#red hood x pregnant reader

[twilight-orchid]

The Shopping Trip

Jason Todd x Pregnant Reader

Word count 1,437

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, cursing, brief sexual reference

Part 1 Part 2

Ever since your pregnancy began to show, Jason was on you like a hawk. You wince from the pressure on your back, he’s there with lotion to give you a massage. You’re too sick to eat, he goes out of his way to make you something you can keep down. He made sure you got enough sleep, bought all of your cravings no matter what time or weather condition, waited on you hand and foot, and was happy to sit there and hold you when you sobbed at whatever triggered your hormones.

Sure, he was doting and sweet, but he was also protective and possessive; traits highly exasperated by the fact you were carrying his kids. Lord help anyone who even looked at you the wrong way, your giant guard dog of a fiancé had a hand on your hip and was staring daggers in seconds. Any time you left the house he was at high alert. You thought it was endearing to a point. However, the way he currently surveyed the Babies-R-Us as you entered like he was on an undercover mission was a bit excessive. He held your hand tight, as if he were afraid someone would whisk you away at any moment.

He grabbed a cart then stopped once you were a bit into the store.

“Alright, game plan.” He said, turning to you.

“Cribs, car seats, a stroller, blankets, towels, bouncers, tummy time pillows, highchairs, clothes, bottles, diapers, toys, bibs, pacifiers.” You read off the list on your phone.

“Damn that’s a list.” He muttered. You snickered, your hands dropping to rest on your 6-month rounded belly.

“Maybe next time you won’t break the condom.” You whispered teasingly.

“I don’t think I recall hearing any complaints at the time. And that night I remember every detail of.” He said lowly, his voice slipping into that sexy growl of his that helped get you in this situation to begin with. He loved how the heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away from him, your lip between your teeth as you too remembered the night in question. He chuckled at your flustered face before he decided you’d had enough.

“Alright, alright doll. After you.”

The couple had only walked a bit further into the store before you squealed and ran over to a display. Well, ran was a bit of an exaggeration at that point; it was more like a quick waddle. He felt guilty about how much pain you were in as the kids grew, but God forgive him, he also found watching you try to maneuver around your middle hilarious.

He followed you to the display as you turned to him beaming, matching purple and green onesies in your hands.

“Look! They have little hoodies. And matching socks and baby mittens! It’s pretty warm, it’ll be perfect to bring them home from the hospital in. And they’re so adorable!” He watched your little outburst with a smile on his lips. Cute.

“Those are perfect.” He agreed. You grinned as you dropped them in the cart.

“So, what are we actually getting today and what’s going on the registry?” He asked as they walked towards the cribs.

“All of the furniture, the strollers, and the car seats will go on the registry; Bruce was very insistent about it. We just need to pick them out today.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll buy the whole thing plus some.”

“Most likely.” You agreed with a smile.

Jason really hadn’t been sure how Bruce would react to the news, but surprisingly The Dark Knight was actually taking it in stride. If the family didn’t know any better, they’d venture as far to say he was excited. However, Babs and Dick had him beat. Though no one was as elated as Alfred.

“We should go ahead and get stuff like bibs, blankets, clothes, bottles, pacifiers, and diapers today. But we should put some of that on the registry too, we could always use more.” He nodded in agreement as they reached the cribs.

They walked through the long, overfilled aisle of various cribs and cradles. Jason had no idea there were so many options to choose from, especially since most of them looked exactly the same. He turned to see if any had caught your eye, but he found you with a distinct frown on your face.

”What’s wrong doll?”

“We should have picked out the color scheme for the nursery before looking at furniture.” You replied. One thing you had been insistent on was a put together nursery. Jason had read about it in the numerous pregnancy books he’d read: nesting. You wanted everything cleaned, organized, and put together by the time your little boy and girl got there, and Jason could tell it was stressing you. He came around behind you and pulled you into him, his hands finding the sides of your belly and his fingers massaging circles into the fabric of your top.

“We can get neutrals for the furniture so it’ll work with whatever we choose. And I can always paint it if there’s a specific color pallet you pick out.” He suggested softly. You mulled it over for a second but nodded in agreement.

“This one is cute then. The bottom drops out so we could use it until they’re around 2. And the whole mattress is washable.” You mused, leaning your head back into his chest.

“That one’s nice, but look at this one. The bottom doesn’t drop as far but it turns into a toddler bed. And there’s all that storage on the bottom, we’ll need that while they’re little. Mattress’s still washable too.” You smiled and nodded, pulling away from him to write down the serial number.

The two of you moved about the store, picking out strollers and highchairs, décor and toys, planning paints and curtains. The cart was quickly filling with little things you found that would be helpful; swaddling blankets, wrap carriers, a baby monitor, a bottle warmer, a boogie sucker, etc. With how thorough you thought your list was, it was insane how many things you were seeing that you knew you would need. Eventually you rounded to the large expanse of colorful clothes, shoes, and accessories.

“Let’s split up, maybe 3 outfits each per baby for now?” You suggested. Jason nodded, kissing the top of your head and leaving you with the cart. First and foremost, he picked up a red onesie reading daddy’s girl in black cursive that came with a black tutu and black gold glitter leggings. Next, he grabbed a blue parter in crime onesie with little black cargo pants. Next, he was going for-

He heard soft sniffing coming from nearby. He looked around and was alarmed to find the cries coming from you. He rushed to your side.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” You turned to him with tears down your face and a little formal suit in your hand.

“Jason, look at the tiny suit! It has a little bow tie, and itty-bitty dress shoes!” You could barely get it out before your voice broke. He stared at you blankly, trying to hold it it, but failed miserably as laughter overtook him.

“You’re crying over the baby suit? Seriously?”

“Fuck off Todd, I’m hormonal and it’s cute.” You glared at him, but he could see the humor in the quirk of your lip. He held his hands up in defeat.

“You’re right, you’re right. How dare I?”

“How dare you indeed.” You wiped your tears and turned back to the shelf of clothes you were looking at to hide your growing smile and hung the suit back up.

You both picked out your 6 outfits quickly, and in fact it was hard not to grab more. You hadn’t even seen your babies yet but you were so excited to dress them up. Maybe it was the fact that they were about to be first time parents, but everything was adorable.

You picked out some beanies, baby mittens, and socks to keep them warm, and Jason insisted on grabbing a Wonder Woman and a Superman swaddling blanket, pointedly leaving the Batman one untouched. Finally it was time to hit check out.

Jason said no to the printed copy when the cashier asked if he wanted the receipt in hand or emailed, honestly he wanted to quickly grow amnesia for that part of the trip. Especially since he knew that was trip number 1 of 2000 probably. However, when he looked over at you, your hand protectively resting over your children’s temporary home, the price tag didn’t matter quite as much. And as long as he had you with him, he didn’t care how many shopping trips you had to go on for your new, growing little family.

Whoo boy I couldn’t figure out how to end this one. Sorry it took so long, life is very stressful right now and writing is more of a passive hobby for me. This one doesn’t feel as put together as my others so sorry if it’s not what you were hoping for! I really just wanted to do some domestic fluff. Regardless thank you for reading and I really really appreciate the support on part 1 and 2!!!

[toastedkiwi]

Jason got pepper sprayed by his baby mama!reader when he came in through the front door after a patrol. She’s used to him using the fire escape and entering through a window. She was very distraught over it as she was very pregnant and just a hormonal mess.

[hornedstorys]

Jason Todd x Reader - Du bist schwanger und er rettet dich - Teil 1

Warnungen: Bedrohung ausgehend von wiederlichen Gotham Männern, Schwangerschaft (Falls jemand keinen Bock drauf hat), Geburt, Angst, Schmerzen, Wehen. Jason ist für dich da und gibt dir halt - die Welt braucht einfach einen beschützenden Baby Daddy wie Jason

Inhalt: Du bist schwanger und Red Hood rettet dich, als du in Gefahr gerehtst und plötzlich erwachen seine Beschützerinstinkte und er passt auf dich auf bis zur Geburt.

Du warst gerade auf dem Heimweg, du hattest deine Oma besucht, die ein paar Blogs weiter wohnte und ab und zu hast du ihr geholfen, doch seid deiner Schwangerschaft konntest du auch nicht mehr viel tun. Also hast du dich einfach mit ihr unterhalten und geholfen die Wäsche zu waschen.

Deine Füße taten weh und dein Kind sagte dir heute sehr, wie erschöpft er ebenfalls war. Er oder sie trat gegen deinen Bauch und du hast geseufzt und deinen Bauch gestreichelt.

"Ich weiß Kleiner, ich möchte auch nach Hause", hast du geflüstert und bist weiter gegangen. Es war heute irgendwie frisch und ein ungutes gefühl stieg in dir auf, als du durch die leeren Straßen von Gotham entlangliefst. Du hast versucht ruhig zu bleiben, denn du wolltest deinem Baby keine Sorgen bereiten. Es würde wahrscheinlich nur noch einige Wochen dauern, bis zu endbinden und du warst ganz alleine. Du hattest Angst vor der Geburt, aber gleichzeitig hast du dich schon sehr darauf gefreut und konntest es kaum erwarten dein Kind in den Armen zu halten.

Deine geschwollenen Füße drückten in den Schuhe, aber du wolltest nicht aufhören mit dem Laufen, denn Gotham war um diese Zeit nicht sehr angenehm. Doch plötzlich hörtest du Stimmen hinter dir und dir wurde plötzlich kälter. Es klang nach betrunkenen Männer und das hatte dir gerade noch gefehlt. Die Angst in dir wuchs und plötzlich wurden die Stimmen lauter.

"Wen haben wir denn da", lallte der Erste, aber du haste es ignoriert und bist weiter gegangen. Deine einzige Sorge war das Kind, welches du nun schon seid Monaten unter dem Herzen trugst. Du musstest es beschützen und einfach schnell nach Hause kommen.

"Komm schon Süße, bleib stehen", die nächste Stimme hallte durch deinen Kopf und du hast nur geflüstert: "last mich gehen", natürlich hörten sie es nicht. 'Geh weiter' sagst du dir in Gedanken und deine Schritte wurden schneller. Dein Griff fest um deinen geschwollenen Bauch. Tränen sammelten sich in deine Augen. Wie ein Rudel hungriger Wölfe kamen die Männer immer näher, doch bevor dich ihre grierigen Hände packen konnten stößt du gegen etwas oder jemanden. Der Geruch von Leder und Metall stieg dir in die Nase und du hast aufgeblickt.

Eine blutrote Maske starrte dich an, die weißen Löcher, die als Augen funktionierten blickten stumm auf dich hinab, doch der Kopf war leicht zur Seite gedreht, fragend. Wieder hörtest du die Stimmen die aus den Gassen drangen, dann hast du dich wieder dem fremden Rächer zugewandt.

"Bitte hilf mir", flehtest du ihn an. Seine weißen Maskenaugen durchbohrten deine Gestalt und sein Blick viel auf deinen runden Bauch, den du noch immer beschützend festhielst und dann drangen die Stimmen der Männer ebenfalls zu ihm durch. Sanft aber bestimmt packte er dich und zog dich hinter ihn. Dein Blick fiel auf seine Waffen und du hast dich gefragt, wer dieser fremde Rächer war. EIn Söldner? War er ein Antiheld? Er hatte eine einschüchternte Aura, doch irgendwie hattest du das Gefühl er würde dir helfen.

Die Männer kamen auf euch zu. Es waren drei Stück und als sie den Söldner sahen zuckten sie zusammen und hielten inne.

"Komm schon, rück die Puppe raus", grinste der eine Schief und der Söldner merkte wie du dich fester an ihn krallst und dich hinter ihm versteckst.

"Die Lady hat keine Interesse", drang seine roboterhafte Stimme durch die Maske und seine weißen Augen verengten sich böse. Mit einer Hand hielt er dich weiterhin hinter sich. Er war eigentlich nicht dafür bekannt arme Jungfrauen in Not zu retten, doch eine schwangere Frau solchen ekelhaften leuten zu hinterlassen würde ihn bis an sein Lebensende noch verfolgen. Deine hilflosen Augen haben ihn schwach gemacht und sein Beschützerinstinkt erwachte, was ziemlich selten bis nie vor kam.

Doch die Männer ließen nicht locker, der Alkohol machte sie dumm und der Söldner wartete nur drauf ihnen den Kopf wegzuschießen. Kurz neigte er seinen Kopf in deine Richtung.

"Das kann gleich hässlich werden. Schließ die Augen, wenn ich schieße", deine Augen wurden größer doch du hast nur genickt. Der erste Mann griff an, doch es war eine Leichtigkeit ihn mit einem starken Schlag zu Boden zu bringen. Der Nächste bekam eine Kugel zwischen die Augen und du hattest vergessen deine Augen zu schließen. Ehrfüchtig hast du mit angesehen wie alle Drei niedergestreckt wurden und der Söldner seine Waffen, drehend, wieder in die Waffenscheiden steckte.

Er drehte sich zu dir um und dein Blick sagte ihm deutlich, dass du nicht auf ihn gehört hast.

"Ich sagte doch nicht gucken", seine Stimme klang leicht knurrend und du bist leicht erschrocken zurückgestolpert. Doch du hattest die Mülltonne hinter dir nicht gesehen und bist rückwärts gestolpert, doch bevor du schreien konntest packten dich zwei starke Händ eund zogen dich gegen eine eiserne Brust. Du hast gekeucht und sanft drückt der maskierte Mann dich zurück und blickte zu dir hinunter. Du hast dich zitternt an seine Oberarme gekrallt.

"Dankeschön", hauchtest du und er nickte nur und schien dich zu mustern, als würde er dich nach Verletzungen abchecken.

