, and handed it to his brother. Sanemi quickly wrapped the cloth around his mate’s head, cooing softly at her as he coaxed her bloodied hands away from their fierce hold against her wound. He finally secured the makeshift bandage over the shredded half of her face and turned to his brother.
Genya shifted forms and crouched low in wait. Sanemi lifted Y/N in his arms, clutching herclose as he straddled his brother’s back, one arm remaining under her legs, the other bracing her back, his hand clutching tightly around bloody arm. Once settled, Genya launched into a full sprint through the Wood, darting between gnarled trees and thick brush in his haste to get them back to the den — to Shinobu. Sanemi chanced a glance down at his fiance and his stomach dropped. Beneath the angry, dark red stains of her blood drying on her skin, she’d turned sallow; ashen.
Sanemi pressed her tighter to him, his lips glued to her forehead.“I’m sorry.” He murmured against her cool, clammy skin, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
#demon slayer#sanemi shinazugawa#kinktober#kinktober 2023#kinkmas 2023#kimestu no yaiba#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#monster fucker#werewolf fucker#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi smut#kny smut#demon slayer smut
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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭
𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎
“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”
“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”
“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”
“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!”
“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.”
“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”
“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”
“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”
“We will soon see.”
You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon.
For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.
But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.
It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you.
Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner.
Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…
The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts.
PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x
As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”
From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.”
Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”
Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful.
With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.
Your first ace of the game. 15-love.
Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.
When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.
When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape.
“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.”
From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing.
The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus.
Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit.
Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”
Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”
You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.
Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve.
Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it.
With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail.
Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers.
You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.
“Match point.”
The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination.
You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it.
You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball.
As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title.
An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament.
You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side.
When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment.
You did it.
After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.
Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement.
“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”
“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.”
Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.
“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”
Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”
Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court.
But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.
Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy.
He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you.
So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.
𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎
It felt good.
Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.
A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.
“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.”
“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?”
“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–”
“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance.
“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled.
“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend.
Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.
Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.
“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”
“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”
“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table.
“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.
If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.
“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.
Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”
Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”
“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”
“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”
Art’s words rendered them both silent.
You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved.
“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”
“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”
“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”
“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”
“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.”
It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.
Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.
Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed.
Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick.
She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life.
In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.
One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.
No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives.
Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.
“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”
Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”
Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?”
It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through.
Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s.
But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you.
If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side.
“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?”
She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”
A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…”
Tashi was right—you had been everything to him.
Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.
You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.
“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.
Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours.
Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.
“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone.
To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time.
It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.
That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.
𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎
“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”
You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.
The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.
Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.
What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.
Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.
“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player.
“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze.
He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.
“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!”
“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”
You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”
“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”
“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”
“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”
Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!”
“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”
You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.
“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match.
From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time.
Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing.
As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special.
An engagement ring.
As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.
After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.
After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.
In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be.
“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”
“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question.
With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.
Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.
#challengers x reader#challengers fanfic#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig x reader#art donaldson#patrick zweig#art donaldson imagine#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig x you#art donaldson x you#challengers fanfiction#mike faist x reader#josh o connor x reader#tashi duncan#fic: guilty as sin?
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"Only if you come over" || Modern Scream (1996) one-shot
Billy Loomis x GN AFAB reader 🔞
A/N: I was wondering what Billy and/or Stu would be like in modern times, and how'd they interact over text and such, so I wrote some sexting/phone sex fun with Billy ;)
Warnings: Phone sex, sexting, description of nude pictures and videos, mentions of choking, a lot of dirty talk, Billy's a fuckboy (lol,) use of sex toy (vibrator,) reader has predetermined interests, no pronouns used flr reader, AFAB reader, unedited
Word count: 1.2k
*New text message*
Billy: Hey
You rolled your eyes when you opened the message and saw it was Billy Loomis once again.
You guys had been on and off playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. You needed to stop, but the attention and adrenaline rush was addicting. You allowed selfishness to take over you.
You weren't close to his friend group, the ones you talked to the most were Randy and Stu since they were the loudest. Plus, you were sure Stu wanted in the little game you and Billy had with each other, despite both of them being taken.
Other than casual interactions, you were just another nice classmate that was nice to talk to. Nothing else.
Except for Billy.
You were his distraction. Entertainment. He was tired of trying to fuck Sidney to be able to kill her once and for all.
He needed some release, and you provided that for him.
For you? It was basically the same, but it was an addiction that came from trying to keep your mind off your murdered friends. Casey and Steve. Instead of using drugs or drowning yourself in alcohol, you used the thrill of sex and seducing unavailable people just for that addictive rush of endorphins.
It had been about three weeks since you and Billy had any sexual contact and he was starting to crave you. He tried to get your attention by liking your posts and stories on the socials because there was no way in hell he was going to demonstrate that he needed you, but he grew tired of waiting.
You: Hey ☺️
Billy: How've you been? It's been a while...
You: Yes, it has. I've been good, hbu?
Billy: I've been missing you
There he went, with his straightforward pick up lines. You hated it and loved it all the same. You knew he was a player, but gosh did it feel good to be bad once in a while.
You: Is that so?
Billy: Yes, I can't stop thinking about your taste, how good that pussy feels around my cock...
Ugh, and you missed him too. The way he filled you up and pounded into you. You didn't want to play hard to get at, it was so fun to mess around with him and rile him up.
You: I don't believe you, Loomis. I might need some evidence.
Billy: Only if I get something in return ☺️
Such an asshole.
You: You know I play nice when I get what I want 😌
Billy: *New image*
You opened the picture and Billy was sitting on a desk chair in front of a mirror. He was shirtless, wearing grey sweatpants and you could see the outline of his hard cock. His veiny hand rested over his thigh and you couldn't help but imagine it wrapped around your neck.
Billy: How's that for evidence baby?
You: *New image*
You took a selfie of yourself sitting on the edge of the bed so your thighs looked extra thick. You had a black lace thong on with a white crop top that sat right under your nipples. It exposed your underboob perfectly and the tiniest bit of your hard buds.
Billy: Fuck, you're driving me crazy...
Billy: *New video*
He was in the same position as the picture only this time he was running his hand up and down his clothed length. You could see his cock twitching from how sensitive it was and Billy threw his head back, exposing his neck.
You felt yourself grow wet at the visual and the slight impatientness of wanting him with you was starting to grow.
You: *New video*
You ran your hand over your tits and lifted your shirt up teasingly, squeezing and pinching your nipples while releasing little moans. You knew that drove him crazy and he wouldn't be able to resist.
*Incoming call from Billy*
"Hey" you answered, your voice was soft and teasy.
"Let me hear your cute little moans baby" Billy said, his voice lower than usual.
You slid your hand between your legs and began teasing yourself, rubbing your clit in circles softly. "Mmhh... Tell me what you'd do to me right now" You replied, moaning just how he likes it.
Billy was already fucking himself agonizingly slow with his hand, panting softly. "I'd bury my face between those perfect thighs of yours and taste you while finger fucking you. Just how you like it." He replied and you whined at his description. You could feel his touch just by imagining him there doing exactly what he described.
You reached for your nightstand and grabbed your small wand vibrator from the drawer. Billy's breathing got heavier in your ear and you wished you could feel his hot breath against you.
"Mm, what if I rode your face instead? Grind against your mouth slowly..." You said and Billy chuckled, you could hear him smirking and bit your lip in response. "You know me so well." He responded and moaned at the end of his sentence.
You turned the vibrator on and ran it over your clothed center to further tease yourself and breathed heavier as the seconds went by.
Billy thrust into his hand imagining that he was pounding into you from underneath. Your favorite position. You could hear him cursing and the obscene sounds of his hand stroking his cock.
You could imagine him sitting in his room by himself in front of that mirror, fucking himself to the thought of your cunt wrapped around him.
Better yet, you envisioned yourself sitting on his cock and riding him slowly. his hands on your hips, holding you tightly as he meets your hips half way, burying his cock deep inside you.
You wanted to pull his hair and hear him groan against your skin while you bounced on him and gave him the perfect view of your tits.
Gosh you needed him to grab your neck and choke you until you felt faint and whimpered in the pleasure that asphyxiation elicits in your body.
By that point you had thrown your underwear somewhere across the room and held your vibrator against your clit.
"Fuck... Billy please, I need you so bad..." You moaned while reaching your throbbing hole with your free hand and teasing yourself with your fingers.
"Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear you baby." Billy moaned and you slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of you at a steady pace.
"You... Feel so good inside me." You whimpered and Billy groaned. He loved hearing you beg for him when he wasn't even there with you.
He was approaching his orgasm quickly. The sound of your moans were just enough to make him explode, but fuck did he want to feel you too.
"Mmm, I'm so close to cumming inside you" Billy whispered and you whined at his words. You needed to feel him release inside you so bad.
"Fuck, Billy... I'm gonna cuuum" you whined pathetically and he chuckled despite him being just as close as you.
Your legs shook as you came around your fingers with your vibrator pressed firmly against your clit. You moaned into the phone pornographically and that alone made Billy cum all over his hand.
You both breathed heavily for a brief moment before Billy spoke; "I wish you were here to clean the mess you made on me."
You scoffed playfully and replied; "You're such an asshole. I'm gonna shower, I'll text you in a bit."
"Round two?" Billy said teasingly followed by a breathy laugh.
"Only if you come over."
#billy loomis smut#billy loomis x reader#ghostface smut#ghostface x reader#ghostfacesmut#billy loomis x you#scream (1996)#stu macher smut#stu macher x billy loomis#stu matcher x reader
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Pretty Boy
Finan x Reader x Sihtric
Author’s Note: Hi! This is my very first time writing for The Last Kingdom, so please cut me some slack if the characters are a bit ooc. There simply is not enough poly stuff for these two in my humble opinion. I need to be between them both so bad. Okay, please enjoy!
As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.
Words: 0.4k — a quick one since I just wanted to get it out :)
Warnings: fluff; pet names (love, pretty boy); kissing; reader is said to have hair with braids but no description of length or color, etc; cheesy as fuck.
Summary: A cute moment spent within Sihtric and Finan's arms.
Check out my other stuff :)
———————————
“What are you thinking about?” Thick with sleep, Finan’s voice is a warm blanket.
Your head tilts to the side as you brush a leaf down his face, smiling softly as his eyes close in bliss.
“Hmm,” you hum as his eyes open and pin you with his stare, “just that you are too pretty to be real.”
His eyes widen, “‘Pretty?!’” he says in mock offense. “I am ‘pretty’ to you? That’s all?! I am a fearsome warrior, I’ll have you know!” His hands fly about as he exaggerates his words.
You can’t help but giggle at his grumbling, feeling your chest warm as he shakes his head side to side in your lap. Your fingers are quick to find the short braids Sihtric wove into the Irishman’s dark hair, the metal beads matching the ones in your and the Dane’s hair.
“Fine, fine! You aren’t pretty.”
As if it were possible, the man grows even more bewildered when you leave your sentence at that. “Excuse me!” His accent thicker than ever.
The laughter bubbles out of you, “What? You didn’t wanna be pretty!”
His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to come up with a response.
You feel the vibrations of Sihtric’s laughter against your back before you hear it. His arms squeezing you just a little tighter. “Keep tormenting him, my love. Misery looks good on him,” his words are said into your shoulder, eyes also peering down at Finan. The smile clear as day in his voice.
“You fucking heathen, you!” Finan sits up in faux rage, but you’re quick to grab his arm and pull him into your chest; smothering his face in light kisses in between your quiet laughter.
“You are the bravest, scariest, toughest, handsomest warrior to have ever walked Wessex. And I am in awe everyday to call you mine.”
The Irishman cups the crown of your head to pull you into a soft kiss. The both of you smiling through it.
You feel Sihtric nuzzle his nose into your neck after a while, “And what about me?”
You and Finan pull away from each other with a laugh.
“You, my friend, are an oaf.”
“Finan!”
He just laughs at your gentle smack against his bicep.
You rest your head back on Sihtric’s shoulder, the hand not holding onto Finan reaching up into his hair. “You are the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most fearsome,” you lightly pinch Finan as he starts to protest, “warrior, Sihtric. My pretty boy.”
He kisses the spot just below your ear, mumbling his thanks and returning your praise tenfold.
Finan tilts his head back, humming in disapproval. “You got that last bit wrong, love,” it’s Sihtric’s turn to be pulled down, “he’s our pretty boy.” Sihtric moans the second their lips connect.
The embrace between the three of you tightens as you get lost within kisses and caresses for the rest of the night.
#the last kingdom#sihtric#finan#sihtric x reader#finan x reader#sihtric x you#finan x you#finan x reader x sihtric#sihtric x reader x finan#finan x sihtric#sihtric x finan#finan the agile#sihtric kjartansson#tlk#tlk sihtric#tlk finan#tlk fanfic#sihtric fic#finan fic#my writing#my post!
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Reunited
Pairing: Leehan x reader
Length: 695 words Genre: Request, fluff
Synopsis: Due to his busy schedule, you haven't been able to see or talk much with your boyfriend. But now that he's finished with comeback promotions, Leehan and you are content to stay in the one another's space for the next 24 hours
Warnings: use of leehan's birth name, reader is lowkey obsessed w/ leehan's scent (my bad 😬), mention of reader standing on tip-toes, description of a soft make out, smelling each other
Note: i tried copying leehan's texting style but y'all be the judges of how i did. hopefully it sounds somewhat like him based off his weverse. also hoping the texts between reader & leehan make sense 🙇♂️; someone let me know if they don't & i'll edit this so it does
── ⋆⋅ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ⋅⋆ ──
You burrowed your nose further into the pillow in your grasp. The casing only carrying the faintest hint of your boyfriend's scent. You pouted, whipping your phone out from the depths of the blankets.
'The pillow doesn't smell like you anymore ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ '
'You won't need it much longer. I'll see you soon 🖤'
You sat up quickly as you read and reread Leehan's reply. Fingers hastily typing on your phone's virtual keyboard, not caring about properly spelling (thank god for autocorrect).
'REALLY?!
When?
I'll make your favorite'
'🧐
Jellies!'
'Kim Donghyun. *picture* '
You scooted yourself to your bedside, slipping off from it and into your house slippers. Making your way to the wardrobe, you pulled out a pair of bermuda shorts and one of the shirts Leehan left behind. Bringing the piece of clothing to your nose, you sighed happily. It was hard to get used to how much you missed Leehan during the boys’ comeback schedules. You began getting ready to go to the store while thinking of a proper dinner for the two of you. Deciding on mini pizzas, you then searched your kitchen; making a mental list of items to get alongside your boyfriend's gummies. Patting your pockets, you double-checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and headphones. You placed one earbud into your ear as you entered the elevator, humming as you played the music. The grocery trip was uneventful, your focus on quickly returning to your apartment. You knew from experience that the both of you would want to cuddle after reuniting which meant you needed to finish the other small chores on your list before then. Thankfully, it was only 11 am when you arrived home; you wouldn't have to rush in your cleaning. You got to work: putting away the groceries along with the clean dishes, then wiping the counters before dusting and sweeping.
"I'm home" you heard Leehan call out from where you were tidying up the bedroom. You rushed to the corridor, throwing your arms around the tall male. His own wrapped around you, the two of you enjoying the physical touch.
"I missed you" you whispered as you slightly pulled back to look at your boyfriend. Reaching for him with your tiptoes, you leaned up to kiss Leehan.
