#and there was no tension with either of the boys either
Note
Inexperienced reader marked up Willy's neck while sitting on his lap. His desperate groans forced her to bite down harder than she had before as they grinded against one another. She felt her heart rate speed up as her breathing became shallow. Willy's body began to tense up as he let out a loud moan. She released her grip and pulled away, her cheeks burning. Are you gonna try & hide them?" You say, pulling away with a pout on your lips. Willy shook his head, a mischievous smile on his face as he pointed his index finger at her. "No way," he said, his voice a low whisper. "I'm gonna show them off." They are both possessive in their own right.
Mmm yes, they're definitely possessive babe! And we them for it 😉
So, this chapter turned out to be rather soft, yet still filled with loads of smut - and I just hope you all enjoy it 😊🤍
[casual outing] [Hair tucking]
Tropes & warnings; jealous!Willy, Jealous!reader, Smut 18+; fingering, handjob, penetrative sex (p in v), hair pulling, light spanking, cum inside, oral sex (m receiving), more penetrative sex (p in vi), cum shot, praise!kink;
Word count; 5.6K
"God morgon, prinsessa," = Good morning, princess
"God morgon, min prins," = Good morning, my prince
「Inexperienced!reader x Willy」
Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @Fortheloveofnylander @justwanderingbutneverlost
-
All good boys go to heaven - But bad boys bring heaven to you pt XV I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️
Navigating life as an NHL girlfriend always came with its share of highs and lows. And as the regular season drew to a close and the playoffs loomed closer, you found yourself experiencing the bitter side of the journey.
Your feelings for your boyfriend William Nylander remained steadfast regardless, yet the strain on your relationship was becoming palpable.
Describing the final weeks of March as tough felt like an understatement; victories against the Oilers followed by losses to the Hurricanes and the Devils, then another win against the Capitals and the Sabres. It was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone involved.
And after each game, you did your utmost to either console William or provide him with unwavering support. But it wasn't always a straightforward task.
While William typically kept his emotions in check in public, behind closed doors, he was gradually becoming more open. The topic was somewhat delicate, with several small discussions sparked by his seemingly too calm demeanour, yet you encouraged him to let it out.
As you'd discuss the games on your way home, he'd often brush it off, insisting that everything was fine, and they simply needed to perform better next time. And he wasn't entirely wrong. It was perhaps the healthiest mindset to maintain mental stability. Yet, beneath the surface, you sensed there was more to the story, something simmering beneath his composed exterior.
But when William avoided delving deeper into the matter, you decided it was best to table it, at least for the time being.
As April began, the stakes grew higher than ever. The Toronto Maple Leafs teetered on the edge of playoffs, demanding undivided attention to games and training. Consequently, you found yourself inadvertently assuming the role of a housewife, managing grocery runs, meal preparation, and dog-walking duties, especially when William's trainer couldn't spare the time. And balancing your own work responsibilities with being a supportive hockey girlfriend was gradually becoming overwhelming.
Just weeks ago, amidst some wonderful moments shared with William, discussions ventured into territories like finances and the integration of your lives, leading you to make the decision to give up your apartment and fully commit to living with him.
However, as tensions simmered within the walls of your spacious condo, each evening seemingly hotter with unresolved arguments, you reached a breaking point. So you opted to spend a few days at your own place. It wasn't about avoiding William but rather acknowledging the toll these conflicts were taking on you, and recognising you needed a breather before it got too tense.
You knew the conversations weren't too bad, at least not as per what some of the other girlfriends and wives had shared with you. It was simply around this time of year when the players tend to turn everything into a debate at home. Yet it felt as if the world would come crashing down if you kept it going.
It would typically start with you attempting to console William, and then it’d escalate.
"Come on, Willy, just talk to me – that's what I'm here for,” you spoke firmly.
"There's nothing to talk about. Just leave it, y/n,” he avoided your attempt for a conversation.
"Look, it's obviously bothering you – I can sense it..."
"Oh, so now you can feel what I feel? Great talent there, y/n..." William almost snorted.
"That's not fair, Willy... All I want is to try and help..."
"But there's nothing you can do to help! It is what it is."
"Stop saying that! All I want is to support you – there's no need for you to be a dick about it!"
"Well, that's just how it is! You knew that when you got into a relationship with me..."
"Yes! I knew this would be a challenging time, and I was prepared for it – but you also knew you were getting into a relationship, so now you have to accept that you're not alone in this anymore. I'm here to support you, William Nylander, whether you like it or not!"
And with that, the discussion came to a close. It was a delicate balance, wanting to show support while giving William the space he needed. Meanwhile, he needed to understand that you would always be there for him, ready to lend a listening ear, and he couldn't simply push you away when he didn't want to confront his emotions.
So, after a few trial-and-error attempts, you somewhat figured it out.
Yet, stepping into your familiar home brought a sense of relief. Within your own walls, away from the chaos of hockey and media scrutiny, and the unanswerable questions at work about the team's performance, you found tranquillity.
Being apart from your boyfriend for a few days, even though you were in the same city, wasn't easy. But it felt necessary.
And for William, it did provide some focus on his training and the upcoming match against the Canadiens.Deep down, he understood that you weren't trying to leave him, though a part of him feared it. He recognised that you needed time and space, just as he often did, to concentrate on matters beyond the minor disputes at home.
And as the Leafs returned from Montreal, having officially secured their place in the playoffs, it felt like things were returning to normal. Back in your shared home, wrapped in each other's arms, it was pure celebration. You were practically inseparable upon his return, elated from the victory.
-
Sunday was solely dedicated to celebration, and in his role as a gracious host and teammate, Mitch had extended an invitation to the team for dinner at his restaurant. It was meant to be a relaxed evening, bearing in mind the upcoming game against the Penguins the following day, and with the tense and challenging times ahead, everyone saw it as an opportunity to enjoy some calm before the storm.
However, as you moved about the condo, getting ready for the evening proved to be a bit of a challenge.
"Willy," you giggled as you struggled to put on your outfit, standing in the walk-in closet wearing nothing but your underwear. "You really need to let go so I can finish up."
"Hmm," he hummed as he embraced you, burying his face in your neck and planting kisses while his hands wandered over your body, eventually settling on his favourite spot: your ass. "But then you'll just put on clothes... and I prefer you without..." he teased, pulling back to meet your gaze with a mischievous grin.
"Well, I'm sorry, but that would be highly inappropriate for a restaurant outing," you chuckled as you gently wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body lightly against his.
"Or... maybe we skip the dinner... and just stay in here, where we can both be naked," he suggested seductively, and you couldn't help but smile and shake your head gently.
"You can be such a brat sometimes – this is your team, Willy, and we both know you'd love to be with them for dinner," you reasoned with a playful glint in your eye. While the idea of staying home, naked and cuddled up with William was tempting, you also recognised the importance of gatherings like tonight's.
"Hmm," William merely hummed. "I suppose I'll have to... maybe then, try and persuade you."
William's chuckle was nothing short of cheeky and seductive, and you couldn't help but emit a squeak as he hoisted you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bedroom where he playfully tossed you onto the mattress. It was a typical Nylander move, and once he had that dark look in his eyes, there was no stopping him from giving in to the sexual tension, from feeling him inside you as he elicited cries and moans from your lips.
And tonight, even before dinner, was no exception.
As William captured your lips with his, you were immediately drawn into his touch, completely captivated as his tongue danced with yours. Your lips moved in sync, your hands clutching his blonde locks tightly as his body pressed against yours, igniting a hunger and intensity filled with raw lust and desire. And before long, he freed his already hard member from his boxers, discarding your lacy underwear in the process.
You knew this wouldn't be one of those drawn-out sessions where William took his time eating you out, ensuring you reached climax multiple times before satisfying himself. Instead, it was a quick, eager, and playful encounter, where you started out by stroking his shaft, eliciting moans from him, while he moistened two fingers with saliva and inserted them into your core.
The kisses were fervent, occasionally interrupted by moans and heavy breaths. Hands explored each other's bodies, drawing each other closer until William abruptly pulled away. And in one swift motion, he turned you around, knelt behind you, lifted your ass, and entered you.
"Fuck yes..." he groaned deeply as he effortlessly filled you, hitting all the right spots with ease.
"Mmm, yes, Willy..." you moaned in tandem with his deep sounds, quickly succumbing to primal passion. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you, while William's hands firmly grasped your hips as he thrust into your warmth. It was far from romantic; it was raw, unbridled passion as William intensified his pace, his hips colliding with yours, his heavy breaths mingling with your loud cries.
William was simply overcome with desire for your body, but knowing he wasn't one to climax too quickly, he also knew he had to exert force to prevent the encounter from dragging on.
And caught in the heat of the moment, he couldn't restrain his actions. His thrusts were powerful and unrelenting, his hand finding your long hair and gripping it tightly as he increased his speed.
"Fuck... Willy!" you cried out as he piston deeper and faster with each thrust. Pleasure surged through you, tears threatening to spill from the sheer intensity as your body surrendered to his forceful advances. Your core clenched around his relentless shaft, your walls overstimulated, and your cunt dripping with every movement. "Shiii- Willy... Oh god, I'm gonn—"
You couldn't even form coherent words as he pulled your head back, intensifying his movements even further. And you were certain his thrusts would leave a mark on your skin, yet in that moment, you couldn't care less.
William's actions were so fierce and dominant that you had to close your eyes and surrender to him completely. Your body belonged to him, and you had no desire to challenge his power. Instead, you allowed ecstasy to consume you entirely, your moans growing louder and louder as your orgasm surged through your body, mind, and soul, causing you to scream his name for all to hear.
"Fuck, yes... that's my good girl," William praised, maintaining his movements as he felt his own climax nearing. "I fucking love this ass..." And with a swift motion, he let go of your hip to deliver a firm smack to your cheek.
Your wet core seemed tailor-made for his cock as he pounded into you with incredible force, his shaft drenched as it slid in and out of you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. With each thrust, he increased his speed, pushing himself closer to the edge, and his deep grunts filled the air as he shut his eyes and moaned deeply, releasing himself into your depths.
The experience was nothing short of amazing and intense. It took a few minutes for both of you to catch your breath and regain your strength before slowly disentangling yourselves from the position. No words were necessary. Your core was sore and tingling, coated with William's release as he withdrew, yet your mind was in a blissful state, completely consumed by the rush.
And William couldn't help but admire his handiwork as he noticed the slight redness on your skin from his actions. With a playful grin spreading across his lips, he gently caressed your cheek before placing a tender kiss on it.
"Fucking love this ass," he repeated, this time softer and filled with desire, causing you to look back at him with a chuckle.
"You're a real problem, Nylander..."
"What do you mean?" he chuckled darkly.
"Look what you've done. Now we both have to shower again and get dressed, meaning we'll be late for dinner..."
It was a familiar scenario. William was notorious on the team for always being late, and for the past four months, you had been one of the main reasons for that. Your sex life had always been adventurous, but it was the spontaneity that made it even more fun. And William made no effort to hide it from anyone.
"Well, then we better get moving," he simply chuckled before getting off the bed with a wide grin.
-
"Finally, you guys decided to show up!" Auston exclaimed as you entered, everyone already seated.
"Still running late, Willy," Mitch chimed in with a chuckle.
"Yeah, but I bet it's not entirely his fault this time," Järnkrok added with a grin and a wink, causing you to blush slightly as you couldn't deny the truth. Yet, you were quick with a retort.
"Well, at least he's getting some action, unlike some others," you said with a cocky smile, eliciting loud 'oooohhhh's from the players, with William laughing loudly beside you.
And the evening unfolded beautifully, as always. Mitch and Stephanie were excellent hosts, and the upscale restaurant buzzed with nothing but laughter and conversations. The delicious food delighted your taste buds, and the atmosphere was overall filled with joy.
And as everyone anticipated the approaching game, it was evident that everyone needed this evening to unwind and simply enjoy each other's company. Yet, one small detail disrupted your comfort.
"Hey, are you okay?" William whispered as he noticed your slight movements in your seat.
"Hmm," you simply nodded before leaning closer to him. "Though... I'm a little sore, Willy," you whispered, unable to suppress a chuckle.
"Really?" he raised an eyebrow, flashing a satisfied smirk that earned an eye-roll from you.
"Yeah... you were a bit rough, mister," you smiled.
"Hmm, thought you liked it when I'm rough," he grinned, a statement you couldn't really refute. A significant part of your sex life often involved dominant and submissive play, and truth be told you had no complaints.
"Hmm, maybe I do," you softly admitted. "It's just... not easy to sit when your lady parts have been pounded like that..."
Biting his lower lip, William couldn't resist voicing his naughty thoughts. "Well, then I suppose we'll just have to keep practicing until you get used to it."
Even among close friends and their families, the two of you couldn't control your banter. However, as the night progressed, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere.
After the third course, you joined a few of the ladies in the bathroom, engaging in heartfelt conversations and sharing experiences from the past few weeks.
"Don't worry, y/n," Aryne spoke sweetly. "It's just the playoffs weighing on him. William will be back to his usual self in no time – it just requires a bit more patience from our side this time of year." The other girls nodded in agreement.
Their words were comforting and reassuring. Being your first time dating a professional athlete, you needed their encouragement and support. And after all, most of them had dealt with their husbands and boyfriends throughout their careers.
"How about a drink?" Tessa then suggested with a smile, earning enthusiastic agreement from the group, including you.
And as you all headed to the bar for drinks, any worries seemed to fade away. Amidst laughter and playful jokes about how the ladies needed drinks to cope with their men, you felt completely at ease and comfortable.
That was, until you suddenly felt someone's gaze on you. And it wasn't your boyfriend's.
A few feet away, a rather handsome man was looking in your direction. Though he could have been staring at any woman in the group, you couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you turned your head and met his eyes, and he offered you a smile. It wasn't overly direct or forward; just a man trying to flirt with a woman from across the room.
However, almost instinctively, while trying not to consciously reciprocate the flirting, you soon felt a pair of hands on you. And this time, it was your boyfriend's.
He didn't say a word. William's hand simply found its way to your ass, where it belonged, as he stood close to you, flashing you a sweet smile before planting a kiss on your cheek. You didn't even have to look to know that he was eyeing the man who had been attempting to flirt with you, sending him a clear message with a look that said, 'she's mine,' while discreetly giving your cheek a gentle squeeze.
And you couldn't deny how good it made you feel. Knowing that William was boldly asserting your relationship status to the world had you feeling captivated. Especially since you were aware of the numerous girls who longed to be with him, fantasising about your breakup so they could swoop in. But William didn't hide the fact that he was taken, and that made you smile.
Yet, a small part of you felt the temptation to play with fire.
"Feeling a little jealous, are we?" you chuckled lightly as you sipped your drink, William's hand still firmly on your cheek, while more people joined the group at the bar.
"Mmm, he wants what's mine, and I don't like that," William huskily whispered under his breath.
"Yours? Willy, I'm not anyone's property," you raised an eyebrow, but he simply chuckled darkly.
"Yes, you are," he smirked. "It's part of the deal of being with me. I give you a place to stay, and in return, this belongs to me."
His words ignited another arousal within you, despite having just experienced a wonderful orgasm a few hours earlier.
"Oh, so that's how you see it? Hmm, then maybe I should reconsider giving up my apartment," you challenged him, and it seemed to awaken something primal within your boyfriend.
"No - you can't back out now. I've claimed your ass, and now you're mine."
There was a silent exchange of glances as the intensity of the moment lingered, William's hand remaining firmly in place. However, when Mitch announced the arrival of the next course, you both silently agreed to set aside your playful banter for the time being.
-
It was all fun and games between you and William. Well, most of the time at least.
He'd assert his possessiveness over you, you'd playfully challenge him, and then he'd assert his dominance in a sexual manner, reminding you that you did, in fact, belong to him. However, as Monday rolled around and it was time for the Leafs to face off against the Penguins, the dynamics seemed to shift.
The game was nothing short of exhilarating, but it was almost too intense for your liking. After Pittsburgh scored the first goal in the opening period, Kniesy retaliated in the second, followed by Auston putting the Leafs in the lead in the third. But just when victory seemed within reach, the Penguins fought back, forcing the game into overtime. Fortunately, McCabe saved the day, securing a 3-2 victory for the Leafs on home turf, boosting their confidence before their upcoming trip to New Jersey.
But despite the win, a slight unease lingered within you as you prepared to meet your boyfriend in the hallways after the match. Normally, you prided yourself on not being the jealous type of girlfriend who felt insecure when her boyfriend talked to other girls. However, there was something about this particular girl that set your mind spinning.
She was undeniably stunning, her smile radiant and her eyes sparkling as her brown hair cascaded gracefully down her back. And seeing her laughing and chatting with William sparked a small wave of guilt within you.
Nevertheless, you maintained your composure. Slowly, you approached your laughing boyfriend and gently wrapped your arms around his sturdy frame.
"Oh, hey babe," he chuckled, still engrossed in his conversation with the beautiful girl, only briefly acknowledging your presence.
"What's so funny?" you smiled, trying to join in on the conversation.
"I was just telling Willy here about some of the comments people have left on his Rogers' commercial," the girl explained with a sweet tone and smile. "They're just hilarious."
And William continued to laugh, his signature laughter filling the hallway.
"Oh yeah, those were indeed funny," you tried to laugh along, though the amusement quickly faded.
"Anyway, I better get going," the brunette smiled before bidding farewell to William.
There was a moment of silence as William's laughter subsided and he turned to face you.
"What?" he asked innocently.
"What what?" you replied, feigning ignorance of the fact that he had caught on to your jealousy.
"You know what... you're being jealous," he pointed out with a smirk.
"Well, of course I am," you retorted, your voice firm as you gently crossed your arms over your chest. "My boyfriend's chatting with a gorgeous girl after a win, smiling like he's a teenager seeing boobs for the first time, and acting as if I didn't notice."
"Oh, come on, she's just a journalist, babe," William chuckled nonchalantly.
"Well then why isn't she asking you questions along with the other journalists over there?" you pointed to the station where players usually gave their post-game statements.
"She just came up to me and asked me if..." he trailed off, stopping himself before he dug himself deeper.
"Asking you what?" you raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing..." he tried to brush it off, but he knew it was futile.
"Well, if it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" Your voice softened, tinged with vulnerability as you were reminded of other girls who were interested in your boyfriend.
And letting out a deep sigh, William knew honesty was the best policy. "She asked if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee together..."
"Oh..." you paused for a moment. "And you said yes?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, it doesn't mean anything - she's just doing her job," he chuckled lightly.
"Right... her job... so that means she's also getting coffee with all the other players?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Um... no, I don't think so... but that's because she was there when I did the commercial thing... and she's just... I don't know, catching up, I guess."
You tried your best not to let your frustration show, but William was already aware of your feelings.
"Hey, babe, it's not like she's making any moves - I mean, she's a journalist, she knows I have a girlfriend..." he flashed you a confident smile, and though you didn't trust the journalist's intentions, you trusted your boyfriend.
Just as you expected him to trust you despite other men hitting on you.
So, you let it go and simply let out a calm sigh. "Right, how about we go home then, and I'll remind you just how much I love this relationship," you smirked up at him, gently wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
"Mmm, I don't think I can say no to that," William chuckled, before bidding goodbye to the others and leaving.
You already started the foreplay in the car, teasing his thigh higher and higher until you were close to his groin. Then, in the lift, he couldn't resist, eagerly kissing you as he pressed you against the wall. So, when you entered the condo, you took charge, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, flashing him a lustful smirk as you pulled him towards the bedroom.
William didn't resist; he enjoyed your attempt at dominance. But as soon as you were both in nothing but underwear, he reclaimed his dominant role.
And of course, there was no other way for you to express your desire for your boyfriend than by kneeling in front of him in your fine underwear, opening your mouth as your eyes pleaded for him to feed you with his hard cock.
With you kneeling before him, eager to take him deep into your throat, William felt like he was in heaven. Your warm mouth worked wonders around his throbbing cock, and the small gagging sounds you made whenever he pushed a little too far only added to his pleasure.
You were his submissive, and your sole desire was to please him.
"Mmm, baby, you're so good," he hummed under his breath as you continued to bob your head, focused solely on breathing through your nose as you took him deeper and deeper. Occasionally, you glanced up at him through your lashes, watching as his muscles tensed under your hand, which you used for support while the other stroked his length where your mouth couldn't reach.
But as you pressed yourself further, your nose hitting the pubic hair of his crotch, and you gagged around him, saliva drooling from the corner of your mouth and trailing down your chin, William found it incredibly arousing. He held significant power over you, and the sight thrilled him.
However, as he felt his climax approaching, he knew he wasn't ready to finish just yet. So, instead, he withdrew himself from your wonderful mouth.
"Such a good girl…" he praised softly, before gently guiding you to the bed. But as you moved towards the mattress, you signalled your desire to be on top, and William happily granted your wish.
After removing your underwear, he lay down on his back, and you couldn't help but smile as you straddled his hips. He was already dripping with precum, mixed with your saliva, and your arousal was evident, making it effortless for you to sink down onto his cock and let him fill you up.
"Oh yes, Willy," you moaned as his thick member stretched your entrance, stimulating your walls with every inch.
"Mmm, baby, you feel so good around me," he moaned in harmony, his hands instinctively gripping your hips.
And as your bodies connected, you began to sway your hips, rocking back and forth in sensual motions, your hands finding support on his chest. With each movement, allowing his hardness to glide in and out of your wet core, your moans grew louder. Pleasure rushed through your body, and you increased your pace, your breaths heavy and your mind consumed by sensation.
Then as the intensity grew, your bodies became sweatier and hotter, your vision blurring with each thrust. Addicted to the pleasure, you increased your speed once again, seeking that euphoric high.
"Mmm… shit, Willy," you moaned in a soft cry, your hips moving desperately as your thighs pressed against the man beneath you.
"Yes, älskling… you're such a good girl," William muttered. "Fucking ride me, baby… fucking cum on my dick…"
In the heat of the moment, his words worked like a magic spell, and with a forceful motion, you panted and gasped for air as you reached climax.
You even had to pause your movements, filling your lungs with air as you shut your eyes and cried out his name in pleasure. Your tight muscles pulsed around his shaft as you calmed from the high of your orgasm, your legs trembling from the intensity.
And as you slowly came down from the euphoric state, William sat up, gently pushing his cock a little deeper inside you as he grabbed your hair and pulled you in for a messy kiss.
"Hmm, fucking love it when you make yourself cum on me," he spoke huskily under his breath, and with a smirk adorning your sweaty face, you then started to slowly move your hips again, rocking gently as you kissed his bearded chin and neck, occasionally biting down with your teeth before pulling back.
The room was hot and steamy, and as he felt your cunt pulsating around his member, he felt the need for his own release stirring. So, taking a firm hold of your body, William then turned you both over and pushed your back into the mattress.
In one swift movement, he seized your hands and held them above your head as he began to thrust into you, while your legs instinctively wrapped around his lower body, heels pressing into his skin as you surrendered to his actions. His movements were powerful, yet this time, he attempted to maintain a sense of romance as you exchanged deep, passionate kisses.
Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, allowing him to thrust mercilessly and deeply, pushing you to the edge of overstimulation as he approached his climax. William's grip on your wrists was strong, and as he pounded even faster, you knew he was nearing completion.
"Oh, yes, Willy, cum for me…" you moaned loudly, gasping for breath as you became undone for him.
"Yeah... baby, I'm so close..." he breathed heavily in response. So, with a few more intense thrusts, William withdrew abruptly, knelt back, and ejaculated onto your lower stomach with a deep grunt. "God...," he moaned huskily as he reached a more intense climax than expected, his sticky white cum covering your skin like a canvas.
It was messy, yet incredibly arousing. Your body still trembled as you recovered from the intense sex, and your legs shook as you gradually regained strength. Meanwhile, William caught his breath, admiring his handiwork.
Your body was undeniably stunning, but what he admired most was how well he knew it and how effortlessly he could please you, eliciting loud moans and squirms with his touch.
And as the two of you gradually returned to reality, smiles graced your faces, unable to contain the sense of satisfaction. Additionally, William naturally assisted in tidying up the aftermath by leading you to the bathroom, where he tenderly and leisurely washed your bodies with lukewarm water cascading over the two of you, sharing deep kisses and reaffirming the connection that had united you from the outset. It was the bond that held you together through the peaks and valleys, through all the challenges you encountered as a couple.
As morning broke and William's alarm shattered your peaceful sleep, you couldn't help but smile as you turned to see his serene expression, while William, true to form, didn't immediately wake from the alarm; he was a dedicated snoozer. Yet, what always brought him to full consciousness was your kiss. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, planting soft kisses all over his handsome face until he slowly opened his eyes.
"God morgon, prinsessa," William murmured huskily, still half-asleep.
"God morgon, min prins," you smiled in return.
Despite the early hour, it was a cosy morning, with the passionate warmth from the night before still lingering between you. Any lingering traces of jealousy were overshadowed by the depth of your relationship, dispelling any intrusive negative thoughts.
As you exchanged lazy morning kisses, William's embrace tightened around you, drawing you closer to his body, the warmth emanating from him as you felt his morning hardness pressing against you. And with a smile of your own, you summoned the strength to position yourself on top of him.
William sat up straight, his bare chest pressed against your breasts as he drew you even nearer, deepening the kiss. However, you pulled back slightly, biting your lower lip before licking them seductively, trailing your fingers along his neck where you admired the faint marks from the night before.
Yet, not entirely satisfied with your handiwork, you returned your lips to his skin, your fingers tangling in his hair as he leaned back against the headboard. Despite the early hour, William could already feel himself responding to your touch, the anticipation of being apart from you again igniting a primal craving.
And his desperate groans only spurred you to bite down harder as you allowed your hips to gently grind against his lap. Your heart rate quickened, breaths becoming shallow, while William's body tensed, releasing a loud moan. Then pulling away from his flushed skin, you felt your cheeks flush with heat.
"Hmm," William muttered. "Leaving your mark, are you?" he chuckled mischievously, earning a light nod from you.
"Can't have you walking around without people knowing you have a girlfriend, can we?" you spoke seductively, your fingers delicately tracing the marks you skilfully created.
"And why's that?" William grinned, rhetorically acknowledging the possessiveness stirring within you, mirroring his own.
"Well, maybe there's going to be another journalist trying to grab coffee with you…" you playfully smiled.
"Hmm, yeah, we can't have that, can we," William chuckled, merely acknowledging the playful banter.
There was a brief moment of silence as you both admired each other in the soft morning light, knowing you would only be apart for the day, sharing a tender kiss.
"So," you spoke, pulling away with a pout on your lips, "Are you going to try and hide them?"
But William simply shook his head, a mischievous smile on his face as he gently rubbed his index finger across your lower lip. "No way," he said, his voice a low whisper. "I'm going to show them off."
It was a simple moment, yet it emphasised the possessiveness you both held for each other. Though you trusted each other implicitly, there were still lingering worries in the back of your minds.
You always harboured a nervousness that William might grow bored of you, drawn instead to the other incredibly beautiful women who seemed to appear in his life. Meanwhile, William feared that you might tire of his lifestyle and one day simply decide to leave in pursuit of a more conventional life.
Yet, neither of you had any intentions of parting ways.
#my asks#18+#Inexperienced!reader x Willy#william nylander imagine#nhl smut#wn88 imagine#william nylander smut#nhl hockey imagine#toronto maple leafs imagine#SlutsforPresidentNylander
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Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 11 - A Fertile Flower of Hope
AO3 LINK HERE
Pairing: Astarion/Halsin
Rating: Explicit for the full work, this chapter is E for everyone.
Tags/warnings: Mention of sexual slavery.
Word count: 8,000 (this chapter)
Header art by @solmesia.
Work below the cut as well!
As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.
The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.
"When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.
"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."
Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.
Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.
He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.
"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.
Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.
***
The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.
They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.
Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds, for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?
Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.
Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.
Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.
"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.
Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.
"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.
"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.
"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.
The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?
“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.
"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child.
"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you."
The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."
Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.
"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.
When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.
His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.
"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares."
Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.
******
Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.
As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings.
Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.
Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.
*****
Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.
Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.
A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face. "Halsin, you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose.
Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below.
And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.
Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.
"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.
"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?"
Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.
Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.
"Well," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books?”
The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.
Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf.
"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.
It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."
Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.
"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.
Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.
“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”
'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.
Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.
"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."
Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests, darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.
The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.
"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron.
"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.
"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.
"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.
The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.
"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.
Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was armwrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.
"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.
"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."
Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.
"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.
Or that topic, at least.
**************
Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone, let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience, Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.
"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.
As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant."
Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.
It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.
His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.
Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.
Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."
Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.
He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down.
"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.
Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.
"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.
Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.
Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.
A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."
The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.
Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.
Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"
Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"
"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.
Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs.
For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.
He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.
"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.
He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience. "You may open your eyes now."
As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.
All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.
His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.
“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.
He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."
Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.
#bg3#astarion#baldur's gate 3#halstarion#bg3 astarion#halsin x astarion#astarion x halsin#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#halsin/astarion#bloodbear#blood and honey#bloodhoney#oakblood#ursaminor#ursa minor
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Mi Dulce Cereza
Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader
Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?
WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors. No proofread
Summary: Miguel's revenge is set into motion.
A/N: Centuries later, here it is <3, hope you enjoy this new version! So nervous about this jskjs. Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 for the help <3
"Ma!"
The ten-year-old boy called, desperate as he searched and scourged the house he lived in, to eventually find her mother in his younger brother's room.
Ravenous and long curls adorned her back. Brown beautiful eyes stared with adoration at the little six-year-old boy, carefully tucked in her arms as she combed her child's wavy strands away from his innocent face.
"Ma!" the boy called a bit more urgent as he tugged on her skirt, earning him a hushed grunt from her.
"Gabriel está durmiendo, Miguel!" (Gabriel is sleeping)
"No, Ma! Debes venir a la entrada! Hay gente buscando a George!" (You gotta come to the door! There's people looking for George!)
Conchata quickly put Gabriel into his crib and darted to the entrance. Panic and bile rose in her insides.
The banging on the feeble and rusty metal doors alarmed Conchata the more she approached the main hacienda's door.
Much to her and Miguel's surprise a group of men, awaited outside. Dressed in the blue and white colors proper of a Santa Margarita's Town police officer.
Miguel's eyes wandered over the guns that nested on the men's hips as they rode their horses haughtily. But paid special attention to the man leading them.
Hardened and weathered face, partially obscured by his camel brown Stetson hat, dressed up sharply, letting his belt and the overall imposing aura to do the talk for him, same as his horse and everything that donned his body. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Conchata.
"Miss Stone. I believe it's the third time I ask for you to leave" He acknowledged sternly.
A surname that made Miguel's churn in utter discomfort, but his mother always told him to give that name to strangers, since the O'Hara was only for the family. But even that one didn't sit right in his heart either. Not when the provider of such surname had been long gone from their lives, with no intention of returning.
And the men before his home were everything but familiar, strangers at best. Invaders. Trespassers with a penchant for intimidation as they were all armed to the teeth.
"The hell you want?!" Conchata crossed her arms and returned the steely glare the handsome and powerful man gave her.
His mother's bravado was certainly something Miguel could look up, despite the woman not being her best title of mother with him. But her bravery made him courageous.
"For you to leave my property."
"What are you talking about?! This is not your property, Anderton!"
A man like Pastor William was hard to ignore, not when power and influences oozed from him by merely existing.
"It is. You're living in Edenton's. Half the area is mine now."
"I have my property papers! This is outright ridiculous!" Conchata huffed as she sent Miguel to to get them.
"My lawyer is here. So we can have this settled once for all."
"There is nothing to settle!, I told your people I wouldn't sell my home and now you're acting far from someone that believes in God to get it!, maldita rata!" (fucking rat)
William narrowed his eyes at the last words that spilled with venom from Conchata's plump lips. He wasn't a man to give easily into anger, but his patience wasn't something to be tested either.
He had bought a good chunk of Edenton's territory and much to Conchata's dismay her home was right in the middle of said property.
The boy wasted no time into retrieving her mother's proofs of ownership as she opened the door to see the man that ground her nerves in seconds. Face to face.
And when the policeman and lawyer took a brief look at them, they could only snort in derision upon reading them.
"Not only are they outdated, but the important signatures are missing. This is fake."
