#she's so desperate for love that it makes her feral and she bites at every hand that reaches out to her in friendship

[happi-tree]

Grant, Scary, and Taylor for the character ask!!!

Hiiiiiiii Bababird!!! Hope you're doing well 🖤🖤🖤 (also for reference: "I want to kiss them" means I want to kiss them on the forehead and tell them that everything will be. Dare I say. Alright <3)

First up: Grant Wilson! God this character can fit so much projection in him. Queer kids raised conservative Catholic got fucking ATTACKED by this guy and I am no exception! Also one of my moots (hiiiiii Seisei 🥰🥰🥰) just finished ep 35 a few days ago so I am chock full of Grant emotions. Something something the Wilson cycle of violence and hypocrisy and meaning what you say but not saying what you mean and. Sobs for one thousand years!!! Bingo for the gamer boy ever it's what he deserves <3

Up next: Scary Marlowe! She's my fucking SISTER my DAUGHTER my DARKENED MIRROR okay. Truly one of the teen girls of All Time and I literally have tears in my eyes as I'm typing this she means!!! So much to me!!! I am holding her gently in my arms and I am shielding her bodily from some of the meanies on this webbed site. She is also a fave of one of my moots (hey Ivy ✌️) but tbh I think she's become so dear to me that she's evolved Pokemon style from proxy blorbo to perhaps. Second blorbo. Favorite dndads character to play dress-up with also <3 I am literally so in awe of the arc she's had so far and I hope to everything that she finds happiness and belonging and- *rant fades out into the distance*

Ok so! Someone else ALSO asked for Taylor so I think I will tackle him in that one if you don't mind hehe :D Rest assured though I have Many Thoughts about this boy 😌

#ok tbf i *do* have some grant hcs buuuuuuuuuuut. probably not a lot compared to most wilson stans (i see you. i love you. i salute you o7) #and most of them relate to his relationship w religion and his queerness and his parents and the intersection of those 3 things #bc i will take any opportunity to dump that complicated mess on a character should they be qualified <3 #and scary is soooooooo. god. the tragedy and the horror of being a teenage girl and refusing to believe that anyone can understand you #she's so desperate for love that it makes her feral and she bites at every hand that reaches out to her in friendship #she has lived her whole life with one person having her back (veronica <3) and suddenly that person has someone ELSE in her life #and in the back of her mind she knows it's a good thing but she can't help but feel abandoned (again). betrayed. left (again). #and it's not the end of the world but it FEELS like it should be. so she buries her kindness and shrouds it in black and metal #and she tries so hard to kill the kindness within her but it keeps coming BACK. and she can't get rid of it!!! #and she's looking for trauma to validate her darkness - to make her posturing MEAN something beyond a petty rebellion. and she finds it. #and she welcomes it with open arms and she destroys her life and her relationships and she smiles through the guilt in her stomach #anywho. clinically ill about this girl in case you can't tell!!! #sorry this took a bit sdhbfksbvfas #ask game #babacontainsmultitudes #dndads

[peachdues]

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

[bruciemilf]

AU where Thomas and Martha don't die, but Batman's still a thing!

Instead of Bruce becoming Batman, its Thomas. He's already a huge help to the city, so this nocturnal passion is for sport.

If it wasn't obvious enough, he's not the most stable guy. But he's a loving dad and exemplary husband, so it's mostly fine.

God forbid men have hobbies.

He specifically picked up a bat theme to hopefully cure Bruce of his fear! Just imagine that 6'5 error of nature cladded in black, claws with his costume cause he's sexy like that,

"See? I'm not scary at all!" But Bruce is already sobbing and hiding behind Alfred.

"Martha, you'll never guess who I saw on patrol tonight. Bruce's college roomate! The blonde one with the glasses and gay vibes. "

" Oliver?"

"Oliver who?"

" Queen?"

" Well! I think that fits you better, amore."

" Bruce's childhood friend? Known eachother since infancy? Came to you for tech?"

"Bruce had FRIENDS?"

Bruce, from the other room, " Her name is Harley! You paid her college tuition and killed her dad."

" I've never met her in my life, and i keep my kill list detailed.Anyway, I adopted her. Shes seeing that clown boy and I think his superpower is boring me to death."

The batkids still get taken in, of course. Bruce is already a full adult and outgrew his Robin costume. He just barges in with a feral Jason and Dick, " Look, Brucie! Papa's got brothers for you!"

But Bruce? Looks at these two snarling kids, kicking, thrashing, clawing, and takes them in his arms, " Babies. My babies."

" Uh... Come again,,-" But Thomas raised a spoiled BRAT, so Bruce definetly bites him and throws a tantrum until he agrees to pass full custody. Naturally, Alfred and Martha have no sympathy.

"But you're too young to be a dad!"

" I'm 27."

" Young. A fetus. Cousin Gomez's newborn is older than you." Bruce is already drawing the adoption papers. Fight him about it.

Naturally, instead of dating his rogues, Thomas parents them. Imagine you're Selina Kyle and Batman scolds you for getting caught by the cops, " You know better. Villain privileges REVOKED."

Mr Freeze? Thomas gets it. Do what you gotta do, King. You need some pocket money?

Khoa? Problematic son. Thomas adores him and brags about him to every family reunion. "Your daughter tried to poison you for inheritance? That's adorable, Agatha. Khoa kidnapped Alfred last week. Beat that."

Ivy? Thomas invites her to beer and game night and plays matchmaker with her and Harley.

Waylon is his favourite. Naturally, he's the only one adopted legally.

He fist fights Ra's for Talia's custody and she is desperately shoving Damian in his face. Trust her. You don't want to go through with it.

the image of Batman not being a broody, stoic vigilante and instead Gomez Addams with a cape makes me weep

#bruce later on becomes red hood but thats when martha has her punisher arc <333 #thomas wayne #bruce wayne #martha wayne #ik Thomas is flashpoint batman but blehhhhh #i like this more #dc #dc comics #batfamily #bruce is like that mafia princess from zootopia and thomas is the justice league dad #jason todd #dick grayson #harley quinn #selina kyle #batman rogues #rogues gallery #batman

[e-hibiscus]

sfw and nsfw hc for the dog-coded PTN women?

🪼

Pairing: Rahu x fem!reader, Zoya x fem!reader, Cinnabar x fem!reader, Ninety-Nine x fem!reader

C.W: NSFW, Collars, muzzles, leashes, pet play(? kinda), more like talking about dog-coded women but cw none the less🫡

Author’s Note:  Woof woof 🐶poupy poupy! Your ask was really vague so i didn't know what you wanted so i just went with whatever was in my mind. (Not proof read)

Minors DNI! | NSFW! under the cut

Rahu

Rahu would reluctantly, but still, let you put all these things on her. She’s tall. She’s scary. She’s intimidating! Like an obedient guard dog she’d keep it on and follow orders. Her self restraint can only last so long, but seeing her teary eyed and desperate makes it worth it.

Rahu get so sad when you don’t let her do anything but watch as you go about and do things. Poor woman wants to help you, but you remind her to stay put and not move or even hold you 😨 she just has to sit there while you grind on her thigh or ride her cock.

Rahu gets all whiney and desperate, hands clawing at the sheets beside her while she begs and begs for you to at least let her hold you. But that’s a reward only after she makes you cum a few times. 

When she’s finally allowed to properly fuck you, Rhau will have been all pent up. Her hands dig into your hips with a bruising grip. Hips rutting into you like no tomorrow, all while muttering “i love you”, “thank you”, and  “how good you make her feel” right by your ear.

The best Rahu can do is leave her mark by painting your insides white 😔 she can’t leave bite marks; only leaving imprints of the muzzle on your back, but this way you get to hear every sound Rahu would usually snuff out when sinking her teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It’s okay though, you let her double her effort and let her mark you up this way.

Rahu can be dangerous, but she’s an obedient pup who listens to your orders. Advised for her to have a collar, muzzle, and lead 😔 so you can bully her frfr

Zoya

Zoya is big and strong. The scary dog gf privileges are on full display with this absolute hulk of a woman. She’s on top and in-charge. Good luck getting anything more than a muzzle or collar on this woman. If you're lucky, maybe Zoya will let you do both, but a leash is a no no because she wants to be free to do as she pleases.

Zoya places you on her lap, hands holding your waist in place as you squirm in her arms. Through the cage of the muzzle you see her smirking, amused by the small tug on her jacket. She’s entertained you enough hadn’t she? Putting on this stupid thing made her initially annoyed, but Zoya will make it work– even with it on.

With Zoya, she’s the one who lets you do this, not the other way around. If you get a little too cocky, or go too slow for her liking, Zoya will note it down and make you pay double as a reminder on who’s the one who wears the pants in the relationship.

Zoya gets a little frisky, maybe goes a little wild in pace as well, but she wouldn’t do anything that would intentionally hurt you (non-consensually). 

At most, Zoya will fuck you into oblivion, taking you until your on the brink of passing out. Her hips move in hard languid strokes so her thick cock can hit all your sweet spots with as much strength she can muster.