"Was machst du ihr draußen ganz alleine und dazu noch hochschwanger?" Fragte er und schob dich langsam und behutsam aus der Gasse. Deine Wangen brannten vor Verlegenheit.

"Ich hatte meine Oma besucht. Ich wollte gerade nach Hause gehen, ich denke ich hab die Zeit vergessen. Normalerweise bin ich um diese Zeit nicht mehr draußen, auch nicht wenn ich nicht schwanger wäre", hast du ihm erklärt und er nickte wieder.

"ich denke es ist besser, wenn ich dich nach Hause bringe oder kann dich dein Babydaddy nicht abholen?" hackte er verwirrt nach und wunderte sich, wie dein Partner dich einfach alleine heir draußen lassen konnte. So verletzlich wie du warst und mit dieser Kugel konntest du nicht einmal wirklich rennen. Doch er bemerkte, dass du inne hielst und deine Augen tränten.

"Es gibt keinen Vater", hauchst du und dein Blick war gesenkt. Der Söldner versteifte sich.

"Er ist tot."

Es lief ihm kalt über den Rücken und er musste schmerzlich an die Zeit zurückdenken, als er selbst tot war. Es traumatisierte ihn bis heute und ließ ihn nicht schlaffen. Er hatte Angsstörungen und Alpträume. Seine Maske blickte dich mit so vielen Emotionen an wie nur möglich war und sein Herz schmerzte, als die Vergangenheit ihn langsam wieder einholte. Doch als er deine kleine Hand an seinem Arm spürte erwachte er aus seiner Starre. Er blickte zu dir hinhab und du hast ihn snaft angelächelt.

"Ich bin dir was schuldig... äh."

"Red Hood", klärte er dich auf und du hast ihn mit großen Augen angesehen. Du hattest schon ein paar Mal von diesem Rächer gehört, viele Arbeitskollegen hatten von ihm gesprochen und jetzt standest du persönlich vor ihm.

"Wow, du bist der Red Hood?"

E schnaufte amüsiert und nickte.

"Der Allerechte, doch die Meisten die mich sehen freuen sich nicht so sehr darüber, dass ich da bin", sein Ton brach etwas, als er an sein Antihelden Leben dachte. Er hatte viele Menschen getötet und er würde es weitehrin tun. Doch er fand es irgendwie niedlich, dass du ihn so beeindruckt angesehen hast.

"Weil du Menschen tötest?" Riss deine Frage ihn aus den Gedanken und er nickte wieder.

"Wo wohnst du?" Fragte er und du versuchte vom Thema abzulenken. Du hast ihm deine Adresse gegeben. Er begleutete dich wirklich den ganzen Weg und Jede Schattengestalt dich euch noch entgegenkam um diese Zeit machte einen großen Bogen um euch. Red Hoods Blick war eisern und angsteinflößend, aber dies tat er nur, um diese Leute von dir fernzuhalten.

Ihr standet nun an deiner Türe und bevor du sie öffnetest drehtest du dich noch einmal zu ihm um, ein sanftes Lächeln lag auf deinen Lippen.

"Du hast mich gerettet, Red Hood. Ich glaube du bist ein guter Kerl. Gute Nacht und nochmals vielen Dank", der maskierte Mann riss die Augen auf und wollte etwas sagen, seine Hand hob sich, doch in diesem Moment bist du durch die Tür verschwunden.

"... gute Nacht", haucht er und starrte auf das Türschild.

Du gingst dem Rächer nicht aus dem Kopf. Er saß auf seinem Stammplatz, auf einem hohen Gebäude und starrte auf den wilden Verkehr. Der Trubel da unten nervte ihn, weswegen er sich gerne nahc oben verzog und die Stille genoss, doch dein Gesicht tauchte stöndig vor sienem geistigen Auge auf und auch deien Worte ließen ihn nicht los.

'Ich denke du bist ein guter Kerl.'

Er schnaubte amüsiert und wehleidig.

"Wenn du nur wüsstest", flüstert er und starrte auf den roten Helm in seinen Händen. Die Maske die ihn schützte und ihn stärkte. Die seine meotionen verbarg und ihn zu dem kalten Mörder machte, der er war..., der er sein musste und wollte. Er war kein guter mann, er war gebrochen und krank. Seine Gedanken waren wild, sie gerieten aus den Fugen und sein temperament stieg. Er hatte Agressionsprobleme, Adhs und Schlafstörungen. Er tötete täglich so viele Menschen, dass selbst Satan davor Angst haben würde, dass er in die Hölle kommen würde. Seid seinem Tod war alles einfach anders und sein Kiefer spannte sich hart an Dann stand er auf und setzte sich den Helm wieder auf den Kopf und blickte noch ein Mal auf den ganzen Trubel, bevor er aufbrach.

Du standest gerader in deinem Zimmer und hast die Wäsche zusammengelegt, doch plötzlich wurdest du durch ein Klopfen an deinem Fenster aufgreschreckt. Verwirrt hast du die Vorhänge zur Seite gezogen und dein Mund klappte auf, als du ihn erblicktest.

Er deutete nach unten und du hast verstanden und das Fenster geöffnet.

"Womit habe ich die Ehre?" Hast du ihn grinsend gefragt und er kratzte sich verlegen am Nacken.

"Ich wollte nach dir sehen, ob es dir... euch..., gut geht", bei seinen Worten bist du rot geworden und deine Wangen hatten beinnahe die selbe Farbe wie sein Helm. Es freute dich zu hören, dass er dein Kind ebenfalls erwähnte.

"Uns geht es gut, etwas erschöpft, aber gut" hast du ihm erklärt und wolltest gerade weiter die Wäsche zusammenlegen, doch er nahm dir das Oberteil aus der Hand. Verwirrt hast du ihn angesehen.

"Darf ich dir helfen?" Du hobst eine Augenbraue und seine weißen Augen starrten dich intensiv an, dann hast du vorsichtig genickt.

"Natürlich, wenn du möchtest", du hast fast gelacht.

"Es tut mir leid, wenn ich plötzlich so reingeplatzt bin", entschuldigte sich seine roboterhafte Stimme und du hast es mit einer Handbwegung abgetan.

"Ach alles gut. Ich schätze deine Hilfe sehr und es ist schön, mal nicht ganz so alleine zu sein", erzählst du und setzt dich auf dein Bett. Dein Blick folgte seinen beandschuhten Händen und wie sie die Wäsche zusammenlag. Es war etwas unsauber, aber du hast es wirklich bezaubernd gefunden und auch, dass er vorbeigekommen ist. Sanft ruhte deine Hand auf deinem Bauch und immer wieder blickte Red Hood auf ihn. Er fande es faszinierend wie das Leben so einfach in dir wuchs. Das aus zwei winzigen Einzelteilen soetwas großes wuchs, war einfach eine Sensation.

"Hast du Familie?" Hast du ihn plötzlich gefragt und kurz versteifte er sich.

"Ja und nein", seine Worte verwirrten dich.

"Ich habe eine Familie, aber ich habe mich von ihnen distanziert und führe mein Leben lieber alleine", erklärte er und legte die gefaltete Wäsche zurück in den Korb, den er anschließend neben deinen Schrank stellte. Vorsichtig setzte er sich neben dich aufs Bett, ohne etwas dreckig zu machen und starrte auf seine Handschuhe hinab.

"Das ist wirklich schade, Familie kann so wichtig sein. Aber wenn du gute Gründe hattest kann ich das wirklich verstehen." Dein Blick ruhte nun ebenfalls auf seinen Handschuhen. Es herrschte kurz eine unangenehme Stille.

"Er ist gefallen", hast du angefangen und kurz zuckte Hoods Arm, doch er blieb still. Sein Atem ging schwer und sein Hals zog sich zusammen.

"Er ist im krieg gefallen... und er hatte noch zu mir gesagt er würde bald wiederkommen", du hast aufgelacht, doch dein Lachen verwandelte sich in ein Schluchzen und die Tränen bahnten sich ihren Weg aus deinen Augen. Du bist mit einer Entschuldigung aufgestanden und hast dir ein Taschentuch geholt.

"Jetzt bin ich hier schwanger und alleine und ich hasse es wirklich so hilflos zu sein. Manchmal fehlt mir eiunfach die Kraft, verstehst du", flüsterst du schniefend und strichst dir die Tränen von den Wangen. Plötzlich schlangen sich zwei breite Arme um deinen Rücken und drückten dich gegen eine warme Brust. Wieder floßen die Tränen und Hood und du seid zusammen zu Boden gesunken. Du hielst dich fest an seiner Lederjacke und irgendwie berughigte dich der Geruch von ihm.

Hood hielt dich eisern fest und wollte dich nicht loslassen. Er starrte einfach an die Wand und spürte deine zitternte Gestalt. Es tat ihm so leid für dich und es erschrak ihn, welche Emotionen in ihm auftauchten. Und seit diesem Tag schwor er sich für dich da zu sein und dich zu beschützen.

Red Hood hielt sich an sein Wort. Er kam so gut wie jeden Tag oder jede Nacht. Er sah nach dir, half dir die Wäsche zu machen, versuchte sogar zu kochen, auch wenn ihm das ab und zu noch schwer fiel, aber dein Lachen, als er die Eier anbrannte, erfüllte ihn wirklich sehr und er fühlte sich endlich wieder an wie Zuhause. Er merkte mit jedem Tag wie sein kaltes Herz schmolz.

Doch seinen Helm nahm er nie ab. Auch seinen echten Namen gab er dir nie Preis, weil er Angst hatte seine Mauern komplett abzureißen und dir alles zu zeigen. Doch du hattest es verstanden und nihn zu nichts gedrängt. Du hattest keine Angst vor seiner Maske und sie wurde zu dienem Alltag.

Er brachte dir jedes Mal zwei Hamburger mit, als er nach der Patroullie Hunger hatte und du konntest fast genauso viel verdrücken wie er. Dein Heißhunger war noch immer nicht gestillt und er fand es wirklich amüsant.

"Du kannst wirklich viel essen", lachte er und du verzogst das Gesicht.

"Ich esse auch für Zwei, mein Lieber", hast dud cih verteitigt und in den zweiten Hamburger gebissen und gestöhnt, als der Geschmack deinen Mund verführte. Du hast die Augen geschlossen.

"Das sind die besten Burger die ich je gegessen habe!" Jammerst du und Hood schüttzelte belustig den Kopf.

"Du weißt schon, dass es nicht ganz stimmt mit dem 'Ich esse für Zwei'. Es ist ein Mythos", klärte er dich auf, doch du hast ihn unterbrochen und ihm einen Zeigefinger an den Helm gesetzt, wo sonst sein Mund wäre.

"Bitte halt den Mund, Hood. Ich brauch einfach zwei Burger", er schnaufte amüsiert und hob die Hände. Du hast deinen Bauch gestreichelt und wohlig geseufzt, als du zuende gegessen hattest und Red Hood blickte wieder auf deinen runden Bauch. Du hats es bemerkt und vorsichtig seine Hand genommen, du hast gespürt wie er sich versteift und als du seine große Hand zu deinem Bauch führtest wurden seine Augen größer.

"Nicht...-", fing er an doch du hast nicht nachgegeben und schon lag sein Gewicht auf deinem Bauch. Seine komplette Anspannung verschwand und seine Augen weiteten sich noch mehr, als er deinen Bauch unter seinem Handschuh fühlte, doch er wollte mehr spüren, also zog er seine Handschuhe aus und zum ersten Mal hast du seine Hände gesehen. Vernarbt, schwielig und groß. Du hast dein Oberteil über den Bauch geschoben, um ihn deine warme, nackte Haut spüren zu lassen. Er keuchte, als das Baby gegen seine Hand trat, als würde es sagen wollen 'Hallo, ich bin hier!'

Seine Hand fühlte sich erst fremd an deinem Bauch an, doch gleichzeitig ließ sie dich so sicher fühlen und ein wohliges Gefühl drang durch deinen Körper und ein sanftes Lächeln umspielte deine Lippen. Du hast deine Hand auf seine gelegt und sein Helm schwankte in deine Richtung.

"Ich denke du wärst ein großartiger Vater, Red Hood", er gefror und seine weißen Augen weiteten sich. Du hast ihn weiter angelächelt, als du seine Reaktion gesehen hattest. Noch nie hatte er so viel Stolz und Freude in sich gespürt und... Liebe. So viel Liebe, dass ihm beinnahe schlecht wurde und solche Worte aus deinem Mund zu hören ließ ihn schwächeln. Er konnte nicht leugnen, dass sich seine Gefühle für dich mit jedem Tag verstärkt hatten. Es wra als hätte das Schicksal euch zusammengeführt und nun saß er hier, streichelte deinen Babybauch und dachte darüber nach wie es wäre, wenn du sein Kind unter dem Herzen tragen würdest.

"Jason. Nenn mich Jason Todd."

Jason war auf Patroullie und du hast dich Zuhause hingelegt, du wusstest nicht wann er kommen würde, aber irgendwie fühltest du dich heute unruhig. Dein Rücken schmerzte und dein Bauch fühlte sich zum platzen gespannt. Er war fest und du hast gestöhnt und dir auf die Lippen gebissen.

"Was ist los Kleiner?" Hast du dein Kind gefragt, es fühlte sich so unruhig in dir an und du hattest das dumpfe Gefühl, dass heute der Tag war.

Plötzlich spürtest du eine schwarfen Stich und du hast laut gekeucht, als dann noch Wasser an deinen Beinen hinuntergelaufen ist.

'Oh nein!' Dachtest du dir und genau in diesem Moment kam Jason durch die Tür, mit Tüten in der Hand.

