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smileysuh · 8 months

Text

the alpha's right hand

🌙 staring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Mingyu had thought he’d lost you - if even for a moment - and he’s not willing to lose you ever again. He doesn’t want you running into the woods anymore when you’re having emotions, he wants you running to him, and he kisses you as if to say ‘please, never leave.’ He had always thought Seungcheol would be his alpha, but you’d shown up and flipped his world upside down. Mingyu doesn’t care about appeasing his friend anymore- all he cares about is appeasing you- pleasuring you, giving you everything you could ever possibly want, everything you could ever need.

tw/cw. a/b/o au & power structures, mentions of a bad pack past, one mention of child death, blood/childbirth, exhibitionism/outside sex, clothed dry humping, fingering, mutual masturbation, hand job, big dick!Mingyu, pussy stretching, unprotected sex, pullout method, groping, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, needy!Mingyu, hair pulling, orgasm control, small noncon/impreg thoughts, etc… I pet names: (hers) alpha. (his) Big guy, puppy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 14.4k

🍭 aus. a/b/o au, werewolf au, alpha!reader, beta!Mingyu, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. this fic is in the Blood Moon universe, if I end up writing another fic for this au, it will get a masterlist, but until then read cheol here

Mingyu loves thunder storms. There’s something almost therapeutic about the percussion of the sky, the flashes of light and the smell of rain in the air. It’s been a dry summer, and the water is a much-needed reprieve.

The beta wolf sits on his sheltered wrap-around cabin porch, a mug of tea in his hand while he watches the sky. Some of his packmates have called him crazy, but Mingyu doesn’t care. They can bundle up inside, but a summer storm is just what he needs to clear his head.

Whats the point of being a wild thing if you don’t appreciate the weather? Mingyu knows he shouldn’t question alphas, but Soonyoung and Jihoon are particularly prissy about rain. Seungcheol, however, doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s out chopping wood, a white t-shirt sticking tight to his muscles while he swings the ax down on a log.

Mingyu had asked if he needed any help, but Seungcheol had refused. The beta thinks his alpha must be bulking up in preparation for his child on the way, and Mingyu doesn’t blame him.

No one would be crazy enough to challenge Seungcheol as head alpha, but in the dark corners of Mingyu’s mind, he supposes there’s always a chance. And with a new baby, Seungcheol is at least partially exposed. Mingyu admires his alpha for taking extra precautions like this.

Seungcheol stops cutting wood, straightening and looking out toward the trees. Mingyu is on high alert immediately, putting his tea down and standing, sniffing at the wind.

The cedar and newly moist dry earth are predominantly the scents that overwhelm him, but there’s something else too,something underneath the natural pleasantries-

Then Mingyu hears the snapping of twigs, as if something large is coming through the brush a few hundred feet away. Mingyu knows immediately that it’s not a bear, no bears come through their property, they’d be stupid to try- no, the scent is a much more familiar one; wet wolf. But as far as Mingyu knows, the whole pack is inside their cabins-

Seungcheol squares his shoulders as he stairs out at the trees, and Mingyu bounds down the steps to join his alpha, staying a few feet back. The ax in Seungcheol’s hand glints in the grey light.

“Cheol?” Mingyu asks, looking for guidance.

“Shh,” the alpha tuts, grip tightening on the wooden ax handle.

Something large stumbles through the tree line. A huge, amber-coloured wolf. You’re much too big to be a regular canine, and Mingyu knows immediately that the animal in front of them is no animal at all, you’re a person- and his suspicion is confirmed when you shiver, slowly beginning the transformation back into your regular form.

Watching a werewolf shift is always a unique experience, and Mingyu’s breath catches during the three seconds it takes for the wolf to become a girl. You crumble against the grass, naked and breathing heavily.

Mingyu can’t help himself, he immediately tugs off his flannel, running toward you to cover your modesty. “Oh my god-” he whispers. “Are you okay?!”

You nod weakly, letting out a soft groan, and his heart races when you curl up against his thigh, fingers tugging at the denim of his jeans.

“Mingyu, step back from her,” Seungcheol commands, and for the first time in a long time, Mingyu questions his alpha’s judgment.

“But-”

“Just do it,” the alpha growls, eyes flashing red as he bares his teeth at Mingyu.

Mingyu lets out a breath, but he does as he’s told, retreating from you on the ground to go join Seungcheol.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Seungcheol says to you. “Where’s your pack?”

“I don’t have a pack,” you respond, fingers grabbing at the grass as you lift your head to look at them.

“I find that hard to believe,” Seungcheol muses. “Alpha females are rare, they always have a pack.”

“Not me,” you shake your head and Mingyu is doing his best to get this whole situation straight. You? A female alpha? There aren’t many of those- not pure blood ones anyways- usually female alphas become alpha when they mate with a male alpha, but you- “I ran away.”

“You ran away?” Mingyu asks in shock.

The life of a loner wolf can be deadly, let alone for a female-

“They tried-” you sit up, wrapping the flannel around your body, “They tried to marry me off to an alpha twice my age. I refused. And then I ran.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seungcheol says after a brief pause. “But I still don’t see how you ended up here.”

“I heard you’re a pack with three alphas- I thought… I thought if anyone would take me in it would be you.” There’s a vulnerability in your eyes, and a sincerity in the shaking of your voice.

Mingyu can see that you’re desperate, and it feels as if maybe their pack truly is your only hope- the rain beats down harder, and Seungcheol has a staring match with you while you sit in the mud.

“We wouldn’t know what to do with a female alpha,” he says finally.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you insist. “Just give me a place to stay, a home, a family- and I promise I won’t challenge you. I’ll be loyal, I’ll back you up, I promise. I never wanted to be a pack leader- I never wanted the responsibility, please- I have nowhere else to go- everyone else would marry me off to another alpha-”

“Seungcheol?” a pretty female voice calls through the storm, and both wolves snap their heads towards the sound. Seungcheol’s glowing new bride is standing on the deck of her cabin, one hand wrapped protectively around her large baby bump.

“Go back inside!” Seungcheol shouts, and his wife does so without a second thought. She’s very submissive in this last trimester, and she trusts Seungcheol to make decisions for her best interest above all things.

“You have females here,” you say quietly.

“Not female alphas,” Seungcheol states.

“Still- maybe you need a midwife- birthing alphas can be a rough situation-”

Seungcheol adjusts his grip on the ax. “Are you familiar with midwifery?”

“Oh yes,” you nod. “I had four younger brothers, I was there during all their births.”

“If you have four younger brothers, why aren’t they with you?”

“I had four younger brothers,” you repeat. Even from a few feet away, Mingyu can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and it’s not the rain. “My eldest brother- he- well, he didn’t want to be challenged.”

“You’re from the Arcadia Pack,” Seungcheol says suddenly, and things click in Mingyu’s head a moment after the words slip from his alpha’s mouth.

The Arcadia pack is a nomadic pack, very off-grid, known for their archaic practices- Mingyu had even heard a horror story about one alpha eating his own male offspring, although, Mingyu had always thought that was just a spin on the Greek/Roman myths, made to scare betas about the dangers of being an alpha.

You nod, looking down at the ground.

A muscle in Seungcheol’s jaw feathers. “You can stay,” he says gruffly. “Mingyu,” the beta steps forward, “we don’t have any extra cabins, and I don’t trust anyone other than you to take care of her. You can do this for me, right?”

“Of course,” Mingyu nods, already running through his mind what possible things he could cook to warm you up.

Seungcheol begins to head back to his own home, but then he stops, looking back. “If Wonwoo has a problem with sharing his cabin, tell him to move in with Hansol and Seungkwan until I sort out sleeping arrangements. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

“Got it,” Mingyu nods enthusiastically, watching his alpha depart.

As soon as Seungcheol’s cabin door is closed, Mingyu’s body kicks into high gear. He wants to rush to you, but at the same time, he wants to warm you up, so he opts for running to his deck, grabbing his discarded tea before jogging back to you.

“Here,” he says, kneeling down to hand the mug to you. “It’s hot, drink it, and I’ll help you inside.”

You accept the cup with shaky fingers.

Mingyu gives you a moment to take a sip, then he reaches for you, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to your feet-

The flannel covering your naked body slips off your shoulder, and Mingyu catches a slight glimpse of your breasts before you’re tugging the fabric back around yourself. The beta can feel his skin heating, and he looks away, swallowing thickly. “Come on,” he says again, “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Sweet beta,” you laugh, leaning on him. “Don’t you know us alphas don’t get sick so easily?”

It’s so odd for him to be around a female alpha. He’s used to taking care of women- his beta little sisters who he’d grown up with, his alpha’s beta wife- he doesn’t know to handle you, not really, and he has no clue what to say as he helps you toward the cabin.

The door opens before you even get to the steps, and Mingyu’s cabin mate, Wonwoo, is leaning in the door frame.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he states.

“Well, you heard what Cheol said,” Mingyu insists, helping you up the stairs. “If you don’t like it, you can move in with Hansol and Seungkwan.”

“Where’s she even going to sleep?” Wonwoo asks, moving to the side so you and Mingyu can pass.

“My room,” Mingyu states. “She can have my room.”

“You? On the couch?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Good luck with that.”

“What’s your problem?” you say finally, looking Wonwoo up and down.

He meets your gaze. “In my opinion, we already have two too many alphas in this pack.”

“Well It’s not up to you,” you insist.

“You’re right about that, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” Wonwoo growls darkly, narrowing his eyes.

“Wonwoo, please-” Mingyu groans, reaching out to grab his friend’s forearm. “Can you go grab her some clothes from my room, I have to start making some food for her, she’s cold-”

“She’s fine,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“Wonwoo, please,” Mingyu repeats, and the other wolf finally lumbers off. “Look,” he says, turning to you again, “the bathroom is through that door right there. The water isn’t that hot, but it will be enough to warm you up while I get some ramen going-”

“I’m used to cold water,” you cut him off, handing your mug of tea to him. “I’m sure even warm would be better than I’ve had recently.”

Mingyu blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to say as you walk away from him, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you. The sound of water thrums to life a moment later and Mingyu finally shakes himself out of his daze.

Wonwoo returns holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, he places them on the floor outside the bathroom door before joining Mingyu in the kitchen.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“She needs our help.”

“It shouldn’t be us,” Wonwoo points out. “It should be Jihoon or Soonyoung.”

“You sound like you’re trying to marry her off to one of them-” Mingyu’s nose scrunches with distaste. “Besides, if we did that, and they did get together, that would be a double alpha pairing and it would be very dangerous for Seungcheol.”

“So dangerous, in fact, Seungcheol might kick them out, or we might be forced to put them down. Two birds, one stone.”

Mingyu freezes, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turns to his best friend. “Wonwoo… I think you should leave.”

“You want me to leave?” Wonwoo asks in shock.

“I don’t think it’s good for you to be here right now.” Mingyu can’t believe he’s saying any of this- Wonwoo is his best friend- but… Wonwoo’s never acted this way before. Swallowing thickly, Mingyu squares his chest, straightening to his full height while he looks down at his friend. “Yeah, I think you should go to Hansol and Seungkwan’s cabin until we get this housing arrangement sorted out.”

“Seriously?” Wonwoo scoffs, but Mingyu doesn’t back down, doesn’t adjust his stance an inch. He stays steady, and after a few seconds, Wonwoo crumbles. “Fine. have it your way. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when this whole thing ends badly.”

Wonwoo doesn’t even bother packing a bag, he simply grabs his jacket off the couch and heads to the door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Mingyu finally lets out a breath, deflating, and then, he goes back to getting water boiled for ramen.

You listen in on the argument in the kitchen. These beta wolves don’t seem to be aware of how good a female alpha’s senses can be. You’re even more sensitive than males, it’s a natural adaptation to help mothers be better suited to take care of their young, and here you are, using it to eavesdrop on two stupid betas.

Well, the big one doesn’t seem so stupid. He seems kind of nice actually. But his friend? A dickhead.

You smile when you hear the front door slam, and you listen to the wolf lumber down the stairs, then the crunch of gravel as he walks away.

This will be a much easier living arrangement for you. Having one beta male around and in your space is going to be odd, but to have two would have been nearly too much for you. Their scent is everywhere, and when you get out of the shower, you find yourself staring down two towels.

You opt for the one that smells like the bigger wolf, and use it to dry off, trying to get used to his scent.

You’d heard one of them set clothes down outside the bathroom door, and you unlock it, opening it a sliver to peer out. You can hear the big wolf whistling in the kitchen while he cooks, and you quickly snatch the clothing into the bathroom, locking the door again.

Your pack has stayed in a few structures before, but many of them were hand built cabins deep in the wilderness. Running water - especially hot running water - is a luxury you’re not used to. When you wipe the steam off the mirror, assessing yourself through the reflective glass, you’re almost shocked to see how good you look.

You’d washed the dirt off your body- it’s been so long since you looked in a proper mirror, and you realize you even look pretty.

You shrug the hoodie and sweatpants on, marveling at how large they are on your much smaller form. They smell like the large wolf, everything does.

Standing in the bathroom, you do your best to psych yourself up. You’re an alpha for goodness sake- you don’t need to be afraid. Especially not when the wolf in the other room seems to be a complete softy- you can’t believe he’d given you tea and even his flannel- yeah, he seems nice, but you’ve not met many nice men in your life.

You exit the bathroom, tiptoeing to the kitchen. The wolf must be very preoccupied with his cooking because he doesn’t even look up. He’s focused on the ginger he’s grating, and the smell of the root mixes with the minced garlic already frying in a pot. It’s the first scent that’s not wolfish, and it makes your mouth begin to water as you watch.

“Hi,” you say finally.

The six-foot-two man jumps in shock.

He might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, he even clutches his chest.

“Hi,” he sighs.

“I’m y/n.”

He studies you. “Mingyu,” and then, he reaches out a hand.

You look down at his hand, and after a moment, you give it a small shake.

“Uh…” he licks his lips, “welcome to the pack I guess.”

“Thank you,” you nod, moving closer to look down at the garlic he’s cooking. You find there’s also green onions, and he adds the ginger while you watch. “Are you the pack chef?”

“Something like that,” Mingyu laughs. “I’m Seungcheol’s right-hand man. I do anything he needs, including cooking for new pack members it seems.”

“He didn’t tell you to do this,” you note.

“Okay, maybe I wanted to do this. Seungcheol has too much on his plate, he would have reminded me to cook for you if it had crossed his mind.”

You nod. “His mate is very pregnant. Must be hard for him.”

“Do you really have midwife skills?” Mingyu asks.

You nod again. “I live deep in the forest, it’s important for all the women to be part of the birthing process, including alphas.”

“Luckily we have a hospital half an hour away.”

“You can’t always make it to a hospital,” you point out. “Alpha deliveries can be sudden, and dangerous. If I was making suggestions to your alpha, I’d tell him to ask any and all female pack relatives to come and stay for a little while. If he has a mother, or sisters, or aunts, or cousins-”

“You really think that’s necessary?” Mingyu blinks at you, stirring the pot of golden aromatics while adding boiling water.

“I do,” you admit. “I’ve heard you’re an all male pack, except for the alpha’s mate, and I’d hoped there would be a few more women around-”

“A few of us have had girlfriends in the past, but nothing that stuck. It can be hard for them to deal with a pack that has three alphas,” Mingyu tells you, frowning.

“Four,” you correct. “It might be easier now that I’m here. I’ve always had good relationships with female pack members. I wouldn’t have been able to escape my last pack without them.”

“If you could help us find some female wolves to join, I’m sure all the guys here would be really grateful.”

“Including that buddy of yours?” you almost laugh. “What is it he said? He wants me to get with another alpha so you can take me out and kill two birds with one stone?”

“He didn’t-” Mingyu stammers.

“Tell me, of your two other alphas, which one do you have more issues with?” you ask, looking Mingyu up and down.

The large wolf sighs. “Soonyoung has been causing trouble lately.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“He was sort of hitting on Seungcheol’s mate for a while- looking at her a lot and stuff-” Mingyu adds the ramen to the pot, and you note how uncomfortable this is making him. He must not like confrontation.

Who would have thought, an alpha’s right-hand muscle man who doesn’t like fights.

“Are they going to have problems with me being here?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

“I mean- if anything, uh…” Mingyu swallows thickly, and you watch his adam’s apple bob with effort, “they might hit on you.”

“But as you said to that other guy earlier, if I don’t want to be a danger to Seungcheol, it would be wise for me to stay away from them.” You look down at the boiling ramen. “That was a smart observation from you.”

“Thanks?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“After dinner, I’ll need to sleep,” you tell him. “I ran all day to get here. But I can’t rest in your friend’s room.”

“You can have my room,” Mingyu is quick to assure you. “It’s cleaner than his anyways.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The wolf opens a cabinet, pulling out a bowl. He spoons it full of ramen and hands it to you.

“Aren’t you eating?” you ask.

“No,” he shakes his head, “this is for you. Something tells me you’ll want to eat all of it, and I had dinner an hour ago.”

He’s right. Ten minutes later you’ve eaten all the ramen.

Your body is warm, for the first time in what feels like ages. When you head into Mingyu’s bedroom, and slowly lay down on his soft bed, the mattress makes you groan. You’ve been sleeping on hides on the forest floor for months now-

Before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to sunlight streaming through the window, and for the first time in a long time, you simply allow yourself to bask in it. You curl up against Mingyu’s pillow, breathing in his scent. The big beta obviously wears cologne, something spicy, but you can smell cedar and notes of pine too. He’s a woodsy guy, and it’s familiar to you.

Sitting up, you stretch your arms above your head, groaning softly at the feeling in your muscles. This is what freedom is, and you can’t believe you’ve finally found it.

Making your way to Mingyu’s closet, you find a red and black flannel, and you slip it on, enjoying the softness of it. Then, you grab a pair of boxers.

When you’d left your pack, you hadn’t been able to take anything, and in wolf form, not even clothes made the journey here with you. All you have right now is mens underwear, and they’re large around your hips, but they’ll do better than walking around with nothing.

The wood floorboards creek as you tiptoe to the door, opening it to peer into the room beyond.

You can hear Mingyu’s soft snores coming from his friend’s room. When you make your way to the front door, it squeaks on its hinges, and the soft sleeping sounds come to halt. Then, there are footfalls, and Mingyu peers out of his friend’s room, blinking at you as he rubs his eyes with one hand.

“You’re awake,” he says.

“Early riser,” you nod, taking in his bare chest and the pair of sweatpants that are hanging dangerously low on his hips. “I was going to go look around.”

“Okay,” Mingyu sighs, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a groan. “Give me a second and I’ll come with you.”

“You can go back to sleep,” you suggest.

“Nah, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I’m not in any danger.” You know how to deal with male alphas if you come across either of the two that are bound to be lurking around outside.

“I’m not worried about you,” Mingyu says, disappearing into his friend’s room. “Worried about the other guys.”

You crack a smile. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because flannels look good on you,” Mingyu returns, torso covered in a black vneck, “and I doubt many of the pack know there’s a new alpha yet. Not sure how they’ll react.”

You suppose he has a point, and you stay quiet as he approaches you, slipping his feet into a pair of shoes by the door. Then he looks down. “Give me a sec, I’m pretty sure Cheol’s mate has a similar size foot to you, I’ll grab you some flip flops.”

“I can go barefoot,” you insist.

“You are a wild thing, aren’t you?” Mingyu chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. “Just wait here, please.”

He shifts past you, exiting the cabin. Instead of staying inside, you follow, stopping on the deck while he jogs to the small house a hundred feet away. You watch him as he kneels, shifting through some shoes before finding a pair, and then he walks back to you, squinting in the morning sun.

“Here,” he says, holding them out, “give these a try.”

You slip the flip-flops on, nodding. “They work.”

“Good,” Mingyu yawns. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You follow him down the steps, enjoying his lumbering walk. He’s so big- and his strides are longer than yours, but he’s moving slowly, which makes it easy for you to keep up.

“So this is our pack compound,” he explains, still sounding a bit groggy. “Seungcheol and his mate live in that cabin, and then you’ve met me and Wonwoo-” so his bitchy friend does have a name. “There are seven cabins in total and I’ll walk you through them, we can see who’s awake.”

“Your pack doesn’t wake up at dawn?”

“Nah, we’ve got a lot of guys who sleep in,” Mingyu says, and from the way he’s still yawning, you can tell he’s not used to being up this early.

You’ve always liked mornings. Your pack is the type to be up and bustling about, but you think you could get used to the quiet of this place. Birds are singing in the trees, and the dew on the grass from last night’s rain is tickling past your feet as you walk through the area.

“This cabin belongs to Hansol and Seungkwan,” Mingyu explains, pointing at the next lodging you walk past. “They’re good guys, Hansol especially. When we joined all three packs, Hansol and Wonwoo were with me and Cheol.”

“So you’re very close then,” you nod, taking in the cabin with its dark windows. It’s clear the inhabitants are still asleep.

“Yeah, Hansol’s a friend,” Mingyu nods. “He’ll like you.”

“You think so?”

“Hansol gets along with everyone,” Mingyu says factually.

The next cabin is a short distance away, but unlike the last one, this one has signs of life. There’s even a man sitting on the front steps, and he stands as you approach.

He’s small in stature, but with the downwind sending his scent your way, you can tell immediately that he must be one of the other two alphas. He certainly holds himself like a man in charge, and you meet his gaze straight on.

“Jihoon,” Mingyu greets, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the stairs leading to the alpha.

“What’s going on?” Jihoon asks, scanning your form.

“We got a new member of the pack yesterday,” Mingyu explains. “This is y/n.”

The man scrunches his nose, eyes narrowing. “She’s an alpha.”

“From the Arcadia pack,” Mingyu nods, and a flash of recognition flutters over Jihoon’s features.

“Seungcheol is okay with this?” Jihoon asks.

“I wouldn’t be showing her around if he wasn’t,” Mingyu says, and there’s a firmness in his voice. “She’s going to help with midwife stuff.”

“Oh,” Jihoon’s head cocks to the side slightly. “That’s good to hear.”

“Is Seokmin awake?” Mingyu questions, and you both look past the alpha to see if his roommate is up.

“He’s never awake this early,” Jihoon scoffs.

“Well,” Mingyu turns to you, “guess you’ll meet him later.”

“Are you giving her a full tour?” Jihoon asks, eyes still lingering on your form.

“Uh huh,” Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, yawning loudly.

“Why isn’t Seungcheol doing it?”

Mingyu lets out a small laugh. “We both know Seungcheol has bigger things on his plate.”

“Bigger than introducing a new alpha female to the pack?” Jihoon cracks a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Mingyu sighs.

It’s interesting how he’s interacting with the alpha in front of him. You’d wondered what the dynamic might be like- but it appears that Mingyu truly only has loyalty to Seungcheol. As the head alpha, this is the way it should be.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything else, and Mingyu’s gentle touch on the small of your back prompts you to continue your tour.

“He’s cranky in the morning,” Mingyu tells you under his breath.

“And he can probably hear you,” you note, looking over your shoulder at the scowling alpha.

“My bad,” Mingyu says, but from the smile on his face, you know he doesn’t really care.

The cabins are all spaced nicely, giving earshot privacy but still mostly visible to each other as you continue down the dirt path that connects them.

The next cabin has not one, but two wolves sitting on its front porch, and they both stand like Jihoon had, looking at you curiously.

“What did you bring for us today, Gyu?” one of them asks while the other practically eye fucks you over his bowl of cereal.

“This is y/n, she’s joining the pack,” Mingyu explains.

“Really?” The prettier of the two bounds down the stairs, grinning. “Since when?”