You put a muzzle on Zoya to help “tame” her, so she’ll show you just how feral she can get in bed. You’re not going to be able to walk for the next few days, and what’s worse is the fact Zoya took the muzzle off anyway 😔 just so she can “properly” mark you up

Cinnabar

Cinnabar, Cinnabar, Cinnabar… The poster lady of golden retriever girlfriends who could honestly do no wrong. She’s a walking green flag and does not need any restraints whatsoever. No muzzle, collar, or leash required because Cinnabar can be your fluffy puppy or your guard dog on the dime; it's all down to the given situation!

Cinnabar is always eager to please. Her top and main priority is you, after all. If you’re feeling good, then so is she 🥺 Just make sure to complement and sing your praises. Cinna would absolutely melt from your sweet words.

Call her nicknames and she’ll go beet red. It's only because its you saying these sweet words, Cinna might just explode! Carefully guide her hands away from her face and you’ll see the absolutely adorable sight of your girlfriend flustered.

Cinnapup (nick-name curated from the lovely @/sinful-lanturns’s blog) can top or bottom for you. She prefers to be a service top above all else but Cinnabar can switch between the two, just for you. 

Cinnabar as a top is careful with her ministrations. She is gentle, not wanting to hurt you in the slightest because she loves you so much. Her fingers are a little clumsy when they explore the wet cavern of your pussy. Her careful, cautious nature has Cinnabar unintentionally edging you 😰so you have to tell her to properly fuck you, but even then she goes too slow.

Ninety-Nine

Ninety-Nine is big, strong , and scary 😨 this woman is the most feral out of them. You’re gonna need everything to keep safe, and you definitely gonna get dragged or carried around by her. Ninety-Nine will be willing to wear a muzzle, collar, and lead, but you have to talk her through it. Bby trusts you not to do anything bad to her or Hella 🥺

She unironically growls. When it’s not anything serious it’s actually pretty cute 😔 Ninety-Nine often looks at you for guidance or orders, staying around because she likes your company (and you give her snacks).

My take is Ninety-Nine is like a Rottweiler? Big scary dog, but is not so secretly a great pup over all. That being said, with those Ninety-Nine considers “family” she will protect like her life depends on it. She’s using her entire body to shield you and will have no hesitation for snapping at anyone who tries to do anything to you.

Feral Ninety-Nine is a menace because even with a muzzle and collar it’s impossible to restrain her so she does what her instincts tell her. If that means shoving your head into the sheets and relentlessly rut her hips into you, then so be it 😔 her claw like hands dig into your skin; leaving little beads of blood in their wake. Your cries and whines partially register, and she lessens her grip on your sides

Ninety-Nine will go for as long as she wants. There’s just no way you’ll get out of her grip once she starts going to town on you. She’s an insatiable beast 😨 so good luck getting out of bed in the morning tomorrow cause you’re in for a long and difficult ride

#🌺.hibiscus writes #rahu x reader #zoya x reader #ptn cinnabar x reader #Ninety-Nine x reader #rahu smut #zoya smut #ptn cinnabar smut #ninety-nine smut #ptn smut #ptn x reader

[lovers-rck]

hazel callahan x fem!reader +18

the first time you and hazel kissed, you realized how possessive she gets when she is turned on. Her hands squeezed every part of your body and her mouth leaves kisses all over your skin.

she loves touching your chest, she brush her cold fingers over your nipples and you get shiver. her mouth is shutting your weak whimpers, kissing you like she can't get enough of you.

you can feel her hands going down, caressing your stomach and moving your panties to the side.

"haze" you say in a breath "my mom is downstairs" you can feel her fingers

the truth is that hazel was in your house because you two had to study for the upcoming exam for Mr G class, but things got messy when hazel started to kiss you while you were asking her questions to see if she knew the answer.

you and hazel were friends, or something like that. it's been a few weeks since the sex and kisses started, and you couldn't complain. hazel was great in every way

"then you will have to be quiet" she said and smile at you at the same time you felt her finger inside you

a weak moan slipped out of your mouth, you could feel the cold metal of hazel's ring, the one that you gave it to her. she was now kissing you breasts, licking and sucking.

"hazel" you said as you felt her adding a second finger, grabbing her hair as support

"how does it feel?" she said, her hot breath hitting you abused skin "you like it?" you could feel her smiling

you nodded, eyes closed with pleasure. your grip became tighter on her hair as you felt how her fingers were reaching places that made you cry of pleasure

"you have to be quiet babe" she said and you wanted to hit her because she was the one forcing you to be loud

hazel had found the perfect rhythm, slow but perfectly deep to admire how your breasts bounced with each thrust. she bites every inch of skin and kiss if after, going down slowly.

she looks at you and smiles to herself, hearing your agitated breathing and seeing how you bite your lip trying to silence yourself when her finger hits a sweet spot that makes you go feral. she trails a path of kisses down your stomach and you grab her face before she could do nothing

"don't you dare, hazel" you warn her and she smiles with innocence

it was hard enough been quiet with her fingers, but her mouth was something else. hazel was an expert in eating you out, with your last illicit encounters she has gotten better to the point of leaving you with your legs shaking.

"please?" she said, her mouth pouting and eyes as bright as the moon

before you could said anything, hazel grabbed your legs and positioned them over her shoulders, hugging your thighs and leaving you immobilized.

with a quick movement she replaced her fingers with her mouth and you saw the stars. hazel was getting better and better at pleasing you, knowing every spot that you liked and every position you enjoyed. she knew how rough you liked it and when it was too much, she recognized how your body reacted to her mouth and touch, and she was proud of herself by making you feel good.

her tongue was fucking you and you had to cover your mouth with your forearm or you would be in trouble. you wouldn't last so much, your legs were starting to shake and your moans become louder.

hazel didn't stop at any of those signs, knowing that you were closer to her goal. she added a finger, pumping in and out of you as her tongue sucked your clit.

"like that?" she teased you "tell me or i will have to stop"

you fell on her trap and nodded desperately "please don't stop"

lately hazel enjoyed teasing you, threatening to stop you if you didn't answer her questions. she liked to see how she had you at her mercy at times like this, where you couldn't speak and were dominated by how she was making you feel.

you become a mess, legs shaking and whimpers and moans escaping of your mouth as hazel become faster with her thrust.

"don't stop yourself babe" she said and you reach the climax, tears of pleasure rolling down your face.

she kissed your skin and free your legs. you could see how her lips had a slight shine because of you, and smiled to yourself.

"i made you cry" hazel wiped away your tears with her thumb and looked at you, a smile planted on his face "how did i do?"

you laughed lightly "you become better and better every time"

"thanks" she kissed your forehead "next time i would making you cum faster"

you sat down, combing your hair with your fingers, trying to fix the mess it has become.

"bold enough to believe that will be a next time" you said, in a mile

she laughed and kissed you knee "i know it will be a next time" she said "im the best at my job"

#hazel callahan #bottoms movie #one shot #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #ruby cruz #save willow #kit thantalos #willow 2022

[bloodsuckingfiends]

not even going anon for this. horny on main always pls. offering a lil Rolan headcanon I've been stewing on recently. I plan to make something of it eventually, but perhaps you can drabble from it now to sate me :)

Rolan is usually one to prefer softer sex - unending eye contact, kisses, more "romantic" positions.

Tav finally convinces him to take her from behind, and he's hesitant at first - until the sight of him unleashes something filthy and primal within him. It's as if he snaps, quickly shifting from slow, hesitant movements to desperate thrusts filled with raw desire. Soft kisses along her neck turn into love nips and then full on mating bites as her hips arch back into his - yeah. Just full on, animalistic urges, breathy grunts in her ear, Rolan 🥲🥵

AHHHHH making a usually soft man absolutely feral? Yes please 🥵

From Behind

It wasn’t that Tav was disappointed in her and Rolan's sex life. No it was quite the opposite actually. Rolan was a more than attentive lover, always taking into consideration Tav’s pleasure over his own. Always making sure that she reached her peak at least once before he even considered climbing towards his own.

Whilst in town one evening, shopping for a particular book, Tav had overheard a rather, intimate natured conversation that two women were whispering and giggling over.

“-from behind? And does it feel any different?”

“Oh quite! Much better if you ask me. Hits that spot almost every time.” The woman murmured to her friend whose face held utter astonishment.

“I’ll have to see if Maldor would be willing to try.”

Tav’s face blushed a deep color at the realization of just what the the two women had been chatting about. She quickly grabs what she was looking for, pays and leaves, face never changing shade from the deep flush from earlier.

Later that night, as Tav tucks into bed beside Rolan, and settles in to sleep, the wizard rolls over to pull her back against his chest like usual. Tav's breath hitches when his hips settle against her ass, her mind immediately shifting to what she had overheard at the shops.

"Are you alright?" Rolan leans up on his elbow, eyes looking over her to check for discomfort.

Tav startles at the sound of his almost gruff voice, "Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm alright."

"You're quite skittish, dear, did I do something to upset you?" the wizard gently pushes on her shoulder, getting her to roll over onto her back so he can get a good look at her face.

Her face which is flushed all over again, with eyes that are pointedly trying not to meet Rolan's.

Rolan moves his hand away from her shoulder, not wanting to cross any boundaries, even if he's unaware of any. Tav worries her bottom lip with her teeth, before meeting his concerned gaze.

"No, no you didn't do anything, my love. Just a long day is all." the lie leaves her mouth suspiciously quick, and Rolan notices the way she nervously swallows after speaking it.