"Hey (Y/n) ich ab-", er stockte sofort, als er deine gekrümmte Form sah. Er ließ die Taschen fallen und schritt mit großen Schritten auf dich zu. Der Blick seiner Maske war besorgt.

"Jason", stöhnst du und krallst dich in seinen Arm, "Ich glaub, dass Baby kommt", bei diesen Worten zögerte er nicht und führte dich in dein Auto. Er fuhr so schnell es ging durch Gotham City und zum nächsten Krankenhaus.

Schreiend lagst du im Kreissaal, während die Hebamme zwischen deinen Beinen saß und dir Anweisungen gab. Jason hatten sie nicht mit rein gelassen, sie hatten ANgst vor ihm und machten sich eventuell auch Sorgen um dich.

"Lasst ihn sofort rein!", Schriest du, "Ich brauch ihn", du wimmerst und Jason konnte deine quälenden Worte hören. Es zeriss ihm das Herz und gleichzeitig sammelte sich Wut in ihm. Er verlor langsam seine Geduld und seine Hände bildeten sich zu Fäusten. Jason stapfte auf die Tür zu und sah jeden durch seine Maske grimmig an und dann durchstoß er die Mauer die dich von ihm trennte.

Dein Anblick ließ ihn erstarren, du hielst dich an den Bettgestellen fest und dein Gesicht war schmerzverzogen. Schnell riss er sich den Helm vom Kopf und kniete sich neben dein Bett. Deine Augen wurden größer, als seine stahlgrauen Augen besorgt in deine Blickten und auch seine Handschuhe hatte er weggeworfen. Seine warme, raue Hand fuhr sanft über deine Wange.

"Du machst das großartig, meine Hübsche", lobte er dich und du wärts wahrscheinlich rot geworden bei dem Kosenamen, wenn du nicht solche Schmerzen hättest.

"Es ist bald geschafft", sagte die hebamme und Jason hielt dir seine Hand hin, du hast sie fest umschlossen.

"Halte durch, (Y/n). Du bist so stark, du bist die stärkste Frau die ich kenne", flüstert er dir ins Ohr und keines dieser Worte war gelogen. Du warst wirklich die stärkste Frau die ihm jemals begegnet ist und du hast keine Superkräfte dafür gebraucht.

MIt einem letzten Pressen hast du es endlich geschafft. Der Schrei eines Neugeborenen hallte durch den Kreissaal und du hast erschöpft und lächelnt deine nasse Stirn gegen Jason gelehnt und die Augen geschloss. Er streichelte sanft dein feuchtes Haar und gab dir einen Kuss auf die Stirn. Dann wurde dir endlich dein Kind auf die Brust gelegt.

"Es ist ein Mädchen!" Verkündet die Arzthelferin freudig und deine Augen glänztend. Jason sah das kleine Bündel mit großen Augen an. Sie war so klein und zerbrechlich und ihre Finger waren so winzig. Er traute sich nicht einmal zu atment, weil er Angst hatte, dass er sie wegwehen würde wie einen Schmetterling.

"Willst du sie halten?" Hast du ihn sanft gefragt und seine Augen wurden größer. Er zögerte erst, doch du hast darauf bestanden und ihm deine Tochter langsam in den Arm gelegt. Er starrte sie nur erführchtig an, seine grauen Augen verließen sie niemals und seine Herz klopfte wild gegen seine Brust.

"Ich sag doch, du wärst ein guter Vater, Jason", lächelst du und Jason gab dir das strahlenste Lächeln, welches er noch nie jemand anderem gegeben hatte.

[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).

[puck-luck]

between the tiles | jack hughes

warnings: unprotected p in v, creampie (& mention of how unsafe that is bc PREGNANCY??? me when i’m scared. on the bright side, the mention is ambiguous, so it’s not revealed if jack gets reader pregnant by creampieing her <3), drinking, frat aesthetics, semi-public sex, praise mixed with degradation (sooo true), spanking, frat behavior (the brothers being gross and invasive about their brothers’ sex lives…) pairing: frat!jack hughes x fem!reader summary: based on the prompt “frat!jack fucking you in the bathroom at a party my god”, IMO based in the same universe as ‘frat fever’ but later in the timeline. wc: 3120

“Here you go, pretty girl.” Jack delivers a red solo cup of liquid to you. He holds his own cup of beer, the backwards hat on his head falling askew. He reaches up to fix it when he notices your gaze and you sneak a peek at his messy brown locks before Jack hides them again.

“Thanks, J,” you say with a smile. 

Jack stands close to you, his arm wrapped around your waist easily. He talks quietly with the brothers that pass him by, keeping you close but never paying close attention to you. You’re content with it, sipping on your drink as you watch the mayhem around you.

Jack had invited you to the party in class the other day. He loves to bother you in class. He flirts, he invites you to parties, he asks for help with his homework, he begs you to read his essays before he submits them, and he flashes those big blue eyes at you to get you to agree every time. 

You had denied his other invitations, not wanting to get involved in the frat life. You had joined a sorority your first year, but dropped less than a year in because your exec board was toxic and you felt like you didn’t belong. 

You learned that you and Jack had rushed the same year, but he had stuck it out longer than you had. Years later, he’s at the top of the social hierarchy.

Jack is the president of his frat and he loves it. Whenever you walk with him in the halls before and after your class, he seems to know everyone on campus. People are constantly saying hello and dapping him up or waving and batting their eyes. You like Jack– he’s definitely class crush material– but you don’t see how he’s completely charmed all of these people.

He’s Jack– he’s dry and his laugh is always half-hearted at best. He talks with a smirk on his face like he knows more than you, but it’s hard to ignore how well he holds eye contact through his hooded eyelids. Maybe the charm is how dry he is– how little he seems to care must make people want to impress him even more.

It’s dark in the frat house. The wooden floor is creaky and a little sticky. Music is emanating from the living room, vibrating through the whole house. The LED lights in the living room burn your eyes when you look over there, so you’ve been avoiding that room. It’s where you found Jack at first, leaning against the wall near the speakers talking with the brother that’s DJing. He looked handsome in the green and red lights, his face growing scratchy from his commitment to No Shave November that he told you about in class last week.

Tucked into Jack’s side, looking up at his facial hair and the freckles that are faded along his cheeks, you start to really see the appeal.

The drink he brought you is strong and was clearly made by a pledge. You wouldn’t be surprised if the drink was mixed and retrieved from a massive cooler that is branded with Gatorade. You decide in a moment that you want to see if your suspicion is true, but you don’t know the way around the house. 

You turn to face Jack, putting a hand on his bicep to get his attention. He pauses his conversation immediately, turning to look down at you with a little grin on his face. 

“What’s up?” Jack asks.

“Wanna give me a tour?” You say. You feel like you have to shout to make him hear you, so you stand up on your tiptoes to speak directly into his ear. 

“Sure,” Jack agrees, putting his hand on your lower back and guiding you down the hallway. You started in the room where the boys were playing pong, then Jack leads you to the kitchen. He introduces you to the pledge who is serving drinks, who blushes when you thank him. He introduces you to brothers in every room, shows you the composites hanging in the halls and points out his friends who have graduated. He’s surprised when you say you know Nico, the last president of the frat. 

Eventually, you ask Jack to show you to the bathroom. You’ve finished your drink and you’re feeling a little tipsy, but mostly bloated. There’s a long line at the bathroom in the main hall, which you wait in with Jack until you’re squirming and no closer to the door than before. You whine a bit about how long it’s taking, receiving some nasty looks and side-eyes from the girls around you in line. It doesn’t take them long to notice that you’re with Jack and the looks turn more interested than annoyed.

Jack is frowning about how long the bathroom line is taking. You can see him growing more frustrated, the frown on his face and furrow of his eyebrows deepening.

“Come here,” Jack says, taking your hand and pulling you to the front of the line. He shoulders past drunk people who are equally as annoyed as you and Jack, but now they’re growing frustrated with the blatant show of self-importance that Jack puts on as he drags you along. You hear a number of grumbled “excuse you”s and scoffs, and your face burns red slightly from embarrassment. 

Jack doesn’t care that he’s pissing people off. He simply starts to bang on the door of the bathroom with a pounding fist. 

“Get the fuck out of the bathroom!” Jack commands, shouting through the wooden door. You can hear shuffling on the other side and a few minutes later, a clown car of girls leave the bathroom, looking down in shame. One of them is leaning on her friend, covering her mouth. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had been vomiting.

Jack stops the next people in line and pushes you forward. He closes the door behind you and leaves you to do your business, which you do quickly. It’s less than three minutes before you’re washing your hands, which Jack can apparently hear through the door, because he lets himself in as you do so.

You look at him through the mirror, making eye contact. He walks toward you after turning the lock on the door. You don’t miss the tension in the room. Jack touches your back, then plasters himself against you. He brings his arms around your shoulders, hugging you tightly and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Y’look really pretty,” Jack murmurs. “Did y’know that I’ve been flirting with you since sylly week?”

“I had a feeling,” you reply, leaning into his touch. You’re wearing a low-cut going-out top, something different than what Jack normally sees you in, and you’ve noticed his glances throughout the evening. Your chest was the first place his eyes went when you greeted him in the music room.

“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Jack says. His touch loosens and his fingers trail lower, tracing the stitching on the neckline of your shirt. Half an inch over and he’d be touching your skin– you feel like he is already. You can feel the goosebumps rising beneath his warm touch, even though it’s more absent-minded than sexy.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, unable to find any other words. 

Jack meets your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, yeah,” he replies like it’s obvious. “I’ve been wanting to get you to one of my parties for weeks.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, laughing slightly.

Jack moves your hair off the back of your neck and kisses the side of your throat, near your pulse-point. “Because you’re so uptight and I thought you could use a little fun.”

“Oh,” you scoff, laughing for real this time. “You just want me to loosen up and you thought you’d help me out?”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“No ulterior motive?” You check with a knowing smile, reaching a hand up to thread your fingers through the hair that peeks out from under Jack’s baseball cap. You scratch his scalp, earning a purr from the boy and another kiss to your neck. 

Jack hums instead of replying directly to your question. He keeps his lips planted against your skin, but you can see that he’s smiling against you. There’s your answer. Of course he had an ulterior motive– it’s why he came into the bathroom at all. It’s why you’ve been attached to his side since you showed up today.

You don’t mind. You’ve suspected all along. It’s part of the reason why you showed up tonight at all– you finally decided that there was no harm in seeing Jack outside of class, specifically in his bed.

You continue to scratch Jack’s scalp, rolling your head to rest against his body so that your neck lengthens and Jack has access to more skin. He’s behind you still, leaning down to kiss all over your skin, and you can feel him starting to grow hard when you press your ass back into his shorts.

You grind against his bulge, sighing with Jack at the feeling. His is a groan of relief as your body alleviates the pressure of being untouched, whereas yours is a sigh of contentment as a fire lights in the pit of your stomach.

“Wanna fuck you,” Jack says quietly before biting your earlobe. 

“Yeah?” You ask, breathless.

“Yeah,” Jack continues. He brings his hand down your front, bypassing your chest to touch the button of your jeans. “Been thinking about touching you for ages.”

“Then let’s go,” You say. You make a move to get out of his grasp, but Jack holds you in place.

“No, here,” He whispers. “Where everyone can hear you.”

Your breath hitches when his fingers pop the button and drag your zipper down. You’re dripping in your panties and Jack is inches away from discovering it. You can feel yourself nodding wordlessly as Jack’s fingers dance around your mound and abdomen, sending sparks up your spine.

“Is that okay?” Jack asks, checking another time before he touches you.

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, arching into him. Your lips are tingling with the need to connect with Jack’s, but his nibbling along your neck is much too enticing to halt.

Like whiplash, Jack bends you over the sink and tugs your jeans down to your knees. He takes your panties with them, leaving your lower half bare. It registers briefly that you’ll be taking longer in this grimey bathroom than those other girls. Regardless, you spread your legs as best you can with the fabric still constricting your knees. 

“Good girl,” Jack praises preemptively. His voice is gravelly and his words make you shiver. You can feel yourself clenching on nothing, seeking something that is far, far away. Jack swats the skin of your thighs, making you jump and squeal slightly. “Look at how easy you are for me.”

Your head immediately lifts, finding yourself in the mirror. You look at yourself for only a second. Under the harsh light of the fluorescent bulb, you look washed out. At the same time, you look bright red because of your attraction to Jack. Your attention turns to Jack, who looks nothing short of holy under the brightness. He looks like he’s closing in on everything he’s ever wanted.

You watch as he digs his fingers into his waistband, pushing his shorts down. He pulls his cock out of his pants, pumping his shaft until he, too, is leaking precum. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of it, dropping even further when Jack lifts the bottom of his shirt and bites it, keeping the fabric out of the way and revealing his toned abdomen.

“Jack,” you drawl. It’s not quite a moan or a plead. It’s an indignant little while for more mixed with an acknowledgement of how good-looking he is. 

“I’m coming, baby,” Jack tells you, touching the skin on your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. “Keep saying my name.”

He slams forward once the head of his cock slides into your pussy, unable to resist the feeling of your warm and damp heat. He’s pounding into you from the get-go, grunting as he thrusts into you. His noises just add to the lewd squelching filling the room, as well as the slapping of skin as he pulls your hips back to meet his. 

You follow his direction, repeating his name over and over mindlessly. You fall to the pleasure, letting your head droop and eyes close. 

Jack slaps your ass hard without ever pulling out. He regains your attention, flashing you a warning look and a muffled snarl since he’s still biting his t-shirt. You moan out his name even louder, eyes rolling. You shuffle your hips back further, hoping to entice Jack to slap you again. 

He does so, eventually, with an evil smirk on his face.

“You like that?” Jack asks around his t-shirt. “Like it when I spank you? Dirty, dirty girl.”

