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peachdues · 9 months

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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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stylesispunk · 2 months

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"Did the love affair maim you too"? Part iii

Joel Miller x f!reader

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Summary: Joel is trying to recover and understand his feelings for you, or It took him almost to lose you to know how important you are to him.

word count: 14k (this is what I call, the filling chapter)

warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of blood, injuries, and mentions of death, more angst. (haha) f

a/n: Hello! Part 3 is here! Once again, I want to thank everyone who had read this story, so much love for you. I don't feel so proud about this one, this chapter is more like a filling one, the one stuck in the middle, the important things that will happen here were going to happen but not in the same way because I wrote it in a rush and after being sad because of a man. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The storm kept raging outside, with fury, while these four walls you were in were protecting you from the haunting memories on your mind.

Your heart was beating hard against your ribs; you could feel the air abandoning your lungs, and your head was spinning all over the place, trying to focus your racing thoughts on another thing but Joel.

The Joel who was standing in your living room.

The Joel who remembered your fear of storms

The Joel who had come to your house to protect you from your demons.

The Joel who was now looking at you with a glimpse of hope in his eyes, patiently waiting for you to utter a word.

“You said you would never wear that t-shirt again,” you said bitterly, your voice tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t quite sadness either. It was a fine line between a lingering sense of loss and longing for him.

A feeling you couldn’t let go.

Joel’s gaze flicked down to the shirt he was wearing, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I did, didn’t I?” he said softly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I said a lot of things that morning.”

You remembered that morning all too well. It was the day everything changed—the day Joel had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in a world gone mad. But then he got his memories back, and the man who had loved you was gone, replaced by the same cold, distant Joel who had once barely tolerated your presence.

“I said a lot of things too,” you replied, your voice trembling with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “But none of it matters now, does it?”

Joel flinched at the bitterness in your tone, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit you had come to recognize. “It matters,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find something in the depths of your gaze. “I just… I don’t remember everything, but I remember you. I remember enough to know that I don’t want to lose you.”

The air in your lungs got stuck. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that the man who had once loved you was still in there somewhere, fighting to break free. But the wounds of his departure were still too fresh, too raw.

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the howling wind. “You don’t just get to pick up where we left off, Joel. You can’t just—”

“I know,” he cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. He took a step closer, his boots scruffing against the worn floorboards. “I know it’s not that simple. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. Not again. Not unless you tell me to.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. The walls around you felt like they were closing in, the memories of what you had lost pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t bear. You had built up defenses and kept people at arm’s length because losing them hurt too much. But here was Joel, standing before you, offering a glimmer of something you thought was lost forever.

“What do you want, Joel?” You said, your voice almost breaking.

Joel hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to find the right words, the ones that would make both of you go back in time to that night when you shared your “I love you” for the first time, even though you both knew it wasn't that simple. The storm outside roared on, shaking the walls, but it was the storm inside that threatened to tear you apart.

“I want…” He trailed off, running a hand through his damp hair, his brow furrowed in thought. “I want to make things right. I know I messed up; I know I hurt you—hell, I hurt myself too. But I can’t keep pretending like you don’t matter, like this—” he gestured between the two of you, “—doesn’t matter.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the sincerity in his voice making it harder to keep the walls up, but you couldn't just let him back in, not after everything. “You can’t just say that and expect it to fix things,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t remember, Joel. You don’t remember what we had.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t remember everything, and I don’t know if I ever will. But I remember enough to know that losing you would be the worst mistake of my life.”

You swallowed hard, the emotions welling up inside you, threatening to spill over.

“I-I- When you’re close to me, I feel like I can’t breathe.” He said emotions made his voice tremble. “All that pain I get from the migraines stops the second you’re a closer, and I didn’t know why, but my body somehow felt it. It’s like something inside my chest is aching for you.”

Joel's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his confession. The raw vulnerability in his voice was something you hadn't heard in him before, something that cut through the layers of hurt and anger you'd built up around yourself. The storm outside seemed to intensify as if echoing the turmoil within you, but all you could focus on was the man standing before you, baring his soul in a way that left you breathless.

Your heart raced as you tried to process what he was saying, the truth of his words settling deep into your bones. The walls you had put up to protect yourself, to keep him at a distance, were crumbling, and the emotions you had tried so hard to keep buried were bubbling to the surface.

“I don’t know what this is,” he continued, his voice trembling as he struggled to find the right words. “But I can’t ignore it. I’ve tried; God knows I’ve tried, but I can’t. Every time I’m near you, it’s like something inside me is telling me that I need you, that I can’t lose you again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you bit your lip, trying to keep them at bay. You wanted to stay strong, to keep the walls up, but Joel’s words were breaking through every defense you had. His pain, his confusion, mirrored your own, and the connection between you was undeniable, even if it was tangled up in the mess of lost memories and shattered trust.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to say it out loud, to acknowledge the fear that had been gnawing at you ever since he had walked back into your life. “I’m scared of getting hurt again, of losing you all over again.”

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m scared too,” he confessed, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped down your cheek. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Joel continued, his voice thick with emotion. “After today, I went to my house, and I remembered kissing you. I remember your face everywhere, and it felt like my own heart feared my feelings because I know I did things wrong with you, and I don’t want this.” He spoke.

“What do you mean?” you asked, feeling the tears in the corner of your eyes.

“I don’t want to love you,” he confessed.

Joel's confession hung in the air like a heavy weight, pressing down on both of you. His words were raw, laced with a vulnerability that was almost painful to witness. You felt your breath catch in your throat, the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally breaking free.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence, the admission cutting through you like a knife. The honesty in his voice, the fear that laced his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming.

I don’t want to love you felt like an insult being thrown at you.

You had allowed him to get closer and touch you just to be hurt by his words again.

You took a step back, pulling away from his touch as the hurt washed over you in waves. “Why would you say that?” You choked out, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. "Why did you come here to say that to me?”

Joel’s face crumpled, regret and anguish etched into his features as he saw the effect his words had on you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. But I’m scared, and I don’t know how to handle this.”

The room felt stifling, the walls closing in as the weight of his confession settled between you. You had allowed yourself to hope, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have something good in this broken world. But now, that hope felt like it was slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but the cold, harsh reality of what was happening.

“I let you in,” you whispered, the tears streaming down your face. “I let you get close, and now you’re telling me you don’t want it? That you don’t want me?”

“No,” Joel said quickly, shaking his head as he reached for you, but you took another step back, keeping the distance between you. “That’s not what I’m saying. I do want you—I want you more than anything. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what it means and of what I could lose. I’ve lost so much already, and I don’t know if I can take losing you too.”

His words tugged at your heart, but the hurt was still too fresh, too raw. “You’re hurting me right now, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling. “By telling me you don’t want to love me, you’re hurting me more.”

Joel's face twisted in anguish as he heard your words, the pain in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He took a shaky breath, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and desperation.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. It’s all so damn confusing, and I’m scared—scared of what loving you means, scared of what it could cost me, scared of how much I want you.”

His confession hung in the air, thick with the weight of emotions neither of you had been prepared to confront. The vulnerability in his eyes was something you had rarely seen in him, and it shook you to your core.

“I’ve spent so long keeping everyone at arm’s length,” Joel continued, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. “It was easier that way, safer. But you got under my skin. You made me feel things I thought I’d forgotten how to feel. And now, I don’t know what to do with all of it.”

You wanted to be angry, to lash out at him for pulling you in just to push you away, but the pain in his eyes was so real, so raw, that your anger melted away, leaving only a deep, aching sadness in its place.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The truth was, you were terrified—terrified of the feelings that were still so raw, so unresolved. Terrified of the possibility of opening yourself up again, only to be hurt even more deeply.

“I would rather lose you now than do it later,” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. “The world we live in, the losses we’ve faced—it’s too much. And I don’t know if I can survive losing someone else again.”

Joel’s face tightened, his jaw clenching as he absorbed your words. The pain etched into his features was almost unbearable to see, a reflection of the turmoil that had been brewing between you both for so long.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I’ve lost more than I ever thought I could bear too. But walking away now, pushing me out—that won’t make it hurt any less if something happens. It just means we never had a chance to try.”

You shook your head, the tears welling up in your eyes. “But what if trying just makes it worse? What if we end up hating each other even more because of it?”

Joel took a small step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “But I’d rather take that risk with you than walk away and always wonder what we could’ve had. Because whether you see it or not, you’ve already gotten under my skin. I don’t want to let you go, not when I feel like I’m just starting to remember why I care.”

Your breath hitched, his words pulling at the fragile strings of your heart. The honesty in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice—it was everything you had feared and longed for all at once.

“But what if it falls apart?” You whispered, the uncertainty trembling in your voice.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Joel said, his voice steady.

The storm outside continued to rage, the wind howling against the walls of the house, but inside, a fragile understanding was beginning to form. It wasn’t a solution; it wasn’t a cure for the pain you both carried, but it was a step—a small, tentative step towards something more.

“You treated me so badly,” you sobbed, shaking your head.

Joel's expression softened, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He knew you were right—he had treated you badly, even before everything had changed. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made.

"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I know I did, and I'm so damn sorry for that. I was... I was lost, and I took it out on you. I pushed you away because I was scared—scared of letting someone in, scared of getting close. But that doesn't excuse what I did. You didn’t deserve any of it."

“But you did it anyway,” you choked out, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “You hurt me, Joel. You made me feel like I was nothing, like I didn’t matter.”

His hand trembled as he reached out to you, his fingers brushing against your arm in a hesitant, almost pleading gesture. “You matter more to me than you know,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I see that now, and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I don’t know how to make up for what I did, but I want to try. I want to be better, for you and for me.”

“I didn’t choose to fall in love with you, Joel,” you shot, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. “But here we are, and it’s tearing me apart!”

The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of your argument, the storm outside a reflection of the storm within. Neither of you wanted to back down; both were too hurt and confused to see a way forward.

“Why are you so afraid of letting me in now?” Joel asked, his voice softer but still filled with desperation. “What’s changed? What’s different to the last time?”

You hesitated, the truth clawing at your throat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. I couldn’t admit that you were terrified of losing him again, of opening yourself up only to have it all ripped away.

“What’s changed?” Joel pressed, “Tell me.”

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, the weight of everything you had been holding back finally broke through. “I’m afraid, Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m afraid that if I let myself love you again, it’s going to destroy me. And I don’t know if I can survive that. I can’t lose someone for a third time.”

Joel’s expression softened, his frustration giving way to something deeper, a sadness that mirrored your own. He reached out as if to touch you but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if uncertain of its place.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, the weight of his own fears etched in every word. “But I’m scared too, scared of what happens if we don’t try. I know I screwed up, and I know I can’t take back what I did, but losing you without even trying? I don’t think I can live with that.”

His voice was raw, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before. The storm outside seemed to still for a moment, the wind’s howl dying down as the two of you stood there, the silence between you filled with the unspoken pain and longing that had been building for weeks.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away,” Joel continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “And I’m not asking you to forget what happened. But I am asking for a chance—a chance to prove that I’m not going to walk away again, that I’m not going to forget what you mean to me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked at him. His words touched something deep inside you, a part of you that still longed for the connection you’d once shared, despite everything that had happened.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Joel,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can survive losing you a second time.”

He took a step closer, finally closing the distance between you, his hand finding yours in a tentative, gentle touch. “I’m not going to put pressure on you, okay?” he assured you. “For now, let me stay here so you don’t have to be afraid of the storm alone, okay?”

You hesitated, your emotions a tangled mess of fear, longing, and uncertainty. The storm outside was relentless, the wind howling and rain lashing against the windows, mirroring the turmoil inside you. But there was something in Joel’s voice, in the gentle way he held your hand, that made you want to believe him.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, nodding slightly. “You can stay.”

Joel’s expression softened with relief, and he gently squeezed your hand, as if to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

The two of you stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened still hanging heavy in the air. But for now, in this small, fragile moment, there was a sense of peace between you.

Joel glanced around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings before his gaze returned to you. “Where do you want me to set up?” he asked, his voice gentle, as if he didn’t want to disrupt the delicate balance of the moment.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You can stay in the living room,” you said, gesturing toward the couch. “I’ll get some blankets for you.”

He nodded, watching as you moved to gather what he’d need. As you handed him the blankets, your fingers brushed against his, and you felt a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill in the air.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Joel asked, his concern evident as he unfolded the blankets.

You managed a small, faint smile. “I’ll be fine,” you said, though the truth was, you weren’t entirely sure. But for now, having him close, knowing you weren’t alone in the storm, brought a small measure of comfort.

Joel settled onto the couch, arranging the blankets around him. As you turned to head back to your room, you paused, glancing back at him. He was watching you, his eyes filled with a mixture of worry and something else, something deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the storm.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice equally soft. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

Joel made his way through the snow-dusted streets of Jackson, his breath puffing out in clouds as he walked toward Lori's house. The early morning light cast long shadows, the town still quiet except for the distant sound of someone chopping wood. The air was crisp, biting at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the unease twisting in his gut.

He reached Lori’s door and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Lori stood there, wrapped in a thick sweater, her hair tousled from sleep.

“Joel?” she asked, surprise flickering across her face. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I needed to talk to you,” Joel said, his tone serious. He stepped inside when she gestured him in, the warmth of the house enveloping him.

Lori led him to the small living area, where a fire crackled in the hearth. She sat down on the worn couch, motioning for him to join her, but Joel remained standing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“What’s going on?” Lori asked, concern creeping into her voice as she noticed his tension.

Joel took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Lori, I need to be honest with you,” he began, his voice steady but laced with regret. “What we’ve been doing—it was never meant to be serious, and I think we both knew that.”

Lori’s expression shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she searched his face. “Yeah, I know. We were just having fun, keeping things casual. But why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

Joel nodded, appreciating her straightforwardness. “There is,” he admitted. “I’ve been figuring some things out, and I’ve realized that I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got someone else in my life, someone who means more to me than I even realized until recently. I need to focus on that, on her.”

Lori’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she let out a small, resigned sigh. “You’re talking about her, aren’t you? The nurse?”

Joel nodded, unable to meet her eyes for a moment. “Yeah. I need to make things right with her.”

Lori’s demeanor shifted noticeably, her smile fading into a tight, bitter expression. “So, you’re just going to walk away? After everything?”

Joel winced at the edge in her voice, sensing that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he had hoped. “I’m not walking away from you out of spite. I just need to make a choice, and right now, my focus has to be on fixing what I’ve broken.”

Lori crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “So, what? You think you can just come here, say a few words, and everything will be okay? You think you can just turn your back on me and expect me to be fine with it?”

Joel took a step closer, trying to keep his tone calm. “Lori, this isn’t about making you okay with it. This is about me trying to do what’s right. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.”

Her anger flared. “Right? What’s right? You think it’s right to just discard people like they don’t matter? You think you can just decide to play at relationships and then bail when it suits you?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Joel said, his voice heavy with regret. “But I can’t keep pretending this isn’t what it is. I need to focus on the person who really matters to me.”

Lori’s face was flushed with emotion, her voice rising. “You know what, Joel? Maybe you should have thought about that before you got involved with me. Maybe you should have been honest from the start instead of playing games.”

Joel looked away, feeling the weight of her words. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I can’t change what’s happened. I can only try to make things right moving forward.”

Lori’s eyes were filled with frustration and hurt. “Yeah, well, it’s a little too late for that now. You should go.”

Joel nodded, feeling the sting of her words. “I understand. I’m sorry for everything.”

As Joel made his way back through Jackson, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in his chest. Ending things with Lori had been the right thing to do, but it also felt like one more piece of his life was falling apart. And now, all he could think about was the fragile connection he was trying to rebuild with you.

But Lori wouldn’t let things go so easily. Hurt and angry, she wasn’t ready to accept that Joel could just walk away from her.

You found yourself slipping back into old habits, avoiding Joel at every turn, retreating into your own space whenever he was near. The fragile connection you had started to rebuild felt too delicate, too vulnerable, and the fear of what it might mean was overwhelming. So, you did what you had always done when things got too close: you pushed him away.

You threw yourself into your work, taking extra shifts on the infirmary, volunteering for the more dangerous runs that others were hesitant to take. Anything to keep your mind occupied and your heart locked away. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the memory of Joel’s confession lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Every time you crossed paths with Joel, you made sure to keep the interaction as brief as possible. A curt nod, a mumbled greeting, and then you were gone before he could say anything more. You avoided the places you knew he frequented, taking different routes and making excuses to stay away from the common areas where you might run into him. You even started leaving for your shifts earlier and returning later, ensuring that you would miss him entirely.

But Joel wasn’t blind to what you were doing. He noticed the way you avoided his gaze, the way you kept your distance, and it cut him deeper than he would ever admit. The truth was, he understood why you were doing it. After everything that had happened between you—the misunderstandings, the hurt, the fear—it made sense that you would want to protect yourself.

Still, that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

As days passed, you found yourself trying to avoid Joel at all costs. You busied yourself with your duties, went out of your way to steer clear of places where you might run into him, and kept your interactions with others brief and impersonal. The emotional turmoil and the fear of vulnerability were too overwhelming for you to face him directly.

Joel, for his part, made several attempts to reach out. He tried to catch you in the common hall, to corner you in the infirmary, or to find a moment alone when you were on patrol. But every time, you were quick to deflect or disappear before he could get close.

One afternoon, as you were finishing up a shift at the infirmary, Joel appeared at the doorway. He hesitated, searching your face for any sign of recognition or willingness to talk. His heart ached at the sight of you, knowing how much he had hurt you and feeling powerless to bridge the gap between you.

You were in the middle of organizing some supplies when he cleared his throat, catching your attention. You looked up, your expression guarded.

"Hey," Joel began, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "Can we talk?"

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze. "There’s nothing to talk about, Joel. Not right now."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know I’ve messed things up. I just—"

"I said no," you interrupted, trying to keep your voice steady. "I need some space."

Joel’s footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as he closed the distance between you. His presence was undeniable, and the intensity in his gaze was palpable even if you refused to meet it.

“Please,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Just a moment. I need you to hear me out.”

You could feel the weight of his words pressing against your resolve. The space you had demanded was shrinking with every step he took closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

“You don’t understand,” Joel continued, his voice tinged with frustration and desperation. “I’m not asking for everything to be okay right now. I just need a chance to show you that I’m willing to change.”

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were filled with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve, and for a moment, you saw the man behind the mistakes—the man who was still trying to find his way back.

“Why should I believe you? You came to my house in the middle of the night, then you were nowhere to be found next morning.” You said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to remain composed. “After everything that’s happened, why should I trust that you’ll actually change?”

Joel’s expression softened, and he took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because I know I’ve hurt you, and I hate that I’ve done that. But I’m not giving up. I’m trying to be better, for myself and for you. I know it’s going to take time, but I need you to at least let me show you that I’m trying.”

The air between you was charged, the emotions swirling around like a storm ready to break. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating towards you, and despite your best efforts to hold your ground, you found yourself drawn to the intensity of the moment.

“Joel,” you began, but the words caught in your throat. The storm in your heart was a tempest of conflicting feelings, and you struggled to find a path through it.

Joel reached out slowly, his hand on your waist, sending a shiver down your spine.

Joel’s hand rested gently on your waist, and the touch was electrifying. It sent a shiver down your spine, stirring feelings that you had tried to bury beneath layers of hurt and confusion. His gaze was unwavering, filled with a depth of emotion that seemed to pierce through the storm clouded in your heart.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” Joel said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m here now, and I want to make things right. I need you to know that I’m trying, even if it’s hard to believe.”

Your breath hitched as his touch lingered, the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric of your clothes and pressing against your skin. The proximity was almost overwhelming, and you could feel the gravity of the moment pulling you closer to him.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. The memories of past pain and anger were still there, but they were overshadowed by the raw vulnerability in Joel’s eyes. His presence was a powerful force, and it was hard to ignore the way he made you feel—caught between the past and the promise of something new.

“Joel,” you whispered again, but this time your voice was filled with a mixture of longing and apprehension. “I don’t know if I can, if I’m ready.”

Joel’s eyes softened, and he took a small, hesitant step closer, his hand still resting on your waist. “You don’t have to be ready right now. I’m not asking for everything to be fixed in an instant. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

The sincerity in his voice and the gentle touch of his hand were almost too much to bear. You felt the walls you had built around yourself beginning to crumble, and the storm in your heart seemed to calm, if only slightly.

“I just need to figure things out,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I need time.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and relief. “Take all the time you need.” He assured you, “But I want to let you know I begged Tommy to put us together on patrol tomorrow.”

You looked at him, surprised by his insistence. “Why would you do that?”

Joel’s gaze was unwavering, a mix of resolve and vulnerability. “Because I want to be there for you. I want to show you that I’m committed to making things right, even if it means being there for you on patrol, even if it’s just another day together.”

His honesty was disarming, and despite the confusion and pain, you felt a flicker of warmth at his gesture. You understood his need to be close, to prove his commitment in any way he could.

“I appreciate that,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both gratitude and hesitation. “But I need to make sure I’m ready. I don’t want to bring any more complications.”

Joel nodded, his eyes showing a mixture of understanding and resolve. “I get it. Just know that I’m not pushing you. I’m here to support you, however you need.”

The sincerity in his eyes and the softness of his tone made it clear that he was willing to wait, to be patient. As the moment stretched between you, the storm in your heart seemed to settle even more, leaving behind a fragile sense of calm.

With a final, gentle squeeze on your waist, Joel stepped back, giving you the space you needed. “Get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As you watched him walk away, the promise of a new day together hung in the air, a delicate thread of hope amidst the lingering uncertainties. The path forward was still uncertain, but for now, there was a small but significant step towards healing and reconnection.

The days after the storm, the skies were clear, a crisp blue stretching above Jackson as you and Joel prepared for your patrol. Despite the lingering tension from the night before, there was an unspoken agreement between you to carry on as usual, to slip back into the familiar rhythm of your routine.

The morning was quiet, the only sound being the crunch of gravel underfoot as you walked side by side, your horses trailing behind you. The air was cool, the ground still damp from the storm, and the world felt strangely peaceful after the chaos of the previous night.

As you rode through the woods, the silence between you was comfortable, but as always, it didn’t take long for a familiar banter to spark up.

“You always insist on taking the longer route,” Joel grumbled, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “We could be back by lunch if we just cut through the valley.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And miss out on the view from the ridge? Not a chance. Besides, you’re always in such a hurry. What’s the rush, Joel?”

“I just don’t see the point in dragging things out when there’s work to be done,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his voice. It was the kind of argument you had a dozen times before, more out of habit than any real disagreement.

“You need to learn to appreciate the little things,” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Like this beautiful day and the fact that we’re not freezing our asses off in a storm.”

Joel huffed, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a smile. “You sound like Tommy,” he muttered.

You were about to respond when your foot caught on a loose rock, sending you stumbling forward. It happened so quickly that you barely had time to react, your arms flailing as you tried to regain your balance.

But before you could hit the ground, Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back. The force of the movement caused you to overcompensate, and instead of falling to the ground, you ended up falling right into Joel, your chest colliding with his as you both tumbled backward.

You landed on top of him with an “oof,” your hands braced against his chest as you tried to steady yourself. For a moment, neither of you moved, the sudden closeness freezing you both in place.

Your faces were inches apart, your breath mingling with his as you looked down at him, your eyes locking. You could feel his heart pounding under your hands, the rapid thud of it mirroring your own.

The world around you seemed to fade away; the only thing you could focus on was the way his eyes searched yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he looked at you, as if he were seeing you for the first time, or maybe remembering you in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

“Careful there,” Joel said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”

His words were gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the roughness of his hands as they held you steady, and for a moment, you were lost in the sensation, in the closeness of him.

“Thanks,” you breathed, your voice just as soft. You didn’t move; you didn’t dare break the moment, but you knew you couldn’t stay like this forever.

Reluctantly, you started to pull back, but not before you saw the flicker of disappointment in Joel’s eyes. It was there for just a second, but it was enough to make your heart ache and remind you of the delicate balance you were trying to maintain.

Once you were back on your feet, you offered him a hand, helping him up. He took it, his grip firm but lingering just a moment longer than necessary, his touch sending a warm tingle through you.

“Guess I should watch where I’m going,” you said with a small, self-deprecating laugh, trying to break the tension.

Joel just nodded, his eyes still on you, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “You should.”

“You blushed,” Joel said softly, his voice carrying a teasing edge as he dusted off his clothes.

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks again, the flush creeping up your neck as you realized he was right. You had blushed, and he had noticed.

“I did not,” you muttered, though the denial was weak, the embarrassment clear in your tone as you tried to avoid his gaze.

Joel just chuckled, the sound low and rich, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. “Sure, you didn’t,” he said, clearly unconvinced. He wasn’t about to let you off the hook that easily.

You shook your head, trying to will away the blush that you knew was only deepening with every second. “Just watch where you’re going next time,” you shot back, trying to deflect the attention from yourself.

Joel smirked, his expression softening as he looked at you with that familiar mix of amusement and affection. “You’re the one who tripped,” he reminded you, but there was no real bite to his words. If anything, he seemed almost pleased, as if the moment had lightened the tension that had been lingering between you since the night before.

You huffed in mock annoyance, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your true feelings. “Fine, you win this round,” you conceded, rolling your eyes playfully.

Joel just shook his head, still smiling as he started walking again; his pace slowed enough for you to fall in step beside him. “Don’t worry,” he said, his tone more serious now, though the warmth remained. “I’ve got your back. Always.”

His words, simple as they were, carried a weight that made your heart ache in the best way. You knew he meant it. For a mere moment of time, Joel seemed to be the one who woke up that day after his accident convinced he was going to make you fall in love with him. And though you weren’t sure what the future held, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in his presence.

“I have to ask you something,” you began, unsure of how approaching the delicate topic you were about to dive into

“Sure.”

“When your daughter died.“

Joel’s reaction was immediate, his expression shifting from the tender warmth of a moment ago to a guarded hardness. His eyes, which had been so open and vulnerable, narrowed as he looked at you, his body tensing.

“How do you know about that?” He asked, his voice low and edged with a defensiveness you hadn’t heard from him in a long time.

You hesitated, realizing that you had touched on a wound that was still raw and still painful for him. The last thing you wanted was to push him away, especially when things had been starting to mend between you.

“Joel, I—” you began, struggling to find the right words. “You told me a while ago.”

He stayed silent, his gaze still intense, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes now—maybe fear, maybe grief. You couldn’t be sure.

“I just… I want to understand you better,” you continued, your voice softening as you tried to bridge the gap between you.

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you feared he was going to shut down completely. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “What happened to her—it broke me.” He said, walking forward.

“Did you feel like life stopped for you at that moment?” You asked, making him stop on his tracks.

Joel stopped dead in his tracks, the question hanging in the air between you like a weight that neither of you knew how to bear. His back was to you, his shoulders tense, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was going to respond or just walk away.

When he finally turned to face you, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes His eyes held a depth of pain that took your breath away.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It did.”

He looked down, as if he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze any longer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Everything just stopped. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It was like the world just shattered, and I was stuck in the middle of the wreckage, trying to find a way out, but there wasn’t one.”

You stepped closer to him, feeling the urge to close the distance between you to offer some kind of comfort, but you hesitated, unsure if he would welcome it. Instead, you just stood there, letting him speak, letting him finally give voice to the pain that had been locked inside him for so long.

“After that, nothing mattered,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “Nothing felt real. I just went through the motions and did what I had to do to survive. But there was this emptiness, this void that nothing could fill. And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move past it.” He paused for a moment. “But then Ellie appeared, and I felt like a dad again.”

He glanced at you, searching your eyes for understanding. “It wasn’t the same, not by a long shot. But she gave me something to fight for, something to care about. I couldn’t just give up when she needed me. I had to keep going for her.”

The vulnerability in his voice was heartbreaking, and you could see how much Ellie meant to him and how she had somehow managed to pull him back from the edge. The bond they shared was unique, forged in the fires of loss and survival, and it had become a lifeline for him in ways you were only beginning to understand.