"I missed you" he replied back as he tightened his hold on you. Gesturing with your head, you motioned towards the coach with a questioning eyebrow. Leehan nodded, separating enough to grab your hand before moving to the couch. Maneuvering yourselves around, you and Leehan attached back to one another.
"Your hair's still soft," you said as you caressed his blonde hair. "I'm glad." Leehan hummed, eyes closed as your fingers went over his face. Taking advantage of your position, you plastered kisses onto his lips. Leehan reached around, holding your nape to keep you in place. He gently nipped at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You felt ticklish as Leehan's digits sometimes grazed your side. His tongue licked up into your mouth, exploring the cavity in soft earnest. There was nothing that compared to kissing Leehan. Each time felt like the first and left you lightheaded. But kisses like these were your favorite type when it came to Leehan. You enjoyed being able to just feel the love between the both of you. Languidly sucking and licking at each other's mouth, unable to get enough but not desperate for more. Running out of air, the two of you finally separated from another. You leaned your forehead onto his, breathing heavily into each other's space.
"Is this my shirt?" Leehan asked, his voice teasing despite him still catching his breath. You hid your blush by tucking yourself into Leehan's shoulder.
"I told I missed you," you mumbled with a pout. You inhaled Leehan's cologne before adding "and your scent". He laughed as he pulled you tight against him. Leehan placed a kiss onto your temple, getting a sniff of your scent for himself. The two of you got comfortable, relaxing your holds on each other.
"I missed you just as much."
#kpop#kpop x reader#kpop x poc reader#kpop x gender neutral reader#neomujinjja#kpop imagines#kpop fluff#boynextdoor x reader#boynextdoor fluff#leehan x reader#leehan fluff#bnd x reader#bnd imagines#bnd fluff#leehan imagines
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Come right on me (I mean camaraderie!) - Dick Grayson
Pairing: Dick Grayson x F!Reader
Summary: You and your teammate, Dick, hook up at a gala.
Warnings: MDNI, f!reader but there’s no descriptions, r wears makeup , P in V (unprotected. don’t do that), fingering (r receiving), praise, light breeding kink, seemingly unrequited feelings, talks about cumming in you but that does not happen, kinda exhibitionsistic? pet names (pretty girl, baby)
WC: 1,582
AN: Yes he has his wallet on him during a gala at his own house. Don’t ask me why, ask him 🤷🏻♀️ as always any and all feedback is appreciated!! fellow floridians pls stay safe 🙏🏻
~
You try to quiet down your moans but you’re mostly unsuccessful even as Dick puts his hand over your mouth and shushes you.
“You gotta stay quiet, pretty girl. Don’t want anyone hearing you, do you?” He asks sardonically.
Bruce Wayne was throwing another gala, this time at Wayne Manor. Deciding he didn’t want to suffer through the event alone, Dick had invited some of the Titans, which in turn made the rest of the bats ask if their friends/teammates could also come and so the hall was filled with almost as many heroes as there were civilians.
As you’d never been to a gala, you decided to ask Steph and Cass for advice on what to wear and how to do your hair and makeup. It turned into a full blown makeover. You felt confident; your makeup, courtesy of Steph, was flawless, and the dress they helped you pick out paired well with your complexion. You thought you looked gorgeous and, evidently, you weren’t the only one.
You and Dick had known each other for a long time. You’d always had a crush on him, even when he was Robin, and when you saw him become Nightwing and grow into his own, your feelings only became stronger. There was always this energy between you two. Your teammates had pointed it out but you were too shy to bring it up, too scared of changing your dynamic. Despite this, you couldn’t resist him when you ran into each other in the hallway on the way to the ballroom, his eyes raking up and down your figure before pulling you into the nearby bathroom and setting you on the counter.
“Dick!” Your muffled moan filled the room.
“Baby,” he shushed you again, “We’re so close to the party. Can’t have you moaning so loud for me. Maybe I should stop?” He asks as he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting your g-spot while his thumb rubs your clit. You shake your head, whimpering against his hand. If he stopped, you think you might actually cry.
“I’ll stay quiet,” You told him once he removed his hand from your mouth. “Promise.”
“Oh, you promise?” He asked with a smirk, adding another finger as they slammed back into your pussy. You tried to muffle your moaned yes by biting your lip.
“We’ll see if you can keep that promise while you’re bouncing on my cock.” He kissed you as he pulled his fingers out of your pussy. Your kisses grew hotter as you moved from his mouth down to his neck, mindful of where you sucked on his skin, not wanting to leave visible marks. Your hands slid down his body, feeling his hot skin even through his buttoned shirt. They found his belt, swiftly unblocking and unbuttoning before sliding in to cup at his length. You felt more than heard his reaction, his chest jumping as his breath hitched from the sensation. You smiled against his collarbone. For all that you loved his teasing you really wanted to see him lose control; make him moan and whimper and tell him he had to be quiet, all while working him harder.
Before you could try that though, he turned you around and bent you over the counter. His lips found your neck as he pushed his pants down and started grinding his length against you.
“God, look at you,” he put his hand under chin to face your reflection. “Beautiful.”
His praise brought heat to your cheeks as you made eye contact with your reflection. You looked like a mess, truly; your once perfect hair now ruffled, your lipstick and your eyeliner smudged. Worth it, though.
“Dick,” you moaned softly, and you could see approval in his eyes. There was also a spark of something else, something he usually got during training or an actual fight. “I need you.”
He left one last kiss to your neck before pulling away. He pulled his wallet from his pants and, after rummaging through it, let out a quiet fuck.
“What?” You asked him.
“I don’t have a condom.” He ran his hand through his hair.
Now. You recognize what you say next is slightly dumb. You also have no regrets. Because Dick Grayson had finally kissed you, finally touched you, after you’d wanted and waited for something like this to happen. So, yeah. No regrets.
“That’s okay.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours.
“What?”
“It’s okay. We can do it without a condom,” You say, now feeling awkward in your still bent-over position. “If you want to, obviously. You can just pull out.”
“Seriously?” He said, astonished. He moved back toward his previous position, standing behind you, looking at you through the mirror.
“Yeah.” You breathed out. “Just, pull out.”
“I’ll pull out.” He said. Then he started touching you again, slower this time, a little softer.
“Dick, please.” Your begging brought a smirk to his face. His hands trailed from your hips, down to your thighs, then up to your heat, spreading your wetness from your hole to your clit.
“So needy,” he said softly, moving to press a kiss against your neck, “so desperate.” His fingers started moving faster against your clit as he started grinding against you. “Remember to stay quiet, baby.”
His hands pulled away from you to grab his dick, moving it along your slit to lube himself up some more before pressing the head against your pussy. You squirmed as he asked you ready? and when you moaned out a needy yes is when he finally pushed into you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling almost completely out of you before pushing back in, “you’re so tight.” He squeezed your hips in an attempt to ground himself before he thrusted his hips again.
“So warm. You feel so good. Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you raw.” His pace quickened as he watched his dick slide in and out of your pussy.
“Dick-” You moaned aloud.
“What did I say about being loud?” His eyes connected now with yours in the mirror as he picked up his pace.
“Can’t help it.” You whimpered, “feels too good.” He adopted a smile as your words hit him.
“I know, pretty girl,” he cooed, “maybe this’ll help.” He said before shoving his fingers into your mouth.
You could taste yourself on his fingers and you moaned as you stared at him through the mirror. He bent down, chest against your back to drive his hips into yours harder.
“Fuck I know. Feels so good, baby. Can feel all of you. So fucking wet.” His eyes moved back down to watch as his dick slid in and out of you. “So pretty. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He was babbling now, encouraged by your moans that were not at all muffled by his fingers. You both gave up on that, too caught up in the feeling of one another.
“God, you’re squeezing my dick so hard. So desperate for me. Wanting me to fuck you without a condom.” He groaned. “Bet you’d let me come in you.” You let out a moan, pussy clenching hard on his length. His hips stuttered at the feeling.
“Fuck, you would, wouldn’t you?” He laughed breathlessly as he started thrusting again, his free hand now moving to rub at your clit. “You’d let me come in you. Knock you up?”
Of all the times you’d dreamt of being with him, you’d never imagined this.
“Yes, Dick,” You whimpered, as he pulled his finger out of your mouth, both at his words and the tightening you felt as you came close to cumming. “Fuck, yes!”
Feeling your walls tightening around him, he applied more pressure to your clit, coaxing your orgasm out of you. He let out a moan as he pulled out of you, jerking his cock in his fist before cumming over your slit. He rested his head against your neck as you panted, his chest pressing against your back grounding you.
“You alright?” He pressed a kiss against your shoulder, moving to grab a hand towel when you nodded. He ran it under warm water, wringing it out before cleaning you up. He paused when you let out a hiss.
“Sorry.” You stood up as he finished, now facing him, “Just.. you’re big.” He chuckled as your face warmed. His hand came up to fix the straps of your dress, then smooth down the fabric where it crumpled. You looked at each other, both of you trying to find words to say, wanting to talk about what just happened. Dick’s phone went off before either of you had the chance to speak up.
“It’s Wally,” he said, reading the notification on his phone, “he’s asking where we are.”
“Okay.” You said before gesturing to your appearance, “I just need to clean myself up. I’ll meet you there?” His shoulders fell slightly before he nodded. He opened the bathroom door and checked the hallway before waving you out. You parted ways; him going to the ballroom and you going back to Steph’s room. You stayed there longer than you needed to, thinking of your time in the bathroom and what it meant now for you and Dick.
When you finally entered the ballroom, the first time that night, no one seemed suspicious. You were seemingly in the clear. You just hoped that no one had been in that hallway. And that the Supers had stayed in Metropolis tonight.
~
AN: I’ve had this in my drafts for a while (it’s actually been in my drafts since August 27 I checked) but I never knew what to write for it but now that I’ve started writing smut I finally finished this so. Here it is lol. I did have this idea come to me in the middle of writing my kinktober week 2 fic lol anyway
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The Fall from the Heavens (39)
[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: description of character death, childbirth, anxiety, sex content, smut, angst, breeding kink ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
What he had done and the death of his grandfather, although it filled him with sadness, eased the tension between Dragonstone and the Red Keep to some extent. Something of a ceasefire was to last until his wife gave birth to his child.
He was horrified at how much depended on this.
To his despair, Harrenhal, although in his mind it was supposed to be a place of their solace and rest, had become a neutral fortress, with members of both the Black and Green factions arriving there.
Neither Daemon nor his mother had any intention of leaving until the matter was resolved once and for all, but they did not say so out loud. Daemon focused on searching for Larys Strong and burning nearby villages, while his mother tried to support his wife through the hardships of expecting his offspring.
Her lower abdomen swelled from his inheritance more and more each day, her breasts grew fuller, her hips wider.
Before his eyes she was changing, becoming even more feminine.
Although the maester's indications were different, in the privacy of his chamber they made love to each other, unable to maintain restraint in this aspect.
He did not dare to be aggressive or violent towards her, treating her body as if it were a temple; his fingers, as he pressed his naked body against her back, lying on his side with her, made sure that she would be all wet and moist before he put his erection, aching with desire, into her.
Once he was sure her body would accept him with ease, he lifted her soft thigh gently, allowing her hand to direct the head of his cock into her slit. His free hand clamped down on her full, plump, soft breast as with a slow, unhurried thrust he opened her lazily on his swollen length, moaning with her in delight.
"– yes –" She breathed out, clasping her hands on his arms that embraced her, rocking her hips, trying to find a rhythm with him and force him to accelerate.
"– no, sweet girl – we're only going to tease this little cunt – we can't hurt the baby –" He whispered in her ear, placing sticky, hot kisses on her neck and shoulders, leaving wet marks behind as his hard manhood opened her slick, fleshy walls again and again with the soft, deep stabs of his hips.
She shook her head, her breath heavy at the thought that he might take it out of her when it felt so good, when he was filling her insides so wonderfully again, thirsting for his closeness.
"– please – please, husband, inside me –" She mumbled out, tilting her head back with a sigh of euphoria as his thumb pressed hard on her puffy nipple, teasing it between his fingers. Her core clenched greedily on his erection, sucking it in, making him involuntarily speed up.
"– fuck –" He exhaled, feeling his will to slide out of her move away from him with each faster, sharper thrust. He gave up when he heard the loud clicks of her wetness as he began to pound into her with all his strength, panting hard along with her, chasing his fulfilment.
"– is this what you want? – you're carrying my baby, and you already want another? – hm? –" He hissed, driving his fingers into her wonderfully soft, hot breast. She squirmed at his words, grabbing his hair from behind, responding with movements of her hips to his thrusts, soaking his cock wet.
"– yes –" She mumbled out, already thinking with her weeping cunt rather than her sober mind.
"– fucking beg – beg your uncle –" He growled, tightening his hand around her neck, careful not to overdo it though. She moaned loudly, her leaking, hot walls giving his throbbing erection a thirsty, quick squeeze.
"– please – p-please, uncle, oh gods – oh gods, oh gods –" She babbled as he felt her wetness run down her thighs with her fulfilment, his hand stroking her swollen abdomen before he sighed heavily in relief, his warm spend filling her insides again.
"– Rhaenys –" He muttered, letting go of her neck, snuggling her back into him, placing loud, hot kisses on her neck. He felt her jump up suddenly, excited, and she grabbed his hand quickly, placing it on her stomach.
"– can you feel it, uncle? – here –" She gasped, and indeed, he seemed to feel movement under her skin, and then again and again.
He blinked, breathing loudly through his mouth, and smiled involuntarily, feeling warmth in his heart at the thought that their child lived deep inside her, safe and sound.
Their little dragon.
"– yes – yes, I can feel it –" He whispered, pressing his cheek against hers, looking at their entwined hands.
"– our child has sensed our excitement –" She said with amusement, and he hummed at her words, placing a lazy, soft kiss on her shoulder.
With each week, the baby in her womb made her more and more uncomfortable – her ankles swelled from even a short walk, she was dying once from the heat and once from the cold.
He felt helpless knowing that everything she was experiencing was on her shoulders, and there was nothing he could do to relieve her even for a moment.
As her husband, he made sure that every evening there was a tub of warm or cold water waiting for her, depending on her mood, sitting by her side and stroking her hair as she lay in the bath with her eyes closed, trying to relax. Before bed, he massaged her back, calves and feet, wanting to ease her pain a little.
"– ah! –" She hissed, trying to get away from his knuckles that were digging into her spine. "– not so hard! – it hurts –"
"– I have to do it hard – otherwise it won't have any effect –" He replied, pulling her back to him, putting as much force into his massage as he saw fit. She quivered in his embrace, begging him to stop, and when he finally finished, she sighed in relief as she felt the tension leave her muscles.
"– better? –" He asked, and she nodded wordlessly.
The only comfortable sleeping position for her was lying on her side, so he embraced her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and their child.
Although the presence of her father and brother, as well as his mother, drove him mad, on the other hand, he felt safer because of them, knowing that he was not watching over their safety alone.
A few months earlier he had not believed it possible, but he and his niece were once again conversing with each other as they had when they were children: frankly and directly, sometimes leading to arguments and anger which, however, quickly passed and they fell asleep each evening in a tender embrace.
The knowledge that he shared everything he was experiencing with her, the weight of the future, the weight of his inheritance, the weight of the crown made him have the strength to bear it.
