#the equally difficult. well you know which one.

[spiribia]

I understand why gw2 players either have 0 legendaries or five hundred thousand legendaries now. once you craft one it opens the devils floodgates

[motomamita]

JUST HAD A THOUGHT !

König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.

Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵‍💫

boxer!könig × nurse!reader

warnings: +18, smut, sex!

you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.

your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.

in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.

soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.

the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.

you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.

everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.

dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.

today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.

"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."

könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.

at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.

"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"

könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.

"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."

he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.

that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[melzula]

well since requests are open i wanted to request a zuko fic?

zuko x waterbender reader in which someone from team avatar walks in on them kissing?

i feel like it’d be funny idk lol 😂

a/n: i love this trope it’s so funny. also it’s like subtly mentioned reader is a water bender since i didn’t wanna just shove it in there awkwardly. anyway hope you enjoy!

summary: a private moment between you and your boyfriend is interrupted by your unsuspecting friends

“Are you sure no one saw you come in here?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zuko says with a huff after closing the flaps of your tent. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not true,” you argue with a frown. “I just enjoy having some privacy. I know those guys are going to make a big deal about us being together, and I just want to enjoy our relationship without having to deal with any prying eyes.”

“I know,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m just tired of sneaking around. Do you know how difficult it is not to kiss you or check on you after a fight with my sister? It’s torture.”

“It’s just until the war is over. There’s a lot at stake right now, and it would be a weird time to come clean. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Zuko murmurs with a frown, one that immediately melts away at the feel of your arms wrapping around his midsection. It’s hard to be upset when you’re smiling up at him with the purest look of adoration in your eyes. Despite everything, all of his flaws and mistakes and cruelty, you love him, and it fuels the warmth inside of his heart knowing he has someone like you. Maybe he would have joined the Avatar and his friends sooner if he knew it would lead him to you.

“At least we’re finally alone,” he notes with a faint smile before leaning down to press his lips against your own in a long awaited kiss. He hasn’t been able to give or receive affection all day, and it isn’t until now with your chest pressed against his own that he’s finally able to truly feel relaxed.

Unfortunately, you’re both too engrossed in each other to notice the rustling of your tent flaps as Sokka and Toph let themselves in without a second thought.

“Hey, y/n, Toph and I are gonna head into town, do you want to- oh, gross!” He cries after catching Zuko and yourself mid lip lock.

You both jump at the intrusion, knocking your head together on accident and groaning in unison at the impact.

“Sokka!” You cry out in embarrassment. “Monkey feathers, don’t you knock?!”

“It’s a tent! There is no knocking!” He yells back defensively, equally as upset as you are. “I can’t believe you guys were kissing!”

“We weren’t kissing,” Zuko argues, his face red with embarrassment. “We were… hugging… with our… mouths?”

“Oh, spirits,” you groan, your palm hitting your forehead in embarrassment at Zuko’s horrible attempt at lying. For a Prince, he has a terrible way with words. You’d think all that time spent with his Uncle would make his vocabulary more eloquent.

“If Toph could see she’d be very upset right now!” Sokka scolds, but the girl beside him simply shrugs.

“Actually, this works out great for me. Katara owes me five gold pieces now,” she says with a grin.

“You guys knew they were dating and didn’t tell me?!” The water tribe boy says in offense.

“I had a hunch, but Katara disagreed, so we made a bet.”

“Enough already! This is mortifying enough as it is,” you groan impatiently. “Sokka, we’ll talk about this later. For now, I need both of you out!”

After getting the two to leave the tent, you shut it closed with an irritated sigh. You’re absolutely humiliated, and you don’t think you can show your face to your friends ever again.

“So much for keeping it a secret,” the fire bender mutters.

“You,” you say with an accusatory finger pointed at the Prince, “need to learn how to lie better.”

“I know,” he admits meekly, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Sighing, you open your water pouch and tend to the growing bump on his head from your previous collision. You can’t stay mad at him when he looks so flustered and sweet, so instead you merely throw your arms around his neck and pull him back in for another kiss.

You can focus on coming clean later. For now, you just want to enjoy your moment of peace with the boy you love.

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin @lora21

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 special present- Jungkook birthday special!

────୨ৎ────

content: Jk´s birthday, lingerie, passionate sex, praise regarding body, fluff, vibrator usage, oral, cute dinner date, aftercare talks, established relationship, shit ton of kisses, petnames galore

note from cherry: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOYFIE U R 27 NOW!!! i love my sexy man guys help .... ignore typos thanks ily!

────୨ৎ────

first september 2024, Jungkook´s twenty-seventh birthday.

On this day, 27 years ago an angel was born, a lover, a gentle heart with a passionate soul. He was given to this earth as a gift, someone to create happiness through art, someone to share laughs and looks with. Someone that has been by your side for four years now, blessing your every morning with his face and little kisses, blessing your every night with his arms and whispers

There is nothing that comes close to being loved by Jungkook, nothing that remotely compares to the feeling of his reassurance, his little messages throughout your day or the flowers he would bring home because they reminded him of you.

Equally, there is nothing that you wouldn´t do for him. He´s your entire heart and you´re his, his smile, his reason to keep going when he feels less than enough.

In comparison to what he does for you, standing in the kitchen for hours on his birthday just to cook him a nice pasta and lots of side dishes plus some little deserts is not nearly as difficult

It was your idea to cook for him, knowing how much he loves at home dinner dates with a cozy movie, he refused at first, not wanting you to push yourself for him

He knew all to well you would go all out for this occasion,

"Lets just go to a restaurant ma, i want you to relax"

Managing to persuade him with the mention of traditional carbonara and oreo cream cookies, he still had to attend a photoshoot before returning home

six hours later, the kitchen is set, candles and a big box on the table along all the delicious food, moodlights on

Jungkook hates the big overhead lamp, so you turned that off immediately

Now it´s time to rush for a shower, quickly drying your hair and putting on the smallest amount of make up to look extra cute, even though you know he loves your bare face the most.

"Baby! Happy birthday kook!" your grin spreads over your lips, jumping to hug him as soon as he comes through the door, his woody sweet scent staining your sense

he hugs you back, wrapping his strong arms around your delicate body, smiling to himself like he had never been happier,

"thank you angel, smells so good here" he replies, holding on to your waist and nuzzling his nose to yours

you kiss him gently, savoring the softness of his lips on yours

"mhm, I hope it tastes good too" you hum, stepping into the kitchen to take out some champagne from the fridge, he takes off his shoes and jacket, coming behind you to wrap his arms around your figure again,

his head drops to your neck, burrying himself in your scent and velvet smooth hair while you fill two glasses with the sparkling alcohol

"I´m sure it does, you´re the best cook cutie" he mumbles into your hair, kissing your cheek while rubbing your sides softly

"let´s eat, you must be so hungry kook" you giggle, turning around to cup his face

The both of you spend the next hour or so eating the home cooked goods, his little stims and groans of appreciation lighting up your heart, the way his large, veiny hands grip the tiny chopsticks, flinging them around with the first bites to show how good it tastes to him

With a few last bites on the vanilla lotus cake, he sighs, rubbing his stomach

"Woah, I´m so full. Thank you angel, come here" he smiles, patting his thigh

You walk over immediately, plopping down on his lap with your arms around his neck, one hand caressing his cheek softly,

"so glad you liked it baby" you say, kissing his nose to which he scrunches it up, placing a kiss to your lips instead

"Wanna open your present?" his brown doe eyes light up, his head nodding excitedly,

the black, ribbon wrapped box is already in his hands before you can register what´s going on, slender fingers moving to unwrap it while both of you stare in anticipation

The box opens, two things inside and the look on his face is priceless, weeks of saving up and hiding your little secret is finally worth it

He gasps, taking the expensive film camera out of the box,

"there´s no way" he says, stars in his eyes shining when he spins the packaging around, setting it down on the table and cupping your face

"My baby.. you really got me this? But that´s so much money my love"

you nod, smiling and caressing his shoulder, "Don´t worry about that.. look how happy you are! that´s worth every cent"

He starts kissing you with the same grin still planted on his lips, moving his mouth against yours sweetly,

"thank you, you're the best" he whispers, resting his forehead on yours

"There´s one more thing in there" you gesture to the box, he hums, taking out the stüssy hoodie you knew he had been eyeing, eightball logo as the backprint on the black, comfy material

He folds it back up, with a peck to your nose his hands wander back down to your waist

"thank you cutie, I´ll wear it all the time and think of you"

the sounds of kissing fill up the kitchen, softly savoring each others company and leaving behind the rest of the world when you keep feeling his passion grow in the kisses, moving his hands to your ass, squeezing it firmly and moaning quietly into the desperate kisses

" I have something for you" he says suddendly, pulling away from your lips, glazed swollen mouth luring you back in

Confused, you tilt your head, playing with some of his strands,

"For me? On your birthday?" you frown, but he just kisses it off, making both of you giggle,

"Let me show you" with that, you're hoisted up in his arms, his hands full of your ass and your legs snug around his slim waist, walking up the stairs to the bedroom

He gently sets you down on the bed, moving over to his closet and pulling out a shopping bag from behind his jackets,

"Jungkook.. why?" you pout, his selfless nature making you feel terrible but loved all at once,

with a sly look, he hands you the bag,

"Look inside, it's a present for myself but with your help" his arms lay back, tricep flexing while his gaze sharpens when you pull out a tiny, fluffy white set of lingerie

Your mouth is hung open, looking at him with pink cheeks and disbelief to which he smirks,

"Come on, baby, there's two more. Pick you're favorite so i can fuck you in it" he says, watching as you nervously pull out a trqnsparent pink nightdress and a black, shiny bralette with matching lace bottoms

"Kook oh my god" you giggle, hiding your face beneath your hands,

He responds by prying your hands away immediately, his eyes burning through you with lust, lips finding your jawline

"Tell me pretty.. which one?" he repeats in a sweet whisper,

"You pick...s'your birthday" already begining to moan and crave his touch more,

He pushes you down onto the bed, sliding down your pants and panties,

"Pink.. you look so good in everything but fuck, when i saw that little pink dress i knew i had to buy it for you" he mutters, pulling your shirt over your head before lifting your torso to unclasp the bra you're wearing

Bare, needy and flustered sprawled out on the bed before your fully clothed, erect boyfriend.