“Ellie’s special,” you said softly, not wanting to break the moment but needing to acknowledge the significance of what he was sharing with you. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Joel’s voice trembled as he spoke, the raw emotion seeping through the cracks of the façade he’d been holding onto. “Then you appeared,” he admitted, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I felt like you reminded me of the good times and of how sweet people used to be before all of this. And having to face that, it just reminded me of everything I lost.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your own heartache for him. Joel had been through so much, had lost so much, and now here he was, standing in front of you, his walls slowly crumbling as he let you see the parts of himself he kept hidden from the world.

“I didn’t mean to make things harder for you,” you said quietly, your voice laced with regret. “I never wanted to bring up old wounds.”

Joel shook his head, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh god, no. It’s not your fault. I was an asshole to you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just seeing someone like you, someone who still has that kindness, that light; it’s like looking at a world that doesn’t exist anymore. And it scares me.”

“Then why did you do it?” you asked, hoping that in the middle of this vulnerable side of Joel, he would be able to tell the truth. “You were nice to me at the beginning, then you were you.”

Joel’s expression faltered, and you could see the internal struggle play out across his face. He hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to protect you from the truth and the desire to finally be honest.

“You really want to know?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, a rawness that made your heart tighten in your chest.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. “I need to know why, Joel.”

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather the courage to say what needed to be said. “One night you were tipsy. Just talking. I walked you home, and then you kissed me.”

Your breath hitched; the memory completely lost to you. “I kissed you?” you repeated, the disbelief evident in your tone.

Joel nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you remembered. “You did. And the next day, you acted like nothing happened. Like it was just another day.”

You felt a surge of confusion and frustration. “I don’t remember that, Joel. I was probably too out of it. But why would that make you treat me the way you did?”

His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he tried to find the right words. “Because it scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I’d been fighting these feelings for so long, trying to keep them buried, and then you kissed me, and it was like everything I’d been holding back came rushing to the surface.”

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “So you pushed me away,” you said, the realization dawning on you.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Joel confessed, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t want to risk losing you. But at the same time, I couldn’t just pretend like nothing had changed. So I built up walls and acted like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. But you do matter, more than I ever let on. And I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

The anger you’d felt simmering beneath the surface began to bubble over, your emotions a tangled mess of hurt and confusion. “So all this time, you were just punishing me for something I didn’t even remember? For something that clearly didn’t mean as much to me as it did to you?”

Joel winced at your words, the guilt evident in his eyes. “I know how it sounds, and I’m sorry. I was just I was scared, alright? Scared of what I was feeling, scared of what it could mean. And I took it out on you. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the truth.”

You took a step back, needing some space to process everything. “You should have just talked to me, Joel. We could have figured this out together instead of… whatever this mess is.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with remorse. “I messed up. And I know it’s going to take time to fix things, if I even can. But I’m willing to try if you’ll let me.”

The storm of emotions swirling inside you made it hard to think clearly. You felt hurt, angry, and confused, but also a small part of you understood where Joel was coming from, even if you didn’t like it.

“After your accident, I took care of you, Joel, and Oh my god! You’re such a baby,” you said.

Joel blinked, taken aback by your sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You heard me,” you replied, crossing your arms. “You’re a baby. You couldn’t handle your feelings, so you pushed me away instead of just talking to me like an adult.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his expression. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Oh, but it was!” You cut him off, your frustration bubbling over. “I was there for you, Joel. I took care of you when you needed it, and you repay me by treating me like crap because you couldn’t deal with a stupid kiss.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. “You’re a grown man, Joel. You’ve been through hell and back, and you let something as small as this trip you up? You’re right, you messed up. But you didn’t just mess up; you acted like a damn child.”

Joel’s defensiveness faded, replaced by a look of chagrin. “And you are mad at me still for not remembering things!”

“Oh my god, I’m not mad at you for that reason. I’m mad because of how you treated me.”

Joel looked down, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “I know. And I don’t blame you for being mad. I was wrong, and I should have handled things differently.”

You could see the regret etched into his features, but it didn’t make the sting of his actions hurt any less. “You pushed me away when I was just trying to be there for you,” you said, your voice wavering slightly as the emotions you’d been holding back started to surface. “I trusted you, and you made me feel like I did something wrong when all I wanted was to be close to you.”

You wanted to believe him, but the wall you’d built around yourself was still firmly in place. “You broke something, Joel, and I don’t know if it can be fixed,” you admitted.

Joel’s face fell, but he didn’t back down. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… don’t give up on me yet.”

There was a long silence as you both stood there, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between you. Finally, you nodded, though it was more out of exhaustion than anything else. “I’m not giving up,” you said quietly. “But I’m not ready to forgive you either.”

Joel nodded slowly, accepting your words for what they were a small step forward.

The tension between you and Joel was palpable as you turned to continue your walk back to Jackson. The path ahead was familiar, but it felt different now, heavy with the weight of the conversation you’d just had. Joel walked a few steps behind you, giving you the space you needed, though you could feel his presence like a shadow at your back.

The silence between you was filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Each step you took was a reminder of the fractured bond you were both trying to navigate. The trees around you swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling like whispers in the quiet, but the usual comfort of the forest felt distant, overshadowed by the turmoil in your heart.

As the gates of Jackson came into view, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. The town, once a place of refuge, now felt like a minefield of emotions you weren’t ready to face. You knew that when you walked through those gates, you’d have to see the people who had become your family, the ones who had seen you and Joel together, and you weren’t sure how to handle their questions or their concern.

Joel’s voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. “We’re almost there. Do you want me to walk you the rest of the way?”

You paused, considering his offer. It was a simple question, but it carried so much more weight than either of you wanted to acknowledge. You were exhausted—physically, emotionally—and the idea of facing everyone on your own felt overwhelming. But at the same time, you weren’t sure if you could handle being so close to Joel after everything that had been said.

“I think I can manage,” you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. You turned to look at him, your expression softening just a little. “But… thank you.”

Joel nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

You gave him a small, tired smile before turning back toward the gates. As you walked through them, you could feel the eyes of the guards and townspeople on you, their concern evident. You kept your head down, trying to avoid their gazes, and made your way to your quarters as quickly as possible.

Unbeknownst to you, Lori stood a short distance away, partially obscured by the shadows of a nearby building. Her eyes followed you and Joel, her expression unreadable. She had seen the two of you walking in together, though not exactly side by side, and the tension between you was obvious even from where she stood.

Lori’s heart clenched with a mixture of emotions she struggled to sort through. Anger, hurt, jealousy. They all swirled inside her, but there was something else too, something she didn’t want to admit. A pang of guilt, perhaps? She watched as Joel lingered near the gates, his gaze following you until you disappeared.

During net day, as you headed to the bar to grab something to eat for lunch, your thoughts were dancing around Joel’s words. And as if you were calling out for him, you saw him and Tommy sprinting towards you, their expressions tense and urgent.

“Hey!” Tommy called out, his voice sharp with worry. He reached you first, slightly out of breath, and placed a hand on your shoulder to steady himself. “We just got word—one of our patrol groups ran into raiders. They’re hurt, bad.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the air suddenly feeling colder around you. “Who? Where are they?” you asked, your voice shaky as fear began to creep in.

Joel was right behind Tommy, his face a mask of concern. “They’re bringing them in now. Maria sent a team to help. We need to get to the gates.”

The reality of the situation hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind raced as you tried to process the information. “Do you know who’s hurt?” you managed to ask, even though you were dreading the answer.

Tommy shook his head. “We don’t know all the details yet. We just know they ran into trouble, and it wasn’t pretty. You should come with us.”

Without another word, the three of you started running towards the gates, your lunch forgotten. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded, fear clawing at your insides. The people of Jackson had become like family to you, and the thought of any of them being hurt—possibly worse—was unbearable.

As you neared the gates, you could see a small crowd gathering, everyone’s faces etched with worry. The gates creaked open, and you spotted the patrol group returning. The sight that met your eyes made your stomach drop.

Several members of the group were being supported by others, their clothes stained with blood and dirt. One of them was limping heavily, another clutching a makeshift bandage around their arm, and a third was barely conscious, their heads lolling to the side as they were carried in on a stretcher.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth in shock. You recognized some of the faces—people you’d shared meals with, worked alongside, and laughed with. Seeing them like this was like a nightmare come to life.

Joel was already moving towards the injured, his instincts kicking in. He glanced back at you, his expression a mix of determination and concern. “Come on,” he said, his voice firm. “We need to help.”

You immediately went into action, with the medical staff, two doctors, and you were there to assist and prepare the supplies you needed. The chaos of the scene was familiar, and you worked efficiently, focusing on the task at hand.

As you worked, you heard footsteps behind you and glanced up to see Joel entering the room. His face was pale, his usual confidence replaced with concern. He looked around, trying to make sense of the situation, and his eyes met yours. For a moment, you saw the same depth of emotion you had seen before, a silent understanding passing between you.

Joel approached you, his voice low. “How can I help?”

You were momentarily taken aback by the offer, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Just keep out of the way for now. I need to focus on these guys. They’re in bad shape.”

Joel nodded and stepped back, watching with a mix of concern and helplessness as you and the medical staff worked. The minutes ticked by as you tended to the injured, applying bandages, administering pain relief, and stabilizing their conditions. The work was intense, but you were in your element, pushing aside any personal worries for the moment.

You moved swiftly from one patient to the next, checking vitals and administering care. When you reached Ethan, one of the patrol members who had been particularly badly hurt, you could see that he was in a bad state. His face was pale, and his breathing was shallow. His eyes, once sharp and alert, now seemed distant, lost.

"Ethan," you said softly, trying to get his attention. "How are you feeling? Can you tell me what's hurting the most?"

For a moment, Ethan didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on something far away, his mind seemingly adrift. You noticed a dark, spreading stain on his arm, and upon closer inspection, you realized with a jolt that it was a bite mark. The infection was spreading, and it was clear that Ethan was in the early stages of infection.

Panic surged through you as you looked up at Ethan's face, your heart sinking. "Ethan, you’ve been bitten. We need to—"

Before you could finish, Ethan’s eyes snapped back into focus. In a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed you by the neck, his grip strong and desperate. His expression was a mix of fear and anguish, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the sheer intensity of it.

"Get away from him!" Joel’s voice cut through the chaos. He rushed forward, grabbing Ethan’s arm and pulling it away from your neck, managing to pry Ethan’s fingers loose, though Ethan struggled against him.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears and how bad you were bearing for breathing.

The sudden force of Joel’s intervention broke Ethan’s hold, and he fell back, his breath ragged and his eyes wild. The other medical staff quickly moved in to restrain him, and you stumbled back, gasping for air, your hands instinctively rubbing your neck.

Joel’s eyes were wide with a mix of fear and anger. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently, his gaze scanning your face for any signs of injury or distress.

You nodded, though your voice was shaky. "I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken."

Joel’s expression softened with relief, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. “We need to handle this. If he’s infected.” His voice trailed off, the grim reality settling in.

The gunshot put your attention back on Ethan, who now lay motionless on the ground.

The sharp sound of the gunshot echoed through the infirmary, pulling your attention back to Ethan. His body lay motionless on the ground, a grim testament to the harsh realities of your world. The medical staff had taken the necessary precautions, but the finality of the situation was palpable.

Joel’s face was a mask of conflicted emotions, his eyes shifting from the lifeless form of Ethan to you. The weight of what had just happened hung heavily in the air, and the reality of the infection and its consequences was stark and unforgiving.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, making it difficult to think clearly. The reality of Ethan's fate, coupled with the close call you had just experienced, left you feeling shaken and vulnerable.

“Are you sure you’re, okay?” Joel asked again, his voice softer now but still filled with concern.

You managed a nod, though your hands were still trembling slightly. “I’m alright. Just… a little rattled.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his worry evident. He seemed to be grappling with his own emotions as well.

“Are you okay?” You asked, looking up at him.

Joel blinks, caught off guard by your question. He had been so focused on your well-being that it hadn’t occurred to him that you might be concerned about him too. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words.

“I’m fine,” he finally said, though his voice was thick with emotion. But the way his hand lingered on your arm, the way his eyes softened when they met yours, told a different story.

You weren’t sure what made you do it; maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins or the rawness of the moment, but you reached up and gently touched his cheek.

Joel closed his eyes as your fingertips lightly grazed his cheek, the warmth of your touch sending a jolt through him. For a moment, the chaos of the scene around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a fragile bubble of quiet intimacy.

He opened his eyes slowly, meeting your gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said softly, though his words lacked conviction. “I’ve seen worse.”

You nodded, understanding that while he might brush off concern for himself, the weight of the situation was affecting him deeply. “I know,” you said gently, your voice barely more than a whisper.

As the day wore on and the news of the raiders surrounding Jackson spread, the town sprang into action. The common area transformed into a hub of activity as people gathered to discuss a strategy to defend what everyone called home. The mood was tense but determined; everyone knew how critical it was to stay united and vigilant.

Tommy and Maria were at the forefront, rallying the community and coordinating efforts to ensure everyone's safety. Their voices cut through the cacophony of worried chatter as they outlined the plan.

“We need to have eyes on every approach,” Tommy said firmly. “We can’t afford to miss anything. If anyone sees anything suspicious, report it immediately.”

Maria nodded in agreement, her face a mask of resolve. “We’re going to split into groups. Some will keep watch from the perimeter; others will stay here and fortify the defenses.”

Amidst the crowd, you stepped forward, ready to volunteer for the lookout duty. “I’m in,” you said, raising your hand. “I can help keep watch.”

Joel, who had been helping with preparations, looked up sharply. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You need to stay here. It’s too dangerous out there.”

You were taken aback by his sudden, forceful objection. “Joel, I can handle it. I’ve been out there before, and I know how to stay safe.”

Joel stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of concern and frustration. “This isn’t the same as a routine patrol. The raiders are already here, and things are going to get rough. I don’t want you out there.”

“I’ve been dealing with that before,” you gritted between your teeth.

“She’s strong, but we need at least five more people,” Tommy said.

Joel's expression remained firm as he looked at you, but there was an unmistakable trace of worry in his eyes. “I get that you’ve been through a lot, but this isn’t just about being strong. It’s about the risk. I can’t—”

Tommy interjected, his voice steady but urgent. “She’s strong, Joel, but we need at least five more people out there to cover all the necessary positions. We don’t have enough eyes on the perimeter as it is.”

Maria nodded in agreement, glancing between you and Joel. “We need all the help we can get. I understand Joel’s concern, but the priority is to keep everyone safe. If you’re willing, we can use you out there.”

Joel’s gaze flickered between you and Tommy, the conflict clear on his face. He knew the stakes were high, and while his protective instincts were strong, he also recognized the necessity of having enough people on the ground.

“I don’t like it,” Joel said finally, his voice softer but still laden with concern.

Joel’s concern was palpable, but before he could say more, Lori stepped forward from the group, her expression determined. “If you’re worried about her, then let me go too,” she said firmly, her gaze meeting Joel’s.

Joel looked at Lori, surprise flickering across his face. “Lori, I—”

Lori cut him off, her tone resolute. “Look, I’ve got experience with situations like this. I’m willing to put myself out there. If it helps you feel better about her going, then let me join her.”

Maria glanced between Joel and Lori, clearly weighing the situation. “That could actually work,” she said thoughtfully. “If we have both of you out there, it might alleviate some of the pressure.”

Joel hesitated, still visibly torn. He didn’t trust Lori at all.

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Lori, his concern clearly evident. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of her going out there with you, especially given the tension between the two of you.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Joel said, his voice low but firm. “Lori, you’ve got experience, but this situation is different. It’s more dangerous than anything we’ve faced recently.”

Lori met his gaze with equal determination. “I understand your concern, Joel, but if I can help keep things under control, then I’m willing to take the risk.”

Maria, sensing the mounting tension, stepped in to medierate. “Joel, I understand your hesitation. But we need to make sure we have enough people to cover all positions. If Lori’s offering to help and she’s capable, it might be our best option.”

Joel’s eyes flickered with frustration as he glanced at you, then back at Lori. “Alright,” he said reluctantly. “But both of you need to stay in touch and make sure you’re covering each other’s backs. I don’t want any risks.”

As the group readied themselves to head out, the tension was palpable. The urgency of the situation had everyone moving swiftly, but there was a lingering heaviness in the air, a mix of anxiety and unspoken feelings.

You and Joel exchanged one final, intense glance before you left. His eyes held a storm of emotions—concern, fear, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite place. It was clear he was struggling with the idea of you going out there, but he was also showing the resolve to stay behind and protect Jackson if things went wrong.

“Be careful,” Joel said, his voice soft but stern. There was a vulnerability in his tone that was almost painful to hear.

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. “I will. You too, Joel.”

With a final look, you turned and joined Tommy, Lori, and the rest of the group. As you walked away, you felt a mixture of resolve and unease. The path ahead was uncertain, and the weight of the responsibilities you carried felt heavier with each step.

The sky was darkening as you and Lori took your positions around Jackson. The sounds of the town preparing for the possible assault filled the air—voices calling out instructions, the clatter of equipment being readied, and the distant murmur of worried conversations.

Lori nodded, her expression softening slightly. “We’ll be careful. You have my word.”

You could see the weight of Joel’s concern in his posture, the way his jaw tightened and his eyes searched yours. It was clear he was still struggling with letting you go out there, but he was also facing the reality of the situation.

“Let’s get ready,” Maria said, stepping in to redirect the focus. “We’ve got to move fast if we’re going to set everything up in time.”

Joel and Tommy exchange a look from the distance. One look that said

Please protect her from all.

The group moved through the woods with tense precision. The night was dark, and the forest seemed to close in around them, the trees casting long, eerie shadows in the dim light. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig sent a jolt of anxiety through the group as they moved carefully toward their designated positions.

You were positioned with Lori and a few other members; your nerves heightened as you scanned the surrounding area. The anticipation of an attack weighed heavily on you, each sound in the forest amplified by the tension of the situation. Lori was focused, her experience evident in her movements as she checked and rechecked her gear.

Tommy, who had stayed behind for a while, was now close enough to provide support if needed but kept their distance to avoid drawing attention. His gaze was constantly shifting, his eyes searching the darkness for any signs of movement. The worry etched into his face was evident even from a distance.

As the minutes ticked by, the silence grew more oppressive, each member of the group lost in their own thoughts and preparations. The night felt endless, the anticipation building as everyone awaited the inevitable clash.

Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by the sound of distant shouts and the unmistakable noise of raiders closing in. The group’s alertness surged into action as everyone took their positions, readying themselves for the confrontation.

“Here they come!” Lori’s voice cut through the tension, her tone commanding. “Stay sharp and keep an eye on each other!”

The raiders emerged from the darkness, their figures outlined against the low light of the moon. The confrontation was chaotic and intense, the night erupting into a flurry of movement and noise. You fought with determination; every instinct heightened as you defended your position.

Despite the chaos, you could feel the presence of your allies around you; their movements synchronized as they worked together to repel the raiders. The noise of gunfire and shouts filled the air, and you found a grim sense of focus as you engaged with the attackers.

In the midst of the chaos, Lori’s actions took a dangerous turn. Amid the melee, she made a sudden, unexpected move that shifted the dynamics of the confrontation. As you and Tommy were engaged with the raiders, Lori took it upon herself to maneuver through the fray, pushing for a more aggressive stance.

“Cover me!” Lori shouted, her voice rising above the din. “I’m going to create a diversion!”

Before anyone could fully grasp her intention, Lori threw a series of flashbangs and smoke grenades into the thick of the raiders. The sudden blinding light and thick smoke created confusion among the attackers but also disrupted your group’s coordination.

The diversion had the unintended effect of drawing the raiders' focus toward the source of the commotion. The chaos escalated quickly, with the raiders now focused on the new threat and your group struggling to maintain control.

In the disarray, Lori’s actions created an opening for a smaller group of raiders to break through the defenses. The confusion spread, and it became increasingly difficult for everyone to stay organized. As the situation grew more chaotic, some members of the group started to retreat, trying to regroup and escape from the overwhelming numbers of raiders.

Tommy, realizing the deteriorating situation, shouted, “We need to fall back! Get to the rendezvous point!”

Amid the confusion, Lori’s initial strategy had backfired. She and the others began to withdraw, but in the scramble to escape, it became evident that you were separated from the rest of the group. You fought to hold your ground, but the chaos and disorganization made it nearly impossible to regroup.

In the thick of the battle, you tried to push your way toward the retreating group, but the raiders were relentless. Despite your efforts, you found yourself isolated, with the sounds of the retreating group fading into the distance. The enemy's numbers were overwhelming, and you had to take cover behind a nearby structure, your heart racing as you tried to catch your breath.

The night seemed to stretch endlessly as you waited, your thoughts racing with worry about whether you’d be able to rejoin your group. The noise of the battle grew distant, replaced by the eerie silence of the aftermath.

When the group finally made it back to Jackson, the atmosphere was tense and somber. Tommy and Lori arrived, looking battered and exhausted. The sight of the raiders repelled, and the group’s narrow escape was overshadowed by the stark absence of you.

The patrol group trudged back into Jackson, their faces weary and their clothes stained with dirt and blood. They moved slowly, burdened by the weight of the day's events. As they passed through the gates, people began to gather, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

Joel was waiting anxiously at the gate, his face etched with concern. As soon as he saw Tommy and Lori, his eyes darted around, searching for you. When he saw that you were missing, his face went pale, and a deep anger began to simmer beneath the surface.

“Where is she?” Joel demanded; his voice barely controlled. His eyes locked onto Tommy with a fierce intensity. “Where the hell is she?”

Tommy's face was grim as he approached Joel. “We lost her in the chaos. Lori tried to make a diversion, and things got out of hand. We couldn’t get back to her.”

Joel’s eyes shot to Lori; his anger palpable. “A diversion? You’re telling me you put her in danger and didn’t make sure she was safe?”

Lori’s face was flushed with exhaustion and guilt. “It was a mistake, Joel. I didn’t mean for it to get out of control. We were trying to get the raiders to focus elsewhere so we could regroup.”

Joel's fists clenched at his sides, his frustration boiling over. “A mistake? She’s out there alone because of you. How could you let this happen?”

Maria stepped in, trying to diffuse the escalating situation. “Joel, yelling at Lori isn’t going to help. We need to focus on finding her. We have to get a search party together and head back out.”

Joel took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t get to make that call,” he hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “If anything happens to her,”

“She’ll be fine,” Lori cut him off, rolling her eyes. “You’re overreacting.”

Joel’s eyes were wild with panic and anger. “No, you don’t understand. She could be hurt, or worse. We need to get out there now!”

Tommy put a hand on Joel’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “We will. But we need to be smart about it. We can’t rush in without a plan. We’ll organize a search party and go as soon as we can.”

Joel shook his head, his breathing heavy and uneven. “I don’t care about plans. I’m not waiting around while she’s out there.”

But Joel wasn’t listening. He was already turning away, his mind racing with a hundred different scenarios, each worse than the last. He needed to find you to make sure you were safe. The thought of you out there, alone and vulnerable, sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Without another word, Joel stormed off towards the gates, his heart hammering in his chest. He wasn’t going to wait around for someone else to bring you back. He would find you himself, no matter what it took.

Joel raced through the woods, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he searched for any sign of you. The setting sun cast long shadows over the path, and the dense trees around him made it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. But he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. The thought of you out here alone, in danger, was enough to keep him moving, fear and adrenaline pushing him forward.

Joel refused to let himself think about the worst possibilities; he just needed to find you.

Tommy was right behind him, struggling to keep up with Joel's relentless pace. “Joel, slow down!” Tommy called out, his voice strained. “We need to do this smart. If you get hurt, we’re no good to anyone.”

Joel didn’t respond, his focus solely on finding you. He knew Tommy was right, but the fear gnawing at him made it impossible to slow down. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and every shadow that moved in the corner of his eye made his heart skip a beat.

After what it felt like hours of searching, Joel and Tommy came upon a clearing. The scene before them was chaotic—bodies of raiders lay scattered across the ground, the aftermath of a brutal fight. Blood stained the dirt, and the silence was eerie, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

When Joel reached the house, the door was ajar, creaking on its hinges as the wind pushed it back and forth. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and urgency propelling him forward. He approached cautiously, his hand gripping his revolver tightly, every nerve on edge. Behind him, Tommy moved in tandem, his rifle at the ready, the two brothers moving as one unit.

Joel nudged the door open with his foot, and it swung inward with a loud creak, revealing the scene inside. The room was a disaster—furniture overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor, and the bodies of several men lying lifeless on the ground. Bloodstains marred the walls and floor, the remnants of a violent struggle.

Tommy entered behind him, his eyes sweeping the room with a practiced intensity. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, the carnage in front of them telling a grim story.

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes searched the room, desperately looking for you among the chaos. The fear of what he might find gnawed at him, each second feeling like an eternity.

And then he saw you.

You were slumped against the far wall, your body still and pale, but you were alive. Relief surged through him, though it was tempered by the sight of your injuries. Joel rushed to your side, his revolver slipping from his grip as he knelt down next to you, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch your face.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’m here.” He gently touched your face, his fingers brushing against your cold skin as he checked for any serious injuries.

You blinked, your eyes struggling to focus on him. “Joel?” you murmured weakly, the sound of his name on your lips a small comfort to him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? Just stay with me.”

You nodded faintly, your body leaning into his touch as if you couldn’t bear to hold yourself up any longer. “They… they ambushed us,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I tried… but there were too many.”

"Did you kill them all by yourself?" Tommy asked, his voice tinged with both awe and concern as he glanced around the room, taking in the lifeless bodies scattered across the floor.

You nodded weakly, the effort it took to do so evident in the way your body sagged against Joel’s. “I didn’t have a choice,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “They were going to… I couldn’t let them…”

Joel’s heart ached as he listened to you, the weight of what you’d been through settling heavily on his shoulders. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the toll that the fight had taken on you, both physically and emotionally.

“You did what you had to,” Joel said, his voice steady but filled with a fierce protectiveness. “You survived, and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sleepy, Joel,” you said, trying to close your eyes, and that’s when Joel’s breath caught in his throat. As he felt the warm, sticky blood on his hand. The sight of it. You had blood dripping from your shirt.

He pressed his hand more firmly against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but it was clear that you were slipping away.

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as he saw your eyelids droop, your voice growing weaker with every word. “No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice thick with panic as he gently shook you. “You have to stay awake, alright? Just keep your eyes on me.”

He quickly adjusted his grip on you, his hand moving to press against your abdomen where the blood was seeping through your clothes. The wound was worse than he had initially realized, and the sight of it made his stomach twist with fear.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice trembling. “I’m not losing you; you hear me?”

You tried to nod, but the pain and exhaustion were overwhelming, pulling you toward unconsciousness. “Joel… it hurts,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I know, sunshine, I know,” he said, his heart breaking at the sight of you in so much pain.

sunshine

It took him almost to lose you to remember your words.

It took him almost to lose you to remember yours I love you.

It took him almost to lose you to realize how important you were to him.

"I'm sleepy" you whispered, almost inaudible to hear.

"No, you're not," Joel said.

"Shhh.Let me sleep, Joel. Can you carry me to bed?"

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he struggled to keep his composure. “I’m carrying you, okay. Every single day for the rest of my life, I’ll carry you,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Baby, baby, baby,” he whispered into your hair, his tears mixing with the dirt and blood on your skin. He was terrified of how still you were in his arms, caught between life and death.

“I’ll save you like you saved me,” he vowed, his voice a desperate prayer as he held you close, willing you to stay with him, to fight, to live.

+++++++++++

I tagged everyone interested in more parts or or the ones who commented, but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed (again) if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me. I tried to add everyone but I don't know If I did.

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rennalaqotfm · 25 days

Text

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART III)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Violence, blood and injury, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, angst, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

Dialogue in italics is High Valyrian.

WC: 5.4k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had always prided himself on being a capable fighter. Although Jacaerys' strength primarily lay in politics, he never let his swordsmanship fall behind. In fact, Ser Harwin Strong, the captain of the City Watch, and as many whispered, his real father, had taught him everything about the art of yielding a sword. From the correct way of unsheathing the blade to keeping his knees slightly bent so he wouldn't stagger as easily. He still recalled how at the tender age of six, Ser Harwin kneeled to his level as he placed his heavy arm on his shoulder.