He could finally see a meaning in it all, as if at last the gods had revealed to him the purpose of his life.
The being growing in her womb fascinated him more and more – he could lie for hours with his cheek nestled against her belly swollen from his heritage, kissing her warm skin, her fingers playing with strands of his hair.
The thing that excited him most was the fact that his baby moved often or kicked hearing his voice.
"You don't let your mother sleep at night. You squirm terribly." He murmured and smiled involuntarily when he felt the little creature twist inside her.
Increasingly, he wondered, had his father cuddled in this way with his mother's body when she carried him under her heart? Or did that honour accrue only to Aemma?
He felt a cold sweat on his back thinking about his wife's grandmother and what had happened to her.
He promised himself that he would save his niece's life even if it meant the death of his child.
He preferred to live through his grief and beget another than lose her again.
Daemon, unable to bear being in the same fortress with his mother, gave himself completely to the search for Lord Strong and, to everyone's surprise, he found him where no one expected him to be: in King's Landing.
He didn't know who had reported this to his uncle, but he assumed that the women in the brothels were his eyes and ears: he had received word that Larys Strong was hiding in one of the ports and wanted to get out of Westeros by ship in one of the empty wine barrels, to disappear forever in Essos and never be found.
Daemon was quicker, and although his original plan was different, he liked the vision of having his head impaled on a spike. The rest of his body was thrown into the river, while he took the part from the neck upwards with him only to throw it under his wife's feet.
"He lived like a rat and died like a rat." He said.
Then, to her despair, he ordered his head to be stuck on a spike above the walls of Harrenhal to welcome all comers, warning them to know what would befall those who threatened his children.
Although he felt regret and shame that he was not the one who had caught him, he was immensely relieved to know that everything had returned to some point from which their family could begin again.
He didn't believe he could ever forgive Luke and didn't want to see him: all he wanted was for him to rule in Driftmark, beget his bastard children and not appear before his face.
The thought of Jace inheriting Dragonstone filled him with frustration, however, he knew that this compromise for everyone was bittersweet, and he had to swallow his deep sip in silence.
What he had written to her about in his letter had come true.
Each of them had to sacrifice something.
What bothered him was that the closer it got to the childbirth, the more his wife became silent and thoughtful, closing herself off in her mind.
He knew this was not a good sign.
"What are you thinking about?" He asked sitting down next to her on the bed, pulling her out of her reverie. She blinked and shook her head, stroking her swollen lower abdomen.
"About nothing." She whispered.
"I want to know." He said impatiently, and she sighed heavily. She pressed her lips together, as if she was embarrassed by what she was about to say.
"My body will never be the same again after… after this." She confessed, and he blinked, completely not understanding what she meant.
"I do not follow."
She closed her eyes, impatient and distraught, tightening her fingers on her nightgown.
"My body after I give birth. My stomach, my thighs, my breasts. They will never be the same again. I'll probably have scars, my skin won't be as firm, it will be…"
"Do you really want to speak with me about scars? About irreversible changes?" He asked roughly, and she lowered her head, her eyes red from tears of shame.
"I told you it was nothing." She muttered in a trembling voice, not looking at him.
He pressed his lips together, feeling a discomfort in his stomach, knowing that he had reacted inappropriately and this was not what he meant. He sighed, considering for a moment whether or not to do it, and then decided it was the only way.
He reached into his left eye and grasped the sapphire that had been inserted into his eye socket, then took it out, for the first time in the presence of another person.
He turned his face towards her, but her gaze was fixed on her hands.
"Look at me." He said softly.
She lifted her eyes to his and froze, surprised, her lips parted involuntarily.
"– Aemond –"
"– do you consider me disgusting? – unworthy of your love? – would you betray me and my trust by what you now see before you? –" He asked, and she shook her head quickly, her breath heavy.
"– no – no, of course not, my love – I –"
"– do you think I'm looking at every part of your body making sure it doesn't change? – that I believe that though I grow old, you will be forever young? – do you count the scars I have on my body? – do you pay attention to them, think about them when you make love to me? –" He continued to ask, tears one after another running down her cheeks. She looked at him pleadingly, shaking her head.
"– no –" She mumbled out with difficulty.
"– so why do you judge me so unfairly? – because I am a man and you are a woman? – you think you're beautiful because you're young? – you're beautiful because you're mine – because you smile at the sight of me, because your bare body is warm and moist for me, because your breasts and hips are soft when I dig my fingers into them –" He whispered, placing his hand on her knee, sliding it down to her thigh.
She looked at him with big eyes in silence, quivering, listening to him in complete silence, wiping her tears from her face flushed with emotion.
"– those are beautiful words – you moved me deeply –"
"– I love you –" He said without thinking and nodded his head as if admitting to himself that he was right. "– as you put it – it's not love like in poems – it's something painfully real –"
Although he thought they still had a few more days, the delivery took them by surprise, and his wife simply collapsed one morning as her servants were helping her dress, a loud, surprised moan leaving her lips.
"– Aemond – Aemond, g-gods, it has begun –" She cried.
He called Alys, his mother and the servants to help her immediately, not knowing what he was supposed to do himself, her face flooded with tears, the terror in her eyes that made him helpless.
She was suffering, and he could not help her.
"– leave, my Prince –" Alys ordered, and he nodded, watching her with a look of defiance.
"– she is to survive –"
The Witch of Harrenhal grinned, understanding what he meant.
As in his dream, he, Daemon and Jace were left alone in the other chamber that belonged to him, adjacent to the one where his wife lay. He covered his face with his hands, hearing her cries clearly, her screams and moans, feeling himself tremble all over, his heart in his throat.
His niece tried to bring his offspring into the world in pain, suffering for him and his cause, and he could only sit and wait.
"– childbirth – a nightmare for wives and husbands – drink, nephew –" Daemon said in a bored, tired voice, himself visibly tense, handing him a cup of wine, which he did not, however, take from him. His uncle laughed under his breath.
"– you are as stubborn as your mother –"
He did not answer, staring dully ahead.
He was afraid, hearing her whines, that his dream would become reality, and the thought that he might lose her once again made him feel a terrifying emptiness in his mind.
He frowned when the sounds suddenly stopped, involuntarily glancing at Daemon. He was horrified to see that his uncle had also turned pale, looking towards the door, knowing that this was either a very good or very bad sign.
"What's happening?" He muttered finally, feeling like he was about to explode.
"Don't panic." Daemon answered him, licking his lower lip quickly.
Everyone jumped in their seats as the door to the chamber opened suddenly – his mother stepped inside, and they all stood up, pale and terrified.
The Queen smiled.
"You have a son."
"And her?"
"She is well. You can see her."
He rushed out of the chamber, panting heavily, and opened the door to the quarters where his wife lay. He only breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her face – she was all red and sweaty, her cheeks swollen from tears of exertion and emotion, strands of her beautiful dark hair stuck to her face.
She smiled at the sight of him in a way from which he felt like crying, only after a moment noticing the small creature wrapped in a white cloth writhing in her embrace.
He walked closer to them, feeling himself quivering all over, sitting down on the bed beside her, looking in disbelief at his inheritance, their shared effort, their shared hope.
"He has your beautiful hair. Your mother is pleased." She said, exhausted and amused. He embraced her and pressed her to his chest, kissing her fragrant hair with tenderness again and again, not knowing how else he would show her what he felt.
The fact that they had a son pleased him, but the real relief for him was that she had endured the labour so well.
He swallowed loudly and only then did he look more carefully at his son, touching his fingertips to his hand, which had clenched into a fist on his finger.
"– see? – he recognises his father –" She murmured softly, rocking the white-haired infant before placing a soft, warm kiss on its small forehead. Their son squirmed and yawned, opening his eyelids for a moment.
He felt hot at the thought that his son had her eyes.
"– what shall we name him? –" His wife asked, snapping him out of his reverie, laying her head on his shoulder. He mused for a moment, stroking her neck.
"– Viserys – as the man who betrothed us –"
#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond x wife#aemond x niece#aemond x female#aemond x female character#aemond angst#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond fanfic#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fic#hotd smut#hotd angst#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan michtell fanfic#ewan mitchell fic
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By moonlight
Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader
Part one, Part two- Oaths
Summery: Things are tense with the Uruks and especially their Lord father but you make a decision.
Shorter but more ADAR. There will be more parts as things heat up with our Lord
When you were taken to their Lord Farther, a part of you assumed he'd be...more orcish? Before your kneeling form was what at first glance someone you'd assume your kin. Pointed ears and a tall broad form. Long onyx hair slicked back with stray strands framing alabaster skin. That skin seemed to be the only thing that set him apart from any elven man. It was marred with scarred flesh from his cheeks up past his temple. In fact the same pits and valleys stretched down his neck and bellow midnight armor.
You met his eyes, pale green as new growth. The Uruk Lord kept your gaze, challenging your claim as he shifted closer to you. His body seemed to follow after his head, smooth and graceful but predatory. Then his eyes closed and he took a sharp intake of breath. You were certain then that you would die here in the mud. Your heart felt like it would burst from its cage but you wouldn't close your eyes. You'd face what was to come, shivering and fearful as you were.
Before he could speak or draw his blade you heard a clamor from further down the tunnel. Raised voices, clattering and then Thrak stumbled past the corner. He scrambled in his turn, fists in the muck to change his direction before he slamming against your side at speed. You gasped, just able to keep your balance, as his little arms encircled you, pulling you into a tight hug.
"Lord Father!" He cried, breathless from his flight. "Please if I could explain!"
More Uruk rounded after him, scowling at him before dropping their heads in reverence to their Lord.
"Sorry Lord Father, we'll take this one back with the other little 'uns." An Uruk spoke as he entered the space.
Thrak dug in tighter his hair tickling at your throat. You tried your best to return his embrace but with your hands still bound the best you managed was resting your chin on his head.
"No." Their Lord said, his voice far softer than before. He moved in close now, dropping to his knee to meet Thraks eyes. "I wish to hear what you have to say my child."
"It was man who attacked us, not her! She killed them, burnt the one who burnt us!" Thrak rambled on, jumping up from your side to imitate sword slashing. He continued his descriptions of your heroism till his Lord raised a hand. Still on his knee he moved his gaze to the Uruk captain, brow set low.
"One rescues our youngest, keeps them safe from harm and returns them to our hands... and they are brought to me in chains?" He rasped, his low tone taking a sharp edge. The Uruk behind you shift. You could hear them stammering for a response.
"Release her!" Their Lord snaps voice just barely raising from a whisper but it's effect is immediate. Thrak stands straight and the captain is at your wrists immediately. The manacles snap open and you feel their weight pulled away from you. The Uruk doesn't meet your eyes, grabbing the length of chain and hurrying away out of your line of sight.
You rubbed your wrist before a large pale hand reached to you. You paused a moment to consider the Uruk's Lord before placing your uninjured hand in his. He rose, letting you use his hand to pull yourself up gracefully with him. He withdrew quickly, passing to a group of large rocks he offered you a seat.
The other Uruk made their exit, tugging Thrak along. He made to protest but a glance from his Lord made him comply. You felt increasingly tense as the atmosphere of the room shifted. Without Thrak again a fear returned and tightened your throat.
If the Lord Father notice he made no show of it. Instead just running his gauntlet clad hand over a map on a small table. He picked up a roll of fabric, unwinding some. He hummed, a deep and throaty sound that reverberated through your skull.
"You truly have my thanks..." His deep voice scratched. "However I am regretful that your kindness won't be repaid."
"I did not do what I did for reward..." You began but stopped when you met his gaze again. There was solemn look across his features that set your hairs on end.
"Adar, that is my name. And I fear you do not catch my meaning. This..." He said with a wave to the walls. "Is a sanctuary for my Uruks. I will not have it known."
He turned back to you, the sudden movement causing you to jolt to your feet. The Uruk Captain still had your sword and Adar stood between you and the tunnels. Your eyes scanned but fell upon nothing that would aid you.
"Be at ease mellon." Adar spoke. You surmised the elvish was for your benefit. Despite his appearance it seemed an ill fit for his tongue.
"What will become of me, friend." You asked hoping the shake in your body didn't affect the clarity of your voice. Adar stepped back across the room to you. You stood taller, though you still had to lift your head to meet his gaze as he came in close.
"For now, you will stay here. I'm sure the little ones would appreciate your company again." He said. Adar's voice was so calm and sure, the gentle rasp soothing. His hands took your injured one, gently binding your wound. You felt in this moment you could trust his honesty.
...
The Elleth remained at the tents far behind the front of the tunnels. Adar was surprised she'd accepted her imprisonment so easily. He supposed she wasn't quiet a prisoner. Her body was free of chains and she hadn't even swore to him. She came and went from the children and through the tunnels. Though he'd instructed Glüg to shadow her. Still she never strayed beyond his eyesight, even when she'd go into the sunlight beyond his grasp.
She had some skill with herbs and had been diligently caring for the baby she'd taken in. Adar couldn't deny the sight of an Uruk baby in her arms stirred something old and forgotten in him. He wondered how it might feel to have her hands caress his own face but shook himself from such imaginings.
She seemed as happy here as she could be anywhere else. Though Adar did wonder why she was so content. He'd shared few words with her over the last month but even so she'd made no mention of her own. Nor had he spied any ill will on her part, tending to the children with the utmost care. He often found her with Glügs expecting mate and the other women. Normally with one or more still sat in her lap as she listened to them talk.
Adar left the tents, walking past his children with a nod. He had been called forward to the front of the dig. They'd hit the first of the villages some weeks back and now had many new hands to work. The most troublesome were elven guards. They're faces were a far cry from hers. Drawn into scowls and curling lips.
...
You followed after Adar. A part of you screamed at yourself, to let sleeping dogs lie. A curious voice was louder still, risking rocking the boat for an answer you weren't even sure you wanted.
Why the tunnel?
You'd spent so much time passing through that it was little surprise that the Uruks paid you no mind. You smiled and greeted as you normally did and received the grunts and nods as usual. Whilst you'd grown a nicer reputation amongst many, you understood their stoicism. It wasn't too long ago they'd have been at war with Elves. What was a thousand years when that much blood had been spilled.
You slowed your approach when you heard Adar's voice ahead. Every time it sent the same chills through you. After so many weeks you'd hoped you could keep focus around him but alas you slipped up. You weren't even sure what he'd noticed but you saw him glance to you.
You tore your eyes from him and finally noticed the scene ahead. An Uruk, the Captain, lay still on the ground. His blackened blood pooled against the dirt, his face serene as in sleep. Then to the left an Ellon, dark skinned, cropped hair, the fair face of his kin set in barely hidden rage.
You watched as the elven man was taken away, the chains that bound him taken. He left your sight into the daylight beyond the tents edge. There you spied more chain, leading to more who dug into the earth.
"Don't lurk Andúnë." Adar called, his back still to you.
You flushed at his little nickname despite its frequent use. A jest to your kind not being known to have come so far west. It meant sunset in the language of men. You fought past the feelings it stirred in you and stepped into the sun beams the broken tent let past.
"The chains?" You asked, your eloquent words dying on your tongue. You wanted to say more but you could see Adar understood. His slumped shoulders rolling back as he straightened out.
"A necessary precaution." Adar grunted. You kept your eyes on him, his profile lit by the golden light. "We lost more than just Magrot."
You followed his eyes to the captain again, letting them rest on him as you lost yourself in thoughts. War and death had been so far from your kin's land, further still in the depths of the caves.