He groans softly, running his hands down your stomach, "you're beautiful, i need you so bad baby, you have no idea"

You've never felt more beautiful than in this moment, the love and adoration in your boyfriends eyes making you feel like there was no one who could compete, naked and vulnerable but secure and cared for all at the same time

"Kook.. please, i need you too" you're rubbing your thighs together for the tiniest bit of relief

He reaches back to the pink lingerie, "arms up angel"

You listen well, he pulls the soft fabric over your body, stopping right below your feminity

The fabric is see through, round breasts on full display below, the curve of your waist exentuated by the flow of it,

"You can't even imagine how beautiful you are, you make me crazy baby"

His lips muffle your moans, making out slow but intense while he explores what he has come to know better than anything else the past years, running his hands all over your curves and finding your stiff nipples to rub through the fabric

"Nhmm kook.. please take this off" you mumble between whines, tugging at his shirt

He smiles, "anything for you" discarding the calvin klein top somewhere on the floor, followed by his jeans that are dragged down, leaving him in his grey boxers that posess a small patch of precum

"You're so pretty" you tell him, genuinely in awe at his state, messy long mullet making his doe eyes stand out, honey colored skin decorated with tiny moles and that unfairly small waist,

Muscular thighs flexing when he crawls back over you, his tattooed arm reaching down to caress your inner thighs,

"thank you sweetheart" he says, pressing a kiss to your lips before his head hovers over your chest, looking up to you

Your head is tilted down, keeping eye contact while your lips quiver and your hands get lost in his hair,

Slowly, his tongue darts out, licking over your clothed nipple and monitoring your moans become louder, the heat rushing to your face

"Mnhm!" you whine, shutting your eyes but he only latches on more, sucking with a satisfied smirk, alternating between breasts to distract from his hand that creeps to your wet cunt, cupping it with little rubs

"Wanna pound this little pussy" his words shoot to your core, raspy and desperate in the way he says them

You nod pathetically, not in the state to give proper replies anymore

He manhandles you to be pushed back legs up on his shoulders, exposing yourself to him entirely

He smiles down to you, pumping his length a few times before lining up to your soppy entrance,

"Ready angel?"

you give him a reqssuring smile to which he kisses your lips while pushing himself in inch by inch, gliding his whole cock desperately into your wamrth

"so tiny, so snug everytime" he says, licking over your lips while slowly thrusting into you,

"you feel so good kook, faster please" you're whining, nightgown bunching up with every thrust, the see through material making each rock of your body look like a work of art, complentary to your skin tone, pointing out the blush on your cheeks

He looks down at you, one arm steady on your hip while the other is caressing one of your legs on his shoulder,

"You're so beautiful, i can't last long like this baby" he's a mess, moaning loudly and fully entranced with your body and voice, the clench of your cunt sucking him in, his tip is throbbing, hitting deep within you

Jungkook already feel his orgasm about to hit him, just when he wants to pull out to pleasure you instead, you stop him,

"Please kook, cum first, cum all you want, keep going until you can't" you're whining, looking at him with pleading eyes and he can't help but curse, continuing to fuck into you harder,

His cum splurts inside of you, he pushes it in with a couple more strokes, panting while his cock is still hard and pulsating in your cervix

He pulls out, leaning down to kisw your clit

"Let me make it up to you pretty" reaching for the nightdrawer, you knew exactly what was about to happen

With the small pink toy between his tattooed fingers, he tells you to sit on his cock,

You let yourself down on him with a loud moan, this new angle making you feel him even deeper, desperate to start grinding on him

He's moaning too, still sensitive from the prior orgasm, nonetheless, one hand grips your hip as you start rocking back and forth with his dick stuffed deep inside you

The other one switches on the toy, pressing the buzzing nub to your clit

"Oh fuck kook" you're a mess now too, rapidly humping on his dick and rubbing your clit against the little vibrator on it, his eyes close, feeling your walls clamp down on him with every hasty roll of your hips

He's groaning, moving the hand from your hip to one of your tits, playing with it

"Gonna cum! S'too much baby i'm gonna cum" you warn him, grinding having switched to bouncing up and down on his thick length, his cum from earlier covering his cock, spilling down from your pussy along with your own slick

He feels his own high approaching, encouraging you to keep going a little longer while he keeps pressing the toy on your abused little clit

"Okay..okay cum now baby, cum with me" he whines, once he feels you loosen around him, a string of whimpers leave your lips aswell

He switches the toy off, snapping his hips into you from below and finally cumming himself, filling you to the brim with all that he has left in him

"Mhm.. god that's so good.. so good baby.." he says, chest rising from the intensity,

You collapse on top of him with a weak, satisfied smile,

"Awh... pretty girl" he coos, flipping both of you to the side so he can wrap you in his arms and pull out,

Your head nuzzles back from him to look at his pleased face, stroking his naked chest with your small fingers,

"I love you so much" you tell him, pressing sweet kisses to his neck,

He feels heavenly right in this moment, wrapped up with the love of his life on his birthday, pleased and in the confines of his own home

"I love you more angel..thank you for the amazing birthday" he says, stroking your hair and pressing small kisses to his head

"Happy birthday baby, you deserve it" you reply, smiling against his skin

You can feel the cum begin to run down the inside of your legs, sticking to your skin,

They feel weak and sore, so you do what you usually do,

"Baby? Do you mind helping me clean? It feels sticky" you cringe your face Upwards, upon noticing it he smiles, nodding and moving to lay you flat on your back, pulling the nightdress down after

You think it's because he's gonna dress you in your pj's after cleaning you up, instead, his hands fumble with the fluffy white lingerie

"Kook?" You ask curiously

"What's up angel?" non chalantly, he moves over you to dress you in the small panties,

"What are you doing?" you're kicking your legs, chuckling at his behavior

Should have known he isn't done after you only came one time

He smiles too, holding you still and struggling to put on the panties to your body,

"There's two more sets baby, let me eat you out nicely, you only came once" he says, kissing your ankle

without wanting to protest and just getting ready to recieve your pleasure, you smile, already spreading your legs for him to creep in between

"You drive me crazy" you tell him with a lick of your lips

"If only you knew" he says, moving to work himself up to put on the matching bra

[hedgehog-moss]

Pampérigouste escaped today and I almost didn't make a post about it because it's just more of the same isn't it? do people who read this blog really want to hear about yet another Pampe escape? Then I thought, that's like asking if people who read detective novels really want to hear about yet another mysterious murder. Probably yes. Also Pampe would have been offended to have such a successful escape go unreported.

I would like to say that my new fence is still fully Pampe-proof. She has not escaped a single time through breaking or outsmarting the fence, so now she does it by outsmarting me. Which doesn't happen all that often, because we are intellectual equals. But I let my guard down this morning—I'd just peeled some greenhouse carrots to make purée and I went into the pasture to distribute the peelings even though it was raining (see how I got punished for my selflessness?), and I left the gate open because I was right in front of it, obstructing it with my body.

Pampe dropped her carrot peelings and acted like she couldn't find them even though they were right under her feet, so I took pity on her and crouched down to gather them and offer them to her again (see how I'm getting punished for my compassion??) and she took advantage of this diversion. In the span of 0.2 seconds she slithered around me and she was out. It was a little bit beautiful. I don't know if you remember this photo of Pampe & Pyrgus, but it's a perfect illustration of what happened:

I sighed and ignored her and finished distributing the peelings to the other animals, and then went to the barn to get muesli to lure my nuisance back to her pasture. After escaping she initially ran towards the woods, but since I ignored her the whole time, she emerged from the woods when I returned, like, wait, did you notice I escaped? Behind your back, just earlier? Did you notice how I won and you lost?

It shouldn't have been difficult to get her back into the pasture with the help of her favourite snack; unfortunately Pampoldine is still a big baby who was distraught that her mum had left her behind yet again (she should be used to it, honestly, it's been like this since she was an infant), she started making these little panicky noises that Pampe has never paid any attention to—

—so when I propped the gate open with a branch to get Pampe back inside, Poldine hurried out instead. I wasn't expecting this, I thought it was clear that I had the situation under control and her mum would be back in 5 seconds. You could have just waited 5 seconds, Poldine.