“Last night.”

“I’m Jeonghan,” the wolf holds out a hand to you. “It’s lovely to finally meet an alpha female, especially one as gorgeous as you.”

The man still standing on the stairs lets out a loud scoff, and then he’s setting down his cereal to approach. “Don’t pay attention to him,” he says, “Jeonghan’s a flirt.”

“As if you’re any better, Joshua,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

“I am better,” Joshua grins, holding out his own hand to you. “In every way.”

You don’t enjoy the way he looks you up and down again, eyes taking their time to assess your outfit. You’re very aware of the fact you’re not wearing a bra, and when Joshua releases your hand, you’re quick to cross your arms over your chest.

“Where’s she staying?” Jeonghan asks, addressing Mingyu.

“With me for now, but Cheol’s gonna work out a sleeping arrangement.” Mingyu’s hand finds the small of your back, his touch as light as a feather. “We should keep going with the tour.”

“Need company?” Joshua questions.

“We’re good,” you say firmly.

With a nod goodbye, Mingyu and you head off again.

“Are they all like this?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

You let out a small laugh. “Horrible with women?”

“It’s a pack trait,” Mingyu jokes.

“You’re not so bad,” you tell him, and when you sneak a glance at the beta, you notice his skin is flushed.

He’s so cute you want to just eat him up.

“I uh…” Mingyu coughs, “that’s debatable.”

“I’m telling you you’re not bad with women, and I’m an alpha, which means you have to listen to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mingyu chuckles.

“Not ma’am,” you correct him. “Yes, alpha.”

“Yes, alpha,” he says, not missing a beat.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, big guy?”

He lets out a small “shit” under his breath, and you realize you enjoy toying with him.

“So anyways,” he clears his throat, “this next cabin is Minghao and Jun, but they’re asleep-”

“Over half the compound is asleep,” you note. “Who’s protecting your boundaries?”

“No one?” Mingyu looks around. “I’m not sure what you’re used to from your last pack, but closer to the city, boundaries rarely get encroached on.”

“Oh, so I pulled a big no-no by just showing up, huh?”

“It was unusual, that’s for sure,” Mingyu smiles.

“My bad.”

The beta at your side only grins as you walk past another dark cabin. You don’t mind not talking, as it gives you a chance to listen to the sounds of the compound. More birds are singing now, and trees rustle with small wildlife. You watch two squirrels chasing each other, and the familiar sight makes you smile.

Yeah, despite the gang of clueless men, you could definitely get used to this place.

“So this last cabin belongs to Soonyoung and Dino-” Mingyu begins to say, and as the words leave his mouth, the lodging’s front door is thrown open.

A white-haired alpha struts out, his gaze fixed on you.

You stop in your tracks assessing his form for signs of aggression-

While he holds his head high, and walks like an alpha, the man in front of you is at least attempting open body language. He smiles, flashing his canines. “I knew I smelt something sweet,” he says loudly, thudding down the front steps and approaching.

So this must be the Soonyoung that Mingyu had mentioned. The alpha causing trouble.

He definitely looks like a bit of a flirt, and his eyes scan you up and down as the other wolves had. “Let me guess,” Soonyoung says, “Arcadia pack.”

“How did you-”

“Sweetheart, there aren’t many alpha females around these parts. It’s not rocket science.” Soonyoung comes to a stop in front of you. “The real question is, why are you here?”

“She left her old pack,” Mingyu answers for you. “She’s with us now.”

“Trouble in wilderness paradise, huh?” Soonyoung’s grin widens. “Their loss, our gain.”

“What are you doing awake this early?” Mingyu asks, and you see him stiffening beside you.

“I told you, I smelt something sweet.” The alpha is yet to take his eyes off of you, and you meet his gaze straight on, like a challenge.

“And I smell dog, but I’m guessing that’s you,” you say calmly.

Soonyoung lets out a bark of a laugh. “Damn, baby, you’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Enough of the babys and sweethearts,” you tell him. “My name is y/n.”

“Cute name,” Soonyoung says, but the compliment does nothing for you.

“Mingyu, I think my tour is done,” you sigh, looking to the beta at your side.

“What? But you just started.” Soonyoung whines, and the tone of his voice grinds your nerves.

“I’ve seen enough,” you say smoothly.

“Princess, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Soonyoung assures you.

A growl bubbles up in your throat, and you turn your icy gaze back to the alpha. “Nothing impressive, that’s for sure. And I doubt you have anything to show me that could change my mind.”

Soonyoung only smiles wider. “I like your fire.”

“Good for you.” You reach out, grabbing Mingyu’s forearm. “We’re leaving.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the alpha clicks his tongue. “You’re part of the pack now, it’s time to make friends.”

“Something tells me you’re not looking for any more friends,” you say coldly. “If you’re really that bored, go bug your housemate.”

“Dino’s not anywhere near as pretty as you, and he doesn’t talk back, so it’s not as fun.”

“I’m not here to entertain you.” You’re getting tired of this alpha already.

“Shame,” Soonyoung tilts his head to the side. “Something tells me you’ll be very entertaining.”

“She said we’re leaving,” Mingyu states, and it’s as stern as you’ve heard him be with anyone, let alone an alpha.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

You feel the need to give him a snarky response, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, so instead, you turn on your heel, heading back the way you came with Mingyu scrambling to follow.

You can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you, and it sets your teeth on edge. If there’s one thing you hate in this world, it’s presumptuous alphas.

“Sorry about him,” Mingyu apologizes quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure Mingyu, knowing that he has no say over Soonyoung’s behaviour.

“I want to make it up to you,” the beta insists.

“Yeah?” you laugh. “And how are you going to do that?”

“You need clothes,” Mingyu says. “Let me take you to the city, and we can get you something to wear.”

“You know what?” you take a deep breath. “I think that might be the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Mingyu tries his best not to stare at you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the road the entire drive to town, even as you stick your head out the window and let out a soft sigh as you enjoy the air moving over your skin. He fights the need to ask you questions about yourself, about the life you had in the Arcadia pack, but there’s so much he wants to know.

He tries to be nonchalant as you head into an underwear store, but he can feel his ears burning as he lumbers through the thongs and bras. “I should really wait outside,” he says meekly, but you ignore him, grabbing his hand to tug him along as you pick out panties.

“I need your opinion,” you tell him, holding up two thongs, “Silk or lace?”

Mingyu lets out a deep sigh, eyes shifting to the simple seamless set. They’re more practical for the life the pack lives, and less devastating if they get tort to shreds during an impromptu wolf transformation.

“Really?” you ask, reading his gaze. You hold the red thong up, assessing it. “You really are a simple kind of guy, aren’t you?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you grin. “I just don’t know what I expected from a guy who wears flannel and jeans.”

“You should get what you want,” Mingyu says softly. “You’re the alpha, I’m just a beta. How should I know what you want?”

“Maybe I’ll have to try them all on,” you suggest.

He feels his throat constrict, and he swallows thickly, giving a quick nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You fill a whole basket with undergarments, and Mingyu feels his heart thundering louder in his chest as you make your way to the change room.

“Oh,” the worker there says when you approach, looking Mingyu up and down, “Men aren’t allowed in the changeroom.”

“How am I supposed to know what he likes if he can’t come in?” you counter.

“I’m sorry ma’am-” the poor worker looks as uncomfortable as Mingyu feels.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I’ll just wait out here. In fact, I have an errand to run. You can try all this stuff on and I’ll be back in ten or fifteen.”

He hates the way you frown at the suggestion, but you give in with a sigh.

Mingyu watches you disappear into the changeroom, and the moment you’re gone, he all but bolts from the store.

Once outside, he takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He has to keep his hormones in check- but there’s a need growing in the pit of his stomach, and he’s not sure he can ignore it, especially not if you give him a whole modeling show of underwear-

God, he’s in big trouble.

“You were gone for twenty minutes,” you say when Mingyu shows up at the lingerie store.

“Yeah, well, it took longer than I thought it would,” the beta sighs, not meeting your eyes.

“What were you even doing?” you press.

“Had to get you a phone,” Mingyu explains, pulling the device out of his pocket. “But it wasn’t just the phone, the sales guy had to talk to me about data plans, and coverage and I-” He shakes his head. “Here, just take it.”

You look down at the cell, then back up to him. “Why do I need a phone?”

“So you can call people?” he suggests.

You cock your head to the side. When you’d lived in the wilderness, there was never a need for a phone, let alone the service to make one useful. “Who am I going to call?”

“Me?” Mingyu coughs awkwardly. “The pack?”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” you concede, grabbing the phone and holding it to your chest. “But only because you’ll have my number. I’m not giving it to the others.”

“Cheol will need it,” Mingyu points out.

“Fine, he can have it too,” you sigh.

“Did you find some stuff to buy?” the beta asks, looking down at the basket slung over your arm.

“Yup,” you hold up a few pairs of panties. You’d mostly chosen the simple ones, but there are a few racier designs too. “Should we go to the checkout?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu nods, following you to the till.

When the worker checks all your items through, the cost is pretty high, and you blink in shock at how expensive things like this can be. Mingyu pulls out a card, and pays without a second thought.

He even takes the bag of items, holding it tightly in a hand as you head out of the store.

“Tell Cheol thank you for buying all of this,” you say, immediately assuming Mingyu’s using a pack credit card. Your last living arrangement had had a similar setup, and it’s all you know.

“Oh, uh… Cheol didn’t pay for this,” Mingyu says awkwardly. “I did.”

“You did?” you blink. “The head alpha doesn’t control all the money?”

“No,” Mingyu shakes his head. “We all have jobs and our own banking situations.”

“You have jobs?”

“Well, Cheol comes from money, so he’s connected to a family business, but most of us do labour, construction, that sort of thing,” Mingyu explains.

“Do I have to get a job?” you ask.

“Sometime down the line,” Mingyu responds. “But for now, I think you should just get used to not being in the forest all the time. You don’t have to pay rent or anything to live on the compound, but if you want to go into town or buy clothes, you’ll probably have to get a job to finance that.”

“Are you sure you can’t just buy things for me?” you tease, poking at Mingyu’s side.

You enjoy the way he swallows, and looks to actually be considering your request. “For now I can,” he says finally.

“I’ll find a job,” you assure him. “I’ve got no references or past experience, but I have things I can do.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, I’m pretty good at building things,” you tell him. “My old pack moved around a lot, but when we found places we liked, we could build pretty good cabins out of what was available. They’re not like the cabins you have, but… they’re something.”

“For some reason, I can’t picture you building yourself a cabin.”

“Well,” you consider it for a moment, “let me talk to Cheol, and maybe you’ll get to see me in action yourself.”

Mingyu lets out a laugh. “Now that’s something I’d definitely like to watch.”

It’s the evening of your second day with the pack when Seungcheol arrives at your cabin door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks.

“Of course.” You set down the bowl of soup Mingyu had cooked for you, grabbing one of Mingyu’s flannels to put on as you follow the alpha outside.

He takes you into the field, and the two of you turn to look back at the cabins. “So, I talked to my mom earlier,” Seungcheol says. “She agrees with you about having a few more females come through the compound to help with the birth.”

“That’s good news,” you nod.

“She’s been trying to talk me into it for a while, but, when you showed up and said the same thing- I guess it convinced me,” Seungcheol sighs. “Anyways, a handful of my relatives will be arriving tomorrow. We don’t have cabins for them, so they’ll be bringing RV’s, parking in this field and staying until my mate has our baby. Should be any day now, she’s been having pains recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” you nod sympathetically. You’d watched your own mother go through rough final trimesters, and you can’t imagine what it’s like for a woman without other females around.

Seungcheol seems like a put together guy, but men with ego can sometimes forget that women can provide things for each other that they can’t.

“Anyways,” Seungcheol looks at you, “there will be an extra bed or two in some of the RV’s. it’s not a long term solution, but I was thinking you might prefer that over staying with Mingyu.”

“Mingyu’s not so bad.”

“Wonwoo wants his bed back,” Seungcheol smiles.

“Oh, right,” you nod, gaze shifting to the grass at your feet. “Yeah, I can stay in an RV.”

“I was thinking of asking my mom if we could borrow one, or maybe even buy one. The compound needs more cabins, but those take time, and an RV feels like an easy option in the meantime… Mingyu mentioned you have some experience building structures?”

“I do,” you confirm.

“How would you feel about being part of the build process?” Seungcheol asks.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

“Usually builds are a pack project,” he explains. “A few of the guys can get a cabin up in month or two- you’d be working with them. Think you can take orders?”

“Depends who’s ordering.”

“Mingyu and Jeonghan usually take care of project plans and direction.”

“That sounds doable.”

“Good, then it’s settled.” Seungcheol nods to himself. “The cabin designs we use are for two bedrooms, so you wouldn’t have one to yourself. We’ve been thinking of pack expansion for a while, and with you here, it might be easier to get a female beta to join.”

“I’m really surprised your mate is the only female here,” you admit. “With thirteen male wolves, I would have thought at least a few would have partners.”

“What can I say?” Seungcheol shrugs. “Our pack is a boys club.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I heard Soonyoung was giving you trouble.”

You laugh. “Mingyu tells you everything, doesn’t he?”

“He’s loyal,” Seungcheol nods. “He said you put Soonyoung in his place.”

“I tried, but something tells me Soonyoung didn’t get the message,” you sigh. The alpha has tried to talk to you repeatedly in the short time you’ve been here, and it’s led to you putting yourself practically under cabin house arrest in a bid to avoid him.

“You still mean what you said about backing me up right? I shouldn’t be worried about you making an alliance with Jihoon or Soonyoung?”

“I’m with you, a hundred percent,” you tell him firmly.

“That’s good to hear,” Seungcheol admits. “It’s nice to have you in my corner.”

“It’s nice to be in a good alpha’s corner. From what I’ve seen of you, you seem like the kind of guy to follow.”

The alpha rubs the back of his neck, letting out a small laugh. “I appreciate that. Maybe you can convince a few of my cousins to join in when they come, they’ve been pretty adamant about not wanting to have anything to do with me.”

“Well, they’re coming to help your wife give birth, so that’s a step in the right direction,” you point out.

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you,” Seungcheol sighs. “Anyways, thanks for the chat. I’m glad you found your way to us.”

It feels nice to have some estrogen amongst all the testosterone in the compound. When the women arrive in their RV’s it’s the first time you feel like you can join the pack for lunch. Picnic tables are pulled up into the field, and fold up chairs are placed around a fire where Seungcheol’s mother roasts meat.

She wasn’t a born alpha, but she’s an alpha now, and there’s a calm peace that comes with having a matriarch around.

With her, are two of Seungcheol’s aunts, and four cousins. When these seven women combine with you and Seungcheol’s mate, that means there are now nine women puttering about. You’re still outnumbered with men by four, but it feels much closer to even.

One of Seungcheol’s cousins is very focused on his wife, and she goes into his cabin and doesn’t come out. Two of the others seem to be getting to know Joshua and Jeonghan, which feels like an interesting choice to you. The last cousin, however, is clear that her intentions are set on Mingyu. She follows him around like a lost puppy, and the sight makes you sick to your stomach while you gnaw on your food.

“Look at those two,” Soonyoung says, falling into the chair next to yours. “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

“Sure, cute.” Your voice is near a growl.

“She’s been into him for years, you know.” The alpha taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Wanted to move here and everything.”

“Then why didn’t she?” You can’t believe you’re humouring him by entertaining this conversation, but you itch to know the gossip he has. Although, you’re not entirely sure you can trust a word coming out of his mouth.

“She was younger then, but now she’s grown.”

She’s definitely grown, and her low neckline shirt shows just how well she’s grown.

“Seungcheol would love for her to join the pack,” Soonyoung continues.

“Then maybe she should,” you spit, standing. You’re tired of this, tired of watching little miss Choi Seona hang onto Mingyu’s every word, standing as close to him as possible.

“Where are you going?” the alpha asks.

“For a run,” you say, already tearing off your hoodie.

“Oooh, need company?”

“No,” you respond firmly. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

If he does, he’ll get a full view of you stripping naked in the field behind your cabin before you take off, and if Soonyoung sees you nude, you might just have to kill him.

Luckily, no one follows you, and you’re able to slip out of your clothes unnoticed, your skin tearing as you transform into a wolf and bolt into the trees.

You only arrive back at the compound after the sun has set, and instead of heading to the RV, you push through Mingyu’s cabin door.

Wonwoo is sitting on the couch, and he blinks at you. “What are you doing here?”

“Need to use your shower,” you grumble, hardly looking at Mingyu who is standing in the kitchen stirring a pot of ramen.

“The RV has a shower,” Wonwoo says, and you know he’s not really trying to be helpful.

“I’m using your shower,” you say, firmly this time, and when you reach the bathroom, you slam the door behind you, locking it.

It’s bad enough that you have to stay in an RV with three of Seungcheol’s cousins, sharing a shower with them might be too much. You hope that by the time you get there, the girls are going to sleep, and you can skip any talks about the day. You have nothing to say to Seona.

The hot shower gives you peace. Your mind has been reeling all day, and it’s nice to finally just relax, letting the water wash over you. For some stupid reason, you hadn’t considered the idea that one of the women coming to the compound would like Mingyu, and you realize now that it had been a major oversight on your part.

Of course at least one of the girls likes Mingyu- what’s not to like?

He’s big and handsome and kind and caring-

To make matters worse, the two of them have a history, or so Soonyoung says.

You wonder if Mingyu has feelings for Seona. You wonder how deep the feelings are.

Pushing the thought from your mind, you finish your shower, taking your time to dry off and slip on your clothes. You’d chosen the panties Mingyu liked in the hopes that one day he might see them- but now, you think that day might not ever come… not of Seona has anything to say about it.

When you exit the bathroom, Mingyu is standing there waiting for you, and Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, looking at you with concern.

“Of course,” you say curtly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just… you disappeared at lunch, and you just got back- it’s been hours-”

“Aw, did you miss me, big guy?” you tease, forcing a smile. “That’s cute.”

“I was worried about our deer population,” Mingyu says, and when the side of his mouth quirks up slightly, you realize he’s joking.

“I didn’t kill anything,” you admit. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Do they feel good now?” He looks down at your thighs, bare in the shorts you’re wearing.

“Uh huh,” you nod. “I’m ready to pass out.”

“First night in the RV,” Mingyu muses. “Excited for girl time?”

“No.”

He laughs. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“Do I not seem like a girls girl kind of girl?”

“Not really,” he cocks his head. “The good news is they won’t be staying long. Seungcheol’s mom said his mate is really close to giving birth. It’s lucky they arrived when they did. Lucky you convinced Cheol to let them come.”

“I guess we’re all just lucky this week,” you sigh.

“Yeah…” he looks at you awkwardly, “we are. Or at least… I’ve been feeling lucky lately.”

“Must be nice having a handful of available females around,” you snap, “gives you your pick of the litter.”

“That’s not-” Mingyu’s voice catches. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Sure it wasn’t. Look, I’m tired, I should go.”

“You can take the couch if you want- or my bed, I could have the couch-”

“Wonwoo would hate me more than he already does if I did that,” you sigh. “But thanks for the offer.”

Mingyu sends you a small smile, and watches you go. As you exit the cabin, he calls out “Goodnight,” and you can’t bring yourself to say it back.

You stomp toward the RV. As you approach, you hear giggles, and you stop, listening by the window.

“I don’t know guys,” Seona’s voice makes you scowl, “I just think Mingyu is really sweet.”

“He was with you all day,” one of her cousins agrees. “And wasn’t he your first kiss?”

“Shhh! We’re not supposed to talk about that!” Seona whispers, but you can tell the answer is affirmative.

So there is something between Seona and Mingyu.

Soonyoung hadn’t been lying.

“I bet he likes you too,” the third cousin muses.

“He acts like he does,” the other agrees.

You’ve heard enough.

You can’t stay in the RV with them. Turning, you head back into the woods.

Mingyu wakes up with excitement coursing through his veins, and it takes a moment for him to remember you’re not in the other room. The morning sun is shining through his window as he pulls on his clothes- it’s funny how only a few days with you has reset his internal clock.

He exits his cabin quietly, not wanting to wake Wonwoo, who has been particularly grumpy since you arrived. Mingyu can’t imagine why though- it’s not like his friend has given you a chance, and he thinks Wonwoo will like you once he puts some effort into getting to know you, the way he has.

With his hands in his pockets, Mingyu heads to the RV, and he’s pleased to find the door open. He can hear a feminine hustle and bustle, and the smell of coffee makes him smile. “Knock, knock,” he calls softly, peaking his head into the living space.

“Mingyu!” Seona exclaims, rushing over. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept alright,” he nods, scanning the interior in search of you.

“Can I grab you some coffee? I just made a fresh batch, and I make the best in the whole pack.”

“Uh… no thanks,” Mingyu offers her a small smile. “Is y/n around?”

“Nope,” Seona shakes her head. “She never came in last night. We all assumed she was sleeping in one of the cabins.”

“One of the cabins?” Mingyu’s confused already. “Well she wasn’t with me…”

“Why would she be with you, silly? You’re not an alpha.”

The smile on Seona’s face tells Mingyu she hadn’t meant it as an insult, but her words still sting. “Well she’s not with Jihoon or Soonyoung, I can tell you that much,” he states.

His words make Seona’s expression fall, and Mingyu also hadn’t meant to be rude, but he can’t help himself. The idea of you spending the night with any of his packmates rubs him the wrong way, and he needs to be certain that the girls visiting don’t think you’re here to find an alpha mate.

“Like I said,” Seona sighs, “she never came in last night.”

“Okay, well, I better go look for her,” Mingyu nods, turning to go.

“But-” Seona starts, however Mingyu’s already walking away, sniffing at the air in the hopes he can catch your scent.

There’d been no rain last night, and no heavy winds, so as he walks into the field, it’s not difficult to catch your smell clinging to the grass. Mingyu guesses he shouldn’t be surprised to find your trail leading into the forest, but at the same time, it makes his stomach twist into knots.

When you’d left at lunch yesterday, there’d been a very real fear in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t see you again, and that fear has returned.

His pace quickens as he reaches the tree line. It’s harder to track you with the forest smells, but Mingyu does his best, stopping at a few points to take deep breaths. You have a note of citrus in your scent, and Mingyu’s come to enjoy the taste of it on his tongue.

But then, the smell stops, and Mingyu finds himself at the foot of a tree. For the life of him, he can’t figure out which way you’ve gone, and he cusses loudly, kicking the pine.

“What the fuck?”

Your groggy voice causes Mingyu’s head to snap up, and he peers through the branches- locking eyes with you.

“Alpha?” he calls.

“Mingyu?”

He watches you rub your eyes, sitting up on the branch you must have been laying on. “What are you doing up there?” he asks, relief flooding his system.

“Trying to get a decent sleep until someone kicked my bed- why are you out here attacking trees?” you retort.

“I thought I’d lost your scent-” he tries to explain, which causes you to laugh.

“You were looking for me?” you ask, beginning to climb down.

“Well.. yeah. You weren’t in the RV.”

“Couldn’t spend a night with those girls,” you respond, jumping the last meter and landing on your feet in front of him. “They gossip too much.”

“Really?” Mingyu cocks his head as he looks at you. “Gossiping about what?”

“First kisses, boys, that sort of thing.” You won’t meet his gaze, and Mingyu realizes immediately what you’re talking about.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah, oh.” You tug your flannel tighter around your body and Mingyu wants to take you in his arms-

“Wait… alpha, are you jealous?”

“No,” you snap.

