#limb driven rest

[rmspeltzfarm]

Proven 34 Flagship Bowtech Bow

[writerpeach]

Ambrosial: Part One

IVE Jang Wonyoung x m!reader

16k words

Part four of the Annyeongz (soon to be titled) series

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

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where the fuck are you? wake up already

You don’t ask for much. 

Without a doubt, you’ve been living life to the fullest, in the most luxurious apartment on campus, maybe in the city. Fully furnished, several floors above anyone else, it’s equipped with everything one could need, including a pool and gym, plenty of rooms, plenty of space, plenty of comfort. 

From the expensive decor to the extravagant clothes, the priceless jewelry and fancy cars, this place resembles more a palace than a simple living space. You wonder how you got caught up living in this reality—just you, Wonyoung, and her best friend and mutual roommate, Yujin. 

Roommates doesn’t exactly seem the right word, considering how blurred these lines have gotten, where you've woken up in a mess of naked bodies and tangled limbs, not even remembering whose bed you've fallen asleep in.

Despite all that, you never need to ask for anything—ever. They've taken care of your needs, both financially and in other ways, without ever having to vocalize them, something you’re eternally grateful for. And yet, the one thing you crave most, a nice, peaceful morning to sleep in—you’re almost never granted. 

Every time your head hits the pillow, your phone buzzes. Another text, another voicemail. One more thing hindering your return to dreamland. Leaving it on silent just delays the problem—you know it’ll keep ringing regardless, because the name attached to these annoyances, it’s none other than Jang Wonyoung, and she’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention. 

Her persistence is unrivaled, unmatched, unrelenting. She never rests, not until she’ll get what she wants. Which also means you don’t rest until then. 

You’re tempted to just ditch your phone, open up a window and toss it outside, easily forgetting it exists. The apartment is on the top floor, and it’s a long way down—and yet, you’re not prepared to deal with the consequences that’ll come from that. If only it were so simple. If only you had personally bought this phone instead of it being gifted to you during Christmas by the two of them, after it had been sold out for months—

So with much reluctance, you swallow your pride and kick the sheets off, until your feet touch the cold floor, signaling the start of the day. 

Now, instead of making breakfast for Yujin or sitting down to a nice cup of coffee, you’re walking through foot-high snow, freezing your ass off on a trek through campus when you don’t even have any classes at all this morning. All before the time your alarm usually goes off. That’s your fault, you suppose, for ignoring all her voicemails and responding only to her latest text, the one with an obscene amount of exclamation marks. 

The walk, in hindsight, isn’t too far—ten minutes at the most. But now that you’re meeting Wonyoung for whatever ungodly reason so early, every snow-covered step takes twice as long, feeling like you’re walking in cement. 

But hey, maybe this’ll be worth your while, finding out why the hell it’s so urgent to be driven out of bed at whatever-the-fuck hour this is in the morning. And maybe, just maybe, Wonyoung has a fresh hot cup of coffee and breakfast as your consolation prize (spoiler alert, she doesn’t).

Luckily for you, once the student center comes into view, so does Wonyoung. It’s always so easy to pick her out of a crowd in that ridiculously large coat, and those fuzzy boots that are anything but practical (it can’t be considered Wonyoung if it’s not form over function). This girl’s a head-turner for sure, and even in the freezing cold still manages to look like a model fresh off the Paris runway. 

Wonyoung's attention snaps off her phone when she notices your arrival, turning her head in your general direction. There’s a blank expression on her face when she approaches with her arms folded, icy breath visible with each exhale, and you can see that deadly glare even through her designer shades. “Took you long enough.” 

"Kept the princess waiting, huh? Didn't realize," you reply, unapologetically sarcastic in tone as possible, hands deep in your pockets for warmth. Even with those expensive sunglasses on, it isn’t hard to imagine the eye roll you’re getting underneath. “It's fucking cold, not exactly easy to speed through the snow.” 

"Should have dressed warmer if you're cold then," Wonyoung dares to suggest as she snatches up your wrist, her gloved fingers so warm in comparison. "Get over here, dummy."

Wonyoung closes the distance without a moment's hesitation, planting a soft, heartfelt kiss on your lips, the warmth of her mouth alone a better heat source than any coat could hope to match. She steals a few more kisses, taking no regard for your surroundings, before ultimately settling against your shoulder, not paying attention to any other people passing by the two of you.

"What's so important that you had to drag me out of bed for?" 

"Spending time with me isn't important enough? Not everyone gets to wake up and see this face every day—" Wonyoung says so shamelessly as she leads the way inside.

You’re dragged inside by this delicate little thing, who at the very moment has so much ridiculous strength, guiding you who knows where. Passing by the cafeteria is your first red flag, the fresh smell of coffee taunting you as she presses a button to call down the elevator. 

The steel doors shut, and before you have time to question anything, she's sealing your lips with a kiss again, this time with enough aggression to press you into the wall. After pulling away, Wonyoung’s sunglasses flip up and rest atop her head, followed by a devious, satisfied grin overtaking her lips.

“Not that I'm complaining—but you woke me up just to make out?” 

“Maybe. Hmph,” Wonyoung sighs, her hands reaching out to fix your scarf. “Yujin’s been keeping you all to herself lately.” 

You can’t tell if she’s genuinely jealous, or just looking for an excuse to steal you away—not like it makes any difference. Wonyoung isn’t usually keen on answering questions. She simply kisses you again, hoping to offer a distraction while the elevator slowly hums towards whatever floor is your destination. 

“Ugh, don’t make me say it.” 

“Say what?” 

The elevator chimes, but Wonyoung doesn’t give a hint of explanation when the doors slide open, taking your hand to bring you out onto the rooftop terrace. A burst of cool air comes through that sends a shiver through your body, and this beautiful, white landscape apparently is her top secret location, a secluded outdoor area with the most breathtaking view. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s empty—not a single person brave enough to be up here. A chilly breeze still passes through, even though the patio area is adequately covered. So with any luck, you’ll have the entire place to yourself, with all the privacy in the world to enjoy it, which is perfect when you have Wonyoung to warm up with. 

After dusting the snow off the nearest couch, Wonyoung beckons you to sit beside her, pulling you down to her level. But before you can take another breath, she’s already in your lap to make out with you again, both hands cupping your face, eager to claim what belongs to her. 

"I thought you hate the cold," you say, surprised that Wonyoung of all people came up here to a place like this willingly.

"Yeah, well—“ She pauses mid-sentence, removing her sunglasses off her head and tucking them into the inside pocket of her coat. “I like you more.” 

It’s cute—that even a bratty girl like Wonyoung can show vulnerability like this. 

A rare accomplishment for sure, that rosy pink hue warming her cheeks when she gets all flustered. Even more uncommon that she gets shy long enough to glance away, but once her gaze returns, the demure smile on her face could melt the snow that surrounds you. Wonyoung pockets her gloves as her long, slender fingers play with the collar of your sweater, leaning in for another kiss. 

It’s slow and methodical the way your lips press together, with neither one of you bold enough to be the first to deepen it. All you can think about is how soft these glossy lips are, and how sweet the taste of Wonyoung is that you’ll give anything to it savor forever while her fingers wander through your hair. 

But It doesn't take long for these innocent kisses to turn quickly into something much more heated, tongues slowly invading each other's mouths. The lingering sweetness of her lips pairs with dominance that you’ve eagerly given up, letting her dictate every movement, defenseless to do much more than melt when her teeth play with your bottom lip.

“Daddy…” 

It spills out so casually from Wonyoung's pretty lips, one simple word triggering something dangerous inside you that causes enough hesitation for you to get lost in her eyes. “Princess.” 

“Just missed you, I guess…” she confesses out of nowhere, all out of breath, her icy hands still cupped around your face. The shiver it sends through you isn’t from the frosty weather, or even that favorite little word she loves using. 

“You guess?” you ask, and let out a slight chuckle at the lack of sincerity, admiring how absolutely stunning this girl looks in your arms—those hypnotizing doe eyes, rosy cheeks, and parted lips all forming pieces to the most gorgeous picture.

Then there's that signature pout, potent as ever, on Wonyoung's face that shouldn't be allowed to be this irresistibly cute. 

“Say it back!” 

You can’t help but want to tease her further, leaving a gentle kiss on the corner of her lips, knowing full well Wonyoung's validation has no end to it. "Say what back?"

With a deepening pout and narrowed eyes, Wonyoung grasps your face in her hands, preventing you from averting from her softening gaze that’s becoming increasingly less threatening with each passing second. "Daddy—"

Those little whines that escape only widen your smile as she hits your chest with all the impact of a fallen snowflake, which only succeeds in getting her even more riled up. Admittedly, that isn’t hard to do. 

"Did I miss you?" The more you deny what she needs to hear, the more she crumbles, a total withdrawal from her usual demeanor. “I think the cold is getting to you. Don’t be so delusional to believe that I think about you for a moment, Jang Wonyoung.”

"Shut up," she scoffs, reverting to her usual bratty self, aggressively kissing you and tugging at your hair. "You're the one who walked through the snow just to kiss me."

With nothing to respond with, you let her win in silence—because she's absolutely right. 

Now you're stuck here with Wonyoung perched on your lap, sitting on a rooftop patio, all tangled up with her lips. You can’t help but admit you're hopelessly addicted to the taste of these kisses, the scent of her perfume, and how her eyes fixate on yours long enough that you’ll do anything she asks. And while she's busy kissing your  cheek, moving to trace the outline of your earlobe, you're just letting her explore wherever she pleases, removing your scarf so she has room to leave whatever marks she wants on your bare neck.

“Don’t worry, daddy. This’ll keep you warm instead,” she mutters, her voice so comforting right next to your ear. Her lips kiss into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin to leave her first mark—one that Yujin isn’t going to like. 

When she's done, there's another quick peck to the same spot, as if she's somehow fixing the damage caused by kissing it again. These little pecks that trail all across your jawline, they gradually get more needy by the second, in a way that you've not witnessed before, as if every kiss leaves Wonyoung even more desperate than the one before it. 

"Yujinnie is busy all day today with classes,” she says, and her voice dips so sweet and suggestive when she trails off, a hand sliding up to your chin to guide your mouth back to hers. "So that means daddy gets to play with me all day..."

You’re not sure if you should be excited, concerned, or a little bit of both, that Wonyoung has every intention of monopolizing you today. There seems to be no end to this make-out session, but you have nothing to complain about other than being a little cold and more than a little hungry—but that can be ignored when this outing has turned into a cute, unplanned little date.

“Princess,” you get out between the onslaught of kisses, but her persistent lips cling back to your neck, refusing to give up any affection. “I hate to stop kissing you, but if I don’t eat something…“

“Fine,” Wonyoung says, with the most audible sigh she can produce, climbing off your lap reluctantly to give your lips a much needed rest. “Let’s go get you some breakfast then—because daddy is going to need all his energy."

It’s gotten far too normalized for you to even react to Wonyoung mouthing off something like that. 

Once the two of you get back on your feet, you grab your scarf from the bench to wrap it back around your neck, but before you get too far, Wonyoung stops you from hiding the evidence. 

"Nuh-uh—no covering up my work." 

Her pretty, manicured hands snatch the scarf from you, looping it around her own neck and she smiles with pride at all the marks visible on your thoroughly kissed neck. "There, now everyone can see daddy's all mine."

Wonyoung giggles as she spins on her heels, grabbing your hand to lead the way back inside. When her fingers interlace with your own, she gives your hand a firm squeeze, doubling down on her claim as you take the elevator and head back down towards the dining hall. 

On your way inside, Wonyoung’s mere presence attracts enough attention to get a multitude of eyes watching, like she’s walking down the red carpet of a movie premiere instead of just strolling down the cafeteria’s extensive breakfast buffet. 

While you stay one step behind, you can’t help but feel you’re a trophy that Wonyoung proudly displays around, these fresh marks on your neck a badge of honor that backs up her claim.

All this extra attention leaves you a little self conscious, especially in front of a crowd that's mostly students you share the same classes with. On the contrary, Wonyoung's perfectly fine being stared at like this, the attention gained doing nothing but brightening her smile. It’s so easy for her to bask in it while she waits for you to catch up, turning around to plant a kiss on your cheek that’s going to draw even more stares. 

In front of all these eyes, Wonyoung so shamelessly has no trouble giving you all the affection she thinks you deserve, and you’re more than happy to receive it, regardless of the embarrassment that comes at your expense. 

Eventually, you end up in the checkout line, waiting in silence for Wonyoung to go through the process of paying. Her wallet is all glittery pink and so princess-like, pulling out her black card like it’s nothing, easily able to cover the bill for the entire dining room with no sweat. 

Now it's just a matter of finding a free table to sit at, which isn't easy. The morning rush is in full swing, which means most tables are packed to the brim with hungry students, or anyone looking for a place to study that isn’t the stuffy, equally overcrowded library. Luckily, Wonyoung spots a seat in the corner emptying out, almost as if they’ve left at her behest, and you follow behind to claim the precious real estate.

Wonyoung pulls her coat off and takes a seat, with her meal comprising an extra-large iced vanilla latte (that's mostly whipped cream), and a blueberry muffin with a few pieces of fruit. Compared to the meal you managed to get on your plate, hers looks pretty modest, but then again, this girl lives on desserts and coffee alone, the idea of a proper meal a completely foreign concept to her. 

Before you join her, you take one last look around, wondering if the stares have calmed down at all. But no—it's just the opposite, the popularity of hers shining a spotlight on the two of you.

"Daddy, sit." Wonyoung pats the spot beside her instead of across the table, with an innocent smile that contradicts the demanding nature of her tone. You follow her command without any protest and take a seat beside her. 

Unsurprisingly, Wonyoung stays in character, and doesn’t eat too fast as she begins to take the littlest bites imaginable of her muffin, washing it down with a long sip of coffee. It’s a clear contrast from how you’ve devoured nearly half of your breakfast in what feels like only a few bites, but it can’t be helped, especially with how hungry you are, that rooftop make-out session only making matters worse. 

Besides, Wonyoung enjoys watching you eat—offering you a bite of her muffin in exchange for a kiss that she sneaks in when you've finished chewing, giving you a double dose of blueberry that lingers on her lips.

“Daddy…” she says out loud, unconcerned with who hears your little pet name, whether it be the table next to you or the entire dining hall. “Won’t it be fun with no one interrupting us for the whole day?"

With no hesitation, she rests a hand on your thigh underneath the table, and leans in to press some sweet little kisses against your cheek, all that innocence desperately trying to cover up her intentions. 

"Don't you have class later?"

"Do I?" Wonyoung asks all coyly, pulling out her phone for a moment and not even bothering to check her schedule before putting it away back in her purse. "Looks like I'm all free suddenly!"

You raise an eyebrow in suspicion, because you swear this girl skips class like she's allergic to it. But you’re not going to complain about more free time with Wonyoung, especially if it gives you a free pass to get your hands all over this little brat—not that she needs yet another excuse to skip class. 

"Your studies should be a priority, princess."

"Some priorities are more important than others," she says, using a fingertip to wipe some syrup off the corner of your mouth before slowly sucking the tip of her finger clean. It's no accident how she drags it out, swirling her tongue around with a proud smirk as you watch in disbelief until she slips it out with an obscene pop of her lips. "And right now, daddy is my priority." 

This girl is unbelievable. 

Moments ago, Wonyoung was all sweet and innocent, planting these cute kisses on your cheek in a public display of affection that left your face blushing bright red. But now—that shy, innocent persona might as well be discarded entirely, a complete shift that has her becoming bolder in public, and you know she's not above sitting in your lap to make a statement. 

"Besides—Yujinnie has had too much time alone with daddy lately," Wonyoung reiterates as she shoves a strawberry into her mouth, like the idea of Yujin spending time with you is some type of criminal offense. "I deserve to have you all to myself for a while..."

"Needy little brat."

Wonyoung can't help but giggle quietly, her devious little grin widening as she adjusts her headband, staying mindful of her antics. “I’m daddy’s needy little brat.”

It's rather cute to see her jealous side slip out, how she gets so pouty at the mere mention of you giving Yujin more attention. You're pretty sure you could give Wonyoung all the attention in the world and it’d never be enough. 

So after Wonyoung scoots a little closer and offers you a sip of her coffee that you’re not enthusiastic about, you drink it only because she’s the one offering. But god, it's the most sugary sweet drink you've ever had, and you try not to grimace at how this must be nothing but pure sugar, a far cry from your own almost entirely bitter black coffee. (And to think, this girl used to despise anything with a modicum of sweetness.) 

One sip is enough to wake the dead, but you're not surprised given it's Wonyoung, and this must be the secret source of her boundless energy. You're just about done with your breakfast, left to watch her take more tiny little nibbles of food until there's nothing left on her plate. When she’s all done, those pouty lips wrap around her straw one last time, sucking down the remnants with an annoying, loud slurp that leaves some leftover whipped cream on her lower lip that’s licked clean in the most provocative way possible.

"Come on, daddy," she says, wiping her mouth clean with a napkin and inspecting herself in the makeup mirror before packing her things up. "We have all day ahead of us."

✦ ✦

Back in your apartment, the emptiness can’t be ignored with Yujin not around, leaving you almost missing the chaotic energy that exists when these two are in the same space. The only advantage of her absence is that you can focus all your attention on Wonyoung as she rests her head on your lap, looking up at you so contently while you stroke her hair. 

For once, she’s not glued to her phone while you bask in this rare moment where hardly a word is spoken between you two, nothing to break the tranquil atmosphere. 

It's perfect. 

You wonder how it’s possible that this girl can be simultaneously such a hassle to deal with and also make you feel so happy with her presence. The ultimate dichotomy in the form of Jang Wonyoung—endlessly infuriating at times, and absolutely charming at others. 

At least for now, you’ve got the best side of her. Those pretty eyes stare at you with adoration as you comb your fingers through her hair, appreciating each and every detail of her endless beauty. 

"So beautiful, princess…” you murmur without thinking, nearly regretful to interrupt the silence. Taken by surprise, Wonyoung’s eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice, a red tint coloring her cheeks as her lips curl into an embarrassed grin.

“What was that, daddy?"

"You're so pretty," you say, not wasting any time to repeat yourself, and you’ll do so a thousand times if it gets this adorable reaction out of her. 

It doesn't take much to flatter Wonyoung, who thrives on compliments and praise, no matter how small or simple. "You're absolutely gorgeous, princess."

Not often can you make her speechless, even for a mere moment—but while she stays close to your lap, it leaves her completely vulnerable, all flustered, while you play with her hair and appreciate such perfection. 

"Say it again, daddy."

Before you can do just that, you’ll let the moment linger, relishing in how you have Wonyoung melting at words alone. You're more than aware of how easily she’ll turn into a needy mess at the most basic of compliments, this absolute brat now so timid and shy that you don’t want to ruin the moment. 

"Say what?" 

"Say I'm pretty again," Wonyoung whines with her lips pouting, waiting for your response, and she’s so desperate for more affection, like she’ll die if you don’t give her another compliment. And even with that, you hesitate, because it’s seldom you can get the upper hand. So you keep the silence going for longer than necessary, unable to hide the smile on your face from showing through. 

"Jang Wonyoung is the prettiest princess,” you finally manage to say, and she giggles, because nothing can't hold back how this praise energizes her, turning her into an absolute puddle. 

“Prettier than Yujinnie?"

“Wonyoung—"

“Yes or no," she interrupts with a sigh, because Wonyoung isn't ever satisfied unless you acknowledge her being in the top spot. Everything has to be a competition and there's no one else that compares to her.

“I'm not answering that. You're both—“

"So, that's a yes.” 

There she goes again, always misinterpreting your answer to turn it into her favor. Wonyoung props herself up to sit right next to you, leaning over to press a quick kiss against your cheek. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, daddy."

You can’t even be that annoyed when she’s this cute, never straying far from that bratty, but lovable side coming out as she clambers onto your lap and shifts her hips to get comfortable. 

Once she sees the marks left from this morning on the side of your neck, Wonyoung can’t help but smile in satisfaction. This sense of pride when she knows you’re all hers. 

"Is this a good place to start, or do you want the bedroom?" Wonyoung asks out of nowhere, barely getting a breath out before she leans in close. 

"Start what?" you ask, again feigning ignorance with a raised brow, because there's no better way to get a rise out of Wonyoung. And falling for the bait so easily, she lets out the loudest huff—this exaggerated frown, lips formed into the perfect pout, followed by rolling her eyes. The trifecta of annoyance. 

"Daddy," she complains with an exaggerated whine, always upset over the littlest thing. 

You’re not dense to what she’s getting at (it’s always the same thing), but you’ll never give in right away. Not when you can so easily let it simmer. "You said you were going to play with me. So that means fucking me all over the apartment until we're tired and sore."

And there's that signature bluntness that Wonyoung is known for. 

It's almost a relief to hear this side of her again, because as enjoyable as the sweet and innocent part of her is—you know it never lasts long. There’s clearly a time limit on how long she can maintain it all before her brattiness slips back out. 

“Did I? Doesn’t sound like me.” 

You now understand why Wonyoung acts this way. Because when you can get under her skin, even in this playful way—it’s more fun than you like to admit. Addicting even, seeing her get all worked up over the littlest things. "I don't remember promising anything..."

She squirms on your lap in frustration, placing her hands on your shoulders as if to convince you with those pleading eyes that it's her right to get her way. Honestly, you don't know how she does this all the time—because just a solitary moment looking into her gaze makes you want to surrender without a fight. 

"You don't want me to take all my clothes off right now? So you can do whatever you want to me?"

So that’s how she’s going to play this. It's tempting, really tempting—and a bit unfair that Wonyoung can provoke you in ways no one could resist, putting that impeccable tight body as her strongest weapon against your defenses. This girl's a master manipulator, no thanks to Yujin teaching her all the ways of seduction, turning her cuteness against you. 

"Then I guess I'll just go take a nap in my room and leave daddy all alone..." There's about a zero percent chance Wonyoung follows up on that threat, but you'll play this game despite that. She knows you will. 

"That's too bad then. Guess I'll just go see Yujin. It's been a while since I've made her—“

“Daddy!" she whines, her mouth pulled into a full frown as she gives up this charade so easily, changing the subject on the spot. "I'm wearing pink today. Underneath all this. It’s brand new, daddy hasn’t even seen it yet. Aren’t you curious to see it?” 

You curse under your breath at how quickly you’re about to fold, because you’re already picturing this gorgeous girl showing off a matching set of sexy underwear that she’ll look so good in. Admittedly, you've got nothing to defend yourself—no good cards left, nothing up your sleeve, and Wonyoung hasn't even gone all in yet.

"Yujin helped me pick it out. It's all lacy and so cute—she said it makes my butt look amazing."

There's nothing more dangerous than that. These two vixens helping pick out something so deadly for each other with the sole intent to make you weak. No one could blame you for buckling under the pressure of wanting to see every bit of Wonyoung’s beautiful body, every inch of that creamy skin yours for the taking. 