Pampelune had no interest in escaping, but she's the matriarch and where her herd goes, she goes, so once the other two were out she barrelled past me as well. I opened the gate to bring 1 llama in and instead 2 llamas went out. Pirlouit besides me was like

For some reason the llamas galloped towards the road, instead of just hanging out in the woods where there's stuff to eat. Maybe because Pampe hadn't gone out in a long time and she wanted to be admired for her feat. Her wish was granted—2 cars stopped to say hi as I was miserably trotting after my llamas on the road in the rain. One of them was the post office lady who once herded my animals out of a pasture with her car, and she was like hop in, it'll be like old times!!!

The two people who stopped their car were enchanted with the encounter and they both told me that they missed the days when Pampe Sightings on this road were a regular thing. No one sides with my fence in the Pampe v. Fence conflict. I love the post office lady though, she had a Niagara song playing in her car when I got in and a minute later I muttered "I'll sell her to the butcher" and she started singing "Pampe ♪ Je vais devoir te vendre au boucher ♫" to the tune of that song. It fit the tune really well, too.

After we managed to get the llamas off the main road and back in the woods, she was like, godspeed, I wish I could continue chasing them with you but I have to go make lunch for my kids. I told her that now that the llamas were no longer on the road I'd just let them roam, they'll come home before night, no way I'm going to chase after them in the woods in this dog weather. So I went home and grumpily resumed peeling carrots and potatoes for my mash.

I sat in front of the window to do it so I could keep an eye on Pirlouit, who was wandering around the pasture like a cursed soul, drenched with rain, lonely and llamaforsaken. Sometimes he brayed to try and guide his friends back home, wherever they were, but he never brayed while I was filming. His braying is a poignant display of emotion and is not for public consumption.

I figured, if the llamas come back Pirou will spot them and perk up his immense ears, and I'll know to go out and open the gate. Instead at some point I looked up from my potatoes and saw my donkey finally at peace, grazing rather than pacing restlessly, and I went to look outside and his friends were back! And so was his appetite.

I had new peelings + some muesli to offer, but of course Pampe could tell this offering was a crude and blatant trap and refused to fall for it. Meanwhile her innocent daughter was like yay, snacks :) and followed me in the pasture, a llama entirely devoid of wiles.

After I got Poldine back inside I went like WELL since NOBODY else wants that delicious MUESLI I guess these deserving chickens can have it—and Pampe was here in the blink of an eye to shoo the hens away from her muesli.

She was grudgingly smiling about it, too. Like, point for you.

I love this pic where my chicken looks like she's herding the animals back in their pasture all by herself.

Everyone is home! Pampe and Pandolf are walking away in search of new adventures, Poldine follows her mum because of her abandonment issues, and Pirlouit is also following everyone very closely, like, I'm not getting left behind again.

I finally managed to cook my mashed carrots & potatoes (+ herbs from the greenhouse) and it's so nice to make food with nothing but ingredients you grew yourself! (To be completely honest I only managed to grow 3 carrots in the past few months but that's because I neglected them in pursuit of more flashy summer vegetables)

I also had an apple-plum compote for dessert made with my own fruit <3 Okay, the cheese course in between was store-bought. One of my friends really wants me to get goats and be self-sufficient in cheese and when I told her I would be constantly chasing my goats over hill and dale because they have a reputation to be insufferable escape artists she was like, what difference will it make to your life...

[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.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

not me doomposting about l*ona again

I pointed out in an older post that Leona seems to demonstrate a unique ability to unite others under a common cause. This is in spite of the lore stating that it's very difficult to get different kinds of beastmen to see eye-to-eye, so much so that Sunset Savanna's acting king, his older brother, has yet to really unify their people.

WELL.

***Spoilers for Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes below the cut!***

A central theme to Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes is figuring out what makes someone worthy of being "king". At the start, everyone is reminded of Jack Skellington's status as the "King of Halloween, which makes him the most important person in town. However, Leona's quick to point out that the title isn't what's important, but what one achieves is. He then expresses interest in what it is exactly that Jack Skellington does around here to earn his crown. His opinion of Jack isn’t that good; in the event story, Leona thinks Jack doesn’t pay attention and doubts that he can have deep thoughts. Jack describes his duties as making Halloween the scariest it can possibly be. He drives around in his buggy, walks his dog Zero through the local cemetery, studies and conducts experiments, and reviews the proposals from Halloween Town residents. An important part of his job is considering his people's ideas! But Leona thinks there could be a more efficient way to do this rather than having the king read the proposals one by one. We can see a divide between their ways of thinking; Jack is willing to hear individuals out whereas Leona is focused on efficiency. This is also reflected in how they assign tasks later in the vignettes. Jack has everyone going up one ladder to decorate, while Leona commands the witches to do this task, as its much faster for them to do on their brooms. I don't know if this was intentional, but the way Jack rules feels reminiscent to how Leona often describes his older brother, Farena/Falena. So often does Leona mention that Falena is too kind and cares too much for others, which impedes on the political and economic gains he could be making if he were just more focused on his goals. “[Falena] could just focus on the kingdom’s affairs–you know, his JOB–but nooo, he’s gotta be the caring big brother who’s nice to everybody." (If you want to read a more in-depth analysis of Falena vs Leona's priorities when it comes to ruling, please read this post.)

Leona claims that the qualifications for king around here are actually really simple--and yeah, maybe there's nothing more to his line than this, but considering that in his home country one's order of birth is also a strong determinant, a merit-based system like what's seen in Halloween Town probably is simpler to him. And that means it's his time to shine and be acknowledged when he wasn't successful at earning this recognition back home.

Now, what REALLY surprised me in these vignettes wasn't that Leona knows how to boss around his peers and put their strengths to use (for example, he tells Vil, who has an eye for detail, to look over the embroidery, and Idia, who is a science and math whiz, to handle difficult calculations). It's that Leona is also perfectly aware of the abilities of the Halloween Town residents--people he has only known for less than three days--and uses them and their skills well too. That's an insanely short amount of time to get to know an entire TOWN'S worth of people and what each of them are like... yet he just pulls it off effortlessly????? HUH... This earns him the praise of Dr. Finkelstein, the mayor, Jack, Sally, and Skully. Sally in particular highlights Leona's strengths very concisely, stating that he can accurately assess the situation and give appropriate directions on how to act in that situation. Skully adds that Leona technically doesn't move himself or do any of the dirty work, he's focused solely on giving orders. This makes him a "king" and a leader of equal standing as Jack Skellington. And then Skully--SKULLY, THE OBSESSED HALLOWEEN OTAKU THAT THINKS HALLOWEEN SHOULD BE A VERY SPECIFIC WAY--says that Halloween was made possible by not one, but two great kings this year. It just goes to show how much one can truly accomplish when not barred by a negative environment and a lack of social support.

One definition of "king" that is offered in these vignettes is "the one who can bring everyone together". That's certainly something that both Leona and Jack do, albeit in very different ways. But then, at the end of the Halloween Town segment of the vignettes, Leona acknowledges that "king" can be defined another way. He realizes that Jack is recognized as king not just because he's a leader, but because he's also needed and loved by the townspeople. This, too, is a "king". However, it seems that this is a definition that Leona somewhat looks down upon, as he basically apologizes to Jack for not thinking highly of him at first. Again, Leona prioritizes getting shit done, no matter what the cost of it may be--and even if it earns him the ire of others. This, as I said earlier, puts him in stark contrast to Jack, as well as his own older brother. But here and now, we have Leona finally seeing the strength that a different kind of ruling can have instead of always speaking so disparagingly about it. Even if it's just a little... it feels like he's growing and learning, doesn't it?

The vignettes end on flashing forward to Leona back at Savanaclaw dorm. A few of his freshmen students are goofing off right before magift/spelldrive practice is about to start. As soon as Leona shows up, the freshmen snap to attention and rush off to change for practice. Jack (Howl, not Skellington, lol) remarks that usually the other first years are so lazy, but their attitudes completely changed when their dorm leader appeared. Ruggie chimes in, saying that Leona keeps the entire dorm in line... THJBAEBVUFAEIYAFIOYBVADFILH ThEN HE CALLS THEIR KING THE BEST... AND JACK AGTREESS... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHUT THE FUCK UPAS ALREADY STOP POGINTONG OUT HE'S A AGOODFK leADER DFOR YOUE AEPEOPLE YADFJKHAFLIYVDGVYUADGVUEGAVN

In response to the praise, Leona says that simply scolding misbehaving students doesn't make you a king. If it were as simple as that, it would be a pretty cheap throne build only on flattery. The vignettes end with him telling everyone to move their asses to practice. lh WDBHFAIYOEAIYEIYF BUT TAHAT'S PRETY YMASSIVE FOR HS CHARACTER... These vignettes demonstrate that Leona's not fixated on the title of king, but what it means to truly "be" a king and leader. He doesn't value being called a "king" if he feels it's easily earned, he wants to prove himself worthy of it and earn that title through his talents. This all circles back to a thought I had a while ago: that what Leona is after isn't the literal seat of king, but all the things that come with it but was denied of in his childhood. Respect, admiration, recognition for his abilities.

And 💦 Leona doesn’t realize it yet (either that, or he’s in complete denial) but… He also fits that second definition of “king” 😭 He’s the type of person that gets things done (like what he believes should define a king) BUT GIS DORM MEMBERS ALL ALSO NEED AND LOVE HIM…

OOoogohoggoOGH... OTL I hate how well it comes together...