“It looks like you’re jealous,” Mingyu points out.

“If you wanna get with Seona then you should get with Seona, why would I care?”

“I don’t want to get with Seona.”

You finally look at him. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “It was one kiss, we were both young. It happened years ago.”

“The girls said you were being attentive to her yesterday.”

“As attentive as I can be to Seungcheol’s cousin,” Mingyu explains. “It’s not like I’m going to be rude to her, or any of them.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re just a nice guy,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair and taking a deep breath. Your next words are quiet, “I guess when you were being nice to me, I thought maybe it was more than that.”

He swallows, reaching out to grab your hand. “It was more than that,” Mingyu assures you.

“Really?” You look up at him and he’s never seen you so vulnerable, so beautiful-

“I don’t just go around buying girls underwear,” he says, which causes you both to laugh. “In case you were wondering.”

“So you’re saying…” you step closer to him, and Mingyu’s body tingles at the proximity. “You like me?”

“That’s probably an understatement,” Mingyu admits.

“Good… I understatedly like you too.” You're still holding his hand, and you give it a small squeeze.

“But-” he blinks at you. “I’m not an alpha or anything-”

“I know you’re not, Gyu,” you laugh. “I think that’s part of why I like you so much. You don’t try to tell me what to do. You don’t try to control me. You just… exist with me. I’m not used to that.”

“I-” Mingyu’s brain is blank. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything,” you suggest, leaning closer. Your gaze dips to his lips, and Mingyu’s tongue darts out to wet them-

You’re about to kiss him, he knows it, and his whole body feels on fire as you close the distance between your chests.

You let go of his hand, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Do you want to kiss me, Gyu?”

The word ‘yes’ doesn’t even cut it, so instead, he simply presses his lips to your own. It’s not a sweet kiss. It’s not soft, or tentative- it’s hungry, and Mingyu’s hands grab at your hips, tugging you closer.

Your tongue glides over his own and Mingyu groans loudly, fingers digging into your flannel. He’s not sure what’s come over him, but he simply can’t help himself. He leans down, grabbing at your ass and lifting you off the ground.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, a mewl escaping you as Mingyu presses you back against the tree, pinning you there while he continues to kiss you like he’s never kissed anyone in his whole life.

You feel perfect in his arms, and he could get drunk from your lips. Mingyu can already feel his cock straining against his jeans, a need surging through him like never before.

Mingyu had thought he’d lost you - if even for a moment - and he’s not willing to lose you ever again. He doesn’t want you running into the woods anymore when you’re having emotions, he wants you running to him, and he kisses you as if to say ‘please, never leave.’

He had always thought Seungcheol would be his alpha, but you’d shown up and flipped his world upside down. Mingyu doesn’t care about appeasing his friend anymore- all he cares about is appeasing you- pleasuring you, giving you everything you could ever possibly want, everything you could ever need.

Nothing in Mingyu’s life has ever felt this right before, and he gets lost in the feeling of you as you claw at his shoulders, kissing him harder and taking his breath away.

You can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe Mingyu has you pressed to a tree, his mouth hot against your own-

After so many conflicting emotions in the past twenty four hours, this turn of events has you reeling- or maybe that’s just Mingyu. No one has ever kissed you like this before- like you’re the very air they need to breathe.

He’s intoxicating, and you need more.

“Gyu,” you gasp against his lips.

He hums, moving his mouth to your throat, peppering your skin in wet kisses that have you groaning.

“Put me down,” you say, voice shaky.

He doesn’t question you, setting you onto the forest floor-

And then you’re pushing at his chest. “Get on the ground,” you command him.

His pupils are blown with lust and he takes a haggard breath, then he does what you’ve asked of him. He stumbles back, landing in the grassy dirt.

You’re on him not a moment later, straddling his hips and cupping his face, grinding down against his lap while your need for him grows between your legs. You’ve soaked through your panties, but you can’t bring yourself to care-

He feels like heaven below you, seated upright, hands grabbing at your waist and the small of your back, holding you firm to him while you swivel your hips.

Your kisses move to his throat, teeth grazing by his jugular, and the beta below you shivers. “Alpha-”

God, it feels so good to have him addressing you properly, to be giving himself to you like this-

“I wanna fuck you,” you tell him. “I wanna fuck you so bad-”

“Please,” he practically whimpers, and the sound has you moaning loudly.

You apply pressure to his shoulders again, and he falls flat to the ground, looking up at you while trying to catch his breath.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to say anything.

It’s just you and him, nothing else matters-

A scream cuts through the trees, and your head whips in the direction of the sound. “Did you hear that?” you ask, freezing, your hips coming to a stop while you sit on top of the beta.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Mingyu groans, fingers digging into your skin, urging you to pick up your motions again.

The noise rings again, clearer this time, and you realize immediately what it is. “Shit!” you gasp, jumping to your feet. “The baby is coming!”

“Now?!” Mingyu sits up abruptly.

“Now,” you confirm. “I have to go.” You lean down to kiss him one last time. “We’ll continue this later,” you promise, and then you’re running through the woods back to the compound.

Your heart is racing in your chest. You’ve never run this hard before, and your muscles scream at you, but you push on, knowing that you need to get to Cheol’s mate. You need to be there for the birth- it will solidify you as part of the pack, and Hell, lives could be at risk.

You push out of the tree line, eyes zoning in on Seungcheol’s cabin. Women are running around, and a few of the men too. Seungcheol looks wild as you approach, darting up the stairs two at a time-

His hand stops you before you can go through the door. “You smell like Mingyu,” he says.

“Are we really doing this now?!” you ask, breathless. “I need to go help your wife!”

He lets go of your arm, and you enter the cabin, knowing that the next few hours are going to be crucial for not only you, but the entire pack.

Four hours after arriving to the delivery cabin, you exit it, looking around at the male pack outside. You’d thought it best to leave Seungcheol’s wife with his own family, and after the difficult labour, you need an estrogen break. You also need to let everyone know how things went, especially Cheol, who hadn’t been allowed inside due to the small space already being full of female wolves intent on keeping things as calm as possible.

One look at Seungcheol tells you he’s the furthest thing from calm- and you offer him a small smile. “Congratulations, you have a son,” you tell him softly.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, taking in your blood soaked flannel.

“The baby had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, but luckily for you, two of my brothers were born that way too. We sorted it out. Your mate, and your son, are both looking perfectly healthy.”

There are tears in Seungcheol’s eyes, and he moves to go past you, to enter the cabin, but then he stops, grabbing your arm. “We’ll have to talk about you and Mingyu later,” he warns, voice low.

“I expected nothing less,” you nod.

The alpha releases your arm, entering the cabin and shutting the door behind him.

Mingyu’s the next person in front of you, taking in your clothes. “I-” he reaches out and wipes some blood off your face. “I don’t-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him. You can tell by the way his gaze dips to your lips that he wants to kiss you, but you’re much too dirty for that, covered in all sorts of fluids you have no wish to spread across Mingyu’s pretty features.

“You need a shower,” he tells you. “And new clothes.”

“Not a shower,” you state. “I need a nature cleanse after all of this.”

“I know a river nearby,” Mingyu nods.

“Let’s go,” you say softly, ignoring the rest of the pack as you follow Mingyu down the stairs.

An unexpected hand reaches out and pats you on the shoulder, and you turn to see Jihoon nodding at you. “Good job.”

Another hand reaches out, then two more- they’re all avoiding the blood on the front of your shirt, going for back rubs, and you’re shocked to find that the touch isn’t unwelcome.

It feels like acceptance. Like you’re truly part of the pack now.

Even Soonyoung offers you a small smile as you walk past, and your skin feels alive with emotion as you head with Mingyu to the tree line.

The beta doesn’t say anything as he leads you through the forest, and you prefer it that way. You’ve just had to listen to a woman scream and cry and give birth for hours- the silence makes way for the noises of the forest, and they wash over you, relaxing your tense muscles.

Five minutes of quiet bliss go by, and then Mingyu tells you you’re close to the river. You can hear it over the sound of wind brushing through the trees, and the smell of running water hits your nose.

Your pace quickens, and soon, you reach a small alcove. The river has cut a chunk out of the hillside, and the water is still in comparison to the rush beyond. It looks clean, clear, and welcoming.

Without a second thought, you strip your shirt and bra off, tossing them onto the rocks. Your pants come next, and soon, you’re completely naked, stepping into the cool alcove.

When you look over your shoulder, you find Mingyu gawking at you, still completely dressed.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” you ask, ignoring the icy water as you wade to your hips.

The beta tears his flannel off, and you turn away, reaching down to cup the water and wash it over your skin. The liquid tints a soft red colour as you brush away the blood, working your hands over yourself until you’re clean.

You can hear the lapping of water as Mingyu approaches you, and then his large, warm body is wrapping around your back, pulling you tight to his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you retort, turning in his embrace and encircling your arms around the back of his neck. Your breasts press against his bare chest, and he looks down at you with eyes full of wonder.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and then he’s kissing you softly.

You melt against him, letting out a groan-

You’d been in midwife mode, but the feelings of what had taken place just before hearing the initial scream come back quickly. The need you have for Mingyu returns with full force and you deepen the kiss, gliding your tongue against his bottom lip.

He stifles a moan, reaching down to grab your hips, pulling you flush to his body. You can feel his hard length trapped between you, and your pussy flutters at the realization that his cock is as big as the rest of him.

Before you can reach for him, Mingyu’s hand is slipping between you, his fingers seeking out your clit, and you moan loudly in his mouth. “I wanna-” he swallows, breaking the kiss to look down at you. “I wanna say you’re wet, but we’re in a river.”

“I’m wet,” you confirm, digging your nails into his broad shoulders. “You feel so good-”

His lips move down to your neck, and he finds your sweet spot much too fast. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his hair while you grind down against his hand, his digits rubbing harder on your clit.

“No, you feel so good,” he grumbles, breath hot on your throat, making you twitch.

His touch rubs lower, teasing your opening, and you whimper in his embrace. Your eyes close and you lean toward him, resting your forehead on his shoulder while he presses a digit into your core.

“Shit, alpha,” Mingyu gasps. “You’re so tight-”

“Guess… guess you better work me open if I’m going to take you properly,” you tell him, tugging gently on his hair.

“Yes, alpha,” Mingyu pants, moving his finger in and out of your pussy, “I can do that.”

When you open your eyes and look down, you’re enthralled by his pretty cock, bobbing just below the water. You let go of his hair in favour of wrapping your hand around his length and Mingyu groans loudly by your ear.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, marveling at how your fingers can’t even touch as you slowly move up and down his shaft. “My big, sweet, beta.”

Mingyu moans again, pressing fevered kisses against your throat and your under jaw. He likes praise, and luckily for you both, you like praising him.

“Such a good beta for me,” you continue, gasping when he fucks his digit into your harder, palming your clit. “Stretching me so good- add another finger Gyu, I need it.”

You groan when he follows through, your pussy fluttering to accommodate the second intrusion.

The cold water is lapping at your sides, his forearm flexing with effort while he finger fucks you closer and closer to the edge. Your own hand is still wrapped around him, and you tease your thumb over the slit, making him gasp loudly.

“You like that, big guy?” You smile, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“Yes, alpha,” he nods, sucking on your earlobe.

“But you’re not going to cum until you’re inside me, right?” you question.

“No, I can-” he lets out a strangled sound when you pump him harder, “I can wait.”

“Good puppy.”

He whimpers at the pet name, licking your throat while his fingers continue inside of you.

You swivel your hips, grinding down against his palm, driving his digits deeper into your pussy while moans slip past your lips.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Please, cum, alpha. Please cum for me,” he begs, sounding as needy as you’ve ever heard him.

Your pussy flutters at his words, and he continues to edge you on, moaning “please” softly in your ear until you’re on the cusp of pleasure.

“Gyu,” you groan, closing your eyes as your body tenses-

“Come on, alpha,” he encourages you. “Cum on my fingers.”

Your brain short circuits as your pussy clamps down on him, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, making you shudder in his embrace.

“You sound so good,” he praises you, sucking on your throat while his fingers continue inside of you, helping you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and clawing at his shoulder, tightening your grip on his cock. “Fuck, alpha-” he groans.

“Need you inside of me,” you tell him, letting go of his length to steady your hands on his shoulders.

He pulls his fingers out of your core, grabbing your ass to lift you up. Your legs wrap around his hips and one of his hands lines his cock with your pussy. His eyes look into yours, as if he’s asking permission, and you nod, bracing yourself for the stretch that comes a moment later.

“Fuck-” you groan, burying your face against his throat as he begins to fill you up.

Two digits were big, but his cock is bigger, and your inner walls work to accommodate him as he pushes in inch by inch.

You’re trembling by the time he’s fully inside of you, your hips pressed together. His lips press kisses to your hair, and his fingers dig against your hips.

“You feel like Heaven,” he breathes.

“But you better fuck me like Hell,” you retort, swallowing thickly as you get used to his size.

“You got it, alpha,” Mingyu nods.

Something tells you even if you weren’t in the river alcove, Mingyu could fuck you like a beast carrying you in this position, but the water makes it even easier for him to maneuver your body. It almost feels effortless, if it weren’t for his large biceps bulging as he begins to rut into you.

God, he’s so fucking pretty-

His cock hits all your spots, filling you just right.

If you’d been lost in his kisses, you’re practically brain dead from his cock. You’re clinging to his shoulders, eyes closed in bliss as he pleasures you, rutting into you faster and harder, making the water lap loudly at your sides.

Mingyu’s groaning in your ear, and the sound makes your pussy flutter around him, which only makes him louder. “Alpha-” he cries desperately, grip digging into your ass.

“That’s it, puppy,” you coo, threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re doing so good for me-”

He’s panting now, and you realize he must be close. You suppose that’s what happens when he gets to finger fuck you to an orgasm but you make him wait after stroking him off.

You hadn’t thought about what do to with his cum when you’d entered the water, and now, you’re realizing you’re going to have to make him pull out.

After just helping Seungcheol’s mate give birth, you’ve discovered you don’t want kids anytime soon, and Mingyu cumming inside of you could pose a bit of a problem to your future plans.

You’re going to hate to do this to him- even though you know he won’t protest.

In the dark corners of your mind, part of you plays with the idea of him refusing to pull out. Of him going full alpha and negating your wishes, of him filling you to the brim with his cum and forcing you to feel all of him.

But you don’t want an alpha. You want him. And it feels like freedom to be fucking a beta who is going to listen to your every word.

“Gyu,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

He grunts.

“You can’t cum inside of me,” you tell him.

“Fuck, right- yeah,” he nods, swallowing thickly. “I can pull out.”

“But you’ll make me cum first, right?” you question.

God, it might just kill him to fuck you while you cum and hold off his own orgasm, only to pull out of you and jack off into the stupid river-

“Yes alpha, I’ll make you cum,” he promises, fucking you harder. “Please, I’m close- I need you to cum-”

“I’m close too,” you assure him, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of his massive cock stretching out your pussy. You can feel a vein running along the underside of his length, that’s how big he is, and it makes your toes curl. “Shit, puppy-”

“Please,” he whimpers, and you realize he’s nearly overstimulated.

Having Mingyu completely undone while he fucks you is the cherry on top of your pleasure, and you let out a choked gasp, holding onto him tightly while your second orgasm slams into you.

Your pussy clamps down on his cock and Mingyu lets out a loud moan, fingers digging into your hips roughly. He’s panting hard, cussing all sorts of swear words into your ear while he fucks you through your high, taking care of you until you’re done.

The moment you push at his shoulders, he pulls out of you, letting you onto your feet while he wraps a hand around his cock-

“No, let me,” you insist, pushing his fingers out of the way so you can grab his aching length with both fists.

You press your lips to his neck, kissing him and licking at his sensitive skin while you jack him off, and a second later he’s letting out a deep moan in the back of his throat. It’s something near a growl, and it’s one of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“That’s it, puppy,” you praise. “Cum for me. Cum for me, big guy, just like that-”

“Alpha,” he whimpers, body jerking as your touch overstimulates him, and when he’s done, he pushes your hands away from his throbbing cock, struggling to catch his breath.

He leans down, resting his forehead against yours while you both stand there panting.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you tight to his chest. His heart is racing wildly, and you smile against his skin, pressing soft kisses there. “That was so good,” he tells you. “You’re so good-”

“You did all the work,” you whisper, holding him tighter.

“No, I just did what alpha asked me too,” he argues.

You decide to let him win this one, and you melt against his warm chest, snuggling closer.

You’re not sure how long you stand like that, but when Mingyu finally lets you go, he cups your jaw, bringing your lips to his.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and it makes your body tense. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said it-”

“No,” you assure him, pressing your hand on his chest. “I love you too.”

“You do?” Mingyu blinks down at you.

You nod. “In fact… I would have marked you, made you mine, but… I have to talk to Seungcheol first.”

“Right,” Mingyu swallows, “Seungcheol.”

“You remember your other alpha, right, big guy?” you laugh.

“Yeah.” The beta runs a hand through his hair, gaze shifting to the rocky shore. “We should probably head back.”

“That might be a good idea,” you concede. “Seungcheol probably needs you right now.”

Mingyu nods, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the water’s edge.

He lets you out first, and you have the suspicion he’s staring at your ass.

“Take my flannel,” Mingyu tells you. “Your clothes are ruined.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you grin, reaching down for the long shirt that acts like a dress as you wrap it around your naked form.

Mingyu tugs on his jeans, and you fish your panties out of your clothes, slipping them on.

“You know, I got these so you could see me in them,” you admit, showing him your ass, “But you hardly got to enjoy them before we got in the water.”

“I have time to enjoy them,” he assures you, pulling you in for a kiss.

He smiles against your lips, and you laugh, looking up at him. “What?”

“I’m just thinking… thinking about the day you arrived here. How I gave you my shirt then, and now here we are, with you in another flannel.”

“You were my knight in shining armour,” you tell him, heart swelling at the memory.

“I can’t explain it,” Mingyu says, “but part of me knew even then- I knew that you were going to change everything. I’m so happy you came to us.”

You beam up at your new mate. “Me too.”

You’re not surprised to find Seungcheol waiting for you when you arrive back at the cabins. He’s on his porch, holding a tiny bundle of blankets, and he stands when you and Mingyu exit the forest.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” you tell Mingyu.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“I think this is something he’ll want to discuss alone, you know, alpha business.” You gently elbow Mingyu’s side and he flashes you a smile.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, breaking off from you to head toward his own cabin while you approach the alpha watching you.

“Hi,” you greet Seungcheol, stopping at the steps.

“Hi,” he responds, gaze following Mingyu.

“That’s a cute baby you’ve got there,” you offer, hoping to break some of the tension you’re feeling.

“He wouldn’t be here without you,” Seungcheol nods. “My mother said you pulled your weight today, and I wanted to thank you.”

“No need,” you assure him. “I was happy to help… is your mate asleep?”

“Yeah, she needs rest.” Seungcheol starts down the stairs. “Come walk with me.”

The two of you head out into the field, and you wait for Seungcheol to start the conversation you know you’re about to have.

The alpha stops in the middle of the open space, looking back at the cabins. “Is it real?” he asks finally.

“Hmm?”

“You and Mingyu,” Seungcheol clarifies, gently rocking the baby in his arms. “Is it real.”

“Yeah,” you nod, licking at the grass and everting your eyes. “I felt something the moment I saw him.”

“He’s a good guy,” Seungcheol sighs. “An even better beta, and the best right-hand man I could have ever asked for.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you agree. “And he knows how lucky he is to have you as an alpha.”

“And that’s how it’s always going to be,” Seungcheol breathes. “I’m his alpha. I can’t have him torn between us if disagreements ever arise. I could manage if someone else was loyal to you, but not him.”

“He’s still loyal to you,” you insist. “As I said when we met, I’m not looking to be a leader. He can be your right-hand man, and I can be your… left-hand woman.” You both chuckle at the notion. “No one will challenge you with me and Mingyu at your side.”

“I guess there’s truth in that,” Seungcheol admits.

“I admire you,” you continue. “Not only did you not choose an omega as a mate, you chose a human, and you made her into a beta. I don’t know many alphas that can say that. I think… I think if you get to choose your mate, I should be able to as well.”

“Is that an alpha suggestion, or your personal opinion?”

“Just an opinion,” you say softly.

There are a few beats of silence, and you listen to the wind rustling through the trees. It’s shocking how much has changed in just a few days. New life in the pack, both the baby and you. New love too.

“I don’t know you that well yet,” Seungcheol says, choosing his words carefully. “But if Mingyu trusts you, then I guess I do too.”

“Really?” you look at the alpha, eyes widening.

Seungcheol doesn’t meet your gaze, he continues looking out at the cabins, but he gives a curt nod. “If you both like each other as much as you obviously do, who am I to come between that?”

“Well, you’re the alpha, so the decision is really up to you-”

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “This isn’t the sort of thing I want to be a deciding authority on. And… if it’s any consolation, the two of you have my blessing.”

Your breath catches, and your throat feels dry. “Thank you,” you say, voice cracking. “I uh… Thank you.”

“No need,” Seungcheol smiles, repeating the words you’d said to him only a minute ago. “Just…” he turns to face you, “don’t break his heart, yeah?”

“Alpha,” you laugh, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Seungcheol nods. “Welcome to the pack.”

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🔮 preview. “You’re so pretty,” your mate groans, one of his large hands sneaking up to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you whimper at the feeling. Mingyu sits up suddenly, adjusting a palm to the floor so he can keep himself up while his lips seek out your breasts. He starts by sucking a mark into your skin, letting out a deep sound of pleasure while pressing his face between your boobs. You place your hands on his shoulders, using him as leverage to fuck him harder. The sound of your thrusts fills the small room, and you can hear how wet you are with each bounce. You bet Jeonghan and Joshua can hear it too.

cw/ tw. Protected sex, vouyerism (sex while others listen), slight exhibitionism (sex in an unfinished cabin), size kink, boob worship, mentions of claim marks, big dick Mingyu, praise, dirty talk, mutual orgasm, blow job, deep throating, etc… I pet names: (hers) alpha. (his) big guy, puppy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 400

🌙 staring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s not that working on building cabins out in the forest had been easy, but nothing compares to the difficulties of trying to focus on a build while Mingyu walks around shirtless, skin glistening in the sun with sweat. His scent perfumes the locations he’s working on, and it’s been three straight weeks of you trying desperately to ignore the wet of your panties sticking to your core.

The structure is definitely coming together though, and each day brings you closer to having a place you can call your own. Fucking Mingyu in the RV has been… interesting to say the least. He’s just so big- he doesn’t fit in the tiny bunk bed, so he’s taken to fucking you against the walls, the whole wheeled home rocking-

In fact, a few of your new packmates have come up with the saying, ‘When the RV’s a’ rockin’ don’t come a knockin'. You’re much too used to fogged up windows and biting into a pillow to stop screams from escaping the badly insulated vehicle, and the idea that soon you’ll have a cabin to fuck him in is making you all the more eager to get the project complete.

“When do you think we’ll get this done?” you ask, looking over Jeonghan’s shoulder at the project plans as you finish up for the day.

“Two weeks?” he suggests. “We’ve been making good time on this. Our window guys is set to come in a few days and then after that we just have to set up plumbing and electrical, then furnishings-” Jeonghan lets out a deep breath, considering all the moving parts. “Yeah, I could see you and Mingyu moving in here pretty soon.”

“Mingyu’s not moving in with me,” you insist.