'A sword is but a tool. Its true power lies within the one who yields it. Visualise your desired outcome, and your blade will follow.'

Ser Criston Cole, however, had no patience for his idealised notions of battle. While Ser Harwin had taught Jacaerys the foundations of swordsmanship, it was Ser Criston who introduced him to the unforgiving truth of a real battle, proving that sparring with a straw dummy wasn't useful beyond the training grounds.

'When steel is drawn, a fair fight isn't something anyone should expect.'

He still bitterly remembered how Ser Criston had him spar against his uncle Aegon. Anyone who watched that scene would've thought it wasn't a fair battle. Aegon was already four-and-ten, much taller and stronger than he was. Jacaerys still remembered how Aegon's strikes had come faster and harder than anything he had faced before, especially the kick to his stomach that sent him flying to the ground with a thud, and yet, Aegon didn't cease delivering blow after blow with brute force.

'Is this what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?'

The sting of defeat, the bruises that lingered for days, and the humiliation of being bested in front of others, particularly his grandsire Viserys, were all part of Ser Criston's lesson. And in that moment, Jacaerys came to realise that cruelty might be something he didn't possess.

Now there was no excuse. It wasn't going to be an unfair battle since Prince Elyas Martell was but a year older than him, and couldn't have trained any differently. However, Jacaerys had never killed a man with his own hands. Yes, he had led men into battle, but taking someone's life with his sword was something he had yet to experience. There was no doubt that killing was nothing more than just a mundane task for Elyas. Those Dornishmen seemed to take pleasure in the most outlandish ways, which made him question how strong of a warrior Prince Elyas was to defeat such great lords.

Then he recalled the story Addam of Hull had told them in Dragonstone, how the reason why Princess Y/n remained unwed was because his suitors had met the common fate of death. As much as he didn't want to believe those rumours, he had bitterly grown to accept that all those tales about the Dornishmen were nothing but true.

The young prince frowned as he took in the arid, unforgiving weather. It would've been foolish to wear his full armour for the trial; the extreme heat would likely cause him to collapse before he even reached the arena. He sported nothing more than a Targaryen breastplate on top of a linen tunic, and his breeches. He considered sporting his gauntlets, but the sweat of his hands would affect the grip on his sword. Even with just the breastplate, he already felt how beads of sweat rolled down his back.

Jacaerys had been so fixated on winning the trial that he barely had any time to process his betrothal with Princess Y/n. He wondered if all of her suitors even wished for power, or mayhaps they were simply entranced by her beauty. Despite her attitude, there was something enticing about the Princess he couldn't bring himself to deny. But what was he going to do if behind that beauty lay nothing but different ideals and hostility? What would the rest of the houses think upon finding out about their alliance with House Martell? How would the two of them rule the whole realm if the Princess put Dorne's interests before the rest of Westeros?

Not to mention, even if he emerged victorious from the trial, he doubted Princess Y/n would be too pleased if her brother's life was the price. The thought gnawed at him as he fastened his boots. But what if he were the one to fall? He couldn't even begin to imagine the devastation it would bring to his mother, and the mere thought of her grief twisted his stomach. Daemon had offered to fight in his place, a suggestion his mother had eagerly supported. Yet, Jacaerys had refused, knowing that the Princess would never consider his proposal if he didn't prove his own worth in the arena. To win her hand without facing the trial himself would be dishonourable.

No matter what he did, all odds were against him.

"It's time," one of the guards spoke behind the door.

One guard led the way, as the other trailed behind him, with his spear in hand, ready to attack if the Prince even attempted to do anything. They walked through the labyrinthine halls of the Old Palace, adorned with pillars and chandeliers, lighting up the place as the blinding rays of sunshine met with the golden decorations.

They stepped into the flourishing gardens leading to the arena, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited his arrival. He could hear his mother's voice as they spoke in High Valyrian, unaware of his presence.

"I have lost too many children, Daemon. The thought of losing Jace—" Rhaenyra's voice faltered, her lip quivering as she fought to swallow the rising lump in her throat.

"Elyas would be a fool to slay the Crown Prince," Daemon mumbled.

"You, above all, should know what these people are capable of."

"But killing the future king of the realm is a line they would not dare cross."

"And yet, must the price we pay for this war be our children?" Rhaenyra's voice broke.

"I was not aware how my death would be such an interesting thing to discuss," Jacaerys muttered bitterly.

"Jace," Rhaenyra turned to face her son, cupping his cheek. "For the last time, you do not have to do this—"

Jacaerys swatted his mother's hand off, his eyes full of contempt.

"You have no right to act concerned, Mother. You pushed forward with this, knowing the risks, knowing that I might pay with my life. Whatever fate awaits me in this trial... if I die, my blood is in your hands. But at least I will have done my duty."

Before Rhaenyra could say anything else to her son, the guards urged him to move forward.

With a heavy heart, Jacaerys turned to face her mother one last time, but she was nowhere to be seen as they most likely had been taken to the gallery. Before the guards pushed the double doors they exchanged a look of pity, clearing a path for him. That didn't go unnoticed by the Prince, and it only added to the river of negative emotions he had been drowning in since they arrived.

As Jacaerys stepped through the double doors, the world around him was suddenly swallowed by darkness, with only a narrow beam of light from the distant end of the tunnel. The corridor stretched before him, its walls echoing with the muffled sounds of the world above. He could hear the creak of wooden beams straining under the weight of footsteps, making him wonder how many eyes might be waiting for him outside. The air was cool and heavy, carrying with it the scent of the arena's sands, yet the usual roar of a crowd was eerily absent.

Jacaerys took a deep breath before stepping into the arena. The sun was almost blinding, leaving him momentarily disoriented. Feeling like a caged animal, he scanned his surroundings, shielding his eyes with his hand. To his surprise, there weren't many spectators; he could only make out the members of the Martell council. Then, his eyes quickly found his mother, whose face was etched with deep concern and regret. Nearby, Daemon, unable to sit still, attempted to calm his nerves with a cup of wine. Not very far from where the council sat, there were three empty seats in the royal box, where Prince Qoren took his seat, with Farien on his lap. Jacaerys grew confused as he saw Prince Elyas take a seat next to his father, leaving one empty. Was he not going to fight for his sister? Mayhaps the Princess' champion was her sworn protector.

A few moments had passed, yet the Princess was nowhere to be seen. Jacaerys' mind raced with doubts. Was she not going to attend the trial she herself had proposed?

Suddenly, the double doors opposite him began to open and the Martells began to cheer. Prince Qoren wrapped his arm around Farien, who couldn't stop clapping as he bounced on his father's lap. Elyas signalled one of the servants to bring him a cup of wine, as he leaned back on his seat and looked at Jacaerys with a sneer.

His eyes widened in shock as the figure emerging from the other side of the arena wasn't one of the twins either.

It was Princess Y/n herself.

The Princess strode toward the centre of the arena, the sun-kissed amber fabric of her dress flowing like a whisper with each step. The high slits on either side of the skirt fluttered and snapped, revealing glimpses of her legs as she moved. With a fluid motion, Princess Y/n unsheathed the two golden daggers holstered on her thighs, playfully twirling them around her fingers.

"Princess Y/n Martell, the Dancing Serpent of Dorne, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince. Let the trial commence," Ser Domeric Uller announced, earning another wave of applause from the Martells.

Dancing Serpent of Dorne?

Jacaerys took an instinctive step back, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Two guards blocked the door with their spears, leaving no chance of escape. In the glaring sunlight, Princess Y/n appeared like an oasis amid the dunes, her bronze skin glowing with an ethereal radiance, akin to that of a deity. She moved with the lethal agility of a serpent, her eyes locked onto him, calculating, and ready to strike. A storm of doubts began to cloud Jacaerys. What was he supposed to do? Kill her? Maim her?

He suddenly heard Ser Criston Cole's voice echoing in the back of his mind.

'Blades up. Engage.'

As if guided by pure instinct, the Prince unsheathed his sword, the sharp silver catching and reflecting a ray of sunlight. He quickly assumed a defensive stance, his eyes fixed onto the Princess. If he kept his distance, he should have the advantage over her. He lunged, aiming not for a lethal blow, but to knock the Princess off her feet, hard enough to force her to yield.

He was not there to shed blood.

The Princess easily dodged his attack as his blade slashed the air, and he quickly withdrew to his defensive stance. They began circling each other, eyes locked, neither daring to look away.

A bead of sweat trickled down Jacaerys' temple, his heart pounding as he watched Y/n assume a low, unfamiliar stance. She held both of her daggers up, poised like a serpent's fangs as she moved with languid grace, inching closer to him, almost hypnotically.

Before he could fully register the movement, a sharp pain sliced through his arm. Jacaerys hissed as Y/n's blade carved a deep gash, warm blood seeping through his white tunic and dripping onto the sand. He clenched his jaw, forcing the searing pain to the back of his mind, determined to ignore the Martells' cheers echoing around the arena. At least the arm wielding his sword was still intact.

The dance between the dragon and the serpent continued. Y/n darted forward, her twin daggers a blur as she unleashed a relentless flurry of slashes. Jacaerys struggled to block, each clash of steel sending vibrations up his injured arm. As she pressed her assault, he caught a glimpse of something feral in her eyes, a familiar look he knew all too well: bloodlust.

Growing weary of her relentless attacks, he sidestepped one of her strikes and delivered a swift, powerful kick to her side. The sheer force sent the Princess onto the sand with a grunt, one of her daggers slipping from her grasp.

Seizing the moment, Jacaerys lifted his blade to force her to surrender. But before he could strike, the Princess rolled to the side and kicked his shin, sending him stumbling backwards. In a heartbeat, Y/n was on him, knocking the sword from his grasp. She straddled him, raising her dagger high, ready to plunge it into his throat. Jacaerys reacted just in time, catching her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. Y/n cried out, the pain weakening her hold, and Jacaerys seized the opportunity. With a desperate reach, he grabbed the dagger she had previously dropped, which was just at arm's reach, and drove it straight into her side.

"Sister!" Elyas stood from his seat, ready to drive a spear into Jacaerys' heart.

The Princess wailed in agony, her body retracting as she recoiled from the blow. Jacaerys quickly rolled free and scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword and pointing it at her, his chest heaving as he tried to keep her pinned under the threat of his blade.

"Princess, please, I do not wish to hurt you—"

Jacaerys' eyes widened in horror as he watched Y/n yank the dagger from her side with a wicked grin. Without hesitation, she drove it into his calf. He groaned in pain, nearly collapsing, and used his sword to regain balance, the blade trembling under his weight.

Princess Y/n stood up from the ground, twirling the dagger as she watched the Prince struggle to get back to a defensive stance. Blood trickled down her side, soaking into her dress and staining the sand beneath her a deep crimson colour.

Jacaerys clenched his jaw in humiliation, feeling how pathetic he must have appeared to his mother, Daemon, the Martells, and most of all, to Y/n herself.

Before he could fully recover, Y/n moved like a shadow, slipping behind him. He grunted as she wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him close. The cold edge of her dagger was pressed firmly against his throat, and he dared not move.

He caught a glimpse of his mother, restrained by Daemon and the guards, her blood-curdling screams piercing through the air. It was the last sound he wanted to hear in his final moments. Jacaerys squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the chaos and focus on memories that brought him comfort: the waves crashing against the cliffs of Dragonstone, the rhythmic beat of Vermax's wings cutting through the clouds, and Lucerys' carefree laughter.

As he opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, he smiled bitterly. The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh. From the moment he had stepped into the arena, he knew he was doomed to fail. Yet, some foolish part of him had clung to the hope that he could make the Princess surrender.

He felt the Princess' laboured breaths in his ear, sending a chill down his spine. He waited, and waited, and waited for the dagger to slash his neck, but the excruciating pain he had anticipated never came.

Instead, a simple command reached his ears. One that, under any other circumstances, he would have defied without a second thought. But at that moment, his life was in the hands of Princess Y/n, and he dared not disobey her.

"Kneel before me," she whispered, making his blood run cold.

Jacaerys felt the Princess's grip loosen, allowing him to stumble forward. He turned back to face her, dropping to one knee, his gaze locked on hers. But in her eyes, he found no trace of mercy, nor cruelty. The bloodlust had drained away, replaced by a storm of emotions she herself couldn't fully comprehend.

That was the first time he had looked closely at the Princess. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, beads of sweat rolling down her temple as a few droplets of his own blood stained her face. There was something undeniably bewitching about her, a pull he couldn't fathom. As he gazed up at the woman before him, a creeping sense of fear began to coil in his chest as he came to realise the power she wielded over him. She was the kind of woman who could either plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos or unite them under her command.

"I choose Prince Jacaerys Velaryon as my betrothed," she declared, her voice echoing through the arena as her eyes locked onto Rhaenyra. "House Martell will stand with Queen Rhaenyra in the Targaryen Civil War. In return, we demand control of the Stepstones, the unwavering protection and loyalty of House Targaryen whenever called upon, and the unchallenged independence of Dorne once the war is won. And most importantly," she looked at her father, giving him a firm nod, "I expect an official acknowledgement of Dorne's sovereignty. Let this moment be written in history, for the generations to come."

The dining hall of the Old Palace was in full swing. Delicacies were served in abundance, and the servants scurried about, refilling cups left and right. The Princess was deep into her fifth cup, trying to numb the burning pain of her wound, which had been sewn and bandaged by Maester Kyce, and although her wrist was badly bruised, it wasn't dislocated.

Her gaze shifted to the erotic performance happening before them as they ate. A pair of men and women explored their bodies, trying the most peculiar positions that she never thought were possible. She could only chuckle, the wine painting the scene as the most amusing thing she had ever witnessed. She finished what she had left in her cup, before ushering the servant for more.

It was the only thing that could help her escape the suffocating atmosphere at the round table. Her father wasn't particularly pleased to be sharing the table with the Targaryens, and the feeling was mutual with the Martells. She couldn't bring herself to look at Elyas, whose eyes burned with the desire to start a war. Rhaenyra appeared torn between wanting to have her publicly executed for hurting her son and embracing her for sparing his life—yet even then, Y/n wasn't sure if what she had done was truly an act of mercy. Daemon leaned back, indulging in the finest Dornish wines, smirking as he silently celebrated the small victory of his successful plan. The only person who could have made the ordeal more bearable was Farien, but he was already fast asleep in his chambers.

Then there was Jacaerys. He sat stiffly, trying to focus on anything but her. Yet, there was something about her presence that commanded his attention, and his eyes betrayed him, drifting toward her against his will. Mayhaps her eyes lingered on him longer than she had realised, as their gazes suddenly met. He looked away, as though her eyes just scarred his soul.

"Well, isn't that pathetic..." she muttered under her breath.

That was the man who was to be her future betrothed, a prince who couldn't even meet her gaze without flinching. The thought of marrying someone like him left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Have you got something to say, Princess?" Jacaerys suddenly spat.

"Oh, I most certainly do," Y/n retorted, her lips curling in a mocking grin as she tried her best not to slur her words. Casymir helped her stand up. She took her cup and slowly raised it. "I wish to propose a toast," she began, trailing her eyes at Daemon and Rhaenyra before resting her gaze on Jacaerys. "After all, it's not every day that we witness such a... historic moment. The mighty Dragon, so fierce and proud, finally finds its place... on the ground, with one bent knee before the Serpent. To the ever-lasting and prosperous alliance of House Martell and House Targaryen."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Prince Qoren hummed in approval, raising his cup with a satisfied smile, while Rhaenyra and Daemon's expressions tightened in shock and disbelief at the blatant disrespect. Daemon's eyes narrowed dangerously, lingering on the knife beside the roast piglet, his fingers inching towards it. But before he could act, Rhaenyra's sharp glare stopped him. Jacaerys, however, had enough of her insolent attitude.

"I wish to propose a toast as well," Jacaerys stood up, wincing at the pain in his leg. "I wish to thank House Martell for their... overwhelming hospitality in receiving the Crown," he paused, taking his time to look at the Martells and each guard. "Not only have we been looked after with the utmost care, every single moment accompanied by the comforting presence of a spear at our backs, but you have also shown us that the great tales they speak of the Dornishmen are nothing but the truth. Fighting against the Princess herself has truly been an honour, and I am forever grateful for the mercy she has shown me. Mayhaps the Princess has a soft spot after all."

"Oh, my Prince," her eyes narrowed, knowing all too well that the mercy Jacaerys had referred to was cowardice. "I would love to have another duel, but I'd much prefer you alive for our wedding."

Jacaerys' face twisted with fury, his anger momentarily blinding him. In a swift motion, he drew his sword. Y/n didn't flinch. Instead, she unsheathed her dagger instinctively, pointing it directly at his forehead.

"We should take this to the arena if the Prince dares, that is," Princess Y/n smirked. "Well?" She taunted, looking down on him.

Jacaerys' nostrils flared with rage, knuckles turning white as he tightly held the grip of his sword. His mother's comforting touch slowly calmed his inner storm, and with a sour look on his face, he put his sword away.

"That's what I thought," she muttered loud enough as she sat back down.

"Aren't they lovely, both of them? Already bickering like an old, married couple," Prince Qoren laughed. "Speaking of, they should marry as soon as possible. The wedding of my beloved daughter should be an event to remember," he turned to the Targaryens. "What do you want, Y/n, dear? We should get a pair of fine Braavosi tigers and make the prisoners fight them in the arena—"

"We are at war, Prince Qoren, we have no time for celebrations," Daemon interrupted him.

"It is only a matter of weeks before Ser Tyland reaches the Free Cities if the winds are in their favour," Rhaenyra echoed Lady Mysaria's words, not able to hide her concern. "Rest assured, once the war has been won, the celebrations will be held in the Red Keep."

"But who can assure me the Prince will not die during this war?" Prince Qoren asked, shrugging his shoulders. "When do you suppose we have the wedding? Once the Prince is dead?"

The Queen's face hardened, her eyes narrowing at him.

"I could have your tongue for that, Prince Qoren," she said coldly.

"I'm glad the formalities are off the table," he muttered bitterly. "Your war can wait. My daughter is of sun and sand and will be married here, in our lands, with our people."

Rhaenyra could barely contain her anger, too tired of hearing the Martells' unreasonable demands. The idea of postponing the war for a wedding felt like a mockery, a distraction from the battle that could determine the fate of her house.

Y/n fought the urge to roll her eyes, too exhausted by the entire ordeal, the weight of her choices, and the tangled mess she now found herself in. With a deep sigh, she drained her cup, forcing herself to adopt a more civil tone.

"As much as I'm enjoying everybody's lovely company, I'm not faring well with my wound. I shall go back to my chambers to rest," the Princess excused herself as Casymir helped her stand up, wrapping his arm around her for support.

By now, the once lavish feast had lost its appeal. The delicacies had grown cold, and the appetite of those present had long since vanished.

"I'll see to it that my sister returns to her chambers safely," Elyas excused himself, rising from his seat and trailing after the Princess.

"Elyas isn't happy about your decision," Casymir said softly as he cradled the Princess in his arms.

Casymir chose to take the long path through the gardens back to her chambers, where the light of the full moon bathed everything in a silvery glow, and the warm evening breeze carried the scent of blooming magnolias. The flickering torches along the way cast dancing shadows, soothing the Princess' spirits.

"I figured as much," she scoffed. "He'll come to understand in due time."

"I'm afraid he won't, Princess," Casymir teased, making her laugh.

"Not even if I explain?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He'd understand even less," Casymir replied with a grin, his words drawing another burst of laughter from her.

At that moment, it was clear that Casymir was the only one who could truly reach her heart. She looked up at her half-brother, noting the familiar wild curls and thick brows they shared. Yet, unlike the brown eyes she and her other brothers had, his were a deep shade of blue, like the glittering Dornish waters on a sunny day.

"You should've been a jester instead, Cas," she murmured, her voice growing softer as the effects of the wine finally began to lull her into sleep. She nestled closer to his chest, allowing herself to relax completely in his arms.

"I'd rather be your shadow, Princess," his eyes softened, watching her doze off.

By the time they had arrived at her chambers, Y/n was already snoring lightly. Casymir raised his brow upon seeing his twin waiting outside.

"Leoran?" Casymir asked. "What are you doing here? Where's Elyas?"

"Inside. I'd hurry if I were you," Leoran said, opening the door for them.

Casymir stepped inside, only to find Elyas sitting on one of the seats. By the look on his face and the empty cup on the table, it seemed that he had been waiting for a while.

"What took you both so long?" He asked, looking at his half-brother in disdain.

"We were in the gardens, Y/n wanted to—"

"Leave us," he commanded.

"Very well," Casymir lowered his gaze and nodded.

He laid the Princess on her bed carefully, brushing a strand of hair off her face, but she already seemed to have been awoken by Elyas' voice. Y/n sat up, rubbing her eyes, only to be greeted by a pounding headache and a sharp pain on her side. Once she spotted her brother with his arms crossed, sitting down across from her, she groaned.

"Well?" He asked, expectantly.

"Not now, Elyas," she sighed.

"Then when?" He stood up and kicked the chair aside. "When? When were you going to tell me what you and Father were planning?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, feeling her headache worsen as Elyas' voice boomed in her ears.

"Planning?" She scoffed. "Father didn't have a say in my decision. He gave me two choices, and I merely chose the one that wouldn't lead to bloodshed."

"Oh, really? What were these two grand choices?" He pressed.

"Side with the Blacks and keep our independence, or refuse, and face the Triarchy and the Greens once this war is over," she paused, gathering all of the patience she had left to keep going. "Do you understand what that would mean, Elyas? It means another war, right on our doorstep. For us. For Dorne. For our people. And tell me, what should I have chosen? More bloodshed? More meaningless deaths? You think that's what Father would've wanted?"

"If you had told me, then I could've helped you decide!" Elyas' voice cracked with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Help me decide?" She retorted. "And by that, do you mean killing the Velaryon boy?"

"Why not?" Elyas shot back. "You had the chance! You could've slit his throat and ended it all, yet you chose to spare that bastard's life."

"And what would that have accomplished?" She shouted. "Had I killed him, you'd be nothing but a pile of ashes right now. Rhaenyra would've burned us all to the ground before I could even take his head."

"She wouldn't have dared!" Elyas shouted back, his face inches from hers, as though she was the most foolish person to live. "The last thing she needs is another war on her hands, especially against us. Her own house is already tearing itself apart!"

"Very well. If you're so smart, what would you have done?" She scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Face the Triarchy and the Greens. We were victors in the First Dornish War, Y/n. We fought then, and we could fight again. We could win."

"You? Fight?" She sneered. "Tell me, when their dragons' flames rain upon our cities, our people, what would you do? Hide behind the walls of our palace? The same walls that would be turned into ashes? Listen to me. We are not made for wars like this, Elyas. We're not prepared to face something as devastating as another Dornish war."

"And that's why we have those people fighting for us!" Elyas retorted, pointing furiously out the window.

"Those people?" she asked in disbelief. "It should be us fighting for them under those circumstances! Do you not care about the lives beyond the confines of this palace?" She turned away, already feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. "No wonder Father doesn't trust you."

"You both have no clue what you're doing. You're putting our house to shame by trusting the enemy," without warning, he grabbed her injured wrist, yanking her close. She gasped, a sharp pain shooting up her arm, but he didn't relent. "Tell me, sister," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "When this war is over, how will you know they'll keep their word? All those demands you made... you sounded so righteous, so powerful like you had the Targaryens wrapped around your finger. But you know exactly what they think of us. To them, we're nothing but foolish, power-hungry savages," he tightened his grip slightly, causing her to wince again. "And do you know what you've done, dear sister? You just proved them right."

"I'll have your whole arm if you dare lay your hands on me again," she tried to pry her wrist off of him, her voice quivering as her composure began to waver. "You're starting to forget your place, Elyas."

"And you're starting to forget what it truly means to be a Martell," he tightened his grip even more, watching as the Princess sucked a breath in through her teeth.

Elyas let go of her with a push, making the Princess stumble back on her bed. Y/n massaged her wrist with her other hand as she buried her face in her bed, heaving, and squeezing her eyes shut. She flinched upon hearing Elyas' heavy footsteps leave, the door slamming once he left her chambers.

The Princess slowly got up to pick up the jug of wine lying on the table. Upon finding out it was empty, she flung the jug across the room with a frustrated yell. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her sobs filled her chambers. The soft knocks on her door went unanswered; she knew it was Casymir, the one person who could bring her comfort, yet she couldn't bear to let him see her that way.

Her father's words echoed in her mind. She was destined to be the Princess of Dorne, a role she had fully embraced for as long as she could remember. Yet there she was, crumbling under the pressure, feeling as though every decision she made was beyond her control, burying her deeper into a grave she herself had dug.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Thank you for being so patient with me. This chapter was a lot longer than I had expected, but here it is. Let's just take a moment and give our Princess Y/n a big hug, she needs it. I don't know why, but i'm having waaay too much fun making these extremely dramatic dialogues. and I live for their drama, tbh.

I also mentioned this before, but I'm having trouble tagging everyone. Some @'s would tag, but for some reason, some of the usernames just appear like normal text. I've double-checked every username and typed them over and over, but i still can't tag you all. Would be great if you guys could tell me how to fix this!

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @radtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @wintersoldier-101 @hummusxx @vastseamind @miksxz @cornbreadwithcheese @boiolay @op-oppai-blog @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @nichmeddar @ilovemingandming @Mgurl @marr3adsyou @lotus-888 @icarusvshozier

#dragonspear #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon smut #jace x you #jace x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #house martell #oc x reader #oc x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x you smut

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darklordofthesimp · 2 years

Text

Delirium (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: Being partnered with Ghost was never easy. However, when you find him bleeding out on the kitchen floor and delirious from blood loss, you make a discovery. The L.T loves to talk.

Requested by Anon: #57 You're shaking.

A/N: Some Sunshine to feed you while I work on Anything III.

Category: Mutual Pining

Warnings: Description of injury || Graphic language

You weren't a medic by any means.

There was the combat first aid course that you were all forced to do during basic training, but that had been a century ago. You'd handled your own injuries when an enemy sniper would get a lucky shot. Again, there's not much to do there other than put some pressure on it.

Otherwise, you were fairly inexperienced when it came to handling injured team members. There were shortfalls to being a sniper, hand-to-hand combat wasn't as relevant and having to provide first aid was rare.

You call them shortfalls because now, in a situation where those skills are required, you're fucking struggling.

You'd opened the door to the safe house with a sigh, frowning when you couldn't see Ghost through the windows. You'd assumed he'd be waiting for you to arrive from your nest but clearly, he didn't give enough of a fuck to wait around.

You could have died en route and he'd be sleeping.

For some reason, the thought hurt.

You could think of a million things that he probably thought more important than you; staring at a wall being high on the list. What you hadn’t expected, was to find him collapsed on the kitchen floor.

“Ghost,” you rasped, choking on his name. His eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, the relief palpable in his gaze. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a strangled noise. You were frozen. You’d never seen him injured and honestly, you thought that you never would.

You’d even told Soap that Ghost was probably just a bootleg Robo-Cop beneath the mask.

But, the blood soaking through his uniform said otherwise.

“You gonna give me hand or not?” His voice was low and rough. It had no edge, though. There was no bite behind his words like there usually was and it scared you. The man hated your guts and if he was too injured to convey that then he was definitely dying.

“Oh God,” you breathed, leaning your rifle against the wall slowly. Your eyes never left his crumpled form and his eyes never left your face. “Oh God.”

You slid to your knees, rushing to his side with frantic curses. You couldn’t see the extent of the wound from beneath his armour and he clearly didn’t have enough strength to take it off himself.

“Stab wound,” Ghost offered the cause of injury through gritted teeth. “Got me good.”

“This shit needs to come off,” you tugged at his armour, reaching for the quick-release cord. The man groaned but he didn’t object. One hard tug of the plastic ligature had the vest falling apart at every seam, the line now loose in your hand.

“Fuck,” the man gave a startled chuckle, taking a large breath with his chest free from pressure. “Feel better already.”