[toyogamii]

HIHII HRUU OMG THIS IS LOWK LIKE MY FIRST TIME LIKE ANONYMOUSLY ASKING SM BUT YEAHHH.... ANYWAYS ILL LITERALLY GIVE U THE SLOPPIEST BACK ARGCHING TOE CURLING EYE ROLLING HEAD IF U MAKE A ANOTHER PART OF THE SUKUNA MINI SERIES 👅👅

a/n: STOP I GENUINELY CACKLED, btw this one is my first attempt at smut sooooo… 🙈🙈🙈 also @17020

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

your body is moving before your fully awake, eyes puffy and vision blurred as you tried to come to your senses. a soft moan escapes your lips and your hand instinctively moves in between your thighs, landing on soft pink hair and gripping tightly.

“look who’s finally awake,” sukuna says with an evil grin. his tongue flicking your most sensitive spot. you gasp again and your hips buck into his mouth as he devours you whole.

“oh- oh fuck- ryo,” you whine and sukuna groans against you, your raspy and groggy moans making him harder than he already was.

“couldn’t help myself pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, tattooed hands gripping your plush thighs tightly, “jus’ looked so gorgeous f’me.”

you keen, your eyes squeezing shut, lip tucked into your teeth as your orgasm draws nearer. his hand lands roughly the inside of your thigh making you let out a soft yelp.

“cum for me baby.”

and you do. it’s delicious, the sensation igniting your whole body as you writhe beneath him. even in your cloudy state you can as he shifts, grinding his hard on into the bed and knowing the effect you have on him makes everything all the more pleasurable.

as you slowly come down, whole body flushed and panting softly. sukuna kisses the inside of your thigh before crawling upwards and pulling you into a kiss you. you grin, arms wrapping around his neck as you flip him over so that you’re straddling him.

you pull away, mouth open to speak when suddenly the bedroom door flies open and an angry yuuji is standing in the doorway pouting. before your boyfriend can say a word your tumbling off of him, wrapping a blanket around your bare legs and hurrying over to him.

“yuuji, what’s wrong sweetie?”

the toddler looks up at you with big, sad eyes and lifts his arms, wanting to be held. of course you oblige, scooping him up with one arm, the other hand still holding the blanket.

“did you a nightmare wake up?”

he sniffles and nods, burying his face in your shoulder. sukuna scowls at the two of you.

“damn brat, always stealing your attention away from me, huh?”

you roll your eyes and place yuuji down on the bed before using the blanket to hide you while you discreetly slip your shorts back on. yuuji crawls onto sukuna’s chest, nuzzling his little face into his big brother’s neck.

despite his grumpy face, sukuna’s hand instantly comes to rest on the child’s back, rubbing soothing circles.

now fully dressed, you slip back into bed beside them, cuddling up to your two favorite boys.

“you know very well I love you both equally… except i love yuuji just a little more.”

“wha- hey!” your boyfriend grumbles, flicking your forehead, “there’s no way you love this runt more.”

yuuji sticks his tongue out at his big brother.

“only when you’re being difficult… which is always.”

“take that back!”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [5] - Dusk

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Some evenings come with threats.

Word Count: 4242 

CW: Violence, explicit language, blood, threats

Series Masterlist

“I have no idea why you don’t like him.”

“Well, that makes two of us because I have no idea why you like him.”

You rolled your eyes at Jamie as you grabbed the coffee pot, then filled his cup while he pointed at you with his fork. The diner wasn’t very busy yet; you had the time to focus your full attention on him after taking a couple of orders to the tables, so you leaned on the counter, then stole a fry off his plate.

“Logan is nice.”

“Oh Logan is nice?” he repeated with a scoff. “He’s a giant ball of macho bullshit with no brains, that’s what he is.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh come on Jamie!”

“I’m serious,” he said as you crossed your arms to shoot him a lighthearted glare.

“You know, I wasn’t like this when you introduced Nik to me.”

“Nik is my soulmate,” he said without hesitation. “I doubt the brute caveman is your soulmate.”

“He's not a caveman.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“He just…he doesn’t look very friendly,” you said in a rush to defend him. “I’m aware of it but he’s been to wars and stuff, so it’s kinda expected—”

“Which is another red flag, sunshine,” Jamie insisted. “When was he born, you said?”

“1832.”

“You have a crush on Dracula: Lumberjack Edition?”

“He doesn’t give off vampire vibes!”

“No, he gives off werewolf vibes,” he said. “And just in case a certain popular franchise has escaped your notice, they’re both equally bad.”

You scrunched your nose up at him, still leaning to the counter while he sipped his coffee.

“What happened to the guy Nik set you up with?”

“Oh that date was a disaster,” you said with a shrug. “He talked about himself the whole time. I barely got two words in.”

“I hate when they do that,” he grumbled, making you smile.

“I swear to you Logan is not a bad guy,” you said. “He’s the furthest thing from that—which by the way, we might be just arguing over nothing. I honestly doubt he sees me that way.”

He shot you a look of disbelief.

“Sunshine.”

“No I really don’t think—”

“A lot of people you cross paths with see you that way.”

“You and Julie both say that but that’s because you’re my best friends.”

“No, that’s because we see how people look at you,” he said. “Unlike you.”

“Yeah but Logan—”

“Logan will make a move on you one of these days, and I think you should turn him down when he does.”

You wiggled your brows. “It’d be a bit difficult to turn him down while I’m climbing him like a tree.”

“Fuck him once and leave him.”

“I already decided what our future cabin in the woods will be like.”

He let out a groan, burying his face into his hands, making you giggle.

“If Logan and I start dating and that’s a huge if, considering I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me that way,” you said. “We’ll go on a double date with you and Nik, and you will see he’s actually the nicest guy in the entire world.”

“I hope he’s terrible in bed so that you will snap out of this,” he motioned at you as his phone vibrated, making him check it before he took a huge sip of his coffee, then stood up.

“Thank you so much for letting me borrow your car by the way,” he said. “It’s just that, Nik’s grandma needs a ride to the airport and…”

“It’s totally fine,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Don’t even mention it.”

“I’ll bring it tonight to your place.”

“Like I said, it’s totally fine,” you said. “Tell Nik’s grandma I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said, leaning over the counter to kiss your cheek, then walked out of the diner. You grabbed his plate and mug, but as soon as you entered the kitchen, the boss’ office door opened and he peeked his head out.

“Hey,” he said. “Bad news, Stacey can’t make it, she has the flu. Do you think you could close tonight?”

Shit.

Of course you had to close when you didn’t have a car.

You pressed your lips together, then forced yourself to smile before nodding your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “I can close tonight, no problem.”

                                                  *

Today was not going as planned, at all.

Creepy customers weren’t exactly new to you. You were pretty sure that everyone in service industry had to deal with them at one point or another, God knew you did. But usually, once you turned them down, they finished their meals and left without leaving you a tip.

They didn’t just sit there at the booth, staring at you for almost an hour.

Paul was by the grill as you walked into the kitchen and heaved a sigh, pressing your palms into your eyes, your heart beating in your throat.

It was fine. If he stayed there towards the closing time, you were just going to ask Paul to handle him, he was pretty good at that. He would deal with him, and afterwards you would just call a cab and go home and forget about today.

“You okay?” Paul asked and you dropped your hands, then nodded, clearing your throat.

“Um—yeah. Just tired I guess.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh,” you said. “Slow day but I went to bed late, so…”  

He grinned. “Your new boyfriend is keeping you up late?”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s nothing like that.”

“No?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t even know if he likes me that way to be honest.”

“What, he just came to drive you home the other day out of the goodness in his heart?”

You nodded again. “Yeah. He’s nice.”

“Honey, I’m terribly sorry to shatter your trust in the goodness of us men, but we usually don’t do that just for any girl.”

“Yeah but Logan is nice,” you insisted. “Not to mention, he’s out of my league.”

“Did you break all the mirrors in your place or something?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Paul.”

“Take it from a guy, Logan definitely wants to…” he wiggled his brows and you grabbed the table cloth, then tossed it at him for him to catch it in the air.

“That’s absolutely not true.”

“So your crush isn’t keeping you up, then what is?”

“Have you met me?” you asked him. “I run on stress.”

“You know what’s good for stress, right?” he asked with a smirk but as soon as he stole a look out of the small kitchen window into the diner, then pulled his brows together. “Did I Beetlejuice this motherfucker or something?”

“What?” you asked, turning your head to follow his line of sight, then gasped when you saw Logan walking to the counter to sit on a stool.

At first you were surprised at the relief that hit you out of nowhere so fast that it made your head spin, because normally whenever you were around Logan, your heart would be making flips, adrenaline rushing through you. It took you a moment to understand what it was, and once you did, you let out a breath.

It was safety.

Somehow, something in your body knew Logan being there meant you were completely safe.

You let out a breath and pushed open the door to step outside, then approached the counter.

“Hey,” you said, still slightly dizzy and Logan’s hazel eyes searched your face, his frown deepening.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“I could hear your heartbeat from a mile away,” he said. “What’s going on?”

You blinked a couple of times. “You recognize my heartbeat?”

“Yeah,” he said as if it was completely normal. “And I smelled your fear. So what’s going on?”

“You what?” you asked. “I smell like fear?”

“Not normally, but you do right now,” he said impatiently. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, trying to focus as you stole a look at the booth the creep was still sitting in, Logan turning his head to follow your glances.

“He, um…” you said, lowering your voice. “He wanted to know when I get off work, and—and I said no and he’s been sitting there for an hour, just staring.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose as if he was surprised by the guy’s audacity.