You could drag this on, but really, there’s no point, because this girl will bat those eyes, pout those lips, and have you eating right out of the palm of her hand. So, per usual, you topple, without even putting up a real fight. “Fine. Show me, princess.” 

Once again, you’ve succumbed to her ways, and she can’t hide the triumphant smile that flashes across her face, not even a bit humble about her victory. Wonyoung leans in for a kiss, but this time you dodge her lips, instead lifting her up to carry her all the way up the stairs. She wraps her arms around your neck to hold on, giggling even more like it's a bigger accomplishment that she doesn't have to walk up the stairs, getting this princess treatment she absolutely doesn't deserve.

“Not your bedroom, daddy. Yujin’s.” 

Before you’ve even reached the end of the stairs, Wonyoung’s doling out commands, but you follow the detour without objection, changing course straight towards the open doorway right at the far end of the hall. 

Yujin’s bedroom. 

Inside, you don’t bother closing the door, only switching on the lights as you enter with the full intent of defiling it (which, to be fair, Yujin would do exactly the same to Wonyoung, given the chance). 

“Down, please,” is what you’ve been instructed after you give the room a once-over, walking right up to such an immaculately made bed, and deposit Wonyoung not so gently against the firm mattress. The entire room smells so unmistakably like Yujin, as if she left moments ago without you noticing, an aroma that's not going to last much longer with the plans you both have. 

Wonyoung stretches her arms out, getting far too comfortable and almost content to just lie there while your gaze wanders around the room. There's a sense of familiarity walking in here, and the place is well kept, unsurprisingly, with you knowing exactly what’s in every nook and cranny. Normally, you'll see Yujin's laptop sitting on her desk, or on the bed while she lets you distract her from schoolwork by burying your tongue in her ass, because what are those short shorts for other than an invitation to do just that? 

The nightstand drawer consistently holds the same items (hint, one of them is fuzzy, pink, and always gets used on you more times than you care to count), and the closet mirror is seldom used to fix herself in the morning. Instead, the poor thing is only useful for two reasons: watching the view of Yujin's tight ass when she's on her knees, taking your cock so deep in her throat, or your personal favorite—the reflection of herself as you slam that sinful body up against it.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Wonyoung asks, breaking your concentration as she reaches out for your hand. Before you agree, you remain steadfast at the foot of the bed, arms folded, watching the anticipation building in her eyes. 

“Am I? Weren’t you going to do something for me?” 

It’s the whole reason you two left the couch in the first place, right? The promise of something meticulously picked out that this girl is supposed to model for you, and yet, Wonyoung doesn't move a muscle while your collective stubbornness clashes. 

"Not until you come here, daddy."

Sigh. 

Because of course she can't do something so simple without a negotiation. No, it has to be you who caves in first and climbs onto the bed, with no energy to argue about if it gives you a closer look at this supposed little show that Wonyoung is about to put on. Without another word, she pushes you onto your back and straddles your lap, giving you one more look at her in this cute little white miniskirt and matching shirt ensemble that won't stay on for much longer.

You’re surprised at what comes next, expecting more of a challenge, that you’ll have to do something to earn this illustrious reveal. But then again—Wonyoung wants to show herself off, and nothing will get in the way of that.  

So, without any pause, her delicate fingers pop each button open, revealing a hint of beautiful pink lace. And your eyes are right where she wants them, but before your hands get a moment to be greedy, she stops you, catching a wrist. 

“Nuh-uh, daddy. No touching. Just watch.” 

Wonyoung gives back a smug smirk at giving you guidelines to obey, knowing how difficult it'll be for you to just sit back and enjoy. She continues where she left off, flinging the shirt off her shoulders to expose this pretty bra that's more than met expectations. 

“What do you think, daddy?” Of course, it looks amazing on her, showing off those cute perky tits, and that flawless porcelain skin that you can’t wait to get your hands on. 

"Not sure. Think I need to see the rest before I can decide."

Wonyoung isn’t even a little surprised at that answer, already unzipping her skirt to give more of herself away. She wiggles her hips to take it off her body, all the way down those shapely, endless legs. With nothing left in the way, you've got the best view of this matching set of pink lingerie that hugs her petite frame so perfectly, one that’s so skimpy, yet so ravishing at the same time. 

A simple wow is all you can manage, left nearly speechless, and you haven't even seen the much anticipated angle of that cute little butt that no doubt looks spectacular. Clearly, Yujin knew what she was doing. 

"You like it, daddy?" Wonyoung asks, already so sure of your answer when she grabs your hands to place them on her body. And that’s all you need when she gives permission to touch her to your heart’s desire, to run your fingertips up her toned stomach, right up to her chest, squeezing those perky little tits with all the greed she encourages. 

“Love it. Pink looks so good on you, princess.” 

The more you explore her flawless body, the more she squirms from the attention, desperate to take it all in as your hands touch and grope wherever they please. She simply melts at the attention, but you’re not done yet, waiting until the perfect moment to take two handfuls of that tight ass, unable to resist digging your fingers right in to squeeze tightly, getting a needy little gasp right out of her. 

"Only good?" she pouts, aching for more praise, more validation, and even while she knows how good she looks, she'll simply die without hearing it from your own lips. You kiss her, moving hair out of the way before breathing hot air right next to her ear when you bring your mouth there. 

“My princess looks so pretty, so goddamn sexy, so delicious—can’t take my eyes off you Jang Wonyoung. Can’t wait to taste you all.” It's not quite enough to satiate her ego, but the flattery does a number on her. Any cute little giggles that spill out do so unrestrained while you shower her in all the compliments she craves—that she deserves. 

Yet before you do anything, Wonyoung leans over to you with a beaming smile as she takes hold of your shirt and starts tugging, eager to get you out of these clothes. 

"But I wanna taste daddy first,” she says rather blatantly, working to get the garment up and over your head, stripping it off you in a few short seconds. She loves this, admiring your chest that she’ll spend an entire morning worshiping, kissing, biting, tracing her initials over your abdomen, whatever she chooses—

"Daddy can stare at me all he wants while I suck his cock..."

The thought of getting that pretty warm mouth on you is too good of a treat to resist, especially when Wonyoung is demanding so nicely, acting unusually sweet as she covers your chest with seemingly endless kisses. But soon, that interest wanes when the lust consumes her, unable to hide her desires while she trails further down, nibbling and biting her way further south.

"Whatever you want, princess. I’m all yours." 

“Don’t forget that.” Wonyoung's already snuck the belt from its confines, unbuckling it quickly as possible, trying so hard to mask the urgency that’s guiding her delicate fingers. Without words, she’s going straight for that craving—to taste you, to feel your length on her tongue, and by the time you realize you’ve been left only clad in your underwear, there’s no slowing her down. 

Not that you’d ever want to. 

Wonyoung continues on her mission to strip everything off—yanking at the elastic band to force your boxers down without warning. 

No longer held back, you're fully exposed before this ravenous girl, as Wonyoung licks her lips while admiring your shaft, salivating just a little too noticeably at the sight of her favorite thing in the world. 

"Daddy has such a beautiful cock. Missed it so much, missed how it fills my throat,” she says, and her hands find your thighs, palms stroking firmly up and down while she lays down onto her stomach to get that much closer. 

Her warm breath fans over your balls when she inches close enough, unable to help herself as she leaves kisses right at your base. Wonyoung giggles, smiling prettily before her tongue finally makes its presence known as she swirls around your cockhead in tight, slow circles, moaning a little with just a small taste of you.

She takes a small breath, looking up through those lashes that she’ll bat to get her way—but it isn’t necessary here, because Wonyoung is already where she needs to be. “Gonna make daddy feel so good, better than Yujin ever could.” 

The only response that leaves your lips is a low groan when her lips press a single kiss along the length, taking her sweet time to drag this on for longer than it needed to be. Her tongue immediately proves her point as she takes a long lick, then just like that—her plump lips part to take you, engulfing your swollen cockhead inside the wet heat of her mouth.

You groan with pleasure, resting comfortably against the sheets, and watch how Wonyoung goes to work on this already achingly stiff cock, fueled by lust and greed. She sucks so tightly around the head, not one bit in a hurry, and her mouth creates such a perfect suction around your sensitive tip. As you enjoy the visual, her lips slide down an extra inch or two before rising back up again, establishing a nice, slow pace to start this off, not willing to spoil herself just yet. 

That pretty fucking mouth—it’s your biggest weakness. This pleasure is not just for you, but for Wonyoung, who loves hearing your moans, the low curses, the growls, anything she can pull out of your lips.

The moment you disappear past her lips, she doesn't waste another moment. Wonyoung lowers, mouth sliding a little further, too impatient to wait, surrounding more of that shaft with her silky lips.

“Princess—“ 

Once again, you're completely at her mercy, drowning in anticipation. As those lips go deeper, she takes half your length, slowly bobbing her head to get reacquainted with this wonderful taste. Her warm, slick mouth works you over so expertly, tongue gliding along the underside of your cock to lavish everything it touches. 

The perfect rhythm, those pretty eyes gazing at your reaction—this is all so formulaic, and yet each time still feels as divine as the last. Your tip presses right at the entrance of her throat as Wonyoung dares herself to test her limits, but that gag reflex rudely interrupts. 

The strong grip on your thighs keeps her steady, but she backs out rather quickly, leaving a glistening trail behind as she pops off, gasping lightly from the temporary intrusion. “I’ll take you all down, I promise.” 

She lets out a content sigh, placing more loving, wet kisses on either side of your cock before her mouth dives back down. Determined to swallow you all up to the base, Wonyoung does so with relative ease, her throat relaxing, welcoming it all in. Inch by inch, she conquers your length, taking that thick cock until her nose nestles at your stomach—every throbbing part in the warm depths of her throat, buried right where it belongs. 

“Ah fuck—“

If only Yujin could walk in right now and see her at work, on her own bed no less. She’d be more proud above all else, despite finding something wrong with her technique. 

Wonyoung's gone well above and beyond, taking in every last inch at this point, more than a little eager at getting so messy when her drool runs down your cock. She’s absolutely starved for it all. She’ll do whatever she can to keep those moans going as she pins your hips down to the mattress, delivering pleasure like no one else can. These long strokes down her throat that get you all delirious. 

“Just like that, fuck—keep that pretty fucking mouth right there,” you demand, and when you reach for the top of her head to press her down, Wonyoung doesn't push away—only giving you everything needed to hold her there for as long as you want.

Wonyoung is more than willing to let you choke her with your cock, favoring your length stuffed down her throat over everything else. The only sounds out of her besides the constant gurgle of spit, are the pitiful, desperate, yet grateful little moans, maintaining all this eye contact despite how many times your throbbing cock presses deep into the back of her throat.

Those teary eyes, they watch intently, because this is what gets her off the most, expertly sucking cock while the faces you're making encourages her all the more. It's a sight to behold, how she gets between your legs, devotedly sucking your dick as if nothing else matters to her.

It’s an art form really, how Wonyoung can wring out so much pleasure like she has something new to prove. 

But for a moment, those pretty hands take the lead while her mouth rests. One strokes you with those slender fingers so vigorously, spitting all over your length to rub it all in, while the other plays with your balls, testing how full she’s made them. 

It’s not out of the ordinary to sneak a quick handjob in the morning while Yujin is still fast asleep besides you, so in need of claiming your first orgasm in the morning before you’ve even left the sheets. 

But getting this glorious blowjob, there isn't anything quite like the warmth of her throat, even as the need to please you clashes with the gag reflex that she tries to overcome. In all honestly, you like hearing this struggle, the way Wonyoung chokes and gags on your length while putting your pleasure first, eyes watering, but never failing to give your cock exactly what it demands. 

“That’s it, choke on that fucking cock, god, princess—“ And she listens so obediently, holding you there for a moment longer until she doesn’t—retreating all too suddenly, letting your shaft throb freely when it slips from between her lips.

"Tell me how good I am first, daddy. Tell me how good I am at sucking your cock and I'll keep this in my mouth,” Wonyoung responds after backing off, gasping as she does so, drool running down her chin. “I’ll get my lips right down to your balls and get you off so fucking hard…”

Wonyoung always knows the worst time to get demanding, the perfect time to tease when she knows you need it the most, yearning for the touch of her mouth, ready to do whatever she asks. Before you get another word in, she’s covering your cock in slow, heavy kisses, a barrage to add to her saliva so she can savor you with her pretty lips. 

There’s no use hiding your desperation as she continues these noisy, open-mouthed kisses all the way down to your balls and back up again, while your tip remains swollen, unattended to, aching for those pillowy lips again.

"Princess, need that pretty mouth back on me right now. Need it so bad, back where it belongs—" you plead, but this doesn't dissuade her one bit as she keeps taunting you, with her mouth that refuses to wrap fully back around the head of your cock. 

"You didn't even tell me what I wanted. Not gonna do anything else until I get what I want, daddy."

Once again, she needs that satisfaction like oxygen, needs to hear the words falling out of your mouth while she lies there motionless, waiting and ready. Wonyoung wears a look of impatience, falling back into that wicked smirk while her lips part just the tiniest bit more, brushing teasingly close to your dick. "God, your mouth, princess—it's so perfect, and those fucking lips, love how they look wrapped around my cock." 

Her hot, heavy breath is all you’re getting for now until you give in, until you meet the exact quota of praise she craves. "Tell me I'm better than Yujin. Tell me I make you cum harder, tell me, daddy."

"Princess, stop—"

"No, daddy, tell me. You know I suck your cock the best. All you have to do is say it. Tell me how much better my mouth feels, how much you prefer me swallowing your cum over Yujin.”

It's all part of this devilish game that she loves to play, making it worse by blowing warm air right over the tip, those swollen, red lips getting within kissing distance before pulling away without the slightest brush. You know she's just dying to take you back into her mouth again, but she’ll tease you forever if you don’t give her the right answer.

You give a heavy sigh in defeat. There's no fighting against this brat, not when you’re so rock fucking hard. “You’re the absolute best, princess. Nobody sucks dick better than you—not even Yujin. Your mouth is better, and nobody can make me cum like you can.” 

“Wasn’t that easy? I knew you loved my mouth more,” Wonyoung says, hearing just what she needs to hear, and finally, those sweet lips find their rightful place, easing the frustration you've dealt with. They part with ease, swallowing down your length in one movement, and then it’s an endless repetition of her warm mouth down to your base. 

Wonyoung keeps you buried inside her throat, wanting to choke on you longer than the previous attempt. Her eyes water a little more every time her nose nudges against your abdomen. 

This momentum keeps going, a combination of that intense suction, the messy sounds from slobbering everywhere, and the incredible warmth—everything mixes so perfectly, and even better, the look in her eyes when your dick is so far down her throat.

“Fuck, your mouth, it feels so good, so goddamn good, love when you choke on my cock like this.“ 

“Don’t worry, daddy, not gonna stop, gonna choke on this thick cock until you cum down my fucking throat. Need my tummy so full.” 

It’s rather indulgent for both of you; Wonyoung, who loves slobbering on your length as much as you love hearing all her obscene slurps, and the feeling of those silky soft lips sliding so wonderfully down your shaft, taking you so, so deep. You’re fighting the temptation to take over, to fuck her face so roughly until that makeup she spends so long on is all ruined, because this is her show—you’re just here to enjoy it. 

When the pace starts to falter, she lets your cock slip out of her mouth to focus on your balls, drawing each one into her hot mouth, to give some much needed attention. 

Wonyoung loves taking turns between worshiping your length and those balls, so full of your delicious load she can't wait for, tasting and fondling them to her heart's desire. Her pretty little hands still pump around your shaft when her lips aren't surrounding you, and that hungry little mouth keeps slurping wherever she can, making such loud, obscenely wet noises.

“Mmmph, fuck, daddy—your balls feel so nice and heavy. So full of cum all ready for me to drain, aren’t they?” 

It’s beyond pornographic how Wonyoung devours every part of you, and she’s not done giving you all the pleasure you can handle, not until her tongue moves down lower past your balls, traveling where it doesn’t typically go. You have no use for words, just heavy breaths, reacting almost involuntarily as her tongue swirls against your asshole, flicking against that most sensitive, tight opening.

“Jesus, fuck, Wony—“ 

It’s quite unexpected, but no less welcome, the way that wet, wonderful tongue stimulates you in ways that make your head spin. She's dedicated to this, keeping a hand wrapped around your cock while her mouth is busy, making you feel a rush of pleasure like no other, rimming your ass without an ounce of shame.

You can see her entire grin between licks, and her focus lies with pleasuring your asshole, slobbering and working the tip of her tongue at such a gentle speed, easing in all this pleasure. And somehow, this is a level of vulnerability that's unfamiliar, leaving you overwhelmed by escalating bliss when Wonyoung goes as far as burying her tongue inside your ass, delving as deep as possible. "Yujinnie said you loved this, daddy.”

And god, she’s never been so right. 

You’re utterly at Wonyoung’s mercy while she laps at your asshole with her tongue, occasionally pulling away to lick at your balls. All in addition to her hand pleasuring your shaft, not leaving any part of you neglected. 

It’s every bit unfair that her tongue feels so good against this unexplored area, your nerves going wild. Because it’s not enough that she’s great at giving head and riding your dick. She has to be so good at something only Yujin only does, your body nothing but receptive to pleasure that's reducing you to a mess faster than you'd care to admit.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, that this girl can eat ass like a pro. You’ve seen her go to town on Yujin dozens of times, either to get all prepped to take a pounding in her ass or because she absolutely loves doing it. But this—this pleasure has no right being so good, so sinfully indulgent. Wonyoung just has to show off her expertise, that she’s good even at this, her tongue making a complete meal out of your ass.

And from now on, you’ll have to make sure Wonyoung includes this in her oral repertoire, because that bratty mouth is capable of far more than just complaining. 

She works your cock faster while her mouth stays occupied with your asshole, giving more bliss than you know how to handle. Each and every stroke keeps you so painfully hard in her firm grip, her tongue shoved so deep, immersed in this ass licking that steals all these moans out of you, that even Yujin would be speechless. 

If you're not careful, you’ll explode in no time—but Wonyoung knows exactly how far to push this when you're getting on the edge, knowing full well when to pull back so she can go right back to sucking you off, because that's the only way she wants this huge load. 

So rather regretfully (or maybe thankfully), you’re given a break from this wonderful tonguefuck, with no hopes of trying to collect yourself. Then, without further warning, Wonyoung takes your cock down her throat, all in one motion, like it was never a struggle from the beginning. 

"Princess, wait—" 

Your poor dick can't take much more, leaking so much, throbbing so hard—but more than anything, you feel the need to reciprocate, after Wonyoung giving a whole new level of pleasure. "Need to taste you. Need that pretty little cunt in my mouth right now."

As usual, there's a pout that leaves her lips when she's so clearly disappointed, hating the thought of losing her favorite treat. But there's no need to stop what she's so focused on doing when you, in fact, can still return the favor—at the same time.

"Come over here,” you beckon over with a finger, and it doesn’t take long for Wonyoung to crawl up the bed, piecing together the puzzle of what comes next. 

Her pout suddenly disappears while you tug at the waistband of her pretty panties, and she gets the message loud and clear, slowly turning around so you can see what the pink lace hardly hides beneath—a perfect, tight ass that looks devastatingly good in lingerie. But it's not an image you get to savor for long as she peels it down and flings it off somewhere across the bedroom, bringing her pussy and those pale cheeks back right where you need them: facing your hungry, depraved stare, showing off everything.

There's something unbelievably satisfying about having this view—even better when you pull her body closer to let her straddle your face, ready to lose yourself in this absolute feast right above you.

“Daddy…“ Not another word leaves your mouth as you dive in between her thighs, your tongue grazing those slick folds to lap at her needy cunt. When those pillowy cheeks press right against your face, that’s when the real treat starts, all for you to enjoy as your tongue explores her warmth. You're devouring Wonyoung from the start, straight for those soaked lips to get your tongue all over her slit, exploring with vigorous licks to drink up her arousal and spread her mess everywhere in the process.

“Oh god, daddy,” Wonyoung squeals, before that devilish mouth gets occupied by something far better, moaning over your cock, somehow holding back as much as she can while you lose yourself. She’s in utter bliss as you eat her out, and you keep a firm grasp on her taut buttcheeks, spreading them open to keep your tongue buried inside her wet cunt while you work your way up towards her sensitive clit.

She isn't going to let herself get distracted either, picking up right where she left off, drooling all over your dick in between messy slurps. Nothing gets her more excited than pleasing you, moaning for the thick cock that she needs in the back of her throat, the taste that she can’t go without.

"Fuck, princess," you manage between heavy breaths, trying to keep an even, slow pace with your tongue. A near impossible task, so lost in how amazing her mouth is on your dick, savoring every second her arousal coats your lips. “You taste so damn good. God, I could eat your pussy like this for hours.” 

"And I could keep sucking daddy off for even longer—" she retorts, not breaking the pace of this sloppy suction that sounds almost as good as it feels. 

While Wonyoung doesn’t let up with her oral assault, you're intent on playing with her clit, circling it with the flat of your tongue and flicking without any proper direction, slurping so harshly when it’s between your lips. You’re just trying to survive that warm mouth whenever she swallows you down, finding the only distraction is to bury your face in her slick heat.

It really doesn't get better than this. 

You’re making an absolute mess between her legs, and in exchange she’s treating your shaft so well, bobbing her pretty head to get your length down, to take in every single inch she can get.

"Daddy—" she sighs between licking her own saliva off your cock,  and takes these shallow breaths that are anything but steady. Wonyoung can barely keep it together. All these frantic licks you give her needy clit make her moan so desperately against your throbbing shaft when you do so, downright devouring her cunt. 

“That feels so fucking good—you're so good with your tongue, daddy, please don't stop—"

Like you can hardly think of anything else but eating Wonyoung’s delicious pussy, your new purpose in life only to drive her wild and keep all these juices flowing. There's absolutely nothing you'd rather have right now but your tongue prodding so deep inside this pretty sopping hole.

The mere noises she makes while you’re teasing and slurping on her cunt is a reward on its own. The most adorable whimpers and whines always slip out whenever your tongue enters her wetness, no matter how hard she tries to hold them back.

"Daddy, oh my fucking god—" Wonyoung keeps rocking her hips, barely able to do anything but pump your cock in her hand while she selfishly grinds her dripping cunt right on your face. "You’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking doing that."

That’s exactly where you need her. You can taste exactly how close she is—so close—from her juices flooding your tongue, and that only makes you more driven to push her over that edge, licking, sucking, doing all that's needed to have Wonyoung make a mess all over your face. Her hips can't stop moving, so desperate for friction, so, so desperate for release, whimpering and begging all while she rides your face and chokes her moans on your cock.