You didn’t reply, eyes narrowed on the wound beneath his ribs. You pulled up his shirt, tucking it beneath his arms as you scanned over the injury. It was clean cut, a clear entry wound that was steadily leaking a shit tonne of blood.

No sounds of air sucking in through the jagged flesh and you thanked whoever was listening that it wasn’t a punctured lung. You didn’t have any seals on you and you didn’t want to slap him with some duct tape instead. He’d never let you live that down.

“How’s it lookin’, Sunshine?” Ghost asked, breathing heavily.

“Unfortunately,” you began, pressing the cotton padding from your kit against the wound, “if you apply pressure, you’ll live.”

“Unfortunately?” He coughed, the sound strained and you could tell he immediately regretted the movement.

“Very fucking unfortunate,” you confirmed with faux seriousness.

You stuck a gauze pad to the wound once you had finished packing it, reaching into your med pouch for a bandage. You’d wrap it around his midriff to keep pressure on the wound, you decided.

“A ray of Sunshine you are, as per fuckin’ usual.”

You clenched your jaw, reminding yourself that he was injured and that you couldn’t stick a finger knuckle-deep in his wound as retaliation. At the very least, he was back to hating you. Meant he wasn’t dying any time soon.

You frowned at the bandage in your hands, desperately trying to remove the plastic wrapping. You couldn’t think straight and your body felt jittery as the adrenline began to settle. You couldn’t believe how vulnerable he was, unable to gather the strength to take off his own body armour.

You hated it.

Why the fuck couldn’t you open this wrapping?

You pulled harder on the plastic, trying to bring your heart rate down. Why were you breathing so hard?

A gloved hand fell over your own.

Your frantic tugging came to an immediate halt and your eyes snapped up to meet his, startled. Ghost's gaze was half lidded but just as intense as always, grazing over your features. Heat flushed through your body at his drunken stare. You knew it was from the blood loss, you knew he could barely see straight, but that kind of look was reserved for someone he was sharing a bed with and you couldn't function at the sight of it.

For a moment he said nothing, blinking slowly- too slowly- as he took in a breath.

"Relax, kid," he murmured eventually. "I'm okay."

You swallowed hard.

His fingers were soft over your own, too weak to apply pressure but curled over your hand just the same.

"I am relaxed." You bit back at him, returning your gaze to the stupid fucking bandage beneath both of your hands. You didn't want him to see how much this affected you, you didn't want him to think you were a cowardly mess.

There was a soft huff as he patted your hand lightly. "You're shaking, Sunshine."

You sucked in a breath.

Your eyes flickered back to meet his, lips trembling at your exposure. He knew. The gentleness in his gaze was otherworldly, so foreign you wondered if it was even Simon Riley beneath the mask. Blood loss was clearly doing a number on him and he was doing a number on you.

“I’m a sniper, Sir.” You coughed, trying to tear yourself from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t shake.”

Ghost tutted from beneath his mask.

“Haven’t been with the right bloke, then.”

Your jaw dropped.

Ghost blinked at you as though he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth, either. Jesus fucking Christ. You suddenly realised why Soap had made fun of Ghost for never drinking when you’d all be at the pub. You remembered asking the Sarge why the masked enigma would always bail after an hour or two and his response was simple.

“The L.T can’t hold his tongue when he’s on the piss.”

You thought that implied aggression.

Clearly not.

“There is no right bloke,” you rasped, slowly pulling the bandage from beneath his hand. The loss of contact left you feeling empty but suddenly you could breathe a little easier.

Your fingers shook violently as you tried for the plastic wrapper again and your gaze flickered to Ghost’s face, praying he hadn’t noticed. You should have known better.

His eyes were on your trembling digits, a soft exhale making it’s way to your ears.

“Looks like I’ve proved you wrong, Sunshine.”

The words were low but there was no heat behind them. It didn’t feel lustful, they were murmured like an afterthought, his mind elsewhere. You wondered where Simon Riley disappeared to in his head when he looked at you.

“You crack a lot of jokes for someone who’s a literal shish kebab,” you snapped, tearing at the plastic wrapping with your teeth. Finally, the bandage came loose.

“And you talk a lot of shit for someone who cares more than they let on.” The words were fired back, demanding your attention.

You stared at him for a long moment, resisting the urge to squirm beneath his dark gaze. You’d never seen that expression on him before, as though he were daring you to disagree. As if he were waiting for you to say something.

“Can’t care too much in this business, Sir.” You choked on the words, unravelling the bandage.

“I believed that once,” he tilted his head.

“And now?” You prodded, leaning over him to wrap the bandage around his midriff. You tried to ignore how close your face was to his, how your fingers trailed against the skin of his stomach. The Lieutenant shivered beneath your touch and you kept your gaze downcast.

Fingers gripped your chin softly and you gasped as he tilted your face upward.

You were half on top of him, nose to nose and his stuttered exhale brushed against your lips. Simon’s eyes were half lidded and this close you could see the blue of his eyes, a stormy ocean that swallowed you whole. You were caught in it’s rip tide, drowning in the reverence of his stare.

“Now,” he murmured, lazily examining our features. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, his thumb slowly swiping your bottom lip. “Could say I’ve had a change of heart.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw2 ghost #cod mw2 x reader

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crappymixtape · 2 months

Text

hang on tight, baby • part two

NAVIGATION -> PART I • PART II • PART III favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+ | ( 3.1k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )

H A N G O N T I G H T, B A B Y • P A R T T W O 🎶 parachute, chris stapleton

White noise buzzed in your ears, a scratchy static that closed in around you tight and suffocating and you couldn’t move. Stuck to the glittering red plastic bench seat and staring out the window at the thin twist of cloud pulling closer and closer to the ground until a hand pressed firm into yours.

“Sawyer, you with me? C’mon, we gotta move!”

Tyler’s eyes were wild, sea glass turned stormy with adrenaline, and the way his thumb flexed against your palm pulled you back to the present.

“Wha–oh–shit,” a string of curses fell from your lips and you pushed yourself from the booth.

“Dot! You got a basement?” Tyler called over the loud drone of the siren blaring outside, but the old woman was already ushering her patrons through the kitchen and out the back door.

“Honey, I’ve done this enough times I could do it with my eyes closed! You go kick those folks out there into gear,” she shoved the last of the diner guests out the door and waved a hand toward the lot where Tyler’s rig was parked.

You hadn’t quite made it all the way into downtown, just on the outskirts, but there had been plenty of people milling around before the warnings started. The post office across the street was filling up with panicked folks and Matty’s Mechanic just around the corner was sure to have people in it too.

“Alright, listen to me,” Tyler took hold of your shoulders and stooped down so that his gaze met yours, setting fire to the flicker in your chest. Steady, sure, safe. “I’m gonna go around to Matty’s, think you can check the post office?” he was nodding at you – you can do this – reassuring, but your heart was hammering against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was going to crack.

“Uh, ye–yeah–”

“Hey. You got this, okay? Okay?” he squeezed your shoulder. “We meet back here in two minutes tops. Right? And if I’m not here you get to Dot’s cellar.”

“What? Without yo–”

“I’m gonna be here, but I’m sayin’ so cos I know you like a good, organized plan,” he tried a small, half-hearted grin, but it fell at the edges and you thought for a minute, maybe he was just as scared as you were.

“Fine. Two minutes,” you breathed and when his hands left your shoulders the hammering in your chest gave way to an ache you’d been pushing back on since the first time you laid eyes on Tyler.

Come back.

“Two minutes. Now giddy-up,” and with that he was already out the door and down the street to Matty’s.

You watched him disappear around the corner just as the sky opened up. Split in two and heaved buckets of rain down onto the pavement, the wind picking up strong enough to start shredding the flag on the pole in the lot.

This wasn’t your first tornado and it sure as hell wouldn’t be your last, but it never failed to scare the shit out of you when the sirens wailed over the howl of the wind. Tyler was right though, there were people across the street that needed help, needed a shove back to reality and you could do it.

You could do it.

Shoving the door open against a gust of wind, it nearly pushed you back into the diner, but you shouldered into it and stumbled out into the parking lot. Rain drenched you within seconds, droplets the size of quarters, too warm and carrying with it the promise of destruction.

Boots splashing through the puddles, you sprinted across the street and into the post office only to find it was full of people – wall-to-wall and standing room only. Your heart stopped for a second, where in the hell were they all gonna go? And then you saw the post master.

“Hey! Hey!” you shouted at him over the cries of children and adults alike. “You got a basement or a cellar?”

He looked like a ghost, white as a sheet, like a deer in the headlights and you shoved through the crowd to get to him. Gripped his shirt in your hands and shook him.

“A cellar, basement, anything!”

“I don’t–s’my first day–what are we gonna do??” he shouted at you and you tossed your gaze out the bay of windows to the street. Diner, empty office space, abandoned gas station–

“There!” you pointed, the wind screaming outside now and pulling all kinds of debris and branches through town. “That gas station has a cellar, I’ve seen it. Get these people over there now! Hurry!”

You watched as your words cut through his panic, his expression steeling against the fear swelling in him and he hollered over the sound of the storm.

“Everyone! Hold hands! We’re gonna get across the street to that gas station over there, alright? Buddy system! Hold ‘em tight!”

A small smile flickered at the corners of your mouth — ‘atta boy — and one at a time people nodded, murmured okay, we got this, let’s go.

Leveraging the door open with every bit of strength you could muster, you held it against the gales as they ripped through the street, making sure every single person made it out. The post master did his duty too, running the line of people and shepherding them along before kicking open the old cellar doors at the gas station and giving you a thumbs up.

Safe.

Now it was your turn, and you were definitely sure it’d been more than two minutes. Your eyes flicked up to Dot’s and saw Tyler running back to the lot through the wind and rain, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Tyler!” you shouted against the storm, but it was loud now, the sky inky black as that tiny twist of cloud turned giant finally connected with the dirt and began swallowing everything in its path. Growing bigger and bigger by the second.

You knew you were out of time.

❝ I KNOW EVERY SINGLE FENCE POST, EVERY ROCK TO GO AROUND. I’VE BEEN STARIN’ AT THE RED OAK, WHERE I KNOW THEY’LL LAY ME DOWN. ❞

“Sawyer! Sawyer!” Tyler felt like he was gonna be sick. It’d been more than two minutes and you were no where to be found, but you had to get back to Dot’s, otherwise you’d–

“Tyler!”

His head whipped to the side at the sound of your voice carried somehow by the wind and when he caught sight of you holding open the door to the post office he heaved a sigh of relief. Thank, God.

“C’mon! Get outta there, we gotta go!” he shouted, waving an arm at the diner, but when you moved to come back out into the storm a heavy gust whipped down the street and slammed the door shut, throwing you back inside with it. “Sawyer!”

Tyler didn’t hesitate, not even one second as he tore across the parking lot to you despite the danger he was putting himself in – staring death down for you. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull the post office door open against the wind, but he got it cracked just enough to slip inside, breaths falling heavy from his lips.

And then he saw you. Sprawled out on the floor with your head propped against the wall of P.O. boxes and chin lolled down to your chest. The sight gripped him tight like a vice spinning shut, crushing his chest and squeezing his heart so hard he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, God–shit–no, no, no–”

Clambering down onto the tiled floor he ghosted a hand over your forehead, wanted to sweep the hair from your eyes, but didn’t. Not now. Right now he needed to make sure you were okay. Checked for signs of blood or broken bones and when he didn’t find any, felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. He pressed his head to your chest for a heartbeat – thud, thud, thud – and that was all he needed. Scooping you up, an arm around your back and the other tucked under the crook of your knees, he lifted you from the ground.

“You with me, sweet stuff?” he asked and when you groaned he let out a shaky laugh. “Damn, Sawyer, you sure know how to scare a fella,” he teased weakly, gaze flicking up to see the tornado ripping through the buildings just two streets over. “Hang on, I’m gonna get us outta here,” he promised.

The wind outside the building was howling so loud he could barely hear himself think. The windows flexed, creaking and whining at the pressure building on the other side, and Tyler’s mind started to race.

Where the hell were you gonna go?

Dot’s was out of the question, too far now, and he’d seen all those people go to the gas station, it’d be full, but then a memory struck him like lightning.

He couldn’t have been more than seven, at this very post office with his granny to mail a package to his uncle Jasper when the sirens started wailing. The old post master had ushered them around the back of the counter and if you hadn’t known where to look you would’ve missed it – the thin outline of a square in the floor with a tiny handle and latch, a bunker.

Now this was years ago, and there wasn’t any guarantee it was still there, but he was willing to take his chances. Bumping the low swing door at the counter with his hip, Tyler pushed you both back to the post master’s desk, eyes frantically mapping the floor.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, the roof overhead beginning to rattle and shake. It was bound to be overhead any second and then he spotted it, dirt caught in the grooves and faint, but it was there.

“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to set you down as gently as he could in a hurry, and yanked at the handle.

A high pitched whistle filled the room, the air getting sucked out of every nook and cranny, and an explosion sounded outside – propane tanks or Matty’s garage – and Tyler flinched.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch!” he yelled at the door and gave it one last yank until it flew open in a cloud of dust. It wasn’t very big, but more than enough room for the both of you, and he let the breath he was holding go just as a piece of the roof ripped off and spun up into the angry swirl above him.

No time.

Grabbing hold of you, he tossed you over his shoulder and practically fell down the ladder into the bunker just as the rest of the roof gave way, debris tumbling down into the hole after you.

“Shit–hang on!” he called out to you, shielding your body with his, and the feeling of his chest pressed to your back pulled you out of your daze.

Eyes fluttering open you blinked against the dark, the small space illuminated in a flash every time lightning split the sky in two, and you sucked in a gasp. Where were you? Your hands scrambled for purchase and found the piping running along the wall Tyler had huddled you both against.

“Tyler!” you cried and he freed a hand from the old rusty pipes to grab hold of your waist, his palm wide and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hang on, just hang on!” he yelled.

The howl of the wind was deafening now, an unyielding roar overhead ripping and tearing and shredding everything in its path. Distant booms and crashes telling you this was bigger than any EF-1 or 2. Tears welled up at your lash line, head pounding where you’d hit the mailboxes upstairs, and you squeezed your eyes shut against it all, pressing your hand into Tyler’s.

Please, please, please, you prayed silently to whatever god might be listening, Tyler’s chest heaving against yours, his heart hammering heavy in his chest until finally the roar began to dull. Slowed and stretched to a low growl, breathed its last breath and then plunged everything into silence.

❝ SUN COMES UP AND GOES BACK DOWN, AND FALLING FEELS LIKE FLYIN’ ‘TIL YOU HIT THE GROUND. SAY THE WORD AND I’LL BE THERE FOR YOU – BABY, I WILL BE YOUR PARACHUTE. ❞

You opened your eyes to slivers of bright light chasing across the dirt floor of the bunker, the sounds of sirens and emergency vehicles dipping down through the tattered door overhead, Tyler’s hand wide and warm still pressed to your waist.

A shaky breath fell from your mouth.

Alive.

“You okay?” Tyler asked, panted breaths fanning over your hair and it sounded small, vulnerable – no hot air or bravado. A side of Tyler you didn’t know. A glimpse of the fact that he was human just like you. That he felt fear just like you. That there was more to him than you’d wanted to accept and a tiny pang of guilt pinched in your chest.

“I think so,” your voice wobbled as you swallowed down the bile that had crept up your throat upon the sick realization that: had that bunker not been there, you wouldn’t be here and neither would Tyler.

Slowly straightening up, Tyler stooped just a little in the cramped space and kept his hand on your waist, his other reaching to take hold of yours.

“Slow, slow,” he eased, pulling you to your feet, coaxing you up from the dirt, quiet encouragement and then…your name.

Your actual God-given name.

Not Sawyer, not sweet stuff, not honey and it wrapped you up in a soft haze. Sounded like heaven and earth and the moon hung lazy among the stars in the sky and when you lifted your gaze to meet his, your breath caught in your throat.

Green eyes, sea glass, the long sweep of his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, brows knitted together with worry and something else, something warmer, and you wished you could figure it out. Wished you could swim in that soft sea green searching for what it was. Closer, closer, closer–

“Tulsa fire department!”

A voice rang out above you and you both startled.

“Oh–hey! Down here!” Tyler called up and a shadowed face appeared at the bunker entry.

“I’ve got two!” the man shouted over his shoulder before turning back to you, “Are you alright? Any injuries?”

Thinking felt like wading through molasses and you couldn’t put words to the man’s question. A beam of light flicked on, flooding the bunker and when Tyler stole a glance at you out of the corner of his eye he watched as your pupils stayed dilated.

“Damn,” he started, quiet, worried. “Yeah—er–yes. Possible concussion,” he told the EMT and the man nodded.

“Let’s get her up to the rig for an assessment,” and then he backed up to give you room to crawl out.

“Okay, you,” Tyler murmured, trying for his teasing tone and working overtime to quell the worried whispers in his head, “Up we go.”

Taking both of your hands he helped you gain footing on the ladder, nudging your boots onto the rungs with his own and curling your fingers around each hand hold.

“I’m right behind you,” he reassured as you started to shake, shock digging its hooks into you, “Easy, slow and steady.”

You took it one step at a time like he said, slow and steady, your frame trembling as you went. Tyler kept a hand on the small of your back the whole way, silent encouragement, up, up, up until the EMT grabbed hold of you and pulled you out.

Wincing at the sharp light from the sun, you buried your face into the crook of your elbow and let the man guide you toward the ambulance.

“Possible concussion here, pupils unresponsive to light, but no visible external wounds. Her partner here says he’s fine.”

The voices of the paramedics blurred together as you let them guide you to sit at the edge of the ambulance – the press of a stethoscope to your chest, your back, fingers feeling at your wrist for your pulse, a bright light blinding you for a fraction of a second and leaving behind little neon dots in your vision.

“Alright, seems minor, but she needs to be monitored for 48 hours,” the EMT said and you didn’t realize who he was talking to until you blinked away the pinpoints of light and Tyler swam into focus, “Are you her husband?”

That same flush from earlier bloomed across Tyler’s chest and up, up, up to his cheeks and all the way to his ears.

“Oh, n–no, I’m just–”

“He’s a friend,” you finished for him, rescued him from any further embarrassment and felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips.

“Do you live alone?” the EMT asked you and the smile faded.

“Yes,” your turn to blush.

“Well, I’m right next door,” Tyler cut in, “I can check on her.”

The man flicked his eyes from you, to Tyler, and then back to you – unimpressed with whatever this was.

“Sure. Well, friend, she can’t be left alone at all for that duration. No sleep for the next 6-8 hours and if she throws up she needs to be seen again. After that she should be in the clear,” he jotted something down on a pad of paper, the two of you staring holes into the ground, like you were sitting in the principle's office or something. “48 hours, right? Right. Take care now,” the EMT leveled you both with a look then took off around the rig to help with the next injury.

Clearing his throat, Tyler rubbed at the back of his neck and closed the gap between you, the toes of his boots almost brushing with yours.

“My truck’s still here,” he thumbed over his shoulder at Dot’s, which was still standing in one piece and his big, red, pickup sitting in the lot. “Thought we were gonna have to walk,” a weak laugh pushed itself from his lungs, but his heart wasn’t in it. Crouching down, Tyler dropped to your eye-level and put a hand over the toe of your boot, “Let’s get you home.”

Taking your hand in his he supported your balance, his other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. Walked you to the truck and eased you onto the bench. Gently buckled you in and drove carefully around all the debris and wreckage back down the road and in that moment he became more than just your obnoxious neighbor. Became more than a face on a t-shirt. More than his stupid catchphrase.

He was Tyler Owens and he just saved your life.

[ NOTE -> THIS IS PART 2 OF A 3 PART SERIES – STAY TUNED FOR THE LAST INSTALLMENT! ]

crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist to come! ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

Text

Head in the Clouds III

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your Champions League final

"And, as the players come out, it's only right to talk about the controversy surrounding Barcelona's starting elven. Coach Giráldez has made the choice to field the team's sixteen-year-old star y/n l/n from the start. Bit of an odd choice as she has no previous Champion's League Final experience but Giráldez has said he's confident in her abilities to rise to the task."

Lyon is a tough opponent, you'd been warned about that. You'd been warned that they were physical and technical and had some of the best players in the world.

You knew that.

It still didn't stop you from being absolutely clattered to the ground on several occasions by Renard the moment you got the ball.

It was a bit frustrating actually.

Lyon were tough and, as Irene helps you to your feet, you know she's feeling it too.

The moments of the first half tick down until you leak into injury time. It's frustrating and clearly Renard is working overtime covering you and Aitana which is probably how it all kicked off.

Renard is covering Aitana, blocking her amazingly well while you lurk in the space she's left behind, between Gilles and Carpenter.

You haven't had much space this game so it's nice to be able to breathe with Renard so focused on not letting Aitana take the shot she's clearly winding up to.

The most she manages to get is a chip over the Lyon player, the ball about to land at your feet.

You act on instinct though, not letting it get there.

Your foot stretches out to keep it in the air.

Carpenter and Gilles start moving towards you but it's already too late.

You've twisted to face goal, foot connecting with the ball mid-air and sending it rocketing past Endler.

She didn't even move, your shot taken and executed too quickly for her to realise.

It buries itself in the top right corner and your eyes bug out of your head.

To be honest, you hadn't really realised what you'd done either. It was pure instinct, in the dying seconds of the first half and you'd scored.

Aitana gets to you first, jumping on your back and sending you both tumbling to the floor. Salma and Keira come next, also joining the pile and you tilt your head up to see Caro beaming down on you.

People say Caro doesn't smile a lot and you don't understand why they lie. Caro always smiles at you.

Irene's the one that gets everyone off, pulling you to your feet before kneeling to retie your laces.

"Good girl," She says to you, cupping your cheeks as the Basque flows into your ears," Keep it up, okay?"

Your cheeks bright red, you nod.

The backline just passes the ball between them in the last few seconds of the first half, unwilling to take the risk of Lyon somehow getting the equaliser.

You come off to raucous applause from the fans and immediately try to divert further into the stadium to queue up to get food.

"No," Lucy laughs," The staff already got your fries. No mingling today for you."

You pout a little because sometimes fans in the queue tell funny stories but Lucy's grip on you is firm as she guides you back into the locker room.

Jona is giving a speech but you're aimlessly poking at your bruises and munching on your fries so you don't pay too much attention. If it's important then someone will remind you.

Alexia's the one that walks you back out. She's saying something but you're a bit distracted by how grimy your shorts are from all the times you've been forced to the ground so you only really tune in when she hugs you.

"Okay?"

"Huh? What?"

Alexia laughs, shaking her head fondly. "Nothing. Just go out there and keep showing Lyon who's boss."

You frown. "But Jona's our boss. They know that."

"One goal separates the two sides. A beautiful volley from l/n, assisted by Aitana. There were serious doubts about her ability to play well in a final like this but her technique and drive have been unmatched this entire game. Lyon's defence really need to kick it up a gear because I have a feeling that once she starts, it's hard for her to stop."

Lyon throws more bodies at you in this second half. It's gotten more intense, harder to take your own shots but you create a few big chances for others that Endler manages to brush away.

Renard hovers over you, clearly thinking you're more of a threat than Aitana. That's a little weird because Aitana is the best player in the world and it's strange of Renard to not treat her as the threat she is.

Silly of her because you receive the ball from Patri, skirt around and over Renard's outstretched leg, nutmegging her in the process before sending it off to Aitana to drive into the box and score.

She laughs breathlessly as she celebrates, pointing at you with a smile as the team mobs her. She gets head pats and hugs and you do too.

You don't get that. All you did was pass the ball to her so she could score. You do it all the time in training.

"Two nil up against Lyon with a goal from the best player in the world and an assist by the best youngster in the world. Lyon really needs to step it up. Renard can't mark two of the world's best on her own."

A few minutes before Ona is set to be subbed on, you go down hard.

Bacha slides in on you just before you can send a pass to where Caro is waiting. You topple over, landing on the ground with a thump. She lands on you and you groan, your ribs flaring up like they did against Chelsea.

Lucy pushes Bacha off you and says a few words in French that you don't really understand before she helps you to your feet, checking you over.

"Go take the free kick," She orders," And if someone does that again you have my permission to push them back."

You frown. "Alexia said not to do anything you've given me permission to do."

Lucy rolls her eyes. "Go and take your free kick."

That's when you're back to what you're usually doing.

Scoring goals that weren't meant to be goals.

You're at the halfway line but you've got a strong free kick so your team lines up on the edge of the box to wait for it.

At training, Jona always told you to aim for the taller players.

Irene is currently busy in a little skirmish against Diani so you try to aim for Ingrid.

Only Ingrid gets pushed over in her own skirmish and there's no head to guide the ball in.

Not that you needed it because it rockets into the goal, no matter how far away you are. It's high and bounces off the underside of the top crossbar and over the goal line.

Endler just watches it go, clearly expecting there to be a person you've picked out ready to head it home. It's clear she's planning to block the shot that was never going to come.

The stadium erupts again and this time, Salma gets to you first. She thumps you on the back and you manage your own little laugh.

"I didn't mean to do that," You say and she shakes her head.

"Doesn't matter!" She laughs," Ballon D'or here you come!"

You frown at that. During this entire season, everyone has been talking about you getting a Ballon D'or but nobody's really explained what it is.

You gather it must be a good thing though because Aitana has one and Alexia has two.

At this point, you're a little worried to confess that you don't know what it is so you just smile and nod.

"Her face makes it clear that it wasn't meant to be a shot but no one can fault her during this match! L/n is really unravelling Lyon today. With about half an hour left of this match, it's going to take a miracle to get Lyon back in this game!"

Ada Hegerberg is one of your idols. She's amazing. She's one of the greatest football players you've ever seen. In your eyes, she's up there with Pernille Harder and Vivianne Miedema and Caro.

Last year, when you got offered contracts, you almost went straight to Lyon just because they had her. If there had been two Adas at Lyon then you probably would have chosen them over Barcelona and their offering of Caro.

But there is only one Ada Hegerberg and Barcelona had Alexia and Aitana on top of Caro so that's where you went.

But, still, Ada Hegerberg is one of the greats and you're a little bit star struck as she runs past you onto the pitch.

"No," Irene says to you," We're still playing a match. You can get her autograph later."

You bite you lip. "But-"

"And no going easy on her, okay?" Irene looks sternly at you, one brow raised. It's the same look she gives her son when he's being a little silly. "We've still got a game to play."

You sigh, scuffing the dirt with your boot. "Fine."

When you first saw Ada run on, you didn't expect your first interaction to go like this.

You execute a perfect slide tackle that would make Mapi proud, steal the ball and immediately start sprinting up the other side of the pitch.

You hope she doesn't hold that against you later on because you really want to talk to her and maybe get her shirt or at least a picture with her.

But still, like Irene said, you have a match to play so you dribble around Horan and pass the ball to Patri as you make a run into the box.

That's another thing about you, you think, that Lyon wasn't prepared for. You're fast.

Very fast and Alexia says you have this uncanny ability to find space where you really shouldn't be able to.

You can find space and you can outpace your markers but you're never quite ready for a Patri cross.

She has this habit of crossing much higher than you actually are.

You only have space for so much longer so you try to guide the ball down with your head only it bounces straight onto your skull and you kind of do an odd little jump to beat Renard to it.

It's enough of a bounce to go over Endler, who has come out of her goal to stop you and roll into the goal behind her.

You hear Renard sigh behind you but you're swept away by Patri shaking you firmly by the shoulders as the rest of the team come in to congratulate you.

"It's Patri's goal really," You try to explain," She just used my head to get it in. She deserves all the credit."

As per usual, no one listens to you.

"And a fantastic header from Barcelona's youngster! You have to wonder, if this is how she fares against Lyon, is there any way to truly stop her?"

Alexia gets subbed on in the last few minutes, getting the armband and immediately starts organising everyone the way that she wants.

You've got the ball at your feet but Carpenter is closing in fast and you're running out of room on the pitch.

You cut it back to where you know Alexia is waiting, tracking back as soon as its left your foot.

You don't see the ball go in but you hear the stadium erupt.

Alexia's shirt is off and she's bowing to the crowd as you jog over.