“J,” You whine, pleading with him in the reflection of the mirror.

It’s so good. It is. 

But you need more.

“Okay, baby,” Jack says soothingly. He pulls out, tapping your hips so you turn to face him. Your ass presses against the cool tile of the sink. Jack reaches under your thigh and lifts your leg, eventually sliding his hand down to grasp your knee. “Let’s see how bendy you are, hm?”

He places your ankle over his shoulder, creating a stretch in your hamstring that has you arching into Jack for some relief. He misreads your movement, but fills your hole again in an even better outcome than you had expected. Now, he’s facing you. Now, Jack’s able to kiss you.

His tongue fills your mouth when he seals his lips over yours. The kiss is messy, just like the union of your lower halves, and you can taste the beer that Jack drank earlier in the night. Still, even though you hate the taste of beer, the kiss is perfect. It’s exactly what you wanted from him earlier and the touch of your lips to his is equally as thrilling as a touch to your clit would be.

“You sound so pretty,” Jack praises against your lips, his hips still bucking into yours. You can feel his balls slapping against your skin as he moves. “Fuck, baby, aren’t you just so perfect for me…”

“Jack,” you gasp, feeling his tip nudge your spot. “Oh, fuck. Don’t stop.”

“Won’t,” Jack promises through gritted teeth, pushing your hamstring to the limit as he hunches over you to get a better grip on the wall behind you and the sink beneath you. His muscles are bulging, his abs flexing and mesmerizing you in a way that has you nearly screaming.

You chant his name in a high-pitched, desperate voice along with a series of curses. Jack becomes smug as his dick turns you into a mess beneath him, coating his cock in wet slick. Not only does your pussy leak all over Jack’s length, but your slick drips from your hole onto the floor of the bathroom, dirtying the room even further.

In the coming weeks, unbeknownst to you, Jack’s frat brothers will chirp him for taking you in the house’s most public bathroom. They’ll chirp him for making you scream and whine louder than the music and for the way that an audience gathered around the door, speculating about who was in there. It didn’t take long for word to spread that it was Jack Hughes, frat president, bagging some girl from his classes rather than the typical sorority presidents that he was used to sleeping with.

Jack, in return, will claim that this fuck was better than any of those had ever been.

His statement will be motivated by the memory of how your walls squeezed him and milked him through a paralyzing orgasm. You’re clenching down on him now and he’s so, so close. Sweat is beading at his hairline. His hemline fell from his teeth when his jaw dropped at the depth of the new position and he let out a choked moan when you took it between your own teeth, quieting yourself. 

You’ve got a hand in his hair and a hand on his love handles, feeling him move his hips as he fills you. You’ve got his shirt between your teeth and your ankle over his shoulder. 

Your body seizes up shortly after Jack turns his head and kisses your ankle, a place that no one in your life has ever touched, to your memory. The intimacy of that action and the persistent bump of his leaking cockhead against your cervix sends waves of pleasure over you, whiting out your vision and sending your eyes to the back of your head. 

You can’t even hear yourself as Jack’s name shrilly leaves your mouth. You don’t hear the curse that falls from his lips as you clench down, sucking him into your cunt. You don’t feel his body shudder as he loses his rhythm and buries himself into you, shallowly thrusting as his cock spills its seed inside of you. 

He meant to pull out, he did, but your cunt was too warm and too appealing. He feels much more drunk than he actually is, warm and overwhelmed by the envelopment of pussy around his cock, and Jack can’t remove himself from your entrance until he’s milked completely dry. Even then, he kisses over your neck as he thrusts slowly through your aftershocks, fucking his come deeper into you. 

The danger of the situation doesn’t register to either of you– not how public this is, not how unsafe it is to be doing this without protection, not how cramped and stiff you both feel from fucking each other in a tiny bathroom rather than Jack’s big bed.

No, you both breathe in pure bliss as you come down. You touch his cheek and hair until Jack presses his lips against yours. 

He’s the one who moves your ankle from his shoulder, kissing up your ankle to your knee before he does so. It’s romantic and sweet and you can feel your heart clutching. After fixing your clothes, Jack kisses you on the mouth once more before you both leave the bathroom. 

In class the following days, Jack acts like nothing happened at the party. He’s no different, and it leaves you wondering if it meant anything at all to the boy. Little do you know– it didn’t change anything, but it meant everything. Jack’s already organizing another party, just so that he can invite you.

notes: dear frat!jack, one chance. please. one. fuck me in the dirty bathroom NEOWWWW.

[giuliettagaltieri]

A Bouquet of Honeysuckle

Pairing: Dad!Gojō x Lactating!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is a baby in more ways than one.

Warning: breastfeeding, lactation kink, hint of dub/con, hungry Gojō, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink

Word Count: 1219

8 of 9

It is painfully clear to you that your husband might have developed a certain fondness to your bosom.  Or your carry-on breastaurant, as he insisted on calling them.

Whenever you nurse Satoshi, Gojō finds a way to lounge next to you, making up excuses about needing to have a conversation with you about the most tedious or ludicrous of topics.

Your bashfulness after catching his sticky gaze directed on your milky nipples, wearing off with how often it happens.

But the way you caught him staring in the gardens has done something to you.  It flattered you that your husband finds your motherhood appealing.  But the adoration he offered then was not soft, it was not sweet.

It was pure and unadulterated lust and hunger.

When he starts steering you to your shared quarters after putting Satoshi in his crib, you know you are about to see the breaking point of Satoru’s self-restraint.

You are aware that he was never good with sharing in the first place.

When Satoshi was born, you had no problems with your husband.  Your son slotted himself right in the middle of it all with no hitches.

Yet it happened twice already this week.  How your husband’s back leaves whatever it was he was leaning on to stop your son from pulling at your kimono to get to your breasts.  Gojō often manages to resume his previous position and pretend the past five seconds did not happen at all.  But he cannot shake off your startled expression.

Your baby just wanted to be fed.

You must have forgotten that Satoshi is not the only baby that you are taking care of.

Your husband, the head of your clan, the strongest sorcerer, the honored one, is now lying on his stomach, between your thighs as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Have you fallen asleep, Satoru?”  You ask, all the while attempting not to break into giggles.

You got comfortable leaning against the headboard, your back sinking on the softest of pillows that your husband insisted on buying for you while you were carrying his child.

His chin rested on your plush belly, his hooded eyes focused on the wet patch that seeped on your nursing bra.

He looks quite drunk with the subtle redness tinting at his cheekbones.

His shirt has long been discarded on the floors of your quarters.  Your kimono has been parted already.

But his vigor seemed to have evaporated from his body as he came face to face with your barely covered teats.

His mouth was not a stranger to the perky buds.  But all he has ever done was to suck on them.  Never suckle.

Gojō started with a kiss.  The simple gesture had your heartbeat doubling.

He stared at the buttons of your nursing bra and he looked at you briefly, as if trying to recall how you undid it.

Is he supposed to tug?  Will the buttons pop open right then?  He wouldn’t want to ruin them, it took a very long time for you to find a nursing bra that you were comfortable in.

Now gone tired of watching him do nothing but stare, you guide his larger hands on your bra to get his fingers to pull and with a sharp pop, your breasts come spilling out.

Gojō is in a trance.  Your already pebbled teats from months of nursing your son were quick to leak with milk, his throat has gone dry with the sight.

Your cunt clenches as his tongue lols out, drool lining his path as he haunches over you, head dipping to drag his wet appendage on your sensitive bud to catch the leaking milk.  The sight of him was incredibly primal.

“Ahh!”

Gojō pulls back, eyes wide in surprise as he watches you throw your head against the pillow.

He does not recall your teats being this sensitive.  Even when you were pregnant.

With searing curiosity pumping through his veins, he licks at the other nipple, his eyes never leaving your pleasure twisted face.

The low chuckle he makes has your spine freezing.  You were panting as you looked at him.

“Tastes good.”  He grins at you before his lips presses a smack on your lips.  The smile on his handsome face only widening as he showered your leaking buds with kitten licks.

And his supple lips form an o and captures your nipple like the ripest of cherries as he smothers your breast with his face, the plump of your breasts cushioning against his cheeks.  Your thighs immediately tighten around his torso.  As you mewl out his name, hands messing up his hair, scratching up his back and deltoids.

He was not being gentle, his lips forming a tight suction as he gulped down your milk, his hand had your breast on a tight squeeze, coaxing your lactation so he could drink more and more.

Gojō Satoru is a greedy man.

And you were the sole focus of his greed at the moment.

You were tapping his shoulder to let up, to give you a brief respite but he only slaps your hand away, an annoyed frown on his brows.  He was groaning out in pleasure from having your teat on his mouth.  Tongue darting out to lick his lips as he switches to the other breast.

You can only take it all.

And when he unbuckles his pants and his fingers hook on your panties to the side so he can slip in his cock, you erupt just from the feeling of being full.

A rumble from his chest would have startled you if only you were not sprawled on the fluffiest of cloud nines.

Gojō was relentless, but your body responds to him like it was his…and indeed it is.

One strong arm was hooked under the small of your back so he can fuck into you harder, your plush thighs creating a lewd noise as it slaps with his.  The wet noise of your cunt joins your wonton cries and Gojō’s guttural groans.

You have never seen him act in such a way, jostling you so roughly, as if moving on pure instinct.  Your cunt gushes as you watch him, breath hitching at every drag of his intensely hard cock on your soft pulsating walls.

By the time he slowed down, your lips were bloated from you chewing on it, your lashes had clumped up, and your teats were sore. You worry how you will nurse your son come morning. 

Gojō pulls out from you and watches his seed trickle between your thighs then his eyes travel to the swell of your breasts.  His cock twitches and he groans, reaching for a bottle of water and gulps it down as one hand rests possessively on your thigh.

You mewl out a protest when he turns you so you are lying on your stomach and slips a pillow under your belly to raise your hips to him.  And he slides inside you once more, his pace ever as rough, creating a bump in your belly with every thrust.  You sniffle as your sensitive buds brush on your soft pillows, your milk seeping through the fabric, creating an uncomfortable dampness.

Gojō wishes that you would never stop lactating.

Perhaps he’ll leave another bun to bake in your belly.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[bia-wayne-west]

Damian is going to have a little sister [Damian Wayne x Pregnant! Batmom]

Summary: You take a pregnancy test and find out you are pregnant. You will have a little girl. Bruce, Alfred and their other three children are happy, except Demian. Your fourth baby is jealous of the new member of the family.

Personagens: Bruce Wayne [Batman], Damian Wayne [Robin], Dick Grayson [Nightwing], Jason Todd [Red hood], Tim Drake [Red Robin] and Reader [You]

Word count: 1,366

Warnings: jealousy, fear of abandonment and pregnancy.

A / N: Hi. I planned this fanfiction months ago, but I only had time to write today. I always imagined what it would be like if Batmom got pregnant. Demian would probably be jealous and wouldn't admit it. So, I decided to write about it.

I hope you like the imagine

Remember that I am a Brazilian girl. I am not fluent in English and I am still learning. I apologize if I have any errors. Feel free to correct me.

Go and read my other stories on my MASTERLIST.

REQUEST ARE OPEN. Do not be shy. Ask as many imagines as you want.

The test in your hands had two blue lines and your face had a huge smile. You had some suspicions, but you never imagined that after eight years of marriage, you would have a baby in your womb.

You thought you must be sterile because you had never been pregnant before, and even though the doctors said you were healthy, you didn't believe them. The test in your hand was proof that you were going to have five babies now.

You left the bathroom, putting the test in your pants pocket. The first person you saw when you left the master suite was Alfred. He will just come out of one of the guest rooms.

You ran to the butler you considered your second father. Alfred looked at you, thinking you were going to ask for something.

“Alfred, I'm pregnant!” You said it quickly, not having the courage to repeat it. The old man in front of you looked at you with wide eyes. After five seconds, he smiled at you.

It was difficult to make Alfred smile. He always maintained his serious appearance.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne. It’s great news.” Alfred said.

You showed the butler the pregnancy test. He congratulated her again and left, with the excuse that he had to clean Timothy's room. You could see a big smile on Alfred's face as he walked down the stairs to the second floor.

You remembered that Bruce was on the Wayne Enterprise, running some errands and that he wouldn't be back until after 8pm. Dick and Jason went to Wally West's house to play basketball. Timothy was at school.

Demian was the only one at home. He was probably in his room or in the garden with Titus.

You walked to the room that had the 'Do Not Enter' sign. You knocked on the door a few times, hearing your son's voice telling you that you could come in.

“Hi, my love.” You said to Damian, who was playing videogame. He was sitting on the bed. The boy smiled at you.

"Hi mommy. Did something happen?" He questioned, his eyes anxious.

You sat on the bed too, watching your son continue to play his game, but he was paying attention to you. .

“I have something new to tell you. I found out today, so only you and Alfred know about it.” You said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test to show Damian.

The boy looked at the object curiously, until he realized what it really was. He looked at you in amazement, as if he thought it was just a joke.

"You are pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yes." After you nodded, you saw him give you a sad smile.

“I think this is amazing news, Mom,” Damian said. He no longer looked you in the eye, focusing his attention on the television while he played.

"Are you okay, darling?" You questioned, moving closer to Damian.

The boy just nodded, and didn't look at you anymore. Then, you realized that he didn't like the news, and preferred to leave him alone. You knew Damian didn't like expressing his feelings.

"If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen" You said, leaving your son's room and walking down the hallway.

As soon as Bruce arrived and you told him you were pregnant, he had the best reaction possible. Your husband was extremely happy and excited. And Dick, Jason and Tim also loved having a new little brother.