Conchata paled, and she clutched her chest. Her heart pounded so hard she had to grab Miguel's lanky arm to support herself. Everything was slowly falling apart.
"Ma?"
Her boy looked up at her, concern plastered over his young yet understanding face
"T-That cannot be! George left it all arranged before leaving!"
"He didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."
William gave the papers to his lawyer as he climbed off the horse and Conchata immediately tried to get them back, but tore them im the process
"No! No! That's not true! My papers " She shrieked and the police officer intervened as soon as she tried to go for Anderton's lawyer.
"Stop! " Miguel was held back after kicking the officer's shin.
Conchata freed herself from the guard's grip, only to deliver a hard slap on William's face.
"La vas a pagar caro cabrón! A mi nadie me sacará de mi casa!" (You'll pay for this. None kicks me out of my home!)
The officers held Conchata back and Miguel, since the boy attempted to defend the remnants of his mother's dignity. But there was little they could do.
Conchata's land was prosperous, and so far it provided a good income to live rather peacefully and away from the rest. Until now.
William was rather strict and apprehensive about his properties. He owed half the town, and for Conchata to live there, right in the spot he wanted to build his home for his new family, rendered nothing but a black and ugly spot to his future dream.
Buthe would erase it. And if he needed to get over the law, to get it, he would. Influences had their perks. And these worked to his favor without a hitch.
"I'll give you three days for you to pack it up 'n leave."
"Three days?! Where am I going to find a place to live? My children... I can't leave-"
"I'm sure the local shelters will take you in gladly. Be grateful I got you time."
William seethed with his usual calm, sending shivers down Miguel's spine, as the boy held onto his mother's skirt.
The men turned around in their horses and soon began galloping away, but William got up on the beast back, remaining high and proud. Looking down at him.
For a man to make Conchata to clutch and hold on to him so protectively, meant she had no power at all. That she had been defeated. Something his childish brain thought impossible.
It reminded him the ways she sometimes protected him and Gabriel from George in his usual drunk fits.
That day, Pastor William Anderton remained forever engraved in Miguel's core memories and in his heart's growing rage.
Resentment wasn't often a feeling a boy so young like him should experience. But there he was, memorizing every dip, pore and soft wrinkle from the man's features so his heart and mind wouldn't forget him.
So he wouldn't forget who had been the monster that forced his family to leave and abandon everything he had known so far.
Miguel O'Hara had no longer a home.
But if there was something William had forgotten, was to never scorn a woman. Much less one with a fiery temper and a heart full of fresh wounds.
He had doused her wounded heart in salt, rubbed with it and then tossed it to the fire. To let it break and burn to ashes.
William hadn't shown mercy, despite the word coming from his mouth every Sunday in his church as part of his speech to the masses.
But Conchata's mind was already turning and plotting.
----
Miguel's upbringing was everything but easy, but that didn't stop him from achieving whatever goals he proposed.
Shelters and rental homes were left behind, and soon he earned a scholarship into a college, earning him a degree and masters in agronomy and large-scale management.
Gabriel in the meantime helped Conchata around the house. Having little side hustles for himself.
But as he grew up, so did his hatred for the Andertons. It didn't help that Conchata threw more dry hatred bones to the vengeful fire with her bitter tells. She always boasted on whatever little thing the Andertons did with spite and hatred in her heart.
William's face remained intact in Miguel's brain. Ever hardened and cruel, impassive to anyone else's suffering. Indifferent to his mother's pleas.
The day they left everything they knew, scarred him to this very day. Miguel sworn to one day, he'd owe his own estate, full of everything he always wanted.
He wouldn't have to sojourn through shelters and temporary homes ever again, having a hard time sleeping because of his mother's safety. He wouldn't have to look down in fear and shame when people that breathed and exhaled money, talked to him.
He wouldn't have to see his mother, shitty as she was sometimes, breaking down for not having for the most basic of needs. And he definitely wouldn't let himself to be trampled all over again by anyone. Not rich, nor poor.
Now, with a master's degree in his pocket, a new project rose in his mind. Train and rehab horses professionally. An emerging and blooming business within Santa Margarita.
Everything out of hearing that William entered a new venture. Purebred horses.
Of course a man like him had to be in the mouth of every people in town.
William ran the biggest church in the city, had multiple successful and clean business thanks to his estate, Cherryville. And now, the horses.
A novelty in town. He'd often see through the newspaper images of William and his wife, Rosaura, telling how wonderful and valuable they were for the community, and how much their philanthropic tendencies helped those in need. The man was rotting money after all.
Oh, the irony. Miguel sometimes wondered if William did it out of genuine vocation, cause he had to give the man some credit for keeping a saint facade in front of the rest for so long. He was doing it go hard or go home.
If people only knew the scum he is.
If everyone truly knew who Pastor William J. Anderton was, none would spare him a glance. None would look at his way twice to spare him some kind words. Everyone would shun him and mark him a fraud. His world would collapse. Something Miguel needed to achieve.
The purebred training horse's business opened his contact list, and with his smarts and the follow of his intuition, it took him a couple of years to get him in the map of those that were in dire need of help and could afford it.
Cause if he could exploit the rich, he wouldn't waste the chance of earning good money. Not when his personal estate was under construction and renovations, away in it's own heaven, outside Santa Margarita.
He stopped introducing himself as Miguel Stone long ago. He didn't want anything to do with that surname that stirred nothing but hatred and suffocating anger, towards the man that harmed his little and already broken family even more. And the O'Hara had earned him a bit of reputation.
A credible and respectful renown to meet people that gave him the chance to not only learn from the best horse trainers, but gave him the chance to apply everything he knew. Adding even more value to his resume.
Gabriel also graduated college, following Miguel's steps. Although the latter was more inclined to production than management. He was a more practical man than the over thinker of his brother.
Together they made a phenomenal duo, but when separated, months could pass before they saw eachother again.
But with Miguel's plan running, Gabriel promised him to remain close and available as possible to see it through.
-----
He was ready to set his plan into motion. None other than his number one enemy had hired him.
In fact, William sought him out himself to ask him if he could train his horses and took full on responsibility of his farm.
Miguel's body buzzed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Being the best to get hired was scratched off his list.
Soon all the hatred festering in his heart to the man that destroyed his childhood and family, would come to fruition. But there was a remaining distraction.
Dana.
"Remind me again, why are you going to a farm to be exploited and mistreated by rich people?"
The soft voice behind him echoed in his room. Miguel sat naked on the bed, as the short-haired brunette with blue eyes hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek and neck.
"Gotta make it as believable as possible if I want to expose the Andertons."
Dana just hummed, seeing him so determined and focused into getting this family feud, settled once and for all, amused her to no end.
Dana rolled her eyes while resting her chin on his sharp and well worked shoulder, "But no need to be so serious."
It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes and stand up, reaching his underwear in tandem.
"Don't be cold, Miggy. I just wanna see you again, once you're victorious, so we can keep celebrating"
Miguel chuckled with derision as he took a towel and wrapped it up loosely against his waist.
"I'm good, thanks. And there's no we in this."
"Are you sure? I mean, I spread word around on you and look at you now. The best trainer. I'd say I'm also part of this too"
Her voice irked sometimes whenever it got like this. Sickly sweet and full of lies. Even more when she purred nothing but half truths.
In truth, he had met Dana for the past six months, all thanks to Gabriel that suggested her as a contact link to those he wanted to get at. Filthy and obscenely rich people that needed someone to help them out with their properties as soon as possible, to salvage them out of sentimentalism.
Even though the initial chemistry was undeniable, it had worn out thanks to her insufferable and possessive attitude. And no matter how many times he'd tell her a plain and outright No, she kept insisting. She was the one that always returned and always ended up in his bed.
The only that believed that they were something. Sure, Dana served his purpose to keep those physical urges away, but other than that, there was nothing substantial about her he could say he was attracted to, besides her contacts.
"You love that itch. But don't worry, as soon as you finish your little revenge game, we'll have the whole time for us."
"Yeah, no. Look, I don't want you snooping around. And I mean it."
Dana's hands tried to reach him, but Miguel stepped away from her touch, recoiling with haste and heading for the shower.
"If you ruin this for me, I swear, We'll have problems."
More than they already did? Impossible.
Dana just laughed, "Don't be mean, you gotta reward me one way or another for your clientele."
"Dios mio... Con qué loca me vine a enredar" (My God, what a crazy woman I came to get involved with)
He mumbled while stepping into the shower.
"I'll see you soon, baby." Her giggles had his eyes rolling with annoyance and his shoulders squaring.
He'd leave in a couple of hours, to start what his whole self had been preparing for years. Soon the Andertons would know him.
----
Returning to the place he grew up had his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, tighter than a hair's tangle.
The once colorless and rusty metal doors he loved to slam with his soccer ball while playing with Gabriel, were now turned into sturdy, iron structures that moved automatically. Sliding to the side to let him in as soon as he reported himself through the camera's speaker.
A Stony L-shaped wall held a metallic letters into another metallic structure. Cherryville Ranch.
He had arrived and his heart beat at the uncomfortable sensation of seeing his home destroyed and turned into a colonial-like resort.
Where there was a modest yet firm built, one floored home, was now a two floored manor that extended left to right. A vibrant sunset orange dressed the walls of the structure, adding enough color to the place sumptuous grandeur.
The staff ran up and down, bustling and moving like busy ants through the anthill, obeying the queen. Or rather monarchs.
His black Chevrolet Silverado parked outside, following the instructions of a man that gave him the ok with a good smile.
He had arrived ten minutes earlier, just in case. Miguel stepped out and put on his hat.
A black and brown flannel dressed up his torso snugly, a pair of jeans that did a wonderful job into containing his well worked legs, the belt just hugged his narrow waist, accentuating his sculpted physique.
The man offered his help with his suitcase, but Miguel refused with a polite smile.
"Keep going straight and you'll get to Mr. Anderton's office. It's the only brown door in this floor."
Strong hands clenched at the name of his enemy.
"Thanks."
Miguel had to take a moment to breathe in and take his surroundings.
Everything he remembered from his childhood, gone. His heart felt mike coming home to a stranger's home. Foraying in someone else's territory.
A someone that obliterated every single bit of his childhood, every piece of memory he created with Gabriel, forever gone and buried.
Replaced with over the top decors, a fake sense of coziness, hidden lies embedded in the sunset like sturdy walls, and people he once strived to be like. All now trespassers and inconnus.
Conchata always fed his brain into believing greater things, alway encouraged him to keep the hatred alive.
Would she be proud to see how far on his plan had he gotten? Probably. Even if she was busy with her new boyfriend that provided everything.
But this land, his once forgotten and forlorn home, would be his again.
With steadfast steps, he ventured in the enemy's territory, passing rooms and people that unavoidably watched him with brief curiosity.
Some women shushed and spilled their gasp as he passed, leaving his presence alone to do the talk for him regarding the effect he had on women.
But all those hubristic thoughts sapped away as soon as his eyes came in contact with the door.
A thrilled and anxious chill ran down his spine upon hearing the terse voice of his sworn foe, giving orders to someone in particular. Miguel's throat felt arid.
His heart thumped a miles per second, his breath paced into a more agitated pace and his eyes kept blinking, readying themselves to face his nemesis.
"Come in."
He obeyed and his nose flared, releasing a shaky exhale when seeing William. Same weather and cold face, the only difference was him looking a bit more rugged and his white hairs even more prominent.
It was as if time had barely passed over him.
It took every single cell and fibre of his body to control the urge to punch him in the face. But the satisfaction of having the reversed roles for a moment brought satisfaction like no other.
This time William had to crane up his head to see him, and a chill ran down his spine when meeting Miguel's red-ish brown eyes. Piercing and judging with all the intention of doing so, as if the very man before him knew his deepest secrets.
The door shut with a quiet click and Miguel stepped closer.
"Mr. O'Hara." William stood to meet him with a brief and firm handshake.
"Sir."
"Must say what people say about you, do you justice."
"Good things I hope."
William nodded with a brief smile and gestured for him to sit before him.
"Now. The property you'll be in charge is in a bit of a mishap, I've barely had the time to fix it-"
"S'alright. It's part of the barn you said?"
"Indeed. Your functions are detailed in the contract, payment is every fortnight, unless you'd like to choose another type of payment time."
"Fortnight is alright."
William pushed the contract to Miguel, and this wasted no time in reading it and taking a picture of each page.
"Any doubts you, can call me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
Miguel signed and pushed the paper back to him. William put it on a folder and then put it on a file. He turned off his computer, and lead the way towards the stables.
"I've tried everything, and nothing works. People have told me to sacrifice the horse, but I can't do that."
Miguel wandered after William through the never ending halls of the estate, there was nothing left of his home. Not even the built in stone oven, where he'd watch Conchata prepare dinner and he'd help out with the tortillas.
Now full of modern equipment and full of people cooking different things he couldn't name.
Miguel had to admit that the stables were his favorite part from the whole dollhouse. William knew no concept of budget. But that was alright, cause every horse in it worth it every single penny and had turned it into a lovely stable aisle.
Each horse had its own fortified enclosure, well kept and clean. There were no bad odors, dirt, mud. None of that. Matter of fact, his eyes blinked when seeing some horses having a swim in a giant custom made pool.
Everything in Cherryville oozed with power and money.
Having revenge and interacting with horses he only dreamed of while getting paid, felt the ultimate fantasy came true.
The angry neigh of a horse snapped him out of his thoughts. The black Friesian stallion kicked and nipped another brown horse nearby. The caretakers immediately separated them both.
William sighed deeply. And Miguel approached to inspect the brown mustang horse.
"That's Joaquín. The black one is Agustín."
Miguel quirked his brow at the name choices but was glad to have something he was familiar with.
"Do you know spanish, Mr. Anderton?"
"The amount enough to understand when my wife is angry."
Miguel chuckled and nodded
"I see."
As much as he wanted to let out an array of insults here and there to test his words, he'd keep his sharp tongue for himself.
"You can start tomorrow, I'll let you get installed. The barn is in good conditions to suit your needs. If anything is missing, ask any of the helpers around."
With a final and firm handshake, William left.
Miguel gave himself a tour. He wanted to familiarize with the property as much as he could. He didn't like to rely on others for the simplest of task.
Even his way to the barn had been paved and well lighted. No longer being the muddy road he loved to splash his feet in, even if that meant to have his ear pulled by Conchata later.
The barn, like the rest, took his breath away. It looked like a house for himself.
He wasted no time into admiring the work, and effort put into it. The tack room was sure a thing, but his bedroom and office were even better conditioned. It was a place worth of his skills and knowledge.
Miguel begun unpacking and installing himself. From his window he could see yet another extension of property, Bodegas and the staff living quarters he supposed.
And another entrance to the whole facility adjacent a couple of blocks from his barn.
---
One thing he had forgotten about the place were the torrential rains that always seeped in. Sometimes the blackouts were so common he'd rather be candle lit.
He had finished his shower after spending his evening trying to get acquainted with Agustín and the rest of his crew. Overall and so far it seemed the perfect place to work, but also a challenge.
Thunders roared outside and rain kept flogging every surface it could, permeating to the core. He was ready to make his bed and call Gabriel when the lights were out.
A loud whir echoed through, before the lights returned, the generator wasted to time into working.
What alerted him was the main entrance opening and closing shut.
Had a worker slipped in?
Another blackout happened as he approached to the door only to find a soaked and gorgeous woman shivering on the entrance.
"Ma'am?"
----
Your friends had promised to be a casual party among the singletons in town, nothing more, nothing less. But time and drinks kept going, like the fun.
Until you had enough. As an Anderton you had a reputation to keep, but you were glad your friends made you feel a normal woman, free of keen and expecting eyes and societal etiquettes.
Free of the overbearing role model you had to be for being the Pastor's daughter.
But right now all you cared for was to get inside the barn to give your body a rest from the cold.
The once lovely dress you wore was now hugging you with a vice like grip, suffocating your curves like a second skin. The red and short cardigan around your shoulders did little to nothing to protect you from the unforgiving rain. Hair stuck to your shivering face, teeth clattered as you looked through the window. The rain had no intention to stop.
Your hands removed the cardigan, then tossed the clothing piece to the floor, as you rubbed some heat back.
"Ma'am?"
The rich and deep voice got you jumping in your spot.
"Oh, my god... I'm-" You swallowed when seeing the handsome man before you, dressed up in nothing but his grey sweatpants and some slippers. A towel hung loosely on one of his shoulders.
His brow quirked as his face remained serene.
"I-I'm sorry didn't know the barn was occupied."
You kept rubbing your arms, hoping for the rain to drop. A loud thunder made you recoil from the door, while the drip drops scurrying off your body rolled down to the floor, joining into a puddle beneath your red heeled sandals.
If it wasn't for your hair sticking on your cheeks, the man would definitely see the profuse blush emerging on them. Shirtless men weren't in your everyday occurrence, much less handsome and tall men with beautiful eyes that seized your soul.
A smirk came on Miguel's face, as he retrieved another towel from the bathroom and he approached.
"I got installed today, it's ok."
He gave you the towel, and you took with a grateful smile. Immediately pat drying your face, neck and arms.
He watched you with sharp eyes, following your hand's movement as he slicked back his hair.
You were gorgeous. And drenched to the bones. That little dress did little to keep his eyes wandering to your thighs, marveling at the soft and plumpness of them. He had to look away as soon as his eyes stopped on your chest. The outline of your nipples poking out the dress, gave him enough distraction for a moment.
You didn't look past twenties.
"Uhm..." Your sweet and stammering voice made him curious.
"Yes?"
"Can I use the barn's phone, please?"
Such a polite girl.
"Of course."
"Sorry for the floor."
He shook his head softly and opened his office. Letting the door open for you to enter.
Your arms crossed on your chest, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage. Then fetched the phone, the number however made him frown as it was William's personal contact number.
"Hello? Papa? Can you send someone to the barn with an umbrella, please?"
Papa
Miguel blinked as he stared your way from the door frame. This was even better than he anticipated.
He was so deep in his scheming that forgot William's family. So far he knew, the Anderton man had only one child. And he was now looking at said person.
He could see some bits of William in you, specially in your nose and cheekbones. The rest was your mother's doing.
And what a good job they've made.
"I know, I'm sorry. Got too caught up in the party."
Miguel luck couldn't truly get any better. He could even taste his revenge through his mouth. It was sweet as your perfume.
"Thanks. Love you!"
You hung up the call and smiled his way.
"Thank you. Mr...?"
"O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara."
You gave him your name with a sweet smile as he shook your hand amiably.
"Right. So you're the new trainer?"
His lax frame slanted against the doorframe, blocking your way from the entrance with his form. His eyes fixed you with an enigmatic smirk.
Your nervousness was making your mind a jumbled mess by simply being around him. Half-naked men and men were off the list. Mainly because your parents' strict beliefs. And the man that would get you, would be your future husband. Without discussion.
"I am. Yes. Quite impressive the settlement you've got."
"Ah, well. Dad takes seriously his businesses, and he needs all the help he can get. So thank you for coming."
"My pleasure to help, señorita."
His lip curled, almost imperceptible upon your flustered reaction. Your skin remained with goosebumps.
"Come. Let's get you warmed up."
You followed him to the fireplace and soon he got another towel since the one you had was soaked through.
You sat in front of the fireplace and he draped your shoulders with the dry and cozy towel to then sit across you.
"Thanks" You gulped and extended your hands towards the fire, gaining a much needed wave of heat.
He couldn't wait for you to leave and call Gabriel to tell him everything he had seen so far. Everything was beyond perfect, like if the universe itself had delivered his revenge on a silver platter.
A couple of minutes passed before a familiar voice to you echoed from outside the barn.
"Mi niña! Let's go!"
The ever familiar voice of your nana called, and you stood.
"Thanks for the help, Miguel."
"Anytime, señorita."
He nodded with a softened smile, that didn't reach his eyes and watched you leave.
"See you soon!" You waved and headed back to the main doors. Your heels clicking on the floor.
"Vicky!" you squeezed under the umbrella after your nana secured the towel.
You wanted to give Miguel a last thanking but the latter had already closed the door. You left to the manor.
Miguel rushed to fetch his phone and immediately called Gabriel. He picked up after the third ringing.
Miguel talked and rambled about everything he had seen, and Gabriel could only listen. Expectant.
"Lemme get some months in and then you can come. That way we gather more evidence."
"What about that woman? Anderton's daughter."
He sighed with a dreamy heave.
"She looks the type that's perfect for luring."
"Use her to your advantage. Hit em right where it hurts."
"I'll do it. Don't worry. She's too kind and sweet. Won't see it coming."
With this new piece of information, Miguel could do so many things. But his goal was clear.
He'd hit William right where he dared hit Conchata a long time ago.
He'd go after you. And if that meant to act like he adored you, then so be it.
His revenge was finally in motion.
----
Taglist:
@maiyart @byjessicalotufo @kate-ohara @fussyhedgehog @spider-mar2004 @fayeofthenightingale @hualianlover800 @tatatida @simp4-fictional-men @plusultrayokai @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @lazy-idate @peachey-pie @ryk-mt @gennirose @teothemilfhunter
@monarchberrysblog @tae21xoxo @1sun-vixen @amelialysm @ir-the-cat @oblivion777 @casarettoa @arleydyn7 @loliknya @maxad99
@choppednerdtriumph @oharasfilipinawife @mikiyamarie @omgomgomgaaa @lucyh237 @beabfleab @millliko @akrassia020 @teaiiv @mi4ulayy @ykitsurgurl01 @namjoons-baby @unadulteratedeaglecollection @strawberryjuice9 @vkumi
@aphinthestars @tyuiofo @sleepyyjaz @notavault @stabygabby @happykoalapoetry @g1icino11a @yougavemeyourheartyouknow
@famouscattale @websinthecity @enananawoah @cigarettes-and-musique @spiderpapi2099 @emelie-s-h @happyowlsoul
#t writes✨#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#ranchero! miguel#mi dulce cereza
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Begging for asks, pretty boy? And nsfw ones at that~
Well since you asked so sweetly, let's run with that a little.
I wonder how long I could tease you before you started begging for me? Walking around the house in the lingerie I know you like. Sending you naughty pictures and voice memos while you're at work~ "Accidentally" brushing up against you while we're out doing errands. And acting all innocent the whole time, like I don't know exactly what I'm doing~ I wonder how much teasing you could take, and how exactly the tension would break~ Would you beg for me? Beg on your knees for me to let you go wild and wreck me? Or maybe after a long day of teasing, you'd just drag me to the bed and take what you want?
I'd be oh so happy with either, handsome, but you just got me so curious with that one little word~
little known fact about me is that my composure is fucking amazing actually, i think i could last a while and maybe that would be frustrating to you yk? so maybe you'd take things a step further and bend over right in front of me and brush your pussy against my bulge or sit with your legs open on the couch while we're cuddling watching movies or something. maybe you'd just start touching yourself with me sitting right there and trying so hard to not let it affect me because that means i lose this little mind game that we've got going on
but when i finally do break it's feral and i press you against the closest surface i can find so that i can devour you and fuck you until you're crying and begging me to stop🥰
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i feel like the only person who doesnt ship wenclair who is not straight and also hates both of the presented pairings during the show
#idk like its cute and all#and if it happened i wouldnt be unhappy about it#i just didnt feel any tension with them that other people did#i really just see them as sisterly best friends#and there was no tension with either of the boys either#the only character i felt anything of 'yea this one maybe' was bianca#idk if its because i just didnt watch the show for romamce at all and wasnt expecting it to be so present that I made myself blind to it#but i just didnt feel it#but everyone else ive seen who doesnt ship it has been straight and dislikes it in favour of one of the boys#which isnt the case for me and i feel like the odd one out here 😭#like i get the ship. and i like the sun and moon dynamic. i just didnt feel anything that made me think 'oh yea. more tham besties'#and im normally down to accept most queer ships. i just really wasnt feeling this one#the arts cute though and i dont like. hate it#its just not my cup of tea for once i suppose
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Not me thinking thinking about how good of a brother Mario is and how there's literally nobody better that Luigi could've clung to while he sorts out his own anxiety.
Mario acknowledges that Luigi is a fearful person, but doesn't think any less of him for being scared. He doesn't see Luigi's bad luck as a burden, even when he tries to make sure he's safe and protected at every turn.
Mario gets annoyed by his brother on occasion, but doesn't degrade or talk down to him– not even jokingly. He just puts up with it and forges ahead without drawing attention his brother's mistakes.
Then when it comes to Luigi's victories, even small ones, he dwells on them and gets excited without an ounce of insincerity or exaggeration.
The worst thing Mario does is get a little too caught up in his impulses and emotions to listen, but otherwise he's so rock solid, even apart from his three-day adventure solely focused on saving Luigi's life.
#it's getting emotional about the mario bros hour again#super mario brothers#super mario bros#mario movie#Mario#Luigi#It is literally so so good for young boys to have a role model like this too#I can not think of a single character aimed at kids that is nearly as good of an example of how to treat your sibling#siblings are always made either a source of annoyance to relate to#or a point of tension and drama#not the very thing that highlights just how heroic a character is#while simultaneously not feeling forced or cheesy or even boring!#If anything you wished you got to see more of these two on screen!!!#It's just so so good I need more of their dynamic in my life
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Imhotep summons Pitch Black to grand him knowlage and teach him how to enter the dreams and turn into nightmares.
Ooooh I like this concept!
While I can see Imhotep viewing dreams and nightmares as not something strictly necessary to his skill set (preffering to get things done definitively in real life) There is a not insignificant chance that some mythology or artefact he is after would require mastery of these realms.
Does- does he even sleep? I literally have no idea, I would suspect not, but for the sake of things lets say he can but finds it deeply uncomfortable. Sleep is an approach to death and he's already over that line.
He wouldn't know Pitch as the Boogeyman, or even necessarily as Pitch Black (that pun doesn't cross the ancient egyptian language barrier) but Pitch has been on earth for thousands of years and would absolutely have been roaming Ancient Egypt enough to have been known.
And he was absolutely more powerful back then, no questions asked. There was a lot to be afraid of back then, even in a kingdom as eternal as Egypt.
Now Pitch on the other hand is going to take offense at being summoned on principle. He's above this sort of thing! He can't be mysterious and unknowable if anyone and their mother can yank him into a summoning circle on a whim.
On the other hand Imhotep is treating him with the kind of wards and harsh bargaining that denote an assumption of power and justifyable wariness. He was much stronger back when Imhotep was alive, so to be treated with almost-respect is a lovely change.
To be frank I don't think Pitch would teach him anything that wouldn't support Pitch in the long run. He might lend Imhotep a nightmare or two, but I thing he would be quite posessive of his new territory over bad dreams, and too aware of the risk in getting the Sandman's attention by purposefully messing with dreams in general.
All in all, a wary encounter on both sides, with the potential for further future collaboration in the air.
#thalassa responds#imhotep#rotg pitch black#these two meeting would be full of back and forth tension#pitch would inevitably taunt and tease enough to imply he's still a force to be reckoned with#Imhotep would likely try either hitting him with magic or a straight up boulder out of pure frustration once pitch teases too far#He does not want to remember being a child in the dark terrified of monsters#pitch recalls very well the cries of a little boy trapped in the reedbeds of the nile after dark#it's a kind of fear he's in short supply of these days and aches for it's return#he'll settle for being sassy toward mummies with anger management issues in the meantime
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body language
<yunho x fem!reader>
well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.
nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.
nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.
Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk
Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee
🩷 back to staying perverted
A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️
Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeong Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off.
Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated.
“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”
“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks.
You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”
Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it.
“With who? How come I didn’t know?”
You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”
That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.
“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos.
“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again.
Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious?
“And why would I cancel my date, Jeong Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it.
“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add.
You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?”
For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat.
Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now.
It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.
That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank.
How fucked is he?
Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself.
Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at.
“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.
Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you.
There is a long moment of silence between the both of you.
“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it.
“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug.
Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest.
His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face.
“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?”
You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“
“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”
Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun.
You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time.
Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly.
Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho.
Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep.
And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.
“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours.
You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage.
“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least.
You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”
You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible.
“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms.
“What did you think of him?”
“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.
The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked?
Oh, you were definitely about to find out.
“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?
“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”
This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.
“Who said I didn’t?”
Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back.
His crotch right against your ass.
“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.
“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”
Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.
“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body.
All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such temptation.
But you should still probably stop this-
From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-
Until he feels your hand cup his.
“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room.
Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall.
Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again.
But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale.
You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.
And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.
His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him.
“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt.
He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.
“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to.
“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”
Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.
He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.
So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever.
He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you.
You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.
“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids.
The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny.
“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing.
“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”
Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up.
When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was.
He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy.
“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more.
Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips.
He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt.
Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them all away.
“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses.
“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now.
“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again.
You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure.
“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”
“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.
“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?” He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.
And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp.
“Answer me, pretty.”
“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply.
His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.
“That’s my good girl.”
And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time.
“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”
And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure.
The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.
Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist.
“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.
“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”
#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#ateez smut#smut#ateez fic#kpop smut#jeong yunho#y/n x yunho#yunho ateez#ateez jongho#ateez yunho#yunho x reader#yunho smut#Spotify
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⋆̩MEGUMI FUSHIGURO | no nut november
wk-> 2.3k
summary: megs tries to do no nut november, does not last a month. sort of has multiple parts.
warnings: nsfw. 18+. oral (f!receving), p in v sex, fem!bodied reader, agedup! to 20, domestic vibes.
"I'm just saying Gumi, I don't think you can do it." You say as you look at him across the table. He's engrossed in his book, holding a fork in his other hand, and seems unbothered by the topic of conversation - No Nut November.
Yuji was the one that brought it up of course, said they should have a little competition. Megumi, of course, told him he was an idiot. Then when he brought it up to you, you dared to tell him you didn’t think he could do it.
He rolls his eyes, dismissing the idea as foolish. Games like that are stupid, he thinks, and only idiots partake in such childish behavior. Idiots like Yuji. First of all, he could totally last a whole month if he wanted, it's not a big deal. But why would he? There's no reward at the end, no gold medal that says 'good job for not getting off'.
Megumi looks up from his book, his blue eyes scanning over your features. He raises an eyebrow as if to scoff at the very idea. "Why would I want to participate in something so... juvenile?"
You chuckle, shaking your head and playfully nudge his shoulder from across the table. "You're missing the point, Gumi. It's not about the challenge itself, it's just about proving that you can do it. It’s all in good fun.”
Megumi scoffs, rolling his eyes before putting his attention back to his book. "I'll pass on this one, thanks. I've got better things to do than worry about my... self-control."
“I mean…if you don’t think you can do it then just say that Megumi. It’s okay…I couldn’t resist me either.” You tease. If anything you know your boyfriend. He may be quiet, reserved, kind of a typical broody boy, but he often found himself unable to resist the need in his pants whenever you touched him the right way or kissed him in that spot that drove him crazy.
He looks up at you, closing his book and giving you his full attention. You’re wrong, he can do it. It’s really not that big of a deal. Besides, it’s not like you’re fucking irresistible. Okay, maybe he’s fooling himself with that one…but still, he likes to think of himself as having full control over such things. He can last a month, it’ll fly by anyway.
“Whatever, fine I’ll do it. Just so I can prove you wrong. But don’t come begging me when you get all worked up.”
—————
It’s been one week. One entire week where Megumi hasn’t touched you, or even tried to touch you. You weren’t exactly sure how he was doing it, but it was starting to drive you crazy. You tried taking care of yourself. But with every brush of your fingers against your needy clit the ache for his touch seemed to grow.
Frustrated, and to be quite frank extremely fucking horny, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You wait until he comes back from a mission one night. He’s exhausted, maybe too exhausted to remember the challenge. As you both sit on the couch, you can't help but notice how tired and drained he looks.
You decide to make your move, leaning in close and whispering seductively in his ear, "You know, I've been thinking about you a lot lately.” You say, running a finger under his shirt and tracing his abs. “I bet I could help you relieve some of that tension."
Megumi's eyes flicker open. He swallows hard, his breath hitching slightly as you continue to trace your finger over his toned body. "I... I don't know if that's a good idea right now," he says, you can hear the need in his voice as he darts his eyes away from your gaze.
You smirk, leaning in closer. "Why not? I can make you feel good Gumi." Your voice has a sultry tone to it, the one that you always use when you want his reserve to crumble.