Her arm is over your shoulder and she's jostling you with a laugh.

A kiss lands on the top of your head and you smile up at her.

"You cannot write this! Putellas coming on and within minutes scoring a goal! It's been a long road back from injury for Alexia Putellas and she was set up perfectly by Barcelona's young talent!"

The final whistle comes all too soon and you're left staring at the score in shock, eyes wide as the team celebrates around you.

A smile appears on your face after several minutes of confusion.

You've won.

You've won the Champion's League and completed a hattrick and a brace of assists.

Caro hoists you up onto her back, bouncing you up and down while you shriek and squeal with laughter.

You're passed off to the rest of the team too as the celebrations begin.

Alexia keeps you close though, holding your hand all the way up to the medal ceremony where she pushes you in front of her second last in the line.

Irene grabs you after that, wedging you onto the step below her so she could make sure you didn't fall.

You're not quite sure how to explain how you feel watching Alexia lift the trophy. In fact, you're not quite sure how to explain how you're feeling about any of this.

It's difficult to explain.

Usually, after a game, you're just hungry but all hunger has left you.

Adrenaline still pumps in your system as celebrations rage around you. You're not quite sure what's going on but one of the staff drags you away to get a weird extra trophy that they say is yours and yours alone.

You don't know what to do with it but the staff member says they'll take it back to the locker room for you so you just let them.

That's when Caro appears again. She's still smiling as she takes your shoulders and guides you over to where the Lyon girls are shuffling back inside.

"Ada!" She calls and her national teammate turns around.

"Caro?"

Caro pushes you forward with a little laugh. "You have quite the fan."

Suddenly, shyness floods your body and you look down. "Hi, Mrs Hegerberg."

"You can call me Ada, you know."

"My Mama says you should always greet women professionally when you first meet them," You say, still not looking at her. You're still at a loss for what to say, just like you were when you first met Caro.

"She's a big fan." Thankfully, that same teammate comes to your rescue. "She was very excited to be playing against you."

You nod in confirmation before finally gaining the courage to look up. "If I find a pen, can I have your autograph please?"

"An autograph?" Ada repeats, almost in disbelief.

"I brought my autograph book with me!" You explain," It's in the locker room!"

She laughs and you suddenly feel awful.

You've just beat her. Of course she doesn't want to sign your autograph book.

"Tell you what," Ada says and you brace yourself to be rejected," I'll sign your book if we can swap shirts."

You look at Caro for permission. There's a rule that you aren't allowed to give away your shirt without adult permission. Alexia doesn't like it because sometimes you forget to put the other person's shirt on and wander around the pitch shirtless.

With Caro's permission, you sprint off to get your book and a pen.

Ada signs it and then swaps shirts with you, where Caro reminds you that you have to put on Ada's shirt before joining in on the celebrations again.

That's when Irene takes custody of you. You're still clutching your autograph book, completely star struck by the fact that you have Ada Hegerberg's signature and her shirt.

"Give me that," Irene says, gently taking your book from you," I'll look after it for you."

You nod.

That's probably the best thing. You almost lost it once so it's better Irene has it.

You end up ping-ponging around the rest of the team for the rest of the celebrations until Alexia lets you know you can bring your family down.

Everyone came for you. Your Mama and Papa and your Nana and Grandpappy and Abuela and Abuelo.

Abuelo brings you food still steaming in a container and you scoff it down as soon as you can.

"Can I take some of this home with me?" You ask him," Did you bring more?"

"I did bring more," He replies," I will pack them up before you get on the plane tomorrow."

You grin. "Thank you, Abuelo."

You get a picture with your whole family and the trophy because Ingrid tells you that's something people do when they win and you trust Ingrid.

It's a great photo and you're smiling so wide wearing Ada Hergerbeg's Lyon shirt and a Barcelona flag doubling as a cape.

Your family leaves soon after that but Nana gives you a big hug and reminds you to take a nap before dinner so you agree because Nana is smart and she used to take care of you a lot when you were younger.

Mama and Papa coo over you, saying embarrassing things like 'look at you' and 'we'll put that photo up in the restaurant'.

Then you get put back in Alexia's custody.

She grins at you.

You take a step back.

You're not the most perceptive. People do and say things that seemingly come out of nowhere but you recognise this look as what it is.

Trouble.

You try to dart away but Alexia's got a tight grip and in one smooth movement, you're up on one of her shoulders.

"Ale!" You squeal," Let me down!"

She's laughing though and she's not letting you down at all.

"Take it all in!" She yells up at you," It's all thanks to you!"

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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ma-yawntu · 4 months

Text

mine, all mine.

╰┈➤ masterlist.

– To be loved is to be seen.

pairing: neteyam x female!metkayina!reader

summary: Being the oldest daughter of the Olo'eytkan and the tsakarem meant you had a lot of weight on your shoulders. You had to be perfect, well-behaved and set an example for your clan, so sneaking out wasn't exactly checking any of those boxes. You also had to pick a mate and honestly, you couldn't think of anything worse– and to you, he was no exception.

word count: 18.5k so far

themes: fluff, angst, warrior!reader, tsakarem!reader, (no use of y/n)

warnings: mentions of guns, weapons (bow, staff, spear, blade, etc.), occasional swearing, mentions of injury, blood, etc.

a/n: this series is still in the works! i already know how the story will progress but please feel free to let me know your thoughts <3

main masterlist | guidelines | series playlist

chapters

i. paradigm now playing... home by good neighbours

ii. paradise now playing... saturn by sza

iii. fare well now playing... birds of a feather by billie eilish

iv. divine now playing... learning 037 by sandy crow

v. bad idea now playing... wait a minute! by willow

series taglist

@s0urw00lf, @peqch-pie, @lavzxx, @quaint-and-curious-being, @rivatar, @msblacklupin, @ineedmentalhelp123, @erenjaegerwifee, @ravenxx88, @alicetweven, @lomlspidey, @sakuxxi, @carolineesnell, @bxtchboy69, @purple-imaginess

send an ask or comment to be added!

#avatar #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam series

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ladylokilaufeyson5 · 7 months

Text

Where The Shadows Dance

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

SUMMARY: When Beron invites the Night Court to his Autumn home in an attempt to strengthen bonds between the two courts, Azriel and his companions are suspicious of potential ulterior motives. They are, ultimately, correct to think this, as Beron does have a reason for his invitation.

Y/n Vanserra, the Autumn Court's untamed princess, needs a bodyguard, and who better than one of the Night Court warriors who helped command the armies against Hybern?

Y/n's untamed spirit clashes with Azriel's reserved nature, leading to unwilling adventures and forbidden explorations of the Autumn Court's hidden corners. And Azriel slowly stops finding himself able to say no - not when she flirts with him to get her way, or teases him for being a 'broody old male.'

And though he knows he shouldn't, he finds himself falling for her. It will jeopardise everything, and yet he can't help it...

But it's okay, because she's falling for him too.

GENERAL WARNINGS: swearing, violence, descriptions of injuries and blood, smut (18+ mdni), um... yeah

Chapter i - The Proposition

Chapter ii - The Bodyguard

Chapter iii - The Princess

Chapter iv - The Tavern

Chapter v - coming soon

Chapter vi - coming soon

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blurredcolour · 8 months

Text

"Trust"

[Complete]

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Assigned to Thorpe Abbots airfield in East Anglia in the spring of 1943, your life becomes hopelessly entangled with that of Major John “Bucky” Egan. At the mercy of forces far beyond your control, events will inevitably change you forever – if forever is something you can even count on.

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Injuries, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

I. "Do You Trust Me?"

II. "Just Had To Trust You."

III. "Trust Me, He's In Good Hands."

IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?”

V. "I Trusted You!"

VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

Masters of the Air Masterlist

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

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b00kdiary · 7 months

Note

Can we please please please get a part 3 for stay with me where they actually fuck? Love your stuff btw absolutely amazing ❤️

Stay With Me | Rhysand (III)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

It's been a week. Rhysand's patience has worn thin. So has Y/N's.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE PART TWO

Are you awake, darling?

I stared at the note that appeared on my nightstand fifteen seconds ago, the luxurious, broad sprawl telling of who had sent it. The word darling made my stomach coil – like I could hear Rhys purring it in my ear.

I fought my smile as I turned, dropping my bare legs off the side of the bed, and grabbing the quill that had appeared with the note. It was slightly warm, and I envisioned Rhys holding it, smirking like the fiend he was.

I am awake.

Missing me already?

I could feel my anticipation thrumming in me as I sprawled the words before neatly dropping the pen beside it. It vanished the moment I released it, wisped away to wherever Rhys lounged and for some reason, I could practically hear the rumbling laugh that would escape him the moment he read my teasing response.

My smile grew when the note reappeared not even thirty seconds later. I grabbed it with shaking hands, and I could feel the heat blazing through my blood and bones and veins at his words.

I always miss you; you know that.

And while I usually am the most patient male, that patience is starting to wear very thin.

I want you, darling.

He had been patient. So had I. One week since the Hybern attack, one week since I had sustained that injury and Rhysand had taken care of me – in more ways than just my leg. One week of stolen touches and yearning glances and pleasuring myself to quell the urge to seek him out.

I didn't want to be patient anymore. The ache between my legs wouldn't let me be.

Then why aren't you here?

I'm waiting, High Lord.

The note vanished and not even a second later, I heard the distant sound of wings thundering. I felt Rhysand's dark, obsidian power misting over Velaris stretching from the Town house to the House of Wind.

Call it impatience, call it confidence, call it whatever you want but my body was alight at the power of him, the need of him. And as Rhys thundered closer and closer, I took off piece after piece of clothing. My socks, my nightshirt, my underwear, my bra, everything, until I was bare sat upon my bed desperately needing to be touched.

My thighs clenched when Rhys landed on my balcony, the ground and walls shaking with the impact of his arrival. I could see his silhouette outlined by the moonlight and sheet of stars above as he stalked on silent feet toward my door, looking like a God that shouldn't exist.

The curtain parted with a phantom wind, and I felt my nipples pebble and my core soak as it danced into my room, brushing my skin like a lover's touch. Rhys ducked under my door, powerful wings tucked close to his back and violet eyes gleaming like midnight constellations.

"You beautiful, wicked thing," Rhys groaned as he slid into my room, eyes latching onto my naked figure sitting patiently atop my sheets. I felt his magic thrum at the sight of me, eyes razing across my bare flesh. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"I waited one week, Rhys," I lifted my chin defiantly, feigning arrogance. Even as every long step he took toward me made me tremble. "I'm a patient female but not that patient."

"Tsk tsk tsk," He clucked his tongue tauntingly at me, his thick brow raised in a challenge. I traced his long, lean angles, the broad muscles of his shoulders, and that infuriating smirk as he came to a stop before me. "As much as I love your eagerness, darling, I didn't say you could undress."

I moaned when his ringed hand came forward, cupping my aching breasts and squeezing it in his palm. His chest rumbled appreciatively as it spilt from his hand, another moan slipping from me when his thumb brushed over my taut, sensitive nipple.

"Perhaps I should punish you?" Rhys mused softly, eyes transfixed on my breasts, his forefinger and thumb clamped around my bud, abusing it, and watching me gasp. I craned my neck up to meet his towering form, cruel amusement in his eyes. "Unlace my breeches."

A firm, powerful command – his High Lord's voice. Gods, it made me wet. Rhys smirked at the spike in my pulse, the pleasure that coiled through me at his authority.

I was more than eager to follow his command, my hands moving to his slacks, tugging furiously at the laces. I could feel his hard length under my fingers, twitching and straining against the material, begging to be let free.

Rhysand released my breast, and I would have whined in protest had he not begun tugging the ties at the back of his shirt, striping the material from his wings and chest, revealing acres and acres of beautiful tan, tattooed skin as he discarded it.

I whimpered as I tugged the last lace, my pussy clenching around nothing as Rhys's thick, hard length slipped free from his pants, slapping back against his stomach, nearly hitting my face in the process. My mouth watered, actually watered at the sight of him.

"This is meant to be a punishment, darling," Rhys chuckled darkly, fingers gently folding into my hair and tilting my head to meet his eyes. He grinned at the heady intent on my face. "You shouldn't look so happy about it."

"You’re about to let me suck your cock, Rhys," I breathed, my voice rasping and hoarse. His hand tightened in my hair, fisting the root as I purred the word cock. I eyed his length, the red angry tip, the small pearly beads of pre-cum, the strong veins that danced on the sides. "How is that a punishment?"

"You're not sucking my cock, my love," Rhys smiled – it was not a comforting sight. No, it was dark and terrifying. I gasped when the tip of his cock traced my lip, his eyes glinting as he pushed it slowly into my warm mouth. "I'm going to fuck your throat."

He slammed the rest of his length into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, and I was gagging and moaning and choking for air.

"Good girl," Rhys moaned, his cock stretching my mouth until my jaw ached and he seated so far down my throat I could feel every twitch. He pulled out after several seconds, beads of spit and cum lacing my lips and down my chest as I gasped for air. "Such a good girl."

I hummed at the praise, even as I felt my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. But Rhys tasted so good, and he was moaning so loud as I slipped him back into my mouth, my throat going lax as he shoved his length in until he maxed out.

I gagged, desperately breathing through my nose as his hips rolled, every stroke dragging his pulsing cock in and out, hitting the back of my throat again and again. Rhys growled, a pure sound of pleasure, one of no control as he truly fucked my mouth raw.

Tears streaked down my face, drool dripped down my chin and onto my breasts and Rhys's hand fisted my hair brutally, keeping me in place while he drove his hips into my mouth. I moaned at the feel of him, every ragged breath he took making me that much more eager.

"That feels incredible, darling," Rhys hissed, his voice shaking as his climax neared. His cock twitched in my mouth, and I let my tongue graze along his shaft in a way that had him cursing. "This mouth is better than I had imagined."

I could feel my arousal leaking down my thighs at his words, and my eyes rolled when Rhys bucked his hips forward, burying himself so far, that my nose brushed the trail of hair at his navel. I could smell his sweet scent, addictive enough that it distracted me from the burning in my lungs, the full feeling of him shoved down my throat.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, and I whined as he tore my head back, his wet, angry cock slipping out. Air rushed into my lungs, spit dribbled down my chin and then Rhys was upon me, his head ducking down and crashing his lips to mine.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, could taste the possession on his tongue as he shoved it past my swollen lips and into me, battling and furious and needy. My fingers clawed and scratched along his marble skin, tracing the hard muscles and rippling abs, memorising the perfect feel of him.

"Rhys," I whined against his lips, breathless as his large, ringed hands kneaded along my body, grumbling in approval as he palmed the flesh at my hips and back and thighs, his eyes stark with lust as he pushed me to lie on my back.

"I know, I know," He crooned, a tint of arrogance and appreciation in his voice as he settled onto the bed, his arms bracing his towering figure over me, his hands guiding my thighs around his lean hips. "I'm impatient too, darling. I know you need it; I've got you."

My back arched as he grazed his nose along the side of my neck, his magnificent wings erecting high behind him as he inhaled the sweet, sweaty scent of me. I was breathless as he touched my skin, touched my flesh like I was a dream come to fruition.

"Cauldron, I wish I had time to get my head between these soft thighs," His teeth scraped my nipple, his hands parting my thighs as he rubbed his tip through my soaking wet folds. "I'd have my tongue fucking your sweet hole until you came all over my face. Until you were begging me to stop."

For a second, I nearly begged him to do exactly that, nearly begged for the feel of his tongue and teeth, for the burn of his skilled fingers slipping inside me. But then he rubbed his hard length against me again, smearing my wetness and I couldn't wait another moment.

"Stop talking Rhys,” I snarled, my fingers curling around his short raven hair, dragging his face up to mine. He chuckled at the ire and frustration behind my words, behind my touch as I pressed desperate kisses to his lips, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth,” Rhysand laughed against my lips, a hint of violence tinging his tone, his touch, as he toyed his tip against my swollen clit. “I’ll have to think of a better punishment to remedy that. But right now – “

I screamed as he drove his hips forward, shoving his hard, pulsing length into me in one forceful thrust.

“Rhys!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure, like stars erupting through my core as Rhysand forced his way into me, stretching my sore walls, languishing in the wetness of my arousal until he maxed out. Pain and pleasure – it was all I knew.

“Cauldron, you’re fucking incredible,” Rhys growled into my ear, his hands bruising against my waist as he forced my flailing body against the bed. He pulled out to the tip, the sound filthy as he pushed back in, moaning as he did so. “So fucking incredible.”

“Rhys, oh Gods –“

I was crying out for him as his pace picked up, my walls moulding around him perfectly as he fucked me, that pain fading into pure, unfiltered pleasure. He grunted with every roll of his hips, his lips suckling my pulse point and reverberating his noises against me, through me.

Rhys scraped his canines against the junction of my throat possessively, marking me as he fucked his hips against me again and again, tits and body jolting with every stroke. I keened when he threw my leg over his shoulder, kissing my knee before he sunk so deep, I thought he’d tear me in two.

“Right there,” He panted, sweat coating his forehead as he grinned down at me. I gasped, breathless as he pressed a hand down on the stomach – pressed down on the imprint of his cock shaped there. “You feel how deep I am, darling? Feel how far my cock is inside you?”

“S-so deep,” I blubbered, my words half caught between a sob and a moan as my walls fisted tighter and tighter, that familiar pool filling within me, filling more and more as Rhys whispered those dirty words and fucked me raw. “It’s so deep, Rhys.”

‘Look at you’ Rhys’s rumbling, arrogant voice filled my mind, mixed in with his stark arousal and overwhelming praise, ‘Crying for me, all fucked out and ready to come around my cock.’

His lips slammed against mine, all biting teeth and furious, exploring tongue and I could feel my orgasm ripping down my spine, feel it building at the apex of my thighs as he hit a spot within me, again and again and again. Something that felt so fucking good.

‘Come for me, darling,’ Rhys commanded through my mind, a bolt of obsidian power sparking along my nerves and through my whole body. I yelped, crying out at that feeling.

He sent another bolt, in tandem with the sweet, brutal roll of his hips and suddenly I was coming.

“Rhys, Rhys –“

White hot power splitting my core in two, strong enough that all I could do was arch my back and curl my toes, letting my body turn stiff and hard as Rhysand rocked into me, longing out the pleasure for what felt like hours.

I was coming and coming and coming. I couldn’t fucking breathe as Rhys ruined me.

“That’s my girl,” He gritted out, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck, teeth and spit and tongue as he fucked erratically into me. His climax was close, I was fluttering around him so furiously, that I knew he was close.

“Fill me up, Rhys,” I begged him, my orgasm dwindling and all my nerves endings on fire as he stroked and stroked and stroked. Rhys whimpered – actually whimpered, as I dragged my hand through the inner part of his wing, trembling behind him from the contact. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

I touched his wing with a whisper of a caress again and again, until Rhys was cursing, until his beautiful body was trembling against me, and he was making noises I would kill, actually kill, to hear again.

“You beautiful – “ Thrust. “Cruel – “ Thrust. “Wicked –“ Thrust. “Thing –“ Thrust.

His hand brushed my clit as he rocked his twitching cock into me, harder and faster now. I felt the dwindling tendrils of my first orgasm before they began erupting like flames as a second barrelled into me.

“Rhys – “ I sobbed his name, scratching my nails along the talon atop his right wing. And as my core exploded with another all-consuming climax, Rhys reached his peak too.

He reached that peak roaring.

“Fuck –“ He curses as his climax hit him, obsidian mist erupting from him and blanketing the room as he halted inside me. I moaned, my walls clenching and unclenching as I felt him spill endlessly inside me, his wings and body tensed and shaking under my hands.

Our moans and releases were furious and strong enough that I felt the posters of my bed shaking, Rhysand’s face buried in the crook of my neck, moaning, and panting for breath as his hips came to a total stop. My walls pulsed, and his cock twitched in response as if our orgasms had become one.

Rhys laughs roughly against my throat, his canines grazing my sensitive skin as he collapses against me, both our chests rising and falling in shattered waves. It reminded me of that first day in the cabin, how he had been so euphoric as I ground against him until he came.

“That was a good day for me,” Rhys sighed, head lifting so his violet eyes met mine. So bright, so happy. “Almost as good as last week when you came all over my hand.”

I blushed, his grin broadening at the sheepish smile I gave him. He dipped his head, kissing my lips sweetly, a satisfied groan rumbling through him as his tongue gently explored mine.

“I hope you’re aware that this means you’re stuck with me, darling,” Rhys smirked, forehead resting against mine. He was still inside me, and it felt more than right. His eyes glinted, daring me to challenge him. “No male will ever touch you again.”

“Is that a decree, High Lord?” I gnawed on my lip, giggling at the way his eyes narrowed. My giggle erupted into a laugh as Rhys began peppering kisses against my cheek and jaw.

“Yes,” He growled, nipping my skin with his teeth, “That’s an order. With the penalty of death for any male who does otherwise.”

“Good,” I grinned, my heart skipping at his dark, tempting words. I cupped his jaw, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Because if another female so much as looks at you, Rhys – I will pluck her eyes out.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get violent,” He groaned, fingers digging into my waist possessively. “It makes me want to do very filthy things to you.”

“I’m all yours, Rhys,” I smiled, a hint of sincerity mixed with lewd intent in my eyes. “Do with me what you will. Unless you plan to be somewhere else tonight?”

His eyes flashed, stars exploding, shadows coiling, and I felt him harden in me again, my walls stretching inch by inch until I was soaked around him.

“I’ll be here, with you,” He whispered, his nose brushing mine and I whimpered when he rolled his hips, stroking his cock inside me slowly. “I’ll always stay with you.”

----------------------------

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests for all SJM men x plus size reader!

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giuliettagaltieri · 8 months

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Hunt for Glory

Pairing: Young!Coriolanus Snow x Capitol!Reader

Synopsis: After living under the shadow of legacy of your fathers, you and Coriolanus Snow decide it is time to climb to the top, to reclaim what was yours. You are a convenient ally, a dangerous and sly woman, and to his luck, it seems your heart was tender for him, until it no longer was.

Warning: angst, unrequited love, mean Coriolanus Snow, academic rivalry, fake dating, politics, elitism, manipulation, greed, mentions of death, Capitol cruelty, shooting, blood, injuries, eventual smut, explicit sex, unprotected sex, spoilers

Disclaimer: The TBOSAS characters belong to their respective owners, reader is female. Skin tone and body type mentions were limited for better reading experience. If any characteristics of y/n bothers you, or if any of the warnings does not agree with you, I advise you not to proceed to read the story.

Chapter Count: 6

Status: Completed

Masterlist

i. Fight for Carnage

ii. Duel of Knowledge

iii. Chase for Prestige

iv. Break the Bondage

v. Cry of Outrage

vi. Claim the Heritage

Quest for Happiness

Explaining the District tours

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas #academic rivals #the hunger games #fake dating #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #masterlist #hunt for glory

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noxturnalpascal · 9 months

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Devotion 🖤 Masterlist

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

I. Stronger Together CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

II. Predator or Prey? CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

III. Path to the Future CH 9 CH 10 CH 11 CH 12

Epilogue Some Summer Sunday

Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon-typical violence/death, death of clickers, guns, blood/injury, references to previous SAs (not described), Reader has low self worth & trauma, this group/cult is not feminist - women aren’t treated as equals, Joel has sexual relationships with other characters (not described in detail), possessiveness, manipulation, stalking/spying on, Joel gets mean, DubCon Oral, Joel gets abusive (verbally, mentally, physically (he hits, throws, and bites), thoughts of self-harm and suicide, talk of periods & pregnancy, unprotected PiV, oral sex (m & f receiving), come eating, DIRTY TALK, brief reference to breeding kink and creampie kink (but reader does NOT get pregnant in this story).

A/N: OBVIOUSLY this is canon-divergent, but it is post-outbreak. The events of outbreak day have not changed (sorry Sarah). Reader does have a developed background that plays heavily in her character arc, so in that sense she is very much an OC. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions.

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

AO3 LINK

MOODBOARD BY @strang3lov3 MOODBOARD BY @beefrobeefcal

*🖤*NOTES ABOUT THE CULT & JOEL BELOW*🖤*

ABOUT THE CULT

The Cult's Core Ideology

Build up a community (and supplies) to return to a thriving society that can keep people safe & find a cure.

The Cult Operates by its 3 Tenants:

How Joel does it (what he "preaches")

I. Build Trust (We are Stronger Together)

Makes people feel beautiful, important, HEARD

Shares the wealth (food, shelter, women)

Seeks Power & Control to get others to help him

II. Us vs Them (The Predator Vs The Prey)

FEDRA is the enemy, do not trust them

Assimilate or Destroy all other people/groups

Attack them before they attack you

III. Gather & Prepare (Create a Path to the Future)

You can never have enough, always take take take take

The community you create now will determine future society (fair, honest, hardworking)

Once you are well-prepared and rebuild, you can work on finding a cure

🖤

Notes about Joel and the Cult:

He and Tess began this community together in 2010 after they met Bill and Frank and they felt that the QZ was becoming too dangerous and unstable. They settled in a small, remote town in the mountains of Vermont. Tess helps him "run" the community but she has a submissive role. (Their dynamic here is different from canon.) Tess has his respect probably more than anyone else does but she is not looked upon like an equal by anyone in the community.

Timeline/Ages:

This takes place in the fall of 2012, so It’s been 9 years since outbreak day. Joel is 45, my HC for Reader is Early 30's (Tess is 39/40). Reader's exact age isn't given, but she was in her early 20's on outbreak day and I wanted her to have experienced a fair taste of an adult life before the world ended. I didn't want to write the reader as inexperienced or with too large of an age-gap, although I think 11-14 years is still pretty significant. She has a history that plays a significant role in her personality (wary, untrusting). She has been hurt/abused by men - both those that took advantage of her when she was young, as well as by those that she trusted/loved. There are very few physical descriptions but she is very much an OC. Note that her age is not something that's explicitly mentioned because I did want to keep it inclusive. I hope everyone who wants to read this can use their imagination to fit themselves into the story in a meaningful way.🖤

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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seraphiism · 11 months

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❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯 ) ;

characters : wriothesley • neuvillette fandom : genshin impact ╰┈ pt i. • pt. ii • pt. iii

↬ wriothesley ࿐ ࿔

wriothesley is far too familiar with getting injured on the job. it's nothing new, not really-- what's work if he doesn't get a little roughened up, anyway? it's certainly not a big deal ( to him, at least ).

he'll admit that some days are worse than others, but he's got too much to do, too much to protect. he can't afford to let anyone take him down. so all in all? he'll be fine. end of story.

you, on the other hand? he's not really sure. he's warned you from time to time that he's bound to run into trouble here and there; the fortress is not a place of innocence, after all, and you are both all too aware of that.

still, that doesn't stop you from mentally combusting every time he walks through the door, cuts and bruises all across his body. unfortunately, tonight is no different, even if his injury ( if anyone can even consider it to be one ) is a small cut on his cheek.

"jail. jail for a thousand years."

it's three in the morning, and yeah, he's a little sleep deprived, so he's not really sure if he heard you correctly. he blinks a few times, brows knit ever so slightly as he tries to register your words.

huh.

he's far more used to a lecture, but he'll take this instead.

"a thousand years?" he grins, though the amusement fades slightly as you use a washcloth to wipe the blood away. "that's a little cruel. seriously, do you think you could survive that long without seeing me?"

"guess we'll see."

he lets out a chuckle, though he sees through your annoyance. it may be a simple cut to him, but to you, it runs deeper and he knows that. he chooses to keep his silence instead of continuing the banter, only watching you carefully as you study him in search of other injuries you may have missed.

"i miss you when i'm gone for a thousand minutes." he leans in, closes that small distance between you two. "don't send me away." he murmurs. "i won't survive."

you don't say anything for a long while, a small sigh escaping through parted lips. it's his unique way of asking for forgiveness; of course you'll grant it. but you're just as stubborn as he is, so you don't quite give him the satisfaction or peace of mind that he expects.

you kiss him for a moment too short, then speak.

"how many hours is a thousand minutes?"