Jeonghan flashes you a knowing smile. “Sure he isn’t.” The wolf rolls up the cabin plans, looking around the space. “You know, even though the windows aren’t in yet, I’m pretty sure if you and Mingyu wanted to christen the place, it’s far enough from everyone else that you could get away with it without Seungcheol knowing and getting mad.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you smirk.

“That’s me, I’m just full of good ideas,” Jeonghan returns your grin. “But at the same time… if you wanted us to hear you two, if you wanted to be loud, I don’t think any of us would mind.”

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violetsiren90 · 2 months

Text

Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭💕; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others. You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer.

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like.

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again.

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder.

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks. 

~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place.

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name.

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit. 

~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen. 

-Fin-

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yeyinde · 10 months

Text

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." "Why?" You asked, blinking at her. "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't."

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore.

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach.

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap.

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement.

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it.

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him.

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home.

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear.

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz.

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores.

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches.

Gaz was unique, different.

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community.

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood.

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright.

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it.

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant.

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him.

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear.

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head.

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon.

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten.

You think about him often.

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name.

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play.

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull.

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere."

You leave, and you don't look back.

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed.

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat.

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead.

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to.

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you.

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses.

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed.

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing.

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her.

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror.

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away.

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay.

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea.

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet.

It's a dangerous place to get caught in.

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock.

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen.

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst.

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil.

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head.

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock.

All is quiet—except the sea.

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea.

Another step. Another.

For a moment, you're free.

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality.

It's peaceful.

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back.

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing.

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine.

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue.

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love."

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself.

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw.

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic.

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue.

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat.

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?"

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face.

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet."

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time.

You blink. Blink again.

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before.

They didn't say anyone new moved to town.

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?"

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him.

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar.

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard.

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway."

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty.

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins.

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay.

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do.

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm.

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north.

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company.

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think.

You wonder if he was expecting you.

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question.

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts.

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water."

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big.

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick.

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body.

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders.

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory.

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly.

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice.

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh.

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath.

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you.

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush.

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud.

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you.

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire.

You should.

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer.

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own.

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest.

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words.

"So I did."

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil.

"Got some time tonight?"

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read.

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love."

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?"

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead.

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of."

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes.

And so, you kiss him.

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips.

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you.

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest.

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw.

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm.

You never want to let go.

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left.

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth.

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking."

Price shudders.

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips.

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you?

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls.

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver.

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no.

It can't happen. It can't.

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together.

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out.

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor.

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag.

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more.

"Waiting for a ride?"

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears.

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead.

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat.

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision.

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe.

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark.

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you.

Like he knows.

And maybe, he does.

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell.

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard.

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom.

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror.

You can't remember if it's you.

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic.

Stupid.

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths.

The door rattles. Clicks.

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke.

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror.

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him.

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared.

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders.

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price."

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so.

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out.

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter.

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear.

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees.

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner.

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does.

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much.

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern.

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend.

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know.

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers.

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter.

The woods are dangerous.

You don't want to go.

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together.

"You want to, don't you?"

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway."

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering.

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea.

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion.

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato.

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision.

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry.

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase.

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head.

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it.

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge.

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge.

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed.

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave.

One slip, you think. Just one.

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince.

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him.

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest.

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go.

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces.

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to.

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet.

Two more. Two more.

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go.

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside.

You don't know why you're here.

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body.

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead.

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived.

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic.

You are—

"Foolish."

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug.

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb.

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear.

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped.

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves.

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure.

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?"

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw.

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love."

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all.

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears.

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know.

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep.

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers.

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine.

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?"

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams.

"Did you ever give me a choice?"

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head.

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine.

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin.

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you.

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair.

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance.

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood.

When he speaks, the world falls silent.

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go.

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins.

You don't know what you're doing.

The whispers in your head go silent.

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go.

You think of him, and you know.

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there.

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems.

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go.

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee.

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly?

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul.

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever.

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm.

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home.

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting.

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow.

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver.

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow.

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin.

"Welcome home."

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her.

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't."

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name.

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse.

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me?

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

#captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #fae price #cod x mythology #bhhhhhhhh #ive been in halifax for the last week and it's been kinda rainy and weird and this was born

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upsidedownwithsteve · 11 months

Text

Bad For Business: Level Eight

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.6k] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutual annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

The storm was unexpected and not forecasted, a monsoon rolling through a July afternoon that went almost unnoticed inside of the arcade. The windowless building didn’t show signs of the rain, nor the dark skies, but by the time the last of the kids left, the rush of a downpour and the rumble of thunder could be heard from the open door.

And once you’d cashed up and pulled your bag from your locker, you let your workmates out the door before you locked it behind you, hearing their goodbyes yelled over the din of the rain as they ran through puddles to their cars, their parents' minivans.

Your bike was chained to a railing ten feet away, away from the shelter of the door awning, placed perfectly in the middle of a puddle that was growing into a small lake. You squinted into the gloom, splatters of rain water sticking to your skin, already humid and sticky from the lingering heat.

Then a car pulled up in front of you, a maroon BMW with shiny alloys and a pretty boy behind the wheel, one you hadn’t seen all week after you’d kissed him stupid in the photo booth. The window rolled down and Steve appeared more clearly, shirt dotted with rain, hair messy from the wind. He was looking at you carefully, maybe warily, maybe nervously.

But then he nodded to the empty passenger seat. “Get in.”

You didn’t hesitate, not the way you would’ve done weeks ago, chin tilted high and haughty, ready to tell Steve Harrington you’d rather swim home than accept a ride from him. But Chrissy had come back from being off sick and Murray had switched up the schedule. You hadn’t seen Steve in a while, not since the kiss, not since he’d had his hand tucked under your knee and hitched your thigh to his hips.

Not since his tongue had been against yours.

Not since he’d whispered your name, a gasping, rough sound that you didn’t think Steve knew he made.

Not since you discovered that you made Steve Harrington hard.

Not since you realised you wanted to do it again and again and—

You got in the car.

The inside of the BMW smelled like Steve, like cedar wood cologne and mint gum, like expensive leather and the half full coffee in the cup holder. You were almost soaked through from the dash across the sidewalk, shirt wrinkled to your body, unnecessary sunscreen and rain water sticking to your skin.

The radio was low, a murmur, the sound of the rain on the roof louder than anything. Steve nodded at you when you finally looked at him and then he shifted gear, pulling away from the arcade and into the storm.

Steve drove you through town without much talking, his fingers twisting the controls on the radio, the sounds of Tears For Fears mixing with the rain on the windshield, the hum of the aircon. You didn’t have to tell Steve where to go, you didn’t have to tell him your address. He drove through the streets, kicking up water as he went, heading towards the familiar row of houses not too far from his own. And just before he turned into the lane, you swallowed hard, not wanting to leave just yet. There were things to say, you were sure of it. You just didn’t know what.

But Steve beat you to it, pulling over in a corner shaded by tall oak trees, at the edge of the sidewalk where the road met a park that was only used for teenage make-outs and underage drinking. It was quiet, empty, and you changed a look at the boy when he killed the engine and the music.

Steve looked different away from the neon lights and despite the storm, it still felt too quiet without the sounds of the arcade. It was too loud without the alarms, the jingles. Too bright despite the grey. It was overwhelming.

“Steve, about last week— what happened, I—”

The boy interrupted you before you could go on, a hand that paused as it made its way to reach over to you, hovering over your thigh, like he decided it wasn’t a good idea. Until he did, Steve’s fingers curling around the skin above your knee and your gaze found his, lips parted in surprise and you watched him think - just for a second - before the words were tumbling from his mouth with anymore hesitation.

“I’ve not stopped thinking about it,” Steve murmured, sounding a little dazed, quiet under the blanket of rain, the sky through the windshield a hazy lilac-grey and god, the world felt fuzzy, it felt soft. “Like, at all. Fuck, I don’t know, I just— I just.” Steve licked his lips, letting his gaze drop to yours. “Wanna do it again.”

The air seemed to disappear from the car. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

“If you’ll let me,” Steve finished, nervous and quiet and unlike you’d seen him before, his eyes unsure as he made his way back to his own seat, his hand retreating from your leg.

You didn’t let him get far, your hand wrapping around his wrist to keep him close, leaning forward in your chair to meet him over the console, noses almost brushing. You shared the same shaky breath and outside, the rain fell harder.

“We don’t like each other,” you tried to remind him, but the words came out unsure, like you couldn’t remember yourself. “We’re not— we’re not friends. We don’t—”

Steve shrugged, a clumsy thing that you barely saw because he was so close. His hand that you kept on your thigh tightened, a needy grasp that you encouraged by smoothing your palm up his forearm, upupup until you were holding onto his shoulder and fisting his rain speckled shirt in your fingers.

“You’re right, we don’t,” Steve agreed and his voice was lower than before, more sure and back to sounding a little cocky now that you were holding him with the same kind of want that he held you with. “I totally hate you.”

You wondered if Steve believed his own words in that moment, because with the way he was staring at your mouth, you sure as fuck didn’t.

You didn’t seem to care though.

“Right,” you nodded anyway. “You’re so annoying.” Your nose bumped against his, lips hovering. Waiting. Wanting. Eyes barely open.

The rain got louder, fuzzier, a white noise roar that seemed to match your heartbeat.

“Yeah, you’re a real pain in my ass, princess. Can I kiss you?”

Steve was on you before you finished nodding, a pleased hum coming from the back of your throat as he closed the gap, his hand flying up to grasp the back of your neck, like he wanted to be in control, like he wanted to savour it.

It felt less like an argument this time, this kiss. Steve’s mouth swept over yours lazily, languidly, a melting popsicle on a summer day, cherry flavoured and coloured red like sin. It was chaste for a while, innocent enough for two people parked curbside just before a residential street. But the rain had kept everyone indoors, it had washed away the sidewalk chalk, the hopscotch lines and the love hearts.

Instead, it left inky shadows to hide in, navy and lavender light, heavy rain. Enough noise to disguise your moans with, a substitute for the arcade sounds but this felt better, this felt closer. Warmer. Hotter.

Then Steve’s tongue licked over your bottom lip as his thumb grazed the corner of it, an impatient tug that was supposed to be a question. You answered it by parting your lips for him, tongue meeting his, his groan mixing with your sigh. And too soon, he was pulling away, rosy cheeks and glassy eyed, watching you with the most curious expression - like he couldn’t work you out.

And then: “C’mere.”

Steve moved his chair back, cranking the lever until the seat rolled away from the steering wheel. There was enough room there for you to crawl into his lap, to straddle him and get closer than before. So you did exactly that, a little clumsy and a little eager as you scrambled over the console, Steve’s hand catching your elbow to help you, even with a smirk on his face.

“Thought you didn’t like me?” He reminded you through your willingness to throw your leg over his thighs, grinning when you scowled. Steve’s hands found your hips, warm and wide, gripping tight as you lowered yourself over him. “Or does that not matter now that you’re—”

“Steve? Shut up,” you muttered huffily, happy to have worn a skirt as you settled yourself against him, chest to chest, your hands diving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You rocked your hips, getting comfy, squirming a little in Steve’s lap and you made a little noise as you did so, the denim and the half hard length of the boy catching against your cotton underwear nicely.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, voice suddenly breathy, the teasing knocked out of him now that you were on top. “Right, yeah, totally shutting up.”

It was easier to press your lips back to his, the neediness mounting, a new kind of want that clawed at your insides and suddenly you didn’t hate the boy at all. In fact, you really liked the way his hands dropped for your hips to hold at your spread thighs, knuckles teasing the edge of your skirt, thumbs rubbing circles the inside of your legs.

You really liked the way he sighed all deep when your tongue licked over his, how his nose pressed harder against your cheek, like he couldn’t get close enough. You really liked the way he kissed you with a confidence that came from knowing how handsome he was, from knowing how a girl liked to be touched.

But you loved it when his mouth hung open when you shoved him back into the seat, a hand to his chest, your own heaving. “Slower,” you told him, whispering, following him back into the chair, where you kept him pressed against the leather. Your mouth was a ghost against his, your bottom lip catching the arc of his cupid's bow, his kiss pink and pouty for you. “Softer.”

Steve did as he was told, hands roaming the expanse of skin under your shirt, fingers trailing up and down your spine as he kissed you like he had all day, all night. A teasing push and pull of his mouth against your own, teeth catching your lip, tongue sliding over your own until you were squirming.

“Yeah?” He asked, lips glossy from you, eyes dreamy.

You nodded, clutching at him, fingers twisting in his hair. “Yeah.”

You didn’t realise you were rocking yourself over Steve until he swore, hands holding you and pushing you down against his hard cock, tight and trapped under his jeans. It was a heady experience, the drag of denim against your underwear, cotton soft and almost soaked through the more Steve kissed you. You felt drunk, the roar of the rain a staticy sound in your ears but Steve’s moans were louder, more important.

He sounded so pretty. He looked even prettier.

So you rested your forehead against his, lips open in a gasp, hips rocking a little faster, a dirty grind that made you feel filthy. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.

“M’gonna come like this,” you whispered, only a little embarrassed at your admission. You felt flushed, too warm, the summer air heavy in the car with the aircon off. “Shit, Steve.”

“Christ,” the boy groaned, voice sounding wrecked. “You can’t say shit like that, fucking hell.”

You only whined in response, catching him again for a kiss that turned messy, desperate as you both chased something you didn’t know you’d wanted. Your hands were on Steve’s jaw, titling his head back to kiss him a little deeper as he encouraged you to grind down on him.

He tore away from you when you moaned louder than ever, squirming against his cock through his jeans, letting out a hiccuping sound when the zipper caught against your clit. His lips were on your cheek, the line of your jaw, down your neck.

“Oh my god.”

“Shit, princess, are you gonna come?” He growled when you nodded, your cheek pressed to his. “God, that’s so fucking hot, you’re just— fuck.”

Steve hoisted you away from him, from where you’d pressed yourself against his chest. He coaxed you up, holding onto you with one hand on your thigh, just under your skirt, the other on your waist. He was still guiding you, hips canting up now to help you both gain more friction. You were desperate for another kiss, to feel the dirty flick of Steve’s tongue over yours but Steve tutted as you tried to move back, his hands keeping you where he wanted you.

“Nuhuh,” he murmured, “wanna watch.”

“Oh, shit,” you whined, clutching at the front of his shirt, pulling up the cotton until more skin was revealed, tanned and freckled, a dusting of hair leading down into his jeans. You curled your fingers there instead, holding onto his belt. “Steve, m’close.”

The boy nodded, frantic, suddenly intent on seeing you fall apart, just for him. “I know, I know, keep goin’ for me.” His thumbs dug into your hip bones, pushing and pulling you over his cock, his own breath hitching at the sight of you throwing your head back, eyes fluttering shut, your hold on him tightening. “Fucking hell, you’re so pretty. You look so good.”

It was an easy climb, when he spoke like that. It was a sudden fall when he whispered to you next:

“Can you come like this? Rubbing yourself on my cock? Christ, you’re gonna, aren’t you, princess?”

You came with your lips pressed back to Steve’s, clawing at his shoulders as you whined into his open mouth, his own groan falling onto your tongue, his hands pressing hard into your sides as he jerked underneath you, hips rolling. Steve flushed as he came, cheeks reddening, eyes turning glassy as he watched you and you watched him.

Neither of you moved, not yet, not as quickly as you thought you would’ve. Instead, you leaned into him, body slack and warm, skin slick with rain and exertion, your chest heaving against Steve’s. Maybe you imagined the kiss Steve pressed to your shoulder before you sat up, the fleeting warmth of his lips on your skin, the soft hum that came from him as he did.

There wasn’t any embarrassment as you stared at each other, your legs still splayed over his, the crotch of his jeans starting to darken in one spot, a mix of yours and his accomplishments. If you felt proud at the sight, you tried not to show it. So you both caught your breaths and Steve rubbed a thumb over your knee, wincing when you left him to crawl back to the passenger seat.

You didn’t kiss him goodbye before you left, and Steve didn’t offer any other sweetness when your fingers curled around the door handle, but you did leave him with one parting gift.

“I don’t really hate you,” you told him, suddenly shy despite the marks he’d left on your neck, the mess you’d left his hair. “Not really.”

Steve grinned, a proper, beaming thing before he caught himself and tried to smooth out his expression. He cleared his throat, nodding as he started the engine and gave you one last look. “Yeah. Not really.”

You hadn’t even noticed the rain had stopped.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader smut

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peachdues · 9 months

Text

The Bitter & the Sweet — a steamy snippet

Rengoku x F!Ice Pillar — Secret Pregnancy AU

A/N: I’m ovulating so here y’all go.

A snippet of the✨first time✨ between Rengoku and the Ice Pillar in The Bitter & the Sweet. It takes place after their surprise first kiss (which I won’t spoil here — at least, not yet)

CW: suggestive/steamy, but I’m not giving y’all the NSFW stuff yet.

Y/L/N, it seemed, had either made good on her threat to roast her crow, or she’d temporarily fired the bird.

The one which now circled above Kyojuro’s head appeared to await his acknowledgement, but as he began walking, the crow began to fly ahead, beseeching him to follow. His curiosity got the better of him, as did his desire to see the Ice Hashira once more, and so, he obliged and followed the sleek bird.

Kyojuro was led up a small, winding path past the Ice Pillar’s estate. Though it was nearly midnight, the path, laid with smooth white stones, was gently lit by a line of flickering torches that he could see tapered off before the path emptied into some kind of clearing. As he drew closer to the path’s end, Kyojuro could smell the faintest traces of the floral notes he only ever associated with the beautiful Ice Hashira.

The end of the path opened to reveal an intricate spring of interconnected pools, connected with rocky formations that appeared to be hewn from moonstone. The spring enjoyed a fair degree of privacy thanks to the thick grove of red cedar trees which encircled it, with the clearing in which Kyojuro now stood being the only entry to and from the heated spring.

The pools themselves looked like something out of a dream. Thick tendrils of steam rolled of the shimmering, sea-green water, and Kyojuro found himself longing to feel the hot water soak into his muscles.

A cursory glance over the spring had Kyojuro’s heart leaping to his throat; for there, standing in the middle of the luminescent turquoise water, was the Ice Pillar herself.

Her back was turned to him, but it was clear as day that the crow had led him right to her while she was in the middle of bathing.

Kyojuro felt a heat rise in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the steamy waters, as his eyes roamed the exposed skin of her shoulders, the water concealing the rest of her beneath its shimmering depths.

Mouth dry, the Flame Pillar made to move away, to get as far from the Ice Hashira’s private bathing spring as he could before she became aware of his presence, but her lilting voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I thought that might be you.”

Kyojuro’s traitorous feet would not move from his spot as Y/L/N rose from the water. Though his eyes immediately fixed themselves on anything but the nude woman — goddess — standing in the middle of the pool, Y/L/N made no effort to cover herself.

“Please, forgive me, Y/L/N, I had no idea-“

“Kyojuro,” she interrupted, her voice soft but sultry. “Please. Join me.”

Kyojuro wondered if it were possible for his heart to have lodged in his throat. He tried, so very hard, to keep his eyes focused on Y/L/N’s face, but his treacherous gaze dropped to what the water had been concealing from him.

At the first sight of the generous swells of her breasts, and the sensual dip of her waist, her skin glistening from the water, Kyojuro was a goner.

Wordlessly, his hands removed his haori and began fumbling with the buttons of his uniform. Though Kyojuro would consider himself fluid and graceful in battle, he found that here, under the heady stare of the Ice Pillar, his movements had become jerky and impatient.

He tried not to let the flush on his face show as Y/N’s stare lowered as Kyojuro shucked his pants down his legs, exposing his hardening member to the warm spring air, but the answering blush that spread across her cheeks as her eyes traced his length had him nearly trembling with desire. Finally freed of the constraints of his uniform, the Flame Pillar stepped from the smooth stones that formed steps down into the hot spring pool.

Kyojuro nearly groaned at the way the steaming water soaked into his aching muscles, the healing properties of the spring working quickly to ease the tension he’d not realized he’d been carrying. The relaxing heat of the spring, however, did little to ease the growing hardness below his navel, and the Flame Pillar found himself grateful for depth of the water.

Slowly, and somewhat shyly, he made his way towards the waiting Ice Pillar. Every step closer to her allowed the details of her exposed body come into focus, setting Kyojuro’s skin on fire.

When he was within an arm’s length of her, he stopped, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You kissed me,” she said simply, her head tilting as she considered him.

Kyojuro tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but found it impossible given how dry his mouth had become. “Yes, I did, and I apologize, Y/L/N. I was just so relieved -“

“Would you like to kiss me again?” Y/N’s question made his nervous ramblings evaporate from his tongue.

It took him a moment to gather himself enough to respond. “Yes,” he breathed, and Y/L/N took a step towards him, a small smile spreading across her beautiful mouth. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Kyojuro could not suppress the shiver that coursed through him as he felt Y/L/N’s skin brush against his upper abdomen as she pressed her lithe, heavenly body against him, her eyes dropping to his lips.

“Then you may,” she whispered, tilting her face for him as she waited.

His hands rose hesitantly to rest against her waist, and Kyojuro shuddered at the smooth warmth of her skin beneath his palms.

His dreams had mostly revolved around what it would be likely to simply hold the Ice Pillar in his arms — to press her against his chest as her arms wrapped around his middle, and to be able to brush his lips against hers, softly — teasingly.

But there had been a handful of dreams in which Kyojuro had done far more with the vexatious, beautiful woman, dreams that had reduced him to a sweating mess in his futon, left his heart pounding as his eyes flew open the moment his dream-self would sink into her molten heat. Those dreams had always unsettled him, not merely because he woke up embarrassed for having thought of his comrade in such a lascivious manner; but also because of the gnawing pit of frustrated want those dreams left him with once he awoke.

Besides, Y/L/N had long since been elevated in his mind from that of a mere ‘comrade.’ She had become something far more precious to him.

Kyojuro mused that not even his wildest fantasies about the Ice Pillar could have prepared him for the real thing: for the woman, peering up at him through long, thick eyelashes as she leaned to press her bare torso against his, the water parting around them as as they came together, a matching blush spreading across both of their faces. His dreams had not done her justice, not in the slightest; they had failed to capture the exquisite plushness of her breasts as they pressed against his upper abdomen, or the way her soft floral scent combined with the thick tendrils of steam rising from the water’s surface until his head had been utterly fogged by her.

As he began to close the distance between their lips, Kyojuro was reminded that his reality was far superior to his reveries.

don’t worry, i’ll give y’all plenty of smut before I rip your hearts out

#demon slayer #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny #kny fanfic #demon slayer fic #kyojuro rengoku #kny rengoku #kimetsu rengoku #rengoku x y/n #rengoku kyojurou #rengoku kyoujurou #kny smut #demon slayer smut

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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

THE WHITE RABBIT ┊ GOJO SATORU

synopsis: you’ve been instructed to begin making appearances at the pleasure district. choosing the right man to flaunt was imperative for your family's image. who better to pick than the top courtesan?

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (called ‘angel’ toward the end), strangers to lovers, courtesan gojo (no curses au), sex work, alcohol consumption, inspired by edo period japan, sexual tension, mutual attraction, reader is a customer from a well known family, feelings realisation, other characters present, fluff + angst, loss of virginity (reader), body worship, finger sucking, bathing, vaginal oral sex + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (pull out method), hopeful ending

wc: 14k+

The dense woodland that lies between the main city and the Pleasure district appeared unearthly in the late evening. If you looked up toward the capillaries of the canopy, you’d find the trees would breathe even on a windless night. East and West, spindling arms of cedar seemed to reach for you.