“And I close the diner tonight,” you whispered. “And I gave the car to Jamie because his boyfriend’s grandma has been staying with them, and she’s really nice except for when she made that one comment about me giving it up too—” you stopped yourself. “Sorry. Um, I don’t—”

“How about I drive you home tonight?” he cut you off, making you pull your brows together.

“You’d do that?”

The look he gave you was almost reprimanding as if he was offended by you asking a question when the answer was clear as day and you let out a relieved breath.

“Logan I…” you trailed off. “I don’t know how to thank you, you’re—you’re amazing, really.”

“You have no reason to thank me, princess,” he said, making your heart skip a beat.

“I have many reasons.”

“No, and don’t worry about that asshole,” he said, nodding in the direction of the booth before turning to you, “but you need to call me when this sort of bullshit happens.”

“I don’t have your number,” you said and he paused for a moment as if he hadn’t thought about that.

“Right,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket before holding it out for you and you smiled, then took it from him. You entered your phone number, then sent yourself a quick text before handing him the phone back.

“There,” you said with a grin. “Now we have each other’s numbers. Technology isn’t so bad, huh?”

He gave you a small smile and you cleared your throat.

“So what can I get you?” you asked, shifting your weight from one foot to other in excitement, and he frowned for a moment.

“Any chance you’ve got some of that pie from earlier?”

“Sure!” you said. “I’ll be right back.”

You went into the kitchen and made your way to the counter to get out the pie, then cut a big slice to put it on the plate.

“Look at that, your mood is fixed for some reason,” Paul teased you and you scrunched up your nose at him, then grabbed the chocolate sauce bottle. You carefully drew the shape on the plate, your tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth.

“So let me guess, he’s still not your boyfriend?”

You gave him a chiding look. “Don’t.”

“Hey, I’m asking to see if I need to set you up with one of my friends.”

“Oh I’ve met your friends,” you said with a laugh. “I’ll respectfully decline, thank you.”

“They’re pretty cool guys.”

“I guess I’m not cool,” you told him and picked up the plate, then pushed open the kitchen door to make your way to Logan who was sitting on the stool by the counter.

“There you go,” you said and put the plate in front of him. “You may be curious about what that shape is on the plate is.”

“Was just about to ask you about that.”

“That’s a cigar,” you pointed at it. “And there’s an X over it because cigars suck. And that’s a frowny face right next to it because to repeat, cigars suck.”

“I see,” he said with a small grin. “A very clear message.”

“Isn’t it?” you asked, stealing a look at the booth to check on the creep but the booth was completely empty. You blinked a couple of times before you turned to Logan.

“Logan?”

“Hm?”

“Where did that man go?”

He grabbed his fork. “He left.”

“…Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Your frown deepened. “Did you say something to him?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Just a small warning, that’s all.”

You could feel the relief filling your system as a smile warmed your face, making you bite at your lip.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered as he dug into the pie while you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms on it.

“So you were around then?” you asked. “When you heard my heartbeat?”

“Mm hm.”

“How do you know it’s my heartbeat and not someone else’s?”

“I recognize it,” he said, making you raise your brows.

“Is that—” you started but were distracted by a customer asking for a refill, so you grabbed the coffee pot, went to refill his coffee and walked behind the counter again. You pulled out a mug to fill Logan coffee, then put it in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Is that what you did during the French Revolution as well?”

“To repeat, I haven’t—” he started but then his lips curled into a smile upon seeing the teasing glint in your eyes. “Right. Seriously, what is this fascination with French Revolution?”

“I was weirdly into historical documentaries while pregnant with Theo,” you said. “Kinda stuck.”

“Ah.”

“Speaking of all that though, what was 19th century like?”

Logan took a sip of his coffee. “Foggy.”

“…Very descriptive, Dickens,” you said with a nod of your head. “Professor X should have you teach literature, you’d do wonders in prose.”

 That made him chuckle before he took his fork into his mouth, and you smiled at him before walking to another table to take their order.

                                             *

As the sky went dark and the closing time got closer, you realized that you hadn’t even been paying attention to the time. Paul had left an hour ago, so had all the customers but you were so lost in the excitement of spending time with Logan that if it weren’t for your phone vibrating on the counter, you wouldn’t have even noticed it was past the closing time.

“But yeah, he literally brought a kitten home from the street,” you said with a smile as you walked to get your coat. “The said kitten is now Nik and Jamie’s beloved son, but—what are you doing?”

Logan pulled out his wallet and motioned at the empty plate and the coffee mug, making you narrow your eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Princess—”

“I will threaten you, I don’t care if you’re invincible and like 200 years old.”

He tilted his head. “You’re threatening me with threatening me?”

“Yes,” you said. “I will kill you with kindness and also this knife I found in the kitchen if you try to pay for it.”

“You’re terrible at threatening people.”

“I know, I’m working on it,” you muttered as you grabbed the plate and the mug to put it on the counter of the kitchen through the small window, and by the time you turned around he had already placed some cash on where the plate just was.

“Logan!”

“Technically I’m not paying for it, I’m leaving a tip.”

“That tip is more than the check.”

“Well that’s—” he started before his head whipped around, the playful smile wiping off of his face as a car pulled over in front of the diner. He gritted his teeth, making you pull your brows together.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “Just do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll step outside for a moment,” he said. “Stay here.”

Your heart started pounding in your chest. “What—what’s going on?”

“I swear to you, it’ll take only a moment,” he said, his voice completely calm as he stood up from the stool. “Don’t step outside, okay?”

 “Hey asshole, I don’t appreciate being threatened!” A shout came from outside and you took a step back, panic making you dizzy upon recognizing the voice; it had to be the guy from earlier. “So I brought some friends! How about we show you some manners and then entertain your girl?”

You could feel your blood freezing in your veins and you grabbed your phone. “I’ll—I’ll call the cops—”

“Don’t,” Logan said. “They’ll only get in the way. I got it.”

“Logan…” you started but a metallic noise reached your ears as metal claws sprouted from his knuckles, making your eyes widen.

“What…”

“Stay here.”

“I-but—” you stammered but he had already walked out of the door, making you cover your mouth. Fear pounded through your system, your eyes filling with tears as you sniffled, then grabbed the knife on the counter and took a step to the closed door, but blood splattered over the huge window, soon followed by the panicked yelling of the newcomers. Your stomach churned as you swallowed thickly, then you wiped at your eyes and rushed to the door with the knife in your hand before you swung it open.

The view you were presented with looked like something out of a movie. Two of the guys writhing on the ground, one of the crawling to the car while the other looked like he was crying. The man from earlier was also on the ground, holding onto his face but you could see the blood dripping through his fingers as Logan retracted his claws, then held him from the back of his jacket and lifted him up.

“You’ve got something to say to her?” he growled, and the man let out a sob, then lowered his hands, your breath catching in your throat upon seeing the gashes on his face.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he managed to whimper through pain and Logan dropped him on his face unceremoniously, then turned to you.

“What’s the knife for?” he asked and you blinked a couple of times, forcing yourself to drag your gaze from the man.

“I was coming to save you,” you told Logan, making the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Yeah?” he asked as if humoring you and you nodded, then took a look at the men on the ground.

“Come on,” Logan said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Let me take you home.”

You felt like you were in a haze as you rushed inside to put the knife back, grabbed your phone off the counter, then shut down the lights and closed the door behind you, locked it and turned to Logan again.

“…Shouldn’t we call someone?”

“Nope.”

“But what if you get in trouble because of—”

“I won’t,” Logan answered, gently leading you to the motorcycle, his hand on the small of your back. He put the helmet on your head and you got behind him on the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist to hold onto him tight.

The road to your home felt almost surreal. The panic still hadn’t left your system yet, your mind going overdrive with everything that could have gone wrong, or would go wrong if those creeps had decided to press charges on Logan. Even though he didn’t look worried at all, you were beginning to think you worried enough for the both of you.

And if something had happened to him, if they had gotten to him before he could beat them—

No.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to think about it.

You hadn’t even realized that your cheeks were wet with tears when he pulled over in front of your house, his head turning to the side when he heard you sniffling. You swung your leg over the seat to sit sideways on it and he got off the motorcycle to help you take off the helmet but as soon as he did, you pressed your palms on your eyes, biting inside your cheek to keep yourself under control.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, sniffling again as you lowered your hands before a shaky sigh left your lips. He lifted your chin with a curled finger, your eyes shooting up to his, your heart skipping a beat as he gently wiped at the tear under your eye.

“I’m sorry for scaring you off.”

The change in his tone was impossible to miss. That growl that had spilled from his lips while talking to that man was completely gone and now his deep voice was soft like honey, making you feel all warm inside. You blinked back the tears and shook your head fervently.

“You didn’t,” you said. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“But you’re scared.”

“Not of you,” you said, shaking your head again as you bit at your nail. “For you.”

That made him pull his brows together in confusion and you let out a breath.

“Logan, there were three people there,” you insisted. “They could’ve easily overpowered you—”

“That’s impossible.”

“They could’ve killed you!”

“Also impossible,” he said, a small chuckle escaping from his lips as if the idea was too absurd. “I told you before. I heal.”

“I’m sure there are exceptions to that, if they came up with a way—”

“Unless those guys were keeping a fully functioning high technology lab underneath the diner, they couldn’t,” he said. “Me getting hurt was not a possibility there, and the only reason they’re alive is because you were there. That’s it.”