"Why would they...?" You began but felt your throat close around the sounds. You didn't cry but you felt if you kept staring any longer you'd break your mask soon. You turned your face away and met Adar's. He'd stepped closer, within reach of you now. A part of you still feared what he might do and a tear broke free. It slid down your cheek as your heart beat faster and faster.
"Andúnë..." He all but whispered. "My children have long been foes to most. That is why we must make a home for ourselves."
"I was born in the deep forest, where your world was just a story." You said not moving as he took another step closer. You took your eyes from his, looking to your hand. The scar was new, still wine dark against the surrounding skin. You ran your thumb against it until your hand was taken.
You suppressed a gasp as Adar held your palm between his rough hand and gauntlet. His thumb brushed the mark with a reverence that had your heart jump to your throat. Your fear seemed to slip away all at once and your cheeks flushed.
"You are not bound to stay Andúnë." He rasped, pale green eyes rising to meet your own.
"I know." You answered, placing your other hand over his.
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Your drunken foolishness – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 4/?)
Chapter four, here we go! Finally we have some smut going on! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?
Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), lots of tension, descriptions of violence, Aaron is a jerk in this
Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.3k words)
Profiling 101 Series Masterlist
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five
She woke with a quiet groan rumbling through her, eyes pressed together, trying to distract herself from her pounding headache. It took (y/n) a few moments to realise where she was, and who was laying next to her, still fast asleep. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the gloomy morning, to the features of Aaron Hotchner, not used to seeing him this relaxed.
(Y/n) almost cursed herself for being this stupid, for asking him to stay when she had disturbed his evening, too drunk to realise what she was doing. But now, as she was laying there next to him, with his arm protectively placed over her middle, no curse managed to leave her, somewhat grateful for the confidence her drunken mind had focused on.
“I can feel you staring.” Aaron’s rough morning voice reverberated through the room, leaving (y/n) chuckling as a soft “Sorry” rolled off her tongue. He opened his eyes, slowly, almost carefully as if he wasn’t sure how to react to their closeness. Their eyes held contact, waiting until either one looked away, and yet neither of them did.
Her hand started moving before she could stop herself from cupping his warm cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard pressing against her fingertips. A hum left Aaron as (y/n) stroked his skin, wondering how she’d ever be able to pull away from the man her heart was longing for. Perhaps it was the calmness of the moment, perhaps it was the fact that for the first time in months Aaron didn’t feel the need to frown, to listen to his racing thoughts, whatever it was, (y/n) couldn’t help but thank her lucky stars for it as he finally closed the gap between them.
The kiss was hesitant at first, giving one another the chance to pull away, to put an end to this before things could escalate, but neither Aaron nor (y/n) wanted to end this. He shuffled around, laying flat on his back, with (y/n) pulled on top of him. Their lips kept meeting, allowing the kiss to grow deeper as their bodies guided them, urged on by their longings.
A whimper left her as her clothed heat met his growing bulge, making them groan in desperation, needing to cling to whatever the other wanted and could offer. Her hands started moving down his upper body, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch, but Aaron didn’t stop her, allowing her to find her way to his sweatpants.
“Can I?” She murmured her words against his slightly swollen lips, waiting for him to speak up, to allow her to touch him or to pull back. It took Aaron a few moments to speak up, murmuring a soft “Go ahead, sweetheart” that left her heart skipping beats. Her hands trembled as she freed his cock, unable to stop her breath from hitching in her chest as she slowly wrapped her fingers around his twitching length.
No words left either one of them as she shuffled further down his legs, giving herself enough room to lean down, tongue meeting his red tip. A groan ripped through Aaron as he pushed his head further into the pillow, veiny hands resting on her thighs. She was spurred on by the sinful sounds leaving him, lips parted to take as much of him as she could.
The sight of him would forever race through her mind, his dark hair slightly dishevelled, his lips bruised from their kisses, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow. It was a sight she’d dream of, a sight she’d think back to whenever she’d have to take care of her longings, hand buried between her thighs, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck, feels so good, you’re doing so well, sweetheart.” His praises left (y/n) grinning, hallowing her cheeks as she tried to take even more of him, with tears instantly welling up in her eyes. Aaron couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over her features, trying to memorise every single inch, thanking whoever was listening for pushing her into his grasp.
One of her hands let go of his cock to slide up his upper body, disappearing underneath his shirt. The feeling of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, while his cock twitched in her mouth, left (y/n) trembling with pride, clinging to the thought of being the only one who was able to make Aaron Hotchner feel whatever he was now guided by.
“I should have known your chatty mouth would be my death. I‘m close, baby.” Their eyes met as he tugged on her forearm, pulling her hand from his shirt to interlace their fingers. The moment had something almost sweet to it, forcing her to bob her head even faster, pushing Aaron over the edge with a moan clawing through him. His cum filled her cheeks, allowing (y/n) to properly taste him as she swallowed every drop.
With a shaky breath exhaled she rose from her position, squealing in surprise as Aaron pulled her closer, flipping her down onto the mattress. Their lips met for a bruising kiss, a kiss that forced (y/n)’s hands to move, finding their way around his neck, trying to pull him even closer. His lips kissed their way down her neck, hands tugging on the hemline of her shirt, wanting to pull it over her head just as the sound of his phone going off ripped them apart.
She didn’t miss the sigh leaving him as he reached for his phone, features instantly shifting back to the all too familiar frown she was more than used to by now. Suddenly the air around them began to shift, as if Aaron had been ripped out of a daydream, once again forced to face the life he had wanted to escape from. With her fingertips stroking up and down his arm, feeling his muscles beneath them just like she had done moments ago, (y/n) kept on watching him.
“There’s a new case waiting.” No longer was his voice sweet, no longer did it carry the same adoration it had carried moments ago. “Should I drive you home?”
She didn’t manage to hide her expression of surprise as the question left Aaron, not expecting him to push her away that quickly, secretly hoping that he’d invite her to join him once again. (Y/n) found herself getting lost in his pupils for a few more seconds before she cleared her throat, only shaking her head with a small “No, thank you” leaving her.
……
Ever since that morning at Aaron’s place, (y/n)’s heart had been aching, torn between the pain his sudden switch of emotions had inflicted upon her and between the harshness of her thoughts, reminding her that he didn’t owe her a thing, that he had been in no obligation to tug her along. But now, as she was sitting in her usual spot, watching him present a new case, (y/n) couldn’t help but direct her anger at the frowning man. She felt his eyes on her at any given chance, and yet she avoided his gaze at any cost, not daring to meet his eyes once.
“Can anybody tell me what you can pick up from these pictures?” All eyes were drawn to the projected pictures, bloody pictures, cruel pictures that would need a heavy trigger warning in any other context. And yet a few gasps still filled the room, sounds that carried the disgust thumping through some of the students' systems. Even (y/n) had to heavily swallow, staring at the first picture that was taken in what appeared to be a slaughter house, showing blood covering the ground, followed by a second picture showing the beheaded body of a male victim, placed down in a completely different spot.
“The victim was clearly beheaded.” A student called out, forcing a sigh out of Aaron as he stared the guy down, murmuring something under his breath neither (y/n) nor any other student could pick up on.
“Let's go into the details, the pictures are filled with clues you should be able to pick up on by now.” His voice carried boredom, disappointment almost, eyes searching through the rows till he found (y/n)’s frame once again. For the first time since the start of this class almost an hour ago, she dared to look at him, watching his eyebrows furry, wordlessly daring her to speak up.
“It seems as if he was dragged out of the first place, taking into consideration the clear escalation of the murder, it appears to be something personal, perhaps it was about money, or about love. The slaughterhouse must have been either the victim or the unsub’s workplace, which adds another personal layer. Did they find the head?” (Y/n)’s voice boomed through the room, all students had their focus on her, speaking about details that perfectly fit into the profile. Aaron wore a proud smile on his lips, a rather unusual burst of happiness none of the other students had ever expected to tug on the man’s features.
“Yes, the unsub had forced his way into another man’s house, he left it there.” Once again the room was filled with silence, big eyes staring at the professor who couldn’t help but curse himself for building this class, already fed up with those that couldn’t follow some basic instructions. “I want you all to write a three page essay about what these pictures and the details I’ve uploaded can tell you, build a profile, don’t hesitate to add as many details as you can think of. As always, you’ll have time till Friday to upload your homework. Have a good week.”
Chatter suddenly filled the room, words and voices (y/n) didn’t spare any attention to, eyes still focused on Aaron, who kept looking at her. For a few seconds neither of them moved, till he nodded his head towards the hallway, wordlessly asking (y/n) to meet him outside. She moved slowly, taking her time to pack her bag, leaving him waiting outside with a massive wave of students suddenly passing by the tall professor.
“Come, let's go to my office.” He didn’t give her a choice, Aaron had started walking before (y/n) could either deny or accept the invitation, forced to keep up with his long strides, pushing past students who stared at him with either adoration or fright laced in their gazes. Only as they stepped into his quiet office did the two finally manage to let go of the tension clinging to their bodies.
(Y/n) didn’t dare move, she watched him place his folders down, watched him pour two cups of coffee, placing hers down on his desk. Aaron pointed to the chair close to his, the one she had been sitting in days ago, dark eyes wandering up and down her frame as she slowly moved closer, taking her seat.
“What am I doing here, professor?” A sigh left Aaron at the use of his title, not used to her voice sounding this cold and distanced. His hand rubbed his tired features before he took a sip of his coffee, eyes not leaving hers once.
“Please, it’s Aaron when it's just us,” a sigh left him. “I am sorry for not taking you with me that day. But, as you heard just now, the case is quite brutal. I didn’t know what was expecting us, so I didn’t want to drag you along before knowing what it was about.” A humourless laugh left (y/n), head being shaked as she straightened her posture, keeping her gaze as cold as her voice.
“It’s not about that, and you know that, Aaron. It’s about you pushing me away, about making me feel like I was just there for you to use, and after you had enough you let go. I couldn’t care less about you not wanting to take me with you to the BAU, even though you know just as well as I do that I am more competent than any other student trying to get into the FBI.” His features grew hard once again, matching the way she now talked to him, no longer trying to ease the hurt his actions had clearly pushed upon her.
“Let me make something clear, (y/n).” She almost flinched at the harsh tone of his voice, not used to him using this very coldness to address her, not even matching their first few interactions. “You’re my student, nothing more. Yes, you are by far more competent than the others in the Profiling 101 class, but that’s all. Seeing you outside of class and the BAU was a mistake, but that is on you and your drunk foolishness. I shouldn’t have touched you, and I apologise for crossing that line.”
An almost eerie silence engulfed the two, quiet moments (y/n) used to bite down her tears, the angry sobs threatening to break through her. She cleared her throat, reached for her bag and rose from the chair. Wordlessly she stared down on the frowning man, and with a shake of her head she murmured a sharp “Fuck you, Aaron.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, body forcing her to stumble out of his office with tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision as (y/n) forced herself to keep walking, chasing the once again growing distance between her and Aaron Hotchner.
#Aaron Hotchner imagine#profiling 101#Aaron Hotchner x reader#Aaron Hotchner smut#criminal minds imagine
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First Word - Rooster
Pairing: Rooster / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)
Word Count: 0.7k
Warnings: One Suggestive Comment at the End; Unnamed Biological Daughter; Second Person POV ("You"), Female Reader but No Physical Descriptions of Reader or Daughter, No Y/N
This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.
Summary: You and Rooster make a bet about your daughter's first word.
Master List
Getting your daughter to speak had been an interesting experience in the Bradshaw house.
“Dada. C’mon, sweetie, say Da-Da,” Bradley cooed to your daughter.
Instead of repeating the phrase, like Rooster desperately wanted, your daughter merely let out a giggle in response to her dad’s antics. She clapped her hands together and stared up at her father with an adoring smile as drool dribbled down her chin.
“Da-Da,” Bradley annunciated again.
“You’ll never get her to say Dada like that,” you commented, looking on with amusement.
“That’s what you think. But when she says Dada before Mama, you’ll be so jealous,” Bradley replied, sending you a wink. “C’mon, honey. Da-Da.”
Your daughter opened her mouth and Rooster smiled, expecting the word ‘Dada’ to come tumbling out. But instead, she just burped. You let out a laugh and shook your head.
“That sounded so close to Dada from over here,” you joked at your husband’s expense.
“Very funny,” Rooster sighed, shooting you a look.
“M . . .” your daughter started to mumble. You and Rooster stopped and stared at your daughter with surprise, waiting to hear if she would finish the word. “M . . .”
“Ma-Ma. Go on, sweetie. Ma-Ma,” you encouraged softly, leaning in closer to your daughter.
“M . . .” you daughter repeated, bouncing in place.
You smirked over at your husband as you folded your arms over your chest. He pouted at your daughter, who laughed when she caught his expression.
“You might as well give up now, Bradshaw, she’s obviously going to say ‘Mama’ before she says ‘Dada’,” you stated confidently, tilting your chin up.
“The bet was for the full word, Bradshaw,” Rooster shot back at you.
You and Rooster made a small, harmless bet about your daughter’s first word. The winner got to pick the ‘punishment’ for the other, but you both agreed nothing too crazy. If you won, you would more than likely just made Rooster do some chores you didn’t want to do. And if Rooster won . . . well, you would have to make sure that your daughter was blissfully unaware in the other room.
“Can you say Mama?” you cooed, trying to encourage your daughter.
“M . . . m . . .” your daughter continued to mumble.
“Da-Da,” Rooster cooed instead, trying to get your daughter back on the ‘Dada’ train. “C’mon, say Da-Da for me. Da-Da.”
But your daughter didn’t seem to want to listen to either of you.
So, you put her down for a nap and went to each lunch. Working together to clean up the house and chatting about your plans for the week, you and Rooster looked up at the same time when the baby monitor went off about an hour later. The two of you made your way to the nursery to get your daughter up for the afternoon.
She was already standing up in her crib by the time that you arrived, bouncing excitedly as she waited to be picked up. Rooster scooped her out of her crib and pressed a series of kisses to her chubby cheek that made her squeal.
“And how did my beautiful princess sleep?” Rooster asked, resting her on his hip.
“Da,” your daughter gurgled instead.
“No, no,” you tried to shush your daughter, but Rooster quickly turned her away from you.
“Can you say ‘Dada’ for me, honey?” he cooed, keeping you at arm’s length.
“Dada!” your daughter exclaimed a moment later.
And just like that, the bet was sealed. Rooster won. And your daughter betrayed you.
“You were supposed to say ‘Mama,’ sweetie,” you whined, cupping your daughter’s cheeks with your hands. “I carry you for nine months and this is how you repay me?”
“Dada!” your daughter giggled in response.
“That’s right, sweetie,” Rooster laughed, pressing a kiss to her head. “And you said your first word!”
Rooster and you, even though you were still a little disappointed, congratulated your daughter and clapped for her. You daughter laughed and clapped in that dramatic baby way that got both you and Rooster to coo and give her kisses in celebration.
“Well, I believe that I won the bet,” Rooster told you smugly, adjusting your daughter in his arms.
“I suppose you did,” you huffed, still a bit of a sore loser. “What did you want then?”
“How about some . . .” Rooster covered your daughter’s ear and pulled her other ear to his chest to block her hearing. “. . . Mommy and Daddy time?”