"Tav, if you need your space, I am more than happy to give it to yo-"

"It's not that!" she cuts him off, "I just thought of something... specific, when you, well, you pressed against my ass."

The tiefling raises a brow at her, "What- Tav what are you talking about?" He's utterly confused at the way she's stumbling over her words over something so simple.

Tav sighs in defeat and avoids Rolan's gaze while speaking her next words, "While at the shop this evening, I overheard two women talking about their, well... intimate lives. And well, one of them mentioned how good it feels to be- well, to be taken from behind." She finishes and takes a breath before meeting his eyes once again.

"Is that something you'd like to try?" he asks so casually that it throws Tav off for a moment. Rolan was one who preferred more intimate positions, usually favoring missionary. He liked being able to watch Tav's features as they contorted with pleasure and reacted to his ministrations, liked being able to lock eyes with her as she came apart around him.

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed to it, I suppose. Only if you would be okay with it of cour-mmph." Rolan's lips meet Tav's in an abrupt kiss, affectively cutting off her anxious rambling.

"I am more than willing to try this with you, dear." he mumbles between kisses, his hand beginning to roam down her side to rest on her hip.

Tav deepens the kiss, tongue darting out to meet his, her hands coming up to rest on the ridged planes of his chest. Her fingers trace over the infernal ridges, before coming up to rest on his broad shoulders. She gasps into Rolan's mouth when she feels his fingers trail down her belly, toying at the edge of her panties, before dipping inside and gathering her wetness on his middle finger.

"So wet already. Just from the thought of me fucking you." he murmurs against her jaw, kissing along the bone.

"Please-" Tav begs. For what? She's not entirely sure.

"So needy." Rolan teases as he swipes his finger in little circles around her throbbing clit. His rhythm steady, his touch light. Tav's thighs tense, then instinctively fall open a bit more, the sensation almost too much.

"Want you to come for me before I fuck you from behind, can you do that for me?" he whispers against her lips, finger dipping to her fluttering hole, wetting itself to continue circling her.

"Mmhm." Tav whines desperately, her own fingers clasping around his forearm, already climbing to her peak. It's not long before her thighs begin to shake, her core clenching as she tumbles over the ledge. She throws her head back as Rolan finally dips two of his fingers into her spasming cunt. He fucks her through her orgasm, lips pressing wet kisses to her exposed throat, whispering praises against the taut skin.

"Always so good for me. Now I want you on your knees sweetheart." He holds a hand out for her to take as she lifts to her wobbly knees. As she kneels before him, he gets into position behind her.

One clawed hand traces up Tav's spine, making it's way up to the back of her neck to grip and push her down into place. Her elbows meet the mattress. A shocked sound huffs past Tav's lips, and Rolan's hands caress over her hips, kneading the plush flesh lovingly.

He reaches down, taking his length in hand, he drags the tip through her wet folds.

"Are you ready to take me, dear?" he asks lovingly, notching his head in her entrance. Tav nods, looking back over her shoulder to meet his amber gaze.

When he pushes into her, she gasps. The head of him instantly brushing against that sweet spot nestled deep inside her. Rolan bends forward, an arm scooping around Tav's middle to pull her up against his chest. His thrusts pick up speed, his hips rutting into her frantically.

"Is this what you wanted? To be fucked like this?" he almost hisses the words. The hand wrapped around Tav, gropes at her breasts, squeezing the flesh and teasing at her peaked nipples.

"Yes yes yes." Tav chants breathily as he relentlessly pounds into her g-spot. She can feel her second orgasm building in the pit of her stomach.

"Gonna fill you up like this. Gonna fill you with my cum." Rolan groans into her neck, his free hand coming up to rest on her belly. "I'm so close."

"Come in me. Please, I wanna feel you fill me." Tav whimpers, holding onto his forearms.

With a guttural moan, Rolan releases into Tav, his seed flooding her walls being the thing that triggers her own orgasm.

Rolan thrusts a couple of more times, riding out their highs, before gently pulling out of her. He takes her into his arms, carefully laying her down to rest. Tav lays her head on his chest, making attempts to catch her breath.

"So, was it what you hoped it would be?" Rolan laughs as he tries to catch his own.

"Everything and more." Tav dopily smiles.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #rolan x tav #holy rolan empire #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x reader #Rolan x tav smut #Rolan x reader smut #Rolan x tav angst #Rolan x tav fluff #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #baldurs gate tav #rolan fanart #rolan nation #tiefling

[satoruxx]

pairing: vampire poly!sashisu x reader | 1k words summary: basically describing how they bite and drink your blood, description of blood, pet names, teasing, lots of touching lol, somewhat suggestive bc it's vampires ig, but nothing crazy i'm just feral rheya’s note: you don't understand i've been thinking of vampire sashisu since march and ari fueled my obssession yesterday so here we are

no bc the way there are subtle differences in how vampire poly!sashisu drink your blood…

shoko takes a drink first. it's understood among the three of them that she gets you first—she's the one who found you and brought you into their lives after all. so suguru and satoru sit back and let her get close, her smile going soft as you lock eyes with her. "hey baby," she grins as she gets into your space, and you laugh quietly in return. her lithe fingers gently crawl over the skin of your neck, brushing away any hair and leaving her favorite spot open. shoko loves your neck—has since the very beginning. maybe it's the doctor in her, or just some deeper carnal part of her, but she likes the spot where she can feel your pulse best—can feel it thundering under her lips. "ready?" she murmurs against your throat every time, and you'll sigh over her shoulder and nod yes.

shoko's bites are clean, and she usually restricts it to one spot unless she's feeling particularly ravenous. the side of your throat is hers, even though satoru tends to like it there too—there's a silent understanding between the two that it's her preferred area. when she's drinking her lashes will flutter, hints of red seeping into her normally hazel eyes. one hand will trail up your arm soothingly while the other remains still over your neck. she's reliable and comfortable and so so perfect. shoko is fantastic with her control, and since she's normally first, she'll only take as much blood as she truly needs before sitting back and smiling at you. her eyes dart over your flushed face as she wipes her bloodstained lips clean. "thanks baby," she finally sighs as she tucks your hair behind your ear.

suguru goes next, because he's levelheaded, and somehow seems to care more about your needs than his own. he crawls towards you, wetting his lips as his hooded eyes dart over you. you've been with him long enough to catch the silent question for consent, and he's known you long enough to understand when you say yes. suguru's favorite spot to drink from is your wrist—there's just something so intimate about it. and he always always always presses a kiss to it before his meal. sometimes it's a featherlight brush of lips, other times it's chaste and passionate—but he never forgets it. it's almost like a silent thank you for your generosity.

when suguru drinks, his eyes never stray from you. they remain open and hooded, going dark with a mix of pleasure and affection, but they won't go anywhere else. his gaze is so intense, but it's softened by the smile you can feel stretching across your wrist as he drinks. it's like he wants you to know that you are his only priority. when he drinks, his fingers will brush over your hand to comfort you through any pain because god knows he hates the idea that it causes you pain. he hums against your skin too, as he drinks—he needs you to know how good you taste. and when he's done he has to give the spot one more kiss. gently, of course, because he knows it's sensitive and he just needs a small gesture to display the magnitude of his love for you. "still okay, sweetheart?" he'll ask, lips finding your forehead. he just needs to make sure you're still good.

and then there's satoru, the most eager of the three. he thinks his eagerness is justified—he drank your blood once and has been hooked on it ever since. he claims there's nothing in the world that tastes better, and by the time it's his turn he's practically giddy. satoru is somewhat of a wild card as a vampire. depending on how he's feeling, he may tease you as he drinks or just desperately goes straight for it. regardless of what he's feeling, there is always an underlying tenderness hidden beneath his interactions with you. the same goes for his preferred spot. he's like shoko and suguru—he likes the throat and the wrist; thinks they're both fun. he goes for the throat more commonly because he likes how close you are to him. when he's drinking from your neck his fingers will almost always tangle themselves through your hair—he just likes how it feels and how easy it is for him to maneuver you the way he likes. if he's going for your wrist he'll usually just shut his eyes and drink deeply, because gods above is he on cloud nine when he tastes you.

and yet all of you know that satoru's true favorite spot is your thighs. he loves how flustered it gets you, loves how wild it makes him feel. he's almost always feeling extra playful when he goes for your thighs, and it shows in his deep throaty chuckles that he lets out against your skin. he loves how messy it gets too, because in between his playful laughs your blood ends up dripping down over his chin and staining him red—it makes his head spin and his heart race. but when he's done drinking satoru only cares about making you smile. sometimes he'll give you a silly grin and say "thank you for the meal, pretty," and you'll just weakly shove him away with a fond roll of your eyes. but he just takes your face in his palms and presses a warm kiss to your lips—a muted thank you.

and of course, when everyone's done and satiated, shoko starts quietly fussing over how you need to drink and eat and lay down because they've taken a lot from you. suguru is already grabbing blankets and maneuvering pillows in the way he knows you like best while satoru digs around for his favorite snacks that he's always willing to share with you. the three of them dote on you like crazy, keeping you wrapped in their embrace until you're peacefully dozing off. they just love their little human so much, but how can they not? after all, as insane as it is, you've somehow managed to wrap three powerful vampires around your little pinky finger—not that they would have it any other way.