He sucks in a breathe, adjusting his pants before inching himself slightly away from you. This is harder than he thought, but than he remembers you’re teasing from last week and the stubbornness in him takes over. "I'm committed to the dumb challenge that you, by the way egged me on to do.”
You can't help but feel a pang of disappointment. You were so sure that your seduction would work. Usually it doesn’t take long but it seems Megumi is more determined than you thought. With a sigh, you pull away from him, standing up and adjusting your clothes. "Fine. Have fun with your challenge," you mutter, walking away in frustration.
—————
Two and a half weeks, on the dot. That’s exactly how long it’s been since your boyfriend has touched you. At this point you’d completely given up on your seduction. You’d tried every trick in the book. Straddling his lap, kissing the spot behind his ear that drives him crazy…you even asked him for a massage which led to…well him just giving you a massage.
It actually had you confused. Surely he’s been horny? You knew he was pretty good at self-control when it came to pretty much every aspect of his life. But sex? I mean he’s not some ravaged sex maniac, like his best friend who lasted all of one day in the challenge, but he’s got a pretty high sex drive given his reserved demeanor. You actually had a pretty active and, if you did say so, amazing sex life. So for him to go this long without even so much as a word? It wasn’t making any sense.
So, here you were, given up on trying at all. Instead you were preparing for a movie night. Clad in his t-shirt and only a pair of pretty pink panties given the heat wave going through your city. You were standing in the kitchen now, waiting for the popcorn to pop and unbeknownst to you Megumi’s eyes hadn’t left your body.
He thinks you did this on purpose, sure it’s hot out but you know how much he loves the way those panties hug your ass cheeks. How crazy he goes when you wear his t-shirt with no bra underneath. It always gave just enough of a peek at your perky nipples and the thought of rolling one of those perfect little buds on his tongue has his cock straining against his pants.
Yeah, you must have done this on purpose. Prancing around, showing off that sexy body of yours. You keep reaching for things in the cupboard and then his shirt lifts up ever so slightly, revealing the curve of your hips. God, it’s driving him crazy. You’d been driving him crazy all week, everything you did was in some way absolutely and utterly sexy. The way you ran your hands in his hair as he lays on your chest, tired from a long mission. The way you pout your lips when you tease him, or rub your ass against his body as you cuddle at night. And of course the fact that no matter what you do you always looked so utterly breathtaking that it drove him mad. Every single thing had made him want to forget this stupid challenge and plunge his cock into the lush walls of your pussy.
As the popcorn finally starts to pop, filling the room with its delicious aroma, Megumi can't control himself anymore. He slowly gets up from the couch. You hear his slow footsteps behind you but before you can react he wraps his arms around you from behind, his body pressing against yours. His hands rest on your waist, his fingers just barely brushing the sides of your panties. His thumb rubs slowly against the skin of your thigh and the subtle touch alone sends shivers through you.
You can feel the hardness of his erection against your back. Megumi leans in close, his breath warm against your neck. He doesn’t say anything, he just presses his lips to the space between your shoulder and your collarbone. “You’re making this so hard...” He says, his voice hoarse like he’s trying hard to control himself.
You turn to face him. His hands don’t leave your sides as you look up at him. “Making what hard?”
“Not touching you, when you walk around looking like…this.” His eyes trail down your body, before he leans down brushing his lips against yours.
“Than touch me.” you whisper as you connect your lips with his. It’s not like you haven’t kissed this whole time, but something about his kisses now are primal, hungry…like he’s kissing you for first time. And you’re elated, you’d wanted him so bad…needed him.
He deepens the kiss, his hands sliding up your waist, gripping your hips. His tongue slides into your mouth, swirling with yours as he lifts you up. You can feel the growing heat of his body against yours. His erection clearly evident through his pants. "I want you." he whispers between kisses.
He carrys you back to the couch, laying you on your back, one arm on either side of your body holding himself up. He looks at you, as if he’s soaking you in before he leans down to kiss you again. He pulls his t-shirt off of you over your head, leaning down to kiss from your collarbone down to your chest, before he takes a bud in between his lips, his tongue darting around it causing a moan to escape you. It’s just as he remembers, hard bud against his tongue. The feeling always making you so wet for him.
His lips then begin to trail down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He reaches the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking into them, pulling them down from your body. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he continues his descent. “Stay still.” He says.
He pushes your legs apart, his tongue tracing along your folds. You reach down, lacing your fingers in his hair, giving him the initiative to push forward. Using his tongue, he goes in deeper, teasing you before dipping in fully to lap away at your sex. His tongue works the magic only Megumi’s tongue seems to have, circling around your clit in short, sharp flicks, dipping down into you then flickering back out. His mind goes a bit wild as he tastes your juices against his tongue and lips, it drives him almost as crazy as it drives you.
“Fuck-you sound so pretty.” Megumi’s cock throbs in his pants listening to the whimpers and moans only he can pull out of you. It’s been so long since he’s tasted you, smelled you, had your hands in his hair eagerly egging him on. His cock strains against his pants and he grinds against the couch, chasing any sort of friction as he pulls orgasm out of you. You grip his hair as you cum, with one moan of his name and he wastes no time licking up your juices. He savors the taste, two weeks away and he’s practically feral just from the sweet nectar. Then he’s back hovering over you again.
His lips meet yours, the sweet taste of your juices still lingering on his tongue. He kisses down your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth. He stops momentarily to discard of his shirt before his lips are on yours again. He teases your clit with a finger, then another, coating them with your slick.
He can’t take it anymore, not when your soft whimpers are singing directly in his ear. Not with the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, he’s so desperate for you to clench around his cock you don’t even notice how quick he is taking his pants off until you realize the tip of his dick is softly rubbing against your clit.
It’s just the tip and you’re already moaning, fuck you missed his cock and the way it so deliciously filled you up. Your moans egg him on, he closes his eyes momentarily as he pushes in slowly, a low grunt leaving his lips as he feels your pussy clench around him. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice hoarse. His thrusts become faster and harder as he loses himself in the sensation of your walls around him, nails lightly digging into his shoulders.
His cock slides in and out of your wet heat, the room filled with the squelching sounds of your pussy milking his cock. He grips your hips, lifting them slightly off the bed so your back is arched as he drives his cock deeper and faster his hips moving rapidly against yours.
You reach out for him and he laces a hand with yours, your back falling back down to the bed as your fingers lace together. He looks at you for a second, drinking in the sight of your beautiful naked body below him.
He leans down and kisses you rough. “Don’t think I can last much longer.” He says, his face buried in your neck. You squeeze his hand as a sign that’s it’s okay and somehow the tenderness of your touch pushes him to the edge. “I’m….” he can’t even say the words before his cock twitches inside you. His cum filling you up. He grunts one last time, his face still buried in your neck.
He doesn’t move for a second, collapsing on top of you. He just wraps his arms around your body, holding you close before he moves to kiss you on the forehead.
A smile plays on your lips and you brush a sweat piece of raven hair from his pretty blue eyes. “I knew you couldn’t last the whole month.” You say with a light giggle.
He falls back down on top of you, burying his face in your neck once more and groaning. “Shut up.”
tagging: @withthegraceofthewind @belfiguevel @chilichopsticks @nobody289x @rlvsmegumi @cassiefromhell @yihona-san06 @thebigcheez
#megumi x reader#megumi smut#megumi fushiguro#fushiguro megumi#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi fushiguro smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#megumi x reader smut#fushiguro megumi x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk megumi#fushiguro smut#fushiguro x reader
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A Helping Hand
Pairing: Nanami x f!reader
Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Word Count: ~1.3k
cw: next-door neighbor Nanami, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, cream pie, sex without a condom, mention of sex toys, use of pet names (sweetheart), just horny things lol
Summary: You’re so completely insatiable that you’re going a tad bit insane. You enlist the aid of your next-door neighbor Nanami, who you know is more than willing to help.
Author’s Note: idk, just feeling a little feral for him, that’s all. this is a silly one, sorry. MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune.
part 2 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series
You stare wide-eyed up at the ceiling of your bedroom, legs apart, the blankets shrugged off to the side. You’re naked from the waist-down, panties tossed to the floor with your vibrator hanging loosely in your grip. You’ve been going at it for nearly half an hour now, trying to chase a high that you just can’t seem to reach on your own. Sure, you’re doing fine. That’s just it, though. It’s just fine. Nothing spectacular, nothing mind-blowing. Tonight, you’re desperate to be filled, aching to be stuffed. Stimulation on your clit alone isn’t enough to satiate your appetite.
You. Need. Cock.
And you think you know exactly where to find it.
Nanami is your next-door neighbor. He’s quiet, even a bit shy at times. You’ve always found him attractive. Aside from his obvious good looks, he’s been kind to you since you met him when you moved in months ago. You’ve shared several meals together after you gave him fresh herbs and cherry tomatoes from your garden. That seemed to break the ice between you. Nothing more has ever happened, though there’s a palpable tension that surrounds you whenever you’re together, almost like you’re both willing to cross the line from neighbors to lovers, but too scared to do so. Subtle glances, lingering touches, suggestive comments.
If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.
Whatever you need, I’ll be here.
I’m here for you if you need me.
Tonight, you’re in heat, daring to march right into his apartment and ask him for a huge favor. This might go horribly wrong, and maybe you’ll end up moving out from sheer embarrassment, but you know what? The fantasy of taking his big cock deep in your pussy is enough to convince you that it’s worth a shot.
You wrap yourself in a robe, not bothering to put on any underwear, still wet from your previous orgasms. With three gentle knocks on his door, your heart starts to race, your instincts willing you to walk right back into your apartment and forget about this ridiculous idea. It’s too late, however. He answers, surprised to see you. You greet him with a weak smile, suddenly shy in his presence. “Hello, Nanami. Sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not,” he replies, stepping aside to let you in. “Are you alright?”
He shuts the door closed and you don’t have the nerve to look him in the eye. You were so confident just moments ago, and now look at you. Trembling and flustered. You cross your arms over your chest, unsure what to say.
You feel him right behind you now, his body heat radiating towards you, close enough that if either of you moved even the slightest bit, you’d be touching. His breath is warm on your ear. “Are you alright?” he repeats, genuine concern in his voice. He’s always been so sweet to you. So nice. So helpful. Maybe he’d be okay with doing this for you, just this once.
You turn to face him, cheeks hot, saliva gathering in your mouth. Swallowing thickly, you ask, “Can you help me?” It almost comes out as a whimper, a whine. So needy and so desperate for his touch.
His eyes drop to your waist, focused on the loose knot holding your robe together. His fingers tug gently at it, pulling it apart, revealing your half-naked body to him. You gasp softly, surprised and aroused by his sudden action. “Finally,” is all he mutters before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. He’s hungry and greedy, just like you are, tongue pushing against yours, eager for a taste of you. You moan into his mouth, pawing at his chest, bunching his shirt between your fists. He leads you to the couch, sitting down and hoisting you onto his lap, sliding the robe off your body along with the rest of your clothes. You’re completely bare for him now, spread out on his lap. He looks down between you, watching your arousal seep into his grey sweatpants.
“So wet,” he groans. “How many times did you come tonight?” He grabs your chin, pulling you in to kiss you fiercely.
“Three,” you answer, licking at his lips.
He smiles against you, fingers trailing your body until they’re pressed to your puffy clit. “That sounds about right. I heard you through the walls, fucking yourself silly.”
“You did?” you huff, grinding on his palm, yearning for friction.
He nods. “Oh yes. I heard every filthy moan from this pretty mouth of yours. Been waiting for you to finally give in and ask me for help.” He strokes your clit between his fingers, teasing your entrance to collect your cum, smearing it on your bud.
“Oh fuck,” you whine, rocking your hips against him. It feels so fucking good, but it’s still not enough.
He knows exactly what you need. With his free hand, he shoves his pants down his legs, releasing his hard cock. You marvel at how pretty it is in his fist, stroking it and tapping it on your clit. You lift yourself off his lap to sink down onto his length, moaning wantonly until he’s all the way inside. Staying still, he kisses you sloppily, squeezing your ass in both his hands.
“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, nuzzling his nose to yours. “You wanted this cock, and now you have it. Show me how badly you need it.” He leans back against the couch, resting his palms behind his head, watching you like a spectator. “Ride me until I fill you up.”
Too horny to protest (and why would you anyways?), you obey, stroking his cock at a slow pace until you can adjust to his massive size. Once it becomes a fluid motion, you speed up, slapping your ass against his thighs. He’s deep in your womb now, so deep you feel it in your stomach. This is precisely the high you’ve been chasing all night, and it only makes it sweeter knowing it’s with him. Your handsome, nice, and clearly well-endowed neighbor, Nanami Kento.
He's can’t stand not touching you any longer. His hands return to your waist, bouncing you on his lap like a rag doll, yielding to his every thrust. “You needed my cock today, huh? Needed my dick to pound this tight pussy of yours. Your stupid little toys weren’t enough, were they?”
You shake your head erratically, so close now. “Need you, Kento. Needed this fat cock inside me.”
He growls at the sound of his name from your mouth. “Fuck, I needed this too. Been needing it for a while now.” He latches his lips around your nipples, sucking on them until they’re plump between his lips. His thumb caresses your sensitive clit, massaging gentle circles around it. Suddenly, everything is too much. You’re gushing for him, coating his cock in your cream, all messy and obscene. Soon, he comes too, stuffing you full of his seed. Just when you think it’s over, he pulls out to lay you flat on the couch, spreading your legs wide, a naughty grin on his face before he dives in, lapping at your combined arousal.
You wake up with Nanami’s name spilling out of your mouth. Disoriented, you look around, finding yourself back in your own bed, alone. It was all a dream. A fucking dream (literally). Disappointed and still horny, you sigh, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up, calling it quits for the night.
To your surprise, there’s a knock on your door. When you go to answer it, Nanami stands before you, an obvious blush on his face and an even bigger bulge in his grey sweatpants. He steps towards you, a shy smile on his face. “I heard you calling my name. Sounds like you could use a helping hand.”
#nanami kento#nanami x reader#nanami smut#nanami x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x you#kento nanami#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#kento nanami smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE
pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader
summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?
warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.
⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅
“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”
Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.
“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.
“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.
Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.
A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.
He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.
Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.
She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.
“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”
“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.
Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.
But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.
Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.
“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.
Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.
“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.
As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.
She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.
“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.
“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.
Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.
“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.
It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.
“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.
There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.
“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.
Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.
Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.
Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.
“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.
Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.
Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.
“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.
Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.
Guilt and jealousy.
Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.
“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.
Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.
“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.
Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?
“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.
“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.
Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.
“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”
“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.
“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”
“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.
“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.
A full stomach meant nausea.
“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.
Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.
“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.
Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.
“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.
She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.
Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.
She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.
“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.
“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.
JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.
Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?
“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.
“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”
Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.
“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.
Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.
“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.
Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.
“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.
“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.
“Okay.”
Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.
You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.
So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.
Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.
For now, at least.
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IN THE NETHERWOOD
PART I
KINKTOBER 2023 ♤ WEREWOLF!SANEMI X RED RIDING HOOD! READER
A/N: did I get carried away? Yes. Do I care? No.
Part I is plot + smut. Part II is minimal plot and a lot of smut. Like a concerning amount.
Forgive the pace/editing errors. This was supposed to be a one shot that turned into a two part fic lmao.
CW: violence/some description of gore • mating • knotting/discussions of knotting • biting/mating • feral/protective Sanemi • virgin!Reader who is a big time monsterfucker • oral sex (F!receiving) • Sanemi makes a mess of his breeches • implied murder/other violence by Douma, but left purposefully ambiguous • brief description of another human being eaten
This honestly could be a multi-part fic that continues after Part II, given how much I leave open — but I’ll let you all decide if you want that. For now, enjoy the ride, monster-fuckers. Happy Kinktober!
You’d known Douma’s band of acolytes had been pursuing you for at least a quarter of a mile through the dark wood, and you’d only grown more and more desperate as the excited titter of their voices drew nearer.
You were panicking; with every moment that passed, your legs grew heavier as the weariness of the last day and a half of your journey became a weight you could no longer ignore.
Find the huntsman of the Netherwood! Your grandmother had pled as she’d fastened the thick, scarlet cloak around your shoulders. He guides those in need to far-away villages. He will take you somewhere safe — where Douma cannot find you.
Grandmother did not dare let any of the tears sparkling in her eyes fall as she looped her hands behind you and pulled the hood of your cloak up over your head, concealing your hair from sight. Head north until you come to the river and then head west. You will find his cabin. Go!
Granny had all but pushed you out of her small cottage — the cottage you had come to regard as your home — and off into the chilly, autumn night.
You hadn’t questioned the urgency, though the realization that you would likely never again return to your grandmother — or even see her alive — hadn’t stung any less. But you knew, as well as the old woman who’d raised you after your parents disappeared in the Netherwood, that if Douma got his hands on you, you would never be seen or heard from again.
Just like his four other previous wives.
The last woman he’d taken as his bride had been a dear friend of yours — Kotoha — and she’s arguably lasted the longest, though perhaps that was because she’d been pregnant when the frost lotus containing his marriage demand arrived at her parents’ hut.
The eclectic village worship leader hadn’t apparently minded that Kotoha had been pregnant with another man’s child — she was unmarried, young, and beautiful; it was all Douma required.
The tension among the village women had dissipated once Kotoha had survived the first week of her union with the rainbow-eyed monster. After all, the other three wives had barely lived to see the next morning, never mind seven.
Kotoha had lived several more months — even giving birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy whom she’d doted over, and even you thought that perhaps the rumors swirling through the village had been wrong. Perhaps those other three women truly had run off into the night with various lovers, leaving Douma alone in his mansion in the eastern wing of the village.
The last you’d seen her, your friend had been smiling and bright, happily making her way back to her marital home, baby Inosuke happily snuggled against her chest, as she’d cheerfully waved you goodbye.
Kotoha was never heard from again. Though the village elders had dispatched a recovery team to search for her, no trace of either her, nor the precious baby boy whom she’d loved so dearly, could be found.
A week later, your grandmother opened the front door of her homely cottage to find a single frost lotus resting on her doorstep.
No one turned down Douma’s marriage proposals; but neither did anyone survive them.
And so, your grandmother had packed a small satchel with what meager provisions she could scrounge, wrapped you in her heirloomed scarlet cloak, and pushed you out the door, begging you to find the mysterious huntsman of the Netherwood so that you would not become the village’s newest ghost.
Douma had surely slaughtered your beloved grandmother by now, having learned of her insolence.
You clamped down on the mournful sob building in your throat, knowing if you allowed yourself to give into your grief, it would only slow you down even further, and make it more likely that her sacrifice for your life would be in vain.
Though, in fairness, it might all be for naught anyways; the Netherwood was not a humble forest with only the occasional gray wolf or hungry bear to fear.
For centuries, your village had stood on the outskirts of the dark, ancient wood which divided it from the nervous system of villages and bustling little towns that made up the region. That isolation meant your village had become largely self-sustaining, though a few brave souls managed to make a yearly sojourn across the Wood to trade with establishments on the other side. The forest stretched for miles, encompassing small mountains and rocking ravines that were difficult enough to navigate on their own, especially in disagreeable weather.
But rugged and often temperamental terrain was child’s play compared to the horrors which lurked within the shadows of the Wood.
To start, as you’d come to realize over the last day and a half of your trek, the Netherwood was nothing but shadow. Though you’d surely traveled through the night and well into the following day, not a trace of daylight had pierced the thick canopy of leaves and twisted vines which loomed overhead. Your only indicator that day had, in fact, arrived, had been your sighting of a few songbirds quietly fluttering from tree to tree, as their songs swallowed by the deafening silence of the forest.
But the eerie quiet of the Wood was nothing compared to what you knew prowled within its depths.
You’d grown up hearing tales of the various beasts and cryptids that made the Netherwood their home – and made any unsuspecting traveler their meal. Your own parents had embarked on a dangerous trek into the Netherwood, seeking out a village on the other side rumored to have much-needed medication for your ailing grandfather, only to never be seen or heard from again. Your grandfather had succumbed to his illness not long after, though you’d often wondered whether his guilt and heartbreak hadn’t hastened his demise.
And so the Netherwood had taken your parents and your grandfather, leaving you with only your cherished grandmother as your family. Over the years, those who dared venture into the Wood often did not return, the dark of the forest swallowing them whole and leaving no trace of them behind.
Now, it was through this very Wood that you found yourself running, clinging to the desperate hope that perhaps you’d find this mysterious Huntsman and be saved, though the sluggishness that had entered your exhausted limbs seemed to suggest that you were more likely to be caught by your pursuers. And that was assuming you didn’t end up as something dinner’s before then.
You continued to stumble through the trees, ducking under various branches and batting away stringy spiderwebs, trying not to allow your frustration to get the better of you. After a while, the voices tracking you grew more and more silent, before the walls of the forest swallowed them completely, leaving you utterly alone.
As you shoved brush and thorns out of your way, the forest opened to give way to a small river, though it was barely more than a creek. It bubbled merrily, as though completely unaware of the horrors lurking behind the shadows of the ancient grove of trees.
Several lengths ahead, you spotted something crouched beside the water. Your first instinct was panic, thinking you’d stumbled across one of the nefarious creatures of the Wood, a meal being offered to it on a silver platter, but as your vision adjusted, you realized it was only a man, splashing his face with the creek’s cool reserve.
“A-are you the Huntsman?” You hated how timid your voice was, but truthfully, you’d been running for what felt like an eternity, and each snap of a twig in the Woods around had you on edge. You deserved to be frightened, dammit.
The man snorted before rising to his feet. “I am a Huntsman; whether I am the one you seek, I cannot say.”
He was taller than you and well-built. His tunic boasted a deep v at the chest exposing a vast swath of the man’s sculpted chest, the skin as scarred as his broad forearms. His breeches were by no means skintight, but it was clear his legs were also made from the same, sinewy muscle that covered the rest of him.
Idly, you wondered whether he was as scarred beneath his clothing as he was out of it.
He was handsome, there was no doubt, but his appearance was striking. He had a mop of silvery-white hair, parted slightly to cover the criss-cross of scars etched into the right side of his forehead. Below a pair of startling lilac eyes, you could just make out another jagged scar that extended from his right ear to the bridge of his nose.
He turned back to you, mouth pulled down in an annoyed grimace. “What is your business in the Wood, girl?”
His eyes roamed the crimson cloak draped around your shoulders, and you swore for a moment there was something akin to amusement glinting in his eyes, despite the severe set of his mouth.
You shuddered at the sharp intensity of his lilac gaze. “I seek a guide through the Wood — I need to get to one of the villages on the other side.”
Something in the forest snapped and you flinched, though it did not bother the Huntsman, who only narrowed his eyes at you.
“Are you being pursued?”
You nodded, your fingers tightening around the folds of your cloak and wrapping it tighter around your shivering frame. “I do not know how many, but they have dogs.”
The Huntsman nodded, stroking his chin in contemplation. “I can get you to the other side in two days; three at most, should your followers pose a problem.”
You were floored at how easily he accepted your request, even with the additional threat of being hunted like animals by Douma’s men, but you were grateful all the same.
“I have payment,” you started, hands shooting to dig through the small pouch fastened around your waist, but the wild Huntsman only shook his head.
“I do not take payment. I will escort you and then I won’t have to worry about any creatures of the Wood sniffing out your bones and getting too close.”
Charming, you groused in your head, though the implication nestled in his words sent another shudder down your spine.
“What is your name, girl?” The Huntsman’s voice pulled you back to him and the forest, his face expectant.
You gave him your name and felt a warmth spread through you as he repeated it, mouth mulling over each syllable like it was wrapped with velvet.
“You can call me Sanemi,” the Huntsman said, reaching for the hand-axe lying on its side by the riverbank. “Follow me.”
---
The Hunstman led you through a winding path that would have been untraceable had you not been watching the way Sanemi’s eyes marked certain landmarks — an errant tree branch here, a particular thorn bush there.
“Since you are being tracked, we need to move right away,” Sanemi had explained as you stumbled after him, your feet snaring over the various bumps and snarls of tree roots that jutted out from the forest floor. “But I need to gather a few things from my cabin. It’s just a little ways off, and then we will leave.”
Sanemi had largely ignored you for the rest of the trek, though he’d only cut his eyes back to you to ask a single question.
“Where did you get that cloak?”
You fingered the heavy edge of the ruby wool that your grandmother had fastened snug around your shoulders, its thick folds providing you protection against the biting chill of the autumn wind. “It is an heirloom. My grandmother said it would keep me safe.”
The Huntsman hummed quietly to himself. “That is one word for it, I suppose.”
“How do you mean?”
Sanemi slowed his pace so that you could catch up and walk beside him as he spoke.
“That cloak is enchanted. Have you not noticed the strange stitching along the hood?”
Your hands flew to grip the edge of the hood drawn over your head. Sure enough, beneath the pads of your fingertips, you could feel the odd swirls of thread forming some indiscernible shapes along the outermost portion of the cape’s top.
“I’d not; this was not my cloak to begin with. It was my Grandmother’s.” You did not know why the Huntsman’s tone made you feel self-conscious, as though you’d been too stupid to notice such an obvious variation in the cape snugly fastened around you. It wasn’t as though you’d been afforded a great deal to time to look over it, in those hurried moments before Grandmother had shoved you through her front door and into the Wood beyond.
Sanemi only shrugged as he continued on ahead, putting distance between you once more, but he called back one final time. “Red is a symbol for many things, girl. I hope your Grandmother at least warned you of that.”
----
Sanemi's cabin was small, but homely. You'd been waiting uneasily near the unlit fireplace at the center of the single-room cabin, unsure whether it would be considered ill-mannered for you to drape yourself across one of the overstuffed armchairs pointed towards the hearth, as the Huntsman milled about, gathering various supplies.
"Have you any preference for which village I take you to?" He called as he rifled through a sparsely-stocked cabinet, scooping up dried provisions into a small leather pouch.
You shook your head. "No, I wish only to get as far away from the Wood as possible."
Sanemi nodded, stalking past you to open another cupboard. Glinting against the dimming light outside, you saw the curved blade of an axe, sharp and polished.
"I can make do with that," the Huntsman said simply. "Though should we run into any weather, it may take longer than three days to reach the other side of the Wood."
You picked nervously at your nails. Any response you could have given him was cut off by the faint cacophany of voices somewhere in the distance.
Brow furrowed, Sanemi crossed the floor of his cabin to a small window and squinted through the fogged glass. Over his shoulder, you could spy the faint glow of fire making its way towards the cabin.
Torches.
You did not need to guess whose torches they were; there was only one reason for a band of men to be in the Netherwood at this hour.
"It's them," you whispered in horror, your heart sinking to your stomach. "The man who is after me -- they're his -- followers. I hesitate to call them men."
Sanemi's eyes narrowed as he glanced back out the window, and you swore you saw his nostrils flare, as though scenting the air.
He gripped you by your forearm, tugging you further into his cabin. “We don’t have much time until they come knocking. I think I can hold them off — but you have to trust me.”
You looked over the wild man, from the thick, silvery scars seared into the rippled muscles of his forearms to the thinner, more delicate scars which crossed half his face, swallowing down any fear you’d had of the huntsman upon first stumbling upon him by the river.
You’d been scared of him, but you feared the fate awaiting you at the hands of Douma and his cronies far more; and so, you were desperate enough to place your life in Sanemi’s rough, calloused hands.
“I trust you,” you vowed, though your voice trembled slightly. “Please just don’t let them take me.”
Something in Sanemi’s eyes tightened as he looked over you, but he nodded, hands reaching for the small pouch strapped to his upper thigh.
“I’m sure you’re going to protest what I’m about to do,” he said quickly, producing a small hunting knife from the pocket. “But I need you to believe me when I say this is the only way.”
“Take off your cloak.” Sanemi ordered, standing tall before you, hand out in waiting.
Your hands flew hesitantly to the metal clasp resting just below the hollow of your throat. “But my grandmother said —“
“I know what your grandmother said, girl, but I’m telling you, that cloak will do you no good indoors. It is only effective out in the Wood.”
You could tell the huntsman’s patience was wearing thin, but still, you hesitated.
Sanemi huffed impatiently. “I swear to you I will return it the moment they leave, but you must remove it now. They will use it to track your scent.”
You shuddered as your fingers quickly freed the small latch, and the crimson wool draped around your shoulders loosened. With some hesitancy, you held your cloak out to the huntsman, who balled the fabric up tight before crossing the floor of his cabin, shoving it into a small armoire and behind several hung pelts and well-worn leathers.
Sanemi was before you once more before you could blink. “Turn around,” he ordered, twirling the knife in his hand to motion you to spin and put your back to him.
You complied without protest, hands twiddling nervously before you, until you heard the unmistakeable sound of fabric tearing at your back.
The corset worn over the cotton layers of your dress loosened and fell to the cabin floor, it’s ribboned ties neatly severed where they’d been laced at your back.
“What in the devil —,” you began hotly, arms jumping to cross over your unsupported chest as you twisted to glare at the huntsman.
A warm hand firmly pushed your shoulder, keeping you facing forward. “Hold still, woman,” Sanemi barked, and the heat at your back disappeared for a moment as you felt him kneel behind you.
To your horror, you felt the outermost layer of your dress lift up and away from you as Sanemi rose, bringing the garment up over your head.
“I asked you to help me, you dog!” You squealed, your attempts to squirm away from the mannerless huntsman at your back futile. “Not strip me bare to do with as you please!”
Behind you, Sanemi gave a great snort. “Helpin’ you is exactly what I’m doing, if you’d shut up for one second.”
Left in nothing but your thin, cotton shift, you silently wondered whether you should’ve taken your chances and continued your trek through the Wood. Surely, being eaten by one of the Netherwood’s more nefarious creatures of horror was preferable to being stripped nude by a half-wild brute in his isolated cabin.
Your musings were cut short, however, as a firm hand wrapped around your forearm and tugged you towards the back of the cabin, where a small doorway closed off the hut’s only other room.
Sanemi kicked the door open revealing a surprisingly large bed, draped in blankets made of the furs of several different animals.
“N-no —mmph!” Your protest was cut off by Sanemi’s free hand as it clamped over your mouth as he hissed at you to shush.
Over the sound of your thudding heart and hard breath as you planted against the huntsman’s palm, you heard the faint but unmistakable sound of male laughter and jeers, cruel and cold.
“They will be here any moment,” Sanemi said lowly, and he removed the hand from your mouth in favor of shoving you none too gently into the small bedroom. Before you could speak, the huntsman gripped you around the waist and tossed you effortlessly onto the bed, your body bouncing slightly against the soft plush.
“Get under the covers and lay face-down in the pillows. Let your hair cover you.”
Scrambling up against the headboard, you looked back to your savior or your villain — you’d not yet decided under which category he fell — but saw that he was already standing back in the doorway, jaw tense and his eyes trained on the front door of his cabin.
He glanced back to you only once. “And move that thing off to your shoulders. Make yourself appear as though you’re indecent.”
With that, the huntsman quickly shut the door to his bedroom, just as a fist pounded against the wood of the door outside.
You kicked your way under the many pelts adorning the bed, savoring their warmth against your chilled skin. Remembering Sanemi’s final warning, you tugged the sleeves of your shift off your shoulders, concealing it and the rest of your body below the soft fur blankets.
The front door of the cabin opened, and you buried your face into one of the pillows resting against the headboard, begging the comforting scent of forest pine and cedar to calm your raging pulse.
“How can I help you gentlemen this evening?” Sanemi called, and you almost laughed at how cordial he sounded, as though he hadn’t just cut your dress from you like a brute.
Any smile you had was immediately wiped from your face at the cold, steely voice which answered him. “We’re searching for a woman. She belongs to someone who is eager to get her back.”
You balled the pelts below you in your fists, teeth grinding. Of course, you’d never actually agreed to marrying Douma, and yet the beast felt entitled to claim ownership over you, as though you were no better than a piece of furniture.
Though, you supposed that wasn’t quite an accurate comparison. Furniture survived Douma; women did not.
“Is that so?” Sanemi’s hardened tone sent shivers down your spine, and you wondered whether his face matched the stony, scathing cadence of his voice. “Well unfortunately for you boys, it’s just me and the wife here. And you’ve interrupted us.”