You sniffled again.

“But did I make you betray a principle or something?”

“What?”

“Because the secretary of Mutant Affairs held a press conference the other day and he—”

“Hank?”

“Hank McCoy, yes. You know him?”

“Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well, he talked about how mutants have this principle—”

A dry chuckle climbed up his throat.

“I don’t have any principles when it comes to assholes like those,” he said, a shadow crossing his handsome face. “But nobody gets to hurt you or threaten you. That’s the principle here.”

Your head was spinning again for a completely different reason and you took a trembling breath, stealing a look at the building behind you before looking up to his hazel eyes, your heart beating in your throat.

“Would you like to—” you started but before you could invite him to your apartment, a car flashed its headlights at you two, making you turn your head to look at it.

Oh.

Your car.

Jamie was in the driver’s seat and he frowned slightly before he stopped the car and Nik leaned out from the open passenger seat window.

“Hey Sunshine!” he said. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

You closed your eyes for a moment before opening them again, then licked your lips.

“It’s on mute, I didn’t hear,” you said. “Uh, Logan, this is Nik, Jamie’s boyfriend. Nik, this is Logan, my…my friend.”

Nik gave him a grin as he eyed him up and down.

“Nice to meet you Logan,” he said before turning to you. “Get in, we’re taking you out to dinner. Your friend can come too if he’d like.”

You glanced up at Logan, biting at your lip and he took a deep breath, then cleared his throat as if trying to snap out of a haze.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am,” you said. “I just didn’t know they were coming—but um, would you like to join us? Nik is an expert when it comes to restaurants, he knows all the great ones.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’d better go,” he said. “It’ll be easier to track those guys down while they’re still bleeding.”

You blinked a couple of times. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll make sure they understand they shouldn’t cross paths with you ever again,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “That’s all.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him, resting your forehead against his hard chest, the scent of pines and smoke surrounding you in the most pleasant way. He cradled the back of your head with one hand while his other arm sneaked around your waist and he nuzzled his nose into your hair to inhale deeply, making your heartbeat faster. Even though you felt like you could happily spend your whole life in his arms, you knew you had to step back especially with Jamie and Nik right there, so you slowly pulled back to look up at him. His hazel gaze went down to your lips for a moment before snapping back to your eyes and you swallowed thickly.

“Thanks,” you managed to say. “For…you know.”

“No problem, princess,” he said softly and stepped back as well, then nodded in Jamie’s direction before getting on the motorcycle.

“Be careful,” he said and you let out a small laugh.

“Likewise,” you said before he drove off and you shifted your weight before making your way to the car. You opened the door and got in the backseat, then slammed the door shut as Nik turned to look at you over his shoulder.

“Hi honey.”

“Hi Nik. Hi Jamie.”

“So that was Logan?” Nik asked and Jamie scoffed as he started the car.

“Yep. That’s the asshole I told you about.”

“Well, neither of you told me he was that hot,” Nik pointed out, grinning at you. “Did we interrupt something?”

You wiped at your nose, then shook your head. “Um, no.”

Jamie took a look at you from the rear mirror, then frowned.

“If that asshole made you cry, I swear—”

“He didn’t,” you said in a rush and buckled your seat belt. “I’ll tell you on the way. What are we eating?”

6 - Middle of the Night

[drmaddict]

Keep Out

Summary: modern!Aemond takes his girlfriend home with him for the semester break over summer. He had already forgotten that he barely got any peace and quiet in his old room.

Wordcount: 1.717

Warnings: tiny smuttish part, but also not really, mentions of an unwanted lap dance, lots and lots of fluff

Present

They heard something rumbling loudly against the door. "Urgh. Fuck. Aemond?" shouted Aegon through the door.

(Y/n) laughed silently and shook an equally smirking Aemond, who was lying on her stomach.

2 months before

Aemond was unusually nervous for his ratio. He had never brought anyone home before. It was unusual. He felt strangely naked, as she paced around his room, looking at the books and posters from his school days.

When a grin appeared on her face, he knew immediately what was coming.

"Aha!" She pulled the CD case from the shelf and held it up triumphantly. "I knew it!",she grinned at him.

He just rolled his eyes and put the My Chemical Romance CD back in its place. "Behave.", was all he said.

Her smile softened. Her arms gently wrapped around his neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Close the door! Would you?", they heard someone laugh. None other than Aegon stood in the doorway and grinned at them both. "We don't want mummy to think you're promiscuous."

"Wow. That was a difficult word for you.", Aemond replied in a calm voice, but (Y/n) could see the tension in his jaw.

"At least I'm not a twenty-year-old virgin.", Aegon rolled his eyes and walked away again.

(Y/n) scratched his neck reassuringly. "So this is Aegon?"

He grumbled in agreement, annoyed.

"You exaggerated a bit with his hair. I was almost expecting a half bald head.", she turned his mind to another topic, knowing full well that he was largely uncomfortable with the subject of sex.

"You didn't see him after rehab. He was close."

She laughed lightly.

He lay relaxed on the bed. (Y/n) half beneath him. His head lay on her chest and he savoured the delicate fingers, as they ran over his scalp and through his long strands.

Sleeptoken was playing softly in the background, but he focussed more on her heartbeat, which he could now hear so clearly.

His eyes had fallen shut at the caresses, his breathing was calm and deep.

Everything was beautiful. Everything was good. Everything-

"Aemond we - Oh sorry."

Both their gazes shot in the direction of the roughly flung open door. His mum stood in the doorway, a little embarrassed. "We'll order something from the Italian. Please come downstairs... And put a shirt on Aemond!"

He dropped his face into the crook of her neck and groaned in annoyance. "I should have taken a hotel.", he grumbled.

She kissed his temple. "Just locking up is cheaper, I think."

"We don't have to.", she explained quietly.

Aemond shook his head. "I want to try it.", he admitted, still looking nervous. "But only on you for now.", he confessed quickly.

She stroked his hair. "Okay."

"You sure?"

She nodded with a smile.

Aemond cleared his throat. He had come a long way since he was a boy and a teenager, but the memory of that night was still so present.

Aegon had dragged him along to his birthday. He doesn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been a stripper.

He and his friends had cheered her on as she danced on Aemonds lap. He had never felt so overwhelmed und uncomfortable. The fact that he had come in his pants less than two minutes later had, of course, taken the mockery to the extreme.

They had bawled and Aemond had simply run away until he could lock himself in the bathroom, where he washed himself three times in a row in an attempt to wash off the shame.

"Hey." He felt her hand on his cheek. He pulled himself from his memory. "It's just me here. No one else." She smiled so warmly at him again. And she was right. The rest of his family was gone tonight, except for Haelena. But she rarely left her bugs voluntarily anyway.

He nodded, but still buried his face briefly on her shoulder. "Can I?," he asked, stroking her waistband with his fingers.

She nodded with a smile.

He carefully slipped his hand under the elasticated fabric and immediately came across the top of her panties. He looked at her questioningly again. She simply nodded. His fingers travelled deeper. He felt light stubble and took in the slightly scratchy feeling beneath his fingertips. He drew a few exploratory circles.

"Does that bother you?", she asked a little hesitantly, but he immediately shook his head.

"Not at all."

He let his fingers wander deeper until he felt what he was looking for. He groped around a little awkwardly and blindly. Searching for what he had already read about. She tenderly pushed her hand towards his. Grasped his fingers and brought them into position. She calmly showed him how to move them. He followed her with concentration.

She sighed slightly and withdrew her hand again. He tried himself out. Experimented. Memorised what caused which reaction.

And he realised, that this was okay. It was even kind of nice. It was-

The door to his room opened again. Helaena poked her head into the room. She didn't pay any attention to the situation of the two of them, frantically trying to present themselves in a more socially acceptable manner.

"Helaena!", shouted Aemond reprovingly.

She looked absolutely neutral in return. "Have you seen my Tarantula? She's run off."

"Your what?", asked (Y/n) immediately in alarm.

"My Tarantula. She-"

"Rethorical question.", explained Aemond immediately. "And no."

"Okay."

The door closed again.

"Please tell me that Tarantula is the name of your cat."

"Don't worry about it. The creature is ancient. It probably just turned to dust."

"Found her!", Heelena shouted from the corridor.

"Great.", Aemond called back, only slightly annoyed.

(Y/n) was still sitting tensely on his bed. "What do you say we-"

"Chinese or Thai?" he asked.

"Chinese."

"I'll just wash my hands and get the car.", he explained and stood up humbly. Would he ever have a quiet evening in this house?

"I love you.", she called after him tensely.

"Love you too.", he called back with a sigh. 

They made out violently. She was sitting on his old desk and had her legs wrapped around his hips like a snake.

His centre kept twitching slightly forward. His family was gone, even his sister, and the damn door was locked.

Aemond pressed himself against her even more than he already did. His hands wandered under her top. His lips broke away from hers and travelled to her neck. He was ready. He was sure. He felt comfortable with her. He wanted this.

"To bed?", he asked, slightly out of breath.

She nodded eagerly. "Please.", she sighed. He lifted her from the table and carried her towards the bed. She took off her own top and threw it somewhere. He did the same.

She was already sitting down on the mattress and pushed herself into the middle of it, when Aemond tried to get out of his trousers.

He lay down on top of her. Their lips met. He sighed, when he felt her hands on his bare back.