#BARKING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS #need to be their little blood bag fr !! #i love how subtly different they all are i could talk about them for hours #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #shoko x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #sashisu x reader #sashisu #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #shoko x you #gojo x you #geto x you #jjk x you #satoru gojo x reader #getou suguru x reader #ieiri shoko x reader #poly sashisu

[actually-3kidsinatrenchcoat]

Miguel O'hara x Chubby Woman Headcanons

18+ EXPLICIT CONTENT | CW: Oral s*x (v + breast/nip), P in V, mentions of biting/bruising (hickies), body worship, (positive)talk of larger bodies, she/her pronouns.

Inspired by @lust4liyah 💕

In my world, Miguel is 1000% a chubby chaser.

Every bit of cellulite, roll, and stretch mark makes him absolutely feral. His favorite is of course a big soft tummy, always kissing and squishing his lover's belly. Even when he isn't desperately fucking his girl, he's finding some way to get close enough to feel her soft squishy body; subtle touches, thigh squeezes, random hugs from behind, you name it. He just loves to be close with her.

He loves his woman in tight shirts and short shorts. Not much is left to the imagination, but he still gets the satisfaction of unwrapping his pretty little present. He likes seeing how bits of skin peek through, like when his girl bends over and a bit of hip pokes out of her shirt. Or the way the shorts hug her thighs just enough that there's an extra bit of pudge squishing out from the pant leg.

Other than tummy, he's definitely a boob guy, especially if his lover has big puffy nipples. He'll tease them as much as he can with love bites and gentle sucks. He definitely doesn't shy away from placing hickies all over her tits, making sure to mark as much skin as he can. The soft skin is just asking to be decorated with small bruises, in his opinion.

Of course, he is an avid pussy eater that is driven mad at the sight of puffy pussy lips. The thought of spreading her outer lips apart just so he can see her dripping core would be enough to make him cum on sight if he didn't have as much self control. And of course, when he finally gets to eat his woman's beautiful cunt, it's as if he's been starving for days. He's definitely a clit sucker (yes, he knows where it is). He loves teasing the throbbing bud with his lips and tongue while massaging the soft thighs squishing his head.

He's definitely a kinky man, but he does enjoy the occasional missionary so he can watch the way her tummy jiggles witch each thrust. Otherwise, he adores doggy, or any position that allows him to get a firm grip on her hips. Being able to dig his talons into his woman's skin with the added benefit of being able to pull her back to meet his thrusts.

First actual post??? Aaaaa??? I hope y'all like it <3

#spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #chubby chaser #smut headcanons #miguel o'hara headcanons #chubby reader #18+ post

[azurillzz]

My head is rotting and its Karlachs fault

Ive been imagining her using so many positions while fucking you senseless, im actually going mad.

My favorite has got to be doggystyle though. It just allows her to get so feral. The best position for her to rut into you like some depraved beast. Shed be so determined to pump her cock as deep as she possibly can into you. The image of her drooling and growling while her hips slam mercilessly into your already abused hole... Ugh feral Karlach makes me feel things...

But on the other hand, id do anything to ride her and see all the expressions and sounds she makes. Shed be so cute whimpering under you, begging with her eyes screwed shut because you just feel so damn good on top of her. She doesnt even understand what shes saying, but it isnt in her to care. Not when you're bouncing so deliciously on top of her cock like that.

Oh but also imagine her passionately holding you and peppering little kisses and love bites while makes love to you in missionary... Shed treat you so well and ask if everythings alright with you. Making sure that the stretch from her cock doesnt hurt you too much.

While I love imagining her fucking me, id also love to take her in my mouth just as much. Id take my time and tease her to coax more of those delectable sounds she makes when shes desperate for you. Just imagining her being so frustrated and needy while you're savoring the taste of her cock, licking every inch of skin and making sure shes able to feel it all...

#karlach x reader #bg3 x reader #karlach cliffgate x reader #karlach cliffgate x tav #karlach x tav

[sea-lanterns]

(warning: quite long) Hi ! I saw that you read thirsts so here's a little modern(?) electro-women hc I feralized in my head:

They make you ride them whilst you apply their makeup. (strap or girl deek idc idc)

Her thrusts become harder on purpose once you start getting the hang of her previously consistent pace — her face has been serving as your stability so her sudden pace change made you accidentally smear the lipstick you attempted to apply. You apologize and she doesn't mind — you've been working so hard, so obedient and adorable from how your brows knit and scrunch, your fingers trembling to hold the brush, from how you bite your inner cheek or lip to stop whimpering, and from the way you were desperate and reeling for her promised reward. (It's not like she needed make-up, her face was already perfect in your mind's eye, fitting for Celestia's favorites that obviously included her.)

She sends a pulse of electricity through you and you yelp, smearing more of the lipstick you've been trying to properly re-apply. She laughs as you fall on her shoulder but she's had enough now. She needs to ruin you properly if she wants to make you as pretty as you made her.

Whether it be her fingers or c*ck — she always makes sure to abuse that one spot that makes your legs useless. Every thrust she makes, the higher you were able to see, high enough that half your vision was her and the dark. She sends pulses of electricity inside you, her large hands — met so easily around your hips just at the outside of your uterus— shock you as well, pulses inconsistent but enough for you to shake and null some neurons. Your clit can't escape, not when she fondles and pinches it between her fingers in her unholy curiosity about how much you'll take for her.

Just how many times could you come undone? Will you remember if she asks you to keep count? You've been saying the same number now — "7" when it's already been 12. Her baby is so cute, so adorably dumb that your words were only incoherent babbles. Her pretty girl can take one more, she can give her 5 more probably — mhm, you're so good to her and she hopes you hold her in that same regard.

My depravity has led me to lows I no longer could measure. I now wonder what is beyond the 9th layer of Gehenna. (did not proofread)

i actually have really bad thirst for anything related to cockwarming or sex while doing something else, so this particular thirst made me drool…

also, electro women you say? ooh, this is gonna be a spicy one (//▽//)

nsfw under the cut—————————

riding them while doing their makeup hmmm…

miko, lisa, keqing and ei would like it if you smothered your cunt all over their fingers. they love the feeling of you fluttering under their touch, their fingers sunken deep inside you as you stutter and try to do their eyeliner. the way you gasp and squirm on top of them makes them really want to devour you, so much so that they have to resist the urge to put you on their face, eating you out while your dripping precum ruins the makeup you tried so hard to apply…

beidou, sara and shinobu are the strap girls. they’d prefer having both hands on your hips as you groan and cockwarm the silicone dicks they picked out just for you. the way you resist the urge to bounce as to not ruin their lipstick is what drives them mad, resisting the urge to just thrust upwards and leave you smearing their lipstick all over, too shaky and overstimulated with their cocks hitting so deep inside you.

#🫧hydration station #yae miko smut #lisa minci smut #keqing smut #raiden ei smut #beidou smut #kuki shinobu smut #kujou sara smut

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

Just some headcanons about how I think Copia, Mary, and the ghouls would kiss you.

Copia kisses you like you're about to disappear and he doesn't know if he'll see you again. He cups your face, holds you close, takes it slow so the taste of one another may never leave your mouths again. He whispers against your lips, telling you how much he loves you and how he can't bear to leave you and that he would bring you on tour with him if he didn't think it would cause problems for Imperator.

Mary Goore's kisses come across as aggressive and bruising, but you know he's trying to show you with his actions rather than words how much he loves, wants, needs you. It's desperate hands pulling on each other, twisting into hair, Mary directing you to where he wants you. His teeth biting into your lip, a tongue pushing into your mouth. He's not comfortable with the vulnerability of saying "I love you", but his desperation for you is enough to tell you that he can't let you go.

Sodo is fiery passion and pushing one another up against walls. You make him feral, make him want to say fuck everything else, because in that moment you're all that he can see and smell and hear and feel and taste. He tries to engulf you, to swallow you whole, but in reality it's you who envelopes him with your heart, and you both feel it with the intensity of your kisses. There are times when you take it slower, savour one another, but it's when you devour each other that you feel that fire burn the brightest.

Aether kisses you slowly, gently, touches feather-light as if he worries he'll break you if he holds onto you too tightly. He's aware that he's the strongest out of the other ghouls physically, and so he's careful every time you kiss. His lips ghost over yours, they meld together so seamlessly, he caresses your face so gently it almost tickles. It's always you who has to deepen it, make it rougher, and he's okay with letting you have that control. Rather that than he hurt you. He couldn't live with himself if he harmed you trying to show you his love.

The kisses between you and Swiss are plentiful, the ghoul grabbing your face and placing kiss after kiss on your lips until you're giggling and pulling him in for a longer, deeper one. You press yourselves up against one another as much as you can, leaving little to no space between you both, and it's like you're in your own bubble. He has so much love, so much passion, to give to you and he'll shower it upon you as much as he can with each and every kiss.

A kiss from Rain is full of so much raw emotion, so much that he's too nervous to say to you in front of everyone else, because he's convinced - like Copia - that this kiss could be your last and he may never see you again. But the difference is that while Copia fears he'll never see you again because he knows there's a chance he'll suffer the same fate as the other Papas, Rain is terrified that you'll bore of him and go for one of the other ghouls. So he puts all his love, all his being, into all of your kisses, foreheads touching and noses brushing. And every time, you reassure him that you're not going anywhere. You love him, nobody else.