It unsettled you. The atmosphere felt polarised, as if it were drawing your rickshaw in and manipulating your direction despite having entered willingly. You thought this might be what it’s like to cross from one plane to another, a coniferous bridge between worlds.

Such a description was befitting of your destination. The Pleasure district truly was another world in its entirety — a place wherein the rules of the mainland could not reach. A creature that laid its own law and shaped you to its own customs. You could no longer put it off. You were of an appropriate age, and it was your turn to enter the beast.

The maw is bright where the clearing breaks, illuminated by hues of orange and red. Carmine wood with slightly curved pillars, before you stands a grand archway nestled between two walls built to encase the district.

Large hand painted lanterns light up the wide open road as you are carried through the swelling crowds. Patrons part around your intrusion as they turn to stare, curious about who you might be. You knew that both the private escort pulling your rickshaw and the expensive fabric fashioned elegantly around your shoulders would be enough to display your family's social standing.

Still, the attention and judgement is stifling. You distract yourself with focus on the establishments lining either side of the street; the air is imbued with an amalgam of sweet scents, thick enough to feel it on the roof of your tongue as you breathe. People with delicately painted faces adorned in jewels call out to you from the balconies, the distinct and striking pluck of a shamisen ringing in your ears.

Logically this place was a place of business, yet the innocent, naive part of you felt guilt simply for ignoring their greetings. But you could not stop to contemplate their suitability or good looks, for your family had already arranged a banquet with the finest house in the district — the Michizane house.

As the rickshaw comes to a slow stop you feel tension return to your chest, wrung tight like cloth. The teahouse appears to be two stories high and quite large when compared to its neighbouring buildings. Decorating the outer walls are intricate patterns of wood lattice, the wide open entrance lit up with an inviting glow. Waiting by the door is the owner, a striking man by the name of Nanami Kento.

He steps forward and bows deeply in greeting, peering up from behind the thin frame of his glasses to where you are perched as he straightens. Not a blonde hair out of place. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and an honour to host your banquet at my establishment,” he says. His words are dipped in a rich timbre that settles warm in your bones.

Insecure of your inexperience, you try to steel yourself as you reply, “I’m grateful for your time, Nanami-san”.

If he senses your nervousness he doesn’t mention it, rather he extends his arm to assist you down from your seat. In doing so you take a moment to contemplate his garments — he wears a grey toned hakama over his pale blue kimono with a matching haori, embellished with the teahouse crest.

You take his open hand, habitually tugging the silk of your own kimono closer to your skin. Nanami casts his eyes toward the floor as you descend out of respect for your modesty, and while you felt it wasn’t required it was appreciated all the same.

“I’ll be waiting for your return,” your long employed escort, Norimitsu, lowers his head to bid you goodbye. Having known the man for most of your life, it comforted you that he wouldn’t stray too far.

Nanami remains stoic as he leads you into the teahouse. There are various open rooms housing guests of all class and background, conversation and laughter easily heard through paper thin walls. You are beckoned through a teal-dyed curtain, through which you find a large sliding door. He smoothly pulls it open for you, revealing a large parlour. You take note of the hearth built into the floor, and the small alcove of hanging scrolls that houses a single sword stand, displaying a katana. At the further end of the room, three screen doors have been tucked away to connect the space to a modest pond garden.

“I trust it is to your liking?”

You startle, glancing back at Nanami to find him at respectable distance. “It’s wonderful,” you answer at the end of an exhale, feeling like you had stepped into a dream. There are already a few attendants present, one knelt by your assigned seat on one side of the low tea table in preparation.

A delicate sound reverberates through the room, and your gaze is drawn to a young man draped in a green kimono so dark that it is almost black. There are subtle gold finishes along the square sleeves, and gold flowers embroidered into his obi. Laid out in front of him is a wooden koto.

“Please take your seat. These young men will tend to you as you wait for the Courtesan to arrive,” Nanami startles you out of your reverie, inclining his head forward as another gentle strum of music dances through the quiet. You overturn your hand to clutch the inside of your sleeve, embarrassed to have been distracted.

“Will they take long?” you ask.

Nanami’s expression shifts with his exasperation, nudging the frame of his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as it wrinkles. “Courtesans of The Michizane House are skilled. Their beauty is venerated and they are praised country wide for trysts with virtue and vice,” he regards you with an almost apologetic look, “what they do not excel in is punctuality”.

You can’t help but smile at his tone. It sounds like he knows them well, as if they are children he were lovingly admonishing. “You’re well acquainted with them?”

“Unfortunately,” he meets your eyes and when the light refracts in his irises, you notice they’re the colour of earth. “Though my personal relationship with them is no reflection on their ability to service you. They are regarded highly for a reason”.

“As is expected. In a place like this, personal and business affairs are kept separate for a reason,” you muse softly. A sudden blanket of exhaustion rests itself on your shoulders, reminded that you were here for duty and not pleasure. “I’ll take my seat. Thank you for your hospitality, Nanami-san”.

You take your seat in silence, knees sinking into the plush silk pillow as you greet the waiting attendant. On the opposite side of the table there are three other cushions lined up and equally distanced, indicating the number of Courtesan you would be meeting with. For a patron of high standing such as yourself, a banquet was custom. Money opened many doors and the House Managers knew that well — thus you were afforded much more freedom for choice, their top earners given to you on a silver platter.

But even so, the district was fickle for tradition and rules. During the banquet you weren’t to interact casually with the Courtesans, as it was their duty to appeal to you without bias. It could be through seduction, art, music and dance; each one given an equal chance to advertise themselves in whatever manner they saw fit.

After deciding your final pick you would meet with them a second time at the Michizane house, only in the company of their personal attendants. An opportunity to get to know one another better and cautiously test the waters. If the chosen Courtesan was not to your liking you would still be able to send for another and there would be no quarrel.

The third visit would be your consummation. Visiting with a Courtesan three times meant solidifying your relationship, and it would be forbidden to take another. You’d heard from many that taking a partner of the night was to be treated as seriously as a marriage, some even went as far as incorporating the exchange of nuptial cups. It was supposed to be romantic, if not slightly archaic. A beautiful lie.

You knew too well that you were not here for pleasure, but still you yearned for love, just as any other person does.

Behind you is the gentle sound of running water in the gardens, but you are taken by the koto player's song, and the fluency at which he plays it. Three ivy picks adorn his right hand, plucking with plectra on the thumb, middle and index fingers. His left hand presses and pulls the silk string behind the bridge, adding enchanting bends and vibrato to the melody.

“His name is Fushiguro Megumi,” the boy to your side murmurs, “here. This will help you relax”. You flinch as a ceramic sake cup is suddenly offered to you, reflexively taking it with a small bow that leaves your attendant bemused.

Bringing it towards your lips, you inhale the slightly sweet aroma before tipping the cup into your mouth, finding it a little dry on your palate. “Thank you,” you tell him. “And what is your name?”

There's a minute tilt to his head as he answers, one of confusion. With the movement, his dark hair curtains his cheek and somehow it makes him look even younger. “My name is Yoshino Junpei. I am a trainee at the Michizane House,” he replies.

“Oh?” you smile as his chest puffs with pride at your apparent surprise, “you must show a lot of promise then”.

“Thank you!” you think he might start to shake with excitement, a glimmer in his eyes that was not there before. He bows deeply, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his yukata. As his back straightens he continues, “But it is not just me. Fushiguro is also a Courtesan in training”.

You glance towards the trainee in question. He too is dark haired and pale skinned. If he sat still you thought he might look like a porcelain doll. His eyes remain closed as his fingers spin a saccharine harmony, though you can see there are smatterings of red across his cheeks. He must’ve overheard you.

“Then I would say The Michizane House has a keen eye,” you say. Junpei smiles, his mouth strained at the corners with careful hands reaching for your empty cup.

“I just thought it important to let you know… as trainees we cannot be chosen to service you”.

You nod sagely. Of course you had known that before your arrival, yet as you process his words and the implication hung between them, you feel your composure slip. “Oh—! Junpei, I never intended to pursue either of you. I was only appreciating his music”.

Your voice is low, hushed as not to embarrass the other boy any further. Junpei’s eyes widened like a fawn faced with an arrow, the bottle of rice wine almost slipping from his grasp. “Forgive me, I misunderstood and spoke out of turn I— I understand if you’d like to request another—”

Irrespective of etiquette, you cover his hands with your own to still the trembling. “There is nothing to forgive. You were informing me so that I wouldn’t get hurt, were you not?”

He inhales deeply, the air bloating his lungs, exhaling the anxiety from his limbs. Junpei bows again once you release him. “You’re a truly kind person,” he rasps.

“As are you,” you offer him a gentle smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the fraying edges. Seeing him so frightened at the thought of displeasing you was unsettling. You knew that it could be difficult for those working in the district, but having been sheltered most of your life you never quite understood the consequences.

Realising the sudden silence, you meet Megumi’s pensive stare across the room. His arms are held in suspension, anticipating your anger. “I assure you everything is alright,” you steady your voice in hopes he’ll hear the sincerity, “please do continue”.

His eyes narrow in fleeting suspicion. Gradually the melody bleeds back into the room, and Junpei returns to serving your drinks. This song is different, you note. It is light and hopeful yet poignant.

Yes, to have these two young men punished for such meaningless offences would be abhorrent.

There is movement in your periphery, low humming voices behind the screen door. You see multiple silhouettes through the lattice frames as Nanami moves into view, the pinch in his mouth smoothing when he sees you’re watching.

“The Michizane House is at your service”.

You knew to expect something unearthly, yet nothing could prepare you for the picture the Courtesans painted as they entered the parlour.

The first is a kind faced man introduced as courtesan Okkotsu Yuta. His robe is a gold silk with a pale obi, over top he wears a moss coloured uchikake made of tulle that has been painstakingly dotted with camellia blooms. His hair is dark and neatly parted to loosely frame his face; the only jewels he wears are around his wrists and neck. At first glance he seems young, but his eyes tell otherwise.

“Come, Rika,” he calls softly.

A small girl trails behind him, timid as she greets you but confident in her given task; once Yuta is seated she hastily kneels beside him to straighten the fabric pooling around him and makes quick work of pouring his drink.

As he introduces the next Courtesan — referred to as Choso, a name quite peculiar to you — Nanami is forced to move slightly back in order to make room for his frame. He’s broad, bigger than most men you had seen, though you could attribute that to the mountain of garments he wore. Light ripples on the sheen black kimono, glowing along the painted gold floral prints. Dotted across the fabric are embroidered chrysanthemum blooms; the obi is hefty where it is tied to his front, and you thought it looked as if he were holding a bouquet

You have no doubt his hair is long. It must’ve taken an impressive amount of time to comb and style it — parted into two sections and held either side of his crown with black cloth, ornamental hairpins with cascading red beads passing through each bun.

Forged from left cheek to right, curving seamlessly over the bridge of his nose, is a line of black paint. An innate part of you flares in alarm as he seeks out your furtive gaze in passing, like you were some sort of prey animal.

What fractures his stoic demeanour are the children at his side in simple black robes, identical in height and appearance. The only thing setting them apart was the elaborate lines painted on one of the boys' faces to match with his elder. They press their small hands flat to their obi’s and bow in a deep but clumsy manner.

“Hi, I’m Yuji! It’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Sukuna, we’re honoured to join you”.

Their voices overlap yet their greetings are given out of sync. You clasp your sleeve against your palm to cover your mouth, repressing a grin as Sukuna’s eyes narrow towards his unassuming twin. Not wanting them to be scolded, you quickly incline your head forward.

“Thank you for being in attendance,” you reply. Choso visibly softens, immediately understanding your show of kindness, and extends both arms to cradle the back of their heads. In doing so he encourages them forward toward his seat.

It’s quite brotherly of him, you think. Children are sometimes abandoned or sold to houses in the district, so you wondered if he had mentored them himself. It would explain his fondness for them.

Finally, a man in a cascading layer of pale blue over pink. Gojo Satoru approaches gracefully and you are reminded of a crane. Fine silks hug his body and ripple as he moves, slender and beautiful, wading through pond water and rain. The ornaments tucked into his moon white hair sway with every step, creating hypnotic little sounds that announce his presence to the path he is walking on.

He regards you with bright mirth, as if he can hear your thoughts, and perches himself on the rouge cushion directly opposite. Again, you cannot help but compare him to a doll, held together by silk and string. You thought you might tap a finger to his porcelain cheek and find it hollow.

With the best earners now present, the banquet finally begins. An opulent spread of food is set along the tables and bottles are replenished. Lower ranking Geisha are in attendance to provide entertainment as you gauge one another. While his own attendant is tasked with providing music, Satoru beckons one of the smaller pink haired boys to his side. Yuji, you remember. You can tell that he is much more free spirited than his twin brother. There’s a youthful air about him that makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

Choso doesn’t seem angered by it, casting a glance toward the pair but making no move to rein him back to his side. With unspoken permission, Yuji shines under the responsibility of pouring Satoru’s drink. You can’t help but watch with an endeared smile as his tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, slowly tipping his elbow up to fill the cup.

Amused by the boy, you almost miss the palpable shift in atmosphere. Looking up, you find Satoru scrutinising your reactions, haunted eyes filled with unexpected curiosity. Even at this distance, you feel it on your face like spring.

Naturally, both in asking and in passing, you had heard much about Gojo Satoru. He was renowned for his services and heartbreak in the district, and has been permanently moored to the spot of best earner. Not only was he a perfect picture of decadence, he was also skilled in conversation and the arts — a beautiful man that wielded both sword and fan.

Your family had personally suggested him to you, while still offering their approval for any of the top three; and you were more than qualified to choose any of them. Yet being in their presence now, choosing Gojo felt daunting. Quixotic. As if, despite all his previous conquests, your inexperienced hands might finally be the ones to sully him.

Lost in thought, you have been staring back at him far too long. His lips are salmon pink, a reflective sheen to them. They curve into a pleased smirk, like you were a naive lamb leading itself into a wolf's mouth.

Your brows pinch then, eyes averted to Junpei’s pale hands where he steadily refills your drink. It is swallowed in full, the initial sting diffusing into a muted warmth throughout your body, and he doesn’t comment on the cup's emptiness only moments later.

In part, Satoru’s flagrant arrogance mystified you. It was difficult to tell whether he was peacocking to impress you, or if he really was confident that you’d pick him. Frustratingly, his assumptions weren’t baseless.

You’re aware the others are more than suitable. Okkotsu Yuta was known for being gentle and firm. Authoritative, but in a way that puts your mind at rest. For one night, his fantasy could cast off the things that plagued you, leaving you adrift and carried by the tide’s cupped hands. Thinking was not something you need worry about.

Informants spoke of his popularity with newcomers. First timers. You understood why they’d choose him — Yuta appeared to have an uncanny command over his expression, always kind, surrounded by an air of empathy. It is present even now, as he watches Rika perform her dance. Eyes fond, following the practised flicks of her fan as the melody clothes her.

Choso was venerated as something of a romantic, and adored by experienced customers. His large, oppressive demeanour played well into the guise of gentle giant. He was shamelessly attentive and passionate with his servicing. This kindness was different to that of Yuta’s. It was the type anyone could fall in love with, which admittedly frightened you.

The way Gojo Satoru carries himself is different from his peers. Selection banquets provided a short window in time to leave behind a lasting impression. Unable to yet get close, Courtesans played to the best of their strengths in the hopes of planting a seed into their clients' hearts.

Such intentions were clear when looking at Gojo. He is carefully carved porcelain. Everything about him has been curated to serve a purpose. It seemed to you that even his garments were worn not just because of their elegance, but because they were so distinctly reflections of his mouth and his eyes.

Highly experienced, widely recommended, and dutiful at maintaining professional lines. Satoru’s prestige allowed him more freedom than his fellow Courtesans. Having earned so much for the district, Gojo was able to reject clientele if he so wished, and he often ended relationships if they began to cross boundaries. Knowing he could outright refuse you — and at the very least, hold you to account — without concern of backlash, eased some of your anxieties.

You surmised that he would be the safest option. In choosing Gojo Satoru, you might further elevate your family's standing without worry of developing unwanted feelings. Perhaps, in knowing the background you came from, he had already come to such a conclusion himself.

Still, his confidence grated on you.

The evening grows older, and along with it your own gusto. Limbs heavy, capillaries filled with wet sand. Alcohol has heated you from the inside out, just enough that it is a little easier to smile sincerely. Nanami returns during the late hour, as the banquet naturally comes to an end. You cannot deny it had been a success; food and sake always did taste better in company, twice as much when married with mellow ballads and delightful performances.

Custom dictates you should not exchange words directly before the second meeting. These men were products for you to choose from. Still, you make sure to hold their line of sight while bidding them a proper goodbye. One by one, their svelte bodies bend forward into a respectful bow, and you are reminded again of your place in this pocket of the world.

Nanami escorts you to your carriage, undereyes faintly darker than they had been earlier. You can respect that through his fatigue, the man maintains perfect posture and conduct. Norimitsu awaits by the entrance, having bided his time circling the district.

In leaving the teahouse that night with a dull ache in your knees, you continue to recall the delicate echo of Gojo’s hair ornament.

The days are long, longer than usual. You assist in the family business as always, but restlessness threads its way into your musculature, and you can’t seem to get anything done to completion. A letter confirming your choice of Courtesan had been sent the morning after your return, and you would attend a second meeting by the weeks end.

You endure their lighthearted teasing with a strained smile. “The men must’ve made quite an impression,” they said. “Especially that Gojo Satoru. I’ve heard he’s a sight to behold”.

You’d heard a lot, too. Plenty. Too much. The ornate bells had followed you all the way to your hometown. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo. Gaggles of women and men had approached you, hoping for details about him as if he were a creature tied to myth.

While it was tiresome, you couldn’t begrudge them. Gojo was not a man many could afford. Their best bet would be to attend a procession, if only to see him from afar. Untouchable. The thought weighs heavily as you watch the anxious curl of your fingers in your lap.

The Michizane House comes into view, your body rolling with the movement of the carriage as it cradles you. Taking up much of the forked road ahead, you think the building elegantly traditional in a way that the others aren’t. Yaga, the manager, is awaiting your arrival. Known for his philosophy of letting things speak for themselves, his property is clearly not exempt from such beliefs.

Lined with rouge lanterns, a dream of autumn-tide. It’s inviting and promises warmth, not at all salacious, almost palatial in appearance. Men and women draped in gorgeous raiment call out to passers by kindly, knelt behind iron bars, displayed for selection in latticed parlours.

Norimitsu is escorting you a second time. While still young, he’s tall and thick shouldered with a round belly. You knew him jovial, as something of an older brother, but to others he came across as the type of man you wouldn’t want to anger — hence why he was designated as your guard.

“Are you looking forward to seeing him?”

No more than you are looking forward to attending to your duties the next morning. Above all, this was work. Or so you tell yourself.

As if he’d read your thoughts, over the bustling crowds you hear, “I do hope you’ll at least try to enjoy your night”.

Presumptively, “I expect Gojo won’t make it so easy”.

Norimitsu chuckles as you come to a steady halt, then circling the rickshaw to assist you down. Tabi clad feet kick away any stray rocks in your path, and you step down with bated breath.

Your escort bows as Yaga announces his presence, stepping out into the road to formally greet you. It drew some attention — the manager of The Michizane House was not often seen by any average customer. “I’ll be waiting,” he tells you.

The pip of anxiety in your chest does take root, lissome branches curling around each individual rib. Yaga is not very personable; that’s your first lesson learnt. Rumour has it that he enjoys making dolls in his free hours. You suspect such gossip is only humorous due to the man’s rough exterior.

“We are honoured to service you at The Michizane House,” he politely recites. You nod shortly on the end of an exhale. Alongside his love of craft sits the love for his employees. At the very least, you knew that Yaga treated the Courtesan well.

The atmosphere changes the further into the maze you go. Tobacco, sake and sex permeates the air. Drunken laughter dissolves into quiet groans, sounds muffled behind cupped hands, a sharp slap of skin meeting skin. A fog follows — clientele chain smoking between rounds, faint grey clouds seeping beneath screen doors.

While the houses found success in abiding by their traditional values, some boundaries were a tangible, malleable concept in the district as long as money was involved. Desire could be stretched, moulded into whichever form you wanted. Here, within reason, you could do as you pleased. A mandated space to revel in your desires; scratch the itch away from the rigidity of civilised society.

In hindsight, choosing the Courtesan had been the easier part of the arrangement. While Gojo would be there to fill silences and guide the conversation, deftly covering for whatever social qualities you so clearly lacked, that would only be enough for tonight. You ought to decide upon your own itch.

Come the third meeting, how could Gojo Satoru sate your hunger?

“Satoru’s private quarters are just up ahead. He will be joining you shortly,” Yaga continues as he guides you out onto the veranda, where there is a beautiful garden; bamboo hedges and interwoven bushes, a winding road of pale sand lining a miniature pond. There are stones left hollow, dwarfed peach trees and azaleas. You inhale with relief as your lungs are cleared by the crisp night air.

Gradually, the awkward thud of your shoes against wood is overlapped by another’s more practised, commanding footsteps. Each step is accompanied by the quiet tinkling of a bell. A Geisha, presumably, that you’ve yet to meet walks out into your intended path, their presence overwhelming.

Yaga regards them cordially, “Maki”.

Long, regal fabrics that dance in lavish shades of indigo and gold. The very cosmos stitched into their clothing. Maki. They bow and the moonlight reflects around the crown of their head, highlighting a jewelled comb tucked neatly into a bun — a style common amongst well ranking women.

“Yaga-sama,” comes the formal reply. You stiffen when her golden eyes sweep over your form. She’s notably tall, and you felt she would still tower over you even in the absence of the Okobo strapped to her feet. Maki bows to you wordlessly, then returns to her pace. The small bell housed in the hollow of her shoes begins to sing. Thud, chime, thud, chime.

As she passes with a sidelong glance, a stream of moonlight illuminates her face. Handsomely pretty, you think. Her features are distinctive, angular. There is a fleeting thought that she reminds you of Megumi.

You remain close to Yaga’s heel as you enter another part of the house. The screen doors are painted entirely opaque, and there are less patrons here. While these quarters appeared to be far more private, still you hear the muffled, unmistakable, sound of sex from the end of the hall.

“Here,” Yaga’s voice snaps you out of your nervous reverie as his arm extends to open one of the rooms. It is atleast a good distance away from the other… occupants.

Sliding the screen across, a well sized room is revealed. Pale tatami flooring, dark knotted wood panelling. There is a low table and cushions set out beside the far alcove, where you might ponder the two decorative scrolls that hang there. At the foot is a small ceramic bowl, already cradling a lit stick of incense.

What truly demands your attention is the large wall mounted byobu, kept on the far side of the room over a large futon. It is a quiet depiction of nature, polychrome and laden with silk brocades. To the South are a small herd of rabbits, prancing through a mountainous valley adorned with blushing maple trees. North are a flock of cranes, wings spread as they glide across the skies.

You wondered how often Gojo would find himself looking at it. Did it provide comfort, or did it leave him wistful?

“Please be seated and make yourself comfortable. The attendants won’t be long,” Yaga gestures towards the tatami with calloused fingers, “rest assured, The Michizane House will accommodate you well”.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you reply, the words rolling off the tongue with ease. Formality is what you know best. Chin tucked to sternum in a placid bow, you first rush to remove your geta before entering the room on socked feet.