“Our apologies,” the scout said, though it did not sound as though he was sorry at all. “But you won’t mind us taking a peak? Just t make sure you and your wife don’t have a visitor.”
Sanemi’s answering snarl was soft, but it did not conceal the deadly threat contained within. “Surely you understand why I cannot let a number of strange men into my home, while my wife is indisposed.”
You had to give him credit; Sanemi sounded every bit the dominating, over-protective husband he was pretending to be.
There was a beat before Sanemi sighed, his irritation almost convincing. “Make it quick. And do not enter the bedroom.”
There was a shuffle of feet, heavy and booted, that crossed the threshold of the cabin, and the hair on your skin rose at the charge of violence which filled the air. Breath caught in your throat, you buried your face deeper into the huntsman’s mattress and prayed his ruse would be successful.
The door to the bedroom banged open, startling you with a squeal as you ruched deeper below the pelts.
“I told you to stay out of the bedroom,” Sanemi’s voice almost sounded bored, but it was thankfully close. Your eyes slid closed as you willed your heart to slow its drumbeat against your sternum as the resulting silence hung thick in the air.
“Our apologies,” the apparent leader of Douma’s band of henchmen bit out, his tone acerbic, and his frustration evident. The bedroom door slammed shut once more, and the heavy footsteps quickly made their way back through the cabin and out the front door.
All remained silent in the huntsman’s cabin for several, long moments, and you did not dare to rise from the bed that had become your sanctuary.
After what felt like an eternity, the door to Sanemi’s sleeping chamber pushed open, the light from the main room of the cabin flooding in.
“They are gone,” the huntsman said simply. “It is safe for you to come back out.”
You turned over and rose from his bed, quickly tugging the sleeves of your thin shift back up over your bare shoulders, if not to preserve the last shred of your modesty that the huntsman before you hadn’t cut away.
You were startled by his appearance in the doorway. Though his eyes remained fixed on the wood floor of the cabin, you saw that the man before you was nearly as stripped as you were.
Somehow, in the few precious seconds between him throwing you onto his bed and Douma’s men barging through the cabin door, Sanemi had discarded his lined shirt, leaving everything from the waist-up bare. The only garment which remained on him were his deerskin breeches, and Sanemi had somehow undone its front laces, loosening their fit around his hips. Between the undone cords, you spied a thin trail of silver hair that begun just below his navel and disappeared below the seam of his pants.
It was admirable the dedication Sanemi had shown in perfecting your ruse. To the untrained eye, it truly looked as though Douma’s men had indeed interrupted a husband and his wife as they’d been engaged in acts you’d been told were reserved for the marital bed, the disheveled state of Sanemi’s breeches giving the distinct appearance of having been just barely tugged over naked hips.
The thought made your mouth run dry, and something hot flared in your belly.
Sanemi ignored your apparent ogling of him, as he produced his discarded tunic from the floor where he'd tossed it and shrugged it back over his head.
Wordlessly, he gathered the shredded remains of your corset and handed it to you, keeping his gaze averted to allow you to redress. You managed to pull on your outer skirts back over your shirt, but you fingered the torn strap of your corset.
“You ruined it,” you said, nose wrinkling as you punched it between your thumb and index finger. “I cannot lace it when you’ve torn the stays.”
Sanemi frowned, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he looked slightly apologetic for the state of your outer-corset.
“Corset woes aside, we need to go now, if we are to have any chance of getting you to another village before your fiancé’s men catch up to us.” Sanemi grabbed the leather satchel he'd been packing before Douma's men had interrupted and began filling it once more.
You scowled. “He is not my fiancé,”
“Your keeper, then.” Sanemi amended. The Huntsman stalked back over to the armoire in his sitting room and wrenched the worn doors open, pulling out several pieces of cloth.
“Here,” he said gruffly, tossing you a balled wad of crimson wool. “As promised.”
You accepted the cloak with a small, uttered thanks, and fastened it quickly around your shoulders. The Huntsman then turned to dig through a small cabinet, returning before you with a small spool of sturdy, leather cord.
He held it out to you. “For your corset,” he said gruffly, his cheeks slightly pink. Feeling your own blush creep up your neck, you accepted the offering. Picking the torn garment up once more, you slid it over your shoulders and used Sanemi’s cords to lace the front together.
Truthfully, the finished product wasn’t half bad; the cord was long enough to cross all the way up to the top of the corset, with enough leftover to allow you to pull it and secure it in place around your bust. You tied off the cord with a pleased nod, before looking back to Sanemi in gratitude. Before you could properly thank him, the Huntsman thrust a small basket into your newly freed hand.
"Provisions. For the journey." He said by way of explanation, and you nodded, nestling the handle into the crook of your arm.
Without so much as a glance around the cabin, Sanemi wrenched the door open and allowed you to pass through the entryway first, pausing behind you only to tightly latch the door shut.
And the two of you set off into the Netherwood.
———
You were no time-keeper by any means, especially in a place like the Wood where daylight was hard enough to find; but it felt like hours had passed since you last spoke to the Huntsman, and the silence was pressing heavily upon you — especially the deeper you ventured into the dark of the Wood.
Though Sanemi had been walking ahead of you, you took it upon yourself to increase your pace, until you walked astride with him.
“How long have you been guiding others through the Netherwood?” You asked lightly, hoping that some — any — conversation you could have with the stoic woodsman would distract you from the odd growls and noises concealed within the forest’s shadows.
“A while.” Sanemi’s answer was as brisk as his pace, and you struggled to match it.
“Have you lived here your whole life, or are you from one of the villages nearby?” You pressed, scanning your memory as you tried to recall whether there had ever been a boy with white hair and a scarred face in your village.
“No.”
You waited for him to elaborate, but Sanemi offered no further explanation. You sighed and fell back behind him; if this was to be his attitude the entire journey, you were in for a long few days.
The pair of you had traveled for what felt like several more hours without a word before the silence began to irritate you. You sped up your pace until your stride matched the Huntsman’s, walking with him side by side.
“Why do you live alone in the Netherwood?” You twirled the basket around your hand as the pair of you walked, the nerves you’d felt upon first starting the journey through the Wood having long since abated, in no short part due to the presence of the Huntsman and his axe by your side.
Sanemi did not turn towards you, his eyes remaining fixed on the bramble ahead. “Why did you venture into the Wood alone?”
You groaned. “Is this how our entire journey is to go? Either you give me mono-syllable answers, or every time I ask a question, you avoid answering by responding with your own?”
“That depends, do you intend to keep asking me questions?”
You barely resisted the urge to whack the sullen Huntsman with your basket. “Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “Your time here in the Wood has turned you into a curmudgeonly hermit.”
Sanemi snorted. “You assume I wasn’t one to begin with.”
“I can’t imagine someone who helps travelers cross the Wood was always so churlish and miserable.” You shot back.
The Huntsman remained quiet for a moment, though his air did not carry the same cold standoffishness that you’d come to understand meant he was ignoring you. Rather, Sanemi seemed to be in thought.
“It has been nearly four years,” he said after a long while. “Since I began helping travelers cross the Wood.”
Your eyes widened. “Four years?” That was an awfully long time to risk one’s neck for the sake of strangers — some of whom, you realized, may not have been all that good.
Sanemi nodded and you whistled. “I’m sure you’ve seen many kinds of people attempting to traverse through the Wood.”
“There are only two types of travelers,” Sanemi disagreed. “Those who live to make it to my door, and those who do not. I try not to pry into the privacies of those who do manage to find me.” He cut his eyes at you, accusingly. “And usually, they aren’t so eager to pry into mine.”
You ignored the jab, though it bruised your ego more than you wanted to admit. “You don’t like people, yet you’ve crafted your entire existence around serving them.” You could not stop the amused edge in your words. “It is quite ironic, you have to admit.”
Sanemi refused to dignify you with a response, and so the first leg of your journey continued in relative silence.
The stifling quiet that extended between the Huntsman and you finally subsided once Sanemi announced you’d be stopping for the night and making camp. He’d been quick to notice your unease as you’d cast your eyes nervously around the shadowed trees of the Wood, assuring you that you all were in an area less-frequented by the various terrors that called the forest home.
“I will sit and keep watch,” Sanemi said as you’d curled up against the leaves of the forest floor, your red cloak pulled tight around your frame to block out the autumn night’s chill. “So try and sleep.”
“You are asking me to put a great deal of trust in you, Huntsman,” you said softly, but in truth, you did not feel nearly as afraid of him as you perhaps had earlier in the day.
He snorted, dismissively. “I’ve had you in my bed already, have I not? If I was going to harm you, girl, I would’ve already done so.”
Something tightened in his eyes as he dropped your gaze. “And I would never do such a thing to a woman.”
There was a quiet pain in his vow, such that you did not think his words were entirely meant for your ears. But they comforted you nonetheless, and so, still facing the handsome and mysterious Huntsman, you allowed yourself to relax enough to drift off into a dreamless sleep.
---
The journey was taking longer than Sanemi originally believed.
Three days into your travels with the Huntsman, and you’d barely reached the halfway point in the Wood. Though, that was not due to any fault of Sanemi’s; there’d been a few times when he’d stopped mid-stride, eyes narrowed on some unseen thing deep within the forest that you could not see, but concerned him enough to change course. When you asked, the Huntsman had only grumbled that he’d heard suspicious movement ahead, and that he knew whatever it was, it likely wasn’t human.
You didn’t bother to question his judgment. After all, it was Sanemi who was the expert in traversing through the Wood. You, however, had spent the better part of three days understanding how utterly helpless you were without him.
You hadn’t meant to stumble across it.
You’d only meant to go relieve yourself behind a tree — a simple evergreen, that had looked innocent and unassuming enough.
As you���d quickly learned, however, upon squatting near the tree’s base, it was anything but innocent. For no sooner had you moved to pull your skirts out of the way had you felt a spiny hand close around your forearm, its knife-sharp fingers digging into your flesh.
The withered, bony had was connected to a sinewy arm, covered in ridged, black skin that made up the panting, salivating bat-like creature that had managed to camouflage itself against the bark of the tree.
You’d taken one look at the rows of sharp, yellow teeth and screamed loud enough to startle the dead.
Loud enough to bring a certain Huntsman crashing through the brush, axe clutched tightly in hand, his eyes wild and bright.
“Duck,” he’d barked once, and somehow you’d managed to wrench yourself to the side of the devil as Sanemi’s weapon buried deep into the creature’s face, the beast releasing your arm and stumbling back with a pitiful gurgle before it dropped to the floor.
You’d hardly had the chance to collect yourself before the Huntsman was stomping over to you, yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you away from the nefarious little tree.
“A goddamned hidebehind,” he furiously spat. “Of all things to provoke, you choose a fucking hidebehind.”
Sanemi ignored your slight protests at being manhandled back to the path he’d identified as leading out of the Wood, too lost in his own raging assessment of you.
“How the devil a pretty little thing like you managed to make it to my door in one piece is the only thing that makes me consider there may be a higher power, given how foolishly reckless you act in the Woods where there’s no shortage of creatures that would want to devour you —“
The Huntsman continued his rant, but your ears only picked up on a single fragment of his ramblings.
“You think me pretty?” It was silly, yet the notion that the devilishly handsome Huntsman accompanying you found you worth looking at made something in your stomach flutter.
Sanemi shot you a withering glare. “You may think me a miserable recluse, girl, but even I have eyes.”
You didn’t know why, but the comment made you smile for the rest of the night, a curious warmth blooming in your chest.
----
You settled for the night among a small circle of trees. Sanemi had helped you shake down a bed of pine needles from a nearby tree, allowing the fragrant nettles to form a soft bed for you against the forest floor.
You watched him repeat the process to make his own bed, your eyes curious. "You seem to have a great deal of experience with this," you mused.
Sanemi produced a single apple from his pouch and sliced it in half with a small hunting knife he kept strapped to his hip. He tossed you one half before he stretched out on his pine needle bed, propping up one cheek on his fist as he faced you. "I s'ppose sleeping outdoors is something of a family trait."
That piqued your curiosity. Though Sanemi had not divulged any details of his personal life with you, you'd assumed he'd been a true loner in his cabin in the Wood.
“You speak as though you still have family,” You bit into your half of the fruit, chewing slowly as you thought. “Do you?”
Sanemi nodded. “No parents to speak of, but a younger brother — a few years younger than you. Still a boy, though in a man’s body.” He scowled. “The little brat has outgrown me.”
You smiled at the obvious fondness belying the irritation on his face. “A boy bigger than you? I find that hard to believe.”
Your gentle praise had the intended effect of making the Huntsman look slightly smug, before the same sour look passed his face. “He has grown slightly taller than I, and by all accounts is still growing. I have a feeling he will try and hold it over my head the next time I see him.”
You wondered if Sanemi’s younger brother would literally do so, and the thought made you smile.
“You said the next time you see him, but you’ve said you have no parents — where does he live, if not with you?”
Sanemi grimaced, chucking the last of his apple core behind his shoulders. He remained quiet for a long moment before answering.
“He lives with a friend; he can take better care of him than I can right now.”
Something about the Huntsman’s tone made it clear the topic was a sensitive subject for the young Huntsman, and so you elected not to press the matter further.
“And what of you?” Sanemi said gruffly, surprising you with his willingness to engage in conversation as the two of you continued your trek. “I know you said you had a Grandmother, as she was the one to give you that.”
He nodded pointedly at your cloak, and you saw that curious heat enter his eyes once more at they combed over the scarlet wool draped around your frame. But the mention of your grandmother caused a lump to form in your throat that took you several moments to work around, the damning prickle of tears stinging your eyes.
“I do,” you said hoarsely after a moment. “Though I do not know if she survived after helping me escape Douma. Even if she did, I know I shall never see her again.”
Though your vision had become blurred by your tears, you could have sworn you saw Sanemi’s hand twitched towards you at the sound of the wobble in your voice.
“Douma,” he repeated. “Is that the person you’re fleeing from?”
You nodded, exhaling a shaky sigh. “He claims to be my fiancé but I accepted no such proposal.”
Sanemi leaned against the wood of a tree opposite from you, arms folding across his chest. “Then he does not know what it means to be a fiancé,”
You gave a watery chuckle. “No, I suppose he does not.” You chewed on your lip for a moment. “But Douma does not ask; he demands and he expects. His offer was not really a request for my hand — it was a warning that he would collect me to do with as he pleased.”
Sanemi tensed. “What do you mean by that?”
You combed your fingers through the tangled tresses of your hair, and anxious habit you’d had for as long as you could remember. “In the last three years, Douma has taken four young women from the village to be his wife; every one of them has since disappeared.”
The Huntsman sucked in a shocked breath. “What has happened to them? Has anyone searched?”
You smiled ruefully. “I do not know; no one does. Search parties were dispensed each time, but those who looked came back empty-handed.” Your eyes remained fixed on the small, flickering flame of the campfire. “He claimed the first three ran away into the Wood; said they’d left him to be with a lover.”
You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, seeking comfort in your grandmother’s cloak. “Quite the coincidence, is it not?”
“Quite nefarious,” Sanemi remarked darkly, shaking his head. “And what of the fourth wife?”
Your head dropped. “My dear friend, Kotoha,” you felt the tears begin to gather in your eyes once more. “She was pregnant when Douma demanded her hand, but he did not appear to care. She gave birth a few months later — a beautiful baby boy named Inosuke.”
“She seemed happy for a while after that, and I thought perhaps Douma had been telling the truth; by all accounts, he was kind towards her,” you continued, fighting the shiver trying to lick its way up your spine. “But then Kotoha disappeared, and Inosuke, too.”
Sanemi stiffened at that. “When was this?” He asked suddenly, his tone urgent.
You looked up at him, startled. “Just a week before I found you.”
Sanemi swore lowly, his hand dragging over his face. At your questioning look, he continued.
“A few days before we met, I was leaving to check on a series of caves that I frequent in the east,” he began. “I was half a kilometer from your village when I —,” he hesitated. “Spotted a few men, dragging something through the trees. They seemed to come from your village.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Did you see —?” Your question choked off as your voice cracked.
Sanemi shook his head. “All that was left was a pile of bones. Just one person’s. But there were shreds of cloths mixed in,” Sanemi’s mouth twisted down in a snarl. “Clothes belonging to a young child. But no sign of their bones among the adult’s.”
A cold, clammy sweat broke out across your forehead. “But Kotoha was hardly missing a week — surely that’s not enough time for her to be reduced to bones?”
Sanemi opened his mouth but closed it before he spoke, his eyebrows knitting together as he struggled for words.
“I have seen things in the Wood that are capable of stripping flesh in a matter of minutes,” he said carefully, eyes trained on your face. “It would not be unheard of.”
You felt the blood drain from your face as nausea wracked through you. “Oh gods,” you moaned, arms shakily coming to rest upon your knees to brace your head as it fell into your hands. “Oh gods — Kotoha.”
You remained like that for several moments, viciously fighting against the roiling of your stomach, desperate to keep down what meager rations you’d managed to eat.
Sanemi called your name, soft and gentle. You waited a moment, focusing on taking several, steadying breaths before you lifted your head to meet his gaze.
“So that is to be my fate once he catches me,” you whispered in horror. “To be reduced to nothing more than a pile of bones and tossed into the Wood like garbage.” You shuddered as another wave of nauseous dread sluiced through you. “And I cannot even fathom what will be done to me before then.”
“It will not,” Sanemi’s answering snarl was soft but vicious, and it broke through the cold terror threatening to knock you off your axis. “I will get you out of this forest and you will be free. Mark my words.”
“Do not make promises you cannot keep, Sanemi.” You warned, your eyes still wide, haunted. “If he catches me, he will do worse to you; death will be a kindness he will withhold.”
Despite the solemnity of your words, Sanemi only scoffed. “I assure you, he would do no such thing.” He looked to you, eyes serious. “And I would kill him before he had the chance to so much as look your direction.”
You wanted to dismiss his words as nothing more than the bragging of an overconfident, idiotic man. But something in both Sanemi’s tone and the way he was leaning against the tree — one foot resting causally against the bark, the other stretched out before him, supporting his weight, with his arms folded across his chest — made you think perhaps Sanemi’s confidence was more than mere bravado.
Even though you knew you shouldn't, you took comfort in it; in him.
"You're a good man, Sanemi," you said quietly. "Better than most."
Sanemi scoffed, shaking his head, but the shadow over his face betrayed his own internal turmoil. "I am not half the man you'd like me to be."
You quirked an eyebrow at him, head tilting in question. “Do you care what I think of you?” When the Huntsman did not answer, you pressed. “You worry that I think ill of you — why?”
Sanemi, at best, was confusing. Maddening. He spoke to you gruffly, as though his years in the Wood had made him forget all semblance of decorum and basic human decency.
Yet, there was something else, too; though you hadn’t much experience being desired by men, Sanemi had shown you a particular level of care. He always handed you your dried rations first, ensuring you’d eat your fill before he; he always offered a hand to help you over a particularly tricky stretch of terrain, carrying your basket for you without so much as you having to ask.
Then, there’d been the way he’d cradled you close earlier in the day, when you stumbled upon the poor man whose body had been mangled and half-eaten by one of the Wood’s inhabitants. He hadn’t needed to tuck your head against his chest like he did, holding you tight as he spun the two of you out of range, to avoid joining the lost soul whose entrails were strewn across the forest floor; he hadn’t needed to comfort you and wipe your frightened tears.
But he had.
The realization hit you like a boulder. “You feel protective of me,” you murmured in awe, your eyes locked onto him even as he shifted under the weight of your stare.
Sanemi tried to scowl, but it came off as more a wince. “I feel protective towards any woman who is being treated as something to abuse. What your fake-fiancé has done is abhorrent.”
His voice quieted. “You do not deserve that fate. You deserve to find something good — something that will make you happy.”
You hummed, pretending you were in thought as you began to slowly close the distance between you. “I would like to be happy,” you conceded.
“You should be,” Sanemi answered.
“I have felt happy here in the Wood,” you continued. “Have you, Huntsman? Felt happy here in the Netherwood, I mean?”
Sanemi swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
You took another step. “Recently?”
“Recent enough,” Sanemi watched you warily, his voice like gravel.
You clicked your tongue. “Have you enjoyed our time together? However brief?”
At this, Sanemi rolled his eyes. “You have certainly kept things interesting, when you’re not desperately trying to become a meal for some hungry beast.”
When you did not answer, Sanemi looked nervously back to you, and his voice softened. “Yes. I have enjoyed it.”
You felt like you were stripping him back, peeling back layers of sarcasm and steel that he’d carefully erected to keep himself from getting close — from caring.
But you were doing it; and he was letting you.
“And you think I’m pretty,” you added, taking another step towards him.
“Aye,” Sanemi croaked, his eyes fixed on your face, the the flicker of the small fire only adding to the heat blazing in his lilac gaze.
You drew up before him, the toes of your boots just touching his. “I find you quite pretty as well, Huntsman.”
Sanemi’s eyes closed, his shoulders tense. “I am to deliver you safely to the nearest village.” Lilac irises opened to meet yours and he looked at you gently; apologetically. “We cannot do this.”
You did not balk. “And if I wanted to stay with you?” You whispered, fingers coming to toy with the folds of his tunic. “What would you say then?”
Sanemi breathed out a soft sigh of your name, the syllables dripping like honey from his lips. “It is not possible, I’m afraid.”
You looked up at him through lowered eyelashes and noted how his gaze flicked down to your lips before back to your eyes. “Why?”
Sanemi’s hand gently brushed a few loose strands of hair back from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and you leaned into the warmth of his touch. “Because you are a beautiful, little lamb, and I am a wolf in a forest of beasts. You do not wish to spend your days here, in the darkness.”
“You cannot speak to what I want,” you challenged, your fingers rising to clench around his wrist, to hold his hand in place against the side of your head. “My life is my own now; I have no set path.”
“But I would like to travel down yours,” you added quietly, after a moment.
“It is not one open to transients,” Sanemi warned, though his other hand rose to rest against the dip in your waist, holding you against him.
You only shook your head. “I do not intend to be temporary, Sanemi. I wish to stay with you. I wish to help others as you have helped me.”
“I’ve yet to help you,” Sanemi said wryly. “Our bargain was that I deliver you to one of the villages on the other side of the Wood. We are still making that journey.”
You stretched up on your toes and boldly pressed your lips against the hollow of his throat, savoring the skipping pace of his heart beneath your mouth.
“A new bargain, then,” you offered. Sanemi said your name once, as though in warning, but when he did not levy any threat, you only continued, moving your lips up under his jaw.
“You get me to the other side of the Wood. If I still want to stay with you, then you will let me. If I don’t, we will part ways at the first village we come to.”
You’d kissed your way to his lips, but held back, allowing that final line to remain in place between you even as your resolve wavered against the force of your desire for him — for this Huntsman of the Netherwood.
Sanemi’s eyes fell to your lips, hovering so very closely to his own. “You assume I want you to stay,” he murmured, though he made no move to push you away. “You assume I want to look after a lamb forever.”
You smiled softly. “Even a lamb can help take care of a wolf.”
Sanemi’s eyes were full of a wariness edged by the faintest trace of hope. “Aye, I suppose that’s true.” The hand against the side of your head fell to caress your cheek. “And as infuriating as I find you to be,” he leaned in close, his lips just barely touching yours. “I do think you quite beautiful, little Lamb.”
You surged forward with a breathy gasp, lips feverishly meeting his as you begged the Huntsman to consume you whole.
Sanemi responded with equal fervor, his arm locking tightly around your waist as the hand against your face tilted your head slightly to the right, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
You’d shared a few stolen kisses here and there in your youth with some of the village boys, but never before had you been kissed like this. Never before had you known the passion and all-consuming vigor that the Huntsman poured into you, as he walked the two of you back over roots and loose stones to press you against the roughened bark of a nearby tree.
No, those kisses had been child’s play. For the way Sanemi’s mouth moved against yours was enough to make you feel as though you’d been dipped in lantern oil and set aflame, and yet you could not find it within yourself to care that you were burning. Not when he molded you against the rigid planes of his body as though to absorb you into his being; not when his thigh slotted between yours, its muscle brushing against a sensitive spot between your legs that had you gasping and Sanemi groaning into your mouth.
As quickly as it began, it ended, Sanemi breaking away from your lips with a strangled pant as he leapt back, as though scalded by the inferno he’d lit within you.
There was something untamed in his gaze as he regarded you, his breath choppy as he collected himself. Still stunned by the ferocity with which he’d kissed you, your fingers jumped to your lips, noting the slight swelling now there.
“I was wrong about you,” Sanemi said breathlessly, his cheeks tinged an alluring shade of pink. “You may not be a lamb after all.”
Your fingers dropped from your lips as you raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I am a wolf?”
Sanemi shook his head, that wildness still blazing in his eyes. “No, not a wolf.” His voice dropped to a purr as he regarded you with a look that made your thighs clench. “You are temptation given physical form.”
——-
Neither of you spoke of what transpired against the tree for several hours, though you’d managed to brush aside any lingering awkwardness with light conversation about Sanemi’s time in the Netherwood.
And, despite any lingering doubt as to the sincerity of your words he may have had, Sanemi seemed to naturally gravitate towards you, his hands never straying far from your form as you walked.
Truthfully, it made you giddy. You’d never experienced the thrill of another man’s touch while in the village, though Kotoha certainly hadn’t spared you any details. Vivid descriptions furtively whispered behind hands, however, were nothing compared to reality. Even Kotoha’s most blush-inducing tales paled in comparison to the electric flash you felt each time Sanemi’s warm hand gripped yours to steer you back from a particularly darkened corner of the woods, or the flutter in your stomach when he lifted you easily up and over unsteady ground, his hands always lingering for a spare second on your waist or the small of your back as you settled.
It became harder to imagine leaving him once you reached the end of the Wood. With each passing hour, your conviction that you would remain alongside the mysterious Huntsman grew all the stronger.
The pair of you were resting near a blackberry bush, you perched on a small boulder while Sanemi sharpened his axe, his hand running the small whetting stone against the curve of the blade with precision.
“Have you ever been in love?” The question broke the comfortable silence before you could think better of it.
Sanemi’s sharpening stone paused briefly before continuing along the curve of his axe. “Once,” he said, gruffly. “Though we were so young, I don’t know if you could properly call it that.”
You sat up, your curiosity piqued. “Where are they now?”
The Huntsman hesitated. “She is long-gone. Died here, in the Wood.”
Your heart clenched. “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine that grief.”
Sanemi did not respond, instead refocusing his attention back to his blade. “It was around four years ago, now.”
Four years ago. Around the time Sanemi had begun escorting lost souls through the Netherwood.
“Have you been in the Wood since?” You asked gently, trying to focus on a loose thread handing from your cloak so that he would not feel pressured by your stare.
Sanemi nodded. “I think,” he cleared his throat. “I think I started helping others as a way to honor her. She was kind that way.”
You smiled at that. “She sounds wonderful; and you do right by her memory.”
The Huntsman said nothing more, his silence more contemplative as he finished sharpening his weapon.
By the time the pair of you set back off on your path through the Wood, the morning fog had somewhat subsided, though it’s mist lingered in the denser sections of the forest.
“Is it normal to not have encountered many of the Wood’s creatures?” You bit down on the shudder you felt at the memory of the partially-eaten corpse you’d encountered a few days prior. “I feel as though we only see the aftermath of the beasts, rather than the monsters themselves.”
Sanemi smirked quietly to himself, though you did not know what he found amusing about your question. “I suppose that cloak is keeping them at bay, Lamb.”
You rolled your eyes, knocking your shoulder playfully against his. “Perhaps they’re frightened of the big bad Huntsman,”
“Perhaps. I’m quite scary.”
Your hand found his. “Not at all. In fact, I find you quite —“
Your thought was cut off, however, as Sanemi tore his hand from yours to hold an arm out before you, stilling you. You’d traveled with the Huntsman long enough to know he was telling you to be quiet while he listened, his ears far more discerning amidst the silent noise of the forest than yours.
Only it was not silent; in the distance, you could hear raised voices, yelling, and the distinct howls of several hounds.
Your eyes found Sanemi’s, and you were certain yours were as wide as his, as your heart began to thunder against your chest.
There was a strange melodic chant rising above the cluster of voices some distance through the trees, and you both turned back and strained to listen.
As the jeering voices and barking of dogs drew nearer, it became clearer what was being said — what thing those voices were loudly whooping and mocking amidst the excited titter undercutting their bloodlust.
Your name.
Douma’s men had picked up your trail, and they’d caught up.
“Run.” Sanemi ordered, tearing the leather satchel from his shoulders and looping the strap around yours. “Do you remember which direction north is?”
Eyes wide and limbs trembling, you nodded, your breath hitched in your throat as every instinct within you was overtaken by sheer terror. Sanemi placed his hands on your shoulders, squeezing firmly to get your attention back on him.
“Run north,” he repeated. “Follow the river and do not stop. It is against the wind, so it should be harder to track your scent,” Sanemi’s eyes darted up over your shoulder, narrowing as the unseen force drew nearer. “I will catch up to you. Do not drop that satchel.”
Your mouth opened and closed several times as you gaped at him, fear, so deep and primal, engrained in your every nerve as you realized he intended to send you deeper into the Netherwood. Alone.
“I cannot — Sanemi,” you begged, your hand gripping his forearm in a desperate attempt to stay close to him, your protector.
Gently, Sanemi removed your hand from him. “Y/N, I promise I will find you soon. I need to get them,” he jerkily nodded backwards to the voices and dog howls drawing closer and closer to you in the distance. “Off our trail.
You shook your head, only trembling harder. To separate surely would mean one, if not both of you would die, and you could not bear to leave him to deal with the onslaught of Douma’s men alone.
“I promise,” you’d not realized Sanemi’s hands had cupped your face until you felt the press of his forehead against yours. “I will find you. Now go.” He urged, and with a slight shove, Sanemi sent you stumbling in the direction you assumed was North.
With a great deal of reluctance, your legs began to move as you hurried over fallen branches and twisted roots, every pump of your legs growing stronger as your fear intensified.
You hadn’t known how many men were in pursuit of you, and you’d left Sanemi alone with only an axe to protect himself.
You’d as good as doomed him.
But you kept running in the direction you thought was north, eyes frantically trying to track the watery sunlight filtering through the trees.
The moment you’d chances scanning for the sun meant you did not see the thick, twisting root that had broken across the forest floor, not until your foot became entangled and you were sent sprawling across the dirt.
Moaning slightly, you scrambled up, refusing to acknowledge the faint bruising pain you felt in your ankle as you moved to keep running.
A snap of a tree branch froze you in your tracks. As stupid as you were, you turned towards the source of the sound, dread coiling in your gut. A shadow emerged from behind one of the ancient trees of the Wood, clutching something shiny.
A sword; long, wicked and cruelly sharp, and yet somehow, the blade frightened you far less than its wielder, for his face was familiar.
You’d grown up alongside it, after all.
“Well, well,” the boy — man — cooed at you. “We’ve been looking for you for quite sometime, you know?”
You took a step back, eager to put whatever distance you could between yourself and the smirking village boy who looked at you like you were his next meal.
“K-Kaigaku,” you stuttered in disbelief. “What are you doing? We were — we were friends.”
The boy’s laugh made your blood curdle. “Don’t mock me,” he shifted his sword to rest against his other shoulder as his free hand twirled a small dagger. “I only align myself with the strong, and you are nothing but a weak and pathetic little mouse.”
“But Lord Douma,” Kaigaku mused, his grin offset by the malice alighting his eyes. “Lord Douma is strong; powerful. I am loyal to him, not you.”
“Lord Douma?” You repeated, your voice as sharp as the blade glinting in the faint daylight as the boy before you tilted it back and forth. “Is that what he’s told you to call him? What, pray tell, is he lord of — being an egomaniacal, fatuous, greedy murderer?”
Kaigaku’s smirk unfurled into an ugly sneer as he shifted to point his sword at you. “Watch your mouth, girl.”
“And what of Kotoha?” You demanded, your anger an untamable fire that burned in your veins. “You were sweet on her once — did she deserve her fate?”
There was no sign of that fondness in the cruelty which lined Kaigaku’s face as he spat, “She spread her legs for some man like a whore and bore his bastard. Lord Douma only made sure she met an end befitting of her filth.”