You do everything you can to get her to the end, tongue lapping up all the nectar that spills from her pussy, so ravenous to taste all those delectable juices flooding your mouth. She’s equally eager and enthusiastic to take in more than she should, to make a sloppy mess of your shaft, trying her hardest to take you to the hilt while utterly lost in euphoria.

“Almost there—“ she gasps out, and her hot breath spurs on your efforts when she swallows you right down to your balls, the one last thing that sets her off. With a muffled cry against your cock, Wonyoung shakes so hard from your tongue buried deep inside, and her arousal gushes out for you to swallow eagerly, her creamy thighs violently trembling over you while you savor this mess. 

It’s a high so intense that it seems endless, lingering while you lick her through it to ride it all out, almost to the point of a second one right after. Once Wonyoung recovers some of her composure, all that attention goes right back to your cock—holding your hips tight, so she can fuck her face on you so vigorously, barely able to keep up as she attempts to finish you off. 

"Jesus, that throat feels so fucking good, princess, fuck—"

And god, you have no chance to fight back when your cock gets so submerged down Wonyoung’s throat, all the warmth that engulfs, her face between your legs so desperate to drain your balls. 

All you can do is surrender to the pleasure as her ravenous mouth takes over, her throat enticingly guiding you towards that edge. You're beyond capable of articulating anything other than needy groans, not with how Wonyoung's gagging on your length with no regard whatsoever for anything but making sure you unload deep in her mouth.

She doesn’t relent one bit through all this sloppiness, her wet throat choking around the entirety of your shaft to urge your orgasm out. Wonyoung knows a huge, creamy load is building inside of you, and she’ll do whatever it takes to milk it out. You’re not done on your end either, tongue back on her oversensitive clit, licking with so much endless fervor to get another messy release out of her right along with yours. 

“Down my throat, daddy, right now,” she urges, right before another toe-curling orgasm rocks her right against your face. By this point, you're ready to follow right behind, groaning heavily as she keeps sputtering and gagging with only one purpose, to guzzle this inevitable load right down her throat.

“Princess—“

Wonyoung’s a master at what’s next—before you can fully process it, your shaft is buried down her throat, violently pulsating as she squeezes your balls tight, forcing all of your cum right down the back of her throat. 

You've got a grip on her ass as tight as you can brace yourself while she draws that load out, greedily swallowing as much hot seed as her pretty little mouth can handle. Wonyoung guzzles it down with nothing but pride, even what overflows down to your balls, emptying everything you’ve got straight into her stomach as if she's been waiting all day for a load like this. 

Nothing escapes—not when she keeps you stuffed down her throat, keeping you throbbing far long after you’ve been drained, taking every drop that’s earned. 

In the wake of it all, when she’s done her job and your balls have been completely emptied, you’re left a sweaty, panting mess, drowning in euphoric bliss while you stay in her throat.

Because nobody can make you cum like Wonyoung’s mouth can. 

But she’s not done—it’s pure greed, even when your cock is all sore and sensitive, she keeps going, licking up the length of your shaft to clean up anything she may have missed. Wonyoung knows you'll need a moment, that it's not like your balls could produce any more cum so soon after such an intensive explosion in her mouth. Yet, she's definitely not about to let that stop her from trying to milk another thick load, using every method at her disposal to get your overstimulated dick to yield a reward from those swollen balls. 

(No doubt, she learned that from Yujin, because they both have a knack for draining you like it’s essential to their survival.)

It’s a torturous mixture of painful pleasure, when her mouth gets back on you, slow and steady, every motion a reminder that your poor, oversensitive shaft can't take anything else. Yet, you have trouble getting any words out, struggling to put together a proper sentence to protest. 

"Ah, fuck, princess, wait—"

She keeps swallowing you all up for several more slurps, until her hot mouth releases your cock with a wet, loud pop, flicking at your slit for a moment longer just to drive you crazy. And while you're too obstructed by Wonyoung's wet cunt to see what's going on, you know there's a sinister little smirk at the other end. "Too sensitive, daddy?" 

You groan out something that resembles an answer—not that Wonyoung didn’t already know before you've opened your mouth, but that doesn't mean she’ll stop her magic on your dick that's far too sore for a second orgasm anytime soon.

So, she keeps a tight grip, letting this contradictory form of bliss linger as her soft hands caress the entire length of your aching cock. There are no doubts about how sensitive you are, and yet—she wants to get one more load out of you, somehow, thumbing over your swollen tip just to hear how helpless you'll sound in a moment of vulnerability. 

"Fine, daddy. We'll do something else,” she says with a disappointed sigh. For now, Wonyoung plans on leaving your cock alone, so that your sensitive length can recover for her next pounding. Instead, she mounts your chest with that alluring look on her face to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips. 

"Let's see what Yujin keeps around here…“ 

When you lose the comforting weight of her petite body, you barely have time to figure out what that means when Wonyoung looks around in search of anything that could aid in this mission of making you cum once again. She scrounges around the room like a detective on the hunt for clues, digging through drawers, closets, anywhere someone curious might look until—

"Ooh, what's this?"

You’re still in recovery mode, and from your point of view, all you can see is Wonyoung finding something underneath the bed—a rather large black box that’s surprisingly discreet, given what must be inside. She hoists it onto the mattress with a puzzled look on her face, running her thumb over something in the front. "It's locked. Needs a code, daddy."

At first, you think she's joking, but when she passes you the box, you immediately notice that yes, there's a simple four-digit dial presumably holding the entire thing shut. What surprises you the most isn't that it's here, but that it's locked in the first place—there's hardly any secrets kept between you three, spending half the time all sweaty and naked together, sharing just about every moment there is with each other. But the more you think about it—the more you realize this is less a box of secrets and more... a surprise.

"Oh, wait. I know, it must be daddy's birthday." Surely, it can't be that easy, that there has to be at least a little challenge to figure it out—but before you can even finish your thought, you hear the click of the lock as it opens up. "Oh, look at that. I'm a genius."

You'll let her have this moment of glory, trying not to roll your eyes as Wonyoung flips the lid open and peers inside. She gives a dramatic gasp and runs a finger over the velvety interior before digging through what appears to be an arsenal of sex toys: handcuffs, rope, blindfolds, various paddles, plugs, and several things you don't even know the purpose of. But there's something at the very bottom that grabs her attention the most, and Wonyoung removes a pink leather collar, one that has the word 'Brat' inscribed in rhinestones on the front, dangling a metal ring in the center. 

"Looks like that's for you," she teases, examining the collar and how it couldn't be anymore perfectly tailored to her as she looks through the rest of the box for anything of note. Of course, there's a plethora of fun in there, but nothing you really haven't seen before, nothing that you or Yujin haven't used on Wonyoung at this point. 

"Let's see how this looks on me."

Unsurprisingly, it fits Wonyoung just right as she fastens the collar around her neck, playing with the ring as she proudly shows it off. "Pretty, right?" 

It's more than pretty, seeing the light pink against Wonyoung's delicate pale skin as it's now firmly wrapped around her neck, the color matching her discarded thong that's long forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" she huffs, annoyed that you can't be more impressed, even more offended that you haven’t given her a barrage of compliments. "Ugh, fine. I know how I can make it look better."

Suddenly, Wonyoung kneels on the mattress, unhooking her lace bra in a swift, graceful movement to give you a glorious view of her body on full display. All that milky skin, her perky tits with those pretty nipples, but now your attention is fully directed on the leather wrapped around her neck as she lies down and spreads her legs so invitingly. "How about now? Isn’t this where a brat is supposed to be? On my back, legs spread, all ready to serve?" 

"Since when are you so obedient?"

"Never. I'm just letting you think I am."

Despite what she says, Wonyoung always demands to be manhandled by either you, or Yujin (or both). Labeling her a brat is an understatement; she relishes in provoking you, yet equally revels in the consequences and punishment she rightfully deserves.

As she's self proclaimed—Wonyoung isn't a good girl. 

You look through the box of toys one more time before moving it over to the nightstand, just in case you'll need it later. Upon your return, you straddle her petite, pretty body, staring her down for a moment, letting the anticipation build while you decide on where to start. "Princess—"

"Yes, daddy?"

She looks so good like this, completely naked underneath you that there’s no shortage of options for how you can toy with her body. "What should I do with you?"

"Whatever daddy wants." 

That's too simple of an answer. You've got plenty of ideas swirling around in your head, most of them involving leaving this bratty girl a whimpering mess by the end of it all. And yet, it's so hard to pinpoint exactly where to start. "That's boring, princess. Don't make me choose."

She pretends to think long and hard about it, as if there's anything she wants other than to be completely ruined—the usual treatment. "Dunno. Surprise me, daddy."

That doesn't exactly help, but when has she ever cooperated in any meaningful way? But if Wonyoung wants to be surprised—then you'll do just that and oblige her. 

"What color?" you ask, offering no further explanation. 

"What color for what?" Wonyoung asks, tilting her head slightly in confusion. You give no further details. 

"Just answer the question, princess." 

Wonyoung's not oblivious to what possibilities lie before her, but still hesitates to give anything substantial. "Hmm, well this is pink… so that means I should pick something else doesn't it?" 

Of course, never straight to the point with her, nor willing to offer a simple answer. It's exactly what you should expect from Wonyoung, and god knows she'll drag this out if you really let her. But if she wants to keep stalling, you'll just end up picking for her. "Do I have to specify every fucking thing I ask you, brat?" 

She's certainly earned that title. 

"Blue, I guess." It sounds indifferent, just answering to get you to stop asking—but this is Wonyoung, you have to remind yourself, who’ll spend an hour in her closet trying to decide which one of twelve different pairs of shoes that all look the exact fucking same she wants. "No, red. I want red." 

Again, never a straight fucking answer out of her, like you've given her the most difficult decision in her life. "Are you sure about that, princess?" 

She doesn't even answer at first, Wonyoung doing everything in her power to protest even the littlest thing, making sure you don’t forget the word that’s etched across her collar. "I said I wanted red, daddy."

That fucking attitude never ceases to show up when it's least welcome. Normally, you'll fight it right away, but this one time you just let it slide, which seems to only make matters worse, as if you’ve insulted her by doing so. “Okay then. That's your choice.”

Then there's just silence filling the room while you have this stare down with Wonyoung, waiting to see who'll back down first. It's definitely not going to be you. The tension builds without anyone saying a word, and it's clear neither of you have any plans to back down or concede. In fact, her bratty little glare grows with intensity until—

"Arms up, princess."

There's no telling how this will go, but you have a suspicion that it’ll end up the same exact way. You're sure today won't be any exception. "Sorry? Didn't hear that, daddy." 

"I said—arms up. Brat. I'm not going to ask again."

Judging by that arrogant little smirk on her face, you know Wonyoung heard you the first time. And it’s exactly what you expect as a response. 

Without warning, you seize each of her dainty wrists, stretching both arms over her head to pin them against the pillows. That's when you go for the box on the nightstand, finding exactly what you need in no time—a long bundle of red rope that's perfect for tying up an uncooperative brat.

Taking one more look at the nightstand, you’re tempted to find something to silence that fucking mouth—then again, you’d never miss a chance to hear her beg for more, or those pretty little moans that'll slip out when she's absolutely lost in bliss. So, instead you're settling for this, winding the rope around Wonyoung's wrists to bind them together, tight and secure, forcing her arms to remain up and out of the way. 

"Much better. Must you be so difficult? Disobedient little slut." 

Her eyes gleam at the harsh words, a low whimper falling from her parted lips. Once the rope is secured and tied in a tight knot, there's no escape. Despite that, you go the extra mile just to be sure the binds won't come loose so easily. "But daddy likes it that way, doesn't he?"

You can't exactly deny any of those words. 

She's doing this for your benefit equally as much as to annoy you. And you can't say you don't enjoy putting Wonyoung in her place, especially when this is the end result—bound and spread out all for you, helpless and at your complete mercy. 

"Fucking brat. You think I like having to do this? All this extra effort?"

"Uh-huh. Daddy loves tying me all up so I can't escape, so he can use me how he wants." Wonyoung starts squirming a bit in her tight restraints before raising her hips, giving a sinful view of her wet, dripping cunt that looks oh so enticing. "And since I'm such an unruly, disobedient little slut—" 

Your expectant gaze wanders right between her pretty thighs, looking long and hard at those plump pussy lips that make your mouth water, so desperate to sink your cock straight into that wet, tight cunt. Wonyoung can't hide her satisfaction either of being restrained like this, relishing the feeling of being trapped, completely at your mercy, unable to move without your help. "Daddy's gonna have to make me behave..."

"Oh, don't you fucking worry about that." The threat comes with a guarantee as you spread Wonyoung's thighs further apart, getting a closeup look at all her drenched flesh covered with arousal in the process, just waiting to be used. It makes your cock ache. “Daddy’s gonna fuck the brat out of you.” 

Wonyoung tries to close her thighs shut at the thought of that, already so fucking wet and needy, but you’re not having it. Her pretty cunt practically screams to be filled, while you open those creamy thighs back up that feel so hot against your palms when you run your hands across them.

"I'm so ready to be all stretched out by your big, throbbing cock." It's hardly subtle, those depraved words spilled out so breathlessly that it drives you crazy—not even sure which of you needs this more, her or you. "Fill me all the way up, daddy."

Now that you've got her like this, completely at your whims, you've got time on your side to really tease Wonyoung to her wit’s end. "Got a better idea. Maybe I'll use one of these toys Yujin left us. That's what they're for, isn't it? So many to choose from, I can take my time…” 

She shakes her head a bit, not liking what she’s hearing one bit. "No, daddy, please. These toys aren't as good as your amazing cock. They can't pump a big load inside my pussy like you can."

Her demeanor changes so quickly, a flick of a switch how her tone softens now that the threat of denial is looming over her head. You have Wonyoung right where you want her, and how much effort she’s going to put in to earn your cock—well, that all depends on her. 

“Daddy's poor balls must be aching. They look so full and heavy—they need emptying again, don't they? Don't you wanna dump a massive load inside my pussy?" 

She's too good at this, at trying to tempt you with words alone. There's no denying how well it's working, getting you so fucking hard, with this urge rising and building inside you. But you can't falter, not yet, not when you're pulling all the desperation out of Wonyoung with so much more to go. 

"Who said anything about dumping a load inside you? I've got you to myself right here. When I’m done, I can just jerk myself off all over your pretty naked body. Maybe even leave you all tied up here for Yujin to play with after. This is her room, after all." 

"Daddy, no! That's not fair. You're supposed to use me. And fill me up with cum. That's what I'm here for. To be your pretty little cum dump. Then to keep your dick all nice and warm after..." 

How cute, how she tries to guilt you in to letting her get what she wants. Shameless doesn't even begin to describe Wonyoung, but that’s precisely what makes this so fun to deny her. "Or—I could just fuck Yujin right here. On her bed. Right in front of you. She loves my cock just as much as you, doesn't she? Maybe even more. What if I emptied my balls into her instead?"

"Daddy wouldn't dare." 

"Wouldn't I? Yujin wouldn’t have any trouble riding me while we make you watch, not touching you. Make sure I only fill her up. You enjoy watching us fuck all the time already. Why is this any different? Maybe we'll keep your pretty pussy untouched for the rest of the weekend. I’ll just let her cum on my cock over and over until we tire out…"

More than anything, the idea of going any length of time without your cock inside Wonyoung seems to rile her up the most, hitting all the right nerves that get exactly the reaction you want out of her. 

"Daddy wouldn't be able to go through with that. You love my pussy way too much," she pouts, clearly getting frustrated at all your empty promises. "I'm the prettiest and the tightest. Don't you remember the first time you came inside me? How much cum you emptied? No way daddy can't go a whole day without this tight little pussy wrapped around your big, perfect cock..."

Oh, she knows better. Wonyoung knows perfectly well how this need is mutual, how little either of you can go without getting some relief, finding any excuse to fuck. Better yet, there's nothing Yujin would love more than that—you flooding her cunt with an endless amount of cum while this poor girl stays all tied up, only able to watch from the sidelines. But neither of you are actually that cruel, as fun as that temptation is. 

"Daddy, please. Put that big dick in me. I'll let you use me as much as you want, pound me until you give me a nice warm creampie—a thick one I can feel right here, deep inside me."

She’s pulling strings that have no control attached to them. 

“But what if I wanna fuck your ass first? Or use your throat while your head hangs off the edge of this bed just the way you like, hm, princess?"

"Anything, daddy can use any part of me. Fuck whatever hole he wants. Just—please, can't wait, need to have that dick in me right now. Don't care where it goes—" 

Now, you could really keep this going, but there's not much point when she's reduced to begging so pathetically like this, already way past the breaking point. So there's really only one thing left to do. “Of course I’m gonna fuck you. And cum in you. Needy fucking slut.” 

"Daddy's needy little slut," she corrects with the biggest sigh of relief. "Wreck my little pussy. Don't hold back anything or go easy on me."

You're more than a little annoyed that she thinks you ever would. "Quiet, princess. All that bratty mouth is good for is making my dick wet."

Without waiting for another response, you're grabbing Wonyoung’s body and pulling her closer towards you to line yourself up properly with her dripping entrance. Just the tip of your cock presses right up against that hot, slick opening, ready to fill her up and stretch her wide open. There's no rush, not when you can see the anticipation in her eyes, so desperate for your first thrust. 

Before you satisfy her needs—needs that you both crave, you take a moment to let it sink in: how Wonyoung is all tied up, helpless, with her arms bound above her head and the prettiest collar around her neck, only able to take whatever you have to offer.

“Such a pretty little thing, all tied up, ready for this fucking cock. Gonna have a lot of fun with you, princess.” 

You don’t have any time to wait for a response, and slowly, you ease your shaft in, inch by inch, groaning at the overwhelming pleasure of sinking into her warmth. Wonyoung's so unbelievably drenched, yet so fucking tight as you push yourself in as deep as possible. It's the perfect stretch of her walls as you slide the entirety of your hard cock into this tight, little hole, unable to hold back any moans at how ready her pussy is to take you—until you're balls fucking deep inside her. 

“Daddy—“ 

"God, princess, love how fucking tight you are. Your greedy little cunt is just begging for a huge load in it, isn’t it?”

Wonyoung just nods wordlessly, struggling with the bratty facade now that she's got exactly what she needs, all this heat enveloping your shaft so nicely. You don't even bother to move your hips, not yet, opting to leave your dick inside her, lost in that incredible wetness that pulls you right in—but not for too long.

Before she can even complain, your hands settle firmly over her tiny waist to keep her in place as you slide the entirety of your length back out in one fluid motion, all the way back to the very tip—then immediately thrust back in full force,  impaling Wonyoung with your cock. 

"Oh god—" she gasps, the stretch so sudden as she tightens around your cock so deliciously. And you're quick to follow up with more, because there's only one way this is going to go. There's no patience left, and your only plan is to pound into her pussy hard and fast like you never have before.

"How's that dick feel in you, brat? This is what you needed, right? Just how you like it?"

"Y-yes, right there, daddy," Wonyoung whines, losing all of that attitude in an instant, giving in to every little sensation that floods her body. "Ah—so good. My pussy loves having your dick in me. Fuck me, fuck me until your balls are empty."

Like there was ever a question you intended to do anything else.

You've been storing up all this pent up frustration to fuel your hips, every forceful thrust completely ravaging her. The pace isn't even remotely gentle, knowing full well Wonyoung needs this pounding more than ever as your cock plunges into her wet heat without even the slightest pause.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good," you growl, unable to tear your gaze away from her perfect features, how she lies there helplessly, taking your cock so well. 

You can barely handle how goddamn tight she is. With each deep stroke, her sticky arousal clings to your throbbing shaft, running down the length while her mouth hangs open to release every breathless moan. 

"Give me more, daddy. Harder—"

Even all tied up, this girl thinks she's in charge here. "Needy slut. You're lucky I'm fucking you in the first place. Your pussy should be thanking me."

"Th-thank you, daddy," she moans, in absolute fucking ecstasy, her perfect cunt squeezing the life out of your cock whenever you bottom her out. Her entire body gets rocked with the sheer force of every harsh, deep thrust, her cute breasts doing their best to bounce along to this unforgiving rhythm that hasn't even begun to settle. "Harder, p-please—"

"Oh, so you do know how to ask nicely? But only when I have my cock buried in you?"

Wonyoung only lets out a strangled gasp in response from another hard thrust, saying nothing more and resorting to desperate whining each time your cock completely fills her to the hilt. Your urge to deny her has all but vanished, with her sticky warmth enveloping the entirety of your shaft when your cock fills cunt—so hard, so goddamn deep, enough to overwhelm her, and she can’t even scramble for anything in reach to grab on to. 

Every single time you slide out, her slick, tight walls pull you right back in, making it impossible to ignore the ravenous clutches of her cunt. Soaked can’t even begin to describe her slick entrance, an abundance of arousal ensuring the path is paved for your cock to ram into her pussy unimpeded. 

“Feels so good, daddy," Wonyoung breathes out, her face inching closer when you lean forward, lifting those lusciously long legs up in the air to place them over your shoulders with her feet left dangling in the air helplessly. 

Nothing holds you back when you’ve got her all folded up, your hips dominated by lust and pleasure as her pliant body accepts this pounding so effortlessly. The room resonates with flesh meeting flesh, and it all feels a little too unreal. Every ounce of pleasure intensified as you plow into her tight heat that devours every inch you have. 

“You're so deep in me—want you to cum, want you to cum so hard inside me, daddy—please."

That’s when you really start to give it to her. 

The bed underneath Wonyoung creaks louder and louder in protest, being drowned out by the sinful sounds that escape her lips that urge your cock right back in. 

You can see it in those fucking eyes, that she’s frustrated—unable to touch you, unable to wrap her arms around you and dig her nails right into your back. The poor thing can’t even touch herself to give that extra pleasure while you're railing her into the mattress like this. She'll survive, because it’s not like this isn't making her wetter by the moment, every second she's restrained like this, taking your cock with her mouth open and pussy swallowing all of you up. 

“I think I like you best like this. Tied up and helpless with nothing to do but lay there, just a warm, wet hole for me to use until my load fills you."

Wonyoung can’t exactly disagree with that, even as much as she wants to have her hands wandering your body, tugging at your hair, or feeling your muscles flex under her fingers. “But doesn’t daddy miss when I wrap my legs around, so I can make sure all that cum goes deep inside me? You're going to cum in me, right?”

"Not if you keep asking me again and again. Maybe I'll just paint your pretty face and leave you here instead," you say, slowing your pace while you think it over. She just frowns, trying to use her cunt to encourage you, to make you keep going with extra force. Even when you shift the position of her legs, taking them off your shoulders to spread them wide as they’ll go, knees nearly to her chest so you can really drill her, she doesn’t give up. 

"I know that's not what you really want," Wonyoung says, countering with a little smirk that contorts in pleasure when your cock angles at just the right spot. It never ends—even as your hips piston so viciously, and she takes the entire length of you right back down to the hilt with every stroke. That bratty mouth never stops. 