“Perv,” you joked, shaking your head at your husband.
#rooster x wife!reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#top gun: maverick#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#top gun#rooster fanfic#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw fic#rooster x reader#rooster x you#tgm#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley rooster bradshaw x you
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Past Experience
Requested by Anonymous
Pairing: Homelander x reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Characters: Homelander, Y/N
A/N: MENTIONS PAST SEXUAL ASSAULT BY EX-PARTNER. If you're not comfortable, please don't read. Feel free to message me if you need to.
Description: Y/N has had very bad experiences with their ex-partner in the past, which has had a knock-on effect on their life. When Homelander and Y/N begin to become intimate, Y/N pulls away and confides in him.
He was always confused when you abruptly stopped kissing him when things began getting heated. Still, he never pressed the issue, honouring your wishes.
You used to be the most outgoing and confident person in the past, so full of life and passion until the one horrible night that changed your life forever. You were totally and completely in love with him; you thought he was the one, but you were sorely mistaken. He took advantage of you when you pleaded with him not to, that you didn't want it, but he didn't listen. He just kept going and left you in a crumpled mess on your bed, unable to move or contemplate what had just happened. That night completely broke you, and it took forever to build yourself back up again.
Everything changed, though, when you met Homelander. He made you feel safe and comforted, like nothing or nobody would hurt you again. At first, you kept him at arm's length. You hadn't been in a relationship with anyone since it happened, but he slowly broke down your defences and told you how much he cared for you through his words and actions. No matter how close you got, you never told him about what happened. You didn't want it to taint how he saw you.
You had been together for just over two years and still had not been very intimate. You knew how confusing this could be to him, but you could never bring yourself to tell Homelander the reason why. That was until you were both in the bedroom, him on top of you, kissing your neck, his hands beginning to roam your body, when images from that night washed over your memory. You pushed Homelander off, gasping for air with tears in your eyes.
Worry washed over Homelander's face as he watched the scene unfold. He gathered you in his arms, whispered soothing words into your ear and pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. Once you had calmed down, he manoeuvred the both of you so he was facing you, his eyes boring into yours.
"Y/n, what happened just now?" You moved your head down and fixated your gaze on the bed, your fingers fiddling with the covers, not wanting to meet his eyes again. His hand moved from your cheek to underneath your chin, and you tilted your head to meet his eyes again. "Please, Y/N, tell me. I want to know. Is it me? Do I scare you? I promise what I do out there is done by a completely different person; it's all for show. I won't ever hurt you."
Tears flowed down your cheeks as he finished what he was saying and shook your head. You couldn't believe he was blaming himself for your actions. He was the sweetest and most caring person with you; you never once thought that he would hurt you like you have been. A pang of hurt and regret exploded in your chest that you hadn't told him about what had happened sooner; you never wanted him to blame himself for the lack of intimacy you gave.
You looked at him through teary eyes and touched his cheek. He leaned into it and smiled, placing his hand on yours. "It's nothing to do with you; it's all me. I have never been scared of you, nor will I ever be. I know you would never hurt me." He took your other hand and rubbed soothing circles into the skin. "So, what's the matter, Y/N? Please tell me so I can help you."
As you looked into his eyes, you knew he would never blame you for what happened; you knew you could trust him. "Before we met, I-I was with this guy. I-I thought he w-was the one. He u-used my f-feelings f-for him, and…he…assaulted me. H-he r-r-raped m-me." You burst into tears as the memories you had tried so hard to keep hidden blurted into your mind once again.
"Oh my god! Y/N, I'm so sorry, I never knew." He gathered you in his arms and cradled you, letting you exhaust all of your emotions before continuing. "Why did you never tell me? If I knew, I never would have thought of touching you like that." You looked up at him, eyes still sparkling with tears.
"I never wanted you to know. I didn't want you to picture me as broken, someone tainted. I wanted you to see me as the person I was before that happened; that is the real me. What happened utterly broke me; I became a shell of who I was, but you, my darling, have helped me build my confidence again."
He shook his head, placing both his hands on your cheeks, before laying down on the bed, bringing you with him, and holding you close to his chest. "You are not broken, my love; you are the most perfect person I have ever met, and nothing will change my mind. I promise nothing like that will ever happen to you again."
You captured his lips in a slow kiss, silently thanking him for his sweet words. "Thank you for accepting me, knowing what happened." "You never need to thank me for anything. I do need you to tell me something, though." You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?" "Where does this fucker live so I can kill him?"
#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander imagine#homelander fanfiction#homelander angst#the boys#the boys imagine#the boys fanfiction#the boys fluff#the boys angst
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Things Aren’t Always What They Seem and Sometimes They Are
Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x padawan!reader
Summary: You’re Anakin’s padawan and after your master has a close call you develop nightmares of his death. Every time you close your eyes you see it, so you decided staying awake is the best way to keep your mind at ease and keep your master safe.
Warnings: Angst, fluff, platonic relationship, crying, nightmares, reader uses she/her pronouns, small mention of blood, reader has at least shoulder length hair, description of throwing up, description of death, light description of head being cut off, detailing insomnia, I made my own cw battle, I think that’s it let me know if I missed anything
A/N: I just needed this. Either Anakin can be used, but both Anakin’s are the same to me. Also readers nickname is stub btw due to her stubborn nature(gimme Ik). In this storyline Ahsoka is Kenobi’s padawan, but Anakin still uses Snips for Ahsoka since they’re still always around each other due to Ahsoka being readers best friend and Kenobi also always being around. This is also longer than I planned, sorry.
No.
No, no, no, no, NO!
This is not happening. This is not happening! It’s impossible, he’s survived far worse than this, right? A building exploding with him still inside it was a piece of cake when it came to my master. So why isn’t he answering his comm, and why can’t I feel him?! His force signature is gone!
He’s dead.
That’s why I can’t feel him. Everything around me was basically nonexistent to me, all I could focus on was the rubble in front of me that had my master trapped. He couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t be, and I refuse to believe that he is. I wanted to go search for him, to help get him out of there because he needs me, but I couldn’t move and all I could hear was my heart beating loudly in my ears. Until a louder noise snapped me out of it.
“COMMANDER!!!” Rex yelled as he grasped me by my shoulders and was roughly shaking me, which snapped me out of my shock. “Commander the tank lifters are here to remove the debris.”
“Hurry, Rex.” After Rex leaves to go give the orders I turn back to the rubble as I tried to dig deeper into the force to try and sense my master’s force signature. I came up empty handed until I felt a pull towards the other side of the destroyed building. I followed it until I heard a voice. Dooku. I know that slimy voice from anywhere. I hurriedly hid behind a large rock, that I could tell used to be a wall, as I listened to Dooku’s conversation.
“And you’ve found nothing?” Dooku voiced to a battle droid.
“Nothing. We’ve looked everywhere.”
“Hmm” Dooku wasn’t so sure, Skywalker wasn’t easily terminated, how ironic it would be for him to be taken out by a simple explosion. He closed his eyes to focus on any life signature, but the only ones he found were weak and they were all similar in some way, confirming they were just feeble clones. And he was about to call this a success until he felt a stronger force signature, and it wasn’t under the rubble, definitely a Jedi. Dooku opened his eyes and looked to his right, looking straight at the stone you were hiding behind, but before he could act his holoprojector went off. “Yes master?”
“Return to your castle, I have more important matters for you to tend to.” A blue tented hooded figure spoke.“Now.” The hooded figure quickly added sensing the hesitation his apprentice gave off.
“Yes, master.” The holoprojector cut off and Dooku called for all the battle droids to fall back, and they left taking their victory. And their victory? The termination of Anakin Skywalker.
I quickly ducked behind the destroyed wall before Dooku could see me, even though I was certain he could feel me. But to my luck he was called away, I waited for the last separatist ship to fly away and that’s when I left my hiding spot. I started looking around the same area Dooku was to try to find any sign of my master, but there was none. A sickly feeling washed over me, I was close to letting the breakfast I had this morning back up, but was able to keep it down. Though I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up with tears.
“Master?” I whispered fearfully, my voice not able to speak any louder without cracking.
“Master.” I said a little louder, as the tears started rolling over at this point.
“MASTER! WHERE ARE YOU??!!!” I finally screamed, the tears are now unstoppable and so were the sobs. The cries broke free. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and soon found that my legs were not able to hold my weight anymore as I dropped to my knees. The pain from the rubble that was made up of stone and metal went unnoticed. Bracing my hands against the ground to keep myself up and grounded as much as I could. I started pleading to the force to give Anakin a few more strings of luck, so he could make it out of this alive. So caught up in my own pain, I didn’t even hear the stones moving to my far left, let alone the foot steps.
After Anakin no longer felt Dooku’s presence and when he was sure he wasn’t coming back he used the force to move the destroyed stones that were surrounding him and some of his troops away from them. And they started climbing their way out from the rubble. After he made it out and helped some of his men out as well he looked around making sure there was no danger as he was catching his breath. When he looked to his right, he spotted his padawan. His padawan who‘s supposed to be on the other side of the explosion sight. What is she doing here?! Dooku and his droids could’ve seen her and he wouldn’t of been able to get out from under the rubble in time. It’s like she does the complete opposite of what he says, to stress him out on purpose. He sighed and started his walk over to his padawan, and when he did he seen and heard the predicament she was in. She was crying? Why is she crying? He wondered if she was injured. She was clutching her hands to her chest, which made him worry even more. He hurried to her side, and as he dropped down next to her, he grasped her shoulders, turning her towards him to look her over.
“What is it? Where are you hurt?” Anakin’s heart was racing at this point as he panicked. All he knew is he needed to help her, but his padawan on the other hand had a different reaction upon seeing him. Regardless of his efforts to get her up she wasn’t moving, and she heard nothing he was saying. All she could do was stare. Her master was alive? How? His force signature was gone and that only means one thing. Death. So how was it her master was kneeling in front of her trying to make sure she was okay? For the second time that day she had to be shook harshly to snap her out of her shock. But it still did no good to help her understand what was going on.
“(Y/n)! What’s wrong?” Silence.
“(Y/n), talk to me!”
“Master?” Was all that she could whisper out.
“Where are you hurt? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.
“You’re alive.”
“Wha-? Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The building- I mean you were still inside. Your signature was gone.” Having to explain what she thought happened only brought the tears back, unable to stomach the loss of her master, someone who’s like a father to her, and the closest she would get to having one. The thought of losing him was unbearable, and not to mention against the Jedi code. Attachment was forbidden, and she knew her attachment to Anakin was way more than it should be. She threw herself into him, much to Anakin’s shock. Her face buried in his neck, with her arms wrapped around it as well, as she let the rest of her tears out.
Anakin’s heart broke at the sound of her sobs, they sounded so broken. The original plan was to plant the bombs and get out of there which you were able to do successfully and get to the extraction point unscathed, but the separatists knew about their plan and next thing he knew hundreds of battle droids blocked them in. He was able to keep the ceiling from crushing him and his men around him, and was able to cloak his signature from Dooku. And that meant from everyone else as well, so he could see how that might have scared you. Wrapping his arms around his padawan, he made sure to keep a firm comforting grip, letting her know that he was here and not going anywhere. She cried harder at his promise, she could feel it, he was telling the truth.
𝟺 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛:
It’s been 4 months since the incident, 4 months since I believed my master was dead, 4 months since I’ve had a good nights rest. Ever since the Battle of Aravion I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes my darkest fears come to life. So I do my best to stay awake as long as I can. Some would say that’s unhealthy or dangerous with me fighting in a war and all, but I’m doing fine . . . .mostly.
“Hellooo, Coruscant to Stubs.” I hear my master say as he comes into my line of sight, snapping his fingers in front of my face which I turns snaps me out of my daydream. “You with me?”
“Sorry, Master. What were you saying?” Shaking my head to clear and focus my thoughts.
“I said if you don’t focus you’re going to get stunned, and I’m sure you don’t want that to happen, right?”
“No, master. I’m sorry, master.”
“Sorry?” Anakin mumbled to himself, you never say sorry to anyone even when you are, unless it’s in front of the council or something, you show your apologies more so with actions, not words. And there’s usually a snappy comeback by now. What’s going on with you?
“It’s fine, what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” I’ve might’ve said that a little too quickly. Oops.
“Stub, I know you. What’s wrong?” Anakin knows how to get me to crack. It’s just something about his soft voice that makes me feel like he could fix whatever’s going on with me. No matter how big or small. But not this time, my problems will go away on their own. I just hadn’t got the incident through my system is all. After all, part of becoming a Jedi is being able to let go of your personal feelings, and that’s not something that you can’t rely on people for, it’s a matter of you.
“There’s nothing wrong, I was just wondering when our next mission would be. We never stay here at the temple for very long. I guess I’m just a little anxious.”
“Yeah, I was like that too at the beginning of the war, but I just learned to relax whenever I’m given a peaceful moment. It keeps your head clear and it helps keep you balance.”
“I will try.” I took a deep breath as I turned away from my master and walked back to the where the 501 boys were waiting. I got into my starting position, lighting my lightsabers. I had to focus, that was the only way to get Anakin to believe me, so I had to last my usual time or he would know something was definitely up. I gave Rex a nod, letting him know that I was ready. He gave the signal, and for the next three minutes it was going well. Until I was hit in the back, then everything went dark.
BOOM!!!
I groan as I sit myself up. I must’ve been stunned about 5 or 6 times, my body isn’t usually this stiff after waking up due to growing a tolerance. But wait a minute. Stun shots don’t sound like explosions. I quickly stood up to scan my surroundings only to see I was in the middle of a battle field. I must’ve been hit with a blaster shot, but I didn’t feel any pain besides the stiffness. How did we get onto a battle field, we were just in a training room a few minutes ago.
BOOM!!!
I turned towards the front and could see nothing but fog. I lit my saber and started deflecting the blast that were coming my way. Maybe they couldn’t wait on me to wake up. What was the mission again? Wait. My master would never leave me behind, regardless of the mission, unless it was safer somehow. So where is he? I looked around again and heard a groan this time. I turned to my right to see a trooper. I quickly ran to help in any way I could.
“Trooper! Are you ok?!”
“I’m fine as I can be commander.” He groans.
“What battle is this? What was the mission?”
He coughs harshly. So harsh blood comes up. “The plan was to blow the factory. Groan. I suspect the others have made it there already.” He cuts himself off due to coughing more.
“Help will be here soon trooper stay awake.” I tried comforting him as I squeezed his hand. Trying to keep my emotions at bay.
“They knew we were coming. Gasp. We didn’t stand a chance. But you insisted we go on with the plan. General Skywalker agreed, trusting your judgment. Gasp. Half of us were wiped out. You walked us to our death.” All of a sudden the comms in his helmet we��re getting louder. I heard the screams of the troopers in pain. The yells of orders being thrown out by Rex. The explosion that seemed closer than it should’ve been in the comm, like it was right next to that poor trooper that was unlucky enough to get hit. I back down towards the trooper I was comforting only to see he was deadly still. And I knew he was. His eyes were staring straight up towards the sky. Like he embraced the call of death on his life. I heard the sobs and even looked around to see where they were coming from, but they were coming from me. I did this, all this was my fault. This was my mission, the troops were following my orders, I lead them to their deaths knowing it was a trap to begin with. I hurriedly stood up and started running forward. I moves as fast as I could until I could see the building and could hear the explosions more clear. I ran until I got to the front of the lines using my saber to block incoming blasts, and thankfully as always Rex was there.