“You vile, wretched creature,” you swore. “Damn you! Damn him!”
That hair-raising smirk reappeared as Kaigaku stepped towards you. “I cannot wait to see what Lord Douma has planned for you. You should’ve seen what he did to your beloved Granny, the hag.”
Your blood turned cold and a stone like lead settled in the pit of your stomach. You’d assumed, of course, that your grandmother had paid with her life in helping you escape, but you could not bear to hear the ways she’d suffered in exchange for your life.
Somewhere, in the depths of the Netherwood, a wolf howled.
“Shall I tell you all about it, Y/N?” Kaigaku taunted. “Shall I tell you how your dear Granny screamed as Lord Douma flayed her alive, piece by piece? How she sobbed for your grandfather? For you?”
Tears burned, as hot as acid in your eyes as you shook. “Stop,”
“It was quite pathetic, really,” Kaigaku sighed. “She went rather quickly. I suppose that’s what happens when you play with old crones — their pathetic little hearts can’t withstand the fun.”
You were at a loss; part of you wanted to lunge for the boy, to sink your nails into his eyes and rip, to tear him limb from limb as you screamed with rage until even the beasts of the Netherwood could not tell whether you were human or kin.
But on the other hand, you were just a woman, who’d spent the last five days in the Netherwood and didn’t have so much as a dagger with which to defend yourself.
And Sanemi told you to run.
You remembered as a boy, Kaigaku had been slow; always the last person to finish a race or outrun the seeker in hide and seek.
You, on the other hand, had always been faster; you could outrun him.
You had to. You would.
There was a roaring in your head as your mind disconnected from your body and you turned to flee.
“Don’t you run from me, bitch!” Kaigaku thundered after you, but you did not slow; you hurtled over root and rubble, adrenaline pumping hot and fast to your legs as you ran.
You’d thought, for one blissful moment, that perhaps you had a chance of evading him, when a silent whirring cut through the silent forest air.
Pain, blinding pain, exploded somewhere from the side of your thigh, bringing you to your knees as you cried out. Rolling over, your stomach dropped at the unmistakable sensation of blood dripping down your leg, hot and fast.
Behind you, you heard the thud of Kaigaku’s knife cluttering to the forest floor.
“Hn, I missed,” the boy scoffed, eyes roaming over you as you bled. “No matter, you can’t run on a wounded leg, can you little girl?”
Ignoring the dizzying lash of pain that flared in your leg, you scrambled backwards in a crawl, desperate to put some — any — distance between you and your captor.
“Lord Douma only said to bring you back alive,” Kaigaku hummed, drawing his sword once more. “He did not say to bring you back unscathed.”
Kaigaku put the tip of his blade right at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You glared defiantly up at him, though your show of courage was a mere facade as you beheld the salacious glint reflected in his beady eyes.
“I think I shall take my time with you,” Kaigaku decided, using his blade to tilt your head back and forth. “After all there is no one here who shall care if you scream; in fact, I prefer you do.”
Your eyes widened, what remaining fight you still had wavering.
Alone. You were completely and utterly alone.
Sanemi had not come; either he was still fighting the other men sent by your cursed fiancé, or he’d been slain, and now the others were making their way to you, to take you back to Douma and let him do as he pleased.
You were going to die; but you would not die by his hands. Your eyes lowered to the blade still pressed under your chin, its tip grazing against the delicate skin of your throat, teasingly.
Kaigaku’s blade was sharp, even if it’s wielder not; it would not take much effort to slit your own throat on its edge, and it would take even less to bleed out upon the Netherwood’s earthen floor.
Before you could move, however, Kaigaku’s sword lowered, its tip teasingly tracing along the front seams of your dress.
“Perhaps we could make this interesting,” Kaigaku smirked, tracing up the valley between your breasts. “He said only to ensure you were untainted for him; he did not say we couldn’t have a taste.”
Your stomach churned with a toxic mixture of both rage and dread as the sword cut through the first stitch of your bodice. You tried to gather your feet beneath you, enough so that you could launch yourself forward and impale yourself on his blade, when a low growl sounded from behind your assailant.
Kaigaku, too enthralled by his slow torture of you, did not see the mass of white fur and bloodstained teeth leap from the shadows of the Wood; not until it was too late.
You looked on in horror as a large beast lunged for the boy from your village, tackling him to the side, his sword arm severed at his shoulder from a single swipe of the monster’s mighty claw. Kaigaku only had time to scream once before the nightmare’s massive maw clamped around his neck and tore, spraying his blood and bits of gore across the forest floor.
Your breath caught and died in your throat, helpless from where you were still splayed pathetically across the dirt as you watched the animal paint the Netherwood with remnants of Kaigaku.
The monster turned on its haunches towards you, its maw dripping with blood and bits of sinew and flesh, its lip curled back in a snarl. You whimpered as the creature’s silver-lilac eyes settled on you, every inch trembling in abject terror.
Though overcome by your fear, your brain was able to put together the sight before you that was sure to be your last. The beast slowly advancing towards you was a wolf, though it was much larger than any wolf you’d ever seen, and its brawn rivaled that of an ox’s.
The wolf boasted a thick coating of silvery-white fur that seemed to glow, as though it bore the essence of a full moon, though its brilliance was dampened somewhat by the smears of crimson saturating it. Under the dim light of the forest, you could not tell whether the blood was that of the wolf or another.
One colossal paw stepped hesitantly toward you again, and you felt yourself nearly go faint. Weakly, you tried to scramble back further into the wood, but your left leg had gone slightly numb from its wound, and the blood loss was starting to make you feel dizzy.
It seemed the Netherwood had answered your silent plea to not be sent back to be killed by Douma; instead, you would serve as the next meal for one of its monstrous residents.
The wolf drew short of you and watched you closely for a moment. With a great shudder, the wolf began to tremble and shake, and your horror melted into wide-eyed disbelief as you watched the wolf shrink and contort until all that was left was a man, blood-stained, naked, and panting on his hands and knees, fingers dug deeply into the dirt below. The man convulsed as began heaving up bile stained with blood and gore.
The sight of scarred forearms and snowy-white hair broke you out into a cold sweat.
“S-Sanemi?” You croaked, equal parts relieved and terrified, even if another part of you desperately hoped that you were simply hallucinating the image of the nude man wretching up blood before you.
“Aye,” Sanemi grit out between great, shuddering breaths as he spat one final time at the dirt. “It is me.”
He rose, bloodied and naked, from the forest floor and looked to you, his eyes back to their familiar, lavender hue, though they still retained an otherworldly glow.
There was a loud ringing in your ears as you stared at him, though you weren’t sure if it was from your panic or your blood loss. Sanemi took a cautious step towards you and it sent you scurrying back, a whimper of fright building in your throat.
He faltered, something like pain crossing his face. “Perhaps you should be afraid,” he said quietly. “And you can be — but I need you to throw me that satchel.”
It took you a moment to recollect yourself long enough to register what he was asking. With shaky hands, you unlatched the leather bag from your shoulders and weakly tossed it towards the Huntsman.
Sanemi was quiet as he dug through the bag, producing a fresh pair of breeches and a clean tunic. With a deftness that seemed as supernatural as his wolf form, Sanemi dressed, concealing his muscular, scarred form from sight once more.
He said your name once, quietly. “Are you alright?”
You trembled, hand clutching weakly at the front clasp of your cape. “He killed my grandmother,” you whispered. “H-he tortured her.”
Sanemi approached you slowly, and when you did not flinch away from him once more, he knelt down beside you. His hand came up to gently stroke your hair, and the touch startled you out of your trance, blinking back fat tears as you looked up at him.
“We need to go,” he said gently and you closed your eyes, nodding.
You’d known, of course, that your Grandmother had been killed; made peace with it, even. But you had not foreseen that she would be tortured for trying to secure your freedom, and the very thought made something inside your heart wither and die.
“I know,” you murmured quietly. Sanemi straightened, extending a hand to you to help you up when your fingers closed around his wrist, your eyes urgent.
“Did you kill them?”
Sanemi grimaced. “Yes, Lamb. I killed them all.”
You nodded. “Good.” You released his wrist and slid your hand into his. “Good.”
Your shock had dulled the sharp, burning throb in your leg while you’d processed the fact that Sanemi was not a mere huntsman, but a wolf of the Wood. But now that the shock had worn off, the pain slammed back into you with full force as you tried to stand, your leg collapsing uselessly under you as you cried out.
Sanemi’s nostrils flared and there was a murderous glint in his eyes as he crouched down beside you, eyes locked onto your left side, fingers clenching around the torn folds of your dress and lifting it up.
“S-Sanemi!” You squeaked, batting his hand away but no to avail. The huntsman — the wolf — managed to pull back the skirts of your dress to reveal the torn flesh of your thigh.
“Was it him?” Sanemi’s voice was low, his head jerking back over his shoulder in the vague direction where he’d left Kaigaku in pieces.
You nodded, eyes wide as you watched him inspect the wound. “A knife. He threw it.”
The huntsman exhaled harshly through his nose. “We’re too vulnerable in the open like this — especially because you’re bleeding.”
Sanemi sat back on his haunches and pulled his small hunting knife from the leather satchel strewn on the ground. Silently, he leaned forward and wound some of the bottom fabric of your dress around the blade and wrenched, tearing a sizeable scrap cloth from the skirt in one clean stroke.
Sanemi then reached under your skirt and tugged the shorter end of your linen shift down. “It’s not ideal but it’s cleaner than your outer skirt,” he said by way of explanation at your raised eyebrows and hitched breath. “It’ll do until I can get you somewhere safer. We’re sitting ducks out here. Your scent is bound to attract something.”
You nodded, gulping. Words were still far too difficult to come by, so you settled for watching your handsome guide as he worked, mouth set in a firm, hard line.
Sanemi tore another strip of linen from your shift and laid it delicately over his knee. His eyes flicked to yours, once, and you felt slightly ashamed at the way your breath hitched, as though waiting for those lilac irises to bleed silver once more.
“May I?” His hands were stilled above the exposed flesh of your shin, and you knew he’d need to lift more to bandage your thigh. You nodded after a moment, though your hesitation did not stem from any fear you held for the scarred man delicately sliding his hands up the length of your wounded leg; rather, the heat that crept up your neck came from the way goose flesh erupted over the skin beneath his roughened yet gentle touch.
Sanemi’s fingers were steady as he gently guided your leg to the side, rotating it in his palm so that the gash was perpendicular to the forest floor.
At the sight of your bloodied, torn flesh, Sanemi growled. “I should’ve made the little bastard suffer far more.” He said darkly, reaching into his satchel to pull a small skien of water to clean off the wound as much as possible.
At the first splash of water against your ragged skin, you flinched, hissing through clenched teeth as the cold fluid chased away the spare bit of blood. For a moment, you could see that the cut left behind the blade was deeper than you’d thought, though not so much so that it required more than a good bandaging and perhaps some stitching.
At least it had not been entirely flayed open.
The hand Sanemi had braced on your knee to keep your leg steady rubbed soothingly at your skin as he repeated the motion once more, letting the water cleanse the wound once more. “Atta girl,” he praised softly. “It’s done. I just need to wrap it.”
It amazed you that such a hardened, rough Huntsman — Wolf — had such a gentle touch. His hands were like feathers as he wound the clean strip of linen around your thigh, the only pressure stemming from the knot he’d fastened to keep it secure around your leg. Sanemi then wrapped the other torn fabric from your outer skirt around the makeshift bandage, knotting it in a similar fashion to the one beneath.
“To keep the one below from becoming dirty,” he offered plainly at your raised eyebrow. “Can you stand?”
Now that the adrenaline of yojr earlier encounter had worn off, the throb in your leg had become all the more pronounced. Teeth clenched, you gripped the Huntsman’s hands tightly as you rose from your seat on the tree stump, eyebrows furrowed in determination. Sanemi did not remove his hands from you, but kept them out and ready as you tentatively shifted your weight to test your wounded leg.
It was no good; the pain shot through you like an arrow and nearly buckled the knee on your good leg. With a cry of frustration, you stumbled back against Sanemi, the Huntsman’s arm looping easily around your waist to help lower you back down against the stump upon which he’s sat you.
“Damn it all,” you cursed, wincing at the angry throb in your leg. “It cannot bear weight.”
Sanemi pursed his lips as he looked over you, considering. “Allow me,” he said after a moment, squatting down next to you, motioning for you to wrap your arm around his shoulders.
You hesitated; you were not scared of the Huntsman, even after witnessing his terrifying true form, but your apprehension lingered, a primal fear baked deep within your core that told you you should be scared of the predator beside you. That, mixed with your blood loss, made you pause, even though you’re traveled alongside the fearless Huntsman for nearly a week.
And Sanemi noticed.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his arm locked steadily around your waist as he lifted you to your feet, your weight pressed against his chest.
You did not trust your words so you only nodded. Despite the remaining wariness you felt, you longed for his comfort more. You lifted your hand to cup the side of his jaw so you could tilt his face down, bringing his forehead against yours.
Sanemi whispered your name and your eyes lifted up to meet the smoldering heat of his gaze.
A knuckle brushed against the curve of your cheek. “Are you frightened of me now, little Lamb?”
Your fingers gripped the collar of his tunic, a desperation wracking through you at the thought he might pull away and remove the steadying warmth of his arms from around your frame.
“No. It is not you that frightens me; it is him.”
The arm around your waist tightened. “He will not get to you; I swear it. I will not allow him to lay a finger on you.”
Your breath shuddered and your eyes squeezed tight. You felt the discomforting press of panic building in your lungs, threatening to choke the air from your throat until a warm finger curled under your chin, followed only by a rugged whisper of your name.
You opened your eyes and there he was; the only person left alive who you could count on; who had proven, time and again, that your welfare mattered to him. Who treated you like you meant something.
You craved that feeling — craved him.
“Kiss me, Sanemi.” You murmured, your lips separated by a breath. “Please.”
Sanemi did not hesitate as he gently brought his lips against yours, the hand under your chin moving to cup the back of your head, holding you steady against him like he was the only real, solid thing in the world.
Your hands, no longer shaking, unclenched from where they’d been locked around the collar of his tunic and slid behind his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.
Sanemi sighed against your lips, allowing himself to get lost in the way they moved against his, just as you did. Against the solid rock of his body and under the spell of his soft mouth, it was easy to allow yourself to forget the danger that threatened to creep in from the shadows.
Lost in your kiss, you made the mistake of trying to shift your weight from your good leg to the bad, causing both knees to buckle. At your small whimper of pain, Sanemi broke away.
“You’re too injured to walk,” He murmured against your lips. “So I shall carry you.”
He broke away with a final peck, stepping back and reaching behind him to haul his tunic over his head. “Unless you would like to see all of me, little Lamb,” Sanemi’s smirk was devilish. “Then I suggest you close your eyes for a moment.”
The heat his words sparked in your veins dulled the throb of your wounded leg. “And if I desire to see you?”
Sanemi only shrugged. “Then I suppose I shall have to put on a show.”
The huntsman held your eyes as his hands went to the hastily tied laces of his breeches, tugging the strings open with ease.
You fidgeted against the broken stump he’d perched you on, just as Sanemi shrugged down the soft suede of his breeches, revealing that damnable v-line that made your head spin. A few more inches lower, and there was his manhood, hanging thick and heavy between his muscular and scar-speckled thighs.
He was a sight to behold.
“Is this your first time seeing a man, Lamb?” Sanemi’s voice broke you out of the reverent trance you’d been in whilst admiring every rocky plane of his body.
Your mouth had turned dryer than a summer drought, and so you only nodded your head, unable to tear your eyes from the immaculate form that made up the huntsman of the Netherwood.
To your dismay, Sanemi stepped back from where you sat, again and again until he was several lengths back. You opened your mouth in protest, but he only shook his head.
“Don’t want you to be too close, my sweet.” He called from a distance.
You frowned. “Too close for what —“
Your question was cut off by a small scream as Sanemi leapt forward, that silver fur exploding forth from him as a large wolf landed only feet from where he’d once stood.
Now it was clear why he’d put such distance between you; had Sanemi been any closer when he shifted, one of those mighty claws embedded in his law — nearly as long as your hand — would have surely ripped you clean in half.
Your heart hammered in your chest as Sanemi’s wolf form drew closer. Now, without the weight of terror and the pressing conviction that you were about to die, you allowed yourself to fully appreciate the wolf before you.
His scars were still visible, though less so in contrast to his human form, his thick fur providing a fair degree of cover. In this form, you could see that were you to stand, your head would barely reach his shoulder.
Sanemi grunted as he crouched out, the puff of air from his considerable snout warming over your legs. He looked up at you expectantly, an amused twinkle in his wolffish eyes.
You gaped at him. “You want me to ride you?”
Another amused chuff.
“And how, great and mighty wolf, do you suggest I climb onto your back with a half-severed leg?” You dramatized. “Shall I flop?”
You couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the Wolf rolled his eyes. Sanemi pressed his large body against your good side, nudging you with his great shoulder to signal for you to grab his fur.
You took a handful of the silvery coat, surprised at its softness. “Do not bite me just because you think I pull too hard,” you warned, half serious, and Sanemi huffed in annoyance.
Using the wolf as leverage, you heaved yourself up, Sanemi pressing steadily into your side as you found your footing against him. Slowly, and with less grace than you were willing to admit, you managed to climb atop Sanemi’s back, awkwardly swinging your injured leg over the opposite side.
Once settled, Sanemi rose beneath you, rising to his full height. Sat atop him, you were willing to bet he was taller than most horses back in the village.
The great wolf sniffed at the air once before lowering himself into a crouch, and springing forth into the Wood.
————
Riding atop Sanemi had been the most exhilarating experience of your life.
Though, you also could not recall the last time such a ride had left you more frightened, given that you’d spent a great deal of it crouched low against his neck, fearing that if you rose your head even a fraction of an inch, some low-hanging tree would embed itself in your face.
You supposed you would have kept riding longer, had your stomach not given a great gurgle after an hour or so atop the wolf. With a growl that you thought sounded suspiciously like a laugh, Sanemi paused in a small clearing near a rocky, moss-covered cliff, disappearing behind the lip of the rock once he’d situated you upon a felled log.
A few moments later, human Sanemi emerged, re-dressed, but his face was severe.
“They will keep coming,” Sanemi’s frustration was clear as he shrugged the fresh tunic over his head, the delectable ridges of his abdomen and the alluring dip of his hips concealed from your sight once more. “So long as they can track your scent, they will keep pursuing you.”
You did not need to ask to whom he referred; the very same fear had gnawed at you even despite the exhilaration of riding Sanemi’s wolf form.
Your appreciation of the huntsman’s physique stalled as fear bubbled again in your gut. “What can I do?” Your whisper was shaky and it made Sanemi pause, his hand twitching towards you. “I cannot change my scent in the middle of the damn Wood—“
“You can,” Sanemi said quickly, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears turned pink. “Or— rather, I can help.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Because you are a wolf? Should I call you that now, instead of ‘Huntsman,’ or ‘Sanemi?’”
“You can call me whatever you desire, so long as you allow me to protect you.” Sanemi retorted evenly.
You tried to keep your voice steady even as you blushed. “And how would you do that, Wolf?”
There was a dark glint in Sanemi’s eyes at your new nickname for him. “A bite from a wolf can change your scent.”
You balked at him. “A bite?”
“Aye,” the Huntsman said casually, as though he was merely discussing the weather. “It would leave a small mark, but that mark would alter your scent enough to make you harder to track.”
You thought for a moment, the blush on your cheeks deepening. “Where would you bite me?”
It was Sanemi’s turn to turn pink. “Likely your neck,” he fidgeted with a stick he used to poke the dying campfire.
You gulped. “Would you have to transform?”
Sanemi’s small smile was handsome, even if it looked a little feral. “No, Lamb. I can stay in this form.”
You watched your protector for a moment, weighing your options. “Come here, Sanemi.”
His eyes snapped to yours, a bottomless heat turning his lilac gaze molten. Slowly, with the grace of a predator silently stalking its prey, Sanemi made his way over to where you sat, drawing short once the tips of his boots grazed yours.
“Do you swear it? It will keep them from being able to track me?” You asked, voice trembling slightly as you peered up at the Huntsman.
He nodded, slowly. A hand reached out to caress your cheek, and your breath lodged in your throat as you found yourself leaning into his warmth.
You managed to exhale around the lump that had formed in your throat. “Then I will allow it.”
Your heart skipped like a rabbit’s against your sternum as Sanemi leaned in close, the warmth of his breath chasing away the chill of the Wood’s air.
“So delicate,” Sanemi murmured, his nose skimming along the slope between your neck and shoulder. “So soft.”
“W-wolf?” Your voice was high, your hands trembling as they jumped to clutch at Sanemi’s forearms, nails digging into his skin in anticipation. “Will it hurt?”
He huffed a laugh against your skin, the gentle tickle of his warm air sending goosebumps along your exposed skin. “No, little Lamb,” his lips danced along your shoulder, back towards the sensitive spot connecting with your neck. “You will feel a prick and then you will feel warm.”
You nodded, the ends of Sanemi’s cornsilk hair tickling your throat. “I’m ready. Bite me — please.”
Sanemi’s groan was followed by a cold, sharp sting that sunk into the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck that was quickly chased away by a soothing warmth. The huntsman’s mouth latched to your neck as he buried his teeth in you, his tongue stroking soothingly around where he now bit.
It felt like someone had poured warmed honey into your veins. It spread, thick and sweet from your neck throughout your body, making you feel like you’d sunk into a hot bath on a cold day. That warmth coiled in your belly and ignited something fluttery and pleasurable between your legs as you tilted your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to the wolf caging you in against the tree.
Your submission evoked a low growl from his chest, deep and rumbling as Sanemi pressed harder into you, his hands bunching your dress at your sides as he continued to suck at your neck. The feeling of his body molded tightly against yours and the way his mouth worked at that delicate spot made you moan out, the sound finally jolting something within the huntsman as he gave you one final kick, before tearing himself away.
“Dear gods, woman,” he heaved, breath coarse. “Are you trying to drive me wild?”
You flushed as you panted, staring at him with wide eyes. Whatever you’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that; you’d not foreseen that the act of Sanemi biting you could feel so intimate, could make you long for him to run his hands under your dress, to touch you in your most sacred places until you begged for him.
He was dangerous; it was thrilling.
“Kiss me again,” you breathed, and Sanemi obeyed, his mouth moving fervently against yours as his tongue caressed your lower lip. Sensing the silent request, you opened for him, and Sanemi’s tongue swept into your mouth, licking at yours as his teeth nipped along your lower lip.
You thought he might devour you; you wanted to let him.
But Sanemi suddenly pulled away from you as though he’d been burned, eyes wide and breath hard.
You blinked in surprise. “Sanemi, what —,”
“We need to go,” he said firmly, his cheeks flushed red. At his sides, his hands curled tightly into fists.
—-
The rest of your journey was oddly strained. Despite having grown closer with enigmatic Huntsman over the last several days of your travels, you suddenly felt as though you’d been catapulted back to square one.
Though he still allowed you ride upon his back in wolf form, gone were the amused chuffs and snorts that he used to signal he was listening to your mindless chatter. Instead, the wolf below you remained tense, a cord pulled tight that was liable to snap at the drop of a hat.
As much as you wished it made you angry so that you could snipe at him, Sanemi’s sudden introversion stoked an uncomfortable self-consciousness within you, and you found yourself desperately grappling for an explanation.
Had you tasted badly, when he’d bit you? Did he suddenly no longer find himself drawn to you, now that your scent was different?
Or, even worse, had he realized that perhaps he did not want you to stay with him in the Wood after all, and was now attempting to put distance between you so that you would be more willing to leave him once you reached the edge of the forest?
The thought made your stomach clench painfully.
Sanemi’s distance did not abate even by the time he slowed to a stop for the night. He’d brought the two of you to a clearing in the Wood that bordered alongside a winding river, crested by a waterfall. Sanemi finally lowered himself to the pebbled ground of the riverbank, muscles twitching as though to hasten you along in sliding off him to balance yourself against a mid-sized boulder, before he stalked back towards the trees, his leather satchel in his mouth.
He avoided even your gaze as he stalked into the shallows of the river, spearing two fish with a sharpened stick he’d fashioned. Sanemi hadn’t so much as thrown a word your way as he’d started a small fire, apparently relying on dusk to conceal the small smoke billowing up.
Despite the coolness of the evening air, you noted Sanemi was sweating as he’d flung out the stick bearing your flame-cooked fish dinner towards you.
In accepting the spear, your fingers accidentally brushed against his and Sanemi recoiled — hard.
“What is wrong with you?” You snapped. “Why will you not touch me? Why do you flinch whenever I am near?”
“I do not,” Sanemi answered hotly through clenched teeth, though the muscle that ticked in his jaw betrayed his frustration. “Am I suddenly required to touch you?”
You folded your arms across your chest, eyes narrowed. “You certainly had no objection to it earlier — especially not when you threw me up against a tree.”
“Threw you —“ Sanemi choked off, his returning glare both indignant and enraged. “As I recall it was you who kissed me.”
“And as I recall, it was you who started doing that — that thing with your tongue,” you accused lamely, though any bite in your words was tempered by the blush creeping up your face.
Sanemi scoffed. “You cannot even speak of it without blushing like a little girl, and yet I am the one acting strange?” He leaned back on the piece of driftwood he’d claimed as his seat, arms folded across his chest, head turned pointedly away from you.
As you mulled over a number of insults to call the temperamental Huntsman sitting across front you, the last remnants of the sun faded from the night sky, and overhanging clouds briefly parted to reveal the moon — nearly full, its silvery glow illuminating the riverbank.
The moon’s rays reached where you and the Huntsman had set up camp when suddenly your hand jumped to your shoulder as you cried out.
Sanemi startled forward with a worried growl of your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
You grit your teeth, fingers digging harshly into your shoulder as you winced. “Something is — is burning, but I do not know what.”
You were certain the only injury your sustained had been the wound to your thigh by Kaigaku’s knife. But you’d spent enough time in and around flame to know what a burn felt like, and it felt as though something had been branded into you, its throb almost crippling.
You cried out again and Sanemi quickly crossed the dirt and took you into his arms, though you felt him flinch as he did so. “Where?”
You gestured wildly to your shoulder, too distracted by the way his presence made the burn now pulse, sending lashes of heat throughout your body, though there was a maddening edge of pleasure blooming from every part of you that was pressed against him.
Sanemi’s fingers grasped the collar of your dress and wrenched it to the side, swearing softly as he beheld whatever it was he saw.
“What is it?” You managed to grind out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms to keep him anchored to you, as though he were capable of keeping the flames licking at your skin at bay. “Kaigaku did not touch me there — at least, I don’t think —,”
“It was not that boy who did this,” Sanemi said severely, his finger gingerly caressing the spot where your neck met your shoulder. You moaned as his touch extinguished some of the burning fire which had ignited your skin, too lost in the temporary relief to note the way Sanemi’s hands tightened around you. “It was I.”
That stilled you. “What do you mean?” You turned your head, peering up at the Wolf with wide eyes. “From when you changed my scent?”
Sanemi, for once, looked discomforted. “I think —,” he swallowed once, avoiding your gaze as he stepped back. You almost cried out at the loss of his body against yours, as the burn returned once more.
“I think I marked you; but I-“ Sanemi stuttered, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he stared at the ground, his weight shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “But it shouldn’t be affecting you — not like this.”
“You marked me?” Your hand fluttered to the fleshy juncture between your shoulder and neck. You gasped as your fingers brushed against a curious raise in your skin that hadn’t been there before, the strange curvature burning a few degrees warmer than the area around it.
The huntsman’s eyes remained resolutely fixed on the ground of the forest. “I told you I would cover your scent.”
You stroked the the mark, fingers tracing the odd curve, like that of a crescent moon. “What does the mark mean?”
Sanemi hesitated.
“Wolf?”
“It is a mating mark.” Sanemi admitted after a long moment, hand jumping to his hair as he ran his fingers anxiously through his silvery-white locks.
A stunned breath blew past your lips, your eyes wide. “M-mating mark?” You repeated, hand freezing where the telling crescent was emblazoned upon your skin.
Sanemi looked equal parts apologetic and scared. “I swear, I did not know it would affect you — wolves have to accept the mating mark to feel it, so I did not think —.” He ran a frazzled hand through his hair, his anguish apparent. “I thought I would be the only one to feel its call. I swear it.”
In the back of your mind, it registered that the mark perhaps was the reason for Sanemi’s sudden change towards you, but the incessant burning you felt would not allow you to question him on it.
“What does this mean?” You cried out again as the mark surged, the pain reaching all the way down between your legs, making you gasp. “Are we — are we m-mated?”
Sanemi’s eyes flashed. “No,” his voice was firm, urgent. “You still have to accept the mark for us to be mated — that’s why I thought it was safe. It was supposed to change your scent enough for us to avoid those men.”
“I swear to you I do not plan on acting on it; I meant only to help protect you. I fully intend on escorting you to the nearest village, as promised, and then I will leave. That mark does not have to mean anything to you.”
You believed him. The slight panic in his eyes as you winced at the mark’s repetitive flare once more could not be faked. Furthermore, you knew Sanemi would have no reason to bind you to him; not when you’d already made it clear that you wanted to stay.
You still did.
Sanemi’s earlier words echoed in your mind. That mark does not have to mean anything to you.
“But it will mean something to you, yes?” You demanded, drawing yourself up tall even as you sat perched upon the driftwood. “The mark?”
Sanemi hesitated again. “Wolves only mark once.”
He did not offer any further explanation, nor did he need to; you understood well enough.
The Huntsman had marked you, knowing full well he’d never be able to claim another as his mate. He’d done that, knowing that if another came along that won his heart, he could not be with them completely — not in the way his nature would desire.
And he’d done it nonetheless; all for the sake of giving her a chance to escape Douma’s clutches and to be free.
He’d put you first.
You hadn’t doubted the sincerity of your offer to him earlier, but now, there was no way he’d get rid of you. You would not allow it.
“And what would you do if I said I accepted it — accepted the mating bond?” You asked, voice as soft as a feather.
Sanemi snorted, pulling away from you to busy himself with stoking the small campfire. “I would say that you are an innocent, little lamb who does not understand what it means to be claimed by a wolf.”
“I understand well enough,” you replied, indignant. “I know what it means for people to give into their carnal desires.”
“You know nothing, you’ve never even seen a man before today.” The huntsman shot back, tossing another piece of kindling into the small fire. “You have never laid with another, much less a wolf.”
“It cannot be all that different,” you pouted. “You appear before me man enough.”
Sanemi closed the gap between your bodies then, coming to sit beside you on the rock, fingers curling under your chin to tilt your head up.
His eyes glinted with a sudden predatory heat. “It is quite different, little lamb.” He murmured. “I may now stand before you a man, but I am very much still a wolf. I would not take you like an ordinary human.”
There it was again — that heat, so foreign and yet so enticing, flickered to life once more in the depths of your belly, and the urge to rub your thighs together suddenly became overwhelming. With bated breath, you watched as Sanemi’s nostrils flared softly, his pupils dilating as the grip under your chin tightened ever so slightly.
“Then how would you take me, wolf?” You whispered, eyes not wavering from his. “How would I accept the mating bond?”
Sanemi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, opening only after a shaky exhale of his breath. “You would have to take my knot.”
Your gaze dropped to his lips, the warmth from your mark spreading across your skin along with the sudden urge to feel them move against your own. “Your knot?”
“My knot,” Sanemi repeated, “and that is precisely why I cannot mate you, little lamb.”
You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, a movement Sanemi’s eyes followed, his tongue flicking out to wet his own lips.
You pressed your chest flush against his front, hands seeking out his in the dark. “And what if I wanted it?”
Sabemi groaned, fingers latching onto your waist, though whether he sought to push you away or keep you anchored in place, you could not say. “Christ, woman. One would almost think you enjoyed torturing this poor wolf.”
You leaned into him, head tilting as you sought the knowledge of his soft lips against yours. “Not torturing,” you whispered, a hair’s breath separating your mouth from his. “Willingly offering myself to him.”