“Daddy wants to cum in my needy little pussy. Why else would you be fucking me like you’re trying to break me? Why else would you put me in this position if you’re not going to breed me?” 

“Do you ever—fucking stop talking? Regretting not gagging you from the start.” 

“Not a chance daddy would do that. You like hearing me beg for your cock too much.” If her goal is to get you to lose control, to go as rough as you can get, she's absolutely going to get all that and more. You gain a new rush of energy to fuck your frustrations out, slamming into this blissful warmth that you're eager to spill your seed in despite what any other words that leave your mouth say.

“Inside me, daddy, deep inside," Wonyoung insists, voice faltering with every strained syllable, barely hanging on through all these forceful thrusts. She looks absolutely satisfied with you groaning above her, like her pussy controls your cock and not the other way around. “You wouldn't dream of pulling out—daddy wants to fill me so bad."

Can’t argue with that one bit. With her legs so helplessly in the air, she watches you pump away without restraint, into this intoxicating heat, until there’s no defenses left against the inevitable. 

“Can feel you throbbing so much, daddy must be so close. My pussy needs it—please, pound my little hole until your balls empty, fill me to the brim,” she pleas so innocently, so sweetly, in contrast to your harsh, raw fucking that hasn't given even a moment's break since you lifted her legs up.

"You think you deserve that? You really think you deserve for me to breed you?" It’s a question unfitting an actual response, because like hell,  you don't deserve to empty yourself into Wonyoung's warm little pussy. If anything, you deserve this reward for putting up with her for so long every single day. 

"When has that ever stopped you before? Daddy always fills me even when I've been a bad girl. You love shooting all your hot cum inside and watching it slowly drip out of me..."

Once again, she has you there. All you can do is put more power into your hips, to make sure your climax arrives sooner, slamming your entire length so deep into that dripping cunt that's begging for your release. You're not leaving this bed until Wonyoung gets filled.

“Fucking brat. Only because your cunt feels so good is why I'm finishing inside you. And because Yujin isn't here to drain me."

Wonyoung isn't the least bit insulted by these words, smirking happily at getting what she thinks she oh so deserves. And while you might be the one in control, fucking her senseless with her legs obscenely spread up in the air like a toy for your own pleasure—she holds more power than you realize. Because, as always, you're giving her exactly what she wants, even when you pretend not to.

"Daddy, gonna—" is all she can get out before you feel her pussy begin to spasm violently around your shaft, clamping down so tightly you might burst before she does. 

"Then fucking cum, you cock hungry little slut—then your pussy can have my load." You can't exactly blame her when you’ve been pounding her so harshly into the mattress, that she falls into an orgasm so quickly, reaching the height of her pleasure—and you're almost there yourself.

You can feel her orgasm rip through her body as she moans your name breathlessly, eyes rolling back into her head in bliss as your cock fills her sweet cunt over and over, the tip ready to erupt at any second. More than anything else, the thought of emptying your entire load into Wonyoung makes your hips buck even faster, until you're pushing her into yet another climax while desperately seeking relief yourself.

"You want a hot fucking creampie in your pretty little cunt, huh? That’s what you’ve been begging me for?" you growl, as you struggle to maintain this brutal pace, chasing after your own release, and Wonyoung can't even cling onto any part of you to help speed this all up. She only lets out all these fervent nods, still going through the motions of her own next impending orgasm, toes all curled, mouth wide open as her pussy clenches and clenches all around your aching shaft. 

And it feels way too fucking amazing to resist.

Nothing stops you from plowing this girl who's so helplessly at your will, waiting for your cock to reward her, lips parted, eyes closed, the loop of her pretty collar dangling with each rock of your hips, until you’re right there at the end—

You fucking unload everything. Every drop that belongs to Wonyoung, every hot creamy spurt that she's craved for so long. Her gaze never falters while her pussy milks out all this cum right up into her womb, coating her insides with a massive thick load, just like she desperately needed.

Not for a second do you stop your harsh movements, pushing every bit of your heavy load deeper into this needy cunt. Wonyoung has never looked so pretty—arms bound, legs up, accepting all of your cum, her beautiful skin glistening with sweat from being used like this, red marks already forming around her delicate wrists, while your cock keeps pumping more and more thick, pearlescent cum into her. 

Only then, do you ride this high, when you're so wonderfully exhausted from giving this brat everything until your balls have nothing more left to spill.

“Fuck, princess,” you mutter between pants for breaths. Her body is equally spent, still twitching in the aftershocks of her own blissful release, and the warm, messy load in her pussy. "Made me cum so much—"

“Don’t I always?” Wonyoung responds between tired gasps for air, and even on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, she still finds the energy to bite back. 

You'd usually find your own snarky response to that, but you’re far too tired and much more interested in seeing the mess that’s been left inside her. When your cock slowly slides out of her freshly used cunt, a familiar sight greets you—so much thick, creamy white flowing out, mixed in with Wonyoung's own juices that looks absolutely exquisite spilling all over the inside of her creamy thighs.

“Shit—you’re fucking right. I love watching my cum drip out of you," you admit, trailing lazy fingers over her body, her glistening stomach, those perky breasts, and her delicate neck that looks so good with that little collar around it. Your touch wanders up to her face, caressing her cheek with a thumb, admiring the faint smile that graces those pink lips. "Love cumming inside you more than anything, princess."

Wonyoung doesn't say a thing except to giggle softly, more than a little pleased with herself. She's been in this bound state for long enough, so it’s about time to untie her, you think, loosening the knot enough to free those slender arms. You slip off the collar from her neck as well to make it easier to catch her breath, and rub the soreness out of those dainty wrists, kissing them as the rope slips off and goes forgotten. 

For sure, Yujin is going to notice this all when she gets back and ask for details.

Now that Wonyoung can move around unrestricted, she uses her newfound freedom to prop her body up and lean in for a kiss. It's more subdued than you expected, given that she still needs a few fleeting moments to gather her senses while you slip a hand between her legs to play with the mess you've made in her cunt, making sure the remnants of your load don’t escape. 

"It’s so much… so easy to make daddy cum, isn't it?" she says, still unable to breathe normally, a proud smile on her face like she didn't cream all over your cock an uncountable number of times either.

"Don’t make me regret untying you, princess. Next time I'm leaving one of those toys in you, shutting the door, and getting some peace and quiet."

"Like you could ever leave me. Daddy can't get enough of my tight little pussy."

"Brat." 

"Daddy's brat."

[peachdues]

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.”

[lymtw]

Aftercare with Gojo where he focuses on kissing life back into your limbs after a particularly rough session with him.

He showers with you. No round two, no sexually stimulating touches, just him being as soft and delicate with you as he can. Satoru spends a lot of time reassuring you as he scrubs your body, telling you that you're just as pretty as you were before, even with all these marks on your skin, but, regardless of his words, he keeps scrubbing your skin, as if trying to bring back some of the purity it had before things got animalistic.

He requests that you stay as light in clothing as possible because he will be examining your body. Normally, you just stay in your underwear and a bra because with these examinations comes Gojo checking every inch of your skin. You get to lay back and relax while he thoroughly goes down your body, massaging your tender muscles and overall rehabilitating you.

He brushes his fingers against the dark marks on your neck and your chest, feeling the love that went into putting them on you to begin with. As his eyes trail down the rest of your hickey-littered, unobserved body, he realizes he loves you so much that it's taken a physical form on your skin.

You are not the only one who leaves scratches behind. Satoru does, too. He looks at your ribs, inhaling at the sight of four red, long streaks that trail from your ribs on each side, to where he can no longer see, on your back. He leans down and kisses the bright lines, like doing so would heal you in an instant. He does the same for the nail indentations he left behind on your waist and on your hips, kissing the aftermath of being so driven with pleasure that he had to take it out on your beautiful skin. He finishes up massaging your lower body. Your thighs, which were also bruised by his lips, your knees which had rug burns on them, and a thrown in ankle massage for the harsh grip he had on it before.

You feel like you're in another place when Satoru looks after you this way. Almost 90% of the times he does this, you fall asleep when he has you flip over to examine your back. This was one of those times when his touch felt so heavenly and light against your skin that you couldn't help but rest your eyes, resulting in your slumber.

Satoru's hands run down the expanse of your back. He undoes the clasp of your bra, not able to see the point where his scratches end until the material is moved. It's expected for you to leave these red trails behind on him, but he's in shock at the ones he left on you this time. He traces the lines, the slightly swollen skin warm to the touch, and his revitalizing kisses return to soothe the sting.

Satoru can see choppy patterns of his nail indentations on your lower back, a warm hand rubbing them to try to make them fade. He can hear your soft, rhythmic breathing now, a soft smile drawn on his features. He rubs little pressurized circles into your calves, watching you to make sure he's not pressing too hard. He ends the examination with some finishing touches on your achilles tendons and your heels.

"Baby," Satoru coos, laying on his side, facing you. You're still laying on your stomach, little puffs of air escaping your slightly parted lips. His fingers trail down your spine, past the undone clasps of your bra. "Baby..." he tries again, this time running a thumb across your shiny, saliva coated bottom lip.

"Mm..." you hum, not opening your eyes.

"You okay?" He asks his hand playing with your damp hair, softly.

"Mhm," you nonverbally confirm.

"Okay," he finishes. He turns his lamp off and scoots closer to you, his arm and leg draping over you like a makeshift blanket.

[valkyriexo]

You Faint | Bang Chan

ᑉ³pairing; Bang Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Fainting due to Dehydration and being busy, mentions of not eating, mentions of not drinking water, kissing, Implied Female reader, Established relationship

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon!

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

In the flurry of your responsibilities as a personal assistant to the CEO of a massive corporation, every second counts, every task critical to the smooth functioning of the business. Despite the hunger gnawing at your stomach and the parched feeling in your throat, you soldier on, driven by the need to ensure that everything operates seamlessly for your employer.

Hours blur together as you navigate the demands of the corporate world, your own needs pushed to the sidelines in the relentless pursuit of success. The weight of expectations presses down on you with each passing moment, propelling you forward even as exhaustion threatens to overwhelm you. You don't have time to notice the way your limbs grow heavy with fatigue, the world around you fading into a distant blur as you push yourself beyond your limits.

But as the day wears on, your body begins to rebel against the neglect it's been subjected to. Dizziness clouds your vision, a warning sign of the toll the day's exertions have taken. With every step, your limbs grow heavier, protesting against the punishing pace you've been maintaining.

And then, without warning, it all becomes too much. Your vision blurs, black spots dancing at the edges as dizziness overwhelms your senses. Your knees buckle beneath you, unable to support the weight of your weakened body, and before you can even comprehend what's happening, darkness claims you.

As consciousness slowly seeps back into your awareness, you find yourself nestled on the plush couch of the CEO's office, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room. Your head throbs with the remnants of your fainting spell, a dull ache echoing through your skull.

Blinking groggily, you glance around the room, your eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. To your surprise, you find yourself surrounded by two or three other assistants, their faces etched with concern as they hover nearby, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Hey, are you okay?" one of them asks, her voice laced with worry as she kneels beside you, her hand hovering over your forehead. "You gave us quite a scare there."

You nod weakly, the events of the day slowly coming back to you in fragmented pieces. "I... I think so," you mumble, your words slurred with exhaustion.

The other assistants exchange worried glances, their concern palpable in the air. "You should rest for a bit," another assistant suggests, her tone gentle as she helps you sit up, offering you a glass of water.

Taking a sip, you feel the cool liquid soothe your parched throat, the sensation a welcome relief. As you lean back against the cushions, you're grateful for the support of your colleagues, their presence a comforting reminder that you're not alone in your struggles.

"Thanks," you murmur, offering them a weak smile. "I appreciate it."

"We were so worried about you," one of them says, her voice filled with genuine concern. "You gave us quite the scare."

You offer a weak smile, still feeling disoriented and unsure of what happened. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your words barely audible.

Another assistant nods sympathetically. "We called for help," she explains gently. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."

You furrow your brow, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Called for help." you repeat, the words sinking in slowly.

Your mind feels foggy, memories hazy and fragmented, making it difficult to grasp the severity of the situation. The concern in the assistant's eyes only adds to your growing sense of unease, prompting a knot of anxiety to tighten in your chest.

Before anyone can elaborate further, the door to the CEO's office swings open, and Chan rushes in, his expression a mix of panic and relief. "I got here as fast as I could," he says breathlessly, his eyes darting around the room until they land on you. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You swallow hard, the reality of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. They called Chan, your emergency contact, before they even called the paramedics. You feel a pang of guilt knowing that he's here now, worrying about you, when you hadn't wanted to burden him.

As Chan rushes to your side, his expression a mix of relief and concern, you can see the worry etched into every line of his face. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to grasp yours, his touch both reassuring and desperate.

"I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I fainted, I think."

Chan's eyes widen with alarm, his grip on your hand tightening. "You fainted?" he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief. Chan's concern deepens, his brows furrowing with worry. "Do you know why?" he asks gently. "Did you eat today? Drink enough water?"

You shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, the guilt of neglecting your own well-being weighing heavily on you. "I... I may have forgotten," you admit sheepishly, avoiding his gaze.

His expression softens with understanding, but a flicker of frustration dances in his eyes. "Y/N.."

"I just didn't have time," you whine, feeling the weight of his disappointment settle over you. "I have deadlines to meet, and it's been really busy here with the CEO prepping for a major partnership with another company. Plus, I'm in line for a promotion, Chan. If I do well, it's almost guaranteed. But if I fail, then I have no shot."

Chan's expression doesn’t give much away, but his resolve remains firm. "It's not that important," he insists, his tone gentle but firm. "There will always be other opportunities. Your health should come first."

You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Not everyone can lead and be super talented like you, Chan," you argue, your voice tinged with emotion. "Some of us have to work twice as hard just to keep up."

"I know it feels that way," he says gently, as he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch warm and comforting. "You're already doing more than enough," he assures you, his gaze unwavering. "But your health should never be sacrificed for success."

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words settling over you. "I know," you whisper, your voice heavy with resignation.

Chan's hums at your response, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he reluctantly withdraws. "Let's go home," he says gently, " You need rest."

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch, your legs trembling beneath you as the full extent of your exhaustion becomes apparent. Chan's eyes widen in concern as he notices your struggle, his expression softening with empathy.

"Here, let me help you," he says, moving to your side and slipping an arm around your waist for support.

You lean into him gratefully, feeling the warmth of his embrace. With Chan's steadying presence, you manage to make your way out of the CEO's office and towards the elevator, your fatigue pressing down on you with each step.

As you reach the lobby, Chan guides you towards the exit, but when you attempt to take a step forward, your legs buckle beneath you, weakened by fatigue. Chan's eyes widen in alarm, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he catches you before you fall.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod weakly, feeling embarrassed by your inability to stand on your own two feet. "I'm just... really tired," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, Chan sweeps you up into his arms, his strength a reassuring presence against your exhausted frame. "Let's get you home," he says softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

You nestle into his embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms as he carries you out of the building and towards the waiting car.

Once you're settled into the car, Chan drives you home with careful attention, his concern never wavering as he steals glances at you from time to time. When you finally arrive at your apartment, he helps you out of the car and guides you inside, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

As you enter the cozy sanctuary of your home, Chan guides you towards the couch. However, he senses your hesitation, the way you lean heavily on him as if struggling to keep your balance.

"You need to rest," he insists softly, his voice laced with concern as he helps you settle onto the cushions. Despite his gentle urging, you remain silent, the weariness evident in every line of your body.

"I feel gross," you finally murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, admitting to the discomfort that weighs heavily on you.

Chan's brows furrow with worry, his gaze searching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain. Seeing your distress, he nods in understanding.

"Would you like to take a shower?" he suggests gently, his tone filled with empathy. He waits patiently for your response, ready to provide the support and comfort you need

You shake your head slowly, a feeling of exhaustion washing over you. "I don't think I have the energy," you confess, feeling a pang of guilt at the admission.

Chan's expression fills with empathy as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours. "That's okay," he reassures you, his voice soft and comforting. "Why don't we start with something smaller? Like washing your hair?"

You blink back tears, starting to feel overwhelmed. "I just... I feel so drained," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

Chan nods sympathetically, his gaze filled with compassion. "I understand," he says softly, his words a soothing balm to your weary soul. "Let's take it one step at a time, okay?

As Chan helps you make your way to the bathroom, you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs. With his steady support, you settle on the edge of the bathtub, feeling drained and weak. Chan kneels beside you, his gentle hands reaching for the shower head. His concerned gaze meeting yours.

"Lean back," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet bathroom. You obey, allowing your head to rest against the edge of the tub as Chan pours the water over your hair, the liquid cascading down in a comforting stream.

The sensation of the warm water against your scalp is both soothing and revitalizing, washing away the weariness that has settled deep within your bones. Chan's touch is tender, his fingers massaging your scalp with care as he works shampoo into your hair, creating a rich lather that fills the air with a subtle scent of eucalyptus.

As Chan tenderly tends to your needs, a wave of helplessness crashes over you, leaving you feeling small and useless. The inability to perform even the simplest tasks on your own gnaws at you, a constant reminder of your vulnerability. You watch as Chan effortlessly takes care of everything, his competence highlighting your own shortcomings.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you struggle to suppress the rising tide of frustration and self-doubt. "I hate feeling like this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with the bitterness of inadequacy.

"Like what?" Chan's voice is gentle, his concern evident as he seeks to understand you.

"Helpless," you confess, the word heavy with emotion.

Chan notices the heaviness in your sigh and the sorrow in your eyes, and his heart aches with empathy. Leaning closer, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

"You're not helpless, love," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with affection. "You're just taking a break. Everyone needs a little help sometimes, even superheroes like you."

His words are like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with love and understanding.

"You're my baby," he whispers, "And I'll always be here to take care of you, no matter what."

As Chan rinses the shampoo from your hair, the water running clear and pure, you feel a sense of renewal wash over you. With each gentle stroke of his hands, you can feel your energy slowly returning, a flicker of hope igniting within your chest.

When the task is finally complete, Chan reaches for a fluffy towel, wrapping it around your shoulders with care. He helps you to stand, guiding you away from the bathtub.

"Let's dry your hair a bit so you don't go to bed with it wet," he suggests, his lips forming a shy smile. He grabs a hairdryer, carefully adjusting the settings before starting to blow dry your hair, the warm air a comforting embrace against your skin.

As he works, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, the sound of the hairdryer a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Chan concentrates intently, his brow furrowing as he focuses on the task at hand. His brow furrows in concentration, his lips pursed in determination as he attempts to weave the strands of your hair into a braid. With each failed attempt, a mixture of frustration and amusement flickers across his features, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.

You can't help but find his earnest efforts endearing, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you watch him work. The sound fills the small bathroom, mingling with the gentle patter of water droplets.

"Where did you learn to braid?" you ask, genuine curiosity in your tone.

Chan looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I've been teaching myself," he admits, his fingers still fumbling with the strands of your hair. "I thought... one day, when we have kids together, I want to be able to braid their hair. I want to be the kind of dad who can do that."

His vulnerability touches your heart, and you reach out to gently squeeze his hand, a tender smile playing on your lips. "You'll be an amazing dad," you assure him, your voice filled with love and admiration. "And you're already an amazing partner."

"I want to be better,"he says softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "For you."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips are soft against yours. As he pulls away, his eyes shimmering with adoration, he presses another tender kiss to your forehead before returning to his task.

"You did great," Chan whispers, his voice filled with pride and admiration, as he guides you to your bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, comforting light across the room as he fusses over you, fluffing pillows and tucking blankets around you until you're cocooned in warmth.

With gentle hands, he arranges the pillows behind you, ensuring you're propped up just right for maximum comfort. He tucks the blankets snugly around your shoulders, his touch tender and reassuring as he ensures every corner is tucked in securely.

After making sure you're settled, Chan disappears into the kitchen, the faint clinking of dishes drifting through the air as he prepares your meal. Moments later, he returns with a tray laden with food – a simple yet nourishing meal, prepared with love.

The aroma of home-cooked food fills the room, mingling with the soft scent of freshly laundered sheets. Chan sets the tray down on your bedside table, arranging the dishes with care before settling in beside you.

As you eat, Chan sits close by, his warmth radiating beside you. He regales you with stories and jokes, his laughter filling the room with a sense of joy and ease. Each tale is punctuated by his infectious laughter, and despite your weariness, you can't help but smile at his antics.

As you finish your meal, feeling the warmth of the food spreading through your body, Chan rises from his seat beside you, his movements fluid and graceful as he clears away the dishes. The clinking of plates and silverware fills the air as he tidies up, his attention to detail evident in every gesture.

Once the dishes are cleared, Chan returns to your side, settling in beside you on the bed. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. The familiar scent of his cologne envelops you, soothing away the remnants of tension that linger in your muscles.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to him, reveling in the warmth and security of his embrace. Chan presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his touch a silent reassurance that everything will be okay.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice low and raw. As he speaks, he guides your hand to his chest, letting you feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath his shirt.

"Every time you're in pain or in danger," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's like my whole world stops."

You feel a lump form in your throat, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "It wasn't on purpose."

Chan shakes his head, his grip tightening around you as if afraid to let go. "I know," he says softly. "But I need you to promise me something."

"What?" you ask.

"Promise me that you'll always try your best to care of yourself," he says, his tone earnest. "Promise me that you won't push yourself too hard, that you'll listen to your body and prioritize your health."

You meet his gaze, seeing the depth of his concern reflected in his eyes. With a nod, you offer him a small smile, filled with gratitude and determination.

"I promise," you vow, your voice steady with conviction.

Chan's eyes soften, a tender smile playing on his lips. "And I promise in return," he says softly, "to always be there when you need me, or a little extra help."

He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're both comfortable. As you nestle into each other, Chan reaches for the remote control, flicking through the channels until he finds a movie that catches your interest.

The soft glow of the TV bathes the room in a warm, flickering light as the movie begins to play. You rest your head against Chan's chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat getting faster beneath your ear. It's a comforting sound, a reminder of the love and stability that he brings into your life.

As the movie unfolds, you lose yourself in the story, the worries and stresses of the day fading into the background. With Chan by your side, you feel safe and at peace, cocooned in a bubble of love and warmth.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[anantaru]

SWEET AND SOFT — WRIOTHESLEY

you know wriothesley won't let you get out of bed, he was insatiable and couldn't take his eyes off you. wc 700

・✶ ｡ warnings — lazy morning sex, clingy wriothesley, fem! reader

"‘m-more, just a little more," wriothesley whispers and offers you a suspiciously cheeky grin. although he was seemingly still fatigued due to the fact that he has just woken up, something else was quite persistent when creeping up on him, more so pestering his limbs and muscles until he's flushed, a pitch of lust pursuing his glazed eyes.

with pleasure, he continues and rests his head against the crook of your neck so he could lazily circle his arms across your waist from behind. the sudden bolt of electricity that crawled through your nervous system was enough to make you lean into his touch before you quiver into his strong grip, something hard and throbbing grazing against the plush of your ass as your slow breathing becomes a little faster.