↬ neuvillette ࿐ ࿔

neuvillette is not accustomed to the woes of human emotion. it is a fickle thing, he muses, and the nature of one's heart is a complexity he wishes to understand with ease. he tries, but there are so many variables and constants that even the ludex of fontaine cannot grasp it.

he is, admittedly, always a little doubtful of himself when it comes to such interactions. he is careful in his approach-- certainly not wary, but careful in the means of not causing offense. he is learning with time, after all, and though he has learned much through experience and through you, there is much he still remains naive to.

but this-- this, he understands : the silence that weighs heavy in the air, the lack of words so often spoken when you are together, the way your eyes won't meet his. your gaze is focused elsewhere as you throw all concentration into putting away the antiseptic and spare bandages, carefully organizing the supply kit in the most optimal manner in case of emergency. he is not sure how long you spend rearranging it, but surely it is a means of distraction to distance yourself from your feelings.

"thank you." neuvillette speaks up after a long while, notices how you pause at his gratitude. your body tenses up for the slightest moment, but you are quick to force yourself to relax.

"you're welcome."

he is unsure of how to proceed at this point. it is not often that he gets injured; such occasion is truly rare, but it is not something always in his control. he understands you are worried. he understands that you are afraid, that you might be angry. he wishes to speak, but when he hears that little sniffle, he freezes.

"please, look at me."

you listen. when he looks at you, there is something strange that stirs in his heart-- something so softly devastating at the sight of your sorrow. he hesitates, wonders if he will do the right thing to comfort you.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that trails down your face. there is the gentle curve of the lips-- a subtle reassurance, quiet in its nature, but deeply resonant.

"do not waste your tears on me." he tells you, gentle. "i'm alright. so long as the tides continue to turn, i will be here."

he presses a kiss to your forehead, smile growing ever so faintly as your tears continue to fall. it is something that cannot be helped; he knows this more than anyone, this weeping dragon. he pulls you into his arms, and until the tears are no longer shed, he will not let you go.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #favoniuslibrary #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette #fyi i skimmed through wriothesley's wiki for like 5 mins. if he's ooc .......No He's Not #.: writing #.: multi #only 2 characters bc i am a lil sleepy and wanted to get smth out :^)

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iluvapplesxh · 1 month

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⧽⧽ Behind The Scenes III. ⧼⧼

❀ pair: billie eilish x fem!reader

✯ summary: After bringing you to safety in her new home, Billie makes the recklessly stupid decision to go out to a small shopping trip by herself in the companies of her bodyguards, but that turns like the best and the worst decision of her life.

✰ warnings: injury, hospital, paparazzi, shooting, guns, choking, death, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff at the end, !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

✯ part I, part II

✒ a/n: apologies for the late post! I just somehow couldn't get myself to write this, but I did it! (6k+ words)

It was so agonizing. The pain all over your body. It hurt all over and your head pounded especially loud, your ears picking up on the faint sounds of a beeping of some kind, maybe some words. Was someone talking? What the fuck is happening?

You slowly and, in all honesty, annoyedly peeled open your closed eyelids, thankful to whatever God that the room in which you were in had its blinds pulled in because otherwise you probably would have gone blind to top all things.

You blinked a couple of times, taking deep breaths and looking around before all the memories came flooding into your head like a train crashing into another. Your heart beat faster and suddenly you were wide awake, sitting up which you regretted in that moment when a sharp pain shot through your side and your hand flew to cover the main source of the pain, a low but almost silent groan mixed with a grunt leaving your lips.

The realization of how dry both your mouth and throat have been almost made you choke on your breath, and you screwed your eyes shut when a small cough rocked your body, your hand pressing harder onto your side.

“Hey, hey, be careful”

The sudden rush of words came from the door which you’ve located in the left corner of the room and your head swiftly turned to look at the direction of the white entrance of what you recognized could be a hospital room and your confusion, panic filled eyes met with soft blue ones. Before you could say anything, she took hurried steps towards the uncomfortable bed you were now sitting on, arms stretched out and her hands soon were holding onto you, one of them gently pulling yours away from your bandaged side.

In her other hand was a bottle of water and your heart fluttered a little before alarms of scoldings and denial rang through your head, and you focused back on her creased eyebrows then her blue seas.

Billie breathed in softly and held up the bottle to you, which you wordlessly took and uncapped before taking big gulps which earned you a dirty look from the woman next to you, but you ignored it and took a few more big sips before screwing the cap on the plastic bottle once more.

“Thanks” You muttered out finally and a tender smile grew on Billie’s lips before her front teeth dipped into the lower part.

“How are you feeling?” The crease between her brows returned while her head tilted to the side the slightest bit, her hand never leaving yours which made your heart rate pick up again. And the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the heart monitor next to your bed, the beeping growing speedier and your cheeks heat when you see Billie’s eyes leave yours to confusedly glance towards the device before meeting yours again.

“Uh…-” You began after the small awkward silence. “I’m okay-...I think”

Your words weren’t calming at all, but Billie decided to just nod subtly before taking a deep breath, her hand reluctantly letting go of yours as she took a step back and folded her arms over her chest.

“The doc said they’ll do a checkup when you wake and if everything’s okay, we can go home” She stated and her eyes stuck gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them a little, almost missing her words before your head bobbed up and down, nodding.

There was another long moment of silence, and your head quickly filled with questions about a lot of things. How long has it been? Did they find him yet? Did she see him? Why is she here? Where is he?

“Why’re you here?” The question left your mouth quietly, like you were afraid that the question would break the peace of the moment.

Billie sighed and dropped her arms to her sides, shifting on her feet. “I mean, you were attacked in my house…” Her gaze fell from yours almost as if she was nervous or embarrassed. “And-...kind of nobody came when I called. We-...well Finneas came by yesterday. He dropped off some clothes for me and food”

When she began rambling your eyes narrowed in confusion before a small exhalation of a choked breath left your mouth and you nodded. “Right” You muttered under your breath, your tongue running along the inside of your cheek. “Thanks. For being here”

Billie’s eyes lifted again and softened more when she saw your expression. She took a small step forward again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” She asked, because she knew that even if she wouldn’t have been there that night, she would have raced to you the moment she heard something.

Your gazes met again and there was a knowing look in your eyes to which a small, almost inaudible scoff left Billie before her head shook and there were a few seconds of stillness. “We’ll talk about everything when this shit is over, okay?” Her words almost sounded like a promise, but you knew better than to believe your own mind right now. Maybe if we talk at least, we’d stay friends

Although you knew that proposition was just hanging on by a small tinge of hope, you wanted to believe that it was true. Because if it wasn’t, it meant you would probably have to live your life without her in it and looking into that future, it didn’t seem right.

When you nodded your head, the door of the small room opened again and the doctor which you assumed Billie was talking about walked in with a soft, kind smile on his bearded face.

“Great to see you’re awake, miss” He said with a gentle look in his eyes when he approached the two of you. “My name is Dr. Hart” He extended his right hand, and you slowly did the same, giving his gruff hand a firm shake before pulling back.

–

After Dr. Hart successfully finished up your check up, and signed the sign out papers, you were free to go. You sat in the wheelchair, now in your normal clothes which Billie had admitted to getting for you after borrowing your apartment keys a couple days prior when you were still unconscious, she was behind the chair, pushing it in silence as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings of the hospital hallways.

Finally, when the two of you made it out and arrived at Billie’s car which she had close to the entrance of the building, you just about got out of the wheelchair when the blinding flashes and lights of cameras almost took away the light of your world as seemingly hundreds of press employees and paparazzies surrounded the black SUV and, of course, you and Billie.

“Fucking hell” You hear Billie mutter then the warm feeling of her arms wrapping around you made your breath hitch. “Come on, get in.” Her breath tickled your ear as she leaned close to your ear, then one of her arms left your body and opened the back door of the car, gently pushing against your back.

The now muffled screamed questions of the reporters made your head pound once more as you watched Billie quickly being ushered into the car next to you by one of her bodyguards before he also hopped into the car in the passenger seat.

You could see through the dark tinted windows how the security guards from the hospital had begun to push against the crowd, trying to make way for the SUV to leave.

You exhaled softly and leaned back against the seat you were in, one of your shaky hands reaching up to grasp onto the strap of the belt, pulling on it before grasping the latch plate and shifting in your seat, bringing it down beside you and fastening it inside the buckle with a soft breath of a grunt and when the soft clicking sound reached your ears, you leaned back in your seat again.

“You okay?”

Your head turned to the side, eyes locking with Billie’s. “Yeah-...” You say, a little breathlessly. “I didn’t expect…all of this” You said and your eyes left hers, instead gazing at the slowly fading crowd, meaning the security guards were succeeding.

“Hm” Billie pursed her lips as her eyes followed your line of sight. “I should have thought about this before just bringing you out. I’m sorry.” Her words made your head turn back to her again, brows knitted together.

“What?” Disbelief tinted your question, and your head tilted a little to the left. “No, you couldn’t have known-...”

“Of course, I could have. I’ve been doing this a long time” Billie swallowed harshly and buckled her own belt when she saw the bright, orange light of the streetlamp next to the Hospital’s sign by the road, meaning the way’s been cleared.

Your teeth bit down on your tongue, feeling like there was no argument with that and you took a deep breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears at the sudden silence in the car.

–

You didn’t really pay any attention to where the SUV was heading, instead having chosen to stare at the gray carpet by your feet. So, when the car came to a halt and your eyes finally lifted, settling on the metal gates being lit up by vehicle’s headlights, your head filled with confusion.

“Uh, where are we?” You spoke finally, turning to Billie who was sitting in silence until now.

“Oh, right.” Despite the very uncomfortable situation, a small -almost cocky- smirk grew on her face and she slid lower on her seat, hands hanging loosely between her spread legs. “My house.”

The crease on your forehead grew and you blinked. “Uh, no…this is not your house.” You shook your head, looking ahead again as the gates opened and the car began moving again. “And also, I thought you were taking me home? To- to my house? So, you wouldn’t be in danger” Anger and worry laced your voice, and your eyes glanced back at Billie.

Billie took a sharp breath and ran her tongue along the left side of her cheek. “First of all, I never said I’d leave you alone. Not now.” She muttered; expression hard before it softened again. “And also, I bought a new-...safer house right after you were treated. For my own safety and for your own since you will be staying here until that…-” Her eyes darkened and her jaw clenched. “Asshole is behind bars.”

Your head shook in disbelief. “Billie, you don’t understand!” Your voice grew somewhat desperate and frustrated. “Being with me is not safe for you!”

Billie swallowed hard and her tongue darted out, moistening her drying lips before she spoke. “No, you don’t understand!” She said harshly, her gaze averting from yours for a moment when the car stopped on the end of the driveway and the bodyguards got out. “I won’t ever leave you like this, okay? No matter what the fuck happened or didn’t happen-...” Her eyes softened. “I just want you to be safe…”

Your own face eased and there was a minute of stillness, just the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes. You didn’t need words to talk. You never did with her. The both of you knew each other like the back of one’s hand.

Then, a simple nod from you and she was out of the car, turning back around to hold out a hand for you to take. Your heart almost melted at the small gesture and a lump formed in your throat, gaze stuck on the extended tattooed hand before you teared it away and unbuckled your belt, sliding towards the opened door and taking the soft hand.

Billie slowly helped you out of the car and -much to both of your dismays- her hand left yours, pushing the opened door closed. Then she stood next to you and the two of you began walking towards the front doors.

When you reached them, Billie pushed them open with a soft grunt. Then she turned to the side, her eyes looking into yours before darting to the inside of the house then they met yours again. You took the signal and stepped forward, the unfamiliar warmth of the new place engulfing your body.

You heard the doors shut behind you before Billie was standing next to you again. “So, there are 2 guest bedrooms.” She paused, biting down on the flesh of her bottom lip. “I think…”

A small smile spread on your lips at her unsure knowledge about her new home and your eyes took in the sight of her side profile, tracing the sharp contour of her jawline before darting to her nose then her cheek and then your staring and Billie’s thinking was broken by a deep but not unkind voice from behind the both of you in the hallway.

“Hey, guys!”

The both of you turned around, Billie’s face lighting up into a grin while yours turned into one of slight confusion when your eyes laid on Finneas walking towards the two of you, a gray button up hanging on his upper body and a checkered pair of pants clinging to his waistline.

“I’m surprised you made it out of there.” He spoke again when he reached the both of you. And due to the puzzled looks from you and Billie, he elaborated; “It was all over the news.”

A small ‘oh’ fell form Billie’s lips next to you while you only nodded, suddenly feeling very awkward in Finneas’ presence considering the two of you haven't spoken or seen each other since that day after the breakup at the airport.

The thought made your throat tighten up and you cleared it, sadly gaining Finneas’ attention. He looked back at his sister for a moment who shook her head and Finneas sighed softly before shooting you a small smile.

“Is Claudia here, too?” Billie asked, glancing down the lit-up hallway.

“Yeah, in one of the guest rooms” Finneas replied, nodding his head. “Mom and dad will be here soon, too.” He continued.

Billie nodded and your brows furrowed, finally daring to speak up. “Uh, no offense, but why?”

Both of the siblings turned to you, and it was Billie who answered your question after a small second of silence. “I just figured it would be best. I mean, the guy figured out where I lived. I couldn’t take any chances”

You noticed how she tried to play her worry for her family off, but you saw right through it and the smile returned to your face, nodding. “Alright”

–

After the small conversation by the entrance of this much bigger house compared to what Billie had previously, you were led to one of the other guest rooms -which you learned there were three of- and were very reluctantly left alone by Billie in it.

It was when you were finally alone that the worrisome thoughts came back into your mind. The uneasiness in your chest made you sit down on the twin bed in the middle of the room, and you could have sworn your side started to hurt more at the thoughts -or maybe the painkillers were just wearing off-.

You knew that you really shouldn’t be as worried as before, this house was big and safe. He didn’t even know it existed. But then again, he did somehow find out where Billie lived previously, and that you were there.

The images of what had happened flashed quickly before your eyes and your breath caught in your throat before you swallowed thickly and got up, deciding to take a hot shower.

After getting the towel which was folded on the bed and some of the clothes also laid out on it -no doubt Billie’s which made your heart race for a different reason than fear-, you walked into the bathroom attached to the room and rid yourself of the clothes Billie brought for you to the hospital. When your gaze found its way on the mirror above the sink, your eyes burned holes into your bandaged side and a sigh escaped your mouth at the tingling pain you felt with every twist of your torso.

After successfully and painfully tearing off the bandages as gently as you could, you didn’t dare give a second glance at the wound on your side, you just stepped into the shower and began washing your body.

When you were done, you got out, dried yourself up and put on the underwear and shorts you were given. Then you walked out of the bathroom with the T-shirt in one of your hands, the small medical kit which was placed on the counter next to the sink in the other.

You tossed the T-shirt on the bed and stood next to it, opening up the box of medical supplies and taking out the needed things. Then you sat down on the plush mattress and one of your arms circled under your bare breasts, pulling them out of view of your wound and you groaned softly when your body twisted to the side, the skin around the gash stinging sharply.

Your free hand held the soft cloth with the disinfectant on it above it, hesitantly bringing it down with a deep breath. The sting was not as bad as your head had previously told you it was going to be, and you exhaled loudly, pressing the cloth firmer against your side before pulling it back then pressing it there again.

The peaceful silence of the guest room was broken by a knocking on the door and your body tensed, causing your grip on the cloth to tighten and press hard against your side. A hiss left your mouth and your eyes screwed shut.

“It’s Billie.” A soft, seemingly angelic voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Your body relaxed at the sound and your eyes opened, taking in her words. You looked down at your half-naked body, the cloth now hovering over your wound and your thinking stopped for a moment. Was it clear that you couldn’t do this alone? Absolutely. Were you going to let Billie of all people help you with it? Absolutely not.

You weren’t ready for her to see you like this, so vulnerable and…wounded. Looking like a kicked puppy. It was humiliating.

Well, as it turned out you were pondering for too long, and Billie grew quite worried by your silence. She quickly pushed the door open and when her eyes found your figure sitting on the bed with your back turned to her, her breathing calmed just for a moment before her eyes took you in and it hitched.

Your head whipped around quickly, and your heart jumped into your throat at the look on her face and you turned back just as fast.

Billie’s eyes left your form and fell onto the bed you’re sitting on, looking over the medical supplies and her mind filled with worry rather than the acknowledgment of your state and she walked closer to you.

“Can I…-” She spoke softly, her eyes strained onto the wound on your side. “Can I help?”

Heat bloomed in your chest and your arm tightened around your body as you looked up at her before sighing softly and nodding. Your hand which was hovering over your side extended and Billie slowly took the wet disinfectant drenched cloth and took a seat on your right.

The somewhat awkward tension in the room was palpable and it sent a hot shiver down your spine, or maybe it was the fact that Billie was leaning close to you, her hand dapping the cloth against your side while you felt her breath on your skin, that caused it.

A minute later, one of her hands rested against your hip bone, probably accidentally since you didn't notice any change in her focused expression, and the other was mindfully wrapping the bandage around your torso.

You could feel the heat in the air grow by the seconds that Billie was spending focused on taking care of you. Just like she had done so many times before and then after you would smile and kiss her as a ‘thank you’ before the two of you cuddled up in each other’s embraces on her bed or the couch. But not this time, no, when she straightened up with one last touch on your bandaged side, a respectful distance was created between you two again while she packed up the supplies and you wordlessly pulled the T-shirt over your head, letting it hang loosely on your body.

Billie soon shifted further away from you on the bed to put the box on the bedside table and your teeth nibbled on the flesh of the inside of your cheek, your feelings all over the place.

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, deciding to be the first to speak up. “Thanks” The words were muttered and quiet, but Billie caught them, and she turned back to you, pressing her lips into a thin line as she nodded.

“You’re welcome”

You looked away from her and a long exhale left you. You placed your hands on your knees. “Why-...uh why did you come?”

Billie was silent for a moment, trying to read your body language before she folded her arms. “I was just going to check on you.” She said simply. “Oh, and also my mum made some dinner, if you’re hungry”

You took in her words, and nausea swirled in your gut at the mention of eating right now. You felt like you had no appetite whatsoever. Your head was still far in the gutter of what had happened.

Back at the hospital you had caught a glimpse of a television in one of the rooms, the news was on, and it was flooded with your name, some even mentioning Billie’s.

“I’m not.” You said lastly, not looking at her and instead carrying on staring at the pulled in curtains.

Billie smacked her lips, her jaw clenching as her eyes didn’t leave you until she stood up. “Alright.” She said with a sigh. “We’ll be downstairs for a little while longer, if you need anything.”

When she saw you nod your head, she took a couple steps towards the door, her hand pulling it open by the handle and she cast one last lingering worried glance towards you before she stepped out and the door shut behind her.

It was a couple hours later, which was around 9PM, that you emerged from the guest room. You hesitantly took the large flight of stairs downstairs, following the sound of voices to the living room of the house.

When you arrived at the entrance, your eyes scanned over the room. You saw Finneas and Claudia sitting close to each other in the loveseat while Maggie and Patrick were sitting on the sofa, all having a seemingly pleasant conversation. But your heart beat faster when you looked around the whole room and you didn’t find the comforting presence of the one person who you felt like actually wanted you here.

And unfortunately, when you turned back around to make your way back upstairs, Maggie’s voice stopped you with a call of your name and your breath hitched. Your jaw clenched and you turned back towards them, seeing all of their eyes on you, Maggie had a soft expression on her face, Patrick was looking at you with a kind smile and both Finneas and Claudia were looking at you a little skeptical but not unkindly.

“Would you like to sit with us, sweetie?” Maggie spoke up again and your eyes locked with hers.

“Oh-...uh, no thanks, Ms. Braid.” You spoke quietly and pressed your hands together behind your back.

Maggie smiled at you softly and nodded. There was a pause in the air before she parted her lips to speak again. “Billie went out for some stuff for you”

Her words made you freeze, and you felt dizzy all of a sudden. “Alone?” Your voice trembled slightly.

Patrick butted in; “Don’t worry, hon, bodyguards are with her. “ The smile never left his face, but it did little to ease the thumping against your sternum.

“Yeah, but-...” You took a ragged breath and placed a palm against your chest. Maggie, taking sign of your panic, swiftly stood up and walked over to you, wrapping her arms around you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. She’ll be okay” Her hands rubbed your arms comfortingly. “There was nothing to argue about when she said she wanted to go out for more supplies.”

You shook your head. This was your fault again.

–

Meanwhile, Billie sat in the same SUV which took the two of you home a couple hours before. Two of her best bodyguards sat in the front seats and one next to her in the backseat. She had a plastic bag of supplies in her lap, both hands placed on top of it as her eyes followed along the road through the tinted window.

A minute later, the car came to a stop by a gas station and Billie’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She looked at the man next to her and he offered a small smile.

“We stopped for gas, Ms. O’Connell”

Billie breathed out a puff of air, the small knot which began forming in her gut previously untying as she nodded. “I’m going to use the restroom” She told him, unbuckling her belt and placing the plastic bag down on the car’s floor.

“Would you like me to come with you, Ms.?” The bodyguard asked, slight worry in his tone and Billie smiled at him before she shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be quick”

With that, she stepped out of the car and shut the door after her. She rounded the SUV and sent a small wave at the other two guards outside it, one of them filling the car with gas while the other stood watch. She walked into the dimly lit station and looked around in slight confusion at the lack of the cashier by the counter before shrugging and striding across the small store. She walked to the back door which led to the restroom and pushed it open, making way to the women’s bathroom.

When she was inside, she looked around. Silence was all that greeted her, and she took in a deep breath before walking into an empty stall and locking it.

When she sat down on the toilet seat, she exhaled loudly and relaxed a little. But her body tensed once more when the entrance door of the bathroom opened again, and footsteps followed the sound soon after. Loud thuds of boots against the marble floors and soon the door slammed shut, making Billie flinch a little. She held her breath as the person took slow steps in front of the stalls and her heartbeat in her ears when she saw the shadow of the boots stop right before the door of the stall she was in. Then the person turned and walked into the stall next to hers and Billie let out the breath she was holding.

Billie stood up, flushed and hastily tugged up the baggy jeans she was wearing, making quick work of buckling her belt before she unlocked the stall and stepped out. She took anxious glances around the premise before stepping towards the sinks and opening one of the taps. She held hands out and wetted them under the stream of water before one of them reached up to the dispenser of the liquid soap. She held her wet palm under the soap pump and her thumb moved to press down on it. After a couple of tries an annoyed huff left her lips when nothing came from the dispenser, and she muttered under her breath.

“Of course,”

Her frustrated muttering froze when the stall door next to the one she was in opened and the sounds of boots nearing made her pulse quicken.

Her movements froze as well, and she just stood there while the person took place next to her.

“Hm, crappy bathrooms in this city, huh?”

The voice made her throat tighten in fear. It was a gruff, deep male voice. In the women’s restroom. And she swallowed hard before nodding her head. When she heard a derisive chuckle from the man, she shakily stopped the running water and looked up. The man had dark hair, a messy, thick beard, and a mustache. He was wearing a brown jacket and a white shirt, and he had a few wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. The man appeared to be in his 30s or 40s.

“Uh, sir, this is the women’s restroom” Billie finally spoke up, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice as the man basically towered over her.

“Oh, I know” The man said, his voice having a slight edge to it. Then a smirk appeared on his face, and he ran a hand down his beard. “I think you know who I am” He said lowly and Billie’s expression hardened, taking a step back.

“Oh? Are you scared now?” Another dark chuckle came from his mouth as he took a step toward Billie.

“What the fuck do you want from me, dude?” She asked, her voice laced with anger and her teeth grit together.

The man’s smirk spread into a grin; his eyes dark. “I don’t like how close you are to what’s mine…” He began and tilted his head to the side, his grin falling. “And since plan A didn’t go as planned…” Billie continued to glare at the man. “Time for plan B” When the words left his mouth, he pushed forward and threw Billie against the dirtied wall of the restroom.

Air was knocked out of her lungs as her back collided with the wall and the man stepped close to her. Just as she was about to gather her breath, a large rough hand wrapped tightly around her throat and her own hands frantically came up to wrap around his wrist.

She struggled against his grip, pushing with all her strength when she suddenly froze to the sound of a loud click and something cool against the side of her head. Billie’s eyes widened and she looked at the man in panic, her lungs desperately searching for air while her heart thumped loudly against her ribcage.

Her sight became blurry, and she could see the man’s mouth moving but she couldn’t hear anything, blood rushing in her ears. When she felt the gun press against the side of her head harder a cry left her lips and she screwed her eyes shut.

She heard the man’s distorted chuckle one last time before a loud bang echoing through the restroom cut it off. Her ears began ringing loudly and then suddenly the pressure of the big hand around her throat flattered and her eyes opened. She looked down and saw the man on the ground, blood pooling underneath him as he coughed.

She felt dizzy and her throat hurt as she looked to the side and saw one of her bodyguards standing by the door, gun gripped tightly in his hands, his own gaze stuck on the man on the floor who was now chuckling quietly, the blood gathering in his throat making them sound choked.

Billie stayed pressed against the wall until the bodyguard came over and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her away as they walked out of the restroom, leading her out of the gas station store to see the blinding lights of police cars paint the whole station red and blue, and somehow there were even some press around with cameras on their shoulders and microphones in hands, screaming while being held back by police.

Some of the officers rushed past them into the store while Billie was led to an ambulance.

–

Panic was all over your body as your body stood frozen in the middle of the living room. All of your gazes were on the television in front of you and tears sprung to your eyes at the headline;

‘Popstar, Billie Eilish, attacked by her ex-girlfriend’s stalker at local gas station’

Your body moved on its own, mind hazy as you quickly rushed out of the room and to the front doors, trembling hands reaching into the bowl of car keys on the dresser next to them. You didn’t give a fuck about what car it was you took the keys for, you just took one and ran out the doors, pushing the button on the remote key, your head turning all around the place hastily when a pair of headlights on a random car in the driveway lit up and you quickly made your way over to it.

You all but ripped the door open and jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and driving to the already open gates as fast as you can and speeding down the streets.

You didn’t even know which gas station it happened at. You just hoped that you were right about driving towards the closest one to Billie’s house. Your mind was a mess as you repeatedly blinked back your tears. Your chest hurt and you felt sick to your stomach the whole drive.

When you finally saw the red and blue lights flashing near you, you drove even faster and stopped just as fast behind a police car, the abrupt stop making your body jolt forward but you didn't care, you just pushed the door open quickly and jumped out of the car. You didn’t even bother shutting the door, you just ran through the crowd of reporters and such, pushing through them without a fucking care if they fell over ot not.

When you reached the edge of the crowd, a police officer stood in front of you but you just pushed against his chest, making hims tumble back as you ran to the site, hearing some shouts and callings for you but you didn’t stop until your eyes finally found her, sitting on the back on the ambulance with an unreadable expression on her face as the paramedic explained something to her.

You raced towards her and when you were finally in front of her, she looked up and your gazes met. Her eyes were red and fearful as they looked into yours and your heart shattered into a million different pieces at the sight. Your chest now hurt for two different reasons and you felt slightly dizzy but that didn’t stop you from dropping to your knees. Billie caught your arms, making you fall into her.

Your arms wrapped around her, clinging to her desperately as your tears finally fell. Her hold on you tightened and she shifted in her seat, brushing off the small blanket which was around her back and pulling you into her. Her own eyes burned with tears but she shut them as she pressed her cheek against the top of your head.

“It’s okay. I’m okay” Billie whispered softly while sobs rocked your body. “He’s gone. He’s gone” Her reassuring words made you cry harder, relief flooding your entire body.

The two of you held each other for a little longer before you stood again, and she followed you. Her hands lifted to cup your cheeks, her thumbs wiping the tears on your skin.

Then her hands fell and your own lifted, one of them placed on her right shoulder and the index finger of the other tremblingly hovering over the red mark around her throat. Billie took a deep breath and gasped your hand, bringing up to her lips and pressing it against them.

Your eyes met again and she pulled your hand away, letting it fall on her other shoulder before she leaned in. Not leaving room for overthinking, or any thoughts or words at all. She didn’t care right now. It was over.