The weeks passed very quickly, and soon became months, and suddenly, you were seven months pregnant. You had already done all the ultrasounds and discovered that you were having your first daughter. You were excited to have a little princess, and Jason and Dick started teasing Bruce about how he really was a girl's daddy.

Everyone in your family seemed to be happy, except Damian. He never said out loud that he hated the baby, but you could see that he stopped wanting to spend time with you. The boy spent more time in his room or in the Batcave, avoiding being close to you. Bruce said the boy would accept that he would have a sister after the baby was born, but you knew you had to have a talk with Damian.

You walked slowly down to the clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. It was difficult to walk with swollen feet. You knew that Bruce was on patrol, but that he left Damian on the Batcomputer. As soon as you got out of the elevator, you saw your son look at you, but quickly turn away. You walked over to Damian, giving him a gentle smile. The boy didn't look at you again.

"Hello, my dear." You said.

He didn't answer you, and started pretending to type on the keyboard.

"I wanted to talk to you a little."

Damian just grumbled.

"I know you're sad about my pregnancy." You said. "But you know that in two months there will be a baby here."

He continued ignoring you.

"If it's because of your father, you know Bruce loves all his children equally." You commented. "And that no baby in this world will make your father love you less."

Damian finally turned around, looking at you. He had red eyes, looking like he was going to cry.

"It's not about my father." He said. "Is you!" He exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know!" He roared. "You were the first person who liked me, even though you knew I was Bruce's biological son and that I was conceived when he was drugged by Talia." Damian continued speaking. "And now, you will have your own daughter. Who has your blood and Bruce's"

You looked at him, surprised.

"Are you afraid I'm going to leave you aside?" You wanted to know.

"My brothers don't seem to see what's going to happen. That you and Bruce are going to love the baby more than we do." He started to cry. "I love you and my dad, and I know that now you will have your own family."

You said, walking over to your son. You held him by the shoulders, making him face you.

"Damian, that will never happen!" You exclaimed. "You, Dick, Jason and Tim never stopped being my kids, my little birds."

He looked away, looking embarrassed.

"I thought you wouldn't treat me like your son anymore" He said.

"It's normal for you to be jealous and afraid of losing all the attention you receive, but I want you to know that our relationship will never change." You commented. "Now that the problem has been resolved, do you want to go upstairs so we can make some cupcakes together?"

Damian quickly got up from the chair he was in, and threw himself into your arms, hugging you tightly. He placed his head on your chest, and surprisingly, you felt him caressing your belly for the first time. You lowered your head to look at your son, smiling at him.

"Yes, I want to go make cupcakes, Mommy." He said, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe his tear-stained face.

You and Damian went up to the house, leaving the Batcave. He started talking to you again, saying that he had had a brief fight with Jon Kent, but that they had already made up. He also told you that he was doing a literature project for school in a group, and that it was very easy.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen, you grabbed all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and started mixing the cupcake batter, while Damian mixed the frosting. He told you that he wanted to color the cupcakes green and red, so you grabbed the food coloring from the pantry, letting him make the frosting any color he wanted.

Once the more than twenty cupcakes were ready, you and Damian sat on the counter while eating, talking excitedly about how the last few months had been when Damian had avoided you.

"Mother?" He caught your attention. "It'll be good to be a big brother."

You gave him a huge smile, and then kissed your son's cheek.

[ichorai]

little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone. 

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words. 

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his. 

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer. 

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either. 

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas. 

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.” 

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit. 

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust. 

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again. 

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop. 

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks. 

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge. 

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father. 

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off. 

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness. 

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side. 

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry. 

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

 You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife. 

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them. 

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you. 

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs. 

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you. 

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence. 

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you. 

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian. 

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back. 

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner. 

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively. 

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven. 

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.” 

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt. 

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste. 

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep. 

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone. 

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening. 

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning. 

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra. 

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork. 

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!” 

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out. 

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched. 

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said. 

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh. 

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side. 

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips. 

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids. 

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off. 

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood. 

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth. 

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression. 

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name. 

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards. 

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with. 

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion. 

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide. 

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms. 

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice. 

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

[flemingsfreckles]

He’s Ours

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: you and Jessie have your first baby

Warnings: child birth I guess? But there’s nothing graphic related to it but better safe than sorry 🤷‍♀️

WC: 2.1k quick read :)

A/N: this was just a one shot because that middle photo of Jessie gives me massive baby fever, i want to have her babies.

“Oh he’s perfect, you made him perfect.” Jessie whispered to you. Her forehead was pressed firmly to yours and her eyes locked with yours. Tears were running down your face from both exhaustion and the overwhelming reality that you just gave birth to your first child. “I’m so proud of you, I love you. You did amazing.” She whispers, punctuating her sentence with a kiss on the forehead. Too tired to give her a verbal response you just closed your eyes and softly smiled at her.

Jessie had praised you all through pregnancy, she always made time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how well you were doing, how good of a mom you already were to the unborn child. It was no surprise to you how encouraging and supportive she had been, she was always your biggest fan, even before you were pregnant.

Jessie had been over the moon when you finally got a positive pregnancy test. The two of you had been in the process of trying for months, resulting in nothing but a pile of negative tests and more doctors visits. When you finally saw the two lines on the test you nearly passed out, Jessie had to help you sit down on the bathroom floor, getting you a wet washcloth for your face to help cool you off.

That moment from 8 months ago flashed through your mind when Jessie had held a washcloth to your forehead as you pushed, it felt like just days ago when you found out and here you were, already having the baby, time had flown by.

Your couple of two was now a new family of three. A nurse came over, placing your son on your bare chest, draping a blanket on top of both of you.

“Congratulations, Moms.”

“Thank you.” Jessie says to the nurse.

You crane your head downward to look at your son. He had a little bit of hair, his skin was red, his eyes closed. It was surreal, you couldn’t believe that the baby you had grown was finally in front of you. His hands were spread across your chest, gripping ever so slightly at your skin.

You bring up a hand, gently cupping your son's butt and back, his body fitting into your hand. Jessie brings a hand up, you watch as she hesitates before softly placing her hand slightly overlapping yours onto the upper back and shoulders of your baby. You can feel how lightly she is pressing, as if he’s made of glass.

“You’re not going to break him Jessie.”

“I know that in my mind, but I can’t, but he’s just so small.” She looks up from where she was fixated on your son, you can see tears on the brim of her eyes. The three of you stayed like that until the nurses came back to take him for some quick newborn testing. You almost didn't let them take him, you wanted to keep holding him, but they assured you it wouldn’t be more than 30 minutes and they’d have him back in your arms shortly.

You're not sure how much time had passed when you woke up, you’re whole body sore, feeling nearly hungover, tired, dehydrated, a hint of nausea.

“Hi.” You turn to see Jessie, she’s sitting at your bedside, holding your son who has been clothes and swaddled into a blanket. He’s quiet, awake but not making noise. “They brought him back a little bit ago, sorry I didn’t wake you but I figured you could use the sleep.”

“Thanks.” You have to admit you were a bit sad you missed his return but you were grateful your wife let you sleep. You couldn’t stop looking at her. The way she was holding your little bundle of joy, she was smiling, she hadn’t stopped smiling since she heard his first cries. She was looking down at him, making faces at him. She was wearing a black hoodie and a pair of training shorts from a day ago now. Her baby hairs sticking out from the hood in every direction. She hadn’t slept in nearly 26 hours but she looked perfect.

She had been at training when you called her. You actually had to call Janine, who was still working on her ACL recovery, she always had her phone on her unlike your wife. Jessie was set to take time off from training starting next week, a week before your due date, but your son had other plans and decided to grace you with his presence early. Janine thankfully answered on the first ring and went running to find Jessie. You were grateful that Janine was allowed to be running, or else she would’ve had to slowly limp or crutch to find your wife. You could hear Janine shouting at Jessie from across the pitch, followed by some talking but you were too focused on a contraction to listen. Seconds later Jessie was calling you, you hung up with Janine and got on the phone with Jessie, you stayed on the phone with her all the way until she came running into your hospital room. You were admitted to the hospital late that night and didn’t meet your son until early the next morning.

It was such a surreal feeling, watching Jessie hold him. You had seen her with other babies before, other player’s babies, friend’s kids, or just random fans' babies that she’s held for photos. That was truely what made you want to have a baby with her so badly. She gave you baby fever you had never had baby fever before you were with her. But nothing compared to the baby fever you felt seeing her with her hand on your son. You were ready to start over and have more of her babies the way she looked at him and looked at you with overwhelming love in her eyes.

Jessie stands up, walking over to you, holding out the bundle of blanket and baby. “Do you want to hold him? I can, if you’d rather rest more, just, you did all the hard work. I want to let you hold him if you want to.”

“Jessie you put up with me pregnant and trying to get pregnant for over a year, I think if anyone had the hard job it was you.” You extend your arms to her, she gently places your son on your chest. Jessie had been a saint during your pregnancy, getting up early with you when you were sick, staying up late to rub your feet. She would stand behind you and hold your belly, taking the weight off of you for as long as you’d let her. She would jump out of bed late at night to make you a snack no matter how early she had to get up. She would FaceTime you for hours on end when she had to be away. Jessie couldn’t have been a better partner.

“All his newborn tests came back good. I wrote down all the details so you could have them if you wanted but everything’s good. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus a little bit.” You both laugh. “But I guess that’s normal.” You point toward your water bottle and electrolytes that sat next to it, Jessie hands you both.

“The nurses and doctors are going to come check on you in a little bit too, they came in while you were sleeping but I asked if they could let you be for a bit. Since you didn’t have any issues and your vitals were fine they said they’d come back in an hour.”

“Okay.” You appreciated the heads up from Jessie, the doctors, the exams, the appointment, the stress, the test, were your least favorite part of pregnancy and she knew it, she tried her best to ease your discomfort and anxieties about it whenever she could. You were happy to know that part of parenthood was pretty much over, back to routine.

It was peaceful for a second before your son started wailing.

“What do I do? I don’t know what to do?” You’re wide eyed looking at your wife. A deep feeling of panic begins to build in your stomach. The reality that you’re now responsible for this little baby boy’s life sets in. You’ve never been a mom, you have no idea how to be a mom.

“It’s okay babe. You do. Do you want me to take him?” She wanted to help, her goal was to ease your stress. It was stressful for both of you being new parents but she knew you were experiencing it a little differently with the hormones from birth.

“No, I just don’t know what to do!” You’re on the verge of tears, you feel helpless, your son was crying and you weren’t sure what he needed. He was helpless and you were supposed to be the one to help him.

“Do you want to try and feed him again?” Jessie offers gently, you had tried to feed him earlier with the help of nurses but your son seemed to have no interest and it had left you feeling a little defeated.

“I guess.” You were hesitant but you weren’t sure what else he needed, he was warm, being held and didn’t need to be changed. Jessie held her arms out, taking him from you so you could sit up and get your shirt out of the way. While you were adjusting one of the nurses came in, letting you know that if you wanted help or assistance she was there but that you were welcome to do it on your own as well.

Jessie handed you back your son, she had unwrapped him from the tight swaddle. “The nurse said him being skin to skin might help.” You placed your son against your chest, offering him the chance to feed. You maneuvered yourself and your son with the help of Jessie until finally he had latched and was peacefully eating. You felt so relieved, finally feeling like you were doing a good job of being a mom. He ate until his mouth fell open, his eyes now closed as he drifted asleep.

“See.” Jessie whispered to you, “you do know what he needs, you’re his Mom. Even if it’s scary and new, you know how to help him. I’m here with you too, this isn’t all on you babe.” She placed a kiss on the top of your head and you craned your neck up, puckering your lips. She placed her lips softly on yours, not caring about the PDA in front of the doctors and nurses.

“You’re his Mom too Jess, his our baby boy.” You never wanted Jessie to feel like she was less of his mother because she didn’t carry him or birth him, she was equally his Mom as you were.

“I know, he’s ours.” You both can’t pull your eyes off the sleeping boy, laying across your chest, your arms holding him to you.

“I love you.” You quietly whispered to her, not wanting to wake your son from his sleep.

“I love you.” She whispered back, placing a blanket across both of you again, letting you drift to sleep while she kept a watchful eye on both of you, the two people she loved the most in this world.

[yandereforme]

Yan Jason x Joker’s Kid! Reader (Non-binary Reader)

You found out about your parentage when you were 16. Your mom, the woman who had raised you, had never indicated you weren’t her flesh and blood until that day.

Your mom had gone to school with Harley, and they had been close. They lost touch after a while, however, and didn’t see each other again until Harley was admitted to Arkham during her relationship with the Joker.

Harley hadn’t told anyone she was pregnant, and it was kept need to know. As far as most knew, she was being kept away from others due to illness.

When Harley gave birth, she asked your mom to raise you. Even though she was still somewhat blinded by her love for the Joker, she could still see that raising a kid with the Joker wasn’t a good idea.

Your mom was infertile, and had always wanted a kid. So, after that day, and after Harley was broken out of Arkham, your mom took you and left Arkham, only stopping to have a friend of hers forge papers making you her kid. Only five people knew about you, and her coworkers who helped deliver you died not long after, only leaving three to remember where you came from.

The reason your mom was telling you was because she had been diagnosed with an illness, and would require full time care in a facility, meaning you would have had to go into foster care, since your only ‘relative’ was your goon uncle, who would never be cleared to take care of you. She managed to sort out papers to emancipate you, but she knew that she couldn’t let you leave without his telling you the truth.

Fast forward to the Red Hood Era, you are a book shop owner, having inherited a building from your uncle when he died, and turned it into a bookshop, just on the edge of Crime Alley. You were known to offering homeless people jobs like delivering books or helping you stock shelves in exchange for food, money, clothes, and/or a place to sleep, depending on preference. Your good reputation with the street kids was what made Jason learn about you.