"mhm, you're so insatiable baby," you giggle, delightfully as you feel his muscular body press against you when your boyfriend smears a couple wet kisses on the crook of your neck, the thrill of him being so content with your frame was igniting something deep within your chest.

as it was, your boyfriend really was insatiable, he's truly unbelievable! but so were you unarguably desiring of him touching you on all the saccharine coated places.

with a quick, single movement of his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear, wriothesley drags the fabric down and leaves it draped around your knees before he does the same to his boxers, at last freeing his painful erection as he presses it in between the fat of your ass, feeling your silky flesh welcome him dearly.

he really cannot wait any longer— it's a given that he has to act now, because you turn him so utterly mindless with each and every moan slipping past your plump lips, breaking into a million pieces and when you begin to grind your ass back— oh well, he was done for.

wriothesley continues and wraps one hand across your upper chest as the other strokes his dripping cock up and down, slow and lustfully up and down, up and down while smearing the pre over his shaft.

his face was still nuzzled in your neck when he targets your skin, biting and suckling all over the flesh as you arch your back away from him only for your boyfriend to harshly press you against his chest again, parting your legs a little so he could slide himself in perfectly fine.

"there we go, that's better, don't you think, hm?" the duke sighs, dreamily as his voice shakes when you mould your walls around his thudding shaft, your crushing heaves and silent sobs driven by lust as he notices how your body was slightly struggling to take him, all of him— he's so big and the usual morning cold dies down when you quiver at his teeth mercilessly grazing along your skin as he rocks himself into the warm cradle of your walls.

the helpless clamp of your pussy was to die for, it feels like you pull him in with one single throb of your cunt until his entire length was buried in you, your silky walls battering your slick along his cock when he sinks himself deeper, your hole forcing him inside for more, more and milking him so sweetly, so perfect that it almost brings him to tears.

not to mention those sweet, little pleas of yours— they might be his utter favorite after all, and your boyfriend just needs to listen to them over and over until he can pump you full of his gift, with his erection rutting through the sore constriction of your hole so mercilessly that you're shaking, shoving your head back so hard that your back arches through his strong grip.

you just need him so bad that you feel hot crystallines pearl at your lashes— and the duke knows, he always did, never faltering nor losing the strong chains of thrusts he targets your sex with as he purrs deeply against your ear— that being the last puzzle piece that made you spiral into a hot daze.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[littlefireball]

ʏʜ|ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴏᴅ (ᴀ/ᴍ)

ʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ x ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴏᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ (ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛᴛ)|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ|ɴᴇᴄᴋ ᴋɪꜱꜱ|ʙʀᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ, ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ| ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ & ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘꜱᴇᴅ|ʏᴜɴʜᴏ ꜱᴀᴠᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴇx

⚠️ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ!! ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ ⚠️

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9ᴋ

“Blood…lungs…eyes…kidney” Yunho transformed into a wolf and sprinted through the dense forest. His strong body seemed to be infused with the power of the wild, and with each stride, he kicked up dust, creating a howling wind.

His fur was like shadows in the night, dancing in the wind as he raced. The corners of his mouth curled slightly, revealing bloodthirsty fangs, and his eyes sparkled with the fierce gaze of a wild wolf. His eyes were deep brown, filled with the essence of savagery and bloodshed.

Intense hunger consumed him, driving him into madness. His mouth repeated the same words over and over again, his mind filled with the tantalizing taste of human flesh. His thoughts were chaotic, alternating between confusion and clarity, running aimlessly through the forest, allowing his desires to replace reason.

"Hmm?" Suddenly, the aroma of food wafted through the air, a combination of roasted meat and creamy flavor. Yunho halted his rapid pace and followed the scent, leading him to a small cottage not far away.

"Find it..."

—-----

"Little red, go get the medicine for your grandma."

"Alright." Your grandmother caught a cold a few days ago, and because she has trouble moving around, you can only visit her and deliver medicine every week. She lives alone in a small cottage near the town. You have invited her to come and live with you, but she prefers the solitude of the forest, away from the hustle and bustle of the town.

"Don't be too late."

"Okay." You packed your things and put on your bright red hood, heading towards the forest. Everyone in town loves to call you Little Red Riding Hood, even your mother likes to call you little red. You also enjoy being called that. This hood is your special symbol, a coming-of-age gift from your grandmother.

—----

"This meat is not fresh at all." Yunho disappointedly spat out the minced meat in his mouth, disdainfully looking down at the bloody corpse on the floor. The body was contorted in a grotesque posture, a pained expression frozen on its face, forever capturing the moment of death. Its upper limbs had been violently ripped off, while its lower limbs hung haphazardly on the armrest of the sofa, oozing fresh red blood from irregular wounds. The walls of the cabin were stained with horrifying bloodstains, and the nauseating smell of blood hung heavy in the air, making one feel sick.

Yunho sat down and casually wiped away the foreign red blood from the corners of his mouth. The hunger had temporarily subsided, but he was not satisfied; animal meat no longer fulfilled his twisted desires—it was humans that he craved the most. Because of his "preference," which violated the rules set by the wolf clan and humans, Yunho was driven away by his own kind and condemned from ever setting foot in wolf territory again. This was the cruelest punishment for a wolf, as without the protection of the pack, it would be easy prey for hunters. However, this seemed to have little impact on Yunho, for his innate strength made him view hunters as no threat. Instead, being "exiled" was what he craved the most, as it finally freed him from the constraints of rules and regulations.

“Those idiots should kill me but not expel me. Tsk…but no matter what, I will kill that guy if he does anything that gets in my way.” His tone was arrogant and provocative, not taking the punishment seriously. "Okay, I'm well-rested~ Let me find my next prey." He said. At that moment, he noticed the calendar on the wall which read "Granddaughter's Visit" and today's date.

"Oh? Visiting day? Perfect~ Saves me some trouble." An evil thought crossed his mind. A cunning smile appeared on his face, accompanied by a cruel gleam in his eyes, instilling fear in anyone who saw it. He disposed of the dismembered body in a hidden ruin, cleaned up the bloodstains in the house, put on the clothes of the house owner, and lay down in bed, waiting patiently for his prey to arrive.

---

"Knock─Knock─Grandma, I'm here." You knocked on the wooden door as usual, waiting for your grandma to open it. However, there was no response from inside the house even after some time had passed. 

"Is she asleep?" You cautiously opened the door, afraid to make any noise, but there was nothing unusual to be found.

As you entered the house, a sweet scent filled the air─an intoxicating fragrance that was both enticing and comforting. This scent made Yunho's murderous intent fade away, replaced by an inexplicable hunger─not the hunger caused by lack of food, but a Pandora's box-like desire.

"Grandma?" You approached the bed quietly, wanting to check if she was asleep. Just as you were about to pull back the covers, a massive hand suddenly reached out from underneath, grabbing your wrist tightly and pulling you towards the person. Caught off guard, you were pulled down onto the bed, screaming in fear.

In front of you was not your grandma but a man with a big frame. He supported himself with both hands on either side of your head, his eyes glowing with a terrifying red light, emanating a chilling aura as if he wanted to kill you. You covered your mouth with both hands, feeling as if an invisible barrier prevented you from screaming. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, breathing became erratic, and the muscles seemed to be locked in chains, rendering you immobile and helpless, consumed by fear.

On the other hand, Yunho felt strange reactions in his body: his breathing became rapid and deep, heart pounded uncontrollably, skin burned like it was on fire, and he longed for the touch and caress of others, even his member's slight erection. 

Could this be...the so-called mate? No, it couldn't be. He was a werewolf, and you were a human. How could it be possible?

Unbelievable, and yet impossible to deny. He, who always viewed humans as prey, how could he accept that a human was his soulmate? This might be the cruelest punishment from God.

"No...why you...no." Yunho's chaotic mind prevented him from forming coherent sentences. Despite his continuous denial of the reality before him, his body's response was the most honest─he wanted to fuck you so badly.

"Who are you...?" In your trembling voice, there was a hint of despair and fear. Instead of resisting or escaping, you found yourself asking for the name of the terrifying stranger in front of you. Unaware of your own thoughts, despite the fear, you subconsciously wanted to get closer to him, to touch him, and even felt a strange desire for him.

He snapped out of his daze, and the terrifying look in his eyes softened, revealing a trace of tenderness that didn't match his character, but the fierceness remained.

"Shouldn't you introduce yourself before asking for someone's name?" He remained as blunt and impolite as ever.

"Y/N..." It seemed like you were stunned, as you blurted out your own name directly.

"Yunho." Surprisingly, he told you his name, something he never did with anyone before.

Both of you were bewildered, not understanding the situation.

"Why are you in my grandma's house?"

"You guess?" His voice was filled with a seductive magnetism, carrying an irresistible charm that made you want to hear more.

"What...you..."

"I ate her." These words hit your heart like a hammer, filling you with sadness and fear. The emotions spread throughout your body, tearing at your nerves, oppressing your heart, making it hard to breathe, and causing your tears to flow uncontrollably.

"You are…!?"

"Wolf...or should I say, werewolf." Seeing your pitiful appearance, his desire burned even stronger, and he couldn't control it anymore.

"You smell so good, Y/N." His fingertip traced the trails of tears on your face, sliding down to your trembling chest, suddenly tightening around your arousal. You were startled, and your body trembled, unable to resist. You desperately closed your eyes, accepting your imminent fate of being killed.

"So sweet, so intoxicated." The desire in his heart finally overwhelmed his rationality, and he couldn't resist the temptation any longer. He pressed himself onto you, his hand naturally caressing your face. His lips brushed against the skin of your neck, occasionally licking and sucking, savoring the taste like a delicacy, greedily inhaling the sweet and intoxicating aroma. His kisses gradually moved higher, from your neck to your ear, his tongue gently caressing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.

"Ummm...Yunho..." You attempted to stop the man on top of you, unknowingly fueling his desire even more. "Be patient, my mate." At this moment, he let the desires take control of his body. His struggle before seemed like a mere act. He returned to your neck once again, burying himself in it, leaving a trail of kisses and red marks all over your body, making you feel waves of warmth throughout your body.

You didn't resist, but instead, became intoxicated in this kiss. You knew it was wrong, he killed your grandmother, and you should feel anger, disgust, hatred, and fear. Yet, your body obeyed his kisses and marks, not resisting at all. This contradiction made you feel helpless, with complex emotions swirling in your head, like being trapped in a whirlpool, struggling but sinking deeper.

"I hate you." All you could say at this moment was these three words in a final act of resistance, even though it was futile. Yunho stopped his movements, once again meeting your desperate eyes. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt, but considered it a mere illusion, disregarding it.

"Keep hating me, because no matter what, you can't kick me off, Y/N." When he said your name, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you─you wanted him, wanted him to call you, to kiss you, and to fuck you. However, regardless of your desires, you couldn't admit or give in to these sinful desires. The endless self-blame and guilt within you wouldn't allow you to follow your desires.

"Let me eat you." With ease, he tore apart your shirt, leaving only your bra to cover your breasts. He buried his head in your chest, sucking on your collarbone and moving down, leaving a trail of kisses. His long tongue glided over every inch of your skin, leaving red marks on your breasts as if savoring a delicacy. He pushed your bra up and used his big hands to knead your breasts, occasionally teasing your nipples with his thumb.

"Ahhhh..." The continuous stimulation made you arch your back, moaning softly. Your hands unconsciously gripped his broad shoulders, pulling him closer. 

"Someone horny, huh?" His words made you blush, and he further teased the sexual desires you had been suppressing. Suddenly, you felt a tingling sensation in your lower body, as if something was brushing against your most sensitive area. His tail swayed left and right, lightly touching your clit like a gentle feather.

"Hmmm..." "You like it?" His face wore a satisfied smile as he continued his sucking. The room was filled with the shy sounds of sucking and your moans, brimming with endless desire.

While he licked your left breast, he didn't forget to caress your right breast. You could clearly feel every movement of his tongue, its undulating and flexible dance, circling around your nipple. The wet touch made you tremble involuntarily, and each time he sucked, it was as though an electric current coursed through your body. He moaned against your chest, emitting a sound only an animal could make. You took deep breaths, your body tense with anticipation and excitement.

"I can't get enough of you." Your lower body had already become wet, and you felt a cooling sensation due to your drenched panties. His massive cock and tail occasionally brushed against your clit, providing subtle but tantalizing touches that made you crave more. Too much stimulation has already eroded your rationality. You both wanted more, even though deep down, you were still struggling with your conflicting emotions.

"Yunho, I..." Just as you were about to speak, Yunho sensed the danger and immediately sat up, using his incredible jumping ability to leap far away in an instant. "Bang─" Almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet surged through the air, directly towards the spot where Yunho had been. It shattered the glass window beside the bed.

"Get off her!! You fucking wolf!!" A man broke in, holding a long gun and pointing it at Yunho who had transformed into a werewolf. Your sanity returned as the hunter shouted, and the burning heat in your body instantly cooled down. You immediately covered your exposed upper body with a blanket, watching the hunter step by step approaching Yunho, feeling an inexplicable worry.

"Tsk..." As the hunter fired again, Yunho, as if predicting his movements, easily dodged his attack. Taking advantage of the opening, Yunho broke through the wall and disappeared from sight at an incredible speed.

"Are you okay? Little red?" You snapped back to reality, looking at the hunter in confusion.

"I... I'm fine." You said this subconsciously even if you are not fine at all. 

"Let's go back. Your mom is worried about you. She hasn't seen you come back, so she asked me to find you. But... let's not talk about it, let's go back quickly!"

You nodded, but your gaze kept lingering on the forest where Yunho disappeared, feeling an indescribable sense of attachment and worry - emotions that shouldn't exist.

Yet, deep in heart, you had a premonition that you would definitely meet again.

That night completely turned your once smooth-sailing life upside down. Yesterday was just an ordinary and peaceful day, but today has become a merciless nightmare. The care from your neighbors is no longer there, replaced by suspicion, exclusion, and alienation. No one dares to come near you, the "something brings disaster" and "traitor."

You have no idea where the rumors came from, but you know that everyone is filled with malice towards you. You have been falsely accused of being a selfish and heartless scum, willing to sacrifice your grandma for the werewolves. Or you are said to be a witch who will bring misfortune to the town, mercilessly killing everyone, and your grandmother is the first victim. Nobody cares whether you managed to escape from death, or how you feel. All you receive are harsh accusations and contempt.

At first, you tried to clarify the truth, repeatedly stating that you did not make a deal with the werewolf, but everyone ignored you and believed baseless rumors. Because those words seemed to be the most reasonable explanation for why you had so many hickies and why you could still be unscathed when you encounter a man-eating werewolf. Now, you hide in your home, avoiding contact with the townspeople, hoping that time will make forget everything. But it is clear that this is not an effective resistance.

"Hey!! Witch!!" Laughter and mockery from several children outside the house pull you out of your dreamland. You can't even count how many times this has happened, there has been no peace ever since that night.

'Bang! Bang!' Following the insults, several foul-smelling water balloons hit the window, exploding and splashing a mixture of water and feces all around, the nauseating stench making you feel sick to your stomach.

You can no longer bear it. The calm expression on your face suddenly becomes difficult to hide, and you pick up the broom in your house, wanting to drive away the brats outside. "I am not a witch!!" You fiercely open the door handle, roaring in anger, as if resisting all injustice.

"The witch is coming out! Run!" Not only are they not afraid, but they also make funny faces with a disgusting smile. The anger in your body gradually climbs up your forehead, your hands tightly gripping the stick, almost ready to bleed.

"You bastard!!─" You put all your strength into your arm, trying to drive away the children in front of you.

"Get off our children! You bitch!!" Your action is stopped by a shout, and neighbors come from afar.

"You wicked woman, don't you dare harm my children!"

"Just look at how you wanted to hit them!"

"Are you trying to take their lives?"

"The rumor is right! You are planning to beat them to death and feed them to werewolf!"

Word by word, like a tsunami, they swallow you, leaving you speechless. The malicious words pierce your heart like sharp knives, and all you can do is repetitively say "No, I'm not!" meaningless sentences, allowing injustice and pain to engulf your heart. Your anger from earlier completely disappears. You shouldn't have gone out, you shouldn't have resisted at all.

"I would never have guessed that a woman like you could be so promiscuous!"

"Hmph! Just look at the hickies on her body!" You quickly tighten your clothes, trying to cover the lingering passion marks, while your body keeps retreating.

"I didn't... I didn't... the werewolf forcefully kissed me..." You speak the truth, but your weak voice goes unheard by others.

"If it weren't for you getting involved with that werewolf, I would never believe that you could still be alive!"

"Why shouldn't the werewolf just eat you?"

"No... it's not like that!" No matter how many times you clarify, no one believes the truth in your words. Their ears and eyes have long been shielded by rumors. The gaze of the others becomes cold and disdainful, and you see those who used to smile at you now turning into cold strangers. Those outrageous rumors are like demons, completely distorting others' perception of you.

Feeling helpless, you want to retreat to the house, but you accidentally fall to the ground. Upon seeing this, the others intensify their insults. The hateful words hang over you like a dark cloud, unable to be dispelled. You desperately seek your mother's help, as she tries to figure out what's going on outside. However, the moment she meets your gaze, she silently retreats back into her room because of fear, leaving you to bear all the heartless attacks on your own.

"Mom...? Mom??" Your hoarse voice breaks hearts, revealing immense disappointment. She hides behind the door, not daring to step out. No matter how others hurt you, you can still endure it, but her avoidance deeply wounds your soul. You lower your head, trying to avoid the mocking and teasing gazes. Your heart trembles in sadness, and tears continue to flow from your eyes.

"Someone saves me..." You close your eyes tightly, and tears stream down your face as your body trembles uncontrollably. You silently pray, hoping that someone will rescue you from despair and illuminate the darkness within your soul.

"Yunho..." Your subconscious mind calls out the name of that man - the werewolf who led you to this situation. Is it your heart's desire or some mysterious force compelling you to call for him? Unable to understand your own mind, all you want now is for someone to save you.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" A man's voice suddenly comes from nearby, and its owner pushes through the crowd. A huge figure stands in front of you. Gradually coming to your senses, you look at the hero before you, filled with hope - the hunter who saved you that night. In that moment of confusion, you desperately wish that the person before you is Yunho.

"Get away from her." He waves his hand to disperse the crowd, and seeing this, the others gradually disperse. "Are you okay? Little red?" Showing the same concern as before. He helps you up, gently patting away the dirt from your body, and gazes at you with care, as if he is your safe haven. Not knowing if your mind is not functioning properly, you unconsciously mistook him for Yunho. Was it the desire that day that made you obsessed? Or do the hickeys on your body have extraordinary magic power, making you think of him all the time?

"No one will hurt you anymore, don't be afraid." He pats your back, soothing you gently. "Why? Don't you think I'm a curse?" "I was the one who saved you back then. I only believe what I see." His words are like a lifeline, saving you from despair. Even though he is not Yunho, whom you obsess over, you still project the image of Yunho onto him.

"I will protect you, don't worry." He tightly holds your hand, warmth and concern shining in his eyes. He gently wipes away the tears at the corner of your eyes and whispers comforting words. His strong arm wraps around your waist, giving you a sense of stability, as if he always appears when you need him, to shelter you from wind and rain.

Time passes, and when you regain your calm, it is already late at night, and the hunter has been by your side all along. You both sit in the park at the edge of the town, gazing at the beautiful moonlight. 

You break the silence, slowly speaking, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiles shyly.

"Don't you mind how others think of you? They might also exclude you."

"I don't mind. I only follow my heart and do what I want, without being influenced by others."

"But..."

"Little red, I believe in you. I believe you're not the witch they speak of." Those four words shake your heart like a powerful injection, as if someone finally understands you.

"Thanks." You don't know how to respond, but you feel a hint of warmth finally reaching your wounded heart. Maybe because you have suffered too much, tears flow from your eyes without your control.

"It will be okay. As long as I am here, you'll be fine." You nod your head and lean it on his shoulder, enjoying this fake tranquility.

Soon, you will discover that this is all a trap.

And neither of you realizes that Yunho is sitting on a nearby tree, observing everything.

—--

In the days to come, he always appeared and comforted you when others bullied you. He was considerate, taking care of all your needs, as if his initial words were not empty promises, but true commitments. People are most vulnerable when they are weak, and inadvertently, you found yourself lost in his "tenderness."

On this day, you decided to secretly sneak into the tavern in the small town to give the hunter a surprise. "I wonder if he'll like it?" You looked at the basket in your hand, filled with the delicacies you made. Sneaking to the tavern near the forest, you hid beside an open window, secretly peeping inside and saw the hunter and his friends drinking.

You contemplated when would be the best time to give him the gift, but then the conversation you heard shattered everything you believed in.

"I told you, women are easy to deceive. As long as you appear by her side at her weakest moment, say a few sweet words, she will willingly fall into your embrace."

"You really have the skills, thinking about fabricating rumors that she is a witch. I almost believed it too."

"Of course~ Why else would she come to me? And thanks to those stupid townspeople."

"Then what is your next move?"

"Her virginity, I bet it hasn't been taken by anyone yet. Maybe…no I must be the first one to take it."

The evil laughter was piercing, and their despicable smiles made you feel nauseous. Your world completely collapsed, and your heart was filled with chaos, frustration, disappointment, and sadness, just like when you were bullied in the past. You thought you had finally found a guiding light, but instead, you caught the mastermind behind this chaos, and even unwittingly fell into his embrace.

You felt ashamed of your own foolishness and naivety, and your eyes were filled with endless disappointment. Your body felt bound by invisible gravity, your shoulders slumped, and the basket in your hand dropped to the ground, scattering the snacks.

"Who?!" The sound of the basket hitting the ground caught everyone's attention, and you woke up from disbelief, quickly running away.

"Little red?" "Fuck." You didn't think much, only relying on instinct and intuition to make a quick decision, running straight into the nearby forest. Your heartbeat accelerated, your breath became rapid, and you desperately crossed your legs, trying to distance yourself from the hunter chasing after you.

"Don't run away~ my baby~" Ah!! this phrase made you feel disgusted to the extreme, and your heart suddenly tightened, feeling a surge in your stomach. "I can see you~." As the chasing sound drew closer, you could only increase your speed, with possible escape routes and call out that name again Yunho, strange but familiar, constantly flashing in your mind.

"Yunho..." You grew anxious, focusing only on running, too afraid to stop. The sound of a gunshot piercing through the sky terrified you, your vision darkened, and your knees gave way, causing you to fall onto the leaf-covered ground.