When Mountain kisses you, unless you're taller or the same height as him he always ducks his head to brush yours. Your kisses are always slow, leisurely, and it's like the two of you become one with each other and nature itself. You feel everything draw to a standstill as you cling to one another and allow yourselves to feel everything. Sometimes, when he takes you out to a secluded spot in nature, he'll sit and bring you into his lap as you both bask in one another's glorious love while you kiss. To the two of you, the rest of the world doesn't exist. There's just the two of you.

Sunshine is unadulterated joy and love. Kisses interspersed with smiles and laughter and pure adoration for one another. When your kisses sadly end, she looks at you as if you're the moon to her sun. Your fingers intertwine as you press your lips together, bodies as flush against one another as you can get, the bumping of noses that make you break apart and giggle. She radiates pure love and happiness and she channels that into the kisses you share, her tail gently stroking your cheek because she doesn't want to let your hands go.

Cumulus' kisses always taste of whatever she and Mountain have been baking in the kitchen. They're sweet, both in taste and in essence, as she holds onto your shoulders to keep you rooted where you are. She doesn't tell anyone else, but sometimes she worries that like the wind you'll blow away and she may never get to tell you again how much she cherishes and loves you. She tries her best not to make it so obvious with her kisses, but sometimes they're so filled with need that you have to reassure her that nothing could tear you both apart. You'd fight for her, do anything for her, and she is the same with you.

The way Cirrus kisses you is similar to Sodo in that they're full of heated passion, but not as aggressive. She's forceful, pushing a knee between your legs, tugging your clothes or your hair, but not to engulf you. She wants and needs to feel you, to know that you're just as real as she is, and that this isn't a dream. But when you fight back, trying to take control and dominate the kiss, it's your way of letting her know that you're very real and that she couldn't get rid of you even if she tried. There's biting, sucking of lips, squeezing of flesh, and both of your hearts rattling against your chests. In that moment, you both feel so electric and alive.

#cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #mary goore #sodo ghoul #aether ghoul #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #mary goore x reader #sodo x reader #aether x reader #swiss x reader #rain x reader #mountain x reader #sunshine x reader #cumulus x reader #cirrus x reader #the band ghost #ghost headcanons #headcanons

[daddy-suguru]

Your works are already so good & now you have characters saying “ma”/“mama” too 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😫😫😫😫🧎‍♀️🤰🤱

My brain is about to ROT

I saw ma/mama in an Eren/black!reader fic and it hasn’t left my brain since. I’ve been obsessed! Both of us are going to rot away together! Also Thank you! I'm always trying to improve my writing and I hope that is showing :3 i wrote for my top favorite three because the brain rot compels me

✑ tags: praise, some praising degradation (toji’s), daddy (Toji’s and Suguru’s), ma/mama, begging, thigh riding, jerking Toji’s cock, pussy drunk/cock drunk, stoner!suguru smoking a little during sex, messy shot-gunning, teasing, squirting, mentions of toji cumming in reader

Satoru

Clenching Satoru, you could feel his pulse in his cock. While his tip rubs your cervix with each grind of his hips. He croons, “How badly do you need my cock, sweet mama?” Satoru needs to hear you. The way you begged for him made him feral quicker than anything else.

He could never tell you no after you sweetly begged for it. Satoru "Pleasssee!" He shakes his head and in your impatience, you rock your hips. Sliding his cock along your squishy pussy, until his fat tip is parting your lips. Pleading with him,

"I need to fuck my pussy on your long pretty cock right now Toru please, let me bounce on your cock and show you." Rocking your hips back as Satoru bites into his bottom lip. And his eyelids droop while you moan,

"You've been working all day. Let your mama take care of you. I'll show you how much I missed you by creaming on your pretty cock." Picking up your pace, the soft smacking of your ass on his hips fills with his bedroom. With the squelching of your dripping pussy.

Getting cock drunk on Satoru's cock while he groans behind you, "Please ma, mmm fuck!" Loosely grabbing your hips, guiding your pace faster. His heavy balls slap your clit with each thrust. He moans,

"My pussy sounds so good for me. Telling me how much she missed my cock." Which is sending your brain into a cock drunk haze.

With each stroke, you're becoming more desperate to feel his soft skin dragging along your pussy. With every vein puffy and prominent even inside you. As the hardness of the cock himself hitting your cervix winds the tension in your body tighter.

Grabbing your hips, rocking his hips forward to meet your thrusts back. He almost cums at the face you make. Quickly Satoru pulls out, groans,

"You missed me this much mama, your making a creamy ring around my cock." You were going to make him cum too quickly. Even though he jerked off to your pictures and videos during work. Your pussy is too damn good.

Suguru

Holding a blunt between his lips, the tip glows red as Suguru takes in a long drag. While your body flushes with heat as his dark eyes drag down the shape of your body. There is no hiding from his gaze since he bound both your wrists to his headboard.

What had started as a quick late-night, pick-up from the plug turned into another overnight stay. You had made yourself comfortable with his soap and clothes before. And by now, you know what you were doing. Forgetting your stuff with the purpose of stealing some of his clothes to wear home.

Taking the blunt from his lips, blowing out a puff of smoke. While he holds the blunt out for you to wrap your lips around. The pull you take is shaky, as Suguru confesses,

"You're the prettiest mama I've ever seen. With the sweetest, wet pussy taking me so well. I love how she's sucking me in deeper, begging for me to spill inside of her." Slowly rolling his hips, taking his time, savoring how your pussy grips his cock.

Suguru pulls the blunt away and ash-ing it out in the ashtray on the side table next to you. Before leaning down to kiss you. The smoke trickles into his mouth before he slips his tongue past your lips.

When you close your eyes at night, all you can see is Suguru. With his sweet smile, dark angular eyes, and sharp cheekbones and jawline. With a nose that's perfect for being between your legs.

You want more than just this with him. Need more.

Whining, "Daddy don't tell me that unless yourrrrnnn!" He grabs your hips, lifting them up higher off the pillow. Your upper body stays on the pillow with your wrists above your head. While your legs move, to dangle over his, as he kneels.

Slowly, with his hands on your hips, Suguru moves you in rhythm with his thrusts. The upwards curve of his cock makes him rub your sweet spot with every stroke. He taunts you with,

"Don't tell you what? That you're my sweet mama, and no one else's. I know you want to be mine, I can see it in your pretty eyes. How could I miss it when I'm memorized by every part of you?" The tension Suguru's been slowly building snaps as you gush on his cock.

Suguru leans back, watching your thick slick trickle down while splashing onto his abs. As feels you pulsing around him, Suguru admits, "I've never understood how someone could get drunk off pussy till I met you ma."

Toji

Kissing along his neck, rocking your hips on his thigh. Horny from Toji walking around naked in the apartment, his cock half hard. His fat cock swung with the way he walked. And every time Toji caught you staring, he had you give his head a kiss.

Your pussy drooled from watching him grow. Getting harder from your several open-mouthed kisses. But then he would go get a beer or go to the bathroom, leaving you wound up on purpose. Just to see how long it would take before you broke.

Two hours is all it took before you straddled his thigh. Grinding your bare pussy on him. While kissing his neck, and stroking his cock with your spit-coated fingers.

Toji points out, "You've been so needy for me, ma. It's like you're a bitch in heat, so beautiful grinding your slutty dripping pretty pussy on my thigh. Making such a mess on me mama." The stone-hard muscles rubbing your clit have spams of pleasure shooting up into your gut. And down in your curled toes.

Mumbling into his neck, "What are you going to do about it, daddy?" Dragging the tips of your nails down his chest. His cock jerks in your hand. As you swirl your fist down to his fat base, which is a darker pink than his pale tip.

Toji couldn't help but get off on the stinging pain of your nails and took pride in the pink marks you left on his pale chest. Showing him just how good a job he did, turning you into a cock drunk slut for his cock.

Swirling your thumb over his slit, smearing his thick pre-cum down the thick mushroom shape of his head. Gently squeezing just below the thick ridge, then soften your grip to slide your fist down the length of Toji's cock. Swirling your hand on the way up. While he crosses his arms behind his head.

The brawny thickness of his arms flexing catches your attention. Toji smirks and says, "I'm going to watch my gorgeous mama ride my cock till she milks it. If you want me so badly ma then you can have me any way you like."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #geto smut #geto x reader #gojo smut #suguru geto x reader #gojo x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #daddy toji #toji fushiguro #suguru geto #Geto suguru #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk toji #gojo satoru #satoru gojo

[quillkiller]

microfic: quillkiller, 848 words, explicit/mature

light d/s undertones maybe ?? vaguely described sex scene, nsfw

Bellatrix is poison, or maybe just a very sharp knife. More weapon than a girl, always has been. She did this to herself, and she had done it all wrong.

She destroys what she touches, leaves them a bloody mess at her feet until they crawl away from her on all fours. She had done it to anyone who tried to be her friend.

She had done it to her younger sister. She doesn’t know why her youngest is still around.

She doesn’t want to do it, again, to Rita, she wants so desperately for her to stay— so she keeps her hands behind her back most of the time. She keeps her teeth behind a closed mouth, so as to not tear open Rita’s perfect skin.