The screen behind slides shut and you are left with silence. Suddenly your obi feels too constricting, and the silk of your kimono weighs heavily across your shoulders. Approaching the low table, you clutch at drapes of fabric as you kneel to be seated. This would be your final moment of respite for the remainder of the night, and yet all you can think of is how you are now set in motion towards inexorable change.

There is a restrained knock from the door. Giving your permission, it slides open with a soft hiss to reveal the young man that you know to be named Megumi. This time he adorns deep purple, a garden of peonies both red and pink sewn into his sleeves. Balanced atop one of his pale hands is a tray of cups and sake. He bows forward, a single amethyst peony hairpin tucked behind his ear.

Tucked at his side and falling short at the hip, is one of the twins. His clothes are slightly disheveled, as expected of a child his age, but it’s well hidden by the violet geometric pattern. Cheeks as pink as his hair, you’re presented with a wide beam.

“Hi!” he chirps. Yuji, then.

Megumi lightly knocks his knuckles atop the boy’s crown in admonishment. As Yuji reaches to protect his head from a second strike, the trail of his sleeves pool into the crook of his arms.

“That was mean!”

Lacking discretion, though not without trying, the older attendant mutters, “Don’t act so familiar with the customers. Greet them properly”.

Yuji looks at you, visibly mustering up a sense of professionalism. He forces his mouth thin, and an unsettlingly placid sheen coats his once bright eyes. His head bows forward, still gracelessly. “Good evening. We are hon— honoured to serve you”.

You become aware of the dead weight of your robes around your shoulders. A prickling of discomfort under your skin. He’s just a baby, after all.

Kindly, you answer, “I’m honoured to be here”.

In return, you are given a toothy grin. The two step further into the room and begin their preparations without instruction. Megumi sets the tray down on the low table, so careful that it barely makes a sound. Yuji rearranges the remaining cushions, one moved suspiciously close and the others appropriately spaced.

Whenever Satoru arrives, a bright spark follows. There’s something different about him this time. His exuberance tempered, but still crisp; again, you are reminded of the breaking of spring. It rolls into the ambiance, and you find yourself irritatingly giddy.

“You’re here,” he says. Tonight he’s wearing a simple, light blue yukata dotted with little white rabbits. It drapes effortlessly on his frame, loose around his shoulders and partially open at the chest to reveal a toned expanse of pale skin.

Yuji and Megumi scramble to his attendance, while you are struck by just how relaxed he is. You can’t look away from him. There is a clink to your left, the neck of a small sake bottle meeting the rim of your cup. “…I am here,” comes your careful reply. “Thank you for accepting my letter, and for joining me”.

He smiles at that. It is unexpected and entirely genuine. Satoru actually looks at home here. There’s still a professional air to him as he settles beside you, tactile in his touch and deliberate with his words; you parse through them but find no smarm, only that he feels warmer.

Stilted conversation is not a thing of this world. Where words fail you, he is there to pick up the slack, peeling back the layers of your life with unassuming questions. The year you were born and the zodiac that comes with it, where you grew up, what business your family dabbled in, if you had siblings to care for — you, pleasantly light from the sake, breathing in tones of sandalwood, answer a little too freely.

Satoru hums as though he were feigning thought. “I have no blood siblings, but I’d say that our precious Megumi here—” he reaches out to the boy with lithe fingers and tousles Megumi’s hair out of place “—is quite like a little brother to me”.

The younger man cringes away from his touch looking suitably disgruntled. His features are sharp, but still soft in a way that betrays his youth. Yuji laughs.

“I’ve been wondering, why is it that the other attendants make an effort to match clothing with their Courtesans, but you and Megumi don’t?” you ask, absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of your kimono.

Satoru observes you for a moment, guileful eyes dragging from the nervous tick to your own, searching for something unbeknownst to you. You fear you might’ve offended him, but then, “Megumi dislikes the things I wear. He calls them ostentatious”.

Satoru’s mouth twists into a childish pout as he pointedly glares at the boy in question, and for a short breath the faultless mask is gone, “He doesn’t even know what that word means”.

Megumi snorts and quickly schools his expression, blank faced when he meets Satoru’s gaze, “I’d like to see you spell it”.

“Oh? Trying to embarrass me infront of a customer?” If he’s attempting to scold his attendant, then he’s failing spectacularly. Voice saccharine, cloying in his throat as he tries not to laugh, Satoru says, “Yaga will have you out on the street”.

“I wish he would”.

You watch their interactions from behind the lip of your sake cup. The taste is sweet, fitting for the moment. Skin warming, it sits well in your stomach and has a pleasant buzz thrumming through your veins. “Are they always like this?” you whisper. Yuji nods with his whole body.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Satoru smiles down at the two of you, his big hand reaching to cradle Megumi’s head once again. His attendant’s glare visibly softens and allows it. “We squabble like any other family”.

The word ‘family’ stands out in your mind like a stray thread. You pick at it, tentatively, “Is it possible you have blood relatives here? I saw another Geisha here who looked quite like you, Megumi”.

“You must’ve met Maki-san,” the younger man replies. There’s an obvious glimmer of respect at mention of her and for reasons you can’t place, it saddens you. “We share descendants. She is a distant cousin”.

“Curious that you both ended up at the same house”.

Satoru quietly sips his sake, licking at the inner corner of his mouth as he looks to Megumi, seeking permission to speak. Even more curious for a high ranking Courtesan. Megumi nods in silent acquiescence, and you halt when their collective attention turns on you.

As your cup is refilled, Satoru weaves a sullen tale of a small dark haired boy born to a wanted man and a runaway Geisha. Though riddled with illness and partly malnourished from her time in the district, his stouthearted mother carried him fully to term before passing after childbirth. Left with an infant, his lover's debt and a target on his back, the man snuck his son into the district where he wouldn’t be touched and sold him to the Michizane house.

“That boy was our Megumi. I saw his potential and took him under my wing. The rest you can guess,” he concludes fondly, though there is a tightness by his eyes. You wonder whether Satoru struggles to balance his gratitude and his guilt.

Incognisant of the troubled atmosphere, Yuji claps his chubby hands together. Appled cheeks strain where his grin stretches wide. “It’s just like me and Sukuna-nii!”

Megumi huffs and reaches over to pinch the swell between his fingers. The sleeve of his yukata hangs over the low table, slipping up his forearm to reveal a pale sleuth of skin. “Worm. Our stories are nothing alike”.

“No,” Satoru hums thoughtfully. “Yuji and Sukuna were left outside in a rice sack like a couple of drowned kittens”.

Megumi shakes his cheek, and it draws the younger boy's lip up to reveal his pink gums before letting go. You listen, horrified, as Yuji giggles. “S’cause they thought Sukuna-nii was cursed. But he’s just really cranky!”

“Is that right?” you faltered. Satoru takes your unease as a sign to lean in closer, shoulders brushing.

“Yeah. But it’s okay, ‘cause he’s my cool big brother. Choso too! He looks a bit scary, but he takes real good care of us”.

“You really love your brothers, don’t you?”

“Choso plays temari with us in the gardens when he doesn’t have customers,” Yuji flashes the charming gap between his front teeth as he rubs at his sore cheek, earthen eyes squinted with happiness. “If you spent the night with him, I bet he would play temari with you too!”

Satoru’s hand crosses your line of sight as he reaches out to poke at the young boy's waist, dainty bangles slipping down his wrist. “What’s this, kid? I didn’t invite you here so your brother could gain favour with my customer,” he bemoans, pinching and prodding at baby fat beneath the fabric.

Yuji stutters into peals of laughter at his theatrics, his arms folded close to protect his stomach. It’s obvious that Satoru does it to prevent Yuji from worrying — to let him act out, as a child should. The sound is so joyful it’s contagious, and the corners of your mouth curve into a helpless smile.

None of this had been what you expected. The many whispers you’d heard before tonight tell you clearly that this second meeting is an unconventional one. You figured the younger ones were invited to set your mind to rest; not once did Satoru make a pass in their presence. As the evening wore on you felt your inhibitions slip further, anxieties along with them, and enjoyed yourself as though you were in the company of good — albeit, touchy — friends.

Eventually, the attendants are given leave. Megumi bows deeply, Yuji mirroring him, but then you are thrown an easy wave before the shoji doors slide shut. With no boisterousness to fill the silence, you and Satoru sit quietly and listen as their light footfalls gradually disappear.

Then, Satoru reaches for your sake cup. Stifling heat flushes through you in anticipation of what he might do. Your tongue peeks out to wet your bottom lip as he brings it to your mouth. “Here,” he murmurs. “Let me”.

Hand poised by your cheek, you hold the decorative beads pinned behind your ear back while you bend to take a sip. The weight of his stare is unnerving, and inexplicably tempting. You release a pleased little noise at the woody aroma. It’s not unlike the sandalwood incense permeating the room.

He leans into your space and you hear a shallow intake of breath. After a beat, he confides, “It’s my favourite”.

You’re immediately disappointed, then you squash it. “Well. Thank you for sharing it with me,” your reflection stares dolefully at you from the bottom of the cup. “For sharing all of this with me. It was unexpectedly… fun”.

He pouts, and doesn’t miss the way your eyes fall to his mouth. ”I’m not at the top without reason”.

Sensing Satoru’s mischief, you hasten to deflect from your obvious slip up. “It’s a compliment! I just meant that this was different from what I was expecting”.

“In a good way?” he coaxed.

“Yes,” comes your ginger reply. You spare him an equally cautious glance. “I appreciate you letting them stay so long. I’m aware you didn’t have to”.

After a long silence, Satoru sighs. “Admittedly this isn’t how I usually do things. But I knew I needed to take a different approach tonight”.

“And what approach is that?”

“To be myself,” his eyes sweep over your form. “Can I touch you?”

You startle. “That—! We aren’t supposed to be intimate until the third meeting”.

“Not like that,” he reassures, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned as he fights a smirk. “Though it’s interesting that you would immediately assume something dirty”.

“We’re in a pleasure district. What else would I assume?” you argued, directing a glare to your lap, “I just didn’t want to overstep house rules”.

Satoru clicks his tongue, and the sound ricochets throughout your chest. If you had feathers they might’ve been on end, inflamed and splayed out in defense.

“Are you determined to make this difficult for yourself?” his tone lowers, a warm and playful lilt to it that pulls the breath from your lungs; As if he was actually enjoying his time with you, despite how intransigent you were being about it all. The back and forth was unexpectedly natural, and you think, in part, that is what startled you. “I’m supposed to be seducing you, you know”.

Satoru moves impossibly closer, thighs pressing together. You pull your kimono tighter, feeling exposed under his scrutiny, “And you plan on doing that by aggravating me?”

“No,” he draws the word out, ducking forward to meet your eyes. “You’re skittish. I thought I might hold you, that’s all”.

“You want to… hug me?”

“Hold,” he emphasises. “There’s not a romantic bone in your body, is there?”

Nettled, you lift your chin to glare at him, “I was under the impression you didn’t have any either”.

“You wound me,” he seems all too pleased by your sudden childishness. “Come here, then. Let me show you the difference”.

You hesitate as his body turns toward you, arms raised a fraction and waiting for your consent. His kimono has loosened further, revealing the defined planes of his stomach.

Closing the distance, you are pulled into his depths. Tense still, but as promised, Satoru does nothing besides embrace you. Heat seeps through silk garments, an arm secure and branding around your waist while a hand brushes reassuring strokes along your back. Tucked against his chest, soft redolence of floral spice coils around your nose and fills your throat like air.

With eyes closed, you listen to the pitter patter behind his ribs. His pulse is unexpectedly quick.

“Are you nervous?”

It’s surprising that you would be the one to ask. He hums pleasantly. “I wouldn’t call it nervous,” one by one, lissome fingers ascend the length of your spine, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the body is always honest”.

Satoru’s words are flint struck against steel, blood warm and rushing to fill the capillaries as you suppress a shudder. He cradles you securely and gently, as one might hold something precious to them, and your body is alight with it. Lured into a false sense of safety, surrounded by free spirited little white rabbits lovingly sewn into cloth.

You think you might be one of them now, too. Prey. Lured into the jaws of a man that has eaten his fill many times before — you taste good, but you’re no different. You’re just a rabbit.

He laughs at your awkwardness and it reverberates, tapering off into a long hum, “Breathe. Stop being so stubborn and let yourself enjoy this”.

Exhaling at his instruction, you grimace through the obvious quiver and peer up at him. His features are sharper from this angle, cut deep by the shadows. He’s beautiful. A paste of clays moulded into porcelain with smithsonite irises. It isn’t a wonder why people flock to purchase his time — he’s a spectacle.

“Can I ask you something?”

Then his eyes smile, wrinkling at the corners. It reminds you that he is human. “You don’t need my permission,” he assured.

I do, you think.

“Do you believe in love?”

You ache when he laughs again. This particular grin looks brittle up close, and there is a pervading sense of loneliness in it that you can’t shake. “Love is what I sell. Does that answer your question?”

“Is it?” you ask, lips pressing into a flat line. You were bored of being spoon fed fairytales. “What you sell is short-lived desire”.

He quietens, regarding you for a moment with dim eyes and you worry that you’ve been cruel. Amidst the silence you think he might be asking you the same thing — is it?

“Well, there’s no shortage of desire,” he says, though mostly to himself. The comment is wary, as if he’d fought something and lost, but his self assured veil is fixed. “They come here to fulfil a dream, one that I can give them. Same as you”.

Just another rabbit. You weren’t sure whether it was his lack of flaw or the idea of him treating you as any other customer that left such an unpleasant taste in your mouth.

“I think you’ve mistaken me,” you reply curtly.

“I don’t think I have,” he murmurs, reaching down to smooth over the curve of your cheek, speaking with amused cadence, “you only loathe that choosing me makes you exactly like everyone else”.

“Gods. You are so—!”

Satoru intrudes into your space until his nose bumps precariously against the skin beneath your eye, practically gleaming with expectant amusement, “—Loveable?”

Your fingers curl tight into his kimono, lest they find themselves around the pale column of his throat. “Irritating,” you fumed, reflexively pouting.

“Yet here you are”. The pad of his index finger then presses to your jutted lower lip. He hums, seemingly incognisant of the way your entire body has frozen. “I think you like it,” he says, his voice warm and amused. “I think you like me”.

“I don’t,” you reply. Too quickly.

He laughs, “Then I’ll get you to like me over time. Think of it like slowly boiling a frog”.

“That’s an awful idiom to use. What happened to supposedly trying to seduce me?”

Slowly, his finger skims over your cheek to the shell of your ear. You hold your breath. Close enough to count each white eyelash, to see the individual shadows they cast. He follows the curve with lidded eyes. Over the lobe to your jaw, down to the small gland in your throat, pulse quickening under his touch.

“Hm, I don’t know,” he plucks your wrist from your lap and brings it to his lips. “It seems to me that it’s working”.

Rocked by the intimacy, your tight fisted hand unfurls. Satoru watches intently. He begins at your inner wrist with a feather light peck, his lips softer than your imagination allowed, leaving behind a warm impression on your skin.

He carries on over to the heel, then another, deliberate where he kisses your heart line. You remind yourself to breathe and the exhale comes like a tremor as he nuzzles into the shallow of your palm. Pink lips drag along your thumb, pressing a kiss to the pad with a fleeting dip of tongue, searing against the whorls and lines.

The air is electric. Satoru repeats the motions for every one of your fingers, his gaze never wavering from yours. There’s heat spreading down your neck, prickling along your spine, pooling in your belly. His mouth quirks, equal parts knowing and amused.

“What do you think?” he speaks with warm, alluring cadence. There’s a desperate lilt to it that you like. It sounds as though he were just as affected by this as you. “Will you choose me again?”

That evening with Satoru left you feeling like a convalescent child. Fatigued, indulging in familiar home comforts. It wasn’t anything he did; not delivering gentle touches, nor his well practised whispers. More it was your own reactions — jittery and diffident as a newborn foal — that plagued you on sleepless nights.

You realise that at some point a subconscious part of your being began to seek his approval in some way. To experience his pleasure, aside from yours. Not only in spite of proving yourself worthy company, but because you—

A long groan builds in your chest, heels pressed harshly into your eye sockets. This is the exact opposite of what you thought would happen.

—You truly did come to like him. Selfish as it may be, you wanted him to think of you while you were away, just as you thought of him.

Gojo Satoru had crawled into your skin; made a home between your fourth and fifth rib. Your family are ecstatic, enthused by the arrival of a letter with his name inscribed on paper in heavy strokes. You tuck it away into your sleeve and read it later in the privacy of your room.

He asks that you visit again. He makes a promise to kiss more than just your hand, if you permit it. You swallow thickly at the thought, the ink trembling in your grip where you hold it a few inches over open flame. How is it he beguiled you this easily? What had happened to your steadfast resolve? Diminished in a single meeting.

You tuck the letter under your pillow with a sigh and write back.

That fateful night begins with an awe inspiring procession stretched many metres down the main road. Your family had insisted on commissioning the event. Hand picked Michizane House attendants, all dressed to mirror one another, walk forward slowly wearing stoic expressions. Lantern bearers, apprentices and servants followed close at the Courtesan's side.

There in the centre is Gojo Satoru, breathtakingly beautiful. His feet swooped outward in his approach and glided forward with trained precision, standing proud, tall and regal despite the many colourful, heavy robes and accessories swallowing his body.

You stand by the shop in wonder, surrounded by the crowds reverential whispers. The passing mention of your name encourages you to stand taller, to show the same dignity and grace that Satoru has shown. His eyes stare right ahead — right at you, vivid blue and divine in the lamplight. Under all the cloth and jewellery you see vestiges of boyish excitement. He looks happy that you’re here.

The onlookers seem to hold their breath as he closes in. Your heart beats wildly in the back of your throat, incognisant of the gentle pitter pattering rain from above. You’ve never seen anything like it. Waterfalls of red, gold, green spilling from his front. The geta on his feet are scuffed, scratch marks stark against the black. You cannot imagine the hours put into perfecting such a precise walk.

Norimitsu hurriedly produces an umbrella and holds it above you. Shoulders already damp with rain, you didn’t mind it. Satoru peers down at you through wispy, dove feather eyelashes, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in ovation.

You are ushered into the shop.

The time between stepping into the genkan and being taken to Satoru’s quarters is a rush. Your new partner is taken elsewhere for assistance with removing his heavy garb. A young girl you’ve never met offers you a clean dry towel and leaves you idly waiting.

Patting at the damp skin around your collar, you take in the surroundings. It is undoubtedly Satoru’s room, now lit only by lamplight. Golden, flickering shadows veil the space, creating a close and intimate ambiance. There is a luxurious futon in place of the low table covered in fresh bedding and pillows. You swallow at the sight of it.

“This won’t do”.

You yelp, covering your mouth to muffle the noise. Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hand still holding open the screen. He steps forward and slides it closed with a quiet hiss. You take in his state of undress; a thin pale robe draped around broad shoulders, tied loosely to emphasise a tapered waist, open at the front to expose his chest. Gone are the delicate ornaments and grand fabrics spilling forth from his obi. Brought back down to earth — back to you.

Lost in your appraisal of him, you almost miss the pinch in his brow. He cups your throat with featherlight pressure, rubbing his fingers together as he pulls away. “You’re wet,” his frown deepens briefly. You witness the moment that his thoughts connect to sex, only to smother them in favour of keeping you comfortable.

“You can say it, you know,” you offer wryly. He blinks, and the discontent melts to give way for mirth as he realises what it is you’re referring to.

“Well I can’t now. It loses all impact”.

Satoru takes the towel from your grasp. He hooks a finger into the fold of your kimono and you exhale, feeling knuckles brush over your breasts. “I’ll have Megumi draw you a bath. I can’t have you getting sick on our special night”.

Right, you think. His geniality and carefree air made it so easy to forget that this was little more than a transaction. “Please. Don’t tell me you got us nuptial cups”.

“Okay,” he chimes, flattening his palm against your chest to iron out the creases he’d left. “I won’t tell you”.

You clutch at his wrists, swimming in the loose fabric of his sleeves, “Satoru—!”

“A hot bath should help you relax. We don’t need to jump right in,” he murmurs firmly. Voice low and quiet, a pleasant hum in your ears. His hands are splayed over your hips now, stroking in small circular motions. “I’ll be gentle. Soften you up until you’re ready for me”.

Your nerves lessen steadily into a simmer. Amusement curls in the corner of your mouth, “A slow boil?”

Satoru grins; small, affectionate and sincere as he leans in, brushing his nose along the underside of your jaw. You feel a warm breath ghost over your skin. “Yeah,” he says. “Like a slow boil”.

The Michizane house was prized for more than just sex. You are pointed to a darkened, private bathroom and overwhelmed by the scent of eucalyptus. There is flora carved into the walls, topped with extravagant vermillion gables. Megumi rises from his knees, a sash drawn across his chest to keep his sleeves back, his silhouette blurred by steam. He nods as he greets you and sets a small stool over the grate. Rigid, you take in the large, kiln shaped tub.

Megumi bows, staring over your shoulder when he rises. It reminds you of the man standing patiently at your heel, maintaining a short distance as you acclimate to reality. You thank Megumi and he stoops beneath the curtains to leave.

Anxious as you were, the bath is calling to you. Tendrils of white dance on the water's surface. Wordlessly, you start to undress, loosening your obi until the neck gapes open and pools at your shoulders. The careful press of Satoru’s hands does not startle you. He helps slide the damp material over your shoulders while you untie the cotton belt around your waist.

Your kimono flowers open. Exhilaration frissons through your body and heat gathers under his fingers. All that’s left are your thin underclothing. You tremble as you reach back to undo the final knot. Satoru peels the layer back, stripping you bare. The temperature is pleasant on your exposed skin. Bumps arise over your arms and breasts, nipples perked up, senses sharpened. You can feel his sinuous movement in the air behind you, fingertips brushing the small of your back.

“Get in,” he quietly instructs.

The water is perfect. You dip your toes in first. Knee bending to climb in, your thighs part as you go; Satoru takes a sharp intake of breath that sparks like flint in your belly. Slowly, you sink into the depths, muscles bled of their rigidity. You sigh and tip back to rest your head on the edge.

“Better?”

You peek at him from beneath half lidded eyes. Satoru has taken up station by the bathtub. He looks comically large on the small stool. His arms are folded by your head, and he lowers into the cradle, cheek turned to watch your face closely. Lazily, you reach to curl a stray strand of white, gossamer hair around your index finger, saturating it with water until it holds a curl.

“A lot better,” you admit. It’s surprising how little you care that he’s seeing you naked. Maybe it was his commitment to honouring your boundaries that made this so much easier. A supposed sexual being, an ethereal creature of the night, so deliberately keeping his gaze above your collarbones. Picture perfect obeisance. “Will you just sit there?”

Mischief returns to his eyes. “Oh? Were you expecting something?”

“Don’t tease me,” you mumble. This is all so new to you. “I just thought you might…”

When your voice weakens with uncertainty, he presses. “Might?”

“Bathe me”.

You see his expression light up in the dim shadows. Satoru deigns to respond, rather, he turns to grab a bowl smaller than his palm. Inside it is a bar of perfumed soap and a cloth. He scoots closer with the cloth between long fingers, disturbing the water as he soaks it. You observe, hazy, as he lathers it with soap and moves to run it over your bicep. You lift your arm out of the water in synchrony, swallowing the swell of emotion in your throat as he covers your hand and gives a deliberate squeeze.