"My little red~ See? I found you. You can't run away~" He approached step by step, his huge figure blocking the moonlight, casting a dark shadow over you, enveloping you in terror. He had an evil smile on his face, his depraved mind thinking about how to "taste" you. Even though the truth was revealed, he showed no signs of panic, but instead revealed his true nature.

"Why did you come to the tavern? Wouldn't it be better to stay at home obediently?" Unconsciously, you continued to retreat, but the trees behind you blocked your way. You struggled to stand up, but your legs were too weak to support your body due to fear.

"Get off me." Another useless resistance. 

He kneeled beside you, holding a gun against your chin, while his other hand boldly slipped under your skirt, pushing up the hem and caressing your thigh.

You clenched your teeth, tightly held your fist, but had no strength to eliminate the oppressive feeling of fear. Faced with the threat of death, you dared not make a move, only closing your eyes, trying to escape from the reality in front of you. Your body trembled continuously, as if shrouded in an indelible shadow. Your cries sounded so pleasant in the hunter's ears, igniting his most perverted desires.

"Let me eat you out—ahhhh." The sudden scream made you widen your eyes, the oppressive feeling on your body disappeared, replaced by a shadow. A clear and terrifying bloodstain appeared on the hunter's neck, and fresh blood spurted out like a fountain. The screams of pain were choked by the gushing blood, unable to escape. He frantically covered his neck wound, but the blood flowed uncontrollably, like a prisoner breaking free from its cage.

"How dare you touch her?" The hunter lay on the ground making meaningless syllables, struggling with his legs and backing away in fear. "Such a poor thing! Aren't you the one who tried to kill me? What's wrong?" Yunho kicked the hunter's head swiftly and forcefully, blood spurting as he did so. Without much resistance, the hunter fell to the ground in response, the blood stopping flowing with his death.

"Tsk...scum." He kicks the hunter's head in dissatisfaction and crushes it. The sound of the blast makes you shiver in fear, the man in front of you is even more terrifying than the hunter. He turns around, his body stained with red blood, the blood spots on his face adding to his horrific beauty. The moment you meet his eyes, it's as if an electric current passes through your body, making your heart skip a beat.

"How stupid are you to throw yourself at him-" his words were cut short by your sudden embrace. You pressed yourself against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, not letting go of him as if you were afraid he would leave.

"I miss you, Yunho." Yunho couldn't help but freeze at the sound of your words, his eyes turning to surprise at your behaviour.

"Mind your words, Y/N. You better know what you are talking about." His low voice warned you, and at the same time roused your senses. You did follow your heart just now, not worrying about whether or not the man in front of you would kill you outright.

"I know what I am saying...I just miss you." your voice was choked with sobs, tears staining the shirt on his chest.

"I've been praying for you to show up... I don't know why, but I want you." You know all this emotion is undeserved; he killed your grandmother, caused you to be ostracised, and even though it was a hunter's plot, what Yunho did was undeserving of the infatuation you have for him.

Maybe he really did put a drug on you-the poison named soul mates.

"You want me? Huh? You know you're responsible for what you say?" He pushes you away slightly, bending down to maintain the same eye level as you, his eyes full of endless lust. As he keeps hearing you call out to him, the lust in his body can't hold back, and it burns like a flame in every part of his body, driving him to snatch you away from the crowd. 

Whenever your call rings in his ears, he can only run wildly through the forest, trying to replace lust with exhaustion. Deep down he still struggles with the idea that humans are his prey, not his mate, but he can't help but peep at you. And this time, when your life is threatened, he can't stand it any longer.

Once again, his lust flares at your words, his cock hardening and pressing against your lower core. Hands on the back of your neck, he pulls you towards him, and breath sprays onto both of your skin, filling the space with a seductive ambience.

"Please, I want you-" and before you know it, he catches you off guard and kisses you on the lips. The two of you are attracted to each other. A brief moment of shock and tingling makes your hearts beat faster, and then your lips and tongues begin to explore the depths of each other.

The kisses you share are electric and fervent, as if you're both yearning to merge into one another completely. He pulls you in with fervor, teasing your lips with a mix of gentle caresses and fervent bites. Your tongues dance together, exploring and savoring every moment.

Your hands roam freely over each other's bodies, ignited by an insatiable desire to touch every part of each other's skin. You wrap your arms around Yunho's neck, tracing the contours of his backs, and at times, you press so close that you can feel the heat radiating between you.

"Let me fuck you hard." He leaves your lips, gasping for breath, and pins you against a tree trunk. He plunges into your skirt and removes all your lower clothing, his fingertips brushing against your clit, causing you to purr.

"Oh please." "So wet." He licks his fingertip that covers with your juice, pulls down his trousers and then lifts you straight up, his strong arms under your thighs, making your feet dangle. His huge cock goes straight into your cunt, filling you completely.

"Ahhhhh~~~Yunho~~" You've never had sex before and you're so sensitive that the mere moment of his thrusting makes your heart race like crazy and gives you goosebumps. His thrusts are like an infusion of wildness, urgent and ferocious, wanting to explore all of you. Your cunt sucks on his thick cock, giving him endless stimulation.

"You feel so good, oh gosh." The thrusts are rhythmic, each one going deeper and deeper, satisfying your emptiness and making you purr.

"Ahh~ah~~umm~" His lips glide over your neck, playfully nibbling and teasing your skin with tantalizing licks that send shivers down your spine. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, a thrilling contrast that quickens your heartbeat. As his kisses grow more fervent, you instinctively arch your neck, craving deeper connection. His lips dance passionately across your delicate skin, as if he longs to claim every part of you.

Each kiss is a sweet torment, delving into the curve of your neck, igniting a slow, uncontrollable wave of desire within you. He gently sucks on your most sensitive spots, drawing soft whimpers from your lips as you instinctively tilt your head, inviting him to explore further. Seizing the moment, Yunho deepens his kisses, relishing every inch of your skin with an insatiable hunger.

"Sweet af, so prefect."

"Ha~fuck~"

Instead of easing up, his lower body movements are getting more and more exciting. His body becomes more buried in your arms, his cock seems to break through the limitations and pushes deeper. A thrilling rush courses through you, making each breath feel like a rare indulgence. You gasp, reveling in the relentless contact of his body against yours, allowing the heat within you to soar to its peak.

"Yuyu...I ahhh." Your affection for him drives him to the brink of madness as the pace intensifies. The whole forest vibrates with scandalous noises: your back pressed against the rough bark of trees, flesh meeting flesh, and sporadic gasps echoing through the air.

"I have a knot...in my stomach...yuyu." 

"Cum, babe...Cumming mess on my cock." He grabs your arse and controls you to swing back and forth.

"Ah!Ah!Fuck!Alpha!"

The origin of that word escapes you, yet it burst forth from your lips in a moment of pure instinct. Yunho halted, his desire surging to an overwhelming crescendo at the sound of your voice. After a flurry of passionate movements, you both reached the peak of ecstasy together. His essence spilled forth, coating you and trickling down to the floor beneath.

As he gently lowers you back to the ground, he pulls away, leaving both of you breathless. Your faces glow with a rosy hue, smiles of fulfillment dancing on your lips, as if you had just returned from an extraordinary adventure.

"You are mine now, Y/N." 

"Huh?" 

"I knot you. You can't get away from me anymore." 

"Knot me...?" 

"That means you'll always be here for me. Never leav─"

"Over there!!!" A sudden fire lights up the dark sky, and a group of townspeople with weapons are running in your direction. Both of you take a closer look and notice that their figures are getting closer. You grab Yunho's arm in fear, panic raging through your body, images of past oppression flashing through your mind. You don't want to─don't want to be captured by them.

"Oh, there's a lot of customers, huh?"

"You bitch, you're having an affair with a werewolf!"

"I can't believe you killed Mr Hunter!!!" The crowd once again hurled insults at you and your body began to tremble as you felt seriously uncomfortable.

"Yunho...we..." you take his hand and try to pull him away to escape.

"Don't worry." He smiles softly, not panicking as he carries you in his arm, glancing provocatively at the crowd behind you.

"Dare to kill me?" His provocative words enrage the townspeople, who booed, and one of them even shot at you suddenly. Of course, Yunho easily dodges the bullets and leaps into a tree.

"She is mine now." A wicked grin spreads across his face. "And~ I will repay all the injuries she suffered ONE—BY—ONE, just wait." Without waiting for the others to react, he leaps in the other direction with you in his arms and disappears into the darkness of the forest.

Maybe the rumours weren't true after all - the werewolf eventually killed everyone who hurt you. The so-called "Little Red Riding Hood" fairy tale is just an adaptation of a later story, because no one knows the real ending.

[satori-runa]

—A while in eternity

Summary: You reunite with your husband but Sebastian believes it's just another hallucination and gets frustrated.

Tags: Established Relationship, slight angst, fluff, comfort

Words: 2,1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Time lost all meaning in the depths of the Hadal Blacksite. Your diving suit was torn, exposing your skin to the freezing water that clung to you like a second skin. Cuts marred your arms and legs, the saltwater biting into them with every movement. Yet, you kept moving, slinking through the narrow corridors like a desperate creature in search of survival.

Numbness crept through your limbs, and exhaustion clouded your mind. You cursed yourself for ever accepting Urbanshade's deal—it had seemed like the only option, but now it felt like a death sentence you couldn’t escape all over again.

Three days had passed, or so you thought, though time had become a blur of endless, grueling moments. You’d tried to rest once in a side room, but the lurking threats made it impossible to stay put. The Blacksite was alive with danger, and pausing for too long invited it to find you. So, despite the agony coursing through your body and the weight of fatigue dragging at your thoughts, you pushed forward. There was no stopping. Not yet.

You pressed your hand to the cold, damp wall, wincing at the sharp pain in your side. Each step felt heavier than the last, but you knew you had to keep moving. The Blacksite was an unforgiving place—if the environment didn’t kill you, Urbanshade’s forces would.

Every now and then, distant sounds reached your ears—footsteps, the low hum of machinery, the occasional drip of water. Each sound made your pulse race, a reminder of the threats constantly stalking the halls. You replayed Urbanshade’s offer in your mind, the deal you’d made to come here. It had seemed like a lifeline at the time, a desperate chance for survival. Now, it felt like a trap.

But you couldn’t give up. Not when you were this close.

As you rounded a corner, your blurred vision caught a flicker of movement. You froze, holding your breath as you tried to make out if it was a threat. The movement was subtle—a faint shift in the shadows ahead. Then, a soft metallic clink reached your ears, and your tense muscles relaxed slightly. It wasn’t an enemy, not in the way you’d feared.

A vent cover had come loose, hanging open. Curiosity sparked through your tired mind. There was a chance it could lead somewhere—a way out, or at least a temporary refuge. You approached cautiously, sliding the vent door fully open. The passage beyond was tight, but manageable. Crawling through, you ignored the sharp edges of the metal as they scraped against your already battered suit.

After what felt like an eternity, you emerged into a small room. Your knees buckled as you dropped down, landing hard on the floor. Blinking against the dim light, you took in your surroundings. It was a storage room, but something about it felt different. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with supplies and broken devices. It looked more like a makeshift shop than a mere storage space, hidden away in the labyrinth of the Blacksite.

You moved cautiously, scanning the room for danger. Then you saw him.

For a moment, you thought exhaustion had finally driven you mad. But as your eyes locked onto the tall fish-like figure hunched over a workbench, everything else faded away. His familiar dark hair fell over his face, obscuring his features, but there was no mistaking him. Despite all the…new…parts, you could still recognize the man you loved the most.

Sebastian. Your husband.

Your breath caught in your throat, disbelief hitting you like a wave. You had grieved him, convinced he was dead, killed by human hands after his arrest. But here he was—alive.

You took a shaky step forward, your voice barely a whisper. “Sebastian?”

He froze, his body going rigid at the sound of your voice. Slowly, he turned to face you, but his expression wasn’t one of relief or joy. His now fluorescent eyes, glowing and filled with exhaustion, were twisted with irritation and anger. There was no recognition in them—only frustration.

“Not again,” he growled, his voice rough. He snatched a small tool from the table and hurled it toward you. You flinched as it clattered against the wall behind you, missing you by inches. “You’re not real! I know you’re not real!” His voice cracked with desperation, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists. “You think I’ll fall for it again? You think I don’t know how this place messes with my head?”

He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his gaze darting wildly between you and the corners of the room, as if expecting the illusion to unravel at any moment. “It’s not you.” He cried, his voice raw. “You’re not here. You’re gone. I won’t fall for it.”

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him—this broken, haunted version of the man you loved. He had been alone here for too long, tormented by the isolation and the tricks his mind played on him. You wanted to reach out, to tell him it was really you, but words felt useless in the face of his anguish.

Instead, you stepped forward, wordlessly closing the distance between you. He barely noticed, lost in his own torment. When you reached him, you gently placed your hand on his arm.

Sebastian flinched at the touch, his breath catching. His wide, frantic eyes snapped to where your hand rested on him, disbelief flooding his expression. For a moment, he just stared, frozen. Then, slowly, something shifted in his gaze. The wild panic faded, replaced by confusion and, finally, recognition.

“It’s… really you?” His voice was small, trembling with the weight of his uncertainty. His fingers hovered near your hand, too afraid to believe.

You nodded, tears filling your eyes as you finally found your voice. “I’m here, Sebastian. I’m real.”

The fight drained from him all at once. His form buckled, and he collapsed against you, his head falling to your chest as his hands clung to you as if you might disappear. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, the dam of his loneliness and grief finally breaking.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, his voice breaking with every word. “I thought I was alone.”

You held him tightly, your own tears falling as you whispered, “You’re not alone anymore.”

Your arms wrapped instinctively around Sebastian as he collapsed into you, his body trembling with the force of everything he'd kept locked away. His breath hitched against your chest, ragged and broken, and you felt his tears soaking into your torn suit.

For a moment, you just held him, your fingers gently threading through his hair, your own tears slipping silently down your cheeks. The realization that he was here—alive, breathing, and real—settled in like a shock to your system. You had lost hope, convinced that the cruel people had taken him from you forever. But here he was, the warmth of him in your arms dispelling the icy grip of the Blacksite’s horrors.

Sebastian’s grip on you tightened as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. “I tried,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I tried to find you, but I thought... I thought it was over. I thought I lost you for good.”

You held him tighter, your own voice still too shaky to form words. You had your questions—how he survived, what happened—but none of it mattered in this moment. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that he was here. Alive.

“It’s me,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, Sebastian. I’m right here.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his tear-filled eyes searching your face as if still needing to convince himself that you were real. His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, tentative touch. “I thought I was going insane.” He muttered, his voice wavering. “I thought it was just another hallucination.”

You shook your head slowly, pressing his hand closer to your face. “It’s not. I’m real, Sebastian. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since you’d seen him, a flicker of hope passed through his exhausted features. His hand cupped your face fully now, his thumb brushing away a tear. He swallowed hard, trying to gather himself, but the emotion was too raw, too overwhelming.

“I don’t know how you found me,” he whispered, “but I’m so damn glad you did.”

Your arms wrapped instinctively around Sebastian as he collapsed into you, his body trembling with the force of everything he'd kept locked away. His breath hitched against your chest, ragged and broken, and you felt his tears soaking into your torn suit.

For a moment, you just held him, your fingers gently threading through his hair, your own tears slipping silently down your cheeks. The realization that he was here—alive, breathing, and real—settled in like a shock to your system. You had lost hope, convinced that the cruel waters had taken him from you forever. But here he was, the warmth of him in your arms dispelling the icy grip of the Blacksite’s horrors.

Sebastian’s grip on you tightened as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. “I tried,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I tried to find you, but I thought... I thought it was over. I thought I lost you for good.”

You held him tighter, your own voice still too shaky to form words. You had your questions—how he survived, what happened—but none of it mattered in this moment. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that he was here. Alive.

“It’s me,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, Sebastian. I’m right here.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his tear-filled eyes searching your face as if still needing to convince himself that you were real. His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, tentative touch. “I thought I was going insane,” he muttered, his voice wavering. “I thought it was just another hallucination.”

You shook your head slowly, pressing his hand closer to your face. “It’s not. I’m real, Sebastian. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since you’d seen him, a flicker of hope passed through his exhausted features. His hand cupped your face fully now, his thumb brushing away a tear. He swallowed hard, trying to gather himself, but the emotion was too raw, too overwhelming.

“I don’t know how you found me,” he whispered, “but I’m so damn glad you did.”

You didn’t respond with words, instead, you pulled him closer again, feeling the warmth of his larger body against yours. You could sense the weight of his fear and loneliness beginning to lift, replaced by a sense of safety in your embrace.

As you sank to the ground, you drew him down with you, resting against the cool wall of the small storage room. His head nestled against your shoulder, and you wrapped your arms tightly around him, wanting to shield him from everything that had tormented him.

“I missed this.” He murmured, his voice muffled against your fabric. “I missed you... so much.” He began to cry again, soft sobs that reverberated in your chest, each one a release of all the anguish he had endured. “I missed your touch, your smile... everything.”

You stroked his hair gently, your heart aching at his words. “I missed you too, Sebastian. I never stopped thinking about you. I was lost without you.”

He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, his tear-streaked face showing a mixture of pain and longing. “I thought I’d never feel your warmth again. I thought... I thought I’d have to go through this alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore.” You promised, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m here, and I won’t let you go again. We’ll figure this out together.”

Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if committing your presence to memory. “Just hold me a little longer.” He whispered, his voice trembling.

You nodded, adjusting your hold so he could nestle closer. As you both sat there in the dim light of the storage room, the horrors of the Blacksite faded away, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence. The outside world ceased to exist, and for that moment, all that mattered was the gentle rise and fall of each other’s breaths.

“I’ll always be here,” you promised, wrapping him in your arms as you both found comfort in each other. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

Sebastian’s grip on you tightened, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. It was a soothing melody, one that brought you both peace amid the chaos of the Blacksite. As you held him close, you knew that no matter what lay ahead, you had each other—and that was enough.

[igbylicious]

bound [hongjoong x seonghwa]

pairing: necromancer hongjoong x revenant seonghwa

rating: 18+

genre: darkfic, smut, angst, fantasy

summary: Seonghwa will die for Hongjoong, over and over again, and he pretends it means something every time his master brings him back.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: dom Hongjoong, sub Seonghwa, oral; 69, face-fucking, rough sex, choking on cock, cum swallowing, temperature play (sortof), toxic relationship; Seonghwa’s soul is contractually bound to Hongjoong, violence, blood & injury, resurrection; Seonghwa dies but he gets better

a/n: idk if i’d call these doves dead but they def ain’t the pinnacle of health ^^;; pls mind the warnings!

Seonghwa might die for Hongjoong today.

It won’t be the first time he has died, and it won’t be the last. He can live with that.

There are a lot of things that Seonghwa can live with, or so he’s discovered ever since he signed this contract. He can live with blood on his hands; he can live with the uncertainty of whether that blood is innocent.

He only cannot live without Hongjoong.

“Well done, pet.” His master’s voice is delicate today, a soft purr that never fails to make him shiver. Hongjoong reaches a cool hand to cup Seonghwa’s blood-splattered cheek, tainting his fingers with spilled life. “Hold the rest of them off while I finish the ritual, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“My brave obedient wardog,” Hongjoong either praises or mocks him — Seonghwa is never sure — and he presses his cold lips against Seonghwa’s warm mouth in a shallow kiss. Sometimes Seonghwa wonders which one of them is more alive.

Hongjoong’s intoxicating scent wraps around Seonghwa and he bites back a whine as a clever tongue briefly teases against his lips; but Hongjoong is gone before Seonghwa can lose himself in the kiss. His master turns away with a billow of his heavy fur cloak, snow crunching underneath his leather boots as he makes his way to the ancient stone altar site.

The fresh body of a careless scout lies on the dais, limbs contorted and flesh ripped. Dragged here after Seonghwa had disposed of him; an easy lonely target who wandered too deeply into Hongjoong’s net. The scout’s lack of caution volunteered him for one of Hongjoong’s aberrant ceremonials, ensuring he will never report back to the hunting party that follows behind.

Hongjoong bends down next to the body and runs a gentle hand across the torn skin, and jealousy pierces through Seonghwa like a fiery hot blade. He tries to shake it off, reminding himself there is no cause for envy. His master holds no contract with this miserable scout; no soul will be pulled from the wretched remains that Hongjoong is about to lay his hands on. This unremarkable corpse is nothing like Seonghwa.

No one else is like him.

He is special.

He does not know why Hongjoong choose Seonghwa’s body and soul to bind with his. Seonghwa is a gifted warrior, but so are countless others. He was desperate when Hongjoong found him — but who isn’t, in this war-stricken land? Out of an overabundance of choice, Hongjoong still picked him.

That means something. It has to.

Otherwise, none of this means anything at all.

Seonghwa focuses himself back to his task, extending out his awareness to the forest around him. Heightened senses are one of the benefits to his contract; his revived body finely attuned to the world. Death has brought him closer to life, so Hongjoong likes to say.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and makes note of every sign of life in this otherwise dead forest. Ever since his master made this place his ritual site, wildlife has long fled the area. Driven off by the slow petrification of thickets and flowers, drained of their vitality. And as Hongjoong’s circle of corruption expands, any living thing here is threatened by the same fate.

Except for Seonghwa. Seonghwa thrives.

Just as his master feeds on life, Seonghwa feeds on him; and Hongjoong always provides him a rich meal.

It does not take long for the hunting party to skitter into the edges of Seonghwa’s eyesight, though he sensed their imminent arrival long ago. They have not split up, tactics abandoned by the blind faith in their superior numbers. It is their first mistake.

They close in on Seonghwa, believing him to be the true threat to eliminate; their second mistake.

Hongjoong is the true threat, and Seonghwa is nothing but his fierce guard dog.

He protects his master not only with his body and sword, but by concealing him in the shadows of Seonghwa’s reputation. He covets anonymity, and so Seonghwa eagerly feeds into the horrid myths of a black-clad warrior of otherworldly beauty. By now, there is not a single soul in the land who has not heard of the infamous Black Repose.

Even his attire is deliberately imposing. Black leather armour covers him from neck to toe, stitched with intricate golden patterns that flatter the elegant lines of his body. His head is left unprotected; exposing the coldness of his dark eyes to his enemies. The delicate, icy beauty of his face is framed by long strands of black hair, slightly curled by melted snow.

He holds up a heavy long sword in his hand, the double-edged blade resting across the back of his shoulders as he waits for his prey to trap itself. Darkened steel flashes in muted sunlight as he slowly moves into position, putting himself between Hongjoong and the soon-to-be-dead.

The first hunter to gather his courage goes for Seonghwa’s unhelmeted head. They always do.

It never works.