He decided to visit as Jason and make sure you didn’t have any nefarious purposes for your deeds. Not only do you two hit it off immediately, but you also care about the street kids, and aren’t taking advantage of their desperation.

Jason started visiting you every other day, often walking you home at night. He has a few of his men watch your house, and even has them make sure you get home safe when he can’t. However, he was still in heavy denial about his feelings….

Until the Joker Broke out of Arkham

Notes: In this au, the Batfam know Jason is Red Hood. Also, the Batfam will become yandere for you too, don’t worry. Probably won’t be posting much, I’m traveling a lot over the next couple weeks, but I will try. Let me know what you think!

[twilight-orchid]

Shower Suprise

Jason Todd x gn pregnant reader

Notes: So, I’m currently fighting a war against baby fever and baby daddy jason makes me feral so I decided to write a self indulgent fic. I’m working on a couple sequel fics so let me know if you enjoyed this and I’ll post the others too. I’m not a great writer and have never written for Jason before, so sorry if it’s shit lmaooo

Part 2

Word count: 1730

Contains cursing, unplanned pregnancy, mention of abortion, talk of adoption

Jason had gotten home a little after 4 am. He’d been patrolling the cold, rainy streets since 11 and Gotham had finally grown quiet. His body ached something awful from the numerous fights he’d gotten into that night, and exhaustion had crept into his bones making him feel like he could fall asleep standing up.

He climbed into the window of the dark apartment silently to avoid waking his lover and got out of his gear in the living room. The sound of clanking metal and ripping zippers tended to get noisy. Once in his briefs alone he slipped into your bedroom, pausing for a moment to watch the rise and fall of your chest with a smile on his face. You slept soundly, your hair a nest around your face and your soft snores like a comforting lullaby to Jason.

He reluctantly made his way to your shared bathroom. He’d love nothing more than to just go to bed, but you didn’t like it when he got into the clean sheets with Gotham’s grime on him. And, to be fair, he was pretty gross some nights. He showered quickly, enjoying the steaming water on his sore muscles, then hastily moved to brush his teeth. However, something odd caught his eye as he spat.

There were balls of what looked like clean tissue wadded up atop the trash, which was strange as he’d just changed it before he left. You didn’t have a cold or anything that would constitute using that much. He furrowed his brow, a weird feeling washing over him. Something white and shiny just barely peeked out from underneath, and he moved the tissue aside to reveal not 1 but 4 pregnancy tests. His heart froze, time seeming to stop around him. Dread built in his gut as he grabbed the sticks, and terror settled in as he picked up one positive after another. Holy shit, y/n was pregnant. He’d gotten you pregnant. Fuck.

Something pleasant stirred in his gut but he squashed it down. His child would be in danger every day having him as their father. If anyone found out about his baby, child of the Red Hood and grandchild of the Batman, they’d instantly have a target on their head. Aside from that, he’d be a terrible father. He was gruff without meaning to, he had a short fuse, and he certainly didn’t have any good role models. All he could think about were the ways he could accidentally fuck them up. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you until you were in the bathroom with him.

He was no longer tired, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he dropped to the floor. Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t be a father, he’s Red Hood. He had huge time constraints, anger issues, and most importantly, a lot of blood on his hands. How could those hands, forever stained red, hold something like an innocent newborn in his grasp? A baby, with chunky cheeks and thighs, perhaps with his hair and your eyes.

“Jay?” You asked tentatively. He realized he was hyperventilating. He tried to respond, but he found all he could do is stare at your middle. Your eyes slipped to the floor, taking in the discovered pregnancy tests as he watched your face turn. This is clearly not the reveal you were hoping for. You crouched to his level.

“Jay, can you breathe with me?” He was still lost in his thoughts, buried in his anxiety. But he looked up and met your gaze, your features worried. For him. He closed his eyes and nodded with a shuddering breath.

“Alright babe, in through the nose…. Out through the mouth.” He followed along with you, his hand reaching out. You grabbed it firmly with both of yours without hesitation, running your thumbs along his skin. He usually didn’t like to be touched when he was having episodes, but something about your warmth grounded him. He steadily felt his heart begin to slow down.

You let go with one hand to tenderly cup his cheek, smiling sheepishly at him.

“You’re pregnant.” He said simply. You bit your lip and looked away, but nodded.

“I made an appointment in the morning to get an ultrasound and make sure, but well, 4 positives. Plus, you know how sick and nauseous I’ve been. Emotional, tired, hungry for weird shit…” He cursed under his breath and noted how your shoulders sank. Your hand just barely moved to your belly before you caught yourself, returning it to your side.

“You want the baby.” He stated, though it was more of a question. You sighed in frustration and ran your hand through your hair.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel ready, but I can’t stop picturing a little baby that looks like me and you and I just… I can’t-“ Your resolve crumbled as tears began rolling down your cheeks. He took you into his arms instantly, pulling you onto his lap and letting you bury your head into his neck as you sobbed. He drew circles into your back and whispered reassurances, but his head was spinning.

“I don't know what to do Jay!” You whimpered. He didn’t know either, but he needed to come up with a solution. For you.

A baby. A fucking baby. Bruce would absolutely lose it.

“Well,” he started, his voice calm. He was freaking out, but you didn’t need him a nervous wreck. You needed him strong and steadfast. He took a deep breath.

“There’s allot going on in our heads right now, why don't we break down our options, yeah?” You nodded, still sniffling and sat in his lap to meet his eyes.

“No matter what, I'm not putting a baby in the Gotham foster system. No way.” He started. Gotham had a lot of kids entering its foster system and almost no kids being adopted. Bruce had been trying to help solve the issue for years, but Jason knew if they gave the baby up for adoption, they’d likely have a hard time finding a home. Not to mention the issue still stood that they’d be in danger if their parentage was discovered, except in that scenario Jason wouldn’t even know where they are to help them. You nodded in agreement.

“So that leaves…” you began softly.

“Keeping it or getting rid of it.” He finished. Your lip twisted and fresh tears fell, but you wiped them away.

“I don’t… what do you want to do Jay?”

“It’s your body.”

“And it's your baby.” You responded. That was fair, and he thought about it. There’s no denying it could be dangerous, but there was also no denying that his kid would have the planets greatest protectors on its side. His family would call to arms for his baby in an instant, as would the friends Jason had made through his life. Hell, even the Justice League would defend Bruce’s grand baby. And he wouldn’t repeat his mentor’s mistakes and drag his kid on the rooftops with him. They belonged at home; safe, cared for, and loved. A feeling he reveled in when he was with you. He thought about you holding a toddler in your arms and playing with them, the sound of his child’s laughter echoing through the house. He just knew you would make an amazing parent. Feelings once again rose in his chest, but he didn’t push them down. He let them sit and, once he really thought about it, he kinda wanted to see the little guy live and grow. But ultimately it wasn’t his decision.

“I want what you want.” He finally responded. You groaned in frustration.

“I don’t want you to want what I want Jay. If I say I want it, I don’t want you to agree to make me happy and then feel trapped and then…” you trailed off, looking away from him. He furrowed his brow.

“And then what, leave you? Abandon you to raise my kid on your own? Do you really think I’d do that to you?” His tone sounded almost angry, but he didn’t mean for it to be. He wasn’t mad, he was hurt.

“No, Jay I-“ you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“I just don’t want to make you do something huge like this if it's not what you want. And I don’t want to force you to commit to me like that.” He scoffed at you.

“I think we’re well past worrying about me wanting to commit to you, doll.” You stared at him seemingly unconvinced, your fears and uncertainties visibly rattling around your skull.

He sighed. This wasn’t the circumstance he was hoping for, but his gut said it was time.

“You want to see how fucking serious I am about committing to you? Where the fuck are my jeans?” He gently pushed you off of him and told you to stay. He nearly chuckled at the cute, confused look on your face. He grabbed the pants he'd been wearing before patrol and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

“Look at this shit, I’ve been carrying this around with me for months.” You stared at him with a raised brow, wondering what the fuck he was doing. Out of the cash flap he pulled a small pouch of bubble wrap which produced a beautiful engagement ring. It was your picture-perfect ring; you couldn’t have picked a better one yourself. You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“Jason-“

“No, shut up and listen to me. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone on this god forsaken planet. You are beautiful, and kind, and funny, and so fucking smart. You’ve been there for me at my worst and my best without judgement. You’re one person that I know I can rely on, and I am so proud that you rely on me. I am a lucky fucking man to have you in my life, and if you want this baby I’m with you. And I’ll be the happiest man alive. But if you don’t want it, you don’t. And I’ll be happy with that too. But either way, I love you and I want you to be my one and only for as long as you’ll have me. So, what do you wanna do babe?”

[cambion-companion]

Sandwiched

SMUT between Haarlep, Raphael and afab!Tav/reader. This is to explore that post I made about how cambions are made. Usually it's by an incubus sleeping with a mortal woman and she becomes pregnant, dies upon giving birth to the cambion child. So, like, Raphael's treasured client....there's no way he is gonna allow that to happen.

ANYWAY

Raphael x Haarlep x F!reader Smut

Heat enveloped your body, you could hardly feel beyond the heady rush of pleasure and pain.

Hot breath brushed your ear, you felt Raphael's lips skim along the flushed skin of your cheek. The rumble of his chest tickled your fingertips as you felt where the cambion's rough edges met with smooth flesh.

Raphael's hands on your waist and thighs kept you moving on top of him in a steady rhythm, the ache growing at the point your bodies were joined.

You pulled back enough to look into his eyes, glowing like hellfire and drawing you in as helpless as moths to candlelight. Your heart pounded, echoing the sounds filling the musky air of his boudoir. The sensation was like falling into a smoldering abyss, grounded only by the tenuous tether of his hands holding you firm.

So caught up were you in the act, you hardly noticed the mattress dip and a new set of hands stroke down your spine. You turned your chin to look but Raphael caught it between his fingers and guided your hooded gaze back to him. "Mine will be the only face you see."

"Raphael." You murmured as the new grip began guiding your hips down upon the cambion. Up and down. Until.

Raphael spoke harshly in the rough infernal tongue, his release molten as it spilled, causing you to cry out in anguished bliss.

His ridged member slid easily out of your used body, you began to relax, only to tense as a new intrusion stretched you, pushing the fresh infernal seed deeper.

Raphael cupped your face in his hands, his thumb circling your mouth before pressing between your parted lips. Your body rocked over his as whoever moved behind you trailed their large hands to your chest, squeezing your breasts.

Hot air blew against the back of your neck, sharp teeth claiming the skin there with a stinging bite.

"I dont..." You gasped, unsure if you could continue at such a pace, between two impossibly hot bodies.

Raphael's face was still a mask of grim pleasure, his lips pressed into a thin focused line as he watched you moving over where he lay prone.

"You will." He said, his eyes moving to just over your shoulder, narrowing slightly. "Until I am satisfied."

Leathery batlike wings, a mirror of Raphael's own devil wings, draped around you. They rested atop Raphael's own, spread as they were, limp upon the dark satin sheets. You felt the ridges of the cock with every thrust and pulse, now familiar but not belonging to the man beneath you.

Your gasps joined with Raphael's, your breaths mingling as your hand sought the face of who now sought to lay claim to you. Your fingers wrapped around thick horns, sharp as a rose stem, curved.

"Is he...?" Your words were lost as a hand closed over your throat, long red fingers pressing against your lips to silence you.

Raphael watched, sternly giving the devil above you a quelling stare as you began to vocalize your gathering climax. Sharp teeth nipped at your ear as the creature inside you twitched and pressed deeper.

"Enough, you will not jeopardize my plans." Raphael bit out. "Remove yourself."

The cambion stifled your whine of protest, dragging you by the back of your head into a searing kiss. His hips lifted and you were once again riding the devil. Your devil.

Hands spread you from behind, their touch familiar and yet foreign. Raphael's fingers kept your face from straying from his own. "Keep your eyes on me, pet." He murmured, his breathing growing shallow. "Relax, let us in. No harm will come to you this night."

[hornedstorys]

Jason Todd x Reader - you are Pregnant and he saves you Part 1

Warnings: Threats from Gotham men, pregnancy (in case someone doesn't feel like it), childbirth, fear, pain, labor. Jason is there for you and gives you support - the world just needs a protective baby daddy like Jason

Synopsis: You are pregnant and Red Hood saves you when you are in danger and suddenly his protective instincts awaken and he looks after you until the birth.

You were on your way home, you had visited your grandma who lived a few blogs away and you helped her from time to time, but since your pregnancy you couldn't do much anymore. So you just talked to her and helped with the laundry.

Your feet hurt and your baby told you today how exhausted he was too. He or she kicked your belly and you sighed and patted your belly.

“I know little one, I want to go home too,” you whispered and kept walking. It was kind of fresh today and an uneasy feeling rose up in you as you walked along the empty streets of Gotham. You tried to stay calm, because you didn't want to worry your baby. It would probably only be a few more weeks before you gave birth and you were all alone. You were afraid of the birth, but at the same time you were really looking forward to it and could hardly wait to hold your baby in your arms.

Your swollen feet were pressing into your shoes, but you didn't want to stop walking, because Gotham wasn't very pleasant at this time of day. But suddenly you heard voices behind you and you suddenly felt colder. It sounded like drunken men and that was all you needed. The fear inside you grew and suddenly the voices got louder.

“Who have we here,” the first one slurred, but you ignored it and kept walking. Your only concern was the child you had been carrying under your heart for months. You had to protect it and just get home quickly.