“Rex!”
“Commander, you’re alright!”
“Yes. Where’s General Skywalker?!” I had to yell for him to be able to hear me over the sounds of battle.
“He went to set the bombs, he should be back by now.”
“I’ll go help!” But I was stopped, a hand gripping my arm.
“The bombs are about to detonate any second!”
“Anakin is still in there!”
“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t let you go in!” After that statement the building collapsed in a fiery blaze. We were far enough away to feel nothing but the strong wind the explosion put off.
“Rex, hurry and get the tank lifters here. I’m going to find Anakin.” And I took off regardless of Rex’s yells. I made it to the blast sight, but upon arrival Dooku and his mindless droids were there. I hid behind a large rock when I was struck with a hard case of deja vu. This has happened before, maybe the first time was just a vision. The force letting me know everything was going to be ok. I peaked around the corner seeing Dooku talking through a holoprojector to a cloaked figure. After their conversation ended, Dooku ordered all the droids to load up and evacuate. After he left I ran to where I was last time waiting for my master to unmask his signature. When he did I hurried to that area and helped with moving the debris that was around them. After getting him and the troops out safely I walked to my master to check and see if he was ok.
“Master, how are you feeling?” I was a lot calmer then last time, a little too calm. But he’s fine maybe for once things will actually go our way.
“I feel fine, but where were you stubs. We could’ve used your help.” He was out of breath, but still managed to be sarcastic. He was fine. I let out a light laugh.
“Come on master, let’s get you back to the transports so we can get you checked for any brain damage. Well, more than usual.” I smirk and turned to walk off, but felt he wasn’t following, so I turned only to see him standing really stiff.
“Master, what’s wrong?” I was so close to him. My hands were on his shoulders just in case he might fall. Suddenly, a red light pierced through my masters chest and would’ve passed through the top of my head if I hadn’t of moved just in time. Only to realize it wasn’t just a light, it was a lightsaber!
“NO!!!”
As my master dropped to the ground Dooku was standing right there over him. The color of his lightsaber reflecting on his wrinkled face. I paid him no attention though, I ran to my master hoping by some miracle he was still breathing. I lifted him up and moved myself behind him, so he could lean on me, hoping it would give him some kind of comfort. But maybe it was just to comfort myself.
“Master! Master, get up! Get up!” I was trying to pull him up, help him stand, so we could get out of here, but the only response my master gave was falling to the side, hitting the ground. “No! Master, get up. No, no, no, no. Let’s go. Please, let’s go.” Rows of heavy tears rolled down my closed eyes as I was sitting on my knees praying that this wouldn’t be true. I grabbed my masters ungloved hand, still warm though it has only been a couple minutes since it happened. It felt like hours. Dooku didn’t even have the courage to give my master a fighting chance. What coward stabs someone in the back, and calls it a honorable victory. Falling forward, I hugged my masters dead body as I sobbed so loud the stars could hear me across galaxies. My voice coming out in squeaks as I try to tell him how sorry I am, how sorry I was of failing him, how I didn’t see Dooku coming, hoping he would believe me, or at least hear me in the afterlife.
“Feeble child.” Hearing his voice only made me angry. I gripped my sabers and ignited them, quickly turning around striking Dooku down where he stood. And of course he was able to keep himself up, all he did was drop to his knees. But what I planned next no one could walk away from. I slowly stood, and walked towards him tauntingly, I wanted him to know what was coming. Before he could even attempt at grabbing his saber, I made sure to cut through his useless hands. I then lifted my sabers, crossing them at his neck as I looked him in the eyes, pulling my sabers apart. The body dropped and I watched as the severed ball rolled in the opposite direction. I looked down and seen a red lightsaber, but it wasn’t Dooku’s. I looked over to my other saber seeing that they were identical. The red I was seeing was coming from my lightsabers, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. And unbeknownst to me, my eyes reflected the damage I’ve done as well. A piercing yellow with red rimings, the eyes of a sith.
I gasped as I quickly sat up, looking around. I was able to slow my heart enough and calm my raging brain to notice I was in my room. How’d I get here? Was everything that just happened a dream? There’s was only one way to find out, find Anakin. Fearfully, I got up and walked out of my room, cautiously but quickly searching for my master, too riled and unfocused to use the force. I walked straight across the hallway to his quarters and knocked. It went unanswered, taking it upon myself to open the door, only to find he wasn’t there. Everything left untouched his messy bed from yesterday still in the same state it was, saying he’ll fix it later. I took off to the training room, still nothing. Then to the cafeteria. Nothing. At this point I was starting to worry. I didn’t want the grand masters to see me like this knowing they would sense my fear and unease, but this was Anakin, I’ll risk it. I went to the council room, also empty. This sickly feeling washed over me, and I ran to the closest bathroom. Passing Obi-Wan and Anakin padawan in the process.
“Stub?”
“I thought you said she was resting?” Obi-Wan crossed his arms at his former padawan’s ability to keep up with his own padawan.
“She was. Why is she up this late?” He mumbled, his confused frown deepening as well. Even if she was up, why was she running through the halls? Either her and Ahsoka were sneaking around in the pantries again or something was wrong. Without so much as a warning to Obi-Wan, Anakin took off to follow his padawan. He caught up to her only to see her burst into the women’s restroom.
“She had to use the bathroom.” Obi-Wan stated the obvious.
“Why not just use the one in her room? I think somethings wrong master. She’s been acting strange lately.”
“Anakin, your padawan is your responsibility. You should know why she’s been acting differently.” He scolds.
“I know that, Master. But-”
“But what?”
“She usually comes to me when she’s ready, so I don’t push it.”
“Anything could be going on with her Anakin, whether she wants to or not it’s your job to find out what’s causing her trouble.”
“That’ll just push her further away. I know Stubs, if I push to hard it’ll just delay the progress of her telling me. I know because I’m the same way.”
“You’ve never been that way with me.”
“That’s because I knew you years before I even became your padawan. Stubs and I are only a year in.”
“And you both are already so much alike that you would think the two of you share the same brain.” Anakin rolled his eyes at his masters comment and walked up to the women’s bathroom door, but when he did he could sense waves of fear going through you. He almost walked into the room, turning towards Obi-Wan seeing if he would stop him. It’s not like anyone else was in there, they only felt her.
“I’ll keep watch to make sure nobody else goes in. Go.” Anakin nods, closing his eyes as he walked into the bathroom just in case you were actually using it.
“Stub?” He calls out softly, his voice echoing throughout the walls. His only reply though was the sound of soft gagging. “Stubs?!” He called again this time his eyes are open as he ran and found the stall you were in. It wasn’t even locked. He found you on your knees, head above the toilet dry heaving into it, while also trying to catch your breath. He went to get some paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, then came back to keep your hair out of your face. Once he was sure you were done, he knelt down in front of you and turned you towards him, brushing your hair behind your ears to keep it out the way and started cleaning your face. He was worried, yes, but he knew you didn’t needed him playing 20 questions right now.
“Can you stand?” He spoked as softly as he could.
The whole time you didn’t know who was helping you, you barely noticed someone was there helping you at all. But when your eyes focused as you looked up, a small gasp came from you.
“Master.” A sense of deja vu washed over him.
“Are you able to get up?” He started to panic because tears started rolling over your cheeks. He was about to ask what was wrong but your body slamming into his stopped him, again. Confused? Way more than he was before. Worried? Even more so. Anakin maneuvered you so he was able to pick you up, and carry you out of the bathroom, simultaneously throwing away the paper towels. The door opened and he came face to face with Obi-Wan. Who only gave him a ‘take my advice’ kind of look. Receiving a tired sigh from Anakin.
“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow Master. Good night.” To which Kenobi responded back with a good night of his own.
He made his way back to your room as he constantly looked down at you to check and make sure you were ok. Your eyes were barley open, you looked exhausted, as your head laid in his chest. You should be, he wondered how long it was going to take you to break after not sleeping for months. He was hoping his heartbeat would’ve put you to sleep by now. He knew you thought you were keeping it a well kept secret. That’s the whole reason you both haven’t been on a mission yet, he asked the council to give the both of you a few days off, refusing to let you put yourself in anymore unnecessary danger. He was surprised the council agreed, chalking it up to Obi-Wan putting in a word for him. He could’ve just banned you from coming on missions until you told him what was wrong, but that would’ve just made you retreat and hide your restlessness better. This was the best choice. Making it to your room, the door slid open, and he gently laid you down on your bed. He was about to let you rest and get to the bottom of this in the morning, but your hand quickly grabbed his, keeping him from leaving.
“Don’t go.” You whimpered, breaking his heart of what felt like the thousandth time that night. He complied and released a heavy sigh.
“You have to tell me what’s going on with you Stubs. I’ve given you enough time to figure this all out and tell me what’s going on, but this has gone to far.” He kept his voice low to let her know he wasn’t upset with her just worried. You sat up regardless of him trying to lay you back down but true to your nickname, you’re just stubborn. He stayed where he was kneeling in front of you, letting you have the height of the conversation, physically and metaphorically.
I couldn’t look him in the eye knowing that I would start crying again.
“I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” Trying to play it off as nothing.
“Yeah. One among the many for the past few months, right?” That caused me to lift my head involuntarily. How did he know?
“How-“
“Look Stubs, I understand what it’s like to have constant nightmares, ok? I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me about them.” He chuckled, an unamused one with a confused frown on his face.
Looking back down towards my bare feet, trying to keep the tears at bay. But failing at that too, a breathless sob breaks out.
“I just- I just don’t understand why they keep coming back! I mean I’m starting to think-” I cut myself off not wanting to speak into existence. Instead, I shoved my face into my hands. I’m not sure I can keep going with these nightmares, they keep getting worse.
“You’re starting to the think they’re visions.” To which I nodded to. “Are they the same dream or is it a different one every time?”
“It’s a different one ever time, but they always have the same outcome. You said you’ve had nightmares before. How did you stop them?
“Tell you what, if I tell you about my dreams, will you feel comfortable enough to tell me about yours?” Anakin didn’t like sharing his past with anybody, but for the sake of getting his padawan to trust him completely, he would do anything. You gave him a nod, to which he nodded back.
“It wasn’t that long ago actually. It was around the very beginning of the clone wars. They were about my mother.”
“Master-“
“And how she died. I didn’t understand it at the time, but they weren’t nightmares. They were visions.”
“I’m sorry, master.”
“I’m not telling you this so you could feel sorry for me. I told you so you would understand when things like this happen you should talk about it to someone not hold it in, because one day you might be able to save a life.”
“But if it is a vision. . .I fail.”
“Not all visions are set in stone. And they can be almost impossible to understand by yourself.” As he explains he reaches out to gently grab her hands giving them a gentle squeeze.
“They’re about you.” Going back to looking down at my feet.
“What about me?”
“You die. And I’m always to slow to save you.” Looking up to see his expression, he doesn’t look scared if anything he looks amused. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask confused.
“Is it ok if I see it?”
“How can you do that?”
“Easy. Hold still.” After he says that his hands move to the side of my head, our eyes closed , and our foreheads laying on one another’s as he searches for the memories. When he finds them they suck him in deep, so deep he has to take a deep breath to keep himself grounded. Your fear, your pain, your anger. But right before he pulled away, he was able to see where they all started. Guilt flooded through him. He didn’t realize how much he scared you. He pulled away and moved to sit next to you on the bed. He paused for a moment trying to figure out the best way to reassure you.
“Listen, Stubs. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sorry I frightened you. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I was afraid. Everything I was feeling, everything I am feeling is forbidden for a Jedi to feel. And I didn’t want you to look at me any different.” I replied, looking the opposite way shamefully.
“Stub. I am the last person to judge you. I have your back, just like I’m sure you have mine. Whatever I can do to help you, I will do. But I can promise you, I’m not going anywhere. And you don’t have to be scared of that happening anytime soon, or at all for that matter. Understand?”
“Yes, master.” Not giving him time to reply. I threw myself into his side, wrapping my arms tightly around him. He returned the gesture, pulling me into him even more.
“Bed time.” He pulled away, lightly pushing me to lay down, and pulled the blanket over me.
“Master? When’s our next mission?”
“We don’t have any, and we won’t until you’re well rested.”
“Huh?”
“Oh yeah, you don’t know. We won’t be completing any assignments for a while. I requested to take some time off, due to my padawan deciding it’s ok to go into battles with little to no sleep.” He smirked knowingly.
“You knew.”
“Of course I did. Now get some sleep, please.” He replied as he turned to leave.
“Master?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
His playful smirked turned into a soft smile. “Good night, Stubs.”
“Good night, master.” I responded as I laid down already half asleep, ready to catch up on all the months that were missed.
A/N: The longest fic I’ve completed, but it had to be done🫡. Proofread, just let me know if I missed an error, I hope you guys enjooyyy.
#star wars x reader#star wars fanfiction#sw anakin#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x you#anakin x reader#anakin skywalker x padawan!reader#anakin skywalker#anakin fanfiction#star wars anakin#clone wars anakin#the clone wars fanfiction#anakin skywalker x platonic!reader
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Strictly Business Pt 3
Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?
Pairings: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader
Warnings: Smut. Oral (m.receiving). 18+ only. Minors DNI. Typical Criminal Minds violence and case descriptions.
W/C: 1.1K
A/N: I’m on vacation this week, so Part 4 might be a little off schedule.
Strictly Business Masterlist
You settle between Spencer’s thighs grabbing his boxers and pulling them down his legs. “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.” He tells you as you bring your mouth toward his throbbing cock.
“Are you kidding? You just gave me the best orgasm of my life. I want to do this.” He stops his objections when your mouth closes around his tip. “Did you know the word fellatio comes from the Latin word for suck?”
Of course he’s rambling off facts right now. It’s probably because he’s nervous. “Spencer, just relax. I want to make you feel good. Just focus on me.” He nods his head in agreement.
You wrap your mouth around him. You trace the veins along his length with the tip of your tongue. He jerks his hips in response. You slowly take him to the back of your throat. He whimpers, placing his hands on your head to hold you in that spot.
You look up at him, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. You moan around him. You love seeing him come undone like this. You bring him back out, slurping the tip. Your hand does most of the work.
“Please?” He begs. You slide him back in your warm mouth. He thrusts forward. You hollow your cheeks, beginning to to suck. Spencer rests his hand on your cheek. His thumb rubs gently against it.
You take him all the way in, swallowing around him when he hits the back of your throat. His grip in your hair tightens as you repeat the action. “I’m… I’m gonna cum.” He warns. He tries to pull himself out of your mouth. But you place your hands on his thighs, taking him impossibly deeper. You hear him moaning something that slightly resembles your name as he spills down your throat.
“No one has ever done that for me. That was incredible. Thank you.” You smile at him, accepting his praise. He grabs your hands, helping you to your feet. “Do you want to stay for a while? We could cuddle.”
You instantly regret saying it. You know what this is, but you crave for him to hold you after the night you just had. “We probably shouldn’t cuddle or spend the night after we do this.” “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” You explain.
He pulls his clothes back on, watching as you do the same. You follow him to the door leaning against the frame as he walks a few doors down to his room. Both of your attention is drawn down the hallway when you hear footsteps.