He was just sliding his hands into the waistband of her trousers when he heard the click of the lock. He frantically threw half of the blanket over (Y/n) to cover her body as his grandfather stood in the doorway.

He looked at them both in astonishment.

"Excuse me.", he nodded briefly to (Y/n). "Otto Hightower. The grandfather." He introduced himself impassively.

"Hello." (Y/n) waved back, overwhelmed.

"You still have my encyclopaedia.", he explained, turning to Aemond.

He looked at him perplexed. "Couldn't you have just called me?"

Otto just raised an eyebrow. "The book, Aemond.", he demanded.

Aemond stood up angrily, took the book from the shelf and pressed it into his grandfather's hand.

"Could we have some privacy now, please?"

Otto just waved him off. "But don't get her pregnant. We don't need any more complaints like your brother's."

He didn't even look at them again. He simply left the house.

Aemond breathed in and out in a controlled manner.

He turned round with a jerk and pulled his trousers back on.

"Aemond, it's all-"

"Get dressed. We're driving."

"Driving? Where?"

"To a hotel.", he explained curtly and held out her top.

(Y/n) looked at him in surprise. "So we're not stopping?", she asked, half teasingly, half cheerfully.

Aemond looked at her insistently. "Not if you don't want to."

She smiled. "Let's go then."

The night was mild. Mild enough that they didn't try to put as much distance between them as possible. Just touching fingers or knuckles.

No. Aemond had snuggled up to her chest and (Y/n) held him in a relaxed grip.

They both lingered in the land of dreams, knowing that the door was locked and the key was still in it.

They had had their peace and quiet all evening. No one had gotten on their nerves. Aemond had snuggled up to her as he usually only did in his own flat. A place where no one could go without his permission. The key in the lock wasn't the highend security system in his flat, but it reassured him enough.

Even in his dreams, he still had the feeling that he had finally triumphed when he was suddenly and rudely torn from this world.

A loud, breaking sound rang out. The sound crashed into the room like a bang.

And with the noise, Aegon smashed in too.

"Oaaa! Fuck!", he exclaimed, annoyed, then he laughed clearly drunk.

Aemond and (Y/n) immediately sat upright in bed. (Y/n) looked perplexed at Aegon.

Aemond looked at the hole in the wall that had once been his door, now lying as splinters of wood on the floor.

"I didn't get the curve.", Aegon laughed, still on the floor. "Sorry little brother."

Present

"Stable.", (Y/n) stated, when she had her laughter under control again.

"Steel core with a security lock. Standard for banks.", explained Aemond relaxed.

He firmly grabbed her hand, which she had withdrawn during her fit of laughter, and put it back on his head.

"Don't stop.", he just sighed and closed his eye again. A slight smile played around his lips.

She kissed the top of his head with a smile and complied.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🫧🪩Juno in the signs🪩🫧

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

💫If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!💫

🪩Masterlist🪩

Juno is related to marriages, partnerships, etc. The sign in which Juno is in the birth chart shows the type of person we are attracted to.

🪩Juno in Aries: Your ideal partner is energetic, active, enterprising and ambitious. But you can be aggressive, dominant or impulsive. Aries' competitiveness can cause confrontations in the relationship. You should look for someone who can keep it up with Aries fiery energy, as well as someone with a sense of adventure.

🪩Juno in Taurus: You need a partner who provides stability and security. Someone who is patient, faithful and trustworthy. Taurus is extremely loyal and expects their other half to be as well. Problems may arise related to attachment, possessiveness both materially and with respect to the partner.

🪩Juno in Gemini: You are attracted to an intelligent and witty partner, versatile and dynamic. Verbal communication is essential in the relationship. Gemini is a curious sign that tends to get bored with the monotony of life; It is necessary to find someone who can keep it up with your energy. There may be ups and downs or promises that are not kept sometimes due to the transformative nature of Gemini and their sudden changes.

🪩Juno in Cancer: You need a sensitive and protective partner who will cover your emotional needs. There may be emotional manipulation at times, due to Cancer's need to connect in deep ways with their other half. Family and home become very important.

🪩Juno in Leo: Your ideal partner is very creative, affectionate and self-confident. But Leo can also be dramatic, self-centered or immature, which can lead to problems due to pride or dignity issues. You should seek harmony and learn to listen to the other side.

🪩Juno in Virgo: The ideal relationship is one in which both share the same work interests and future plans; someone who seeks to grow and expand with them. With an analytical, detailed, efficient and hard-working partner. Virgo can be very critical and perfectionist at times.

🪩Juno in Libra: Looking for a long-lasting relationship based on commitment, respect and equality. Their ideal partner is sociable, fair, diplomatic and objective. They have a sense of harmony and aesthetics, they appreciate the beauty in their surroundings and expect their partner to do the same.

🪩Juno in Scorpio: Needs a passionate partner and if it is somewhat mysterious, even better. Sexually active and intense relationship. There is total commitment but problems of jealousy or possessiveness may arise. Scorpio can be very vengeful if they feel frustrated, they dont like mind games or their time being wasted.

🪩Juno in Sagittarius: The partner is probably a foreigner, or from different roots and cultures. Juno in this position seeks a relationship based on truth and sincerity. The search for answers motivates them and feeds the relationship. Someone talkative with an expansive minda that is not afraid of doing spontaneous plans, is a perfect match.

🪩Juno in Capricorn: Needs a practical, organized, responsible partner with a good social status. Although she may be cold, calculating or somewhat demanding. There are not many displays of affection or emotion in the relationship, but there is great loyalty and displays of love in her actions towards the other.

🪩Juno in Aquarius: The ideal partner is independent and detached, and respects her need for freedom. It is attracted to an original person, whether a genius or a madman, but one who is unusual. Juno in Aquarius seeks a relationship where both have their time and space.

🪩Juno in Pisces: May idealize their partner or find it difficult to open their eyes in some sense. Pisces is compassionate and knows how to forgive, but is extremely sensitive and emotional. There must be some spiritual connection with the partner.

[ennn]

An incredibly thoughtful and intelligent interview with Kathryn Hahn! Here's a bunch of my highlights under the cut - this interview was definitely done after episode 6.

Shout-out to @isagrimorie and @the-ominous-owl for finding this first

Happy to see someone complimenting Hahn on how well she's embodying the character right down to her fingertips. The interviewer asked the thing I've been dying to know: how it was like working with her movement coach Jennifer White.

Turns out she didn't work with her much for AAA, since Agatha doesn't have her powers, but she worked closely with her for WV where White would propose specific movements for the different spells she had to do, giving her options.

Hahn lets it slip at around 6:11 that Agatha gets her powers back at the very end. Which yeah if you've been watching trailers seems kinda obvious but there you go.

I love how Hahn naturally slips in and out of character in her answers to these questions – she's clearly spent so much time and easily gets into that headspace. It also shows how good these questions are in exploring the character.

Yes, Agatha's whole trauma with her mom did of course make it difficult for her to trust other witches or anybody. "Centuries of survival mechanisms, she just makes a joke."

Interesting: Not only does Rio understand and see parts of Agatha she doesn't want others to see, Agatha "sees things in [Rio] that she's trying to conceal."

Hahn describes their very long and complicated history as one that is "filled with love and respect and hate", with Hahn saying that Rio has really been the only one whose energy has felt equal to Agatha, "someone to spar with and be shocked by".

Agatha's default mask / shell is to be mean. That's always an available option.

Agatha surprises herself with the empathy she's finding for this coven the more time she spends with them, because it is a coven of outcasts. It's new and weird and unexpected for her.

Hahn aligning with Schaeffer's interpretation that Agatha has limited control over her siphoning power: "It's like something takes over and she just absorbs people's power... When she find herself doing it, it's like she can't help it. She just takes."

Hilarious based on Hahn's reaction that she never unpacked the episode 5 aftermath scenes consciously until now. "Oh Agatha." Yep she is a real mess when you actually look at her lol.

Happy that Hahn's perspective is aligning with my meta of how complicated Agatha's relationship with Billy is: It's "an echo of something", Agatha's happy and proud that he's dropped the ruse and is embracing his witch identity, and that he's capable of murder. And she remembers the little kid she babysat.

You can tell how much Hahn cares for and is protective of the character when she talks about how vulnerable Agatha was under the spell and how she was brought low.

Hahn did say "foreplay" when responding to the question about the Episode 1 physical fight, and Rio and Agatha going at each other despite not being able to kill each other.

"I think it's a testament to how strong their bond is that it could reach through a spell and find each other there. And she was really responsible – and Teen – for getting me out of the spell."

"So it felt familiar, like we've done this again, a million times over the years. And it always kinda ends like that. 'Not this time!' but you know what I mean? We keep it going."

[bamfkeeper]

SFW Headcannons: Kurt and his Bamfs

a/n: Obviously I love the bamfs, and I had to do some of these with them because I adore them and I want my own army of them, damnit. Depictions heavily taken from Nightcrawler (2014) comic series. Pretty hasty, just a fun little set of headcannons. I hope you enjoy <3

The bamfs were something you hadn't anticipated, there were so many and their origin was difficult to wrap your head around. Kurt tried to explain it, but you were distracted by the curious bamfs staring at you.

They were adorable, about a dozen? Maybe more? They all were curious, they looked at you with big, round eyes. They seemed so innocent, and you couldn't help but smile.