Blade clangs against blade in the petrified forest, and Seonghwa is unleashed. He deflects the blow easily, his face contorting in fury as he lets out a rage-filled shout and goes on the offence. Soon the clearing is filled with violent chaos, with Seonghwa at its centre. Steel connects with steel over and over again — until steel finally connects with flesh.

His blade bites deep into muscle, hot sprays of vivid red smeared across the snow-covered grounds. Every move is graceful, filled with purpose, a dance of macabre beauty that Seonghwa performs at his master’s every whim. And Hongjoong doesn't even spare his performance a glance.

No, he is fully immersed in his ritual, nearing completion. The air thickens with rot, permeating Seonghwa’s senses. He can taste the decay on his tongue, a thin film of something cloying gathering on his skin.

Soon there is only a trio of hunters left, confused and shaken by the curdled air around them. One of them finally notices the cloaked figure on the stone dais, and Seonghwa sees the moment of realisation on her face; she has recognised the true source at the heart of this corruption.

She charges forward at the altar.

Seonghwa has no choice but to admire her commitment, as desperate and foolhardy as it is. But fools can make for the most dangerous of opponents; and this is one of them.

The hunter moves so suddenly that Seonghwa is forced to wildly fling himself between his master and the threat, skewering himself on the incoming blade. Adrenaline overrides pain, but Seonghwa knows the wound is deep.

Ah. So he will die for Hongjoong today.

Seonghwa smiles faintly, even as every breath draws blood into his lungs. Imminent death is no excuse to shirk his duties.

The hunter crumples to the ground with her sword still sunken into Seonghwa’s chest. The remaining two watch in horror how Seonghwa still stands, seemingly unencumbered by the grievous injury. That horror is their downfall, holding them frozen in place as Seonghwa’s blade finds their necks in one last brutal swing.

Silence falls in the clearing, only broken by Seonghwa’s heavy, gurgled breaths; and the skittering of bones. Hongjoong’s new servant has returned to this earth in a soulless mockery of life.

Faintly, Seonghwa hears his master call out to him.

There is concern in Hongjoong’s voice, or so Seonghwa likes to imagine. In the moments before death, he always allows himself these sweet indulgences.

Seonghwa collapses as the light leaves his eyes; but it will be back. His master will make sure of that.

It starts again with a heartbeat.

Sluggishly, the heart pushes at the blood that has accumulated at the bottom of this body, forcing a current to flow through drained arteries and veins once more. Function returns to the body’s organs; to its undamaged ones, at least.

An impulse sparks through a vast network of nerves, shooting all the way up the spine into the brain. It has one clear message for the newly reborn cognition inside this body’s skull:

Pain.

Muscles flex to open this body’s mouth. The mouth screams.

The pain is excruciating, it is all-encompassing. Anything in this body that is capable of sensation, senses nothing but agony. Torn flesh, punctured lung, shredded skin, all freshly knit together but still filled with memories of past injury. Even the unmarred pieces of this body are screaming in pain, death still clinging onto its meat with clawed fingers. Nothing else exists, endless and endless and endless—

— until it is endless no more. Even the infinite cannot survive superior power.

The pain is not gone, not entirely, but it has receded just enough for the brain to remember its body’s name. Seonghwa.

The entity that knows himself as Seonghwa realises he is naked and cold, and his muscles have regained enough strength for him to shiver uncontrollably. His skin’s nerve-endings send a cacophony of information to his brain, which he slowly untangles to know he is laid down on rough stonework, scraping against him with every twitch of his body.

A pair of familiar hands runs over his skin, a distant voice whispers by his ear.

To translate sounds into language into meaning is still a challenge for his freshly revived brain, but Seonghwa knows the voice belongs to Hongjoong, and that is enough. Seonghwa’s vocal cords vibrate when a jumbled noise escapes past his lips, and he prays that he just begged “please”.

He aches for Hongjoong; the pain of his need for his master is just as agonising as his resurrection, if not moreso. His soul is unmoored on this mortal plane, threatening to drift away, and only Hongjoong can anchor him.

Bleary vision returns to Seonghwa’s eyes. The forest is dark around him, and Hongjoong’s cloaked figure is nothing but a distorted shadow above him. Seonghwa whimpers, not understanding why the blurred image does not clear up — until his master reaches to wipe away his salty tears.

Hongjoong’s fingers are wet, smearing blackened blood across Seonghwa’s cheeks. Its metallic, festeringly sweet scent invades Seonghwa’s nose, but underneath it all he can still smell Hongjoong. His scent like a frigid winter’s morning, all sharp ice and no gentle snow.

His master’s delicate hands on his body go down, down, down, until they find a part of Seonghwa where Hongjoong’s touch causes him to shudder and arch. Pleasure. That's the sensation that throbs through him like a fever, heat flooding his newly alive body. His heart beats faster as it sends blood down to where Hongjoong’s hands stroke and tease. Sharp breaths fill Seonghwa’s aching lungs with oxygen, the air returning out his throat as even sharper whines.

“Are you back, my pet? You performed your duties so admirably today…” Hongjoong coos, his weight settling on Seonghwa’s thighs. As he shifts, his heavy fur cloak falls away to reveal a naked, lean body. He is unbothered by the night’s cold, already hard for his loyal servant. “Allow me to reward your devotion.”

The crescent moon provides little in the way of light, but Seonghwa’s enhanced vision allows him clear sight of the faint glisten gathered on the tip of Hongjoong’s cock. This is why Seonghwa’s master never mocks him for dying, never treats it as a failure in the line of duty. It excites him too much.

“Master…” Seonghwa rasps, feebly reaching for Hongjoong. He can barely lift his arms; his muscles are still weakened from his temporary demise, leaving him entirely to Hongjoong’s mercy. (Then again… isn’t Seonghwa always at his master’s mercy, even at his full strength?)

Dark satisfaction flashes across Hongjoong’s face at his pet’s desperation, knowing exactly what Seonghwa craves. Hongjoong leisurely palms at his cock, smearing his fingers with the clear fluids of his arousal. He then laughs lowly at how Seonghwa’s face contorts in pathetic pleasure as Hongjoong feeds it to him. Seonghwa’s long tongue swirls around cold fingers, moaning at the salty flavour. He always wants the first thing he tastes to be Hongjoong. He needs it to be Hongjoong.

“Such a diligent servant I found,” Hongjoong says with a slow, wicked smile, delighting in Seonghwa’s whine when he pulls his hand away. “So faithful, so greedy. You want more, my loyal soul?”

yes yes yes—

Seonghwa’s voice cracks as he tries to answer, his airways scratchy and raw from his earlier screams.

Hongjoong laughs again — fondly, Seonghwa convinces himself. He is allowed these sweet indulgences in the moments after death. A wired excitement thrums through him while Hongjoong repositions himself, caging Seonghwa’s head between his knees. Seonghwa eagerly cranes his neck to run his tongue over the underside of Hongjoong’s cock, unwilling to wait even a moment longer before he attends to his master.

Hongjoong hisses, his thighs flexing above Seonghwa’s face. “Patience, pet. Find your strength first,” he chides, bracing a hand on Seonghwa’s hip to lean over and wrap his lips around Seonghwa’s flushed cockhead. Seonghwa groans at the wet heat of him; the inside of Hongjoong’s mouth is one of the few parts of him that runs hot. Even his lips are cold, a constant contrast to Seonghwa’s senses as Hongjoong engulfs him, sliding up and down at a torturously slow pace that has Seonghwa writhing underneath him. He is always sensitive, but even moreso at these times, like death has torn the memory of pleasure out of his body, every experience new like it's his first time being ravished by the skillful hands and mouth of his master.

Even in his weakened state, Seonghwa can't stand it anymore; can't stand being the one attended to when it should be him, him on his knees before Hongjoong in ardent worship. He tips his head up to lap at a throbbing vein that runs along the length of Hongjoong’s cock, then takes him inside.

Seonghwa’s worship is clumsy, his muscles stiff from revivification, but he is devout, eager, and Hongjoong accepts what is offered with a zealous groan. He uses Seonghwa’s mouth with deep rolls of his hips, his moans rippling through Seonghwa’s own cock — then a cruel chuckle when Seonghwa gags on him. Hongjoong bucks again, forcing himself deeper down Seonghwa’s throat, like he does not care if his devoted servant suffocates right on his altar. Seonghwa does not care either. He would die for Hongjoong right here all over again — just as long as Hongjoong comes on his tongue first.

Pleasure crackles through Seonghwa’s veins, his eyes tearing up as Hongjoong overwhelms him, his cold lips dragging over his length only to be replaced by his hot tongue, deftly suckling and licking at him. Throbbing arousal floods Seonghwa’s senses, every emotion heightened by the sheer force of physical ecstasy brought to him by his master.

Seonghwa can feel it, how his release pulses closer and closer. How all physical and emotional sensation blends together into a volatile melting pot, the strong catalyst needed to fully align his body and soul after their brutal separation; the final stage to his resurrection to prevent future deterioration. Seonghwa chases it mindlessly, light-headed from Hongjoong fucking his throat, his cheeks puffy and flushed and wet from tears.

He whimpers when Hongjoong’s nails scratch across his thigh, then down to graze over Seonghwa’s ass, two fingers rubbing around the sensitive rim of his tight hole. Drool leaks from his mouth, choking out a moan when Hongjoong ruthlessly pushes him to the very edge of his limits with wet, noisy slurps. He squeezes a hand around the base of Seonghwa’s cock, tongue swirling around the tip as Hongjoong presses his hips down, forcing Seonghwa to take him and keep taking him, staying deep as Seonghwa garbles around his cock, throat spasming.

Oxygen becomes harder and harder to come by as Seonghwa’s nose clogs up, muffled sobs barely able to escape his mouth. His hips buck uselessly when Hongjoong’s lips disappear from his aching cock, but they are replaced by a cool palm that burns against his feverish skin, and Hongjoong brutally jerks him off while sucking at his testes.

The rough edge is just what Seonghwa needs, the soft warmth spreading through his core turning sharp. He cries out, his nails digging into Hongjoong’s ass and hips as he convulses, light-headed with pure pleasure. He uselessly tries to gasp for breath with strangled whimpers, electricity shooting through his nervous system as ropes of white spill over Hongjoong’s fingers and onto Seonghwa’s stomach, swiftly cooling in the night air. Static rings through his ears, exhaustion setting in as the dizzying euphoria clears up — yet Seonghwa also feels stronger, more complete, and while the ritual might be finished, Seonghwa is not done yet

He hollows his cheeks and curls his tongue around Hongjoong’s throbbing cock, warmed by the wet heat of Seonghwa’s ardent mouth, who groans when his master’s hips move again. Hongjoong presses his hands against Seonghwa’s chest as he grinds down, thighs flexing.

Seonghwa’s eyes roll to the back of his head, darkness flickering across his vision as consciousness threatens to fade. But he hangs on, desperate to please. Crude wet squelches fill his ears, almost overpowering the sound of Hongjoong’s pitched whines. Seonghwa moans in satisfaction when Hongjoong shudders violently, the taste of him bursting on Seonghwa’s tongue, down his throat as he greedily swallows down his master’s essence.

Cold air sears through Seonghwa’s airways and fills his no longer aching lungs when Hongjoong pulls away, slumping down next to his faithful pet. He runs frigid fingers over Seonghwa’s flushed, heaving chest, grinning down on him.

“So tell me, Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his face split apart by a wide, dangerous grin, a wild glint in his dark eyes, “do you wish to renew our contract?”

The question always feels like an insult, even if Seonghwa knows it is necessary. But Hongjoong’s grin proves he also knows how rhetorical his query is, and that soothes the sting to Seonghwa’s pride in his loyalty. Of course he will.

Seonghwa had been dying and desperate the first time he committed to this agreement, left little choice unless he could make peace with his life’s end. Now he is neither desperate nor dying — yet he still has only one path forward. He doesn’t know what Hongjoong will do if he declines; he never asked. It does not matter. There is no choice; there is only Hongjoong. Seonghwa knows his place; at his master’s feet.

He wipes his ruddy cheeks, blinks the lingering tears from his eyes. “I renew our contract,” he says, steadily meeting Hongjoong’s sharp gaze as he extends his hand.

Hongjoong shakes it, his icy hand sending a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. There is a strange sharpness to his cold touch, like tiny icicles piercing Seonghwa’s palm. Seonghwa swears he can feel blood being drawn, but his skin comes away unmarred.

And just like that, it is done. The verbal contract has been signed.

The first time, Seonghwa had waited for something grand to happen; for Hongjoong’s dark magic to coil around them in swirling black fog, swallowing them both up and spit them back out as a bound entity. It is nothing like that; no impressive displays of power, only a brief whiff of an acrid smell in the air that leaves Seonghwa dizzy and nauseous until it fades, making way for an odd, fuzzy euphoria.

Hongjoong stands up and picks up his fur cloak, putting it back on with a dramatic flourish. He always did enjoy a touch of theatrical flair. “Come, my faithful guard dog, we have much else to do,” he commands, and his voice cuts through Seonghwa’s disorientation like a siren song.

Seonghwa’s head clears and he crawls back onto his feet, gathering the pieces of his black armour that are intact enough to wear. His soul brims with renewed purpose, knowing his place in life — and death. He could have said no to the contract. Hongjoong is many things, not all pleasant, but ‘true to his word’ is one of them. He would have released Seonghwa. Perhaps he would even let him live out this final life in peace as repayment for his service.

But what kind of life would that be?

Hongjoong does not need Seonghwa. For him, a thousand others. But out of all those thousands, Hongjoong still chose him. That means something. It has to.

[talia-black]

Mydei x Childe!Reader

The shockingly lack of Mydei x reader so far has driven me from my writing hibernation.

Mostly SFW but there is descriptions of kissing and mentions of a night together.

The vision is if Mydei has a partner like Childe from Genshin Impact (battle-hungry, reckless, but fiercely loyal). Just think this meme.

To start, Mydei is the epitome of a grumpy cat. He never smiles, fiercely rejects any kind of affection from anyone, and heaven forbid you try to touch him. You might lost a limb or two

However, like all grumpy cats, Mydei has a human. One human who he will occasionally tolerate, and if the stars align, allow affection to be administered onto him. He still never smiles though (not where anyone could see him at least)

Now, many would think this human would be some kind of bubbly, innocent presence that gives Mydei refuge from all of the blood and violence in his life. I disagree.

Mydei’s partner lives by motto “Life is too short to not have a good time”

They were the first at the scene of any battle, first to draw blood, and last to leave the battlefield. Many of the soldiers gave them a wide berth, as often they cannot see the difference between ally and enemy when the heat of war distorts their vision.

Even outside of battle they were erratic. Bouncing from one foot to the other at all times, throwing knife after knife into the walls of the Holy City as if they were aiming for someone’s heart, and spoke of killing and conflict like a reputation dripping in enough blood to fill the River Styx was something to aspire to acquire.

The rest of the Chrysos Heirs (mainly Phainon) were shocked to see such a hyperactive and perpetually maniac person always trailing behind the stoic and reserved Mydei.

But any doubts were silenced when they saw them tear one of Nikador’s soldiers in half with their bare hands.

They were another resident of Castrum Kremnos, and while they might not be a Chrysos Heir, they bear their own unique curse. Priests had named them the “Blood-Drunk Sword” at their birth, claiming they were cursed by Nikador to suffer endless bloodlust and would never be able to find satisfaction outside of the battlefield. They could not feel physical pain, and rarely could they focus on anything other than the next fight.

Even still, they still supported Mydei’s campaign against his father. This lead to the two growing close as they were the only one of his soldiers brave enough to challenge him to a spar.

These spars would become the foundation of their relationship. Very few people in Amphoreus could keep up with Mydei, and fewer still were tolerable enough to be worth asking. But secretly Mydei relished in how fun they were fight. They were always trying new weapons, new tactics, even choosing to fight him at a disadvantage simple because they enjoyed the thrill.

While Mydei never officially gave them any kind of official title, his soldiers consider them his second-in command. Any command from them might as well have come from Mydei himself, and should be treated with the same level of respect

They were also quick to rope Mydei into competitions with Phainon, seeing who could behead the most enemies, find the best weapon on the battlefield, etc.

But unlike Phainon, Mydei got a certain thrill out of seeing them soaked in blood. Perched on top of a literal mountain of corpses with an unabashed, feral look in their eyes.

After this happens a couple of times, and Mydei’s desire overrides his sense of propriety and respect for his comrade, he kisses them the second the battle is over.

High on blood and adrenaline, he kissed them with the same force he swung his blade. And just as his partner always met him blow for blow when sparring, they were no less shy in this regard. Nails dug into fresh wounds, teeth tore into lips, and half-snarls were common when either participant had to break their connection for air. An observer might think the two warriors were trying to tear each other apart.

That observer was Phainon. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye for a month after they scared his psyche.

After that violent first kiss (and a night where both parties woke up with twice the amount of injuries as they had the night previously) their relationship settled. For the most part.

Mydei’s lap was now their personal chair. If Mydei was sitting, they were lounging on his thick thighs. Most likely being fed grapes and pomegranate juice by his hand.

Mydei also always had a hand somewhere on them. He now consider their waist and lower back his personal property. Anyone who touched them who wasn’t a healer, even by accident, would be subjected to a death glare that would make even Nikador wither away. And Titans protect anyone that would try and flirt with them. They might find their skulls repurposed as his juice chalice.

As for his partner, they find themselves surprisingly content with the arrangement. For the first time in their lives, they’ve found something that can quiet the raging urge to kill that permeated every waking moment they weren’t fighting.

Mydei’s strong hold stilled their mind, leaving unparalleled content whenever they were cuddled together in their bed or standing side-by-side on the battlefield.

Because they still did that. They had long since vowed to aid Mydei on whatever conquest he pursued, and carving through foe after foe still quenched a sweet thirst that Mydei only slackened.

Still, surely when the Flame-Chase journey came to an end and Mydei was released from his agreement with the other Chrysos Heirs, they would be able to find some kind of peace. Right?

[hotmentransformed]

Team USA

The city of Paris was alive with excitement as the 2024 Olympics drew people from around the globe. Among the crowds of tourists and athletes was Jesse, an American traveler with a love for adventure. Fascinated by the event and the athleticism on display, he felt an irresistible urge to experience the Olympics from a closer perspective. He had always been a rather meek man but had envied the raw athleticism and power that these athletes embodied. After saving up since the previous games, he was finally able to afford a trip to Europe for these games. Driven by curiosity and a sense of mischief, Jesse decided to sneak into the Olympic Village, to get close to the Olympians he had admired for so long.

Knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be in proximity to his idols,  he had to make sure he made the most of this trip and didn’t fuck it up. Despite his meek statute, his confident demeanor and clever deception got him beyond the security, and he managed to enter the facility, blending into the vibrant atmosphere of the athletes' quarters. He wandered the village, soaking in the energy and marveling at the athletes he admired from afar.

Word of his entry got around, and soon guards were searching for him. As he heard French men shouting down the hall, he knew he needed to hide. Jesse twisted the nearest doorknob to him, and surprisingly, it was unlocked. Pushing it open, he threw his body inside and closed and locked the door behind him. Inside, the lights were dim. Now that he was safe from the guards, the adrenaline he had been riding was starting to wear off, and fatigue began to set in. Looking around the space, he noticed that the room was incredibly simple, with two beds with Paris 2024 sheets, a fan, and a clothes rack.

Exhausted from his adventure and his narrow escape, Jesse lay down on one of the beds to rest and regain his energy before making his daring escape. But the makeshift mattress was surprisingly comfortable, and even though the guards were still probably looking for him, Jesse quickly lulled into a deep sleep. 

As Jesse slept, a peculiar warmth spread through his body, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. His limbs felt heavy yet relaxed as if they were being gently molded by an unseen force. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. The sensation was soothing, yet beneath it was an underlying intensity, a pulsing energy that coursed through his veins.

His body began to change. His hands, once ordinary, grew larger and more defined, the fingers thickening with callouses. His arms swelled with muscle, biceps and triceps becoming well-defined, veins standing out against the skin. His shoulders widened, giving him a more powerful and athletic build.

His chest expanded, pectoral muscles firming up as his heart beat stronger and more steadily. His abdominal muscles tightened, forming a sculpted six-pack that spoke of strength and endurance. His legs, too, transformed, becoming muscular and sinewy, the calves and thighs bulging with new power.

Jesse’s jawline became more pronounced, his cheekbones higher, giving his face a more chiseled appearance. His skin, once pale from his travels, took on a healthier glow as if he had spent years training outdoors under the sun. 

When Jesse awoke, he felt a strange surge of energy and vitality coursing through him. He sat up, blinking in the morning light, and noticed the gymnast's uniform hanging neatly on a chair, adorned with the letters USA. Confused but intrigued, he stood and moved towards the mirror.

The reflection that greeted him was stunning. Jesse stared, eyes wide, at the image of a powerful, athletic man. The person in the mirror was undeniably him, yet also a stranger. His body, now sculpted and strong, moved with a grace and ease that felt both new and familiar.

As Jesse struggled to understand what had happened, the door opened, and a young man in a Team USA singlet walked in. "Hey Brody, you're up!” the man said casually as if everything was perfectly normal.

Brody blinked, trying to reconcile the confusion in his mind with the reality before him. “You’re running late! The competition starts soon… you’d better get dressed!”

 "Yeah, okay,” Brody with an unfamiliar deep voice.

The other man closed the door and Brody picked up the singlet. He pulled his now-massive thighs through the spandex and pulled the outfit over his muscular body. His bulky arms flexed as he held the singlet open for the rest of his body to enter. The spandex hugged his abdomen, displaying his six-pack through the fabric, and his pecs pushed against the top and he held the shoulder straps. 

He let go of the straps of the singlet that he had been holding. With a snap onto his broad shoulders, he remembered everything: growing up in Tennessee, waking up early every morning to work out and train, enrolling at Stanford to compete, and qualifying for the Olympics.

Now knowing that he earned his right to be here, Brody strutted out of his room with a newfound bravado and through the Olympic village towards the shuttle to the gymnastics complex. Within the hour, he was there, on the mats warming up to compete for the gold in front of the world.

He was representing the best country in the world. He was the best of the best, and he was going to give the world one hell of a show.

[soldiersareyourprotectors]

The track was eerily quiet in the early morning hours before the crowd would fill the stands and the engines would roar. Matt, a seasoned racer known for his calm demeanor and unparalleled focus, was alone in the dimly lit garage. Dressed in his iconic red and black racing gear, he was meditating, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Today was the last race of the season, and he needed to be in the right mindset to secure the championship.

Matt's ritual was suddenly interrupted by a sound behind him. He opened his eyes to see a young man, probably in his early twenties, standing nervously by the door.

The fan's eyes were wide with excitement and a hint of something else, something desperate.

"Hey, Matt, right?" the fan began, his voice shaky. "I know this is a long shot, but I had to ask... Can I have your racing gear after the race? It's the last race of the season, and it would mean the world to me."