“Did you enjoy the parade?” he asks. The question echoes in the otherwise silent room, almost as quiet as the rippling water. You nod, too lost in the delicious pressure of his hands as he washed over your shoulders in practised, comforting motions. He huffed a laugh under his breath and continued down the planes of your back as you sat forward.

The words are cloying on your tongue. “You looked beautiful,” you tell him. “Just watching made my feet ache. How many years did it take to learn that?”

“That’s what you were thinking about?” he needled. You shudder at the innocent pass beneath your breasts, barely hearing him. “You were supposed to be enchanted by me. Not worrying about my ankles”.

“I was,” you insist, voice slightly slurred. The loss of tension has left you loose lipped. “You were so incredible. I could hardly believe you were walking in my direction. I can hardly believe you’re at my side now, bathing me”.

There’s a wealth of emotion in his eyes that you aren’t privy to. Satoru hums amusedly and bends to kiss your wet shoulder. He takes a copper jug from the shelf and fills it with water, shielding your face when he pours it over you to rinse away the bubbles. Eventually, he whispers for you to get up.

“Best get out before you prune,” he smirks. Satoru snakes an arm around your waist as you stand. Uncaring of how wet his robe would get, he balances you against his broad chest, leaving behind the wet impression of your hand. You feel something warm pressed to your temple. It is only when you are dry, wrapped in a thin robe of your own, that you realise it was another kiss.

You’re perched on your knees in the centre of his futon. Legs numb under your body, skittish heart jumping behind your ribs. You feel more naked than ever before. Somehow the suggestion of nudity is far more overwhelming than the latter.

Satoru sets a tray of sake cups on a tray, setting it beside the futon. You are awash with relief to see that they are the house’s regular cups. He must notice, because he chuckles.

Pouring you a shallow cup, he asks, “Have you ever bedded a man?”

There’s a tremor in your hands when you receive the sake from him. Between sips you reply, “No”.

“Are you scared?”

There is something in his voice, in the way his demeanour shifts, in how his face softens; it alleviates the panic. The waves become bearable. You can’t find it in yourself to fear what he might think of you now, not when he’s looking at you like he loves you.

“I’m not scared,” and it’s the truth.

You like it when he smiles. When he finds you funny and the bridge of his nose wrinkles. It’s no wonder some guests are dragged out kicking and screaming come morning.

“Why didn’t you choose Yuta?” Satoru splays out beside you. He lay on his hip, legs angled toward you, elbow propped up to rest his head. There is little left to the imagination. His belt hangs low, showing the firm plains of his abdomen. Your sights linger on the fair hair leading from his navel, growing thicker below the confines of his robe.

“Yuta?” you echo.

He nods, reaching across your lap to pick up his own cup. The sake leaves behind a sheen on his lips. You track the swipe of his tongue, leaning into his heat.

“Yuta is widely known to be a favourite amongst newcomers. Virgins especially,” he says. Had it not been for his neutral tone, you might’ve rushed to defensiveness. Empty drink set aside, his hand waves dismissively, “Apparently I’m too intimidating”.

“I can see why people might think that. You are sort of… otherworldly, at first glance”.

“Then why did you pick me?”

After your third night together the relationship would be sealed. You would be forbidden from accompanying another Courtesan. While it was not a traditional relationship, it still spoke of a high level of commitment and dedication to one another. Pride reared its lion head and you struggled to find the right words. Telling the truth would expose your feelings like a shorn nerve. Lying wouldn’t sit right with you.

“This isn’t one sided,” you tell him instead. “You could’ve turned me away. You chose me too. Why?”

“Because I wanted you,” he says plainly. Then, Satoru, far braver than you, takes your face into his hands, sweeping over your cheeks. You can taste his breath, sweet from the sake. “My world is all about desire and I’m no different. I want you”.

Satoru wears the warm lamp light well. Painted in strokes over every muscle and curve, it softens him. You let him take your weight, gently guiding you as you recline against the futon; thick and plush beneath, you are ensconced with his body heat as he presses chest to chest. Your thighs part naturally to make room, hooking lazily at either side of his waist.

His lips brush your own in a whisper of a kiss. “Wait,” you gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders. Satoru doesn’t pull away nor does he push. As you asked, he waits. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

Blinking slow, he rubs his nose along your cheek. Eyelashes tickle you like a moth's wing. “Sex isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present,” your fingers slide up the back of his neck, curling into his hair. Your eyes fall closed as he tilts to kiss each eyelid. “It’s about doing what feels good and letting go. Let me take care of you”.

Satoru’s mouth is hot and softer than any silk you’ve worn. He takes his time with you. The kiss begins tenderly — unexpectedly chaste, but never parting for long.

It touches something deep within you. The feeling intensifies as he parts the seam of your lips with his clever tongue, and when your fingers tighten at the back of his skull, he moans. You shudder under him, thighs reflexively clenching.

His hand comes up to cradle your crown as he gently coaxes your tongue into his mouth to suck on it, the other cascading the length of your bare calf to your thigh and kneading. Squeezing. Appreciating every inch of you. Satoru slips beneath the hem of your robe. You whine, trying to follow his lead.

“Yours first,” you pant, pawing at his clothes. Hair mussed from your hands, Satoru looms above you with kiss bitten lips pulled into a grin. You stare as he opens his robe, letting it slide naturally over his shoulders and casting it aside.

Your hands find smooth milky skin. He settles with his arms braced either side of your head and lets you touch. Fingertips trace the lines and divots of his stomach, feeling his muscles flinch under your touch. He’s a marvel to look at. But what you like best are the noises he makes — each part of his body is a new string to pluck.

The white hair around his cock is trim and surprisingly soft. He’s pale with a subtle curve, the tip blushing dark pink. Of course his cock would be pretty, too. He’s big. You think he is. You wouldn’t know, not really, but long enough for you to worry.

With newfound curiosity, you trail a finger from root to crown, spreading the prespend around his slit. You wrap yourself around his length and smile when he twitches, hips involuntarily bucking into your fist. Exhaling a shaken breath, “Can I touch you, too?”

“…Okay,” you hold his gaze and let him see the need there. A part of you wanted to be looked upon as an equal, rather than a fledgling; such thoughts you know to be ridiculous. Surely the power imbalance should lie with you, and yet.

You turn your cheek to the pillow while he parts the robe. It’s different here. Hugged by a dewy orange hue, the darkness makes the room smaller and casts your body in another light. You’re relaxed, laid flat. A shadow curves around the soft, lower part of your stomach. Your breasts lay slightly uneven, no longer held in place by a bust belt. Your legs are spread and draped around his waist, cushiony next to what looks to be cut straight from porcelain.

“Gods. You are divine”.

Satoru sits back on his calves, palming at your own. The oil lamplight flickers in his crystalline eyes and he looks ravenous. He’s looking at you.

“Satoru…” You ignore the urge to cover your face as he lifts your legs to hook one over his shoulder. You are already breathing heavily and he hasn’t touched you yet. He must know.

With reverence, Satoru turns and presses a kiss to the arch of your foot, smiling when you reflexively kick. “Ticklish?” he murmurs. The next is pressed to your ankle, drawn out and warm, holding your gaze as he does it. “How cute”.

Your hands twist in the sheets. He continues up your calf to your knee, then further, forging a path of lascivious words between your thighs. A shudder wracks through your body at the ghost of his breath over your sex. And when he blows lightly, purposefully, you can feel how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he breathes. So quiet it might not have been for your ears. Heat spreads under your skin. You’re equally frustrated and aroused as he continues on, abdomen flexing where he brushes a kiss to your navel. “You’re so beautiful”.

Satoru rubs his cheek over your stomach and takes a deep, contented breath. His hands smooth along your waist, kneading and squeezing at the flesh but never enough to bruise. Your heart jumps as he cups your breasts, mouthing the valley between, gently pushing them together to flick his tongue over each nipple. Wet with spit, he blows again, smiling as your skin pebbles as though it were reaching for him.

“You’re perfect,” he continues, returning to his place over you. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, now. The kind a man gets when he’s hungry. “I love how reactive you are. Look at you”.

“Satoru,” your voice echoes, desperate and barely recognisable. His face is warm in your hands — there’s a ruddiness to his cheeks that is unmistakably a blush. You’ve never felt so desired. His eyes watch as you wet your lips, and you try to pull him closer. “Kiss me again”.

“Another?” He sounds so breathless. Even so, Satoru barely yields, holding rigid over your wanting mouth. “Where, angel? Here?” He kisses the skin below your eye. “…Here?” His lips press to the line of your jaw.

You whine. Strengthening your grip, you force him to align with you, “Here”.

And he does, licking into your mouth in teasing, practised motions. He tastes like his favourite sake. Teeth sink into the fat of your bottom lip, pulling gently and letting go, connected by a thin string of spit. Half lidded eyes fall to the laboured rise and fall of your breasts, his fingertip circling around your pert nipple.

“Talk to me,” he pinches the nub between his fingers. Exhaling a short moan, you push up into the touch. “I want to hear all your sweet little noises. Will you do that for me?”

“Feels embarrassing,” you confess thickly. The vulnerability is overwhelming; your body continues to betray your true feelings with glaring clarity, all while his own remains hidden. “It’s— it’s a lot. I want you to feel good, too”.

“Good?” A fair brow arches. Satoru rolls his hips down in one smooth motion. He slides through your folds, weighty and hot. The head of his cock bumps against your clit and you both groan in synchrony. “This is what you do to me”.

“Me?”

“You,” he answers easily. The thick baritone of his voice quakes through you. Your pulse throbs as he reaches down to cup your pussy. “I wanna kiss you here, too. Can I?”

The heel of his hand alleviates the ache. Your hips instinctively grind against him, pleasure gathering low in your belly. “Yes,” you nod frantically, wanting more. “Please”.

“So well mannered,” he teases, thumbing your lower lip. The playful air has you opening your mouth, tongue pressed to skin. You feel his cock twitch. His fingers shift where they’re splayed across your cheek and he taps your jaw. “Get these nice and wet for me”.

Satoru smooths the pad of his thumb over your tongue, learning the grooves of your teeth. Heat flushes through you. The soft wet sounds of spit pooling into your cheeks rings in your ears as he pulls back, only to slide in another. Two, his middle and index, splitting them so they frame your tongue and stretch your mouth.

“You really are gorgeous”.

Embarrassment floods through you, yet somehow, his earnest praise only feeds your arousal. You buck against the hand that has slowly begun to grind against your pussy. Sex is about feeling good, he’d said. It’s about letting go.

You meet his eyes and steel your resolve. Cutting free of shame you wrap your lips around his knuckles and suck unabashedly. His lashes flutter, jaw slacking with a drawn out groan. “There you are,” he murmurs, retracting his fingers. They’re coated in saliva, glistening.

Before you can mourn the loss they’re sliding over your clit and the complaint dies in your throat. He spreads you open. Pupils dilated and gleaming, he descends your torso and rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit between the V of his fingers.

Your hands take root in his hair. He is undeterred by the clench of your legs either side of his head. He leans forward to consume you completely, eyes falling shut in a show of pure indulgence. Covetous, he verbalises his satisfaction with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex.

The beat of your heart ricochets through your stomach. Satoru’s tongue glides over you, languid and soft. Wherever a pleasured sound falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace. “Fuck, Satoru. That’s—” you keen when he gently sucks your clit between his lips, finger hooked and pressed to your entrance.

Satoru’s sinks into you, a careful back and forth, relaxing the tension with his tongue as he works his way in. It's foreign. He’s bigger, longer than yours. Not unlike the reverential way he treated your mouth, he pulls out when you’re comfortable and pushes in another.

“Does it hurt?” he asks. You blink through the warm haze. There’s a sheen of spit and arousal covering his chin.

You shake your head no, “Feels… feels really good”.

“It’ll feel even better soon,” he promises, maintaining a delicious rhythm. Fingers curl upwards inside of you, a come hither motion towards your belly. That intense feeling tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs flexing against his ears with hips bucking into his hand.

“Oh—!” He angles his head to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over your clit and your heels dig into his back. “Satoru!”

The breath is caught in your throat. From your fingers to your toes, something all consuming forces your muscles rigid and your spine arches upward like a bow as you crest. Then the air is pushed from your lungs. All at once, the sensation lessens, diffuses, and warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses.

You hear the fond intonation of your name. It sounds so natural in his mouth. You’re awash with afterglow. Was sex always like this? You felt as though you were floating. Releasing a satisfied sound, you slump into the futon. Satoru laughs and the room glows a little brighter.

“Done already?” he asks, massaging your calf. There is a hint of pride in his voice. “We have all night together, you know”.

“No,” you mumble, teeth worrying your lip as you push up onto your elbows. He’s hard, you notice. Hung heavily between your bodies. You want that power at your disposal — to render him as useless as you. “I want you to cum, too”.

There’s a pinch in his brow. Satoru shifts with you and squeezes at the fat around your hips, “You don’t need to push yourself”.

You try and fail to articulate it, stringing together a breathless request, “No I—I want you to cum because of me”.

Satoru laughs and the sound dwindles into a light groan as he squeezes himself. “Angel. All of this is because of you”.

“Then fuck me,” you say. “Properly”.

The lamplight flickers, moving the shadows on his face. He’s gazing at you from above, big, hungry. Exhilaration frissons down your spine. Satoru manoeuvres your hips, dragging your lower half unceremoniously into his lap and slipping a spare pillow beneath you.

When the head of his cock catches, you instinctively clench. “Breathe for me,” he coaches tenderly, and you let the tension go. The stretch is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but as you exhale the sting lessens until there is no pain at all. Skin to skin, Satoru lingers patiently in the cradle of your hips, letting you adjust to his length.

“Move,” you rasp. “Please”.

He pulls out with an indelible pace. You’re still sensitive, but it feels good in an odd way. Melting into the sheets to savour the drag of his cock. Your breasts shake with every rock of his hips, blue eyes enraptured and following the movement. Bending to cage you in, Satoru captures your lips in a deep kiss, groaning loud into your mouth with his hand laid flat and pressing to your belly.

“Taking me so well,” he rumbles. “I knew you would. Wanted you the second I saw you”.

That sensation returns. It begins like a trickle, the heady pleasure slowly seeping and growing in intensity until it’s an enormous wave. He indulges, and you arch into his touch as he continues to transverse the length of your body to tuck into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck. Feel that?” the words press against your jugular. His hips rear back for emphasis, “You keep sucking me back in”.

Inhibitions lost, you tether yourself to him, nails embedded in the pinked skin of his shoulders. You stutter out a warning, “Fuck, Satoru. I think— I’m going to—!”

“There you go,” he punctuates the demand with a firm thrust. Eyes squeezing shut, your arms lock around the expanse of his back, toes curling as your legs seize forcefully around his waist. More overwhelming than the first, you clench down on his cock as you’re tipped over the crest.

Satoru carries you through it with the languid undulation of his hips, peppering kisses to your cheek. His own broken whines are hot against your skin. Your arms are limp, still clinging enough to keep him close. You don’t want to let go.

That thought passes just as his breath hitches and he abruptly pushes up from your chest. Gripping the base of his cock he pulls out, he fucks desperately into his fist and cums over your bare stomach. Satoru exhales a long moan and the sound tapers into a sigh.

Regaining his bearings, Satoru murmurs your name again. You watch dazedly as he lifts his head. The corner of his mouth curls up into a satiated smile as he notices you’re already looking back at him. Leaning to press a kiss to your forehead, the room falls unnaturally quiet. The dregs of afterglow slowly dissipate, and reality creeps into the forefront of your mind.

“Are you in pain?”

There’s urgency in his expression and you realise he has sensed your change in mood. “Not…” you wriggle slightly beneath him. “Wow. No pain. I’m just a little sore”.

“You felt incredible,” his face softens with relief and glances to where your bor bodies once connected. You grimace as he drags a finger through the cum on your belly. “Rest here. I’ll fetch something to clean us both up with and have Megumi bring some water to drink”.

What follows is akin to a lovesick haze. A memory before you can even register it. You awake to the brilliant ochre of the morning, swaddled in thick blankets and laid next to a warm body. Satoru has you cradled to his naked chest, rising and falling with shallow breath, sleeping soundly.

The sunlight has flooded into the room and that is enough to conclude that it is long after dawn. Your ears prick at the sound of movement in the rooms around you, and the events of last night flash unbidden through your mind. Noises like that are commonplace in a pleasure house — still, you hope nobody heard you.

Cautious as not to wake him, you lift your head to survey your surroundings. The atmosphere is so starkly different during the day. All the allure and taboo is gone. It is just a man's bedroom. The only space that truly belonged to Satoru.

It tasted bitter in your mouth.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Satoru had roused so easily. You wonder if he always slept so light. “I was thinking that…” you pause, giving your next words some thought. “I think you don’t… belong in this place”.

Satoru readjusts himself and meets your gaze from above, bracing over your body with one arm. His head tilts, lazing against his shoulder as he watches you, tracing a lithe finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Oh? What will you do?” his voice is tired, lilted as if he were mocking you. But he’s smiling, too, and it is unlike the others — soft and sad. His vulnerability leaked through the crescent-shaped indentations you’d left behind. “Will you buy my freedom and deprive my other loyal customers of their fulfilment?”

“I don’t care about their fulfilment,” you mutter, eyes falling to the space beneath the linens where your legs are still entangled with his. He laughs.

“You’re more selfish than I thought,” his fingertips smooth along your jaw, gently tilting your chin up and forcing you to look at him. “And then what? You’ll keep me all for yourself?”

It reveals a lot, you think, that his first assumption is you’d still expect him to serve you somehow. All Satoru has ever done in his life is give, give, give. He was beautiful, strong and skilled, and such gifts from the Gods were obligated to be shared.

But as he said, you are selfish. When his thumb skims along the bow of your lips, they stretch into a promising smile. “No,” you tell him. “You can go anywhere you like”.

It’s a pleasure to watch his expression wane, the push and pull of hope and disbelief. Now, his eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them. “Anywhere?” he breathes.

“Anywhere,” turning into his palm, you kiss the heel and feel a tremor rush through him. “Be whoever you want. Just Satoru”.

A brief silence stretches thin. And then he laughs again, an abrupt sound. Satoru dips to press your foreheads together; close enough that you can see the dreamer's expression on your face reflected in his own pupils, and individually count the striking white lashes along his waterline.

“Selfish and cruel,” he murmurs fondly. Instead of warmth, you suddenly feel cold. “Even if that were possible, I have responsibilities here. Megumi, Yuji and the others are here”.

“But—!”

“—I have influence. High ranking customers. I keep those kids safe here, and I bring in enough money that they can enjoy their youth before they’re made to work,” he continues. As it goes on, his voice is steadily harder; the cradle along your jaw firmer.

Brows pinched, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed forward. Your nose bumps against his cheek, lips awkwardly aligned — you let him kiss you. It’s too quick, and almost punishing.

Pulling back, he rasps, “It is my job to sell dreams. Not yours”.

That’s right. How could you forget?

He cups your face again, as though he didn’t want to let go. The pad of his thumb strokes over your cheek, tracing a shallow crescent shape beneath your eye. You’ve never felt so helpless.

You leave the Michizane house soon after with a smile painted on your face. It will not slip, not until later in the night. You cannot allow Yaga to question Satoru’s treatment of you. A courtesan’s duty is to appease. Norimitsu scans your body, entirely lacking subtlety, and steps forward to assist you into the rickshaw without a word. You’re thankful for it.

When you do not return to the shop, a letter arrives. The parchment is perfumed with a comfortingly familiar scent. Satoru inscribes his longing onto the page. He’s asking if you’ll visit with him again, and in the bottom corner he has cleverly convinced Megumi and Yuji to sign their names alongside his own. Your chest tightens.

Weak, you reach for your ink stone and brush.

Satoru sold dreams — and yours had been to be loved. You wondered if that was his dream, too.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

876 notes · View notes

maysrinn · 4 months

Note

District AU:

What was Lucy Gray/the covey’s strategy for raising kids in the wilderness without getting caught by the public eye? (Also what was the covey’s opinion/reaction to finding out Lucy Gray was pregnant?)

(Did they encourage dirt eating to “build up a tolerance”)

Good question, I don’t think they had a strategy at first with each single member trying to make it till next month dragging Lucy Gray along the way. Each incoming child had to be taught and excluded from the same thing, which was going out into the district towns. In the book they lived at the edge of the Seam near the forest edge if I recall correctly, I have no idea how it is with neighbors, idk if they have any, in the movie they don’t seem to have they are surrounded by the meadow and trees (On set pics show some kind of run down trailers they call the “covey nest” which I adore…4 hour cut where are you my beloved) So I don’t think people would notice or care about little wild gremlins running around or Lucy Gray giving birth where nobody goes voluntarily anyway.

______

Upon her revealing it to the covey there were some mixed reactions about the reveal, especially with Tam Amber and Barb Azure being the oldest having the most worried ones. Lucy Gray insisted on keeping it a secret for the babies sake with the two oldest Covey members agreeing. The one with the most reaction variety was Barb Azure, while Maude Ivory and CC thinking about names, where to put a little crib, colors, new and old lullabies or if the babe would like goat milk.

Meanwhile Barb Azure being wooried about:

Food shortage, Lucy Gray now needs to eat for two and later be able feed the little one

Performances, if they want to keep this a secret Lucy Gray has to step out at some point and even then its risky

Billy Taupe who tries to get her back with an angry pissed Mayfair on his trail who goes lengths to hurt Lucy Gray

Medical assistance

Birth in itself and where with who

Potentially also Lucy Grays lingering ptsd since the games maybe the little critters improve it

Don’t get me wrong she is just worried and scared for her cousin, but whatever Lucy Gray chooses for herself Barb Azure will be there to support her with the challenges laying ahead (She’s a great aunt by the way).

_________

Lucy Gray: please don’t tell HIM a thing, Coriolanus will turn Panem upside down trying to get back here

Barb Azure: what? Oh no sweetheart don’t worry about that I won’t tell him a thing…WE wont tell him a thing, I promise.

Lucy Gray: *sigh of relief* thank you

Barb Azure: especially not before I shot him myself….where are those riffles at Lucy Gray-

Lucy Gray: Barb Azure NO-

—————

Also yes absolutely, especially Clementine the little stomach bug was trying to eat everything that she could get her hands on, especially grasshoppers from the meadow. Rosalyn tried to eat flowers or grass and Cedar is definitely a dirt babe. Builds character and resistance.

#tbosas #snowbaird #lucy gray baird #someone get Barb Azure a riffle #nevermind she found one #disctrict family au go brrrrrrr

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draco-after-dark · 4 months

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I imagine Feral JD is a skinky boi, would one of his brothers try and make him take a bath or somthin’?

You may be predicting a future chapter in the story...

Perhaps...

but like you didn't hear it from me

But yes he can get very smelly by times and the brothers do try to get him to take a bath (mainly Branch). Especially since jumping into a river or pond can only do so much so he came to the conclusion to just roll around in cedar tree scales. (that's what the leaves are called) The ones I'm thinking of are the eastern white cedar. They smell REALLY good and if you've ever gotten a scented candle that's labeled cedar that's most likely the tree your smelling. That and they look really weird for trees.

Like look at those weird scaly ass leaves. fuckin weird ass tree that i love to smell. also the thing just grows like a giant bush and they take YEARS to grow like they are so slow but i love them.

anyway sorry for the tree rant I've worked with plants for a few years and i like to tell people fun facts. And though hey why not incorporate some of this stuff into the AU

But yes he do be smelly that's what happens when your just sweating out in the woods for years.