Your lips brushed against his and Sanemi moaned, his hands reaching to snare in your hair as he moved his mouth desperately against yours, teeth nipping and sucking on your lower lip, like he was hungry to consume you. But before he could, your pulled your head back, breaking the kiss.
“Do it, wolf,” you whispered. “Take me. Claim me as your mate.”
Sanemi grabbed you by your jaw, cheeks squishing beneath his firm grip. “Do you know what that would mean?” His voice was rough, his eyes burning with his desire. “If I did, we would be bonded. Permanently. For life.”
He said it as if you had not guessed it to be true; as if you weren’t prepared.
You gazed up at him through your eyelashes, eyes round and full of the innocence he claimed he could not taint. “Would you have it be another?”
Sanemi took the bait, a feral growl tearing from his chest as he crushed your body against his.
“No,” he snarled, and his mouth descended upon yours once more, his hot tongue sweeping into your mouth to swallow your breathy gasp as you threaded your fingers through his soft, moon-kissed hair.
You moaned into his mouth, hands greedily roaming the rocky planes of his chest, nails scratching lightly along his skin.
“You will be the death of me,” the Huntsman breathed against your lips. “You truly want to accept the bond?”
You moaned, nodding vigorously as Sanemi trailed his lips across your jaw and down your neck, his hands beginning to roam up your sides, tugging you down with him against the boulder so that you straddled his sides.
“Very well,” he murmured. “But I will not claim you here,” Sanemi said gruffly against the delicate skin of your throat, lips pressed against where your pulse fluttered. “I cannot.”
You whined and ground your hips down against his thighs, savoring the way the steely firmness of them pressed against something between your legs that made you feel electric.
“I must take you to my den,” the huntsman clarified, pulling back slightly in spite of your small whine. “When wolves like me claim a mate, we…do not like to be disturbed.”
Sanemi’s fingered the front laces of the stay secured around your bust, slowly undoing the careful lacing as he spoke, though his eyes did not leave yours. “And because it will be a full moon when I mate you, I will go into heat. It will last a very long time.”
“How long?” You fought to keep your head from falling back as you watched Sanemi work, the warmth of his hands seeping through the cotton and linen layers of your dress, making your breasts pebble with every loosened tie of your corset.
Sanemi hummed as he leaned forward, tracing his lips over the exposed skin just below your collarbone as his fingers worked the last of your stays. “At least a day; perhaps two. Other wolves have claimed it lasts shorter when one has a mate, as opposed to having to weather it alone.”
The top swells of your breasts were exposed as Sanemi finally freed you from your outer corset, allowing it to fall to the ground beside you.
The huntsman skimmed his nose over the top of your shift where the tops of your soft mounds peaked over, letting his tongue peek out to follow the trail. The feeling of the hot wetness of his mouth made you fidget in his lap, a whine building in your throat, desperate to have him touch more.
“A-and will you — ah,” you moaned as Sanemi tugged the bodice of your dress and shift down your shoulders, exposing your peaked breasts to the night air. “Will y-you mate m-me the whole t-time — oh god, Sanemi,”
“I could get used to you saying my name like that,” The huntsman chuckled, bending to take one of your breasts fully in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over your stiffened nipple. The contact made the mark on your shoulder burn with a sensual heat that you felt shoot straight down between your legs, and you ground against his thigh, mewling for more.
Sanemi looked up at you as he swirled his tongue over the fleshy skin of your mound, his pupils blown wide. “Perhaps,” he muttered in response to your question, in between light sucks. “It depends on how well you take my knot, you sweet thing.”
You moaned again as Sanemi moved his mouth across the valley between your breasts, taking the other mound between his lips and teeth, his hand rising to keep the other warm. He suckled at you for a moment until you were a whimpering, trembling mess atop him, before he pulled off with a lewd pop!
“But no matter,” You shivered as Sanemi’s teeth grazed your ear. “I promise I will make you feel so good, little Lamb.”
“Why must we wait,” you asked impatiently. “I am ready to be your mate now — I promise I can take your knot right here.”
Sanemi snarled against your skin, but it was not in warning. Rather, your words seemed to stir something deep within him, as the bulge between his legs hardened even more, and the building friction between it and demanding ache in your core intensified.
Sanemi shifted your hips in his lap so the apex of your thighs was no longer pressed flush against his hardness.
“You, my flower, smell far too tempting for me to risk having you in such a vulnerable way in the middle of the damn Wood, without any cover.”
Sanemi, lips traipsed along your jaw as he hummed. “There are many creatures lurking in the shadows that would see my mating you as an opportunity to take a bite for themselves.”
You tugged on his hair, trying to get him to meet your eyes. “I thought my scent was alluring only to you?”
“You don’t just appeal to me, little Lamb,” Sanemi said pointedly. “You have a rare scent that attracts all sorts of creatures here in the Wood.”
“But it is different now?” You pondered, fidgeting in the Huntsman’s lap until the ridge of his thigh pressed against that spot between your legs that made you want to sing.
You hummed and used your grip in his hair as leverage to tilt his head to the side, your lips caressing down the side of Sanemi’s neck, savoring the faint, salty taste of him on your tongue as his fingers dug into your hips.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Your scent has changed, thanks to your mark.”
You pulled away from your assault on his neck to pout at him, lower lip jutting out in a way that made Sanemi’s eyes darken. “So I do not smell as good anymore? To you, that is?”
With a low growl, Sanemi stood, hands gripping under your thighs as he lifted you before he laid you out against the river stone. “Quite the opposite, Lamb,” he quipped, voice low and heady. “To me, there is no finer perfume. Your scent calls to me; it nearly sends me into a frenzy.”
You found yourself incapable of coherent thought — much less speech — as Sanemi’s hands slid up your legs, bunching the skirts of your dress with every inch of skin he passed over until you felt the night air delicately brushing the heat between your legs.
Your legs spread and supported between his grip and the smooth of the rock, Sanemi leaned forward and kissed you, his tongue sliding past your lips to lick teasingly at the roof of your mouth before he broke away, imprinting his kiss down your exposed torso.
You watched him, enthralled by the way your body seemed to come alive under his touch. Even in the dark of the Wood, you could make out the lilac swirls of Sanemi’s eyes as he watched you, noting every gasp and sigh he pulled from you as his hands and mouth explored the planes of your body.
“What curious eyes you have, Wolf.” Your breath was short, choppy as Sanemi’s lips descended past your breasts, caressing the soft of your belly.
“The better to see your pretty face, my sweet,” Sanemi murmured, pressing a sweet kiss right below your belly button, the fire within your gut leaping like oil in a hot pan.
“W-what — oh,” you moaned as you felt his lips press against your hip, the broad expanse of his hands smoothing down over your thighs, pushing the last of your skirts up, and allowing the searing heat of his hands to meet your untouched skin. “What large hands you have.”
“The better to feel you — to caress every inch of you,” Sanemi’s voice was husky as his fingers trailed up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, spreading them wider so he could kneel. One hand gripped the back of your knee and gently tugged your injured leg over his shoulder, so your foot rest against the middle of his back.
His hot breath danced teasingly along your inner thigh as Sanemi’s mouth drew closer an closer to where you ached for him, the night air cool as it licked at your tender, heated flesh.
The feel of his mouth drawing nearer to to the most intimate part of your body made you feel as though you’d been set alight. “Such soft lips you have, Wolf.”
Sanemi chuckled, the sound so dark and rich it sent a shiver up your spine. “The better to taste you with, little Lamb.”
Your breath hitched as you felt something warm and hot flatten against your folds and drag up, Sanemi groaning into you as he repeated the movement, again and again.
His tongue, you realized as a strangled cry fell from your lips, your head falling back against the creek stone. He was exploring you with his tongue.
“Sweet,” Sanemi groaned in between wet, sticky laps against your folds. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
Every nerve in your body felt as though it had been set alight, the mark between your shoulder and neck burning deliciously.
Sanemi’s tongue flattened against your core, his nose pressing sharply against the pearl between your legs as he rocked his face from side to side, smearing your juices all over his maw.
“O-oh gods,” you cried out, hips bucking against his ministrations.
Sanemi’s hot tongue circled your entrance once before dipping inside, his teeth grazing your most sensitive spot as he buried the wet appendage inside your core.
His name fell in a breathy scream from your lips as you bowed up off the creek rock, hands shooting to anchor themselves in his hair as Sanemi began moving his tongue in and out of your fluttering core, his nose bumping and pressing against that delicate pearl at the apex of your thighs as he moved.
“My gods,” Sanemi grunted into your folds. “You are heaven on earth.”
You bucked against him once more, though you could not tell whether you sought more of his tongue or whether your body was trying to squirm away, too overcome by the pleasurable sensations Sanemi bestowed upon you as he worked his mouth against you. It did not matter either way, however, for every time you twitched away from him, the Huntsman’s hot, silky mouth only followed you, your cunt this predator’s dinner.
And apparently, he enjoyed playing with his food.
The frequency of your moans increased as the sounds of Sanemi feasting between your legs grew louder and ever more lewd, his own sounds of pleasure muffled by the repeated wet smacks of his mouth against your dripping folds as he sucked you between his lips and teeth and continued fucking you with his tongue.
“S-Sanemi! Oh — oh gods,” you cried as something coiled tightly behind your navel, making your thighs clench around the Wolf’s head as he worked.
Sanemi only responded with another groan, his hand leaving the supple flesh of your inner thigh to stroke against your folds, making you buck all the more against the stone as his roughened fingers brushed delicately against the spot that made you see stars.
His tongue pulled out of you in favor of flicking the bead at the apex of your legs, his fingers moving to your entrance and deftly pushing in, the wetness leaking from your core ensuring that they slid in without much resistance.
You cried out then, utterly overwhelmed by the way Sanemi’s finger began to work inside you, curling and pumping and stroking along your innermost walls until your entire body vibrated below him.
The hand supporting your thigh over his shoulder tightened as Sanemi resumed his oral assault on that small nub above your entrance, sucking and licking at it until the only sound leaving your throat were feverish cries of his name, your hips involuntarily jerking against him. With each passing moment that Sanemi spent feasting between your legs, something began to mount behind your navel, like a coil being steadily wound tighter and tighter.
You thought it should concern you, this foreign feeling, but as that feeling intensified, so too did your desire to see what would happen when it — you — came undone.
You left one hand gripping harshly at the Wolf’s hair, in some pathetic attempt to keep his face locked against your core, and lifted the other to pinch and roll your breast. You jolted at the stimulation, feeling yourself grow even wetter despite the fervor with which Sanemi lapped and suckled at you.
This appeared to please him, as Sanemi’s free hand moved from your thought to grip at your hip, pressing you even closer to his face until you wondered whether he could breathe. If he could not, the Huntsman did not seem to mind; his groans and growls against your cunt only intensified.
Sanemi slid a second finger into you, and then a third, and the resulting stretch made you see stars, your toes curling in your boots.
That thing in your stomach seized even tighter and your entire body tensed, as though you were on a precipice merely awaiting a slight force to tip you over and sending you hurtling to the depths below.
Whatever was happening to you, the Wolf seemed to anticipate it; for the moment that tight coil within your belly unwound, Sanemi’s fingers pulled hurriedly out of your opening only to be replaced by his tongue, his teeth pressed against your pearl. He lapped up every drop of release that spilled forth, humming and growling as you rode his tongue through the waves of crippling pleasure coursing through you.
As you came down from your high with a breathy sigh of his name, Sanemi shuddered beneath you, a strangled groan lilting out from his mouth between lazy slurps at your cunt. Though your vision was hazy, you could see the faint whites of his eyes peeking through his lids as they rolled back into his head, his fingers tightening their grip on your thighs until it was painful, before releasing once more.
The mark on your neck burned but it was no longer in agony; instead, it felt warm, like a part of your body left too long in the summer sun. but the heat was not entirely unwelcome, especially as Sanemi untangled himself from you, allowing the chill of the late autumn wind to sweep in and lick at your exposed skin.
“That should hold us both over until tomorrow,” Sanemi said after a moment with a throaty chuckle. “Though I will be hard pressed to keep my hands off you, little Lamb.”
Sanemi’s hands eased your skirts back down over your legs. Once your nether region was covered, he helped you sit up, allowing you to cling to him for warmth as he refastened your stays and helped you lace your corset back up the front.
Gingerly, Sanemi brushed your hair back from the shoulder bearing his claim on you. You followed his line of sight, twisting slightly and saw what he did: the crescent-shaped mark, which had burned a violent lavender only minutes prior, had faded back to a pale silver, its ache apparently soothed for the time being.
Sanemi leaned forward and brushed his lips against your mark, his tongue flicking out to caress it as you felt that warmth flood your veins once more. With a moan, you tilted your head, exposing more of your neck again to him, begging him to repeat the action again and again, but Sanemi only drew back.
“Apologies, Lamb,” his eyes were dark once more, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Seeing that mark pulls at something within me.”
You allowed your hair to fall back over the crescent bite mark and in an instant, Sanemi’s eyes lightened and a sheepish grin spread across his face. “Wolves are territorial. Seeing your mark makes me want to claim you, even without regard to the danger surrounding us.”
You frowned for a moment. “Are you only drawn to me because you’ve marked me?”
Sanemi’s gaze softened. “I am drawn to you, you vexatious woman, because I find you brave, kind, and at times, even a little charming.”
His hand lifted to caress your cheek, tilting your head down to meet his for a gentle kiss. “The mark is only a physical manifestation of what I already feel towards you. It is simply a way to display our bond to the world.”
Sanemi’s face turned grave and the way he said your name was serious. “You do not have to accept the bond if you’ve changed your mind.”
You shook your head hurriedly. “I want the bond — I want you,” the sincerity of your words resonated with Sanemi, as he pulled your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses against your fingers. “This is all new to me; I just wanted to know you were sure.”
Sanemi’s soft laugh made your heart thrum, and a blush spread across your cheeks. “I am certain, Lamb, that I would not want anyone else to cause me stress apart from you.”
With a quick peck against your lips, Sanemi rose, stretching his arms high above his head. The moonlight, coupled with the residual flames of the small campfire allowed you to rake your eyes over his lithe form, appreciating every scar and swell of muscle dotting his mouthwatering physique.
But your eyes snagged on a dark stain that had spread across the front of Sanemi’s breeches. “What —?”
Sanemi did not look embarrassed, but he did turn away from you nonetheless. “I told you, Lamb,” he said causually as he dug through the satchel, pulling out a spare pair of pants. “The mark affects me far more than it affects you; at least, for now.”
“That is because of me?” Your eyes trailed his form in wonder, and the sight of the stain made your thighs clench together though you knew not why. “Is that — is that your pleasure?”
Sanemi’s lopsided grin widened, a faint snicker on his lips as he regarded you once more, spread out atop his own traveling cloak. “Yes, Lamb. It is my pleasure.”
You looked up at him, head slightly cocked in question. “But I did nothing to you — not like you did to me.”
Sanemi removed his soiled breeches and re-dressed before returning to your side. “You did not need to; as I said, the mark affects me more than you right now. My body knows I have marked you as my mate, and it is eager to make you mine.”
You shivered at the possessiveness in the words and sat up as he leaned against the small boulder, reaching up over his shoulders to tug his tunic up over his head.
“So it was only the mark?” You asked slowly, eyes dropping down to where you knew his manhood lay under his clothing. “The mark brought you pleasure?”
Warm fingers gripped gently under your chin, forcing you to look back up and meet his piercing stare.
“No, sweetling,” Sanemi said, a low growl tinting his words. “It was not merely the mark. I took pleasure from giving you pleasure.” His thumb stroked the underside of your jaw. “A great deal of it, it seems.”
You shifted until you were on your knees before him, and even the dark of the night could not conceal the way Sanemi’s eyes darkened at the sight.
“Shall I give it back to you, my Wolf?” You whispered, leaning forward to graze your lips against the crotch of his breeches. “I should like to taste you as well.”
To your surprise, neither growl nor groan rumbled from the depths of Sanemi’s chest as you poked your tongue out between your lips and gently dragged it up the seam of his pants, just as he’d done to you. Instead, what fell from Sanemi’s lips was a low, breathy whine, the wolf’s head tipping back slightly as his eyes squeezed shut.
Below the barrier of his clothing, something between his legs began to stir. Curious, you brought your hand against it, palming him slightly through the material.
“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, and the hand around your jaw tightened, forcing you to rise to your feet.
Sanemi cracked an eye open to glare at you, but he melted at your answering pout, his thumb running over the bottom lip you’d jutted out.
“I promise you, Lamb,” he said gruffly. “I will give you plenty of my pleasure once the full moon rises; so much so, you will not know what to do with it.”
Your curiosity disrupted your self-pity. “From your knot?”
“Aye,” Sanemi confirmed, his voice like gravel. “Speaking of which,” Sanemi then tapped your rear, eliciting a small yelp from you as you separated from him.
“If you’re truly committed to taking my knot, you will need your rest, you tempestuous woman,” Sanemi scolded, and before you could protest, he bent low, wrapping his formidable hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up, forcing you to lock your legs around his waist with a small gasp.
Gently, Sanemi laid you out atop his traveling cloak, bracing himself on one steely arm next to your head as he lowered himself down, allowing one quick press of his lips against yours before he pulled away, stretching out on his side.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and an even longer night.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that made you rub your thighs together, even as you scowled at him.
“I don’t suppose you will give me another taste of what to expect,” you sighed, resigned as Sanemi moved his head so that he could lazily dance his lips down the side of your neck.
“I’m afraid not,” his answering smirk was smug as you began to squirm beneath the hand idly fondling your breast. “But I shall make the wait worth your while.”
Your breath lodged in your throat as Sanemi leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear. “When we get to my den,” he promised, tone mischievous, yet you knew he meant every word that followed. “I am going to fucking devour you, little Lamb.”
Devour he will. Part II is fucking filthy. Stay tuned if you want to see her take his knot (again and again).
#demon slayer#sanemi shinazugawa#kinktober#kinktober 2023#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#monster fucker#werewolf fucker#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi smut#kny smut#demon slayer smut
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Just thought of something FREAKY in class… Single father Satoru looking for a babysitter and you’re looking for a side income during semester break and the tension goes crazy!!!! “We should’t be doing this my son will wake up” I’M GONNA SCREAMMMM
BLISS, PURE BLISS
a/n: happy new year LMFAOOO. thank you for all the asks btw i promise ill answer them asap 🥹 / @shotorus @osaemu @shidouryusm @mysugu @hyomagiri ♱
wc: 6.4k
warnings: ‘onee-san’ used but more of just addressing reader as an older figure because saying babysitter is kinda weird lol (kind of like how chinese people use 姐姐 even if they are not related), fem!reader, dilf!gojo, age gap (gojo in his late 30s, reader in mid-20s), angst if u squint, bit of slow burn n tension, making out, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, praise, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, p -> v sex, multiple rounds, consensual filming, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut
“no fucking way . .” you mumble mostly to yourself, standing in front of the largest house of the gated community in roppongi, and while you knew the people here were excessively and obnoxiously rich, you’re never quite prepared until you’re getting a key card specifically mailed to your name just so you could enter.
you’re not even shameful when you take a video to send to your best friends, locking your screen almost immediately because you knew you’d never get to the job on time if you replied to them. with calculated steps, you’re walking up the house that’s designed with a modern structure, yet still retaining characteristics of a traditional japanese home. it’s less prominent at the front of the house, though.
“(y/n)-san, was it?” a voice startles you out of your ogling sessions. if the garden was already this nice, what would be in store for you when you went in? you’ll be finding out soon when your employer himself opens the door to you, a man with striking white hair and equally striking blue eyes that seem to look right into you. he’s dressed in a suit, probably no doubt ready to get to work while you’re out here taking your time. you cringe, immediately walking up to the door.
“y-yes! yes, i’m sorry sir, i was just uhm—”
he holds that intimidating stare just for a moment but then he breaks into a smile that mirrors the bright sun that shines down on the porch.
“it’s alright . . it’s not everyday you’re working at some rich guy’s house, right?” he jokes but that strikes a little ick into you — he’s already ticking the boxes of obnoxious and excessively rich, but you hate the effect he’s having on you.
“yeah . . no, i guess,” he hums in reply before sticking a hand out.
“gojo satoru,” he introduces himself, “call me anything but that sir shit, alright, doll?”
you nod obediently, trying not to let the little pet name get to your head because he probably does this to any babysitter who comes through the house, but either way, he’s welcoming you in and it’s like you step into a world unreal. it’s spotless, the floors shining under the sunlight, a large television in the living room, a spacious open concept dining-kitchen area, and this is just the first floor.
gojo takes his time to show you the house — where his kid’s toys were, where the food was, where the bathrooms and bedrooms were, it was never-ending. every step you took made you feel like you were walking the length of the nile, each turn only revealing more rooms and corridors.
and then, finally, his baby boy.
“he’s a cheeky one, takes after his dad,” even with all the cockiness he’s shown to you, you can tell he has a soft spot for his kid. the boy stirs from his father’s voice, gleaming in happiness as he puts out his smaller hands to be picked up. as he settles into his arms, it’s just sinking in how tall your employer is. he makes a toddler look like a baby with how small his son looks wrapped snugly.
“satoshi, hi,” he whispers, bouncing the kid in his arms, “want to say hi to your onee-san?”
you manage a small wave but all he does is turn to hide in his father’s arms, definitely scared from a random stranger suddenly talking to him.
“she’s going to be taking care of you for the next month or so, you know?” he mumbles, brushing a hand through the matching white hair, “be nice to the babysitter, okay?”
all satoshi does is hum into his dad’s neck before he’s giving you a sheepish smile. “he’s like that, don’t worry about him.” and you return the smile, thinking that he wasn’t that obnoxious that you thought and that maybe he’s really a dad trying his hardest for his one kid. you realise he’s taking too much time, though, and so you sought out to remind him.
“oh, uh sir— gojo-san, don’t you have to go to work?”
although he’s mentioned satoshi to be taking after him, the boy goes right back to sleeping when he’s put back into his bed so you follow gojo as he adjusts his cuffs and smoothes out his collar just outside the room and you make the mistake of glancing upon the mirror on the far end of the corridor — it was undeniable that you looked like a high-end couple who’s newly married and raising a kid. you try to shake off the thoughts of adjusting his tie for him.
“it’s not being late if you’re on top.” he smirks and you resist the urge to roll your eyes; at least you weren’t alone in purging the delusional thoughts from your head, he was basically helping you at this point and you struggle between characterising him as conceited and admirable. “but, yeah, i should get going.”
but he stands at the door with backpack slung onto one shoulder while he continues to explain satoshi’s routines to you, his habits and also had to sneak in a few cute photos of the kid while squealing repeatedly and you’re left wondering how this guy could be the CEO of a company.
it’s been like that for as long as you can remember — bidding goodbye to your parents as you tell them that you’re off to your part-time job over the winter break. they’re happy you’re even leaving the house, shoving your lunch into your hands with big smiles that you’re at least doing anything other than sitting in your room. the train ride to the gated residential was nice, too, apart from the very crowded subways for people going to work in roppongi.
gojo greets you every morning when you arrive, reminding you of satoshi’s feeding times and his favourite shows and everything a father should know but don’t have the luxury to experience with aforementioned kid. it’s a little bittersweet, every time you see him kiss satoshi goodbye that turns into remaining in his room, to holding your hand and saying goodbye to daddy from the second floor, to getting carried by you at the front door.
it’s slow but sure progress day after day, from watching his cartoons, feeding him at the kitchen island, playing with his toys, that satoshi feels more and more comfortable with you, learning that while he was a well-behaved boy, he definitely had hints of your employer in him. mannerisms, words, voice, you wonder whether he even got any part of his mother in his genes.
you’d never ask, though, but it was told. unexpectedly.
“i’m home—” the last parts of his word die down into a whisper when he opens the door to see satoshi cuddled up to you, the last bits of home alone playing softly. by now you already know what happens in the movie so you’re texting your friends and laughing softly to yourself, jumping when your boss steps past the doorway. gojo winces when he checks his watch (“fuck. it’s already ten.”), toeing his shoes off and apologising simultaneously.
“oh— man, i’m so sorry, i had a late meeting with the CEO of our neighbouring franchise, i totally forgot about the time—” gojo’s quick to make his way down to the small pit of the house (he likes to call it the conversation pit), settling down on the side where satoshi had his head in your lap as his eyes linger on the movie. instinctively, his hands reach to pat his leg.
“oh, it’s okay, gojo-san, it’s the holidays anyway.”
“yeah?” he turns to you, one arm propped on the back of the sofa, “and why don’t a pretty girl like you have any plans?”
that catches you off-guard, among the many other times he’s called you pretty or sweets like no care in the world. you’re never quite used to it, too, seeking to fluster you. “you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, gojo-san . .”
“why not?” he’s turned back to the television, now, and you take his place, staring at his side profile as the scenes of the movie move along his face. “i’m a single dad, aren’t i?”
“yeah but . . you could have anyone.”
“what if,” he turns and you chicken out, head snapping back to the front while he watches you and the both of you cannot deny the tiring dance you perform around each other all the time. the clench in his heart when he sees you carry his baby boy at the porch and the small smile he gives you every morning before he leaves for his job. he doesn’t want to go through with it and sighs.
it’s become hard to breathe around you. it’s become hard to hold himself back around you.
“i worked too much.” he suddenly says, facing the TV again. “i was too engrossed and . .”
confusion seeps in at first. yeah, it was no secret he worked his ass off despite being at the very top. your gaze falls to satoshi, curling more into your side like he’s cold and you adjust the blanket. you nod in recognition.
“we fought a lot. i tried— i tried to alter my schedule as much as i could, driving to and fro whenever she needed me, bringing satoshi to work as a baby when we couldn’t come to a compromise, but it was a lot. for her, for satoshi. he could sense whenever we were about to fight, on edge voices, items clattering to the floor . .”
by now, he’s leaned back, back of his hand resting on his forehead, “and he’d cry like he was interrupting us. cheeky, i told you,” and his eyes close, “we hardly reached middle ground. it was either this or that, hire a nanny or we take care of him, my endless job or the joy of life. i’m ashamed that i’ve prioritised my job more, and still do it now.”
“if you didn’t, i wouldn’t be here, would i?”
that draws a chuckle out of him, “correct.”
“she couldn’t take it, not when she was a businesswoman on top of that. she was out doing herself at every aspect in her job, going to greater heights, and while she accused me of putting work first, she isn’t entirely innocent, either. but that’s . .”
“you don’t have to say anything, gojo-san,” you mumble as you watch the reunion of the characters in the movie before the screen cuts the black, no doubt affecting him in some way at the warmth displayed by the movie that contrasts heavily with his situation, “the fact that you even told me is . .”
the heavy atmosphere is disrupted by satoshi gasping, “papa! you’re home.”
you exchange awkward smiles as you watch the boy fight his way out of the blanket to hug gojo, the latter huffing when the boy drops his body weight on him and you take it as a sign to give them a bit of privacy, standing up to clean up the popcorn and cups. laughter and your employer’s voice resonate throughout the place even as they go up the stairs, a rare occasion where gojo is able to get his son ready for bed.
it’s only maybe an hour later when the house falls into silence. mouth burning from the mouthwash, the heater in satoshi’s room turned to a high setting, one bedtime story was read (which, he fell asleep halfway), the boy was out like a light. you felt it inappropriate to leave without at least saying goodbye, but you also didn’t want to cut into their time together; at least, that’s what you told yourself.
so you waited with your things on the kitchen island, getting a risky text just as gojo comes down, still in his suit from work.
[11:02pm, nobara -> you] BITCH GET THAT DICKKKKK!!!!!!!
and you yelp softly, slamming your phone down onto his marble counter. thankfully, he doesn’t notice, eyes close to shutting from fatigue.
“oh, shit, you’re still here?”
“i thought it would be, weird, if i didn’t say goodbye,” you get ready to leave, slinging your tote bag on, “but i also didn’t want to intrude on your time with satoshi, limited as it is.” well, you did also wish something would happen, but you had too much pride to admit it to yourself.
“you got a ride home?” he yawns and you feel guilty for extending your stay already. you didn’t even need to worry about the front door, he lived in a gated community for christ’s sake!
“um, not really, but i can always book an uber home.”
“i’ll drive you home, it’s unsafe,” is all he says like he’s trying to convince himself, “let me just get changed and we can go.”
gojo doesn’t leave you any room to protest before he’s up the stairs again and you’re left with a pounding heart and dizzy head, not sure what might ensue. you know him to be honourable; you’ve seen him with his child, you’ve seen him interact with his neighbours, but a late ride with your boss sounds sketchy as it is.
but it doesn’t feel like it when you feel the tokyo wind blowing through your hair, a slight gap in the window bringing you the chills of the night as he silently drives you back home. sitting in your employer’s car most of all felt weird, but even more so when he’s reaching your home faster than the gps system had predicted. his knuckles are white.
“you—”
your head snaps to him, “yes?”
his car headlights are the brightest in the parking lot where every car is silent, quiet, much like his clammy hands and red cheeks. gojo satoru turns to you, feeling that familiar tug in his heart and lump in his throat for the first time in a while, and he can’t speak.
but you lean forward like your life depends on it and you leap inwardly when you see that he does the same. eyes trained forward, your stares boring into the other, waiting to see who’d close their eyes first. you just stop short of an inch, met with the hypnotising swirls of raging oceans in gojo’s eyes and you swallow when his eyes flit down to your lips and back up like he wouldn’t get caught.
with shaking hands, your fingers trace over his lips and you sigh when you feel just how soft they are, just like his skin, just like his eyes when they look at satoshi. your heart skips a beat when he just lightly kisses the pads of your fingers, and that encourages you to cradle his cheek, up his jaw, up his undercut.
“let’s just kiss, yeah?” he was afraid that if he spoke too loud, he’d shatter the glass, snap the string of tension, voice cracking until you swallow it, you stomach his nervousness with a lively, strong kiss from your lips to his, and he just melts.
gojo hums into the kiss, leaning forward over the stick shift and into the passenger seat before you counter it with your own movements: hand on his shoulders and pushing until you’re on his space of the driver’s seat and playing the game of tug that’s been going on for the past few weeks. you win.
“god, you’re so . .” gojo whines out when you climb onto him, whispering into your mouth while you get comfortable in your straddling position, cutting him off with a second, rougher kiss and you both moan softly, passion taking over in the evident way your arms scramble to wrap around him while he pulls you flush against his front.
the car is filled with sounds of your kissing, something that definitely shouldn’t be done in his home and yet you risk it all in your home’s parking lot. you break the kiss and hide in his neck, already starting the makings of a hickey there while your pelvis selfishly grinds into his front and he kneads your ass. in the mingling of breaths and moans, he’s left to stop the two of you when there’s a muffled ringtone coming from your bag and you swallow at the insanity of the situation.
“i’ll see you, monday, right?” gojo breathlessly says later, bulge still showing through his sweats while you hang outside the driver’s side, not wanting to leave. he takes your hand, planting a peck on it and then brings you in for another harmless kiss.
“yeah, gojo-san . . monday.”
you lose count of how many times you’ve swallowed throughout the night, but he says something to lift the mood just a bit.
“we just made out and you’re still calling me by my last name?”
you laugh lightly, “monday, satoru. i’ll be there, same time, on monday.”
gojo leaves a farewell kiss to the inside of your wrist, “attagirl.”
but if you’re not careful, it might just happen in satoru’s house.
the remainder of your employment at his house is tiring. it’s so hard not to kiss him before he leaves for work, so difficult not to long for him while you take care of satoshi, so entirely harrowing not to claim him as yours as you watch him play after his work. at this point, you’re hoping school will just start soon and the rush of assignments and readings will take your mind off of it, but you cannot deny the excitement every time you leave your house.
“you’ll bring food and cook every monday, wednesday, friday, and i’ll order food for the both of you every tuesday and thursday, how’s that?” gojo thinks it’s time to introduce him to larger pieces of food, but it’s gone past that by now and to your meal arrangements.
“i’m okay with cooking, though!” you assure him, and plus, you loved your parents’ home cooked bentos that they give you everyday, “do we gotta?”
“sorting out meals is tiring, (y/n),” gojo takes the place beside you, leaning against the counter just like you before drinking out of his cup, “i want to at least help at little.”
“you already are.” you smile, “i can see you making the effort.”