When you felt her soft lips press against your trembling ones you breathed in sharply through your nose, body tensing up. But then her hands held onto your waist and you relaxed, kissing her back.

The kiss was filled with emotion, longing and hundreds of apologies. Your chest filled with warmth and your arms wrapped loosely around her neck, tugging her closer.

It felt right. It felt like nothing ever happened or maybe even if it did this one kiss sealed the happy ending of it. You felt at home again. In her arms. And she felt the same. She felt safe and calm, finally having you in her arms again. And there was no fucking way she’ll let you go ever again.

✒ a/n: I so, so hate how this turned out btw. but am I gonna post it anyway? fuck yeah! the endings are always so shit i'm gonna kms.

REQUESTS OPEN!

➣ tags: @be3flow3r

#Spotify #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish #billieeilish #behind the scenes series

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sorcerersseestars · 2 months

Text

LIMERENCE (III)

PART I, PART II

preview: So maybe this was unexpected, but maybe not. Your parents had always told you to be careful who you lent your heart to, but even more careful about who you made promises—or rather, vows—to. You were never fond of listening to their advice, however life saving it turned out to be…

word count: 11.9k

warnings: Violence/violent thoughts, mentions of illness/injuries, mentions of choking, vomiting, and blood, actual romance finally?? 😳

song rec: Mahler Symphony III, mvt VI <3 for nostalgic/bittersweet parts

NOTE: JJK0 edit! In this timeline, Geto invaded the school, failed to obtain Rika, but left unscathed. The twins depicted as mid-late teens.

“WILL YOU please lay off for once?” The man sighs, an unusual note of annoyance threatening to creep into his voice.

“But, Master Geto, this is horrible! They look like they're on death's door and you basically dropped them!” The girl exclaims loudly. “Who even are they?”

He hoists your limp body back over his shoulder, easily handling your weight. He had set you down for a few moments, as his shoulder had begun to ache after being burdened in one position for too long, but he intends to move you to a more permanent place than the ground he had momentarily set you on. He begins to walk away and, like always, the girl is his shadow, following behind immediately with no hesitation.

"I didn't drop them, Mimiko. My shoulder was hurting, so I had to put them down..."

"You practically did. If that's how you treat someone who's unconscious, remind me to never pass out around you. It looks like they hit their head when you 'didn't' drop them."

"Well, they have a price to pay. I wasn't necessarily trying to be gentle," He chuckles bitterly, “Let this be a lesson to you and Nanako. Don’t make a deal you’re not willing to follow through with until the end. It could cost you your life.”

The young girl frowns, confusion clear in her bright eyes. “But Master, aren’t they a sorcerer and not a monkey? I feel their cursed energy, even though it is weak. Why are you acting like this, Master Geto? I feel like…I feel like I don’t know you right now. How can you be so kind to us and then…and then treat this sorcerer…”

Her voice that started strong, as she means her words and thus began her inquiry with conviction, now gradually fades in volume until nothing can be heard but the roar of the wind.

He turns away quickly, trying to conceal how wide his eyes are, to hide the quiver that runs down his neck and through his fingers, to bury the contradicting feelings and morals that are tearing him apart. Yes, he has always been praised for his gentle nature and softness of his soul. Yes, he has always been commended for his strong moral compass and even sometimes accused of being self-righteous. Satoru had a tendency for the latter, but you…you would always readily agree with Geto and would look to him for an example. He remembers your eyes on him when Satoru pledged to kill all of the sorcerers that had involvement with Riko’s death during the Star Plasma mission. You had instantly laid down your weapon when Geto told Satoru that it wasn’t worth anything, that it wouldn’t change the tragic outcome that had already fallen upon them.

But when Geto later had—in the view of the sorcerer’s world, and most definitely in your view as well, he can only assume—his fall from grace, you had not looked to him or followed him then. But as he only had one opportunity to speak with you after, he could not pretend to fully understand your entire opinion of him—did you despise him, did you feel betrayed by him, or maybe, deep down, did you understand?

He doesn’t know what you truly think, and probably never will. And yet he cannot hold back about what he thinks about you—you, a pivotal figure in the Jujutsu world, a strong sorcerer who also has a strong attachment to the strongest sorcerer. You, who represent and fight for the future generation of sorcerers. You, who often put your life on the line to save mere monkeys, and teach others to do the same.

He turns back to Mimiko, who looks to him with wide, hesitant eyes. Her presence alone reminds him of his purpose, of his mission, and he quickly summons his resolve. He has his reasons, after all.

“Master, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to doubt you or disrespect you—“

Geto sighs, expression softening at the slight tremble in her voice. “It’s quite alright, Mimiko. I am the one that should be apologizing. It’s just that it is difficult for me to be in their presence, knowing what they are and who they are close to. It makes me someone…someone that I sometimes wish I wasn’t. They are both symbols of everything we despise, of everything we are fighting against. I can’t help but feel disgusted and irritated in their presence.”

She blinks slowly, processing his words. "So you mean them and...are you talking about this sorcerer and Gojo Satoru?"

"Very good," Geto praises, but he does not smile. "Those two have been on my list a long time."

Mimiko raises an eyebrow. "I understand about Gojo Satoru, of course, but why this person? I don't recognize them from our black book. Aren't they just a teacher at Tokyo or something?"

"(Y/N) was our classmate at Tokyo, and it is true that they teach there now. They are particularly special to our situation, you could say. They could turn the tide for us," He pauses, then shakes his head decisively. "No, they will."

Mimiko's lips twitch as many more questions threaten to burst out, but she holds her tongue and instead takes in her master's expression. Excitement glitters in his dark eyes, or maybe anticipation. He looks like he has cracked the code to something very important, giving him an almost manic appearance. But there's also something else in his countenance. She can't put her finger on it, but an emotion akin to regret occasionally interrupts his otherwise eager expression.

"They have always been infatuated with Gojo. I can't say it was love at first sight, but as close as you can get to that. I knew that, eventually, they would fall for Gojo. For a long time, I never thought anything of it, other than the fact their heart was going to be broken someday. After all, he was notorious for his arrogance and, well...philandering, I guess you could say, back then."

Mimiko rolls her eyes. "You mean he was a playboy."

"So, you get my meaning," Geto chuckles. "Yes, he has always been like that. And ever since the night that...that I rescued you and Nanako, ever since we went our separate ways, I haven't been able to lure him out. Not that I've wanted to, yet, but you know my goal."

"Yes," She breathes out the word almost instantly. "To eliminate all non-sorcerers, for the betterment of our world."

"That's the end goal, yes," He says, letting out a grunt of assent. "But remember what I told you and Nanako all that time ago?"

He turns to face her, eyes searching her expression, wondering just how firmly she believes in his ideals.

She looks up at him instantly, eyes glinting with a determination and purpose beyond her age. The intensity of her gaze almost startles him. "Gojo is the sorcerers' figurehead. Once he is eliminated, they will panic and we can make our move. They won't have the advantage anymore."

"Figurehead...maybe I said that before, but he is no figurehead. The higher-ups are, definitely, but Gojo...Gojo is the real deal. As much as I hate to admit it, we are no longer equals and haven't been for a long time. He is the most difficult to handle, and that's why we have to take him out first."

"Even though you didn't get Rika? I thought acquiring that cursed spirit was necessary."

Geto sighs, "You wound my pride by reminding me of that failure...but, no, that won't be necessary anymore."

He enters his room and haphazardly deposits you onto his bed, although it is still considerably gentler of a movement than before. His eyes sweep over your form, scrutinizing your sickly appearance. You look rather convincing for his case.

"Why not?" Mimiko prompts after the silence stretches out too long. Her patience can only last so long—he has been avoiding what she has really wanted answers for this entire conversation.

He nods to your form. "Gojo will come for them soon. He knows this is my doing, I made sure of it. And once he sees their condition, knowing that he caused this...and after they explain our little Binding Vow we took, his worldview will shatter."

He doesn't elaborate. Mimiko, who was listening with rapt attention, shakes her head in confusion. "Master, please explain this to me. What do you mean to happen? I thought you wanted to dispose of him."

"I did, once. When I was angry with this world, angry at his sudden insistence on helping the weak, I did. But I've never truly wanted to kill him, just as he has no desire to kill me. He's supposed to, but he won't. We were best friends, after all. After this happens, after they succumb to this disease, then I can't imagine he will ever want to help anyone ever again, monkeys included. Even if he doesn't join us, he will no longer be a threat."

His dark eyes trail over your form, taking in your gaunt cheeks and thin hair. He lingers on your closed eyes—even though you are unconscious and technically resting, the fatigue that plagues your features does not fade in the slightest.

“Which disease, Master?” Mimiko prompts, seeing that Geto’s mind has drifted. His eyes quickly shoot up to meet hers.

"They are afflicted with Hanahaki disease. This is what I anticipated all those years ago as I watched them fall head over heels for Gojo. That he would be too cautious to show his affection to them and they would believe their love to be one-sided. It is not, I know it is not, but I convinced them otherwise. I made a Binding Vow with them to guarantee that they wouldn’t notify anybody else about their condition, once it has befallen them. They vowed to keep quiet until they sensed they were close to death."

“They took this Vow willingly, or…?” Mimiko asks in a hushed voice, as if afraid to offend her master.

“Yes. I told them that one day they would fall prey to this disease, that their love would be unrequited—they easily accepted this. I convinced them that letting them succumb to the disease would be…would be for the best.”

Fear and confusion pulse through Mimiko, quickening her heart rate. She is quickly piecing together all the information that pertains to her master, and through every line of thought she comes to the same conclusion. She squeaks out, “But won’t he come for you?”

Geto shakes his head calmly. “No, he’ll come for them.”

“That’s not what I meant, Master,“ She says with urgency. “Won’t he kill you?”

“And what would that accomplish?”

“He’ll be angry, he’ll want revenge! You implied that he…that he loves them, too.”

“Killing me will not bring them back.” He says simply, coolly. “It would only bring him more pain. His love and his best friend dead in one night? It would be too much to bear.”

Mimiko shakes her head worriedly. “Even so…would he really consider you his best friend after that? I think you are misjudging the situation slightly, Master…”

Geto laughs, “You believe me to be a fool. I can’t say I disagree, but I know him. Too well.”

“Can I ask you something, Master?” She asks quietly. He nods his consent with an intrigued expression. “Did he ever expect you to defect? When you two were close, did he ever know this side to you? If not, then…how do you expect to know him at all, either?”

Geto says nothing, train of thought interrupted by a bright sound. Mimiko’s point is clear, clearer than the peals of the bells from the rustling wind chimes outside. The wind that consumed Mimiko’s words before now disturbs his thoughts with this incessant chiming.

He eventually says, “He will be defeated, especially with the knowledge that they agreed to this. That they agreed to die for him.”

“Why did they?” Mimiko whispers, gazing at your broken form with unbridled pity in her eyes. “What did you promise them?”

“They came to me, begging to spare him. They knew I would come after him some day. They admitted to me that he had direct orders to kill me, but could never go through with them or even think on them. They feared this weakness of his would cause him to hold back and leave him vulnerable if I ever decided to go through with my plans. But I, of course, needed something valuable in return if I were to promise to spare him. And this is the only valuable exchange I could came up with…a way to defeat him without ever needing to physically do so. They didn’t hesitate to lay down their life, and I…”

Geto pauses, reflecting on his feelings for you. You had once been a good friend, although he always thought you were too lenient towards Gojo—always walking around with large puppy eyes for him, at times blind to his faults. At one time, you and Geto were so close that he perfectly knew your order at the local cafe, down to the two sugar packets and only a few droplets of cream, and that you would only ever go to bed earlier than 2 am if you knew they were serving your favorite breakfast in the morning. In comparison, Geto doesn’t know much of you anymore—but he knows your literal fatal flaw—you give up too much of yourself for Satoru, this time being your life.

“Well, I have to admit it didn’t feel great guaranteeing the death of an old friend, but…it is for a higher purpose. Our purpose. It’s for the sake of the entire world. If Gojo goes down, in one form or another, we will be able to infiltrate and dismantle their whole society. Their death won’t be in vain.”

A new voice pipes up from behind him, soft and choked. "That's too cruel, Master Geto.”

He looks over to the doorway and sees only long, dark brown hair and shaking shoulders.

“Nanako?” He questions quietly, tone gentle, yet curious.

Nanako slowly turns around, her face revealed inch by inch, and he is surprised to find glossy eyes and rivulets of tears pouring down her cheeks. One hand is pressed over her mouth as if she is trying to rein in her emotions, but is failing.

“I know it is for the betterment of our world—“ She is stopped by a telling rasp in her voice. “But—I really can’t believe in love and goodness anymore if they die.”

Before she can hear any response from either her sister or her master, she turns on her heel and races down the hall.

The air in Geto’s lungs is stuck and feels like it’ll be forever suspended there, but then Mimiko says, “She still believed in that stuff?” and he can finally exhale.

Gojo Satoru isn’t having a good night—or, rather, a good morning. Ever since you called him at 3 am, he has been wide awake and filled with a jumble of emotions. He was so relieved to see your name pop up on his screen—he thought it was a good sign, that maybe you didn’t hold his ghosting you for months against him. He was also glad that he didn’t have to initiate contact with you, which he honestly didn’t feel like he deserved after how he’s brushed you aside—although he couldn’t shake off the feeling that maybe he was just a coward and in denial about it. He’s often in denial about things pertaining to his feelings—oftener about feelings involving you.

Ever since the call ended, when your screams and near unintelligible speech were abruptly cut off, Gojo has been frozen: hands shaking, vision coming in and out of focus, mouth turning to sand. He can’t reach you right now. He wishes he could teleport instantly to you, but he remembers Shoko’s news that you have moved to a new apartment about a month ago. Shoko had been shocked when he admitted he didn’t know, and further so when he didn’t proceed to ask for your new address. Gojo always used to come by and bother you at your last apartment, after all. And here his past behavior comes to bite him in the ass.

His mind begins to race, full of regrets and hopes and fears; his thoughts fly by faster than they ever have before. It makes him think of you all the more, and memories he had long forgotten begin to surface.

It’s funny how fast he is inundated with memories. In school, you had always teased him about how slow he was in school, specifically how slow of a test taker he was. He would always finish last, no matter the day, no matter the subject.

“You must be a slow thinker,” You used to tease him. Once you had followed it up with, “I’m surprised you even take the tests seriously. I figured you’d just Christmas tree it and be the first one done just to get it over with. Wouldn’t ‘the strongest’ want to focus on training more anyway?”

Your mischievous smile flashes through his mind, your laughter so full of mirth that he hasn’t heard in forever also rings through his mind; his chest aches. Back then, he didn’t exactly know what to think of how you could never stop poking fun at him—he didn’t understand what you meant by it, but he sorely, sorely misses it now. Back then, he couldn’t help but try to fire back with something he found equally as insulting, but it never had the same effect. His face would always be flushed and his charisma would melt away, revealing a stuttering and helplessly in love boy. Nobody could look at him and recognize him as what would be the strongest sorcerer in their age, or relate him to the cocky, rich Gojo heir who was rumored to be head of his clan soon. He was a mere boy would wanted to impress a regular sorcerer of no material or familial importance or fame, a sorcerer who was smart and witty enough to cut down his personality—or, rather, his persona—down to his raw self with just a few words. And yet when Shoko and Geto would poke fun at his crush on you, he would vehemently deny it. He didn’t truly believe it himself—or didn’t want to believe it—because of how vulnerable you made him feel. Despite all the signs, he maintained his claim of not liking you, which was hard to believe with his strong need to impress you.

He couldn’t use his charm or fame to get to you, so he wanted—no, needed—to impress you through other means. For example, Gojo did indeed prefer training to studying, but he couldn’t just say that, otherwise he would reveal too much. So whenever you would tease him about his molasses pace in academics, Gojo would begin to either shrug or quip back with something about how you were quite the opposite, a quick learner with perfect grades but always the first one to be beaten in a spar and the last to understand a new technique. You never seemed offended or even embarrassed by his claims, which irked him, considering how ruffled he would get if you said something similar to him. You would just smile as if you knew something he didn’t.

The real reason why he tried so hard in academics is—surprise, surprise!—that he wanted to impress you. He found that you were difficult to impress—you didn’t seem to care about how strong he was as a sorcerer, or about his looks and charm. In Satoru’s view, you always seemed to prefer his best friend Suguru for his mind and moral compass. Suguru was naturally book smart and didn’t have to work hard to get good grades; if Gojo fell behind, he thought he wouldn’t have a chance with you at all. In actuality, you cared little about others’ grades, but you were amused—and, okay, maybe a little impressed—by how diligent Gojo seemed to be.

Either way, you’d be destined to fall for Gojo Satoru anyway. Either way, Gojo Satoru was destined to be oblivious to your attraction toward him.

But, your love for him was inconsequential—either way, he would always come for you. Even if you hated him, he would be there, with no ounce of hesitation. He wouldn’t think twice when it came to you, even if it involved someone he also had a painfully complicated relationship with.

His former best friend, someone he truly believed to be the only one to understand him, blindsided him all those years ago. Even you, who were always so perceptive and attentive to your friends, hadn’t anticipated Geto’s horrific exit from society.

That was the first time you had seen cracks emerge in Gojo’s mask. He remembers your concerned gaze on him when he would forget to laugh when a joke was told, or at how quickly his perpetual smile would fall once he thought nobody was looking.

“We’re all shocked,” You had tried to console him once, even though he acted like he didn’t need it. “It’s not your fault, Satoru. Nobody expected this…”

You two were enjoying ice cream, sat lazily on the steps of the school. It almost felt normal, but the fact that Satoru’s treat was untouched broke the illusion for you.

“Who said it was?” He tried to laugh like he normally would, but it sounded faker than he anticipated. “If that idiot wants to go running off like a little bitch, let him.”

Your brow had furrowed as you tried not to glare at him. You hated when he used misogynous terms like bitch or pussy when describing someone negatively, but he couldn’t give a flying fuck right now. You knew he was struggling so you said nothing on this, but your sharp gaze reminded him of his fault nonetheless.

“It’s a little more than just running off,” You had sighed. “The report was…”

You trailed off, not wanting to recount the atrocious crimes someone you believed to be so gentle committed.

“Like I don’t fucking know that.” He snorted bitterly, angrily.

The mask was slipping more, that much was obvious. You wanted to help ease it off, but knew you would likely have to press him. It wasn’t healthy for him to be holding everything inside.

“There’s a rumor that they’re going to assassinate him,” You said quietly.

“It’s no rumor,” He said, voice quivering from trying to hold back his emotions.

“Really?” You turned to him with rapt interest, but he didn’t elaborate. The school-wide known yapper sat silently, his jaw clenched.

“Why are you holding back?” You suddenly accused. “You never say so little.”

“He shook his head, avoiding your eyes. He felt like he could snap at any second, that his mask would shatter for good and he’d be completely exposed in front of you.

“Why are you holding back?” You repeated more loudly. You didn’t seem like you were going to give this up.

He suddenly threw his uneaten, melted ice cream to the ground. There was a palpable crunch as pressed his palm down on the cone, shattering it. You flinched, momentarily caught off guard, but deep down you weren’t surprised. He had so much guilt, anger, and sadness sitting dormant inside of him, and it was only a matter of time before it erupted.

Your eyes followed his figure as he pushed himself up and started to walk away. He didn’t glance at you—but it guessed he was being avoidant rather than spiteful.

“Don’t you dare walk away, too,” You had pleaded, but it sounded more like a threat. “We’re not done here, Satoru.”

You stood up quickly, ready to go after him, but your fear would soon be proven unfounded, because Gojo stopped abruptly at your words. For a moment, both you and him were still. You were scared of what might happen next, but you didn’t dare say another word.

You didn’t have to. Gojo swiveled around, eyes blazing with a fire you had never seen before and chest heaving as if he had just been battling. Long gone was his usual cocky smile and condescending, playful gaze.

He began to shout at you. “What do you want? For me to admit to you what you already know?! Well, fucking fine! They ordered me, me of all people, to murder him—or, as they put it, ‘dispose’ of him. Is that what you wanted to hear me say? Are you fucking satisfied now?”

Your eyes were wide, taking in this new and painful information. You recovered quickly, speaking back in the most gentle tone he had ever heard from you.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. I didn’t know. I can’t believe they would…No, I guess I can believe that, but they can’t…they shouldn’t be allowed to order you that just because you’re the strongest. I’m sorry I pressed you about this,” You murmured. “I just wanted you to let out whatever was hurting you. You keep pretending around everyone, but…You’re hurting more than any of us, but you won’t admit it. You can tell us your pain…you can let it out.”

Nobody had seen through him like that before.

Then words began to flow out, words he had never told anyone. Truths that had never seen the light of day. He hated that you had this effect on him, that you able to unravel him like nobody else could. He could never keep anything from you, and this alone would influence many decisions in the future.

He shouted the words out, thinking that maybe if he yelled it would force the ugly painful lump in his throat to go away. “I hate that I’m expected to kill my best friend. I hate that the higher-ups use me as a weapon. I hate that ever since I was born, that’s all I’ve been and ever will be. And I hate most of all that one day, one of us will have to kill each other, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Your eyes swam with tears, horror clear in them. You knew his words were true. You knew it was true, and you had to do something about it. Later you would seek out the other side behind Gojo’s back, not knowing why desperation burned through you until you had settled a deal.

You looked so scared that it startled Gojo out of his miserable state. He came closer to you, arms held out as if he was halfway thinking about embracing you.

“God, I’m sorry I yelled at you like that, angel.” He said, mistakenly believing that his yelling induced your horrified state, eyes crinkling apologetically behind his shades.

“Angel?” You questioned, taken so aback that you barely remember what other words he uttered.

His cheeks suddenly colored. You had never noticed him blush before, even though he had because of you many times, so you couldn’t help but be surprised at his redness.

“I-is that okay?” He asked, uncharacteristically sheepish.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, Mr. Flirt. I’m sure you call everyone that, anyway.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ll reserve this one for you. Of course, everyone else is baby, or sunshine, or pookie—”

“Okay, can I give you one then? How about harlot? Can I call you that?”

“What? NO!”

He smiles at the memory—the first time he called you angel, which was then cemented as his ‘ironic’ nickname for you. How you never realized his pet name was indicative of his feelings, he could never understand.

His smile falls—that pet name hasn’t crossed his tongue in ages, just as he hasn’t been open with you about his feelings and situation. He is sorry to say that you and him haven’t had the type of transparency you had in the past in a while, at the very least not since he was backed into a corner by the higher-ups and forced to ignore you. And maybe even not since the time you once came to him, bawling your eyes out and claiming you felt like you had done something awful that involved him but you couldn’t remember what, as if someone had put a spell on you to forget.

These memories all run through his head at a speed beyond what he can comprehend. He feels like he is missing something, and that it may be hidden somewhere deep in his memories. But Gojo does not have the luxury of time on his side; he has no more time to dig through his memories. Even if the answer may lie from within, he has a better chance of finding it out by pursuing you.

After he allows himself a final moment to remember and remember and remember, to regret and regret and regret some more, he starts making calls—he needs to gather information as quickly as possible. He knows that Geto is crafty and calculated—this must definitely be related to your Binding Vow with him. He can’t guess what it entails, and as much as he wants to believe that Geto must have some good in him still, he can’t rule out the possibility of your life very much being in danger. You being some sort of a twisted bargaining chip is a fear that does not go unnoticed in his mind. He knows this to be highly probable, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Gojo knows that Geto and his association, disguised and funded as a “religious organization”, are constantly moving around. Their temple’s location has been known for a long time, but they are rarely there, intel has reported. Thus he makes calls to all of the top sorcerers involved in collecting intel to see if a new hideout has popped up. He was hoping that they could pinpoint exactly where Geto is, but they only have a few general ideas of his location.

Gojo hangs up on the last sorcerer right after they could only propose two vague locations. He wanted to berate all of them for being inadequate, for letting such a high level dangerous sorcerer like Geto to exist without detection, to let him run amuck in their society with virtually no consequences, even after targeting Gojo’s student for his sole personal benefit. But Satoru knows this anger would be misdirected—projecting the higher-ups problems onto these sorcerers who are just obeying orders.

“Fuck!” Gojo yells, the panic and frustration rising with every passing moment. “I’m going to kill those fucking higher-ups one day.”

At least they all had similar guesses, so Gojo has an idea of where you could be held. The only completely useful piece of information he acquired was your current address, as much as it pained him to ask a random person for it. And just like that, Gojo is on the case. He could have called in specialized trackers, but it would take too long to dispatch them and would definitely result in interference from the higher-ups.

Instead, Gojo pockets his phone—which he had thrown quite forcefully onto his bed in his frustration after failing to locate you—and teleports to your new address. He races up the steps to your floor and stops in front of your unit. He frowns. Your front door is ajar, which makes him bristle. It’s a clear statement from Geto—brazenly boasting that he got to you easily and with little care about being caught. Well, really no care—which is suspicious and smells of a trap. But there’s no way Gojo will choose not to pursue you—and, unfortunately, Geto seems to know this, too.

Gojo sets his Six-Eyes on your apartment and finds no active cursed energy. Finding the coast to be clear, he quickly pushes the door open further and walks in. He is first struck by the mess in the living room, eyes darkening at the sight of the broken glass and neglected blooms lying on the floor.

You struggled all the way to the door, is what Gojo assumes of the eerie mess. His jaw clenches as he recalls your shrieks as you were dragged against your will. He continues on, reaching your bedroom first. It is surprisingly in order there, so he moves to your bathroom—and that’s when his heart drops into his stomach.

Blood. Blood is everywhere. He feels sick. The scent clogs his nose and he swallows to keep himself from gagging. He sees the imprint of your hands in the edges of the pool of blood on the floor. He feels sick. He sees red handprints on the doorframe where you desperately tried to hold on while you were dragged out—there are gouges in the wood from your nails digging in. He feels traces of your cursed energy, fainter than they should be, overpowered by Geto’s strong residuals. He feels sick.

The only key detail that Gojo fails to notice is the singular baby blue petal, darkened from a layer of dried blood, lying on the floor. You had disposed of the flowers earlier in the night because their presence only allowed you to think of him—but this petal had evidently escaped your notice. Is it ironic or fitting that the object of your affection and disease does not notice the petal in the color of his eyes?

Geto has been waiting patiently by your bedside. You haven’t woken yet, which spares him the ordeal of conversing with you. He fears that you would be troublesome if you realized that Gojo would be coming for you—if you truly realized what was going on, you’d in hysterics, surely. Good thing that he prevented that the day he made the vow with you.

On the other hand, however, Geto is curious about what you would possibly say to him. Would you be glad to see him after all of these years? He doubts you truly despise him, deep down. After all, you always aspired to be more like Geto—from his composure, to his gentle character, to his morals. You definitely don’t adhere to the same moral code now, and Geto is positive you think of him lowly for his misdeeds. But perhaps you may still envy him for his composure and even his apathy to an extent—his ability to keep calm in life or death situations, and for his ability to kill without batting an eye. Maybe you wish you more like that so that you could take him out and spare Satoru the pain of doing so.

Or maybe he is completely wrong. Maybe you have changed—if you had not been in such a sickly state, would you have fought back to the point of killing him? Have you gained enough mental fortitude and tenacity to kill him in Satoru’s stead?

After spending a few more minutes mulling over his thoughts, Geto leaves the room. Satoru should be here soon—but not too soon. After all, nobody knows his new location—only him and his girls know. So Gojo shouldn’t arrive at least until sun-up, or at least he hopes. He’s depending on that—if not, then he might have to interfere more directly.

Geto exits the house, hoping the chill of the night air will clear his mind. It is very cold tonight—a few small flakes are falling, but melt as soon as they touch the ground. He’s itching for a smoke, a warm stick of cancer to fill his lungs with. He detachedly wonders if Shoko is still keeping her old habit.

“Master Geto?” Comes a small voice.

He turns his head to acknowledge her presence.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks with genuine concern. “It’s late, Nanako.”

She shakes her head. “Not really…this place doesn’t hold the best memories for us.”