Kurt was skeptical, they usually weren't this well behaved. You adored these little guys, and welcomed them like a horde of puppies rushing to you. They all jumped on you and made cooing noises as they played, like actual puppies. They were so playful, you didn't understand why Kurt was confused.

That was until you realized that the bamfs were as mischievous as they were playful. They were little gremlins, slightly destructive, and they tended to get into trouble like toddlers.

The bamfs don't speak, but they make an array of noises. Coos, squeaks, hisses, trills, etc. They communicate mostly through noises you come to recognize and body language.

They were a handful, they would make messes and look guilty after. You wanted to scold them, but their big round eyes looked up and that guilt got to you. You forgave them of course, Kurt sometimes says you have to be a little more firm with them or they will always guilt trip you to get away with things.

You didn't care. They practically adopted you as their mama.

There are lots of them, but you always show them equal love and affection. They are pretty needy for it, and like feeling pampered in the way that you treat them.

The bamfs get jealous easy too.

They are protective of you, just like Kurt, and they won't hesitate to keep you safe the best they can. They hiss and the fur on their backs raise a little.

Don't be fooled by their small size, they are like blue darts, they are incredibly hard to fight if they attack.

Each one has their own personality. They are all playful and a handful of troublemakers, but each one has something that makes them unique. More sensitive, more artistic, more sneaky, etc.

You love sleeping now because you have a big nest full of small blue bamfs curling up against you. They're so fuzzy and warm, you hold as many as you can to your chest while they rest pile around you.

Some bamfs stay behind when Kurt goes away just to keep you company.

You really do love taking care of them, and Kurt loves to watch you love on the bamfs. He thinks it's endearing and sweet.

He doesn't understand how you seem to get the bamfs to do what you say. They listen to him, but normally he has to say something over and over before they decide to listen. With you, it's instantaneous. You ask them to calm down, they do. You ask them to stop fighting, they do. It boggles him how they just obey you so easily.

Part of him thinks they only obey you to annoy him even further, and that might be true, but they also care a lot about you and they want nothing but to see you happy.

Also these things can EAT. They consume so much food you think their little tummies are going to explode. They have a strong liking for popcorn and sweets, to which Kurt tries to limit because hyper bamfs are extremely difficult to deal with.

However, a dozen or so begging you with their eyes is so hard to say no to.

And thus, you have a house full of bamfs bouncing off the walls.

You have a lot of fun with the bamfs, they can be a bit overwhelming from time to time, but at the end of the day when you get into bed and they all come snuggling close to you, you know it's worth it.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover photo from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[shiningmystic]

Close your eyes and pick a numbered flower:

PAC - 🧲 what attracts people to you?/what do people find attractive about you?

🍀⚘❁

Welcome to my short and sweet PAC reading, hope you enjoy your stay! If you did reblog to spread the reading, like or tip, Thank you stars. Don't be afraid to pick a second pile or even all of them; let me know what you picked! Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t ❤️

[Ko-fi]

Flower One: Queen of wands (rx), King of Wands (rx), The sun (rx), Two of pentacles, The Fool, Five of cups (rx)

For the people who pick pile one I see your anger and strong personality as the first thing that draws people to you. The rage within you is a powerful thing, the injustice and the empty-headed people who surround you only make this side of you worse. I see plenty of attractive things like your maturity, and yet you also have a really fun side that's equally attractive; you’re gorgeous when you relax btw. I see this balance of sass and feistiness paired well with the fun and free side. Some of you are jokesters, making people laugh will always draw them in, very flirty energy even if you’re not trying. You look like you have your life together even if you don't, you may give off this energy of always having the answer but it’s more like you know what you can do and you’re confident in yourself or at least in your abilities. You always seem to handle things with grace as you go through life; people see this about you and are like, wow (I’m getting you have a lot of admirers).

I can see a few rebels in here, lots of different clothing styles in this pile and enjoying your self-expression; you enjoying yourself is just breathtaking. I see people also think your attractive even when you are in a negative mood which is interesting (resting bitch face?); maybe it's more like they (people around you) see your layered personality plus how you handle situations so maturely yet still so you. I'm also getting a message of you being able to call out something for what it is. You candidly pointing out someone's lies is suuuuuper admirable thanks for existing. Just to add if you don't think you're attractive the energy says otherwise; much thirst from your admirers in this pile, that’s all I'm saying.

Flower Two: Ace of Pentacles, Seven of pentacles (rx), Page of wands (rx), High priestess (rx), Nine of wands (rx), Ten of pentacles (rx)

There is a natural magnetic energy that comes from you. I see with a steady hand and some time investment you attract everything pretty easily but I can see this slow tasking your time thing may be a bit difficult for you because you are an excitable person or at least with the things that interest you; with this, people find very endearing, I’m getting your charming in your own way. There is a naivety here, a pure fun and positive person. You are a light bulb in a room, someone different and refreshing to experience and this is what makes you magnetic to many people. I cannot see what you do exactly, but there is this passive charm I keep having to mention. I also see a giver, someone who is thoughtful and considerate.

I feel like a lot of the people who have picked this pile have a bit of a lack of awareness at times when it comes to social stuff (maybe like cues or just not reading the room right). This is an attractive trait because it means you have no ulterior motive, people may read you pretty clearly and know you mean no harm; someone you can let your guard down with, that is you. This can be charming, but this can also attract the wrong people to so be aware. You are a magnet to many types of energies which just gives me a peak of how many types of people pick this pile but also gives me the vibes of intuitives and psychics; this is the mixed bag pile for sure so remember to just take what resonates.

I see a stubborn streak with half of you, someone who won't back down which is similar to the first pile; Both piles won't turn away from something that is in their way but for you it’s more about defending the ones closest to you. These things make you magnetic to others and they want to open you up. I see a down to earth person, someone who cares and wants to learn but also can sympathize. Ok Ok, some of you are shy, people who feel restricted when trying to connect with others but that is ok, you do have attractive traits, and your voice deserves to be heard. huh, it's kinda silly that even when you try to stay unseen people still see you.

Flower Three: Three of wands (rx), Five of cups, Nine of swords, Three of cups, Six of cups (rx), Page of swords (rx)

So, I am instantly getting that even with the burdens in the past you seem to always bring joy and love to the people you surround yourself with; similar vibes to pile two but you are way more active and try to show your love and care through actions. You're a person who lives in the moment, a great listener and partier all at the same time. I keep hearing someone saying you are a great friend and have a trustworthy opinion because you give unbais straight thoughts even if you have your own opinion you don't just stay ignorant, you hear and listen to truth. I see you take accountability for the things you say and do, holy crap that is so attractive to read haha. You are a fair person and try your best which is all anyone could ask of you, this humble yet thoughtful energy makes a lot of sense if a heavy past has shaped you.

It's interesting to see a duality in this pile, what I see is a person who can let go and have fun in the moment enjoying their friends and the ones they love yet also able to reflect and understand deep dark concepts about reality, philosopher energy. I see you may not show everyone every part of you and may be shy but some of you just don't see the need for everyone to see what you're doing with your life which brings a mystery energy, this draws people too you believe it or not. There may be some smart mouth people in this pile who enjoy dark humor. Interesting to see this as something others around you are attracted to. I don't think your hardcore dark humor (maybe some of you are), but I see you being able to crack a joke about hardship and the bull that has happened in life because it's a way you let go and heal. Healing looks different for everyone, you know who you want in your space and that is something respectable and a sign of an intelligent person.

- ShiningMystic ����

Only decks used were the original Rider-Waite Tarot Card Deck

[theoreocat]

Hi everyone,

If you’ve been following us on YouTube or Facebook you may already know this. Yesterday, I found out that Oreo has cancer in his GI tract. We went in to the vet because he hadn't pooped and threw up again pretty violently. Before heading to the vet, he made a huge stink, so when I got there I let the vet know. She palpated him and said that she still felt something in his abdomen so she decided to do an ultrasound. The ultrasound shows that he has a very large mass in his abdomen. This is what's making him sick. Many different solutions were laid on the table including palliative care with steroids or chemotherapy. The latter requiring us to see an oncologist first.

The type of cancer Oreo has is an aggressive one, which means it's fast growing. The reality of the situation is that Oreo may not have much time. We can do what we can to extend it but in order to do that, his quality of life may deteriorate dependant on the aggressivity of the treatments. It's equally possible that he may be a good candidate and treatment might be a great option. To know this, we need to see the oncologist.

I've taken an appointment with one in a week's time. It was the earliest I could get. I will have to go into Montreal for the appointment. I was told Oreo can't eat for 12 hours before the appointment as well. Pook kid. I decided to do this just to put my own mind at ease and see what cards are on the table. Depending of the oncologists outlook, I will decide what's best for him at that time.

Once again, I sincerely appreciate everyone's kind words, thoughts and prayers. I spent another $900 yesterday and if we decide to go with treatment we will be looking at thousands more. I was suggested to go directly to emergency services in Montreal as the delay time may be faster from start to finish in getting the information, however, I don't think Oreo would appreciate that. He has been through a lot in the past three weeks and I don't want to bring him to an emergency room to sit there all day and possibly have to stay there for days getting tests done. I don't know how long he has and I want him to be with us right now. He has some medicine to help with nausea as well as an appetite stimulant which we tried this morning and will soon see what results it gives.

This is all very difficult for me to process and I am doing my best. Rest assured, I will do whatever I feel is best for Oreo in the end.

Thanks for your kind support,

Tina.