“it’s not enough, though, i could be doing better.”
gojo hates how this scene sets up — like two parents just figuring out the best for their kid — it’s a callback to the memory in the same exact kitchen. at least all you do is kiss and make out, because he wouldn’t know what to do if you moan out his name in that same intimate way that threatens his walls to come down again. he loved sex, he loved the bedroom, but he’s riding a thin line the way he’s doing with you.
“you are,” is everything that you say, and you leap forward to kiss him. you do it so hard that he has to put down the glass to fully embrace you, walking you backwards to the conversation pit and he carries you so effortlessly because he doesn’t want you walking backwards down some stairs.
he hates how you bring him into your lips, he hates how gently he lays you down, and he hates how you accept the kisses down your neck and body. you, on the other hand, aren’t doing so well, either — it’s either a hit or miss with a broken man like gojo satoru, and you’re stepping on glass shards hoping you don’t say anything wrong with him because he’s trying his best but he just can’t see it.
“are you okay with this?” he asks halfway down your torso and he gets lightheaded from how well his hands cover your waist. “tell me to stop, and i’ll stop.”
“n-no . . keep going, satoru.”
he exhales shakily at that, fingers tugging your top up and his hands are so cold you resist shivering, but you do anyway from the sheer fucking craziness that gojo drives you into. one pop of your button, and you’re already lifting your hips off the couch for him to remove your pants but movement on the stairs make you halt.
“papa?” satoshi calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes and pouting. you can see it, almost, with how much time you’ve spent with the kid, and you hope he can’t see you. “i . . i had a nightmare and i just— i wanna sleep with you.”
he’s started sniffling and you feel your heart break that he knows his papa well enough to know he would never sleep in his room. his job always has him sleeping out in the living room.
go. you mouth, kissing your fingers and pressing it to his lips before he puts on a show — yawning, stretching his arms, already making satoshi feel at ease with his theatrics before he’s stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at you. you already know gojo satoru has redeemed himself a hundred times over. i’ll see you tomorrow.
funnily, satoshi somehow does have some intervention powers, because each time the both of you attempt to go down on each other, he’s either saying he threw up, or he needs to use the toilet, or that he’s hungry. while you both love him to death, it’s also becoming difficult to hold back each time you see each other. his car in your parking lot is all he has and you dare not to go to his workplace where rumours would spark.
so after a tiring night of getting a hyper satoshi to sleep, you’d at least try. at this point, you know not to expect too much out of it, starting always with some talking. it was easy to talk to your boss, and when you phrase it like that, it did come off a little strange, but it was far from that when your boss in his late 30s looked just like he did ten years ago and that he had crazy blue eyes and insane white hair and was hot.
“thank you for taking care of him for the past month and a half,” gojo thanked you, leaning over to give you a peck to the temple, “it means a lot.”
“he’s a sweet boy, plus, i do need the money,” you giggle, nudging him, “and it did let me get to know you . .”
“certainly,” he mumbles. drunk off your scent, he leans in again, kissing you fully on the lips now. you hum softly, going on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulder. swiftly, he props you on the kitchen counter and you yelp in surprise, unable to help the throb of your pussy when he slots himself in between your legs.
jokingly, he puts his hand to his ear. “no satoshi interruption tonight?”
you smack his shoulder, “don’t jinx it.”
he laughs, a proper laugh before he sighs shakily, fingers thumbing your sides gently. “you know . . we shouldn’t be doing this,” you feel your heart sink a little, but he quells it with hovering lips over yours, “he could hear and wake up.”
“then why have you been accepting all my kisses, gojo satoru?” your eyes challenge him, but you know one touch from him would have you submitting to him. his breath fans over your lips, and you can feel his pulse speed up when your fingers go over his neck, to his nape, to his undercut. you run your fingertips through it.
“you have too much power over me, simple.” that sentence has your eyes fluttering close. it’s too much for you and yet you welcome it with open arms, “it’s become so bad that you’re all i think about.”
“is that so?” you pull lightly on his hair.
he nods, foreheads touching now and he’s trying to hold himself back, but, “i’ve been holding back, entirely too much, baby, and i don’t think i can, anymore.”
“yeah?” you whisper, bringing him in with your legs, “show me, then.”
gojo satoru decides that maybe taking the leap isn’t so bad, so he fully gives himself to you, tugging your lips to his in a clashing kiss that has you groaning in pain just a bit. he giggles and apologises and tries again, and this time, it’s got your hips moving against him, whimpering into his mouth. gojo’s hard just from kissing, something that he’s desperate to relieve himself off so — he’s whispering for you to hang on while he slots his hands under your ass and lifts you.
satoru knows his house well, walking up with you in tow and lips still on yours, right into his room. you giggle when he plops you down and he’s already looking forward to ravishing you, but —
“let me check on satoshi for a sec.”
you laugh silently, “of course, satoru, go.”
and once your boss’ made sure his son is out cold in slumber, he’s all over you again and definitely showing you how much he’s been holding himself back. you’re the pure focus of the night, making you chase for more when he pulls away and kissing down your body. he worships it, tongue circling a nipple while his hand plays with the other, eyes staring holes into yours from how intense the blue was.
“s-satoru . .”
“yes, sweets, what is it?”
“feels good—” you whine, back arching into his hold once he leaves your tits and continues down your body. each kiss is like hellfire against your cold skin, and he pops a button and listens out again, both of you sighing in relief and giggling to each other when you don’t hear a knock on the door.
“does it? good.” it’s tantalisingly slow, the pace at which gojo peels your clothes off, but when your pants are finally off, he marvels at your beauty as he brings your legs apart. you’re shy, hiding yourself behind your arms and resisting his hands.
“aht, no, c’mon, show yourself, baby.” he only moans when he sees the dark patch at the centre of your underwear, pressing a finger into your clit and you’re ashamed at how intensely you react to it. gojo continues his torture, thumbing your bud just to watch your face contort into pleasure, “so, so pretty.”
you preen at the praise, even more so when he pulls your panties to the side and sucks slowly on your clit. it’s slow, again, and you’re clutching the sheets so tight when he lays his tongue flat against your pussy. satoru takes his time, savouring each bit of your cunt to make up for lost time, filling the room with the lewdest noises of your sopping cunt on his tongue.
“taste so fuckin’ sweet, pussy’s s’good,” he practically moans into your core, arms wrapping around your thighs to bring you closer while you try to keep your noises down to a minimum. little pants and mewls leave your lips, eyes never leaving the head of hair.
but he’s unpredictable, as gojo always is, so when he’s hovering over you just to give you a little innocent kiss, you think nothing of it, until he’s back in front of your pussy and starts eating you out like a starved man. you let out a loud moan, dragging it out until you’re gulping down your next sounds. it doesn’t help much, though, cause gojo’s slurping at your pussy like it’s the end of the world.
“s-satoru—! too much—” you moan but your hips grind into his mouth, your hands now finding purchase in his hair, “t-too loud.”
“mmf— don’t care,” he mumbles into your cunt, making sure he gets every drop of your arousal on his tongue while he abuses your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking hard and you think it’s the best head you’ve ever gotten.
“not when your cunt’s so perfect,” you only press his head deeper into you like it would stop his muffled sentences, but that only spurs him to suck harder before he just shifts down a little to plunge his tongue into your hole. you choke out a moan as his nose nudges your clit, clenching around his muscle.
“relax— mmhh, you gotta relax, baby,” he’s massaging your thighs but if anything it does the exact opposite, closing your thighs around his head in sensitivity.
“it’s— h-hard to,” you moan out, already feeling the coil in your tummy that’s approaching oh, so quickly when gojo eats you out like this. he shifts his attention back to your puffy clit, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours and you shrivel under his intense stare, “w-when you’re making me feel s’good—!”
you feel him smile into your cunt but he says nothing, taking note of the drop of your jaw, the scrunch of your eyes, the contractions of your stomach. your legs like to straighten out and shake when you’re close, he memorises. when you start to tighten your grip on his hair, he ingrains it in his mind.
“cumming— i’m c-close,” but it’s like satoru doesn’t even need it when his eyes digest the way he sends you over the edge with just his tongue.
“g— god! satoru!” your mouth falls into a silent scream after, head dipping so much into the pillow while you grind your cunt into his face, gushing all over his face with a renewed spirit and regret for all those times that men have rubbed your left lip thinking it was your clit.
“let it go, yeess . . that’s it,” satoru doesn’t hesitate to get sloppy, sucking up all your cum, gasping for air once he’s done with his meal, “pretty girl just came all over my face.”
you struggle to your elbows despite the words he utters, propped up just to catch a glimpse of him and the soaked bottom of his face that stretches into a smile.
“was that better than all the uni boys who’ve never felt the touch of a woman?” you laugh at that, making quick work of grabbing his chin and bringing him back to your lips.
“much, much better.” and you take the opportunity to flip the tables, trembling, shaking legs trying their best to wrap around his torso to straddle him — but once you’re over, you’re not quite sure what to do apart from letting your hands roam all over the expanse of his shoulders and chest.
“and can she do it again all over my cock?” the obscene words sound almost taboo falling from his mouth that your mouth drops open in initial shock, but it subsides into anticipation soon enough.
wordlessly, you take matters into your own hands, fingers making quick work of his trousers while he removes his top impatiently. the scowl on your face is prominent when you struggle to work his belt out and he chuckles with helping hands, the burn on your face deepening.
“there,” gojo giggles and he pulls you in with a peck-filled apology, “don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.”
you hum, “not when your son could knock any time soon.”
that prompts a giggle that fades off into a loud moan once your warm hand wraps around him, something that he’d never tell you how many times he’s fantasised about. slowly, you stroke his cock, excruciatingly slow just like how he’s done to your cunt earlier.
you’re hovering over him, now, dragging his tip along your pussy and whining softly at the pre-cum that mixes together with your juices. you need him into you as soon as possible, and apart from your soon burning thighs, you’ve been wanting this for as long as you’ve stepped foot into his house from the very first day.
inch by inch, you sink down onto gojo’s weeping cock, getting the luxury of feeling his sensitive twitches with the plunge into your cunt. you’re glad at least he had offered to stretch you out just a tad bit earlier, the intrusion of his fingers already having you panting for his dick; and now, when you have the real thing, it drives your mind insane.
“’t-toru— haah . .” your body curls up from the painful stretch, lips muttering the nickname unknowingly as you grasp onto his shoulders for support, and while he helps you on, he never stops saying the most filthy things, grinning each time you clench around him.
“never thought i’d be here, fuckin’ the babysitter, but here we are,” your oh my god is whispered only for the other to hear, body burning up from the words before he grinds his pelvis into yours and you slump forward in pleasure. your words are a bunch of nothingness, a string of incoherence, “and her pussy’s just so fucking— tight!”
giving you one or two breaths of rest, satoru coos in your face, cradling it and littering kisses all over it before he’s moving his hips and you’re breaking the kiss to whine out, moving your hips to meet his as well. you move sooner or later, bouncing on his cock once you’re more used to him in you and the position only hits all your spots just right.
“f-fuck— you’re so big—!” you roll your hips into him, eyes stuck on how there’s just a small bump in your tummy each time you bottom out. your boss from across you is equally ruined, eyes struggling to keep open with wet hair stuck to his forehead. “feel so so g-good . .”
“yeah?” he breathlessly mumbles, hand squeezing and kneading your ass and trying to help you, but the warmth of your cunt around his length just feels too good. “bounce on that dick, baby.”
and you do, planting your feet into the bed and fingers creating bruises along his shoulders as you impale yourself on his fat cock, switching to relaxing in his embrace and letting your hips do the work when your legs start hurting. there, you indulge in gojo’s lips as you hump him, the delicious friction of your clit against his pubes sending you reeling.
“you’re going to be soaking my sheets from how much you’re leaking,” gojo jests, letting your moans take over his mind while his lips trace down your neck, eyes just peeking over to see your ass ripple from the force. “not that i mind. how’s she doin’?”
“she’s getting,” a choked whine interrupts you, “a little tired.”
and that draws a laugh out of gojo who does nothing but tease you, something he likes to do even in makeout sessions, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach over to his bedsie table to grab his phone, leaning back to bask in your glory. here, your body just looks heavenly as you try your best to move on his lap.
“hang on a little more for me, princess,” with one hand, his larger hand leave chills all over your body and the other points his phone at you, not before making sure you were okay with it, “and smile for the camera.”
you try your best even when his hand make his way to your mouth, pulling it open with his fingers to slot it in. you’re sure you look like a whore right now, but the camera pointed your way only turn you on more, like it’s beckoning you to put on a show. and you loved the attention, so you close your lips around his fingers and start sucking, grinding even harsher on his cock that has gojo stuttering.
“y—yeah, attagirl . .” he grins at the video he takes, “show the camera how much of a cockslut you are.”
you whine, bringing the hand to your clit while you shove two hands onto his torso to really work your thighs out, feeling that familiar curl in your stomach once he starts rubbing his saliva-filed fingers along you bundle of nerves.
“r-right there, satoru—!” you swear under your breath, giving hooded eyes to the camera while you chase your high drunkenly, all sort of coherent thought banished from your head. “love your cock, love it, love it—!”
satoru swears he wants to cum from just watching you use him, and even holding himself back is proving difficult when you clamp and tighten around him until his fingers press particularly deep into your clit and you’re cumming with a loud cry of his name, body convulsing all over the video.
“tha’s a good girl . . cream my cock, yeeaaahh . .” gojo watches, hypnotised, as you lose control over your body, but the pleasure-filled whimper that you merge his name with is just too good, that he spills unexpectedly in you. the video is far from stable, so he only slaps the phone down to relish in his orgasm. gojo pushes his hips up and you gasp at the feeling, back arching when you feel his cum seep into you.
you’ve never even given much thought to pregnancy, but the feeling of his cum dribbling into you fogs your mind that you only want more after a mental note to buy the morning after pill tomorrow.
“n-need more,” you beg, fondling at his cheeks and undercut, “w-want more cum in me, satoru . .”
and it’s like a flip switches in him, because he’s flipping you over right after — he has to see his cum leave your pussy first though, taking the still ongoing video and putting it right up to your pussy, using his tip to smear your mixed juices all around.
“who knew i’d hired such a dirty girl?” he addresses the camera more than you, but he catches your flustered glance with a wink and after poorly setting up the camera on his bedside table (he just was too intoxicated on your cunt), he’s pushing back into you with a loud groan, not even caring for the consequences any more. his cum is just so much, too, spilling out the sides.
“only f’r you,” you mumble, grabbing at his forearms needily. your eyes flutter close as he bottoms out, your legs pushed right up to your chest as he folds you whichever way he wants to. at this point, if he wanted to own you, you wouldn’t object one bit, not when gojo satoru’s cock stretches your pretty pussy so nicely. “a cumslut only for you.”
“yeah?” he starts moving his hips and your arch into his hold, “i wonder how i got so — fuck — lucky.” everything is sloppy and wet and disgusting and you love every moment of it, even after he’s cummed in you the second, third, fourth time, you’re happy to be pumped full of his cum, giving him a tired, glistening grin that he returns.
“think i should be transferring over my life savings for a cunt this sweet,” you giggle at the compliment, but don’t protest when he’s pulling up the app to gift you with a hefty amount; both your salary and bonus, all from making gojo satoru fall helplessly just from your touch — something to brag about indeed.
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songbird
the ghoul x f!reader
summary: you used to be a singer in your vault - that skill comes in handy when you least expect it, and least want to use it. but who are you to say no when cooper tells you to sing for him?
wc: 5.7k
warnings: swearing, talk of murder, blood, alcohol, gun violence, sexual tension, smut, fingering, p in v sex, biting, possessive sex, possessive cooper
You had to admit - if you and your companion didn't find shelter soon, one of you was going to drop and the other wouldn't hesitate to feast on what was left.
The deserts of the Wasteland were harsh - you had known that the moment you stepped out of your vault those months ago and you had been faced with nothing but a searing sun, sand that got stuck places it shouldn't have, and creatures and fellow people alike who would risk it all simply for a quick grab at the pack on your back. But it seemed like this past week, God or Satan or whoever the fuck was controlling this shitshow of a world was in a bad mood. The heat was unbearable, even at night when the chilly winds should have weaseled their way beneath your vault suit and cooled your burning skin. Creatures mutated by the long-settled radiation were feeling the anger of the wasteland, as well, charging without warning or provocation. To top off a less than perfect week, your water supply had run out yesterday, and unless the skies opened up and released a storm of rad-infested hail upon your head, you weren't sure you would find any more before you keeled over and kicked it.
Struggling to plant your feet stable in the mounds of sand beneath you as you made your way between the shells of buildings that had once stood tall and proud, you glanced over your shoulder at your companion. Cooper was better adapted for this kind of environment than you were, what with his hardened skin and the wide brim of his hat shielding his face, but even he looked worse for wear. When he picked up his head, seeming to feel your eyes on him, you quickly averted your gaze and set your attention back on moving one foot in front of the other.
"Fuck're you lookin' at?" he said, his voice raspy as he called out through the dry air.
"Nothing," you snipped back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of facing him again. "Just wondering if I'm going to have to carry you the rest of the way, asshole."
The heat was making you both snappy - you hated it.
Your first meeting with Cooper hadn't gone smoothly. Hell, your second or third hadn't, either. You weren't exactly sure when you had fallen into a more comfortable presence around one another, but it sure as shit hadn't happened overnight. You'd been only half a day fresh from your vault when you'd seen him scavenging madly over a mess of bodies he'd dropped where they stood, searching for a number of vials kept in their pockets that he let drip into his open mouth like a fountain of youth. When you had called out a friendly hello to him, he'd nearly shot your brains out. Cooper had taken in your shocked expression - as you'd clearly never seen a ghoul before - as well as the stark blue of your vault suit and the pack over your shoulders, then promptly told you to scoot your ass back around to wherever the hell you had come from. Of course, you hadn't. You'd followed him from a distance, watching as he'd picked his way across the dusty sands until he'd wrangled you with the lasso at his hip, told you to fuck right off, and left you tied to a number of old pipes in the basement of a nearly collapsed building.
A day later, you'd tracked his footprints in the sand to a little settlement, where you hadn't ducked away quick enough to avoid his gaze. He'd threatened to blow your brains out if he caught you following him again. He'd only half-delivered on that promise when, not ten hours later, he'd planted a fist-sized hole in the skull of a raider attempting to cut your throat for the Pip-Boy affixed to your wrist.
From then on, he'd simply chosen to ignore you as you followed behind him like a lost dog, intent on staying with the biggest, baddest wolf in the yard. After a week, he'd tossed you a part of his rations. A week after that, he'd - not too gently - invited you to sit at the campfire with him when he saw you shivering beneath your thin, vault-issued blanket a good few yards away.
Somewhere along the way you'd started to talk. Started to share - at least, you had. Cooper had simply tucked his hat over his eyes and pretended not to listen while you rattled about this and that until he physically couldn't take it anymore and told you to go the fuck to sleep.
These months later, having accompanied him all this time, you didn't hesitate to call him a friend. Maybe something more, if you let the ache between your legs when you looked at him speak for you, but you knew it was a fantasy and nothing more, so you decided to stick with 'friend.'
Back in the present, you swallowed and winced when your throat barked with a bout of pain in response. You didn't think you'd make it another mile, let alone five, which was how far Cooper claimed the nearest town was. Despite the months you'd spent adapting out here to the wastelands, you were still attempting to cope with the hardships that came with it. Vault life wasn't anything like this; there was always water to drink, beds to sleep in. Cool air to bask in when it got just the slightest bit too hot. Of course, you didn't voice these complains to your companion. If you did, you had no doubt he'd tell you to shut the fuck up and deal with it.
Just as you were about to ask if you could take a short break and get away from the harsh sun beating on your back like repeated blows from a red-hot hammer, a gloved hand wrapped around your arm and held you in place. You jerked to a stop, nearly falling back on your ass as Cooper held you where you stood. You prepared a strongly-worded question as to just what he was doing before you followed his gaze downward, to where a small handful of pairs of footprints traveled perpendicular to yours. Together, you tilted your heads to the left where the foreign prints were headed, and it was there you found a small slope leading downward into what may have once been a shopping mall. From where you stood, you were able to see that the glass dome around the center of the mall had been shattered, letting out the gentle sound of music and human hollers.
You exchanged a look with Cooper, each of you sunken from the iron-fisted heat weighing you down, then slid down the sandy slope after him when he took off toward the shopping mall.
If there was one thing you had learned about Cooper since planting yourself at his side and refusing to leave, it was that he valued silence above almost everything else. You, on the other hand, had come from a talkative vault, where gossip reached every end of every chamber only an hour - at max - after anything noteworthy had happened. Your companion had once called you the biggest yap he'd ever heard, and you would have taken it for a compliment had he not told you to shove it a moment after. The two of you had been silent nearly the entire day now, save for a few venomous barks at each other, and you cleared your scratchy throat in an attempt to lighten your shitty moods.
"I used to read about shopping malls in the magazines," you said, leaning your weight backwards as the sandy slope shifted downward. "They had all kinds of stores inside."
"Thanks for the reminder," Cooper bit back, quickening his stride. "Would have fuckin' forgot without you here."
You let your eyes roll into the back of your head as you struggled to catch up to him, your boots digging into the uneven earth beneath you. "When I was a kid, a few of my friends and I would draw pictures of clothes - because, you know, we only had our suits - and then spread them across one of our rooms and pretend to shop. It was stupid, but it we made entertainment where we could."
"Now, was this before you started pretending to be Billie Holliday?"
You gave him a sideways glance. "Who's that?"
Cooper shook his head and took off ahead of you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ."
During one of your, as your companion called them, yap sessions, you had confided in him that your vault valued the arts above anything else. Since you were a child, they had encouraged you to find something you enjoyed, as long as you were able to call yourself an artist. Painting hadn't worked out too well. Writing had been a bust. But then you'd discovered singing - a way in which you were able to express yourself without actually saying how you felt. You could drape the tunes in metaphors and similes, bump the second verse from the first, and when you were done, everyone would get to their feet to applaud as if your songs were the best things they'd ever heard. Cooper hadn't expressed much interest in this, instead taking to calling you a songbird with her wings clipped when he deemed you were at your lowest and needed to be kicked while you were down.
Of course, you hadn't shown him - you would have to be long dead for that - but over the course of the few months you'd known him, you had confided in your notebook carried in your pack all the little things you'd come up with that complimented his persona. How the gold at his heels called for you with each step he took. The way his hands, encased behind leather that creaked, held a smoke so delicately you could have imagined it was you. The rasping curl of his words when he smiled while he spoke and how each word cast a spell that made you want to follow him until the sun exploded and the earth was gone.
Cooper was an enigma you couldn't help but wonder after, and every scrap of himself he tossed to you led you on like a dog on a leash.
The music and echoing sound of laughter from deep inside the shopping mall became louder as the pair of you approached, eyes scanning for snipers on the roof or guards posted at the busted-out windows. There wasn't a person in sight, only mannequins stripped of their clothing hanging out the openings and long-shredded posters clinging to broken glass. Cooper led the way inside, picking a path across the wreckage and rubble stacked haphazardly against the entrance. You felt your pulse tick up when he produced his gun from the worn holster at his side, tapping his trigger finger against the side of the firearm in time with the music winding its way down the wide corridors.
As you followed your companion through the shopping mall, you couldn't help but ogle at the numerous attractions you passed. Shops had been boarded up and torn open again, giving you a glimpse of tattered clothes still on hangers, books tipped over on shelves, pre-war machines behind display cases that were covered in two hundred years' worth of dirt and grime. Gang signs and dirty catchphrases had been spraypainted along the walls and windows in a rainbow of colors. In the center of the long aisle you were wandering, a carousel meant for children sat neglected, still fitted with cartoonish horses who had seen better days than these.
"Did you used to come to these often?" you asked as you stepped across a mannequin missing its head.
"Shut the fuck up for a minute." Cooper raised a hand to pair with his little spat, silencing you from asking any further questions. His tongue darted out between his cracked lips as he placed his steps carefully around shattered glass and wind-up toys that would declare your position to the entire mall. He led you around a few wide corners before coming to a stop behind an old escalator, motioning for you to take cover. You crouched to peer around the other side, pulling your bag strap tighter over your shoulder. You were met with a sight that made your lips part in wonder.
Made up in the center of the mall's large atrium, directly beneath where the glass dome had been broken out, a small encampment of people had established what looked like a tiny town. Tents rested just inside nearby shop windows and winking Christmas lights had been strung above their heads. Lanterns cast shadows along the faces of the camp's locals as they milled back and forth, sharing dinners, reading from books - and dancing. Booming from a solar-powered stereo was a symphony of fiddles and guitars, harmonies of trumpets and clapping in time with the beat. A woman's tinny voice came through the speakers and she reminisced about an old lover who had gotten away. As you watched the people dance and stamp their feet along with the music, you found yourself drumming your fingers along, as well.
You were so engrossed in the music that you nearly missed what Cooper had his watchful eye on; the fridge-sized container with several spigots on its sides marked with a large piece of paper that read 'Clean Water.'
You and Cooper ducked back behind the escalator.
"Bunch of fuckin' idiots," said Cooper as he pulled a red-capped round from his bandolier and loaded it into his gun's chamber. "That shit'll attract every goddamn raider and feral within the mile."
"They're just having fun," you said, unsure of why you felt so defensive of these people you didn't even know. Maybe it was because they reminded you of your fellow vault dwellers back home. There had been a dance or performance like this nearly every night.
Cooper scoffed. "Fun like this gets you killed, little lady."
Your eyes widened as you watched him pull back the hammer of his firearm. "You're not going to just go up there and start shooting, are you?" You knew for a fact that he would. You'd seen him do it before - draw his pistol and start spinning the trigger because a raider or flock of ferals had what he wanted. But this - this was something different. Before he could do anything more, you reached out and grabbed his upper arm in a grasp so tight your knuckles paled. He flashed you a dark, dangerous look from beneath the brim of his hat, but you refused to let go. "Cooper, these people are innocent. They haven't done anything to us."
"Listen here, dollface, and listen well," he said, quickly spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the escalator. He caged you in, his gun hand still in your grasp and his other arm propped against the wall beside your head. You tried your damndest to not flush when you felt his breath on you, when his hips came just inches from pressing up against yours. "If we're goin' to be carryin' on this little arrangement, you need to learn to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut when I tell you to shut it. Now, I know you vaulties think everyone and their mama is goin' to repay that silly kindness of yours, but do not be mistaken. Keep yappin' and I will drink my fill of that there water while I make you watch, and then I'll tip the rest of it onto the floor. You hear me?"
You were at a loss for words, your tongue dry and your knees beginning to feel wobbly from the lack of water and proper rest. Just when you were about to let your eyes fall back down and accept that he was going to clear out the settlement for their water, footsteps echoed past where the two of you stood. Cooper snapped around and raised his pistol, his other arm still caging you in, and aimed down the barrel at a few young men approaching the rest of the locals beneath the glass dome. Instead of yelling, instead of dropping their belongings and begging for their lives while they pissed their pants in the presence of a ghoul, the men waved and smiled friendly grins.
"No need to hide," one said, gesturing the pair of you toward the others. "Y'all are welcome to come and make yourselves cozy. The more the merrier!"
They continued on, greeted by the other locals with shouts of welcome backs and fond hugs, paying no mind to the wide eyes and parted lips of you and your companion. Breaking away from Cooper's little cage he had created with himself and the wall - as much as it pained you to - you peeked back around the escalator. The young men pointed your way, and a number of people waved in kind and beckoned you forward. You found yourself taking a few steps toward the inviting sight of fresh water and the smell of food being cooked over one of the fires when Cooper snagged you by the back of your suit's collar and pulled you back into cover.
"Where on this good green earth you think you're goin'?" he said in a hushed tone, bringing your face close to his with a commanding grip on your jaw. Another flutter of excitement, of blood rush, bubbled to life in the pit of your stomach and began to travel south, but you suppressed the urge to lean into his touch. You didn't pull away, either.
"They invited us," you said, your eyes wandering back over to the light flickering from the lanterns and fires. "It's rude to turn down an invitation."
Cooper harrumphed and released you a little harsher than necessary. "What you've got is a one-way ticket to bein' on tomorrow's menu, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head to follow your gaze and keep eye contact when you looked away. "If you've about had your fill of the real world up here topside, then be my guest. Go and let'em fatten you up. I'll pour one out for 'ya tonight."
Deciding not to wonder if he would actually pour one out for you, if you really meant that much, you scoffed and shook your head. "You know it's okay to let your guard down every once in a while. Smile, maybe? Wave back? No wonder you're so damn bitter, old man."
Cooper stared down at you, and you wondered briefly if he was considering slamming your head into the side of the escalator. Would he drag you away with him, you thought? Or would he leave you for the strangers just around the corner. After what seemed an eternity, he hummed a short little note and nodded his head toward the camp. "You want to play friends, little lady? Go ahead. See how far that gets you before I've got to turn around and put one between the eyes of a man who's not lookin' just for the sake of lookin'."
With the faintest hint of a smile, you blinked up at him. "You'd turn around for me?" you asked in a murmur.
He matched your heated gaze, dark eyes intense and flaring a torch in your belly. "I suppose you'll just have to find out one of these days."
Swallowing thick, you took a breath, then turned and led him toward the little encampment of people. Heads turned as the pair of you approached, and you found that most of them smiled. You waved to those who offered little shakes of their hands, trailed by a ghoul stalking in his own shadow and resting the crook of his palm on his pistol. You were met by a kind-faced woman near the large tank of water, and she was forced to speak loudly to be heard over the sound of the thumping music.
"You folks just get in?" she said, already fixing two bowls of stew from a large pot simmering over a fire.
You broke yourself from the staring match you were having with the pot, the same one Cooper was still stuck in. Although, he may have been watching the chickens that roamed inside a little pen nearby as he licked his lips. "Yes, ma'am," you said over the trill of the woman's singing. You so desperately wished you knew the words so you could sing along. "I hope we're not imposing."
"Not at all!" A bowl of stew was pushed into your hands, and you forced yourself to be polite and not spoon it down your throat immediately. At your side, your companion gave the rim of the bowl a lick with the tip of his tongue before tipping it to slurp up. "We pride ourselves in being an open community. We might be small, but that just means there's more to share." The tin cups of water she handed over didn't last but five seconds before she was refilling them. "Make yourselves comfortable and stay however long you like. All we ask is that you keep your weapons holstered and don't disturb the music."
You and Cooper took seats at a dining table that had been dragged over from the cafeteria, neither of you speaking much as you both wolfed down what was in the bowls in front of you. Both of your spoons went untouched, each electing instead to drink up the strangely-colored meat floating around inside. Cooper finished much faster than you, and shucked off his gloves so that he could dip his scarred finger in to collect what juices were left. When he was finished, the bowl looked as though it hadn't even been used.
Watching him with a small smile, you let up from your own bowl and said, "I'm waiting."
"For what, exactly, little lady?"
"Your apology." You lapped up the rest of your stew before politely setting your bowl inside of his. "You wanted to -" You hesitated and glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was too close to hear you. "You know." Then you settled a rather self-satisfied smirk over your features. "And look where we are now. So I'd like my apology now."
Cooper sucked on his finger, ensuring he was getting every last morsel of the stew that he could, and your attention was pulled down to where his lips wrapped around his digit. A part of you began to imagine it was yours. He noticed you staring and grinned wide. "And you know what I'm waitin' for, darlin'?"
"What?"
"For you to walk yourself over there and get me seconds."
You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless grabbed your stacked bowls and began to make your way over to where the woman was tending to the pot. "You'd better be thinking about your apology," you called over your shoulder. When you turned back around you nearly collided into someone retreating back to their spot with their own dinner. You jerked to the side, attempting to get out of their way first, and in doing so rammed yourself into the stereo set on a table in the center of the little camp. You watched in horror, bowls clasped to your chest, as the stereo tumbled over the edge of its pedestal and fell to the floor, where it shattered into what must have been hundreds of pieces. The camp became shrouded in a tense, shocked silence as every eye in the mall turned to face you and look upon your sin.
"I..." Your voice carried through the atrium and down the corridors of the shopping mall, sounding like an isolated cry for help. "I'm so sorry. I - I didn't mean to, I really didn't. Here, I might be able to fix it." You bent down to try and gather the pieces with your free hand, and the moment you did, a number of the camp locals drew weapons to aim in your direction.