She wants to keep her perfect. Pristine and lovely, like a porcelain doll. No teeth grazing her neck, drawing blood. No fingers digging too deep into her hips. No visible hickeys, dragging Rita’s reputation through the dirt.

No, she’s too perfect, and she deserves better. Bellatrix doesn’t doubt she’d duel a pair of scissors if they dared to make Rita bleed.

She’s the loveliest, sweetest thing Bellatrix has ever been in possession of.

“I want to make you bleed,” Rita whispers against her ear, taking Bellatrix’s earlobe between her teeth, biting until it hurts. Until Bellatrix gasps, struggling against the ropes tying her hands together behind her back.

Maybe not that sweet, not really, not actually, but what matters is that Bellatrix thinks so. Rita is nasty, rude and selfish— and she’s perfect. Rita thinks she’s a god, and Bellatrix is happy to indulge her. Happy to worship at her feet.

“How badly do you want to touch me?” Rita asks, sucking down hard on Bellatrix’s neck, “feral thing like you, you’d ruin me if i’d let you,”

Bellatrix would never hurt Rita, hasn’t ever hurt Rita, even when her hands aren’t tied together, but it’s true that Bellatrix is feral. Wild and sharp, and doesn’t know how to love without leaving claw marks. It takes all her effort to be soft, but Rita rewards her every single time.

She’s become Rita’s domesticated beast. A dog on a leash. A leash that Rita loves pulling at, and Bellatrix is all too happy to submit and be led.

Bellatrix wants Rita to stay perfect, not a single tear on her lovely skin, and Rita basks in it. In turn, Rita wants to claw, push and prod. A perfect thing, but not at all kind, and Bellatrix loves her for it.

Who else can you hurt? Bellatrix had asked her once, when Rita had looked at her with fire dancing in her eyes, Bellatrix pushed up against a wall. Rita’s hand around her neck.

She had squeezed, Bellatrix gasping for breath, and said, I want you at my mercy.

Bellatrix had laughed, as much as she could with her airway blocked, and said, I already am, baby. Deliriously happy, Rita’s delicate fingers digging into her.

Rita adjusts herself on Bellatrix’s lap until she’s straddling her right thigh, she sits back up and looks down at Bellatrix, a smirk on her lips. “You’re so good,”

Bellatrix isn’t exactly comfortable, sitting with her back against the headboard and hands tied around her back, but her comfort doesn’t matter. Not to her, and not to Rita. Right now she belongs entirely to Rita. She thinks she was made to make her feel good, if all she’s good for otherwise is to harm and destroy.

Rita starts moving, and all Bellatrix can do is watch. Rita’s still fully dressed on top of her, a miniskirt, but the panties are gone, and a loose fitting button up shirt that refuses to stay in place. Rita’s blonde hair is a mess, eyes rolling back as she’s focusing on her own pleasure. Bellatrix has been tied up and naked for over an hour.

“Baby,” Bellatrix whispers.

God, she’s perfect. A perfect, pristine little thing— and Bellatrix intends to keep her that way. She’ll let Rita ruin her, make her bleed, leave her marks. She’ll beg her for it, and bask in the glory until they’ve faded. Then she’ll beg again.

She wants everyone to know who she belongs to. And in turn, Bellatrix demands Rita be kept perfect. Showing not only who Rita belongs to, but that Rita belongs to her without all of Bellatrix’s violence.

“You’ll hurt everyone,” Rita says, pulling Bellatrix’s hair, just a tad too hard, “but not me,”

“Never,” Bellatrix promises.

Never, never, never.

“Good dog,” Rita gasps, and scratches at Bellatrix’s back until she bleeds. Rita giggles, pleased when Bellatrix hisses from the pain.

“You’re perfect,” Bellatrix says, trying to get closer, but Rita pushes her back against the headboard roughly.

“My perfect girl,” Bellatrix continues, she’s delirious, a stuttering mess, “my one good thing,”

Rita says something, but it’s lost in her frantic movements against her thigh and Bellatrix’s growing desperation. She’s an angel, a god, a porcelain doll.

Bellatrix worships. Like a dog on a leash, held by a perfect, delicate hand that loves her.

#quillkiller #BACK TO MY ROOTS!!!!!! #rita skeeter #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix black lestrange #marauders #marauders era #jen’s microfics #theyre really eating up the whole you’re an angel im a dog dynamic huh #but in a sexy way❤️

[romeulusroy]

Mother and Father (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,588

A/N: I'm at my mums. Idk why I come back. I do and it's a mess and then I go on with my life like nothing happened, like everything is fine when she's constantly choosing him over me. This is stupid and I'm stupid. This not about my dad, but my step-dad. He was a wonderful, patient, smart man and I miss him every single fucking day. The other can go to hell. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The wine is sweet. It stains your insides, pools through your bloodstream, brings a heat to your cheeks that is not unfamiliar. You’re sure if someone cut you open, if they dragged their butter knife across the softness of your stomach, out would pour the wine you’ve been refilling in your glass. It is sweet and red and you make the mistake of thinking it as blood. This house, this party, there is always a sacrifice of some kind. A lamb. A body. A mind. Something to hand out when the guests are full and bored and looking for entertainment. In a pen or cage, something with holes to poke and prod at their own delight. Every time you step through the front door you fear it’ll be you next. An aching, moaning, cerebral feeling in you tells you to run. Run as fast as you can, as far away as you can. Run and never turn back. Save yourself. You don’t listen. You never have. Somewhere along the line that kind of thinking became selfish. It became sinful. Somewhere along the line you were taught to be served on a platter like that is an expression of love. If you loved them you would cut yourself into bite size pieces. If you loved them you would bathe your skin raw. If you loved them you would wear a smile on your face while they sliced through the thickest parts of you. You would relax, untense ever muscle, so they wouldn't have to put force into it. You learned that resistance and self-respect would only land you in a muzzle and they couldn't love something that feral. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The jokes. They start with the jokes. Always. They have since you were a young teenager. You’re never sure what to do, how to react. They laugh. Your mother laughs. You stand rigid, frozen, wondering over and over if you invited such thoughts. The way their hands move across your body as if it is their own. Holding you a heartbeat too long. Inspecting you, up and down, before landing on what they’ve been staring at for years. The hecatomb. It’s done publicly, the slitting of your throat, the collecting of the blood. Family not by blood nor name, but by her. By so-called-love. Desperation. Alone disguised as loneliness. And yet, he invited friends, onlookers, his own sons to take part. You were fourteen. You are still fourteen. It’s been years, years and years, but when he opens his mouth you are fourteen. You are the same child stunned, disgusted, the same child who cries in secret because their body no longer belongs to them. Others, too. A crowd. You were seventeen and drunk and you forgot. You forgot you could feel unsafe in your own home. His words carved themselves into you. Deep and serrated and looking to scar. Jokes. Your mother laughs and once again you are reminded there are sides to this kind of thing. There are sides and you know you stand alone. You’re older now. Legal. You got out, but you’re always coming back. Following the breadcrumb trail. Foolishly believing it will be different. He will be different. She will, too. They aren’t. He looks, he watches, he makes his comments. You hold back tears. You drink your sweet wine and relive every time before this where she has provided pieces of you to him, his friends, his sons, just to feel loved. You are reminded that she too has been changed by this idea of love. Warped. Mangled. That she too believes as you do: to be loved is to immolate. No exceptions. You pity her. For not getting out, for believing this, for teaching it to you. You’re hurt, too. She taught you. She laughs. Your own mother. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

He keeps an eye on you from the moment you walk in, taking your glass, your sips, kissing everyone hello. Falling into that crowd, your skin visibly crawling, your eyes glossing over, shrinking away into yourself until there is just a shell. An abandoned house. He should be here. With his brothers, his sister and father. He should be here mingling and schmoozing. He should be here listening to your mother go on and on about the man who jokes when he deserves hell. But you shouldn’t. You go out. You left. You fled the sinking ship you were born on. It startles him to see you. You’ve changed so much, so little. That face he remembers better than his own. The shy smile you wear when you’re embarrassed. The laugh you share and the laugh, the real one, that graces too rarely. When he’s lucky. The look of hurt in your eyes when you’re pretending you’re not. Just like now. And yet, he understands deeply. Always coming back for more. One more slap. One more hit. One more jab. It doesn’t matter that they leave you bleeding out across the floor. It doesn’t matter that you want to give up for good. It doesn’t matter that you come back with less bark, less fight, less of you. You always come back. Limping or crawling or crying out when you are unable to move. A caged animal does not trust the wild if their crate was lined with rusty nails. They seek out the sharpest thorns just to feel at home. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