Rossi reaches his room, brown paper bag in hand. He looks both of you over. There is no hiding the messy hair and flushed cheeks. There would be no denying what you had been doing. “Rossi, I can-“ Spencer starts. Rossi shakes his head, a smile spreading across his face. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
The night off was beneficial to the whole team. Everyone was at the top of their game. You helped Spencer with the geographical profile. You weren’t sure how the two of you got any work done.
You couldn’t stop looking at each other. Your smiles were so wide, they threatened to split your faces. Rossi walked in to tell you what JJ had found at the crime scene. “You know if you want to keep this quite, you’re going to have to stop looking at each other like that.”
Hotch came in wanting someone to go to the latest victim’s house with him. You decided Rossi had a point, so you quickly volunteered to go. When you were leaving you thought Spencer looked a little hurt. But you had to be imagining it.
You opened the victim’s laptop. You call Penelope so she could go through it. “Mistress of all things wonderful here. How can I be of assistance?” “Hey Pen, I need you to take a look at this computer for me.”
“I’m on it! Hey, have you talked to boy genius lately?” It felt like your heart stopped beating. There was no way she could know. “Um, I was with him a little while ago. But, I went with Hotch. Why, is everything okay?”
“Im not sure. He was acting stranger than normal when I talked to him earlier. I thought if anyone knew what was wrong, it would be you.” When you got back to the station, you learned Penelope was right. Spencer was acting strange.
It seemed like he was avoiding you. He gave you short answers on the rare occasion he did talk to you. When you walked in the room, he would leave. Hotch asked both of you to go get dinner for the team. Spencer made every excuse to get out of going. At the end of the night, everyone went back to the hotel.
Spencer rode over with Derek, JJ, and Emily so he wouldn’t be in the same car as you. You were fuming. You text him to see what was wrong since he wouldn’t talk to you in person. When you got out of the shower, you saw he had read your message but ignored it.
You had all you could take. You storm out of your room, sprinting to his. You knock loudly on his door, not caring who you woke up. He opens the door, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “What is your problem, Spencer? I haven’t done anything to you and you’ve been ignoring me all day.”
He stands aside letting you in the room. “I’ve not been ignoring you.” You shoot him a death glare. “You are lying right to my face. I don’t know what I did. I just want to make it right.” He takes a seat on his bed.
“It was what Rossi said. I thought we were going to tone it down, but then you offered to go with Hotch so quickly. It hurt because I thought you were leaving so no one would know. I thought you were ashamed of what we did, embarrassed of me.”
His voice cracked when he explained himself. You felt horrible. You didn’t think he would misinterpret your intentions. “Spencer, I’m so sorry. I was just going with Hotch so we wouldn’t be all over each other all day. I thought if we had some space, it would help us chill out. I never meant to hurt you. I’m not ashamed of you at all. I just didn’t think you wanted anyone to know. You remember the talk Hotch gave us the other day? I thought we could just keep it between us… and Rossi.” You giggle.
Spencer contemplates your answer for a moment. “I’m sorry I behaved badly. I just didn’t know what to do.” You put your arms around him pulling him in for a hug. “This might be a bad idea if you’re going to react this way without talking to me first. Maybe we should stop.”
He shakes his head no. “It won’t happen again. Please, I need your help.” “Just promise me you’ll talk to me if anything bothers you from now on.” He smiles. “Deal.” He says linking your pinkies together.
Part Four
Tags (if you wanna be added let me know)
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#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#spencer reid#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!readr#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#strictly business
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Another one?! Ugh, I get bored at work, okay?!
5. Okay, this is the real reason I wrote this.
Warnings: explicit descriptions of sex (male x female).
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“So, I've been analysing the sequencing results,” X began, walking into his office with her laptop. She didn’t look up as she closed the door behind her and made her way over to him. “And I think I've got it. Can you open the file in my folder? The results one?”
Miguel did as she asked and scanned through the list of genes quickly. “Wait. How did you do all this so quickly?”
“I'm a bit feral like that,” X joked, flashing him a wicked grin. She leaned over him to look at the screen and his stomach flipped as her breath tickled his neck. “Wait, there's another tab.” She grabbed the mouse from him and started clicking through the file, searching for what she wanted to show him. Miguel curled his fingers around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap and she giggled as he kissed her cheek. Then he brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck for him to brush his lips along.
“So, I found that these three genes show up in everything,” X said, trying hard to keep her focus on the screen in front of her.
“Mmhmm,” Miguel hummed, sliding his hand beneath her shirt as he nibbled on her ear. She sucked in a breath when he snuck his hand under her bra and began massaging her breast.
“A-And they're all … involved in … transcription,” she revealed, losing her focus as he circled her nipple with his finger. Miguel chuckled as her head fell against his shoulder, her body ceding control over to him.
“And let me guess: you want to try editing them?” he suggested, amused. X whimpered as she nodded in agreement and Miguel dipped his other hand into the waistband of her pants. “Bring me your plan first. Then we'll decide.”
She grabbed his wrist to stop his hand from moving lower down her body and he finally abandoned her breast. X sighed with relief, but then Miguel took both her wrists in one hand and flicked her button open with the other, giving him the space to drag his fingers along her folds. X gasped as a violent shudder wracked her entire body at the sensation and Miguel chuckled against her neck at her response.
“M-Miguel …” she stammered out nervously. “We're at work, querido!”
Miguel hummed against her in acknowledgement as he circled her p*ssy slowly. He slid his fingers down to her entrance, then caressed her hole softly, drawing her c*m out of her so he could coat his fingers in the sticky liquid. “Mmm, but it's almost six - no one else will be here.”
"Mmph! Migue-el," she whimpered, earning another chuckle from him. She tried to tell him to stop: to tell him that this wasn't appropriate and they really shouldn't be doing this at work. But how could she focus on anything else when his hands were travelling all over her body, his fingers teasing her most intimate parts as he brushed his lips and tongue along her neck?
“Cariño,” Miguel moaned, his deep voice rumbling through her bones. She was so cute, her small body wriggling against him as she grinded herself against his hand. He pressed his hand harder against her and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth before sucking on it.
She turned her head to the side and pushed her mouth into his hair, barely muffling the squeak that fell from her lips as her legs twitched around his hand. Shit, she had to stop this, she had to … She shivered as he tapped his finger against her clit, swirling her warm c*m over her sensitive nub.
"You’re already so wet for me, cariño," her wicked boyfriend murmured against her skin. "Do I turn you on that quickly?"
X felt his lips curve into a smile as he continued his slow, teasing movements: running his fingers up and down the length of her, pinching her clit between his thumb and forefinger, circling her entrance at an unhurried pace. She closed her eyes as her head rolled back onto his shoulder, unable to withstand anymore sensory input than what he was already giving her.
"Nnh … I don't …" she began, her voice hoarse, breathless from the pleasure starting to overwhelm her senses, "I don't think … this is very appropriate … Dr O'Hara." Carajo. Hearing her call him that, her vagina completely exposed to the palm of his hand, his fingers buried deep in the soft folds of her p*ssy … He felt the blood begin to redirect itself to his centre, rushing all the way down and straight to his cock. He let go of her wrists and snaked his hand along her abdomen, inching his way back up to her chest. X squeezed her thighs together, trying to force his hand out from between them, but he held firm, pushing the heel of his palm against her to hold her open for him.
"But you just made an excellent discovery, querida," he pointed out, as if that was sufficient enough a reason to justify his current actions. "I think you deserve some kind of reward." He brushed his nose along her neck and scissored her clit between his fingers, coaxing a weak whimper out of her. Oh god. He was actually insane, this man. Actually. Freaking. Insane.
"The science … is its own … reward," she managed to squeak out between gasps, her head falling over his arm as she tried to regain control of her own body. Coño, it was so hot how distracting he was to her. His dick began to harden at the sight of her helplessness and she tightened at the feeling of him poking against her ass.
"Mmhmm," Miguel hummed against her softly, the vibrations running along her skin and into her bones. "But I'll bet science has never made you feel this good though." God, the nerve of this man! He trailed his finger right along the surface of her clit and she jerked against him roughly. She was going to kill him. She was actually going to kill him! She was … Her head lolled back again as he flicked her nipple before cupping her entire breast in his large hand.
"I hate you so much right now," she told him, the words coming out in a hasty rush, but still conveying her rage. Oh god. Oh god, he was good. Miguel snickered against her skin, then finally moved both hands back to her waist.
"I need to taste you, cariño," he informed her, guiding her to her feet. He stood up and pushed her forward against his desk before kneeling down and pulling her pants off.
"Miguel!" X hissed as he lifted her feet one by one, yanking her underwear off her and onto the floor. She craned her neck back, looking down to shoot him a glare. But before she could stop him, he'd buried his face in her p*ssy, his tongue lapping up the warm liquid drenching her vagina. She felt herself stretch up onto her tiptoes involuntarily, then her torso fell over his desk as her body gave in to the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue on her clit.
"F*ck," he groaned, spreading her cheeks wider apart to give himself more access to her. "Sabes tan bien, cariño. (You taste so good, sweetheart.)"
She couldn't respond as her hips arched off his desk of their own volition, her muscles responding to him in all the ways he wanted her to. He stroked her messily, his saliva mixing with her c*m and soaking her thoroughly as she fought to keep herself quiet. Then he pulled her folds into his mouth, sucking on them and groaning against them with such pleasure that she heard a small whimper fall from her own lips. All of a sudden, she felt his muscles clench, his body going on high alert as he sensed something she couldn't. He growled and she pushed herself up, barely managing to get into an upright position before looking down to find his teeth bared in a snarl, his eyes red with fury. He moved between her legs, then shoved her backwards, onto the desk chair he'd pulled up behind her. Then, when he'd spread her legs apart, when he'd rolled her back to him and leaned over her, his hulking shoulders pressing down on her thighs as he gripped her waist, he relaxed. She opened her mouth to ask him what had happened, but any rational thought she had flew out of her mind when he embedded himself in her p*ssy again, redoubling his efforts as he licked and sucked and nibbled on her. She let out a squeak and he pinched her thighs in warning.
"Shh," he cautioned her, his heavily dilated pupils still fixed on her centre. "Someone's coming." And he pushed his face back into her, completely undeterred from his current goal.
"Hello Mig- Oh!" Holy shit! It was Dr Jefferson: the kindly older man working on tissue regeneration. Oh god. Why him? Why now? The man's bushy grey eyebrows came together in bewilderment as his gaze landed on X, firmly planted in her boss's chair, unable to escape from his vice-like grip beneath the table. "X? What are you doing here? Where's Miguel?"
She gritted her teeth at the question, trying so hard to stop the sheepish smile from taking over her face; to keep her gaze from falling down to her boss on his knees before her, eating her out like she was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.
"Oh! Um," she hesitated, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. "Dr O'Hara-" He sucked hard on her clit, getting high off her use of his formal address, and she had to dig her fingernails into the edges of her seat to stop her body from shuddering against his mouth.
"He went to take a call!" X lied, pushing the words out of her mouth quickly. Dr Jefferson's forehead creased with concern as he took a quick glance at his watch, seemingly oblivious to her current predicament.
"Is everything all right?" he asked X, dragging on the conversation much longer than it really needed to be. "It's getting late. You should go home now, X." Her toes curled as Miguel slid his hands under the backs of her knees, looping her legs over his broad shoulders so he could begin circling her entrance with his tongue torturously slowly.
"Yup! We're almost done!" she squeaked out, trying to chase him away, the poor old man. But Miguel grinned - actually grinned - at the very suggestion. She could feel it in the way his cheeks tightened and his lips parted wide enough for his fangs to press against the outer edges of her vagina. God, she was going to kill him. She gripped his hair discreetly, attempting to extricate herself from his grasp, to pull him back and get him to stop, just for a second. But he refused to budge, instead digging his fingers into her thighs to caution her against the very idea. "Just waiting on my … electrophoresis results. You should go!"
She flashed him her brightest smile, trying to assure him that everything was all right; that he could leave and let her come as loudly as she wanted to, as violently as her boss - her actual effing boss - could get her to. She closed her eyes and forced her head to keep still, concealing the way her eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Miguel finally slid his tongue inside of her, lapping at her walls messily and hitting all of her most sensitive spots.
"All right," Dr Jefferson finally relented, grabbing the door handle to pull it shut again, "but don't stay too late. I'll see you tomorrow, X!" And finally, he left, just in time for the contractions to begin shuddering through her body, pulsing up and down her spine as she convulsed against Miguel's mouth. She kept herself from moaning his name, afraid that Dr Jefferson was still within earshot, still close enough to catch them in the middle of their indecent act. Then, finally, they lessened, petering out until she was slumped against the backrest. Miguel pulled back and looked up at her, the bottom half of his face covered in a sticky, glistening liquid; in her sticky, glistening liquid. She swallowed hard at the sight and her stomach flipped on its head as he grinned at her, her normally stoic and grumpy boss looking at her like a little boy who’d just been caught with his face in his favourite dessert. She sighed and stood up, pulling him to his feet before leaning over to grab some tissues and begin cleaning his jaw.
"I really, really hate you so much right now," she told him, not meaning it at all. His lips softened into a smirk and he wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her to him and begin kissing her again - sloppy, lazy kisses that had her sinking against him and grazing her fingernails along the back of his neck and down his spine. God, he was so hot. So strong and well-built and so large next to her. He slid his hands up her sides and hooked his thumbs into the bottom of her bra, pulling it off along with her shirt so she was standing bare before him.
"P*ta madre," he groaned, rubbing his thumbs across her stiffened nipples. "You're so f*cking beautiful, cariño." She was so perfectly built: hard and soft in all the right places, tanned and smooth and so, so delicious. He moved his hands down to her ass, grabbing onto it and arching her back so he could press his lips against her breast, pulling her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it thirstily. He moaned with pleasure, relishing the feeling of the rough surface against his tongue.
"Miguel," X breathed, her fingers sliding into his hair and running along his scalp. He pulled on her nipple one more time, then licked his way up to her collarbone, piercing her skin lightly with his fangs. He ran his fingers up to her breasts again and kneaded the soft flesh with his large hands before he dropped them back down to her waist. Then he lifted her up and onto the edge of his desk and fixed his eyes on her centre: the part of her that was just waiting to welcome him into its tight grasp. He dragged his thumbs along the sides of her vagina, applying just enough pressure to spread her apart so he could see where he would fit into her.
"Mierda, arañita," he cursed, his voice low and thick with desire, "you're so small." She shuddered at his gruff tone and tried to squeeze her legs together, her body heating up as she regained enough awareness to realise how exposed she was in her own workplace right then. But he held her firm, wrenching his gaze away from her centre to frown at her.
“Miguel!” she whined, her eyes flicking to the door in apprehension. “We're at work, querido!” She wriggled and squirmed beneath him, her lips twisting into a pretty little pout as she gave him a beseeching look. But that only seemed to please him more. He grinned and pulled her flush against him as he leaned forward over her shoulder.
“Work ended half an hour ago, arañita,” he informed her cheekily, brushing his lips and tongue along the length of her neck. X gripped onto the collar of his shirt and let out an embarrassed whimper, drawing a snicker out of her insane boyfriend. “Quitalo, querida. (Take it off, darling.)”