'Come on sweetie, stop', the next voice echoed through your head and you just whispered “leave me alone”, of course they didn't hear it. 'Keep walking' you say to yourself in your mind and your steps quicken. Your grip tightened around your swollen belly. Tears gathered in your eyes. Like a pack of hungry wolves, the men came closer and closer, but before their greedy hands could grab you, you bumped into something or someone. The smell of leather and metal hit your nose and you looked up.

A blood-red mask stared at you, the white holes that functioned as eyes looked down at you silently, but the head was turned slightly to the side, questioning. Again you heard the voices coming from the alleys, then you turned back to the strange avenger.

“Please help me,” you begged him. His white masked eyes pierced your form and his gaze fell on your round belly, which you were still holding protectively, and then the voices of the men reached him as well. He grabbed you gently but firmly and pulled you behind him. Your eyes fell on his weapons and you wondered who this strange avenger was. A mercenary? Was he an antihero? He had an intimidating aura, but somehow you had the feeling he would help you.

The men came towards you. There were three of them and when they saw the mercenary they flinched and stopped.

“Come on, hand over the doll,” one of them grinned crookedly and the mercenary noticed how you clung to him tighter and hid behind him.

“The lady is not interested,” his robotic voice came through the mask and his white eyes narrowed angrily. With one hand, he continued to hold you behind him. He wasn't known for rescuing poor damsels in distress, but leaving a pregnant woman to such disgusting people would haunt him for the rest of his life. Your helpless eyes made him weak and his protective instinct awoke, which was rare to never.

But the men didn't let up, the alcohol made them stupid and the mercenary was just waiting to shoot their heads off. He briefly tilted his head in your direction.

“This is about to get ugly. Close your eyes when I shoot,” your eyes widened but you just nodded. The first man attacked, but it was easy to bring him down with a strong blow. The next one got a bullet between the eyes and you had forgotten to close your eyes. Respectfully, you watched as all three were struck down and the mercenary put his weapons back in their sheaths, turning.

He turned to you and the look in your eyes clearly told him that you hadn't listened to him.

“I told you not to look,” his voice sounded slightly growly and you stumbled back, slightly startled. But you hadn't seen the garbage can behind you and stumbled backwards, but before you could scream, two strong hands grabbed you and pulled you against an iron chest. You gasped and gently the masked man pushed you back and looked down at you. You clung to his upper arms, trembling.

“Thank you,” you breathed and he just nodded, seeming to scrutinize you as if he were checking you for injuries.

“What are you doing out there all alone and heavily pregnant to boot?” He asked, pushing you slowly and gently out of the alley. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“I was visiting my grandma. I was just about to go home, I think I lost track of time. I'm not usually out at this time of night, even if I wasn't pregnant,” you explained and he nodded again.

“I think it's better if I take you home or can't your babydaddy pick you up?” he asked, confused and wondering how your partner could just leave you out there alone. As vulnerable as you were and with that bullet, you couldn't even really run. But he noticed that you paused and your eyes watered.

“There is no father,” you breathed and your gaze was lowered. The mercenary stiffened.

“He's dead.”

It sent shivers down his spine and he had to think back painfully to the time when he himself was dead. It traumatized him to this day and kept him awake. He had anxiety attacks and nightmares. His mask looked at you with as many emotions as possible and his heart ached as the past slowly caught up with him. But when he felt your small hand on his arm, he woke up from his stupor. He looked towards you and you smiled snaftly at him.

“I owe you one… Uh.”

“Red Hood,” he clarified to you and you looked at him with wide eyes. You had heard of this avenger a few times before, many work colleagues had spoken of him and now you were standing in front of him in person.

“Wow, you're the Red Hood?”

E puffed in amusement and nodded.

“The real one, but most people who see me aren't so happy to see me,” his tone broke a little as he thought of his anti-hero life. He had killed many people and he would continue to do so. But he thought it was kind of cute that you looked at him so impressed.

“Because you kill people?” Your question snapped him out of his thoughts and he nodded again.

“Where do you live?” He asked and you tried to divert the subject. You gave him your address. He really did accompany you the whole way and every shadowy figure you met at this time of night gave you a wide berth. Red Hood's gaze was steely and frightening, but he only did this to keep these people away from you.

You were now standing at your door and before you opened it you turned to him once more, a soft smile on your lips.

“You saved me, Red Hood. I think you're a good guy. Good night and thank you again”, the masked man widened his eyes and was about to say something, his hand raised, but at that moment you disappeared through the door.

“… good night,” he breathed, staring at the door sign.

The mercenary couldn't get you out of his mind. He was sitting in his usual spot, on top of a tall building, staring at the wild traffic. The hustle and bustle down there annoyed him, which is why he liked to go upstairs and enjoy the silence, but your face kept popping up in his mind's eye and your words wouldn't let him go.

'I think you're a good guy.'

He snorted, amused and snivelling.

“If you only knew,” he whispered, staring at the red helmet in his hands. The mask that protected him and strengthened him. It hid his emotions and made him the cold murderer that he was… that he had to be and wanted to be. He was not a good man, he was broken and sick. His thoughts were wild, they went off the rails and his temper rose. He had anger issues, adhd and insomnia. He killed so many people every day that even Satan would be afraid that he would go to hell. Since his death, everything was just different and his jaw tightened hard. Then he stood up and put his helmet back on his head and took one last look at all the commotion before he left.

You stood up straight in your room and folded the laundry, but suddenly you were startled by a knock on your window. Confused, you pulled the curtains aside and your mouth fell open when you saw him.

He pointed downwards and you understood and opened the window.

“What do I have the honor of doing?” You asked him with a grin and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I wanted to check on you to see if you were… You two… fine,” you blushed at his words and your cheeks were almost the same color as his helmet. You were glad to hear him mention your child as well.

“We're fine, a little exhausted, but fine,” you told him and were about to continue folding the laundry, but he took the top from your hand. You looked at him in confusion.

“Can I help you?” You raised an eyebrow and his white eyes stared at you intently, then you nodded cautiously.

“Of course, if you want,” you almost laughed.

“I'm sorry if I suddenly burst in like that,” his robotic voice apologized and you dismissed it with a wave of your hand.

“Oh, it's all good. I really appreciate your help and it's nice not to be all alone for once,” you say and sit down on your bed. Your gaze followed his gloved hands and how they folded the laundry. It was a bit messy, but you found it really adorable and also that he came over. Your hand rested gently on your stomach and Red Hood kept looking at it. He found it fascinating how life grew so easily inside you. That something so big grew from two tiny parts was simply a sensation.

“Do you have a family?” You suddenly asked him and he stiffened briefly.

“Yes and no”, his words confused you.

“I have a family, but I've distanced myself from them and prefer to live my life alone,” he explained, putting the folded laundry back in the basket, which he then placed next to your wardrobe. Carefully, he sat down on the bed next to you without getting anything dirty and stared down at his gloves.

“That's a real shame, family can be so important. But if you had good reasons, I can really understand that.” Your gaze now rested on his gloves as well. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

“He fell,” you began, and Hood's arm twitched briefly, but he remained still. His breathing was heavy and his throat tightened.

“He fell in the war… and he told me he'd be back soon,” you laughed, but your laughter turned into sobs and the tears made their way out of your eyes. You got up with an apology and grabbed a tissue.

“Now I'm here pregnant and alone and I really hate being so helpless. Sometimes I just don't have the strength, you know,” you whispered, sniffling and wiping the tears from your cheeks. Suddenly, two broad arms wrapped around your back and pressed you against a warm chest. The tears flowed again and you and Hood sank to the floor together. You held on tightly to his leather jacket and somehow the smell of him touched you.

Hood held on to you tightly and wouldn't let you go. He just stared at the wall and felt your trembling form. He felt so sorry for you and was shocked by the emotions that arose in him. And ever since that day, he swore to be there for you and to protect you. To protect you both.

Red Hood kept his word. He came pretty much every day or night. He looked after you, helped you do the laundry, even tried to cook, even if he still found it difficult from time to time, but your laughter when he fried the eggs really filled him up and he finally felt at home again. He noticed how his cold heart melted with each passing day.

But he never took off his helmet. He also never gave you his real name because he was afraid to tear down his walls completely and show you everything. But you understood and didn't push him to do anything. You weren't afraid of his mask and it became part of your everyday life.

He brought you two hamburgers every time he was hungry after the patrol and you were able to eat almost as much as he did. Your hunger was still not satisfied and he found it really amusing.

“You really can eat a lot,” he laughed and you grimaced.

“I'll eat for two too, dear,” you defended, biting into the second hamburger and moaning as the taste tempted your mouth. You closed your eyes.

“These are the best burgers I've ever eaten!” You moaned and Hood shook his head in amusement.

“You know it's not quite true about 'I'm eating for two'. It's a myth,” he clarified to you, but you interrupted him and put an index finger to his helmet where his mouth would normally be.

“Please shut up, Hood. I just need two burgers,” he puffed in amusement and raised his hands. You patted your belly and sighed in pleasure as you finished eating and Red Hood glanced at your round belly again. You noticed and carefully took his hand, you felt him stiffen and as you brought his large hand to your belly his eyes widened.

“Don't…” he started, but you didn't give in and his weight was already on your stomach. His complete tension disappeared and his eyes widened even more when he felt your belly under his glove, but he wanted to feel more, so he took off his gloves and for the first time you saw his hands. Scarred, calloused and big. You slid your top over your belly to let him feel your warm, bare skin. He gasped as the baby kicked at his hand, as if to say 'Hello, I'm here!'

His hand felt strange against your stomach at first, but at the same time it made you feel so safe and a comforting feeling rushed through your body and a soft smile played around your lips. You put your hand on his and his helmet swayed in your direction.

“I think you'd make a great father, Red Hood,” he froze and his white eyes widened. You continued to smile at him when you saw his reaction. He had never felt so much pride and joy in himself and… Love. So much love that he almost felt sick and hearing such words from your mouth made him weak. He couldn't deny that his feelings for you had grown stronger with each passing day. It was as if fate had brought you together and now he was sitting here, stroking your baby bump and thinking about what it would be like if you were carrying his child under your heart.

“Jason. Call me Jason Todd.”

Jason was on patrol and you were lying down at home, you didn't know when he would come, but somehow you felt restless today. Your back ached and your stomach felt like it was going to burst. It was tight and you moaned and bit your lips.

“What's wrong kiddo?” You asked your child, it felt so restless inside you and you had a dull feeling that today was the day.

Suddenly you felt a black sting and you gasped loudly as water ran down your legs.

'Oh no! You thought to yourself and just then Jason came through the door, bags in hand.

“Hey (Y/n) I got-” he immediately faltered when he saw your hunched form. He dropped the bags and strode towards you with long strides. The look on his mask was worried.

“Jason,” you groaned and clawed at his arm, ‘I think baby's coming,’ at these words he didn't hesitate and led you into your car. He drove as fast as he could through Gotham City and to the nearest hospital.

You lay screaming in the delivery room while the midwife sat between your legs and gave you instructions. They hadn't let Jason in with you, they were AFRAID of him and possibly worried about you too.

“Let him in now!” you scream “I need him” you whimper and Jason could hear your agonizing words. It tore at his heart and anger built up inside him at the same time. He slowly lost his patience and his hands clenched into fists. Jason stomped towards the door and looked grimly at everyone through his mask and then he pushed through the wall that separated you from him.

The sight of you froze him, clinging to the bedsteads, your face contorted in pain. He quickly tore the helmet off his head and knelt down next to your bed. Your eyes widened as his steely gray eyes looked worriedly into yours and he had also thrown away his gloves. His warm, rough hand ran gently over your cheek.

“You're doing great, my beauty,” he praised you and you probably would have blushed at the endearment if you weren't in so much pain.

“It's almost done,” said the midwife and Jason held his hand out to you and you clasped it tightly.

“Hang in there, (Y/n). You are so strong, you are the strongest woman I know,” he whispers in your ear and none of those words were a lie. You really were the strongest woman he had ever met and you didn't need superpowers to do it.

With one last push, you finally made it. The cry of a newborn echoed through the delivery room and, exhausted and smiling, you leaned your wet forehead against Jason and closed your eyes. He gently stroked your damp hair and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then your baby was finally placed on your chest.

“It's a girl!” The doctor's assistant announced happily, your eyes shining. Jason looked at the little bundle with wide eyes. She was so small and fragile and her fingers were so tiny. He didn't even dare to atment for fear that he would blow her away like a butterfly.

“Do you want to hold her?” You asked him gently and his eyes widened. He hesitated at first, but you insisted and slowly placed your daughter in his arms. He just stared at her, his gray eyes never leaving her and his heart beating wildly against his chest.

“I told you you'd be a good father, Jason,” you smiled, and Jason gave you the brightest smile he'd never given anyone else.

[puck-luck]

thinking about reader who gives a hell of a lot of hickeys during sex, especially on Quinn's inner thighs and his neck/chest...

there would be sooo many, and Quinn would be at the rink the next day getting changed for practice and all his teammates are just like "what?? the fuck???" and joking ab how Quinn has a vampire for a gf LMAO

anyways :)

warnings: lotsss of hickeys, cockwarming, quinn coming inside fem!reader (DAMN y'all tryna get PREGNANT or something??????), mentions of oral (f receiving), mentions of shower sex, implications that quinn and reader don't mind their sex life being a little public... pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader request: duhhhh see up above? wc: 1099

You’ve been feeling extra needy lately. Quinn blames it on preseason starting so soon, indulging you with a little smile on his face. He knows that in just a few days, he’s going to have his first practice back with the team, and then things will kick into full gear. He won’t have all the time in the world to lay around with you, so in his own way, Quinn is treating himself by indulging you.