You told him. You told him everything. You’re not sure why, what good it could have done, what good it’s done. You notice how careful his eyes are when they touch you, how cautious they are, how gentle he is.  It just came up, out, dribbling down your chin like vomit. You were crying. Tired. Slamming doors like you used to when you were little. He jumped. You scared him. You didn’t mean to. He was saying those things and she was letting him, encouraging him. About you. Your body. It made you feel dirty. It made you feel vulnerable. He understood. He didn’t say how, he just did. Hiding in a bedroom you can no longer claim as your own, curled into yourself the way you used to. Hiding. Shaking. That sweet wine churning in your gut, at the back of your throat. Sobbing. His voice is so quiet, so unsure, seeping through the door. You’re not sure why you unlock it, only that you do, and he comes in, and it comes pouring out of you. You’re fourteen. You’re thirteen when that boy, that boy with that laugh, decides you are his toy. To play with. To bash against the concrete, the wall. To discard when he gets bored. You’re seven when it starts. All those years. It never really stops, does it? You’re fourteen, and still a child, and he stares at you like he’s hungry. His words starved. Like he knows what they’ve done. Like he knows she is desperate and lonely and he can do whatever he wants to her child if it means she will be loved just a little. You remember and it kills you. You ignore it, you smother it, but it never really goes away. It is always there. He wants to set the house on fire. Burn it to the ground so that there is no place to come back to. So that you can get out for good. He wants to, but he doesn’t. He knows how these things work. They’ll find somewhere else to infest. They’ll call your name and you’ll come running. Limping. Screaming. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The man with the jokes, the friends, the sons. He keeps an eye on you. He criticizes every emotion that settles into your skin. Every word, every act, every fucking thought. He takes it out on you. On her. Everyone but himself. He keeps an eye on you, and makes his comments, and leans in so that his words tear you apart. He smiles as he watches, his arm around your mother, reminding you this is a game you’ve lost before it’s even started. He keeps an eye on you, too. Roman. Rich, deep, not unlike the soil of the Earth. He steps up, he offers himself to them before they can finish you off. He doesn’t mind. He never has. Not with his own father, not with yours. Let them circle around him. Let them shred what’s left of him. You know better than to stop him. What would you do? What would you say? He does it with a smile. You know how it hurts, a familiar ache in the middle of your chest like your heart is physically breaking. Shattering to sparkly bits. This goes unspoken. Every time. Every time he sees what’s going on, that look of hurt, he intervenes. He can’t get out. Not now, not ever. But you? You did. You left that man behind, you left all those boys all those years ago behind. You need to remember that. Not what they did. Not what he’s doing. Look forward. He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t try to. But you linger at his side, so little space between you, and he knows what it means. A language only you know, only you speak. A thank you. An I’m sorry. An understanding deeper than anything you’ve ever known. 

He keeps an eye on you, he protects you. He always has. He always will.

#writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy drabble #roman roy oneshot #succession #succession imagine #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession x reader

[cringecannon]

ive been reading ur posts for a while and i had a vision from god recently that i needed to share with like minds, so i hope this will be to ur taste... i've been trying to find others who i know this will appeal to (besides me)

but...... bhaalcest-- orin being incredibly possessive over durge and jealous over gortash and durge's relationship, so she changes into gortash when she knows durge is expecting him and has her way with durge, while they're none the wiser.

for the sake of everyone else (and urself) i wont get into the nasty gorey parts that really makes this so much better, i love me some knife"play" (is it really play if orin just outright stabs u) and woundfucking (that i really want to get into but!!!!! i have to find the right audience... hoping i can rant insanely about all that here i just didn't wanna outright plop it down when this scene is good by itself too LJDLASJFAL) -👻

To be fair, I already wrote about Orin fingering a wound. I’m all for insane fucked up knifeplay rants in my inbox. Anyway, obligatory Dubcon, Orin, and Improper Use of Gortash’s Body warning

Something’s wrong with Enver.

You only notice it sometimes. The look in his eyes is wrong, or his grip on you is far too tight. Whenever you mention the change in demeanor, he brushes it off. Or he gets angry. Yelling, throwing things, veins in his throat bulging kind of angry. There’s something wrong with him. The man you know wouldn’t act like this.

You love it.

You almost pounce on him the first time it happens, so turned on you don’t even bother removing anything but the bare necessities. He’s confused for only a moment, but quickly falls into place. You ride him until his eyes roll back, nails digging so hard into your hips that they draw blood. You leave your own bloody scratches down his chest, marking him.

Imagine your surprise when you get to see him again a few days later and the marks are gone completely. It throws you off- your hips are still bruised. You call him out on it, he waves his hand and says he had an image to uphold. He can’t walk around looking like he was attacked by a feral cat. The comment irritates you. You like seeing him marked up, proof that he’s yours. You reach for your knife subtly. You think he needs to be reminded of your real claws.

You’re frozen when instead an ornate dagger is suddenly held to your throat. That bastard. He’s stolen your trick.

He presses the point of it to your throat, drawing blood. You feel the warm drip of it down your skin and into your shirt. You should kill him for this. You should play in his guts while he begs for the mercy of death. However, feeling him cut through your clothes with no regard for your safety excites you more. Every thin slice into your skin as he hurries to get you nude is exhilarating. You’ll get him back for it, eventually. You just need him inside you.

He shoves you back hard, splaying you out on the table. You eagerly spread your legs for him, throwing your head back with a gasp when he bends down to lick the trail of blood all the way back up to your neck.

He groans into your ear, hips grinding against yours with a stuttered breath. He wants to savor your blood, forever remember it staining your pretty skin. He leans to the side to hold the dagger against your stomach, dragging the blade across it teasingly. The cut is thin, barely drawing blood. You arch your back, desperate for more. He laughs breathlessly, pulling the dagger away to instead hold it over your thigh. You ask what's gotten into him. He laughs again, biting down on your shoulder. He asks a question of his own- how far would you let him go?

The dagger dances on your skin and you writhe, holding back a grin. Anything. You'd let him do anything, so long as you could play with him too. He groans, mouthing at the junction where your shoulder meets your neck. Of course. It'd only be fair, he wants you to play in his blood too. Wouldn't it be divine, love?

He's never called you love, ever. You're not sure he's called anyone love in his life, but when the blade finally bites into your flesh... you can't seem to make yourself care. You just beg for more.

#this is so hard to tag. orin isn’t revealed a single time but also This Isn’t Gortash #.orin the red #.bg3 #notsfw #👻 anon

[writingscraps]

Midnight Teasing

ao3 | ff.net

ship: Marinette x Chat Noir

rating: M (might go up)

summary:

“I really, really, want to kiss you,” he interrupted her so quickly, a gentle growl dragging through his tongue with his distraught agony clinging onto his shoulders as he thought about being the reason she’d be in said danger. He lowered his face to search for her bluebell eyes, “which makes this so dangerous, Marinette. And I'm afraid,” he swallowed the buildup of a knot choking him before continuing, “that I won’t want to stop there.”

“Then don’t.” She almost pleaded, her own voice alone infiltrating away any former intentions.

Someone was going to get hurt. Was it worth it?  

“Marinette...”

“No strings attached,” she interjected quickly, breathing loudly as she pushed herself closer, her eyes searching about his face through the dim lighting as her hands reached to hold around his neck.

“But...”

“Kiss me, and don’t stop, Chat.” She sounded almost distressed, the strain in her voice tugging at his heartstrings.  

“I don’t think I'll ever stop when it comes to you, Marinette.” 

Part 1: (post) (ao3) (ff.net)

Part 2:

Adrien Agreste’s eyes couldn’t stop lingering at the young girl that would sit in front of him during lunch, or across the courtyard during break. The day wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, except for the few times that Marinette’s hand would reach to touch right above her chest as if to sooth the area, the fingertip of her middle finger drawing circles over it, and he’d remember the burning sensation of said fingertips. He’d get subtle flashbacks from that night and his cheeks couldn't help themselves but to get flustered.  

Plagg had berated him senseless as soon as he got home and detransformed for that night, although he hadn’t been quite listening to whatever his Kwami had to say. He’d spent the following days simply eyeing the young girl from afar, exchanging their casual chatting throughout the school day. Trying his best not to draw any attention when his green eyes would dart down to stare at her pink lips, and the way her pigtails were neatly placed into hair ties; he could have extended his hand outwardly and reach his fingertips through her silky strands.  

But if Adrien hadn’t known what he did know, he wouldn’t have ever suspected that underneath her white tee and thin blazer she wore the love bites he’d left, possibly already fading, and hating that soon she wouldn’t have proof of that night.  

“Yo, dude, you okay?” Nino sudden inquiry interrupted Adrien’s thoughts, his mind just beginning to lose itself as he remembered said night.  

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine, why?” He huffed a soft chuckle, trying to brush off his question as silly, as in “can’t you see I was paying attention to whatever Madame Bustier had to say,” when in reality his mind would fog at the memory of Marinette gasping so softly, whimpering his alter ego’s name so delicately.  

It had been almost a week since he had seen Marinette inside her bedroom, always wanting to go back but just not knowing what would become of his visit. Although, he had such a vivid idea of what he wanted it to become. What he so desperately wanted to do to her.

He found himself wanting to touch every inch of her every time he was near her.

He could breathe in her faint scent of vanilla, the natural rose tint upon her cheeks making him want to act feral towards her. It worried him, making him anxious about not being able to stop kissing her frenzy this time, if he were to be alone with her again.  

His hands twitched as he’d come to witness a few times her new act of “applying lip balm” – cherry ChapStick she claimed – as she explained that she didn’t want the weather to dry lips. But he knew better than anyone in that school that she shouldn’t worry about her lips drying at all. They were soft, and plumped, and pouty, that emitted the most divine sounds anybody could mutter just as she parted them slightly.  