He nods. “I know. That’s why we chose it though, right? It sets the scene well.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of eerie that nobody lives around here anymore…I mean, this countryside was full of monkeys.”

“I remember very well,” Geto says with some disgust. “You and Mimiko were too good for this place. They were cruel to you.”

She sighs. “I know, we really hated it here. To think what would have happened if you didn’t rescue us…thank you, Master.”

Geto smiles gently. “There’s no need to thank me. I only did what was right.”

Nanako smiles back, looking a little sheepish. Then her smile falls and she nervously twiddles her fingers together. “By the way, Master, they’re still asleep…and still breathing. I thought they would…I thought you said they’d be deceased by now?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Hm. I thought so, but perhaps I was mistaken. I’ll go check on them. You should go back to bed and try to get some rest.”

He seems troubled and his mood noticeably soured. Nanako nods and quietly excuses herself, not wanting to bother her master any further. But before she is out of sight, Geto loudly lets out a string of expletives from. When Nanako turns to look at him, she sees that his head is in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Nanako asks, rushing back to him.

“He’s here,” Geto says through gritted teeth. “Nanako, go. I don’t think he’d harm you, but I won’t take any chances. Wake Mimiko and go to the place we discussed earlier.”

Nanako doesn’t hesitate. She really doesn’t want to be anywhere near Gojo Satoru, who her master has admitted surpasses him in strength. She’s seen Geto in battle before—she can’t imagine how monstrous Gojo must be in comparison. She rushes back into the house, set on going directly to Mimiko, but instead pauses by the room where you rest. She studies your sleeping form, lingering on the unfairness of your situation. But what can she do? She is powerless to help you.

And so, Nanako and Mimiko flee just as they were told to. One wonders if she’s doing the right thing, the other yawns and asks about breakfast.

While they’re escaping, Geto ponders what to do. It’s not dawn yet—the sky is starless, covered by black clouds full of snow—but the barrier Geto placed has been penetrated. Gojo Satoru has arrived. Early. Which is, well, rather inconvenient: you aren’t dead yet. But he can’t just go and finish you off—it would defeat the entire purpose of this set-up. He doesn’t have to lay a finger on you for you to die. That’s the beauty of it.

Geto suddenly stands up straight, alert from the feeling of cursed energy so near. His eyes trace the perimeters of his vision, but he sees nothing even in his peripherals.

“Where are they?”

The words come from nothing, from nowhere. It’s as if the words enter only his mind and not his ears.

His instincts are going off like crazy—ringing through his head as a massive wave of cursed energy washes over him from behind. Geto slowly turns around, regaining calm as his thoughts catch up to his instincts.

There stands Gojo Satoru, the man who can change everything. Just like the time Geto ‘revisited’ Tokyo Tech, white bandages obscure his famous eyes. While Geto blends into the night’s shadows, Gojo almost glows. His white hair and pale countenance instantly draw attention to him.

As Geto quickly looks over his figure, his eyes begin to narrow. Considering what he’s seeing, he’s not sure how to approach this or what his reaction will be—because right now, Gojo looks different. He doesn’t stand with his usual casual air, and even lacks the cocky smirk he normally wears. His hands aren’t in his pockets, he isn’t leaning on anything, and his weight isn’t shifted to one side. In contrast to his normal posture, he stands tall, finally doing his height and strength justice.

If Geto were wiser, he might be scared. After all, he’s never seen Gojo look this serious, even when he was messing with his students in front of him. But knowing what he knows, Geto can’t help but feel smug. Almost everything has gone according to plan so far—a plan that he had enough foresight to create years ago. His prediction of you falling for Gojo and feeling the keen sting of unrequited love came to fruition—surely, everything else will also fall into place.

Geto chooses not to be wise.

Geto looks at Gojo calmly, a small smile appearing on his face. “Always so direct nowadays, eh, Satoru? Well, nevertheless, I’m glad you’re here. Without the strongest, this would all be pointless.”

Gojo’s lip curls. He can hardly believe that the man in front of him used to be his closest friend that he thought understood him the most. To Gojo, it’s sickening how gentle and familiar Geto’s easy smile is, knowing he has killed more innocent people than he ever saved.

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten me on your worthless plan this time? I’m really starting to think you actually went crazy just like everyone said.”

Geto walks away from Gojo, back turned to him. With no eyes on Gojo, he leaves himself completely exposed and at the mercy of Gojo. Geto’s display of trust makes him bristle, eyes darkening under the swath of white that lays over his eyes.

“That would be easier to accept, wouldn’t it?” Geto says, but quickly pulls away from the topic. “You know, Satoru, I didn’t even give you the address. I would give a warmer welcome for an invited guest…say, like (Y/N)! They have been received well by myself and my twins.”

Gojo sighs, adopting more of his casual charm as he chuckles dryly.

“Just what is this, Geto?” Gojo holds up his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re the jokester now, because this isn’t fucking funny.”

“Whatever you say, Gojo. I’m thoroughly amused.”

His dark eyes, glinting in the light of the moon, crinkle in said amusement. Gojo holds back a shiver—there’s something sinister in those eyes.

“Just because you have forsaken yourself doesn’t mean others will accept that,” Gojo says firmly. “I thought that would be obvious by now.”

“And when has that stopped me?” Geto says with a tut. “Besides, you’d think someone would try to interfere if they didn’t accept this. But alas, you have left me alone for years. Is this not a product of your own doing?”

Gojo almost falters. After all, he’s not wrong.

“I leave you alone for years and you go and—” He audibly exhales. “You harass my students and then kidnap (Y/N)? Let’s cut the bullshit. What are you plotting? Why would you take (Y/N)? What could you possibly want with them? You left all of us and never looked back.”

“With them? Don’t you mean from them?” Geto says, turning to give him a small smile. “As to what I’m planning…you’ll find out soon enough.”

Gojo’s brow furrows, but he says nothing.

“It’s so cold tonight,” Geto sighs lazily, as if he hasn’t a genuine care in the world. “You know, I would welcome you inside, but you’re here earlier than expected. I don’t know if they’re ready for you, yet.”

Gojo is rendered silent for a few moments as he considers what Geto could possibly mean. Geto speaks lightly, as if he’s hinting at something amusing to himself. Obviously Geto has done something to you—but what could be possibly mean by ‘ready for him’?

Gojo doesn’t want to entertain Geto by falling for his bait, so he speaks only what he truly wants to know. “I already told you, Suguru. Cut the bullshit. Tell me what you want from them. Now.”

Geto turns to him with a sharp glare. “What am I, a dog for you to order around? Don’t you know that’s what monkeys are for?”

“Do you try to control, or should I say enslave, humans now, too?” Gojo sneers. “Sounds like you have less dignity than one of your so-called ‘monkeys’.”

“What a low blow. Enslave? No, nothing like that! I just put them out of their own miserable existence after they do some of my bidding. You know Satoru, you’re more feisty than you used to be.”

“I wonder why,” Gojo says bitterly, but tries to hold his tongue. The more he gives in to his banter, the further he is from what he came here for.

Geto doesn’t respond this time. Gojo doesn’t like the feeling he starts getting—the feeling that Geto is stalling for time. He needs more information if he can get it, but Gojo knows he doesn’t have any more time to waste—you could be in any sort of condition. He’s beginning to panic, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“What do you want from them? Why would you take them?” Gojo speaks lowly. “They don’t have anything to do with you anymore.”

When Geto remains silent, Gojo barks out, “Tell me now, Suguru! I won’t play these fucking games with you. You already crossed the line before by messing with my students. Now this? You should be careful. It’s like you want me to kill you.”

Geto laughs heartily, as if this is just a tense moment in an otherwise pleasant reunion. “Sure, Satoru. We played poker together, don’t you remember? You could never hold your pokerface. You’re still horrible at bluffing, I see.”

“Call my fucking bluff then,” Gojo spits.

“I have been, all these years. We both know why I’m still alive.” Geto says calmly.

“But you know that I won’t overlook this. I don’t know what you’re thinking, Suguru, but there’s only so much I can sweep under the rug. Especially with…with them, and you know that.”

“Oh, yes, I certainly do.” He smiles easily, eyes crinkling as if he is particularly pleased.

This unnerves Gojo even more.

Geto startles when Gojo suddenly appears mere inches from him. He’s never before witnessed his former friend with an aura this agitated and full of aggression, with cursed energy so inflamed and oppressive. Gojo seems so tall in this moment, towering over Geto even though they’re practically the same height.

Geto finally feels a sliver of doubt. Gojo has never been able to harm him, or rather, could never bring himself to. Geto has known this and has exploited this, in fact—but right now, for the first time, he can’t help but wonder if today is the day.

“What the fuck are you doing, Suguru?” Gojo asks lowly, anger bleeding in to his tone despite his efforts to stifle it.

Geto laughs. If only he knew. If only he knew that he would soon be on his knees, reality falling apart, finally succumbing to Geto’s worldview.

“I don’t think that’s the right question,” Geto shakes his head, his voice teasing—mocking. “Wouldn’t it be ‘What have I done?’”

He watches the color drain from Gojo’s face as his meaning sinks in. Something has been done to you, and it might be irreversible. You might be…you might be de—

Gojo sharply inhales as his mind goes blank with fury. His entire mind is consumed with the thought of strangling Geto. He can’t get the image of his hands around his throat, hurting him like he must have hurt you, life draining from his twisted eyes, to fade away. The fiery rage in him is triggering the euphoria he gets with a taste of violence—when he almost goes mad, addicted to his own strength and invincibility.

But…but you. What about you? What if you’re still alive?

The violence falls away, cast away by thoughts of you. All it takes is a single second of your smile, an echo of your sweet laugh, for him to singularly focus on you. If you’re alive, he needs to find you right now.

And the next time Geto blinks, he is greeted on with an icy breeze, as the figure in front of him has vanished. Geto doubles over in laughter, thinking that he has won. He will be the one to break THE Gojo Satoru, or at least shatter the weapon the jujutsu higher-ups love to use. This weapon will be at his disposal; with Gojo Satoru by his side again, the extermination of the human race will be finally be within his grasp.

That’s assuming that your heart has stopped beating. Geto, who chooses to be a fool, does not even check. Even though Nanako relayed that you were breathing a few minutes ago, his arrogance and hope to break Satoru exceed any doubt.

Gojo is also a fool, or so he thinks. He wasted so much time on Geto, who had him so easily transfixed by his vague mentions of you. He should have just searched for you from the start.

Thundering footsteps and calls of your name now echo through the house in which you reside. Finally able to focus solely on you after separating from Geto, Gojo frantically searches the house, going from room to room as fast as he can.

He hadn’t acknowledged it to Geto, but he’s been here before, that time when he had to confirm with his own eyes the extent of Geto’s crimes. It doesn’t bode well with him that Geto chose this place to house you—the place where he slaughtered dozens of people, his first step to breaking away from jujutsu society.

Gojo finds himself profusely sweating—whether it’s from fear or from sprinting through this maze of a house, he can’t tell. But after learning practically nothing from Geto except that he has done something to you, Gojo can’t keep the bubbling anxiety at bay for much longer.

The panic rises acutely in Gojo once he realizes something—he feels so blind, running around like a chicken with its head cut off, because there is no cursed energy to detect. Your distinctive energy that led him from your home until here, is nowhere to be found, as if it has been extinguished.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels tight, and he is practically wheezing as he continues to rush around the rooms, scanning them with his bare eyes since he doesn’t trust his Six-Eyes right now. It’s illogical, he knows, but maybe his eyes are broken and that’s why he can’t see your energy. He refuses to give any serious thought to the alternative—if you didn’t have any cursed energy anymore, then that would mean…

He enters the last room—this room is larger than the rest, implying its greater importance, but is practically empty. It’s one of the the most minimalist looking bedrooms Gojo has even stepped foot in. The only thing that immediately captures his attention is a neat stack of papers that sit on the desk. He instantly recognizes the scrawl on the top paper as Geto’s. It pains him that he still remembers a detail as minute as that about Suguru.

His gaze migrates to the rest of the room, namely to the bed that is nestled into the furthest corner. His heart lurches. The fact that he didn’t notice this immediately, not used to relying solely on his normal vision, isn’t good. Him not noticing someone usually means they’re not with the living.

Only steps away, there is a figure strewn out over the sheets, unmoving and looking rather ragged. Hair unkempt, lips cracked, clothes bloodied, chest still.

Chest still.

He immediately moves to you, not wasting a second as takes a place by your bedside.

“No, no, no,” Satoru whispers, as if speaking too loudly will mean that this is reality, that maybe if you don’t wake up it’ll be because he didn’t speak loudly enough. Though soft, his voice is urgent and pleading. “Please no. Please don’t be true.”

He instantly scoops you up, handling your weight easily. He cradles you close to him as if you could disappear from his arms at any moment—and maybe, if you could see yourself, you’d understand that his fears aren’t unfounded, as you truly look as if your life force could fade at any moment. He then notices a rivulet of blood running from your mouth—he tries to gently brush it away, but ends up smearing it onto both your chin and his hand. Anger fills him when he thinks what Geto must have done to reduce you to this state.

Your eyelids begin to flutter open at his touch and warmth, but Satoru still sees more of your long eyelashes than your unusually dull eyes. They will not open past halfway, no matter how hard you try. In your disoriented state, you don’t notice Gojo’s sigh of relief, or how his grip on you tightens as if to remind himself that you’re here, you’re alive and breathing, you’re safe in his arms.

Through the spots in your eyes, you see a halo of white and two luminescent blue eyes. As your vision clears, you admire the light filtering through his translucent hair, which makes him appear angelic. Of course, he is as beautiful as the last time you saw him.

“Satoru? ‘S that you?” You manage to ask, and you sound raspier than a chronic smoker, much to your displeasure. You cringe internally, knowing how awful you must look and sound right now. You know it doesn’t matter how disheveled you look when you’re on the brink of death—and yet you can’t help but worry about it while you’re in his presence.

“You’re so cold,” Is his softly spoken answer. “God, I really thought– I thought that—”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounds despaired. But that can’t be right—there’s no way he still cares about you. Not after his cold and harsh behavior towards you, not after he got together with Utahime—he can’t care. Or at least, not how you want to be cared by him.

After a few moments of silence, it’s evident that Gojo doesn’t intend to finish his sentence. Even in your hazy state of mind, you can guess what he was going to say. You do look awful, probably even worse than the last time you had a chance to look in the mirror.

“I think you’re just warm,” You tease weakly, with a smile full of too much amusement when considering the situation, when considering your condition. Now you’re playing Gojo’s role: joking when you should be serious.

It hurts Gojo to see the gentleness in your smile, gentleness and goodness that reveal how truly soft-hearted you are. Your natural softness after what you’ve been through—it angers him.

“No, I can’t be. It’s snowing outside,” He says, growing more upset with each sentence. “But you’re– you’re even colder than that. Your skin is—it’s like ice. You’re making me fucking worried!”

You blink rapidly, startled by his show of strong emotion but even more surprised by the glimmer of near tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, although neither you nor him know what exactly you’re apologizing for.

“That’s not what I meant,” He says, sighing, pulling you tighter to him. “I’m just…I was worried before I came, but now I’m really scared for you.”

“You are? You have been?” You blurt out automatically and mindlessly, eyes wide open now. You look so surprised that Satoru can’t help but chuckle a little, though it pains him that you don’t seem to believe him.

Heat rises to your face and you squirm a bit in his arms, now suddenly aware of your closeness, of all his skin touching yours. He quells your movement with a brush of his hand on your arm, encouraging you to stay still.

“You shouldn’t move too much. You really don’t look too good, angel,” He says, voice tight and threatening to break. “What did he do to you?”

Hah. You must look so disgusting and beat up that he assumes Geto hurt you. You smile weakly to yourself, wondering what he would think if you said you had looked like this for days.

“He didn’t,” You simply say, not seeming to have any intention to clarify. “This is how he found me. How could something like this happen overnight?”

You’re astounded by your own honesty. It’s always been difficult to be completely transparent for you, especially to Satoru—always trying to brush things off, make excuses for people, diminish your own pain in order not to bother or worry others.

Your words cut deep through Gojo and instantly take his breath away.

How could something like this happen overnight?

He hasn’t seen you since the day he rudely brushed you off, and it has been weeks since then. In the months before that dreadful interaction, he had only seen you one-on-one a handful of times. He knows you didn’t mean anything by your words, but he can’t help but feel guilt and karma very sharply. He deserves this after ignoring you for so long, even if he thought it was for the best.

You begin to cough, and it’s a horrible grating noise. It’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, although you wish that Gojo wouldn’t see this at all.

“You should go,” You croak out between coughs. “Leave me here, get away from Geto. It’s…it’s too late for me. Leave me.”

Gojo lightly rolls his eyes, partly in frustration by your melodramatic reaction and partly at himself because he has made you believe that he would just leave you there.

“As if,” He says almost playfully, gaining back some of his personality now that he has processed that you’re alive. “What are you saying? If I leave, I’m leaving with you. Just gimme a second to call Shoko, she’ll get everything prepared as always, she’ll be annoyed but she always has a soft spot for you—”

“No,” You interrupt Gojo, your voice firmer than he’s heard from you in a long time. “I told you, there’s no saving me.”

The dread sets in. Why are you so insistent on that?

He opens his mouth, about to say something, but doesn’t manage get the words out before the room is filled with rough coughing. You cough until all the air escapes from your lungs—and then you’re wheezing and choking on nothing.

“You okay? Tell me what’s going on,” He asks in an even tone, but he is anything but calm, especially when you are thrown into another coughing fit. “Angel? It’s okay, just breathe.”

Gojo places you back onto the bed, elevates your back so you’re in a sitting position, and begins to pat on your back in the hopes that it’ll help regulate your breathing. What he doesn’t realize, though, is that you’re not just having a panic attack. Something is actually lodged in your airways.

You begin to choke and gag. Satoru’s eyes are wide when he realizes that something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. He pats your back harder, the force beginning to push your body forward.

“Well, it’s finally started, has it? A little late, but no matter.”

Gojo’s head whips to the door so fast it almost gives him whiplash. He has been so focused on you that he didn’t even sense Geto’s sudden presence. He rests on the doorframe, watching with interest sparkling in his eyes.

“What’s going on here?” Gojo asks, accusatory, but is so scared to hear the answer that he almost wishes neither respond.

“Just watch and you’ll understand,” Geto says knowingly, easily. Everything is unfolding as it should, he’s glad to see.

Geto looks to Gojo smugly, wanting to see the fear swimming in his uncovered eyes, but is completely caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. Adrenaline quickly courses through Geto’s veins, the type that spiderwebs through your tingling palms and traces icy fingers down your spine, for the first time in years. The true fight-or-flight feeling, reminiscent of when he first fought a high-level curse. But now it’s from Gojo’s hardened blue eyes boring into his own, penetrating down to his very soul, like a god passing divine judgment.

Your hacking interrupts the tense face off. Gojo is the one who looks away, but Geto does not feel as if he is backing down. He is ashamed to admit that he feels waves of relief once Gojo tends to you again. Unsettled, Geto takes a few steps away from the doorframe, retreating into the hallway away from Gojo’s scrutinizing gaze.

You don’t notice it, but of course you can’t in your state. At least, not when you feel it coming.

The thorns and stiff branches begin to scratch your throat. The numerous petals suffocate you and are slow to rise as they are heavy with blood. You grip Satoru’s wrist tightly to get his attention.

“Go,” You manage wheeze out. “Leave. Don’t want you to…see.”

He looks at you with so much horror in his eyes, looking even more scared than you feel. You can visually see the gears turning in his head, connecting the dots. Your weakness, your coughing, the blood from your mouth, the fact that this ‘couldn’t happen overnight’—

A blue petal escapes from your lips. It spins through the air, right before Gojo’s eyes, confirming his worst fears.

This must be a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare. Maybe he hallucinated the petal. Maybe you can still be saved, even though your coughing keeps getting worse and worse.

But then there’s something he can’t deny out of existence. As he rubs your back, helping you through your coughing and gagging, you cough up what he feared most. His heart rate skyrockets as he lays eyes on what you coughed up. A flower.

A flower the color of his eyes, the beauty of it corrupted by your blood that drenches it. A flower that’s meant for him. A flower that means you love him and that you don’t believe he loves you back.

Pain shoots through him, spikes working under his chest. He brought this on you. He thought he was protecting you, but instead he has been slowly killing you from the inside.

“No…” He whispers, unbelieving.

For some reason, you smile. Just a tiny quirk of your lips and the crinkling of your eyes as you look up at him. It’s a real smile, one he hasn’t seen in so long. And it hits him: one he might never see again, if he doesn’t fix this.

“No!” Gojo gasps out, not wanting to believe his eyes. “No, angel, no. Not this. This– this can’t be real. Why? Why did this happen to you?”

It’s cruel, but he knows very well why. He vied for your affection for years and years and has loved you for just about as long. And yet you are the one cursed to this fate, due to his denial erroneously leading him to Utahime and the suppression of his feelings leaving him to heartlessly ignore you.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, shame flickering through them. You didn’t want him to find out.

“‘Can’t help it,” You say weakly. “Not when it comes to you. Always sort of knew, but I figured it out recently. By then, though, you were…gone.”

He shakes his head frantically, words coming out in a jumble as he desperately tries to explain. “I just wanted to protect you. The higher-ups were after you—I thought I had to let go of you. I-I never thought this would happen. I never knew that you…”

“It’s okay, Satoru. I understand,” You say, holding back tears. “I’ve accepted it. It’s okay that you don’t feel the same. You have…you have her and that’s enough for me.”

You smile again. So bright, so genuine, and yet so painful.

“No! I…”

He wants to vehemently deny it, but the words get stuck in his throat. For years he has swallowed his feelings and never truly allowed himself to feel or speak them. The deepest feelings in his heart have never risen to the surface to be shared; they have always pooled deep in his soul, away from prying eyes and hearts.

But now they are so close to be verbally admitted that they are in his throat, choking him. He looks into your eyes and is overwhelmed by the waves of emotion that crash over him; it’s uncomfortable and even painful.

He has always shoved down his emotion for you. Any time he has ever shown his true feelings, about you aside, is when you eased it out of him. He has never divulged any real emotion on his own.

Despite his natural instincts screaming at him to keep it inside, despite the knot in his throat choking him, this time, he lets himself be overwhelmed.

“I love you. I always have,” He speaks, voice trembling with emotion. “Even when I didn’t know it yet. (Y/N), I’ve always liked you. I used to try so hard for you during school, always trying to get your attention. Remember how I never left you alone? You’d get so annoyed at me. Shoko and Geto said I was so obvious…”

Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop.

“I know I’ve fucked up recently, but it’s not…it’s not because I don’t have feelings for you. They’ve never once faded, even when I tried to ignore them. I tried with Utahime because I couldn’t get you out of my head, even though I needed to. The higher-ups have been targeting you, and I thought it was because of me, so I had to prove to them that you weren’t close to me. I even went out with Utahime, who hated my guts, but that…didn’t work out. It wasn’t fair to her—she herself realized how in love with you I am.”

He looks at you with an emotion you can’t place—it fills you with warmth and brings tears to your eyes. You sniffle a little, wondering if this is a cruel trick because this just cannot be real. There is no way in the world that Gojo Satoru went to look for you after months of radio silence. There is no way that he is here, right now, admitting feelings you never once suspected.

A sob wracks your body, even though you try your hardest to keep it in. You cover your face with your hands when you can’t stop yourself from the absolute meltdown that ensues, trying to preserve your dignity. He can’t love you, he just can’t.

“Don’t do that,” He says softly, gently easing your hands away from your face. “You don’t have to hide from me. God, I’m so sorry, angel. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

He leans in close, wanting to embrace you but not knowing if he even deserves to hold you. You sense his hesitance when he comes near you, and you think that this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. His hand slowly comes to your face to caress your cheek, to wipe away your pathetic tears, and you are shocked at the drops that fall on your skin from above.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He chuckles weakly, tears freely falling, his words an echo of your own mind. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but please…please try. I don’t want anything more to happen to you.”

And you do try. You do, but you feel so tired and weak. Your vision is starting to go out of focus and your ears are ringing. Your body is telling you that it will soon give up. Your body is ready to give up, but you aren’t.

You lock eyes with him as best as you can, your heart skipping from the prolonged eye contact. If only you could have always been able to look into his eyes like this.

“Satoru, I think it’s pretty obvious by now, but…no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop loving you. Not even if it kills me…” You smile sadly. “And I think it might.”

“But I love you!” He cries, and it comes out as a plea. Tears stream down his face. “I don’t understand, I love you, (Y/N)! Is it– is it someone else? It’s okay if it is, I’ll take you to them and—”

You laugh, causing blood to dribble down your chin. “Even after all that studying, you can’t think. I already said it, but should I say it again? I love you, Satoru.”

“Then why? It was just one flower. You should- you should be fine. Please be fine.”

“The flower,” You explain hoarsely. “That wasn’t the first one. I’ve already coughed up a lot of them. Too many. I think my fate has been sealed for a while. I’m sorry, Satoru. I’m a fool. I finally learn that you love me, and I’m like this.”

He’s frozen for a moment, everything sinking in. Your life is no longer suspended in his hands, but rather in death’s treacherous grasp. There is no telling how long you have left.

In the next moment, he quickly gathers you in his arms, scooping you up effortlessly from the bed.

“You’re not dying on me,” He says, trying to assume his regular calm. “I won’t let you. We’ll figure this out, o-okay? Please angel, just fight it a bit more for me. We’ll leave right now, I’m sure Shoko can handle this.”

You nod, seeing through his false calm. “Satoru…I want you to know that even if I d—”

He shakes his head resolutely. “Tell me when you’re all better, okay? Promise me.”

Time feels suspended when you look into his eyes again, all of your emotions showing through them as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each again in this world.

You never get to promise him. Instead, Geto’s loud and commanding voice startles the two of you. “You’re not leaving with them.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Gojo snarls. “Like you can stop me.”

He closes his eyes, mentally easing into his large store of cursed energy, and prepares himself to make the familiar teleportation route to Tokyo Tech. But something’s different this time—his eyes fly open, pupils blowing wide, when he hits a block he never has before.

“You can’t teleport once you’re inside this barrier,” Geto explains calmly, voice as smooth and slow as molasses. “Thought you might pull something like this.”

You’re glad you didn’t promise him. Your ears ring again, and you feel so dizzy that you can’t keep your eyes from closing, even though you hear him begging you to keep them open.

The conversation between Geto and Gojo is lost on you with your fading hearing. You only hear their vague intonations and cadences, shouting and cursing. And then you’re being jostled wildly. Gojo is running with you in his arms, making a break for the edge of the barrier—that much you can surmise by the loud thumps and his erratic breathing.

You’re fading fast. You mumble out his name, giving everything you have just to open your eyes.

He’s so beautiful. The moonlight catches in his silver hair and reflects through his blue eyes you’ve always loved so much. You gaze into them as if they were pools you could dive into, endless depths of his soul. You wish you could spend more time looking at his eyes, just like this.

You hear his voice you could listen to for hours. He usually has a sly, silver tongue, but not today. It is weak and wavers. It bares the true feelings of the strongest today. “Don’t you dare die on me, angel!”

You wish you could promise him that, but your eyes close without your permission.

part iv

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedtodark-blog @soapysofi @sadmonke @shartnart1 @dummyf @adoraspace @allie-jay @notgoodforlife @spin-garden @astrokatsuki @reiluvr @kinny-away @turtl3-warr1or

a/n: not Geto listening to the confession like 🧍‍♂️

ahhh I’m so sorry it took this long!!! Thank you for your patience! basically I had a pretty long draft written out and it yeeted itself out of this world (😭😭😭 legit have no idea what happened to it) and was really frustrated by that, so I didn’t return to this for a long while…Anyway, I’m glad to be back!!

There will be another part! Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger/ambiguous ending. 😳

Btw I’m really sorry to all Geto lovers out there, I feel like I always do Geto dirty and write him as some evil unfeeling man 💀💀 but I swear I don’t actually hate his character and I think he’s a lot more complex than I write him…🥴

Thank you for reading! 💙🩵

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo hurt/comfort #hanahaki #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you

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