"Now," came that familiar drawl behind you as you heard a hammer lock into place. "Are we really goin' to be killin' each other over some silly radio?" asked Cooper, and you felt some of your nerves ease slightly when you felt his chest press against your back.
A man to your right hissed. "You killed him!"
You shook your head viciously. "No, no! I - I didn't kill anyone. I'm sorry, I really am."
"You killed Sterry!" a woman accused.
"Sterry?" You looked down at the broken stereo and began to scoop up the bigger pieces you could find. "I - I can fix Sterry, I swear -"
"There's no fixing Sterry," moaned the woman who had served you stew as she sunk into the closest bench, looking as though she were about to faint. "He's dead. And you've killed us all."
You glanced back at Cooper, who wielded both his pistols now, each pointed in a different direction toward locals who had drawn their weapons. He offered a shrouded look that screamed, 'Now, didn't I tell you so, sweetheart?' You took a shuddering breath and faced the woman who had served you. "What do you mean?" you asked.
The woman placed her head in her hand as if she'd already accepted her fate. It was a daunting sight, the face of a woman so cheery and joyful such a short time ago, now deflated as though someone had let out all her air. "This place," she said, gesturing vaguely to the mall around you. "It's infested." The word was so heavy you felt as though you nearly choked on it. "Infested with creatures that will tear us limb from limb now that you've ruined everything. The music! The music was what kept them away, and now that it's gone..."
As if on cue, from the darkness of one of the long-winding corridors straight ahead, there came the bone-rattling sound of a feral hissing and snapping its weathered jaw. A few of the locals scrambled back as the creature emerged from the inky blackness, arms twisted and eyes sunken so far back into its skull they looked like they were forever pointed toward the sky. It took a rushed few steps forward before Cooper's arm rotated and he put a hole between its eyes. The feral dropped to the floor, leaking dark blood that stained the tile floor.
"Stop being so dramatic, Uma," said an older gentleman who stooped at your feet to begin gathering the pieces of Sterry. You immediately dropped to your knees to help. "We've fixed Sterry before, and we'll fix him again. It won't take long. But while we do, we'll need something to drive those creatures off..."
Your stomach dropped when, as you stood to hand over the pieces of the stereo, you felt Cooper's hands - still fitted with his pistols - rest heavily on your shoulders. "Well, then, y'all folks are in luck," he drawled, and you could practically hear the smirk playing his lips as he spoke. "I've got my very own songbird right here. I'd be happy to lend her to 'ya if, say... you filled our flasks from that there tank when the time comes for us to leave."
"Cooper," you hissed through your teeth as you spun around to face him. Singing for your vault was one thing, but singing for a bunch of strangers in the middle of an infested mall while ferals stumbled from the darkness all around you? He may as well have tossed you back out into the wastes. "You are not going to fucking trade me -"
"Done," said the old man as he sat down and began to sort Sterry's pieces. "Have your girl start singing - anything her heart desires. Just long enough for me to fix old Sterry here."
Giving the man a mock salute that didn't quite raise to his brow, Cooper shoved you onto a bench so that you stood over the rest of the camp. From this angle, they were all able to see your petrified expression and your hands shaking at your sides. "You heard the man," your companion said and smacked the back of your knee. "Get to it, songbird."
"Cooper, I can't -"
Before you were able to finish, Cooper turned, his ears pricking at something yours did not pick up, and dropped another feral that had been silently stalking the camp from the other side. A few of the locals yelped in terror, fleeing into shopfronts and tents.
"Sing for me, sweetheart," Cooper said. He sent you a wink, tipped his hat, then unleashed another round of lead into the darkness which only his eyes could penetrate.
You felt as if you were going to vomit. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you fisted your hands and swayed slightly where you stood on the bench. Turning your head, you met the eyes of a few camp locals watching you from their hideouts, their expressions filled with fear, anger, anticipation. They were waiting. Expecting. Needing. Attempting to push down the swelling that was beginning to form in your throat, you looked down at Cooper as he emptied his pistols of empty shells before reloading in order to fend off the ferals attacking the camp - the very camp he'd wanted to take out not half an hour ago.
He'd told you to sing for him. So you'd sing. For him, and only him.
Clearing your mouth and opening your lips, you took a breath and forced yourself to sing. "Death will come from where the earth meets the sky." Your voice wobbled slightly, rusty from having not singing since you left your vault. That, along with the fear and dehydration sitting on your tongue. "The sand is scorched beneath his step, the future decided by his eye." As you sang, the miniature explosions banging from the barrels of Cooper's pistols created a short, quick beat you unconsciously began to tap your foot along to. "He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."
Ferals shrieked in response to the gunfire, to the song torn right from your notebook in your pack, and one by one, like stage performers who had practiced this dance a hundred times, they dropped at the feet of the camp.
"Death's got a girl who croons his songs, which is why he never stays for long. He's got to run back to his lady, just as harsh as he, he's coming for you, but he's running back to me." As you sang you realized your voice was getting louder, louder, swelling until it filled the mall's atrium and every corridor far beyond. You tapped your heel along with the rhythm you'd created, closing your eyes and imagining an audience of one; a ghoul with his arms slung out across the chairs beside him and a knowing smirk playing his thin lips. It pulled you forward, pulled forth a song you hadn't realized was already in you. "He might sound mean, but I swear, he's kind. He's just got to peer into these eyes of mine. I'll ride with him, and he'll follow me, leaving behind a trail of blood far as the eye can see. Oh, my baby's got teeth to bite and a gun to blow, see his smoke and soon you'll know. Death ain't my man, he's my right hand. He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."
You had just been nearing a second verse when, from where it rested before the old man on the table, the stereo jumped back to life and filled the atrium with thrumming, pulsing folk music. It drowned out your voice, silenced you like a gunshot, and the ferals teetering on the edge of the darkness leading to the rest of the mall stumbled back into their hiding places. The camp locals slowly emerged from their hiding places, chattering excitedly about Sterry and his newfound love of life. Feeling a little stupid still standing on the bench, you climbed down and shuffled away toward where you had been originally sitting.
Taking a seat, you rested your forehead on your arms and exhaled a shaky breath. What had you been thinking? Singing a song for the man you'd become hopelessly fascinated with while he was just a few feet away, battling ferals who were intent on tearing out your throat and taking your voice with it? You were such a fucking idiot. You wouldn't be surprised if he told you to never open your mouth again.
Just as promised, your flasks were filled to the brims with fresh water before you went on your way, leaving the mall atrium and the singing, dancing camp locals behind as you picked your way back outside. Neither you nor Cooper said much as you continued your trek to nowhere, leaving a pair of footprints like echoes in your wake. Your cheeks remained flushed long after the mall had disappeared into the horizon, and long after you picked out an abandoned building to set up camp for the night. For once, it wasn't from the heat.
You sat across the lantern and what light it cast from Cooper, who stared into the little beacon as if he were watching the most fascinating flick within its glass. You held your notebook in your lap, thumb marking your place as your tried to write, but nothing would come to mind save for the things you'd sung about today. Mortification stirred like a serpent in your belly, and you briefly considered excusing yourself to get up and throw up outside.
"Let me see that book you've got there."
Your head lifted at Cooper's request - more of a demand - and unconsciously tightened your grip around your notebook. Your notebook - full of songs, melodies, lyrics. The most recent half of which you had written about the ghoul staring at you. "This?" you said, your trembling voice giving way to your nerves. You forced out a chuckle and smacked it shut. "It's nothing worth looking at."
"Why not?" he said, voice rasping lower than the baritone he usually held it at. You swore his gaze was hotter than the sun during the day and the fires at night. "You got more songs 'bout little old me in there?"
Fuck, he knew. Fuck all, he knew. You felt your flush deepen as you pointedly tucked your notebook into the bottom of your pack and flipped the top shut. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding his eyes. Instead you focused on the fraying tip of your boot. "I wrote that a long time ago. Back in my vault."
"Uh huh." Cooper stared you down for so long you thought that perhaps time had frozen. Then he took a barely-there breath. "Come over here, songbird. Let me get a good look at you."
For a long, long moment, you remained still as you ever had been. What was he saying? Normally the only time he let you close to him was when he invaded your personal space to deliver a shove or to smack your knee or thigh to tell you to get a move on. Your breath hitched when you finally lifted your head and found his gaze boring into yours, heavier than a ton and white hot like a branding iron.
"I ain't goin' to tell you again, pretty girl."
As if he had you on a fucking leash - because you swore he did - you found yourself pitching forward, crawling on your hands and knees toward him. He spread his legs slightly, enough to give you room to fit between them, and hesitantly, so very carefully, you rested yourself against his front. His rough, scarred hands, free of his gloves, came up to rest on the swell of your hips as if they were made to be there, fitting like puzzle pieces against your skin beneath your vault suit. You stared up at him, backlit by the lantern light, and let his thumb drag down your bottom lip until it slipped from his touch.
"Didn't think my songbird had such desire in her," Cooper chuckled, his warm breath fanning across your face.
You relished in the goosebumps that crawled over the planes of your skin. "I... I don't..."
"Oh, you'd be dead wrong if you said that little ditty you sang today wasn't all about desire." He settled back deeper where he sat, giving you more room to settle against him between the columns of his thighs. Your lower belly rested against his crotch, where you felt the hard outline of his cock straining against his trousers. Your heart skipped a beat or three. "If you wanted to ride with death, sweetheart, all you needed to do was ask."
Cooper sealed his lips to yours without word or warning, pulling a surprised little noise from the back of your throat that he swallowed up with fervor. As the initial shock faded, you found your eyes slipping shut and your mouth moving against his, lips opening without fight when his tongue demanded to explore your own. Bracing yourself with one hand against his thigh, you reached up with your other and cradled the back of his head, knocking off his hat in the process.
Swift to get a move on, to feel you against him and swallow up more of your sounds, Cooper easily flipped you around so that you were now lying flat on your back and he was hovering over your prone form. Both tingling excitement and nauseating nerves pulled groans from your lips as he moved to pressing harsh kisses and nips to the column of your neck, licking up red spots that would surely bruise come morning time. He shucked off his duster and abandoned it somewhere behind him, at the same time, by some skill you had no idea anyone possessed, also grasping at the zipper of your vault suit to pull it down as far as it would go.
It didn't take long for you to shimmy out of the suit, leaving you in just your underwear, the seams of which he traced with his calloused finger. It sent a chill running up your spine despite the heat prodding at your skin.
"My songbird sounds real pretty when she's singin'," Cooper muttered as he sucked a bruise into the swell of one breast over the cup of your bra. "I bet she sounds even better screamin' for me."
His hand plunged beneath the waistband of your panties and began to explore your folds, pulling a long, whining moan from your lips. He ate you and your whimpers up, devouring your lips like he wanted to eat you whole - maybe he did - while his middle finger ran up and down your cunt a few times before deftly finding your clit and applying a bit of pressure to the sensitive bud. You cried out. It had been far too long since you'd seen any real action. It didn't take long before your folds were soaked, and he was able to gingerly nudge his finger past the entrance of your pussy. It felt foreign to have another person thrusting their finger in and out of you, building you up to a kind of high you hadn't known since far before you left your vault. In less than a few minutes - something he would surely tease you about later - you felt that familiar coil snap in your stomach and you soaked his hand with a loud, throat-rattling wail that escaped your lips and flew right past his.
Cooper pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk and pulled his hand from your panties, lifting his spread hand to show you to slick you'd coated his digits with. You were only able to huff for breath and watch with hooded eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and used his skillful tongue to lick off your cum. You briefly wondered what else that tongue of his could do, what it would feel like to have him lap up your pussy like it was the only thing to guarantee him his daily hit of medicine.
"Sweet as honey, baby," he cooed, bracing himself with one hand while the other worked on the buckle of his belt. "Well. Maybe Tennessee honey. You ever had a taste of that?" He knew you hadn't. But that didn't stop his smirk from growing in size when you numbly shook your head. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, baby. We'll get you a lick one day. 'Til then..."
Your limbs dancing with pins and needles, you lifted your hips to help him tug off your panties. "I'll just have to settle for what I've got," you exhaled with a hazy smile.
Cooper grinned wide, a smile that bordered on the edge of dark, as he tugged down his trousers just enough for his cock to spring free. He was thick - larger than you'd expected - and his member was rough and scarred like the rest of him. It made you want to feel him all the more. "I'll promise you somethin', darlin," he said as he positioned himself at your entrance and you locked your legs around his waist, heels digging into the edge of his gun belt. "I'm better than anything else you'll taste these days." With that he slid into you, filling you at once to the brim like he just couldn't wait to feel you from the inside. A loud, sharp yelp escaped your lips as your back arched instinctively, curling yourself up into him. He only waited a few moments for you to adjust before he started moving, pulling himself out to the tip before thrusting back inside your welcoming cunt. You were able to feel each and every ridge of him, every scar, and you swore you were getting drunk from just the feeling.
"Fuckin' shit, girl," he groaned, moving to press the flat of his hand to the base of your neck so that he could keep you in place while he fucked you. "Better than I could've fuckin' dreamed."
Cooper's thrusts began to increase in speed, your moans and whimpers accompanied by his low, almost growling snarls he panted against the shell of your ear. You couldn't believe this was happening. You were being fucked by the ghoul you'd been following all these months, the ghoul you'd been watching and studying and falling hopelessly for. And it felt good. It felt so fucking good, a part of you wasn't entirely convinced this entire scenario wasn't a dream concocted by the recesses of your mind.
"God, Coop," you heard yourself moan as your nails dug crescent moons into the fabric of his shirt. "Feels so fucking good..."
"Atta girl," he muttered, moving his head down so that he could suck at the junction where your neck met your shoulder. "Such a sweet little songbird." His grip on your hips tightened as his movements increased even further. "Might just have to fuck you good every night so I can hear you sing for me."
You panted deep as you felt your second orgasm of the night approaching at an alarming rate. Your hips bucked up to meet his with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the abandoned building in which you had taken shelter. "Don't have to - ah! - even ask. I'll sing for you any time, Coop."
Cooper's breaths came shorter, sharper, and it wasn't long before he came with a harsh bite against your shoulder, one that spilled blood into his awaiting mouth and pulled your own orgasm from deep within your depths. You shuddered and cried for him, tugging him close and holding him there for several minutes after your highs had faded and your breaths evened.
Finally, he pulled himself off of you. A short whine escaped you when he slipped from your heat, and he chuckled low before tossing you your panties to slip back on. When you were both covered again, you sat up and crossed your legs as you basked in the afterglow of what had just taken place. Cooper dug around in his saddlebag for a moment before producing his inhaler and drinking up a shot of his medicine, shaking his head against the sudden buzz that came with it as he sat back on his elbows and stared at the lantern light.
"I..." You struggled to find the words so desperately clawing at your chest. "I hope you don't..."
Cooper reached up and pulled your wrist out from under you, causing you to fall back on the ground beside him with an 'umph.' He let his arm cushion your fall before sweeping a few strands of hair from your face and giving you that crooked smirk which made your legs fall numb all over again. "Oh, don't you worry yourself, songbird," he said. "I ain't lettin' you fly away from me any time soon."
#fallout#fallout show#fallout amazon#the ghoul#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#the ghoul smut#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard smut#fallout imagines#fallout one shot#fallout smut#the ghoul x y/n#cooper howard x y/n
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DO IT RIGHT — 五夏
SatoSugu ⋅ fem reader
🔞 suggestive / partly n.sfw
SUMMARY — Suguru and Satoru each have their own differing ideas of what makes a good make out session.
WARNINGS — make outs n kissing, SatoSugu, jealousy, light angst, they fight over u, lovably annoying gojo, calling you sl*t playfully, "dirty girl" n maybe other nicknames, smidge of sexual tension/undertones ig
WORDCOUNT — 2.4k
TAGS for the lovelies !! 💗
@buttercupmuffins
" Slow and sensual; that's how it's supposed to be done, Satoru. You rush your kisses. You're too chaotic. "
" Yuh but I get more bitches than y — "
" — when was the last time you kissed a woman ? "
" Junior high. "
Suguru started cackling. The two of them were sat in your living room apartment. You peered at them from over your computer, the blue light glaring in your eyes.
" What the fuck are you two on about ? " you asked, taking your earphones out completely and halting the progress of your essay.
" None of your business. "
You sighed in response. That was such an expected response from Satoru.
" We were debating what makes a good make out session. You know, like ' fast or slow ' ? ' Chaotic or sensual ' ? Mister six eyes over here has opposition to my beliefs as usual — don't fuckin' wink at me, you freak. "
Satoru giggled. " Of course, 'cause your beliefs are flawed and quite frankly you're full of shit. Blech. Hey, you agree, don't you ? "
You looked up in thought for yourself.
" I don't know. See, chaotic movie-like kisses are something lots of people want. But then again, lots of people prefer slow and romantic kisses. They really want to intertwine bodies with their lover and — "
Suguru completed your thought.
" — and become one with each other. Yeah, you get me. "
" Hey now, I'm not saying I agree with either of you. I haven't even kissed one of you. Maybe you're both shit at kissing, now that I think 'bout it. Haha. " you chuckled to yourself.
The boys raised their brows at you. Ah, a common ground; both taking offense from you.
" Why don't you come over here 'n experiment with us, princess ? " Suguru murmured condescendingly. His earrings caught your eye.
Your stomach dropped. " Huh ? " you blinked dumbly.
" Don't get all coy with us now. Come over here. " Suguru teased.
Satoru arched a brow at you and smirked. " Yeah, come. You can help us settle this debate. "
" Mhm. " Suguru nodded.
You were reluctant, because... well, this could fuck up the friendship, right? They didn't seem to mind that, as they entrapped you between their bodies and kept you there. Imprisoned between their competing passion.
" Me first ? "
" Uh, no way, asshole. Me first. "
" I'll choose. "
" Nah, let's flip a coin. "
So they flipped a coin at Satoru's insistence.
" Call it. " Suguru said.
" Heads. " Satoru called.
You observed Suguru's attractive, veiny hands as he tossed the coin and caught it, smacking it onto the back of his hand.
" . . . heads. " Suguru groaned.
" Yay . . . smooches for Satoru. " Satoru cheered.
" You're so cringe. " you said, crinkling your nose.
" Shut up or I'll stick my tongue down your throat — "
" — you mean you weren't planning to do that ? What a pity. I like French kissing. " you teased.
That caught the boys attention. They exchanged a look, and now a tension built up between you three.
" Okay, if you want me to, then I will. " Satoru tried to remain confident, but the idea of French kissing you was destroying his cool composure.
" I want you to. So get to it, boy. " you said.
Suguru raised his brows at Satoru and smirked. He sat to your left, long leg propped along the edge of the couch, encasing you there.
Just before Satoru leaned in to kiss you, swift and cheeky as he was, Suguru interrupted with a quick, teacher-like stutter.
" Hey, nonono. We're setting a timer. Five minutes each, precisely. "
" Of course. " Satoru rolled his eyes. " Well hurry up then. "
" Impatient much ? " you chuckled under your breath. Satoru went a bit red.
The split second Suguru started the timer on his phone, Satoru engulfed you in a kiss that nearly knocked the wind out of you. He was chaotic. Feverish. Gliding those candied lips across yours was up there with the best decisions he's ever made.
He tilted his head into the kiss, tongue swiping and slipping in eagerly to play with yours. And with how he French kissed, you almost wanted to giggle; he was so playful.
Suguru watched. And observed. And thought about how he's going to win you over with his approach to kissing. What you needed, he thought while seeing how Satoru whimpered into your mouth, was a sensual man who takes his time.
" Time's up. "
" What the fu- "
A string of saliva connected you and Satoru, his lips felt tingly and he still wanted more even after devouring you.
" Five minutes go by so quick . . . "
" Uh-huh. When you're having fun. Sooo ? " Satoru looked at you expectantly.
" Rather hold back your judgment until you've tasted me, hm ? " Suguru stopped you before you made any comment on his best friend's kissing style. " Come on. Come closer. I don't bite. " he said, making the last part sound so sultry that a shiver ran down your spin.
Now Suguru . . . oh boy, Suguru. How he kissed. You were already dizzy from Satoru's fervor. But Suguru ? One little peck at your chin to test. Then he pressed teasing, leadup kisses to the corner of your lips.
" Su — " he muffled your call of his name with his lips, drinking up the rest of the syllables like a thirsty wolf.
His big hands molded to the back of your head, tangling up into your hair. Tilt tilt tilt. Press. Such a deep and hard kiss. You felt like your perception of reality got fucked up a little for a moment there.
He swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, wetting it, and once you opened your mouth for him he just smirked at your acceptance. In his mind, he was aiming to kiss you like he was converting you. Damn near kissed like a cult leader, you don't know why but you thought of that description right then.
That buttery soft tongue made you moan. The sound caught both the boy's off-guard.
And then the poor white-haired boy started glaring.
" Okay, okay, time's basically up. "
" Hmmmf ? " you looked dazed.
" How much time was left before you just cancelled that ? " Suguru squinted annoyedly at his best friend, hands still keeping you in place. His lips were barely parted from yours, so every shake of subtle anger in his vocals vibrated subtly across your lips.
" I dunno, fifty-two seconds ? "
" That's almost a whole minute left you asshole ! "
" Yeah so ?! You gonna fight me over it, big boy ? " Satoru challenged.
" What are you getting so jealous for ? "
You widened your eyes at the argument springing to life. The air felt so tense and hot. You could feel their heats radiating from their faces as they flushed from anger.
" What are you kissing her so deeply for ? Are you trying to fucking prove something ? "
" Oooooooh, pretty boy is jealous jealous. " Suguru said venomously.
" Boys, please don't fight. This is not such a big deal. " your voice came in between them.
They looked at you bitterly.
" Whose kiss did you like better ? " Satoru asked.
" Mine. No offence, but Satoru you kiss like a fucking high schooler. "
Satoru clenched his jaw. " I was asking her — not you, Suguru, baby. "
Oh he's angry angry you thought. Satoru always used nicknames with people he liked, but when the word baby came out of his mouth in that tone? God have mercy on whoever's on the receiving end. Unless it was someone who could match that intensity...
" I'll tell you what I liked and disliked about both of you . . . to be fair. Okay ? How's that sound, boys ? "
God they loved it when you called them like that. Yeah, they're your boys alright. They loved being your boys.
" Okay . . . sure. That's fair. Go ahead. " Suguru said. A small nervousness crept across his chest, but he hid it well.
You paused for just a moment to collect your thoughts.
" Damn just spill already ! "
" Let her think, Satoru. Impatient bitch. "
" I will fucking bite you. "
" Then bite me. "
" Boys. Calm down. "
So they listened. Your word was supreme, after all. If you told them to stop, they stopped.
You tilted your head and slowly began laying the truth on them. " I liked the way you held the back of my head so possessively, it was really hot . . . " you told, directing at Suguru.
Satoru grimaced. Why didn't he do that? He was mentally kicking himself.
" . . . but I preferred how dramatically you kissed me. " you directed to the sulking white-haired boy. Then his features lightened a bit.
" And ? " Suguru encouraged, eager to hear more praises.
They leaned in very close for the fact they were just listening to you speak.
" I didn't like how sloppy and wet Satoru was. "
Satoru cringed at himself. He was very self-conscious about being a sloppy kisser.
" Haha, sloppy kisser. "
" Suguru shut the fuck up. "
You quickly turned down the heat between them and knocked Suguru off his high horse.
" You're a bit of a show-off kisser, not as romantic as I imagined you to be. It feels like you were trying too hard to win me over, or something. "
Oh, he hated that you could deduce that. He really thought he had you.
" Fair enough . . . " it was his turn to sulk.
Satoru smirked. " So you prefer me ? " he winked, " I mean, of course you do. "
" No. I like both of you. "
" Okay, slut. " Satoru rolled his eyes. " If you had to choose — "
" Don't worry about offending us, we can take it. "
" Yeah right, you're gonna fucking cry if she chooses me. " Satoru cheeked.
The tension rose between them again. But this time, there was this... oddly violent passion. Some sort of suppressed, stifled romanticness brewed between them. It's always underlined their conversations before, even their arguments. This indescribable, undeniable tension — not the jokingly " I'm so gay for my best friend " stuff. No, something genuine. Something that was not a joke.
" Why don't you kiss each other ? " you blurted out.
Satoru looked at you like you were crazy. " What the fuck ? "
" I mean, to make it fair . . . and get better insight into how the both of you kiss ? I-I don't know, just a thought. "
" Just a thought ? A horny thought I bet. " Satoru chuckled. He was going red in the face. And so was Suguru.
" What the hell. I'm innocent. " you defended.
" Riiight. "
Suguru had been thoughtfully quiet. Then he finally spoke.
" . . . I'm down. "
" WHAT. " Satoru freaked out. His face went completely red now. You could feel how hot he was.
" Yeah let's go for it. " Suguru shrugged.
He froze up. His heart palpitated. Stomach dropped. Eyes went blown wide open.
" I-I-I yeah ? Okay ? Sure. Yeah. Alright. Then. Let's. Do — it. "
" Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you stutter like this, Satoru. " you teased.
" Shut up ?! Shut up. Let's just do it and get it over with. "
" Yeah. Okay. Come here. "
" What the fu- you come here. "
Suguru raised his brows at him. " Seriously ? "
" I'm more dom than you. " Satoru said proudly. " Come here. "
" Nah, you come here. "
" No way ! "
You sighed. " Wow, this is going to take a while. "
" Nonono, we're doing it — " he kissed him, " — see ? "
" Satoru, such a cute peck. We're supposed to make out. That's what you want, right Y/n ? "
You stomach flipped. His tone. His damn tone. That cocky glint in his eyes. Suguru was so teasingly seductive right then.
" Y-yeah. For five minutes. Just like we did. "
" Okay. Set a timer. "
Satoru looked like he was shocked from how fast he just kissed his best friend. Such a short peck had his stomach doing loopies. You could tell he was going through a crisis.
" 'kay, timer's on. "
So they melted their lips against each other right in front of you. Satoru was stiff at first, but loosened up the deeper he fell into his best friend's kiss. More than that, he succumbed to the sultry feelings that Suguru radiated. You know, he just had that thing about him. That air. He was alluring and enticing, almost dangerously so at times.
You listened. Watched. Glanced down at the timer. Really, you set a stopwatch, not a timer. A little experiment. You wanted to see how long they'd take to realize how long they've been kissing for.
And it's well over five minutes. Lips smacking, heads tilting, bodies coming closer. Suguru's bangs brushing over Satoru's cheeks, hands cupping his flushed cheeks. What a sight. Two pretty best friends going breathless over each other.
" 'how long's it been ? " Satoru mumbles in between kisses, totally in a dazed state.
You hide your smirk. " Just a bit left. "
Suguru gave you a suspicious side eye. Oh, butterflies. He caught onto you right then.
He thought;
Well if you want us to put on a show, we'll put on a show. Just for you.
And dipped his tongue between Satoru's parted lips, erotically swirling around — slow, sensual, languid.
" ahmmm ~ " Satoru almost made a noise close to a moan, and then got embarrassed.
You gulped and watched. Did they forget they were doing this in front of you? Your face was right there.
You stared hard.
Suguru smirked and parted from the kiss, holding the face of a dazed-looking Satoru in the palms of his hands as he spoke to you.
" Did you even set a timer ? Ah, whatever. Stop staring, dirty girl. Come join the fun. Three's company, you know ? "
#五夏#mdni#it's spicy#gojo#geto#love triangle#gojo x geto#gojo x geto x you#gojo x geto x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#x reader#geto x reader#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#suguru x reader#fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk fic#gojo fic#satoru gojo x you#satoru smut#geto x you#geto x y/n#suguru#jujutsu kaisen
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hi!! shy!reader with eddie and love confession???
ty for requesting xoxo — eddie tells you he (doesn't) have a crush on you at a party (shy!fem!r, friends to lovers, 0.8k)
The local freak is greeted with thunderous applause.
Eddie’s late, fashionably so. His hair is wild, his eyes are smudged black, and his smile is lopsided. He makes the rounds across the dimly lit living room, acknowledging just about everyone he sees, and gets handed a drink along the way.
You feel strangely honored when he decides to settle next to you.
He plops down on the couch beside you — where you’ve been alone for some minutes now — with enough vigor to jostle the cushions below you. He doesn’t bother to leave anything more than an inch of space between your thighs. He throws his arm over the back of the couch and flashes a crooked pink smile your way.
“Hi,” Eddie greets, all cool as he sips from the plastic cup in his ringed hand.
Your face burns with his attention. You duck your gaze to your lap and fight back a too-big smile. “Hi.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine,” you hum, peering sweetly beneath your lashes. “You?”
“Awful,” he quips. Then he beams. “Until now, anyway. ‘Cause I missed you.”
His words set your skin ablaze — you think you’d burn him if he touched you just now. Your chest swirls with the billowing flames. You couldn’t hide your giddy smile if you tried. “Missed you, too, Eds.”
The boy huffs. He rolls his eyes, hardly serious, as he says, “I bet you say that to all the boys.”
You shoot him a half-hearted glare, too pretty to be threatening. “There are no other boys, Eddie,” you murmur, visibly shy because he knows that. It’s why he’s smiling so damn big.
“Good,” he hums with a lazy grin, letting the tension between you linger for a moment. He brings the cup to his mouth for another taste of bitter alcohol. It shines on his rosy lips before he licks it away. After a second or so of silence, he confesses, “‘Cause I kinda like having you all to myself.”
A weird ache settles behind your ribcage. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” you murmur with an averted gaze, anxious hands fidgeting with the solo cup you hold between them. It’s a joke — mostly — but it comes out more serious than you mean it to.
Eddie scoffs. “There are no other girls. You’re the only person in Indiana willing to give a freak a chance, turns out.”
“Is that why you’re sitting here?” you squint, still impossibly sheepish. “Because I’m the only one who’ll give you a chance?”
“I’m sitting here ‘cause you’re the only person in Hawkins I can stand for more than five minutes,” he answers without missing a beat. Then he tilts his cheek to his shoulder and smirks. “So you having a big, fat crush on me was just fate.”
Feeling seen and half-embarrassed, you turn away. “I don’t have a crush on you.”
“Oh. Right,” Eddie says with a slow, sarcastic nod. “The same way, I don’t have a crush on you either, right?”
And it’s so like the both of you — to confess something so deep by not confessing at all.
His grin widens when you roll your eyes. He knocks his leather-clad shoulder against yours but doesn’t try to move away. Still leaning against you, he continues. “Then it might also make you feel better to know that I haven’t been in love with you since tenth grade, either.”
You peek at him, just barely. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “And, you know what? I actually want other girls lookin’ at me.”
“Do you?” you hum and face him fully.
With your chin to your shoulder, Eddie’s much closer than you thought he’d be. Your noses are mere inches apart. You can smell the whiskey-mint-nicotine concoction on his breath. The proximity makes your head swim.
“‘Cause I don’t see you at all,” he jokes with a dramatic inflection, obviously teasing.
The rest of the world is invisible when I’m with you, he’d say if he weren’t such a coward. It could be falling apart right now, and I wouldn’t even know it.
“Not even a little bit?” you press, lips quirked in a shy smile.
He shakes his head. The wild strands of his hair tickle your jaw. “Not at all,” he answers and prays you understand him in his sarcasm.
You purse your glossed lips to the side of your mouth and turn away from him again. Your cheeks feel on fire as you duck your gaze to the hardly-sipped cup in your lap. “Well, that sucks,” you quip after a few moments of silence. “I thought we had something going here.”
The boy scoffs. He drops his arm from the back of the couch to wrap more fully around your shoulders. The musky scent of his cologne swaddles you the same way his touch does.
“Oh, c’mon,” he croons with a lazy smile. “You know you can’t deny our chemistry.”
Your eyes narrow at him. “Didn’t you fail chemistry?”
His lips jut in a soft pout. “I don’t see how that’s—”
“Twice?”
You bite back a grin when he glares playfully at you — the roles now sufficiently reversed.
“Stop being mean. I’m already in love with you,” he grouses with a feigned pout scrunching his flushed features. “Now you’re just rubbing it in.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble
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