Adrien found himself stuck between having the urgency of wanting to see her and morally understanding that what they had both condoned into that night hadn't been the proper response. Not from his standpoint, at least, in the sense that he was Paris’ superhero and knew better; Marinette was just a fan, and although he was immensely attracted to her, he couldn’t allow himself to use his pedestal for his own benefit.  

Still, he wanted to see her again. Tonight. To end things, of course, although he couldn't really say anything had started to begin with. They had just shared a few kisses; that’s it.  

Opposing to Plagg’s advice, Chat Noir was now suited up with the excuse of patrol, in spite of his chase going directly towards The Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie bakery shop; although he wouldn’t be using the front door.  

He landed with a soft step on the balcony, quickly peering through her skylight once seeing that her bedroom lights were still on. He had been hoping for this much, considering it was almost midnight; knowing Marinette as he did know her, he was aware of how much of a night-owl she could be.  

Chat Noir gently knocked on the latched skylight door, anticipating anxiously for it to open with a smiling Marinette welcoming him in. But he only continued waiting, noticing she wasn’t in bed and probably by the desk area, although he couldn’t quite see her.  

There was a loud thump, and suddenly he could see Marinette’s empty desk chair rolling away, and he assumed she had probably fallen off. He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly to himself. It was funny.  

He didn’t want to seem desperate, despite actually being desperate, but through the anticipation he forced himself to knock again as he crouched in place, waiting.  

It took a few minutes, but his belt-tail erected just as he saw the young girl climb up to her loft and quickly on her bed to reach for the skylight. As soon as the latch was open, the cat boy swooped in, landing on her bed beside her, not wasting time as he rubbed his cheek against her shoulder, purring quietly and delightfully.  

Marinette winced, a wavering smile taking place as she nudged herself away momentarily, finding herself having to explain, “You’re cold,” when she noticed his knitted eyebrows stare at her with concern. Chat Noir grinned softly, forgetting the weather hardly affected him when transformed, but she was right, the weather had dropped pretty low since the morning.  

“And you’re going to help me keep warm?” He inquired smoothly, already leaning towards her, shamelessly allowing the tip of his nose to skim against hers. There it was, the heavenly scent of vanilla he craved. So close, this time.  

She was quiet, he noticed, with a subtle frown as she slowly pulled away from his touch. She wasn’t playing along to his silly antics this time, and was being rather serious.  

He knew she’d probably be upset; he was just really hoping she wouldn't be. He kissed her in such a titillating manner, and hadn’t come back when he promised he would. The problem had been that he really wanted to come back.  

He pulled himself away, watching her with curiosity and concern, his thumb and finger reaching to hook her chin to keep her head in place as he leaned closer.  

“What’s the matter Marinette?” He sounded worried, his tone soft and low.  

“You didn’t come.” She said into the drafty room, her tensed shoulder slouching as she glanced up at him. She shouldn’t be this upset, but he took so long to come back. “I really wanted to see you,” Marinette found herself scoffing so easily, it brought shivers down Chat Noir’s spine as he watched her eyes shut momentarily, amazed at how vocal she was being.  

Her lower lip pouted slightly, like she wanted to say something else but kept stopping herself; and he couldn’t contain how cute she was, even now as she was upset at him.  

“Marinette, it wasn’t that – I just didn’t know – “

“I asked you to come back,” Marinette quickly stopped his word-jam, pulling her head away from his grasp as she looked up at him with her eyebrows drawn together, showing how upset she was. “Why didn’t you, Chat?”  

“Marinette,” he cooed with a soft voice, both his hands reaching to hold her elbows to draw her closer, just as she was moments ago, “I really wanted to come. But this...we can’t...you and I can’t be anything.” He wanted it to be clear that a relationship between then was close to impossible.  

How would it work? She’d be in danger, and he couldn't risk it – he couldn't risk her.  

“Chat I – “  

“I really, really, want to kiss you,” he interrupted her so quickly, a gentle growl dragging through his tongue with his distraught agony clinging onto his shoulders as he thought about being the reason she’d be in said danger. He lowered his face to search for her bluebell eyes, “which makes this so dangerous, Marinette. And I'm afraid,” he swallowed the buildup of a knot choking him before continuing, “that I won’t want to stop there.”

“Then don’t.” She almost pleaded, her own voice alone infiltrating away any former intentions.

Someone was going to get hurt. Was it worth it?  

“Marinette...”

“No strings attached,” she interjected quickly, breathing loudly as she pushed herself closer, her eyes searching about his face through the dim lighting as her hands reached to hold around his neck.

“But...”

“Kiss me, and don’t stop, Chat.” She sounded almost distressed, the strain in her voice tugging at his heartstrings.  

“I don’t think I'll ever stop when it comes to you, Marinette,” he said back to her in a whispering tone, like it was a secret and anyone could be listening. His heavy eyelids were half-lidded, oppose to her wider ones, watching him watch her in a daze.  

He had a mystifying blend of black cardamom smell to him, with a subtle hint of smoky vanilla, probably due to all the roof-hopping. She felt a shiver run down her limbs, and wanted to scream at the sheer angst she had not being able to see him outside of patrol as Ladybug. But he wasn’t kissing Ladybug. She couldn't kiss him as Ladybug. It wouldn't be right, morally, at least. There shouldn't’ be anything wrong doing it as Marinette, right?  

No harm, no foul? Right?  

Her mouth felt dry, and he was an itch that she was dying to scratch. “Chat Noir,” she breathed in deeply, trying to engrave him into her memory, “Kiss me already.”  

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Although, he had initially gone to try and stop whatever shenanigans they were getting themselves into. But when she asked very sweetly, her voice drenched in honey, so inviting – who was he to deny such a desirable request?  

“And if I can’t stop?” He almost promised, simply leaning closer to her, watching as she shut her eyes in anticipation. She took another breath, eliminating any space the two, wanting him.  

“Then...don’t.”

Chat Noir’s hands squeezed her upper arms just as he pressed his lips into hers, her cherry lip balm still faintly lingering on her lips. How was she so addicting after tasting her just once? Both of her palms dragged down to spread widely against his chest, as though she was trying to hold onto something while kissing him back, but there wasn’t any grip to his leather suit.  

Her mouth opened wider than the first time he kissed her, her lips taking as much as they could of him. She mumbled quietly into his mouth, very much enjoying their lip-tussling. The tip of her tongue swiped his lower lip, licking him like she’d enjoy a cupcake’s buttercream. She only kept pushing herself onto him, feeling the burning sensation of her fingertips traveled north until both of her hands intertwined into the tousled patch of his blond hair resting against the nape of his neck.  

Her fingers dug harshly against his skin and drag themselves into his scalp, unconsciously massaging his occipital bone, making his whole body want to levitate at how good it felt.  

Marinette’s heavy breathing was suffocating him, in the best way. His whole body felt heavy, at the same time liquifying just as her pouty lips began to kiss about his face, dragging her mouth across his cheek until reaching his jawline. He hadn’t noticed how easily her body was getting atop him just as he allowed himself to fall back onto her pillows.  

Her sloppy kisses made him purr merrily; his boots pointing outwardly in trying to contain his happiness. His ears blocked out any other sound that weren’t her, composed to listen to the soft accidental moans she’d make against his skin, or the sharp inhale through her nostrils before crashing his lips against hers.  

His gloved hands went to wrap themselves around her body, playing with the lower hem of her pajama top.

Their kisses deepen; her saliva tasting sweet as her tongue teased his lower lip again. He was on a trance when she suddenly pulled away, her hands releasing his head with the loud smack echoing in his ears, taking him longer than a second to open his eyes and try to remember where he was.  

Marinette had begun shifting, easily mounting the cat superhero, a low grunt forcing itself from his dry throat as her thighs straddled his hips. He had no intentions of stopping her whatsoever. She sat so comfortably, staring down at him with such a mesmerizing gaze just as she squeezed him in between said thighs.

This was a dangerous game, and they knew so.  

“Chat Noir,” Marinette called him, her voice just above a whisper, softly spoken just above in an inaudible murmur as she looked down at him with a such a bashful expression, that he wanted to devour her.  

“Yes, Princess?” He found himself asking with a toothy grin, his palms spreading about her thighs, daringly proceeding to move upwards.  

She wasn’t saying anything to him for almost a minute, trying to control her breathing before she quickly reached for the bottom of her shirt and swiftly removed it over her head to toss aside.  

Chat Noir tried to sit up, taken aback by her actions, but she was quick to push him back down with a gentle shove. “M-Marinette,” he called to her, his green eyes spellbound by the way her breasts were perfectly cupped inside her light-shaded bra.  

“Touch me, kitty cat,” she practically begged him, her hands searching for his to place onto each breast.  

He gulped the knot on his throat, mouth slightly gaped, beginning to feel himself get hard as he let his hands be guided. He groaned audibly, his thumbs compressing to feel just how soft her breasts were, even with the material of her undergarment.  

continue reading in my ao3 or ff.net account

#I am reposting the second chapter to see if it gets more attention the second time around ;^; #I'll be posting the third chapter soon but in case you wanna reread :) #marichat #marichat fanfic #marichat fanfiction #fanfiction #marichat ao3 #ao3 #archive of our own #yes they're aged up #marinette x chat noir #chat noir x marinette #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien agreste #ml fanfiction #ml ao3