And it is a treat, because if he hadn’t indulged you, he wouldn’t have the weight of you on his lap. You wouldn’t be grinding against his growing cock in languorous motions as you suck a hickey onto his jaw. His hands wouldn’t be on your hips, helping guide your motions. It feels so right that Quinn can hardly imagine leaving you for a few hours– not when things like this are happening.

“Q,” you mumble into his neck, lathering a kiss over the red mark you just made.

“Hm?” Quinn replies, opening his eyes just enough to take you in when you pull away. 

“Can I sit on your cock?” You ask, blissfully innocent. 

Quinn almost dies of a heart attack then and there. It’s written all in your voice– all you want to do is sit on his cock, have him inside of you, keep him warm. You just want to be close, and who is Quinn to deny you?

“Yeah, baby,” Quinn agrees. “Just let me get out of these shorts, yeah?”

You nod and swing your leg around so you’re tucked into his side. As Quinn lifts his hips to discard his clothes and reveal his length, you lean into his chest and press a kiss over his heart. Tilting your head up a little more, you kiss over his neckline and take some of his skin into your mouth, biting softly. You leave another mark on his chest, to match the one on his jaw.

Once his cock is free from his clothes, Quinn wraps his hand around it and pumps himself slowly. It jerks in his hand when you move your mouth to the column of his neck, petting over his stomach. He makes a soft little noise as you suck.

You pull away and admire your handiwork, tilting your head and smiling at the bruise with hooded eyes. You clamber back onto Quinn’s lap, pulling your panties to the side, and sink down. Your eyes roll back as the bulbous head of his cock sinks into you, past your entrance and settling deep in your core.

Quinn lets out a long breath as you lower yourself, eyes trained on your face through his eyelashes. You’re above him, but when you’re finally seated again, your lips are just in front of Quinn’s. He can’t help but lean in and capture them, not when they’re looking so pink and plush from marking him up.

“You look pretty,” Quinn tells you, smiling like a dope.

“Mmm,” you tease, giggling a little. “You said the same thing when I had to pick you and your brothers up last week because you got too drunk.”

You reach up and trace a finger over Quinn’s nose, biting your lip to hold in a laugh when he nips at the digit and pulls your hips forward, rocking you a little bit. He fills you to the brim, pressing into you in a satisfying way that no other man has. Quinn’s it for you.

“You’re sweet,” you concede, leaning in to kiss Quinn again. 

When you part, he breathes in deeply and leans his head back on the couch, still holding your hips tightly. 

You reassume your earlier position, kissing down his neck and marking him until his skin is littered with little bruises of varying shades of red and purple. Some are sizeable, like the one on the side of his neck where his pulse raced under your tongue and you couldn’t help but dive in for more, desperate to feel him throbbing beneath you. Other hickeys are smaller, just a pinch of a mark, like the heart you artfully sucked onto his pec. 

When you’re done, you start to rock back and forth on his cock, your hands pressing against his chest for leverage. Quinn’s eyes practically fly open, a wounded groan leaving him as he flexes his muscles involuntarily. 

“I made you mine,” you tell Quinn in a low voice. “Now, you’ve got to make me yours.”

Quinn keens at that, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. His hips stutter up into you, finding an aborted rhythm because he doesn’t want to draw himself out of your heat. He needs to feel all of you, and needs for you to feel all of him. Quinn buries his face in your neck and your hands find his hair, cradling the strands and keeping him close to you.

Quinn’s other hand finds its way to your ass for leverage, grabbing the skin and kneading it with desperation. He’ll leave his own fingerprint-shaped bruises there from the force of it, and he’ll admire his marks in the shower later, when he convinces you to let him eat you out from behind. 

He whimpers when his orgasm hits, filling you with his warmth until his cock is overstimulated and spent. You kiss him, soft and slow, swallowing the groans that leave his lips.

“You’re perfect,” Quinn praises, chest rising and falling in even breaths. He continues to stare up at you like he’s kneeling at an altar. 

You smile down and push his hair out of his face, leaning in to pepper kisses over every inch of his face. He laughs and eventually pushes you away, pulling out and standing to grab a towel to clean you up. 

You cuddle on the couch for a while after, legs thrown over Quinn’s lap and head tucked against his chest. 

Three days later, when Quinn arrives to practice, the bruises still haven’t faded completely into his skin. He grins down at the little heart made of hickeys on his chest, catching his final glimpse of your marks before he pulls his pads on and prepares for practice. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Petey says from the stall next to Quinn. “Is your girlfriend secretly a vampire?”

Quinn grins at him, impish. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He sticks his tongue out at Petey like a bragging sibling, then turns back to his locker. He smiles to himself.

You’re getting your nails done right now, and he’ll have the marks on his back to show it tomorrow.

notes: hi quinn hughes i miss u and also what r the odds u and i could recreate this fic at a future date, be honest

[pawnshopbleus]

These Are the Days Six - Friends

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader High School AU

For the summary, warnings, and more please visit here.

Previous Chapter.

Rain in California was scarce. No matter how much you prayed for the water droplets to fall from the sky, your prayers were never answered. In Washington, the rain never stopped. 

The grey clouds should have been a sign that it would rain, but you weren’t looking at the sky. The whiteboard in front of you displayed some boring war movie. One thing about Mr. Miller is that he thinks a movie will help the class more than a textbook ever could. Last week, he had you watch some Clint Eastwood film about cowboys that went into space. 

In other words, Mr. Miller is an extraordinary teacher. 

Twenty minutes before the class ends, Mr. Miller pauses the movie and turns on the lights. The entire class groans as their eyes get adjusted to the white lights. 

Mr. Miller reaches into his bag and brings out a stack of white papers. One by one, he hands out the last test you all took. It wasn’t about space cowboys (although you wouldn’t have minded that). It was about the three branches of government. 

When he gets to your table, he slides your test to you and does the same to Abby. Meet me after class , is written on the front in red letters next to your perfect score. You hear Abby sigh in frustration. You know that this is hard for her, especially with the softball season coming up and their field is still in shambles. There’s so much pressure on her shoulders and no one is cutting her any slack. 

The bell rings and students jump at the opportunity to leave the classroom. Abby and you stay behind, slowly packing your things into your bag. 

Mr. Miller pulls up a chair in front of you both. 

“Now, I know you two have been studying together and I can see Abby trying in class but it’s not transferring to the test. That’s what I need you two to focus on. I want you to succeed, Abby. I really do but you need to practice a little bit more,” Mr. Miller says before pushing off his chair and returning to his desk. 

You and Abby make your way to the door. 

“Wait,” Mr Miller holds his hand up. “If it helps, you two should go to each other’s houses. Maybe being in a familiar environment could help you focus better.” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Your bike is still missing. The posters that Dina and Jesse helped you put up are slowly starting to bleed as raindrops fall on them. 

You pull your hood over your head and your headphones in your ears. You curse yourself for wearing canvas shoes on a rainy day and get to walking. The cold air nips at your face and the wind ruffles your clothes. 

Most days, the roads are clear but that’s not the case today. Cars are bumper to bumper and their horns are blaring. It must be true that people can’t drive when it rains. There are multiple people from your school that you recognize. None of them even bat an eye at you until you see the familiar truck that carries the unmistakable scent of dirt. This time, it doesn’t just smell like dirt and must, but there’s a flowery scent that carries through the chilly air. 

Their arguing is muffled due to the windows being rolled up, but you’re almost certain that you heard the words “pregnant” and “cheating.” You aren’t much for gossip but you really wish you could be a taco wrapper tossed in the back seat right now. You want to know what’s going on because by the looks of Abby’s tear-stained face, it isn’t good. 

Abby gets out of the car and slams the door. Owen’s protests are muffled by the sound of rain hitting the concrete sidewalk. 

“Abby, are you okay?” you ask.

She turns and looks at you in surprise and then, as if she doesn’t know who you are, turns and walks away.

The rest of the walk home is spent thinking about what you just saw. You’ve never seen Abby and Owen fight but that didn’t seem like just fighting. Over the past few weeks, Abby has been a different person when Owen is around. She never smiles or talks like she used to. The girl she once was is gone and she’s been replaced by this stoic robot. 

When you get home, you take a warm shower and get changed into some different clothes. After the day you’ve had all you want to do is relax and watch TV but your phone rings as soon as you sit down on the couch. 

Dina’s voice nearly causes your heart to fall out of your chest. 

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” “Owen got Mel, the captain of the cheerleading team pregnant. Everyone is talking about it!” 

“Are you serious?” “Yeah. Poor Abby. She suspected that Owen was cheating on her for a while but she never had any proof until now.” 

Dina loves gossip but she has a way of handling the information so delicately. It makes one think why they are vainly talking about another human. But this isn’t gossip. This is simply one friend passing on information about another friend. Regardless, you care about Abby and it seems like she needs someone that she can trust right now. 

Dina wishes you a good night and you hang up. Your house is silent which only serves as another confirmation. You need to call Abby. 

The phone rings a total of five times before she answers. 

“Hello,” she says and it’s obvious that she’s been crying. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I-” she sighs. “I’m fine. Look, I’m sorry for what you saw today. Owen and I are having some…problems right now.”

“Abby, I know what’s going on. If you ever need anything just know that I’ll be here for you.” 

You don’t know if she’s grateful or not because you can hear her sniffle and then cry as the emotions get to her. 

“You're a really good friend,” she says through tears. 

Something about the word ‘friend’ gets to you. It makes you swallow your words and smile through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, friends.”

The phone is silent for a while. The only thing you can hear is Abby's sniffles and the sound of crickets chirping outside. And that’s how you fall asleep. On the couch while on the phone with your friend.

Next Chapter.

Taglist: @soupycloud

Thank you for reading!

[miniwheat77]

Flowers. (König x Reader.)

!CW! So cute you’ll die

This was a request, you can find the ask here. I did remix the ask a little, hope you don’t mind :)

König is a lot of things.

He’s hardcore. Insensitive when he needs to be. He’s ruthless, deadly, a silent killer despite the massive size of him. He’s skilled when it comes to his job, he’s not afraid. König always thought he’d be better working alone. With his social anxiety and shyness, he wasn’t always interested in going out in public when he was off work. He liked to be alone. Until he met you of course.

You were kind to König. Immediately. You were gentle with him, and understood everything he struggled with, even what you didn’t know. You never pushed him to tell you anything, never pushed him to speak to people in public, and you’d even step up and talk for him sometimes. König caught feelings fast, in just a couple months. He felt like he was in love with you. You always went out of your way to make him feel comfortable. Greeting him with that pretty smile of yours. The loving eyes he gave you from afar always went unnoticed. Until you made the first move. When the two of you were sitting outside of the infirmary, you placed your hand over his and reassured him everything would be okay. The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know, and you confessed your feelings for him right then and there. That’s how you ended up where you are now.

You’re laying on a soft blanket in the grass, you’re in a park in the middle of the day. You’ve got a growing baby bump, and König is placing tiny white and purple flowers in your hair. Admiring you. He’s so gentle with you. He was protective, he always was. But even more so, since finding out you were pregnant. He’s still wearing his hood but that’s okay, you’d never ever ask him to take it off when he wasn’t comfortable. Once he’s decorated your hair with tons of tiny little flowers, he pulls out the Polaroid you’d gotten him for his birthday, something he wasn’t used to.

He snapped a couple pictures, waving them back and fourth before setting them out. “So ein schönes Mädchen” he smiles, trying hard not to blush. König thinks a lot about how far he’s come since he met you. He’s in a park, by choice. In the middle of the day when there are others out. He’s improved a lot and he owes everything to you for always being so kind to him. When König first found out you were pregnant, he was terrified. He had no experience with children. He hasn’t spoken to his family in years, not really by choice. But because of the military. He had no time on his hands because he was always busy at work. He had no other reason to be home. He had no idea what to expect and he stressed so much over the fact that he would be a horrible father, that it kept him awake. His entire perception on the military changed when he found out he was going to have a child, and it made leaving you alone to go on missions that much harder. You always reassured him. Always stood by his side and he felt horrible because when you were sick and already down, he wasn’t helping by stressing so much.

When König puts his camera away, he’s watching you peacefully. You’ve got your eyes closed and you’re soaking up the sun. You only open your eyes when you hear an “erm” leave König mouth. You sit up and see he’s looking to the side, your eyes follow along until you see a little girl waddling over to you. She’s got a large orange flower in her hand. A shy smile on her lips as she moves closer to König. “Here.” She reaches the flower out to him. “You put here” She tucks it underneath the strap of his hat, where his ear would be. His cheeks are red underneath his hood. “Now you both pretty.” She claps her little hands together. König is smiling under his hood but she can’t see it. “Thank you. I will cherish it.” He lowers his head as a thank you. Pretty soon, a worried woman is approaching, sighing in relief when she sees the tiny girl. “I’m so sorry. I thought I lost her.” She breathes, lifting her up. “It’s okay, no worries. She’s a very sweet girl.” You giggle.

König doesn’t listen much to what the two of you say, but is more focused on the fact that a little girl would approach him. She wasn’t scared of him. It gave him hope for when he’s a dad. When König goes to sleep that night, he’s got a lazy smile on his face.

—

“König! Have you seen my black jeans?” You call. Walking into the kitchen to see him handing his little girl a sandwich with the crust off of it. “No I haven’t, love.” Earning a smile from you. She had him wrapped so tight around her little finger. He picks her up, sitting her up on his side as he goes to put everything away. König picked her little outfit today, a little sundress and white pants. He was amazing father from day one. Patient, kind, loving. All of his mates at work made fun of him because of how soft he’d become, but he just couldn’t help himself. His little girl was so cute, and he swore the day she was born, if anybody ever hurt her in any way, he’d kill them.