Matt sighed, trying to hide his irritation. This wasn't the first time a fan had made such a request, but he had never been approached in such a secluded and private moment. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Matt replied calmly. "This gear is special to me, and I need it for my races."

The fan's expression changed, his face twisting with anger and disappointment.

"You don't understand!" he shouted, stepping closer. "I've followed you for years!

This is all I ask for!"

Matt stood up, trying to diffuse the situation. "Look, I appreciate your support, but I can't just give away my gear. Please, you need to leave now."

The fan's eyes darted around, landing on Matt's helmet resting on a nearby table.

In a sudden, irrational move, the fan lunged for the helmet and swung it at Matt.

The helmet connected with a sickening thud, and Matt crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The fan stared in horror at what he had done. His breath came in ragged gasps as he dropped the helmet. Panic set in, but then something else, a strange arousal and thrill at the sight of Matt's motionless body in the tight racing gear. Almost on autopilot, the fan began to feel Matt's body through the suit, the leather smooth under his fingertips.

As the fan stood over Matt's unconscious body, his hands trembled. He knelt down, his breath shallow and rapid, and began by undoing the boots. The red and black leather racing boots, scuffed from the last race, slipped off Matt's feet with a bit of effort. The fan's hands roamed over Matt's legs, feeling the firmness of the calf muscles that had powered through so many laps.

Next, he reached for the zipper at the front of Matt's racing suit. The fan's fingers fumbled for a moment before finding the metal tab and slowly pulling it down. The suit peeled away from Matt's broad shoulders, revealing the tight, moisture-wicking underwear beneath. The fan's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear, arousal, and disbelief at what he was doing.

As the suit continued to come off, the fan marveled at the fit and the material, the way it clung to Matt's muscular frame. He pulled the suit down over Matt's arms, carefully sliding it off each limb, feeling the tension in the fabric and the warmth of Matt's skin beneath. The sensation sent a shiver through the fan's spine, his own skin prickling with anticipation.

With the suit now bunched around Matt's waist, the fan worked it over Matt's hips and thighs, exposing more of the functional underwear. He pulled the suit completely off, leaving Matt lying there in just his undergarments. The fan hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight, before stripping off his own clothes.

He started with Matt's underwear, lifting Matt's legs one by one to slide the snug fabric down. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but the fan pressed on, driven by a strange compulsion. He then pulled on the tight underwear himself, the fabric cool against his skin, hugging him in a way that felt both foreign and exhilarating.

Next, he picked up Matt's racing suit. It was heavier than he expected, the weight of the leather and padding a testament to its purpose. He slipped one leg into the suit, then the other, the interior smooth against the functional underwear. Pulling it up over his hips, he relished the snug fit, the way the suit seemed to mold to his body. He slid his arms into the sleeves, feeling the constriction and protection they provided.

The fan zipped up the suit, the sensation of the zipper closing sending a thrill through him. He felt powerful, invincible even, as if he had assumed Matt's very essence. He picked up the boots, sliding his feet into them and zipping them up tightly. Each boot was a final seal on his transformation.

The fan, now dressed in Matt's racing gear, looked down at the real Matt's unconscious body sprawled on the floor. He knew he had to hide him before anyone else arrived. Spotting a large equipment box in the corner of the garage, he quickly dragged Matt's limp form over and carefully placed him inside. He closed the lid and secured it, hoping no one would come looking for Matt until after the race.

With his heart still pounding, the fan mounted Matt's bike and rode out onto the track. The sensation of the wind rushing past him, the roar of the crowd, and the power of the machine beneath him all combined into an intoxicating experience. For those few hours, he was Matt, living the dream he had always fantasized about.

The race concluded, and the fan found himself back in the garage surrounded by team members and reporters. They congratulated him, praised his performance, and he responded as best as he could, trying to mimic Matt's calm and collected demeanor. He was careful not to let anyone get too close, fearing they might notice something was off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the garage began to empty. The team moved on to celebrate, leaving him alone with the bike and the echoes of the day's events. The fan walked over to the large mirror in the corner, taking a moment to catch his breath. He reached up and removed Matt's helmet, eager to feel the cool air on his sweat-drenched face.

As he lifted the helmet off, he caught sight of his reflection and gasped in shock. Staring back at him was not his own face, but Matt's. Every detail was perfect—the sharp jawline, the intense eyes, the determined expression. He touched his face in disbelief, feeling the smooth skin that was now his own.

"How is this possible?" he whispered to himself, his voice trembling.

Driven by a mix of fear and curiosity, he hurried over to the box where he had hidden the real Matt. With trembling hands, he unlocked it and flung open the lid. Inside, he saw his own body, still unconscious, dressed in the clothes he had been wearing just hours before.

He staggered back, his mind racing. They had somehow transformed into each other. The implications were staggering, and he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. What had caused this? Was it the helmet, the suit, or something else entirely?

The fan—now Matt—looked down at the unconscious body of his former self. He realized he needed to act fast before the real Matt woke up. He reached into the box, feeling for a pulse, relieved to find it steady and strong.

He dragged his old body out of the box and laid it on the floor. The new Matt took a moment to examine his hands, his arms, the way the racing suit fit him perfectly. Every movement felt natural, as if he had always been in this body. The fan inside him marveled at the strength and grace that came so easily now.

As the real Matt began to stir, the new Matt felt a pang of guilt. He knew he couldn't leave things like this, but he also couldn't bear to give up the incredible opportunity he had stumbled into. He crouched down and shook his old body gently, trying to wake him without causing alarm.

"Hey, wake up," he said softly, his new voice sounding strange to his own ears.

The real Matt's eyes fluttered open, and he looked around in confusion. When he saw himself looking down at him, his eyes widened in shock and fear. "What... what's happening?" he stammered, trying to sit up.

The new Matt took a deep breath. "I don't know how this happened, but we've switched places."

The real Matt, now in the fan's body, looked down at his unfamiliar hands, then back up at his own face. "This can't be real," he said, shaking his head. "This has to be some kind of nightmare."

The fan, now fully embracing his new identity as Matt, gazed at his former self with a mix of pity and satisfaction. He could feel the power and prestige of Matt's life coursing through him, and the sensation of the racing gear hugging his new, athletic form was nothing short of exhilarating. The tight suit, the snug boots, and the sleek helmet felt like a second skin, making him feel invincible. He had no intention of giving up this newfound reality.

The real Matt, disoriented and desperate, looked up at the fan with a pleading expression. "We need to change back! This isn't right. You can't just steal my life!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the garage walls.

The fan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not giving this up. I finally have what I've always dreamed of. Fame, respect, and the thrill of the race. You had your chance, and now it's mine."

Rage and frustration boiled over in the real Matt. "You can't do this! This is my life!" He lunged at the fan, shoving him hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground. "I want my life back!" he screamed, tears of anger and helplessness streaming down his face.

The commotion drew the attention of the nearby security team. They burst into the garage to find the scene unfolding: the real Matt, in the fan's body, on top of the fan who now looked exactly like Matt, trying to yank off the racing boots.

"Get off me!" the fan as Matt cried out, struggling to protect his stolen identity.

The security team rushed forward, pulling the real Matt off and restraining him. "Calm down! What’s going on here?" one of the guards demanded, cuffing the real Matt's hands behind his back.

The fan as Matt sat up, quickly composing himself. "This maniac came out of nowhere, screaming that he's the real Matt," he explained, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through him. "He attacked me, trying to steal my gear. I don’t know what he's talking about, but he’s clearly lost it."

The security guards looked at the real Matt, their expressions hardening with suspicion. "We're going to take you to see a psychiatrist," one of them said. "You need help."

"No, you don't understand!" the real Matt pleaded, struggling against the cuffs. "He's lying! I'm Matt! He took my body and my life! Please, you have to believe me!"

But the security team was unmoved. They hoisted him to his feet and began to lead him away. The real Matt looked back over his shoulder, his eyes full of desperation and betrayal. "You can't do this! You can't just take my life!" he shouted, his voice growing hoarse.

The fan as Matt watched them go, a sense of triumph and relief washing over him. He had won. He was now Matt, with all the glory and excitement that came with it. As the garage door closed, shutting out the real Matt's cries, he took a deep breath, savoring the moment. He ran his hands over the sleek material of the racing suit, feeling the powerful muscles beneath, and smiled.

This was his life now, and he was going to live it to the fullest.

[astracora]

EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist. 

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Needy Little Fucking Thing 𓍼 James Hetfield (18+)

A hiccup of a moan bellows itself out of you as partially bare hips make undeviating contact with the backs of the top of your upper, reddening thighs, the balls and heels of your shoed feet raising from the ground as strong hands lift and push you even farther up on the wooden fixture in front of you.

You gasp for breath as your boyfriend huskily expels a shuttering exhale against the exposed skin on the nape of your neck, his front pressing flush against your backside as he sheathes his entire length inside of you. Sweat trickles down from the crown of your head and creates dormancy on the sides of your flushed temples, your kiss chapped lips gaping as you feel James' hot length pulsate and weep beads of translucent precum into the precipice of your soaked heat.

Your walls incessantly flutter around him, subconsciously milking him for all he's worth, as the beginning of his shoes shuffle forward and pause underneath yours to help stabilize your unnatural position. The muscles in your calves tremble as you force yourself to not grind back and attempt to bring him even closer and deeper inside you, your bare chest heaving and hovering over the haphazard and cluttered desk now beneath you. Goosebumps litter themselves over the expanse of your overheated skin, as you feel his upturned lips rake and caress themselves over the shell of your left earlobe.

"Couldn't even wait for me to find an actual bathroom, pulled me into the closest abandoned bedroom instead," James muses, the tone in his voice playful, yet strained. Music hovers around the small crevice of free space at the bottom of the room's doorway just a few feet away from you two, and you lower your eyes in mortified embarrassment. They soon enlarge, and overstimulated tears rest upon your waterline, as one of his large palms travel up to guide you to lie your entire top half down on the cold surface, and his hips finally begin to thrust again. "Needy little fucking thing."

"Needed you." You mewl, the sound stuttered and dilapidated as his cockhead rubs and confides itself against your sensitive and spongelike spot. Your nails dig into the polished wood as he slowly extracts his arousal-soaked dick out of you, before smoothly gliding his hardened inches back inside. The repetitive cacophony of drunken laughter and overplayed music, dulls down and becomes muted background noise as James' hands travel their way upward to encircle themselves around your wrists to hold them in place.

"Needed me so badly, you couldn't even wait for me to get home," He condescendingly croons, the desperate delivery of his lust driven plunges a juxtaposition to the faux confidence in his cadence. You choke around a watery gasp as your feel your orgasm quickly approaching, the heat in your abdomen starting to feel like a coiled and tightly knotted rope. James bends down to bear a bite on your shoulder, lolling out his tongue around a satisfied sounding grunt to satiate the delicious sting. Your waterline overfills, and dewy tracks of submerged fulfillment make their way down your blazing and splotched stained, red cheeks. "Tell me what you need, baby, and I'll give it to you."

"Need to cum, need to feel you cum inside me. Fill me up." You manage, your words slurring and nearly turning into one as each impaling movement of his cock brings you closer to the edge. Your boyfriend lets out a hum, and you force yourself to stay pliant and in place as he removes his upper half from mounting your back and his hands from around your wrists. Before you can even question him, a hand is being pressed against your lower stomach to lift you up, and a thick and calloused fingertip is roughly colliding with your swollen and pearling clit.

A wail bleeds out of you as he sweeps his digit across your drenched sex and merges your limbs with his, his once desperate thrusts turning into reckless abandon. A sopping wet sound reverberates in the confined space surrounding you two, and the sensation of his dampening briefs below his raising ballsack chafing itself against your already bruising skin, disappears and becomes null. You encircle your trembling and unsteady hands around his forearms as your feet dangle on either side of his own, the aglets of his bouncing shoelaces due to his thrusts tickling the sock covered skin of your ankles as you turn your head to look at him.

Blue turned black irises encase yours in a trance like stare, and you squeeze your legs together as you feel them seize and constrict, your eyes heavily lidding as you avidly watch his facial expression crumble into a look of engulfment. You chase forward, ignoring the tinge of pain in your neck from the movement, and shakily place your lips on top of his. You swallow and accept every divot of spit laded tongue he feeds you, the tips of your shoes connecting with his as your thighs bracket and tense with oversensitivity.

"Cum for me, sweetheart," James breathes, a strangled 'fuck, you're so tight' mangling its way out as your walls vice like grip his length and swallow him in, barely giving him enough leeway space to fuck himself back into you. Thick lines of mixed saliva keep you two together as you slowly part, the heady air in the centimeters between feeling overbearing and charged with fervor. "I can feel how close you are. Want you to make a mess all over me and help me clean it up after." Your eyes involuntarily clench shut with the vivid imagery of your shaking body being placed down on your still wobbly knees, and your future self opening her mouth wide enough to lick and suck his broad girth clean.

"I can cum?" You ask, your voice heightened and overly airy as you try to hold on, fighting your body's natural instinct to curl in on itself, as James spreads your slick folds apart and lightly pinches at your clit. Your eyes snap back open as his pinky carefully makes its way inside of your opening, right on top of and with his still pivoting dick, and curls it upward to relentlessly rub the pad of his finger against your abused g-spot. White spots brighten your vision in the already nearly pitch black room, and your lips open in a silent scream as you reach and barrel into your orgasm.

"That's it, baby. Fucking perfect," he praises, his expression turning gutted and euphoric, as your release instantaneously triggers his own. Gasps pitter and fret in the chilled air as you slowly come back to, and as James slowly continues to fuck his seed into and toward your spent pussy walls and coated cervix. You twist your head back forward and rest your head against your boyfriend's chest, contentment flooding through you at his next words. "Such a good girl, listening so well."

"Taking care of me so well." You eventually rebut, once you're able to find your voice and catch your breath. A reassuring kiss is placed onto each one of your shoulder blades before you're lowered back down on your feet, and you only loosen your hold on him once you feel stable enough to stand on your own.

James lets out a quiet hiss as he carefully removes himself from inside of you, and you disappointingly grimace as you feel and watch your guys' mixed releases slowly run down the long expanse of your still twitching thighs. James gently maneuvers you around to face him, and you can't help but smile at the fucked out and pleased look on his face, his eyes blown wide and glassy, as if he was high. Large and warm palms resurface on your hips and draw you back in easily, a shy spring of laughter being shared as you both nearly trip over each other's feet in haste to get closer.

Your boyfriend bends down to level with you and brings you into a kiss, a pout forming on your swollen lips as he pulls away too soon for your liking. "As much as I'd like to stand here and kiss you all night, the party's going to be ending soon, and you didn't keep up your end of the deal just yet, doll," you lightly hum and tilt your head back, your eyebrows raising and your grin matching his own as he finishes his sentence and airs out a gentle command.

"On your knees, baby. There's still a mess you need to clean up."

[anantaru]

cw. none, gn! reader, overprotective dan heng

a/n. yoru star rail debut, just something little to practice my writing for him, i hope the village likes it <3 enjoy

dan heng, your sweet boyfriend, who secretly had a silly habit of being a little bit too overprotective towards you.

beyond everything, you were an important person in his life and ultimately that was the main reason what had driven him to always look after you no matter which circumstances you had to face in the future— even though sometimes he simply did not have to protect you nor watch you for that matter.

essentially did your boyfriend not even realise that he‘s been overprotective and while you certainly didn‘t mind the endearing spoiling which would follow as a result of his doings, sometimes he could overdo it.

"you‘re doing it again." you whisper and leave it to your soothing voice to find his hidden rationality while sensing how dan hengs arm was gradually strengthening around your hips, cradling his hand and resting against you, "doing what?"

"the thing." you giggle, "the thing we talked about."

"oh." your boyfriend adds on, "i‘m— i‘m sorry." and quickly releases a little tension in his limbs. you take the opportunity to lean into him while promptly discerning the fading redness on his cheeks— like a sweet rosé colored elixir meshing through his pale skin.

"it wasn‘t on purpose." dan heng nervously rubs the back of his neck while casually slowing his digits up and down your back to acknowledge you further. "i promise."

now, he‘s flustered and a bit embarrassed, it‘s those diamond blue eyes that held your glance and webbed it into his own— a tease? at best, yet the man certainly wasn‘t aware of said particular fact. but you‘re giving it away when you suddenly kiss his cheek, nothing more than calming his embarrassment with a settling peck on his face.

"i know love, don't worry."

2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hornyhornyhimbos]

pov: eddie really doesn't know when to keep his hands off you... even in public... even at lover's lake ♡

18+ duh, perv!eddie x afab!reader, fingering f!receiving, exhibitionism a lil bit, nicknames (baby, sweetheart, sweet girl), nipple sucking, explicit language, implied smut at the end, 1.3K words, color coded speaker tags, shoutout to @dungeons-are-too-cold for recommending this concept and for beta reading!

filthy fridays | ask box

you loved eddie, but man could he be an asshole...

the two of you had spent the day at lover's lake, and the day had so far been peaceful. you'd started out with a picnic on the dock, where he'd brought some of wayne munson's famous sweet tea and had made your favorite sandwiches, cut into cute little heart shapes, cheesy bastard that he was. you shared the chocolate-covered strawberries you'd brought while lying out in the sun, just enjoying the lake all to yourselves.

it wasn't until you peeled off your—or rather, his—oversized tee shirt and revealed the bathing suit you were sporting that you were reminded of just how much of an ass he could be.

you'd worn a little green number, a polka dotted ensemble that left little to the imagination. you tied the bottoms in cute little bows at your hips, and the second you pulled off your tee shirt, eddie was practically foaming at the mouth.

before he could get his hands on you, you jumped into the water, swimming away in a fit of giggles. he followed suit, tossing off his own shirt and jumping into the lake, diving after you with the ease of an olympic swimmer.

it wasn't long before eddie caught up to you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you up to the surface with him. he was all laughs as he pulled you in for a kiss, his fingers meeting your stomach with soft tickles.

"eddie, no!" you said through giggles, your limbs flailing and throwing water everywhere. droplets hit eddie in the eyes, but he was unrelenting, spreading tickles all over your bare skin.

his fingers drifted over a particularly sensitive part of your body, causing you to jerk in response, your leg brushing in between his own. that was when you registered that this little tickle fight was driven by something else.

you rolled your eyes, turning away from your chronically horny boyfriend, but he was quick to respond, wrapping his arms around your middle and holding you close. his hardening cock rested against your ass, and you couldn't say it wasn't turning you on.

still, you managed to ask, "are you always horny?" to which he responded with a soft kiss to the dip of your neck, trailing his lips along the string of your bikini top.

"maybe," he answered, and you could hear the smirk he was sporting. "but how am i to blame for it? i can't help you're the sexiest girl alive."

you hated that his words made you blush, you hated that with one sentence he could have you turned on, but mostly, you hated that he knew exactly how to distract you. because somewhere, between the hickies he was leaving on your neck and the rutting of his hips against you, you failed to notice his hands slipping down to the fastenings of your bottoms.

"eddie?" you called in a panic as the cold water hit your now uncovered core, a rush of both anxiety and arousal flowing through your body.

"yes, baby?" he answered, fake innocence coating his tone. his lips trailed down your neck to your shoulder while his hands trailed from your hips toward your center.

"eddie, where are my bottoms?!" you all but screamed, racing to swim away but his hold on you was just tight enough to keep you against him.

"i have no clue what you're talking about," he said, a chuckle threatening to fall after the words.

you tried to squirm away, but eddie had other plans, one of his hands coming up to meet your cunt, his thumb swiping over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"ed-" his name got caught in your breath as he teased your folds with a finger, his thumb showing no mercy to your clit.

his tone was clearly taunting as he said, "if your bottoms fell off, why don't you go try to find them?"

your head turned to face him, mouth falling into an open 'o' as his finger finally slipped inside you. "you're such a- fuck- asshole."

eddie tutted against the shell of your ear, his finger crooking deeper inside you. "now, that's no way to treat me when i'm making you feel so," one pump of his finger, "damn," a second flex, "good," a third.

you fell nearly limp against him, moans falling from your lips as he continued working the digit inside you. eddie quickly accompanied the digit with a second, soon brushing them against that sweet spot that would have you falling apart in no time.

he kissed the crook of your neck, licking softly over one of the bruises he'd left earlier. "do you wanna cum, sweetheart?"

you nodded, whined, writhed against his fingers, anything to show him just how much you wanted to. "please," you whimpered, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

"go ahead, sweet girl," he whispered, taking your skin between his teeth while slipping a third finger inside you, "go ahead and cum for me, yeah?"

at his instruction, you were falling apart, his fingers drawing an absolutely euphoric orgasm out of you. eddie knew each and every way to make you come undone, and while you wanted to be mad about the swimsuit situation, you definitely couldn't be mad at the way his fingers felt inside you right now.

his name fell off your tongue like your lifeline. eddie rutted against your ass, trying to find some form of relief from his ever-growing erection, leaving moans in your ear that were only coaxing on your climax. "shit, baby," he said with a particularly hard rut, "y' should wear that swimsuit more often. feel how hard you've got me?"

his comment brought you back to reality, immediately finding the force to swim away and search for the missing bottoms. luckily, they hadn't floated too far away, but in a momentary lapse of judgment, you were hit with an idea while you were under the water. your hands flew to eddie's swim trunks, pulling them down and immediately swimming back to shore.

"you're dead when i catch you!" he shouted through laughter, wading through the water and attempting to hold up his shorts at the same time.

"you started it!" you shouted back. you ran over to the van, holding the small piece of fabric in front of you as best you could, just in case anyone were to spot you. you made a quick attempt at tying them back on, but not before eddie made his way over to you.

in a swift movement, he had both of your wrists pinned above your head, your bikini bottoms falling to the pavement below. he clicked his tongue, a disapproving look on his face. "very naughty of you to run away from me like that, sweetheart," he reprimanded, holding you against the frame of the van.

your stomach twisted with want as you noticed the dark look in his eyes, excitement and arousal dripping through your veins. still, you found yourself arguing, "oh, i'm the one that's naughty? that's something coming from you, perv."

his lips met the dip of your breasts, eliciting a moan from you. "i don't seem to recall you arguing too much about the way i made you feel back there," he mentioned between kisses, his hand coming up to palm at you through the green material. "in fact, the way your pussy was sucking me in, i'd say she was upset i didn't give her more."

he pulled one of your breasts out of the bikini top, his lips trailing from the valley of your chest to your hardened nipple. a moan escaped your lips as he suckled the bud, his palm moving to cup your neglected boob.

your head fell back against the van, your thighs clenching together with every movement of his tongue. "please, eddie," you all but begged, "give me more."

with one swift movement, he had your legs wrapped around his waist, fiddling quickly with the door of his van, desperate to lay you down and fuck you right. "ask and ye shall receive, sweetheart."

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @esoltis280