He moved his mouth to hers and eased her lips apart with his tongue. X gave a defeated sigh and did as he requested, her slender fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt as he continued kissing her. She made quick work of his belt and pants before sliding her hands up his solid chest to take his shirt off. He kept his mouth on hers as he shrugged his sleeves off, then stepped out of his trousers so there was nothing left to get in the way of their bare skin. He pulled her body against his and she moaned at the feeling of his hard pectorals against her soft chest, the sharp lines of his abdomen pressing into her stomach, the huge bulk of his cock sliding against her slick clit. Oh god, he felt good. So extremely good.
"Shit, Miguel," she breathed, running her hands all over the corded muscles of his back. "You feel so good, querido." He buried his face in her neck and squeezed her ass, holding her firmly against him.
"Not as good as you, cariño," he argued. "Eres perfecta, mi amor."
He nipped her earlobe and X felt a delighted warmth spread through her chest at his praise. She pushed at his shoulders gently, gesturing for him to move back. Miguel raised an eyebrow in question, but obliged anyway.
Her eyes trailed along his body as she stood up, admiring his tanned skin and perfectly sculpted muscles. His features softened when she looked up at him again and he bent down to give her a quick kiss, barely managing to catch her lips through her beaming smile. She placed her hands on his chest, holding onto him for balance as she stretched up onto her toes and began nibbling along the edge of his jaw. Miguel sighed as she began making her way down his body, licking and sucking and biting him with an agonisingly slow precision. She lowered herself to her knees and traced the outlines of his abdomen with her tongue, memorising each groove and plane carefully. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of him and slid her fingers along his length, appraising him carefully. And then, maldita sea, then she wrapped her tongue around him, pulling him into her mouth and sucking on him before dragging him back out again. His entire body rumbled with a groan and she grinned with delight before doing it again. He twisted his fingers into her hair as she continued her task, gripping the back of her head and pulling her closer, closer, until he was submerged in her entirely, the tip of his cock brushing up against the back of her throat. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as she swallowed around him and he felt the sticky prec*m begin to leak out of him already.
"Te necesito (I need you)," he pleaded with her, breathless with anticipation. "Ahora, cariño. Now."
A chill ran down her spine at the assertiveness in his voice, but she barely had time to react before he'd wrenched her to her feet, lifting her up and depositing her back on his desk to spread her wide open for him. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he ran his finger along her wet folds, then pushed it inside of her, warming her up for him. She gasped at the sensation, momentarily disoriented by the speed with which he'd turned the tables back on her. Then she peeked up at him from beneath her dark, curling lashes, her almond-shaped eyes so big and so beautiful, and he growled, removing his finger to take himself in hand. She bit her lip as he notched the tip of his cock to her entrance and began easing himself inside of her.
“Such a good girl, arañita,” he praised her, grabbing both her ass cheeks in his hands and spreading them apart to give himself even more space to fit inside of her. "Always taking me in so f*cking perfectly. Maybe next time, you'll think twice before interrupting me in the middle of a work dinner.”
She almost didn't hear what he said, so focused was she on the feeling of him nestled so securely inside of her. But then he brought up the dinner and she scoffed incredulously.
“Maybe next time, I won’t think at all, querido,” X teased him, sliding her hands up and down his hard chest. “Not if you’re going to reward me like this, amor.” She grinned and pecked his lips quickly, coaxing a smile out of him. Miguel leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.
“This isn’t a reward, querida,” he informed drily, his hips beginning to move against hers. “It’s supposed to be a punishment.” He brushed his tongue against hers, kissing her soft and slow.
“Mmm. If this is what it's like to be punished, then maybe I should be a bad girl more often,” X suggested, wrapping her arms around his neck and sliding her fingers into his hair.
“Ay, p*tas, arañita,” he sighed, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She nipped his earlobe and he tightened his grip on her waist. X giggled at his reaction.
“¿Qué pasó, doctor?” she murmured in his ear. “Aren’t you going to punish your naughty little arañita?” Miguel growled at her words, then straightened to frown at her. She continued looking up at him with that sweet smile of hers and he pulled himself out of her before slamming his hips back against hers. X gasped as he began thrusting himself in and out of her, his punishing pace causing his desk to creak beneath her. X rested her hand on the table, trying to keep herself upright. But then her back arched as her body stretched itself out in pleasure and she sank back onto the table.
Mierda, she was cute, biting on her lip while she gripped the edge of the table. She let out a moan as her body contracted and Miguel slid his hands along her curves before climbing on top of her.
“Querida,” he whined, nudging her head to the side with his nose. He nipped at her earlobe and pulled her back off the table, curling her against him. She shivered as she came, her cute little body shuddering in his arms, and Miguel felt himself approaching his edge as her tight little p*ssy squeezed his dick. He sucked in a breath as his body tightened, then relaxed again when he reached his orgasm, his c*m shooting out of him and painting her walls white. He panted heavily when he was done, trying to catch his breath as he lay on top of her.
“Miguel,” X moaned, her eyes flitting over to the door of his office. She returned her gaze to his and smacked him on the shoulder. “Put your clothes back on, querido! ¡Estás loco, mi amor!”
Miguel grinned and nipped her lower lip before pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her. She smiled as his tongue tangled with hers and slid her hands up his chest to cup his cheeks. She kissed him back a little more, then pushed him away from her so their lips pulled apart.
“I'm serious, Miguel,” she told him, her voice gentle but firm. Miguel sighed, then began pushing himself off his desk.
“Vale.” He pulled himself out of her and X flinched in surprise at the sudden absence of him. Then she squeezed her legs together and started picking her clothes off the ground.
“What do you want for dinner, querida?” Miguel asked, pulling his trousers back up over his hips. X stopped to consider the question. He was planning to go after a new villain that had shown up in the city a day or two ago, so they probably wouldn't have that much time to spend on dinner. But she wanted to make sure he had enough energy to fuel him for whatever battle he'd be forced to engage in that night.
“Fish and chips?” she suggested, zipping her pants back up. “But we can go anywhere you want. I'm fine.”
She straightened and turned to face him, her brows already crinkling with concern at the thought of him going on a mission tonight. Miguel pulled her into a hug, his stomach churning with guilt at the apprehensive look on her face. She always supported him in his Spiderman duties, watching over him through his cameras and tracking his movements carefully. But he knew she secretly wished that he'd stay at home with her instead, safe and sound right where she could see him. “We can go for fish and chips.”
Tags: @heubstr
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The Hidden Show
Arthur Morgan x f!reader
Rating: 18+ only. Explicit content Length: 1965 words Content: Vaginal fingering, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Creampie, Public masturbation & Public sex Description: You were enjoying a show at the Theatre Raleur with Arthur. One thing led to another, and now you were having a show of your own. Note: Straight up smut. No plot at all. Everything won't be accurate. Use your imagination.
Enjoying a show at the Theatre Raleur, Arthur whispered. "You're doing so well." His breath was hot against your neck as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you. A few moments ago, you were both silent, watching the show and enjoying the strange acts it provided, but that didn't last long.
A few compliments left Arthur's lips. "You look beautiful in that dress," "Your skin looks good underneath the dim lighting," but that was it. It was just small talk between the two of you until his hand started to travel underneath your dress and up your thigh. He used two fingers and slowly moved them over your panties, massaging your folds.
Arthur watched the show in front of him, keeping focus on the performers while you found it hard to keep your eyes off him. His face barely showed any emotion as he moved his fingers, but you, on the other hand, were trying your best not to lose it, and he knew it. Every so often, he would smirk, the sides of his eye crinkling from the action.
You tried to focus on the show, but he made it difficult. He knew where all your sensitive spots were. He had mapped out your entire body, learning what made you tick. Nobody was able to see what the two of you were doing because of the dim lighting and you were thankful for that. However, no one would be able to ignore your sudden outburst if you were too loud.
His fingers then found their way up to your clit. Arthur rubbed it firmly through your underwear, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot through your body. You let out a small noise and closed your legs around his hand, trying to decrease some of the pressure he was putting on it. Arthur, however, didn't waver. He chuckled, and he kept his hand between your thighs. He kept moving his fingers over your folds, feeling the wetness that started to seep through the fabric.
Arthur then took his hand off your sex and slid it to your knee. "Open," he said softly as he turned to face you, slowly pulling your legs open. You obeyed, parting your legs once again as his fingers found their way underneath your panties and onto your bare skin.
A groan caught in his throat as he felt the slickness between your folds. "You're wet," Arthur whispered into your ear as he slid two fingers inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him fill you up with his thick digits. Your breathing became more labored, "Arthur," you sighed. Your voice sounded needy and desperate for more.
Slowly pumping his fingers inside of you, he spoke. "Keep saying my name. I like that." Doing just that, you whimpered his name as he sped up his actions. Arthur leaned back in his seat and continued to watch the show. You admired his face, giving him a look of complete lust that conveyed you wanted more. His thumb found its way onto your clit, and he began to massage it. Picking up the pace, he pumped his fingers in and out of your core as he rubbed your clit.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back. "Don't be so loud," Arthur smirked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "People might hear." His voice was low and gruff. It sent a shiver down your spine. "I know you don't want that princess."
“I discovered this next remarkable woman in a lost jungle who deep in the wilds of Colombia where they do not wear clothes. She breathes fire. Yes, she does, and for those with the universal and not unworthy curiosity…” Eldridge T. Abbington went on, introducing the next act.
The sounds of the audience were drowned out by the slapping of skin against skin. You tried your hardest to keep quiet as you bit your bottom lip. "Arthur," you whispered again, digging your nails into his forearm. Pulling out his fingers, he grabbed your hand and brought it down to your core. "Touch your pussy for me." The words left his mouth in a husky tone. You followed, beginning to rub your clit with the tips of your fingers. "That's my good girl," he groaned as he watched you pleasure yourself.
Arthur brought his fingers up to his lips and sucked on them. He hummed before leaning down and pressing his lips onto yours, forcing you to taste your arousal. You moaned against his mouth and gripped his arm with your free hand. "Yeah, that's it. Keep rubbing it." He cooed as he pulled away from your mouth, giving you a grin.
You were unable to concentrate on anything but your arousal. Your breathing began to quicken as your rubbed your clit faster. You were close. Arthur noticed and pulled your hand off of your core. "Not yet," he chuckled. You groaned in frustration.
Arthur chuckled again and grabbed your jaw then turned your head towards him. "On your knees," he commanded. You nodded and began to get off the chair, positioning yourself in front of him. Luckily, you two were seated far back in the theater, but it was still risky.
Arthur spread his legs, giving you room to place yourself between them. He pulled your hair out of your face and held it back for you. "Go on," he smiled, watching you unbutton his pants to expose his hard cock. It was throbbing. His pre-cum dripped down his shaft. It was begging to be touched.
Taking his cock into your hand, you stroked it. Arthur's eyes closed as he let out a quiet groan. You smirked at his response then brought your mouth to his cock, wrapping your lips around the head. Arthur watched as you began to suck him, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, moaning around his length. "God damn," he groaned, placing his hands behind his head.
Arthur's cock hit the back of your throat as he thrust upwards, causing you to gag. "Sorry girl," he apologized, pulling your head off his cock. "I can't help it." He stroked your cheek with his thumb, trying to console you.
Taking a deep breath, you grabbed his cock and brought it back to your mouth. This time, you began to fondle his balls as you sucked him. "Yeah, that's it," he moaned quietly. His eyes shut as he leaned back in his chair. "Mmm," he groaned, placing his hand back on your head, guiding you. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft while continuing to stroke his length with your hand. "Ah, shit. I need more." Arthur growled, pulling you off of his cock and making himself decent. "C'mon, get off your knees." He whispered and grabbed your arm to help you up.
He escorted you out of the theater, finding the nearest bathroom to lock the two of you in. Arthur picked you up and placed you on the sink then grabbed ahold of your neck. He kissed you hungrily. "You know what I want?" He groaned, moving his lips to your jaw, slowly kissing down your neck. You sighed and leaned your head back, giving him more access. "What would that be?"
"To taste you." Arthur then reached under your dress and pulled your panties down, throwing them on the floor. Pushing you back, he opened your legs wide, spreading your lips with his thumbs. He groaned at the sight, then pressed his tongue against your slit, dragging it upwards. Stopping at your clit, he pulled it into his mouth, sucking it as he moaned.
You whimpered and put your hand on his head as he began to suck harder. Arthur placed his hands underneath your ass and lifted you off the counter, holding you up as he continued to suck on your clit. He alternated between lapping and sucking on your bud as he held you in the air.
"Arthur." You felt your core clench around nothing as you moaned. "Fuck me. Please." You begged. Your voice had a slight airiness. Arthur chuckled, then grabbed you, bending you over the sink.
It wasn't long before he lifted your dress and rubbed his length between your folds, gathering the slick on his cock. Placing his hand on the back of your head, he pushed your face down on the surface of the cold sink then slowly thrust inside.
The two of you gasped as his thick cock made its way into your walls. You felt a stretch, the sensation caused a slight burn. "Yeah," Arthur growled, beginning to thrust into you. He leaned forward, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling. "You like when I fuck you like this? Huh?" His cock hit deep inside of you which made legs tremble.
"Yes," you managed to squeak out. "That's a good girl." He grunted, his hips hitting against your ass. "Always taking my cock so well." His thrusts were hard and deep, making it feel like he was rearranging your insides.
"Oh shit..." You groaned, gripping the sides of the sink. Arthur pulled your head back, forcing you to look into the mirror. "Look at yourself while I fuck you." His pace became frantic.
Your eyes were closed, enjoying the way he was fucking you. Arthur however, didn't like that. "Eyes open, darling." You opened your eyes and looked in front of you, staring into the mirror.
"There you go. Now stick out your tongue." You stuck your tongue out, letting it hang out of your mouth. "Good." Arthur praised, watching you closely in the mirror. You could see him biting his lip, focusing on your reflection.
Arthur's hips hit against you harder and faster. The feeling of him filling you up, made your core clench and flutter around him. You were about to cum and he knew it. Arthur wrapped his hands around your neck and squeezed lightly. "Who does this pussy belong to?"
"You," you moaned.
"Tell me, I want you to say my name." His tone was firm and commanding.
"It's yours."
"Try again," Arthur growled, gripping your hair and pulling once more.
"Arthur." You choked.
"Again," his thrusts were fast and relentless. The sound of his cock entering your wet core echoed through the room.
"Arthur." The words barely came out since his grip around your neck tightened.
"Louder." He demanded.
"Arthur!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, cumming on his cock. Waves of pleasure shot through your body as you quivered beneath him, gasping for breath. "That's what I like to hear."
His thrusts stuttered, and his pace became uneven. Arthur let out a strained breath as he came. His hot cum filled inside you. With another groan, Arthur collapsed on top of you, wrapping his arms around your midsection.
"Are you okay?" He asked out of breath, coming down from his high. "Yeah." You spoke softly, out of breath yourself. Arthur got off of you and helped you onto your feet. Grabbing a paper towel, he wet it and then wiped you clean.
He picked up your panties off the floor and chuckled, "I don't think you should put these back on."
"As they were on the floor, probably not." You smiled.
Arthur shoved your panties into his satchel and made sure he was presentable. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, walking you out of the bathroom to the exit.
"I hope you enjoyed the show!" The man who sold tickets rang out to the both of you.
"It was quite a show if I do say so myself," Arthur answered. You couldn't help but giggle at his response. He then kissed you on the crown of your forehead as you walked out of the theatre together.
#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr2#arthur morgan x reader#Arthur Morgan x female reader#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan fanfiction#red dead redemption two#red dead redemption
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