#feral john dory au #feral jd au #mcdracoson asks

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buckets-and-trees · 5 months

Note

Hoe’kay, I’ve had a thot 👀 Cedar Trees AU drabble + make it a/b/o 😏

This really just stems from this horny visual that won’t leave my whore mind: Steve scenting Reader’s throat for the very first time 😵‍💫🤌🏻🫡🫠

Oh! Siri!

If this man....

GOOD LORD

okay

So let's play with this.

If the Cedar Trees AU were an omegaverse...

So King Steven Rogers, strong and dutiful alpha... let's say he's come to his kingdom in kind of an Arthurian way, being chosen by destiny/winning the throne. He's beloved by his people. He spent ten or twelve years on the throne because he was devoted to serving his people, making peace for his kingdom, learning his duties, becoming the king he would want to serve if he weren't wearing the crown. He didn't turn the heads of anyone as a somewhat scrawny adolescent of unremarkable upbringing. Once the crown was thrust on his head, everyone was watching. He was always smart, and he stayed grounded. He also grew into his very remarkable adult alpha male body. (because duh)

Given all of this, he didn't let himself get distracted by the attention. He worked hard not to let himself get taken advantage of by anyone in or out of the kingdom while he was learning how to be king, either. He told everyone marriage was a long way off. Many people tried to argue that he needed to acquire his queen and establish his position with an heir for stability. He said there was nothing the existence of a child could do if there wasn't a stable kingdom for them be born into, and true stability would be achieved by him doing the work expected of him as a king.

Bucky, his number one, his right hand, is the one who assured him (and kept pushing him) that it was finally time to look to marriage - that at this point in his reign, there aren't any excuses of duty that he can make anymore. They discussed - because he trusts Bucky with everything and to keep his head right - that it needed to be a logical political alliance to strengthen two kingdoms, a smart woman who could even possibly be an asset in court and fostering royal relations. And she'd need to be an omega, but Steve both knew AND didn't mind in the slightest that he wouldn't end up with the much romanticized idea of a true mate. It was uncommon enough for someone without a crown, but laughable for a king.

But as alpha and omega dynamics do rely on primal chemistry at least to a point, after initial negotiations had been deemed suitable, there was a day planned for Steve and his delegation to meet you, your parents, and the rest of your advisors/delegation. This took place at a neutral location - another palace with friendly relations to both of you. Things began with a royal lunch, hosted by the king and queen of the land you were both visiting. A chance to break bread and everyone just share a meal and warm up the familiarity.

And then a royal walk around the gardens for the potential marital parties and a chaperone each. Does this sound formal? Yes. Because it was. It was you and Steve with Bucky and someone from your family following ten feet behind, and it took place outdoors because this kind of walk before final negotiations is solely for two partners to test whether or not there's hormonal compatibility, informal scenting, and if it's not going well, the parties are spared having that confined to a room, and anyone can make some excuse of a loose shoe, too much heat, being exhausted, etc, to shorten the walk.

But the walk with you is pleasant from beginning to end. The conversation is nothing deep, and neither of you went in for overly engaging, but it was the kind of conversation that he occasionally experienced with visiting dignitaries who didn't have business with him. Easy, natural.

It's only when he realizes that the two of you are almost back to the palace and he hasn't actually gotten the read on scent compatibility that he worries a little. He has to do something. Pleasant conversation was not the point of this walk.

So just as you re-enter the foyer and are about to part, he takes your hand to politely bestow a kiss over the back of it, it should allow him to scent your wrist appropriately but not overtly.

Only when he does catch your scent, he discovers that it was something floral that he though had been the garden, something so enticing that he holds his breath in that moment, and his hand holds yours a little more tightly, and a second or two longer than expected.

He looks up to your face again, and your lips are pressed together with just a hint of timidity behind the soft curving smile. You are trained - as he has been - to keep an open face, but one that doesn't tell everything. But he can see in your eyes just a hint of a spark.

This will work.

He wants to turn your hand over and truly scent the inside of your wrist, press a kiss to that spot of tender flesh and feel your pulse beneath his lips, that's how much your scent compels him.

But of course he won't do that.

The two of you part, and when Bucky asks if it's a favorable assessment for the final arrangements for the marriage to go forth that afternoon, Steve nods and affirms it.

He sorts his thoughts logically - it's just a very fortunate compatibility. The coupling will be compatible.

He has no idea the two of your are meant for growing together and sincerely enriching each others lives - that you are his true mate.

He still won't even believe it over the honeymoon.

It will be that period after when he realizes he's in love with you, and even being in love, it will still take more time - a few heat cycles and ruts together, and just being together for him to ultimately realize it. And then when he looks back, it will be as plain as day.

#cedar trees au #aspen asks #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #siri/stargazingfangirl18

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theesteemedladydebourgh · 2 years

Text

Rated: T

It’s the summers of roses and falling for the sun.

Some things are different. Some things are the same. The chosen ones of the gods are molten gold, in every lifetime. Blistering, burning, trickling from the cupped palm of someone else’s will, to be molded and hardened in freezing water into a cast. A weapon, a blade, something that aims true. Even the beautiful things are sharp. But what happens when the droplets of gold spill into water…and shape something hollow?

(what if jily were percabeth and the world was breaking a little bit).

a bit late, but better late than never haha! also now two chapters instead of one because brevity is a state of mind 🥰 blame this on the percabeth renaissance + You Are in Love + usual jily brain rot

for my loves @jilyism and @sunshinemarauder (happy late bday bestie, you’re the brightest star in the sky) and also everyone who experienced the second coming of percabeth in the jily fandom recently.

playlist if you want to listen to the vibes!

Read Chapter One // if i was born as a blackthorn tree on Ao3!

#witness me like fire weeping from a cedar tree #jily #jily fic #jily PJO au #pjo #i am now engaging in targeted fic violence #target: ct discord loves

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idkwatthehec · 2 months

Text

Alright, here’s the wip for my God of War AU :)

You must return. I cannot care for him any longer.

Techno grips his axe with both hands. The bandages around his hands scrap roughly against his palms as he raises the tool.

My health is on the decline. It has been for a while.

He swings the blade. The metal digs harshly into the wood of the marked tree. Bark goes flying.

You trusted me to raise him. I believe I have done the best I could.

He yanks the axe out and raises it once more. He swings.

The boy is kind and in tune with the earth around him. All manner of animal tends to flock to his side.

The force of the blow shakes the muscles in his arms, causing tremors all the way to his shoulders. He grunts and rips the axe out once more.

He is smart and stubborn. Just like you.

With a roar, he swings the weapon and it cleaves straight through the thick trunk, sending splinters flying. The tree groans, as if in pain, then tilts over and crashes to the ground, a mighty shake following its collision with the earth.

Just like you, his mind whispers.

Heaving out a shaky breath, he puts the Axe of Peace back into its holster on his back. He reaches down to pick up the fallen tree when a flicker of white catches his eye. The bandages, previously fastened tightly around his palm, now flutter in the slight wind. His hand gives an involuntary spasm at the sight. He straightens his back and begins to rewrap the cloth.

“I found some,” a child’s voice says from behind him. He hears footsteps, soft but careless, approach, and turns so his back continues to face the child behind him. The footsteps stop. He pulls a pair of well worn black gloves from one of the pouches on his belt and tugs them over aching fingers. “I mean, I’m pretty sure this is part of the tree that you-”

“Get to the boat, kid,” Techno sighs, closing his eyes for just a moment. He doesn’t wait for the boy to start walking before leaning down and picking up the fallen birch, hefting it up onto his shoulder. Finally, he turns to face the boy still not going to the boat.

The child was probably half of Techno’s own height and nowhere near his muscle mass. The boy was lanky, with skinny arms and knobby knees. His bright, blond (gold, his head whispered) hair just touched the nape of his neck, and curled in all sorts of different directions. His fingers fidget around the sticks of cedar that he had collected, nails short and palms unscarred. His eyes, piercing blue, stare into Techno’s own from beneath a pair of bushy blond eyebrows.

From hair, eye color, and stature, they look nothing alike.

Your hair used to be gold like his, the voices taunt. And your eyes the sapphire blue of the Overworld sky. Before you became ours.

Just like you, words written in black ink stain yellow parchment. The letter sits heavy in his pocket. The boy in front of him stares.

“Get in the boat, Theseus.”

#dsmp #tommyinnit #dream smp #technoblade #c!tommy #dsmp fanfic #bedrock bros #c!bedrock bros #c!tommyinnit #c!technoblade #c!techno #god of war au

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macadam · 3 months

Note

Now that I’ve seen your tree post, I have to ask:

Assuming you at least know your tree species better than I do, which trees would you assign to which characters?

(No one in particular—just the ones that come to mind.)

That post has resolidified two universal constants of this blog.

One: everything is canon.

And two: you all think there are way more thoughts going on in my head than there really are.

I confess that I haven’t actually considered what trees would belong to what character/alt modes. This is much more of an aesthetic au grown from my love of Irish folklore and nature in general.

But, now that a few of you have asked what trees I would assign, I'm thinking about it

Right off the bat I think I would make Optimus a weeping willow, for no reason other than I think it's very poetic and I've always pictured a willow tree as a very protective, sheltering tree that hides secrets. And I also think that Optimus is a little bit of a sorrow-felt character (read: a lot. a lot of sorrow actually).

Megatron immediately feels like he'd be some sort of choking vine. Ivy, perhaps. Because while I did say trees in the original post I'm not going to limit myself to it. And frankly, trees aren't even a real thing. They're just a word/category we've assigned to tall, wooded plants. Palm trees, for example, are more closely related to grass than like,, an oak tree or pine tree lol.

I like the idea of all the medics being different types of medicinal plants. Cedar, birch, or oak would be a good fit.

This isn't a character per se (though more and more it feels like one to me) but I like the idea of the allspark/matrix being the mycelium network. The idea of a parasitic mushroom colony giving Optimus commanding thoughts and wicked nightmares is really compelling, and you know I'm already a sucker for the parasitic matrix head canons.

#Mac asks #I'm tempted to keep going but I think that's enough for one night #because I could frankly do this forever and I need to stop somewhere #cursed au timeline where bee is a bee #also the maximals get to stay. I think the idea of them being protectors of the forest (cybertron) would be really cool #feels thematic feels like it would work

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fallstreakfeathers · 7 months

Text

WHERE LIGHT DWELLS

Warnings: au typical trauma, biting, Sekido bites you but not in the Fun Way, septic shock, vomiting. Not formatted for tumblr bc it takes forever on mobile We are now formatted for tumbl.hell, Reader is gn and not described.

Word Count: 8,085 8,385 (update as of 4/9/24)

If it's unreadable, try it on Ao3 : Where Light Dwells

( Taisho Secret: I don't like sekido.)

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Part 1

Your car purrs along the deserted backroad; a not-so-short-shortcut home to avoid the traffic on the main highway. The radio sings in the background, not that you’re really listening to it. You can’t even tell what’s playing over the wind that whips past your open window. Some old classics. Maybe country. It cuts in and out as cell service wanes, and you think that the atmosphere could fit a horror movie despite the daylight. It’s dilapidated enough, at least, and the wind pushes the trees in a way that makes the creaking branches look as if they might just snatch you up. The scenery that blurs past your window is more interesting than whatever song manages to glitch its way into your car. You drive over a pothole and the bumper jumps, jerking you in the seat. You wince. You don't remember that one being there last time, but with the size of the storm that wrecked the shingles on your neighbors roof a week ago, it was a miracle there were no downed logs. Yet.

A dark, unusual shape catches your eye as you navigate the pits and ruts of overgrown foliage and litter amongst a twig-strewn dirt road. At first you ignore it- after all, it’s probably just another bag of trash someone’s dumped in the woods. But, something about the shape of that shadow tugs you back, and you hesitantly slow your vehicle and put the gear in reverse.

Gravel and dead leaves crunch under the wheels as you stop, and the closing door startles you in the uneasy peace of the forest. Even the birds seem quiet today. Heavily aware that you are alone in the woods, on a backroad that is so rarely traveled anymore that it’s more grass than dirt, you creep towards the dark figure and peer over the side of the ditch. Your face pales. That’s… there’s a hand poking out from under a large bush. And ragged clothes that don't hide whatever it is from the suffocating heat. You’re trying not to freak out, praying it’s a mannequin, or even someone's… personal toy. Anything but a corpse. It stinks, a rotting, pungent sweetness that turns your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s whatever is in front of you or if it’s the miles of trash and dead plants around you. Several steel wires had been wrapped around a cedar tree behind the bush, and you swallow hard as you see the iron is stained red. You hope it’s rust. The wind dies down, and you swear you can hear labored breathing as you crouch in the ditch, trying to see under the bush without sticking yourself in reach. Your heart sinks further.

There’s an adult man hiding under the leaves, and you can tell from his pointed ears and the horns that curve out of his forehead that he's a demon. Someone's pet, from the looks of the rusty tag hanging from chains way too tight on his neck. Red, swollen bug bites pock his arms in a furious itchy red. You pull your own sleeves down. The bindings cut his flesh, leaving gaping wounds that cross around his body. They look inflamed, from what you can see. Something yellow oozes from a few of them, mixing with the blood soaking the ground under him.

There’s several deep punctures in his arms that are obviously from another demon’s teeth. Possibly even its horns. Then the wind changes and the smell hits you full force. You stumble back, stomach cramping as you try not to retch. The demon pulls his trembling hand back as the leaves move, trying to hide his sun-burned skin from the heat. Demons… the sun hurts them much faster than it does humans, you remember. At least, prolonged exposure does. From what you’ve heard. Not that you’ve ever dealt with demons. You’ve never even met one, except for the unfortunate, skulking thing your friend kept around. The girl wouldn’t even meet your eyes, shoulders hunched and tense like she was expecting to be hit for even breathing. Her ratty hair had hidden her face. You disapproved of the concept of a demon ‘pet’, but your friend insisted it was better than a dog or cat. Traditional pets couldn’t do household chores. Or wash your car. The demon under the bush stilled, his eyelids shut tight with an ugly grimace on his face. Sharp fangs poked at his bottom lip. He was curled in on himself as much as he could with the bindings. His long, dark hair was matted with twigs and grime, and he trembled. With what, you couldn’t tell. Pain? Cold? Maybe both. You peer around, trying to see if this is some kind of sick trap. A joke. But you’re as alone as you were when you stopped the car. As alone as you thought you were. You shift on your feet, a twig cracking under your weight. It seems to echo on the otherwise quiet road. In a split second, the demon lunges from the bushes with a vicious snarl, his hands outstretched before his body is snapped back by wires that held fast and branches that creaked in their reluctance to release him. You lose your balance on the gravel as you scramble backward, seconds too late. If it hadn’t been for the bindings that tied the demon to the tree, you’re sure he would’ve been upon you. For now, though, drool drips unbidden from his growling mouth, and the demon’s blood-red irises stare at your crouching form with a furious, biting hatred that had you shivering almost as much as he was. He did not want you here- that much was obvious when he attempts to lunge once more, spitting gore and drool on the ground with a howl. The chains and wires whined, creaked, snapped bark off the cedar tree as much as they dug bloody ruts into the man's skin. Then, to your surprise, he slinks back into the bushes and collapses with a pathetic groan. His eyes dart around, unfocused and… confused. Like he didn’t know where he was. You quickly finished giving him his space, breathing heavily. It was horrifying, seeing a sapient being act so beastly, but if someone could chain him to a tree then you couldn’t bear to think about what he must have been through. He’s delirious, you realize. And obviously aggressive. Scared, you tell yourself. Probably scared. Hopefully just scared. The sun is high and the demon shakily pushes himself against the tree to hide again. It’s quiet now, except for his ragged breaths. After several minutes pondering options, you hear the demon move again. He’s in the shade, straining against the creaking metal wire and rustling bush. They seem like they might snap from the struggle, but they cut his flesh more instead. He hisses, struggling like a flailing dog. You look away, unable to watch while the demon stumbles around. He can’t move more than a couple feet in any direction, and the more he moves the more entangled he becomes in the bushes. It’s quite obvious by now that he isn’t thinking clearly. You worry that the chains cutting into his throat will choke him to death, or he’ll die of blood loss. He hasn’t stopped growling, and any time you move he bares his teeth at you with a glare. You take your opportunity when he stops to rest a moment.

“Hey! Hey,” you gently call, raising your hands in a surrendering gesture. The demon swings his head towards you, eyes flashing. He loses his balance more than once as he waits for whatever you’re about to do. But, the growling stops as he stares, and he only releases an occasional grumble if you shift on your feet too much- a warning not to come close. You heed it. You feel like you’re trying to calm a bear. The demon’s wounds aren’t healing, you notice with a frown. Odd. You’ve heard that a demon has much better regenerative capabilities than humans do. They heal within hours. Sometimes minutes, depending on genetics. Unless something is wrong. You wonder if that something has to do with the petals smashed on the chains. A sweet purple color amidst the rusted reds and dying leaves.

He collapses once more, wheezing, and you make your decision. You can’t leave this man to die here, but it’s very obvious that nothing would be accomplished if you couldn’t earn even a little of his trust. You stand yourself up, ignoring his grouching, and quickly return to your car with a final look around the area. “I’ll be back, okay?” You promise. He doesn’t believe you, pretends not to hear- has no reason to. You’re human. Like the bastards that took his brothers. That tied him to this horrid tree. You’ll drive off and you’ll never return. Probably won’t even drive down this road again. You’ll drive off… and he’ll suffer slowly until death finally frees him. Sekido winces quietly as the driver's door closes and the engine roars to life. He’s too spent to move any further than to fall into the bush again, but he doesn’t think himself pathetic enough to try to crawl after you as you drive away anyhow. He’d tear his own throat out before he let himself be that weak, even in his delirium.

You swallow the lump in your throat, increasing your speed to turn a corner. You knew nothing about demons. Didn’t know how much time you would have to save this man’s life. The forest whipped past. Then, you lost sight of him. I am going to die here, Sekido thought. He was going to die at the side of an abandoned road in agony and despair, and nobody would ever care for him or care that he was scared. He covered himself with the bush to the best of his abilities, trying to fight off the chills without letting the cursed sun burn him anymore than it already had. And then, he closed his eyes with a groan. He hoped this would be the last night. Hoped he wouldn’t wake again. Hoped his brothers were someplace better than the hellhole he’d been thrust into.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Time crept along slowly, minutes felt like hours, but eventually Sekido had fallen into a fitful sleep. His respite was cut short forty-five minutes later by the car door that jarred him from rest. He held himself still. Just wants to die in peace. Is so dizzy he could’ve sworn the trees were dancing above him. Footsteps crack on dry gravel, hesitating a moment before retreating to the vehicle.

You approach him slowly, trying not to scare the demon any more than you knew he already was. Or make him angrier. The emotions are so often intertwined, you muse to yourself. In your nervous hands is a package of raw meat and a wide-lipped water bottle, and for a minute you consider the intelligence behind what you were about to attempt. Demons don’t eat human food (according to the website you hastily searched up in near panic), but they can eat uncooked meats. Could even go long periods of time without eating at all, though it wasn’t necessarily healthy. Food was to be ‘used as a reward’, the website had said. Taken away as a punishment. They needed water as much as any other living thing, the article had admitted in its explanation of the twisted expectations of demonic obedience and training. Your nose scrunched in disgust at the casual cruelty. You hoped the demon would at least take the water.

“Hey,” you softly say, crouching on the ground out of the demon's reach. He stares at you as you approach, snarling lowly. His sight locked firmly on you, even as the wind blew strands of matted hair into his face. But, he didn’t lunge, and that was a good sign. Hopefully. You took the opportunity to scan the parts of him you could see. His injuries looked even worse than when you’d found him, and with eyes that seemed to sink into their sockets, he was obviously dehydrated. You wonder how long he’d been strapped to this tree. Part of you thought it best if you don’t know.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I’ve got water.” You shake the clear bottle and take another tentative step forward. “I just want to help…” It was strange, speaking to a human-shaped being like he was an animal. But you didn’t know how else to talk to him. Weren’t sure if it would make him worse to be spoken to as an equal.

His eyes are full of doubt. Glazed. Humans don’t help. Humans take, are selfish. Lie and destroy. Beat you senseless for surviving. You can tell how sick this poor, trembling man is- even through the growling and drool. Sweat drips off his face and his skin is so ashy anyone could mistake him for a corpse. Except that he is still yowling his displeasure like an untamed cat. He watches the water longingly. Desperately. “Please let me help you,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice quiet. You unscrew the bottle and hold the water out, approaching the demon sideways and angling your body away so you wouldn’t be crawling directly towards him. You hoped that you would seem like less of a threat that way. That’s how the internet had said to approach a stray dog, at least. Your arm is just out of his reach as you await his reaction. You shuffle another step forward. He snarls again, spitting and stumbling to his knees. Droplets of blood wet the crumbling leaves. His unfocused gaze finds the water again, but he doesn’t seem to believe this isn’t some cruel trick, even as he sniffs the air at you. Your eyes mist at his stench. You aren’t sure if the demon is even aware of the way he smells. You hope not. Somehow you think that might be for the best. You wonder if he can even feel shame, dehumanized as he is. You don't let yourself entertain the question of whether someone inhuman can even be stripped of his personhood. The wind shuffles through the bushes again and the dying sun casts long shadows in the forest around you. It makes the demon look more skeletal than he did before. His eyes squinted in fury, teeth clenched so tight it must hurt, like he couldn’t believe the gall you must have to even approach something like him. You knew you would have to push past your own fear before this man would ever let you help him- and that you are his last hope. Nobody else would help an aggressive demon- much less take care of him. Too much work, some posts on that horrible website had said. Not worth it, others lamented. Better for everyone to just cut their necks and get a new demon than to deal with something that’s broken. You weren’t going to let that happen.

And so you gulp your anxiety down, trying not to let your arm shake the water out of the bottle. No use drowning the forest floor. For a moment you fear he’ll lunge. His eyes, red as the blood that drips from his wounds, are locked solidly on you when they aren’t flickering about like a shadow might attack him. When he tenses you freeze until he stops trembling again. Like a macabre game of red-light-green-light.

Your thighs burn. He’s ready to fight you off. That much is clear even with his sickly pale skin and panting breath. Even if he can barely stand. Even if he’s so dizzy it seems the breeze might blow him over. “Please,” you beg quietly again, moving another few inches closer to the shivering demon. A mistake. He howls with panicked eyes, springing towards you and catching your arm before you can do anything. Just as fast, he sinks his sharp teeth into your forearm with a violent snarl, ignoring your screams. He bites harder, dragging you under him as you kick at him. You drop the water bottle and it tumbles, diluting the bloody ground. The demon hovers over you, pinning you to the moss as his blunt nails dug into your flesh.

You could feel the second your skin gave way and ripped. His body quaked in his violence, even as you sobbed. “Stop!” You wailed. You swear you can feel something cracking in your arm, and shriek again as his teeth grind further. Your vision blurs. You push your leg against his stomach, hitting against his head with your free arm in hopes of getting him to release you. It does nothing to stop the hissing beast atop you. “I’m sorry! Please!” You cry. You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You know that nobody travels these roads, which is why the demon was dumped there in the first place.

Nobody would help you. You were entirely at the mercy of a violent, sick demon out of his mind with rage (terror). Your blood is hot, painfully so against his sticky tongue.

Almost sweet. He’s not sure if it’s the chills that have wracked his body for the last two and a half days, or if he’s just so starved that anything in his mouth burns like an open wound. A flicker of emotion passes over his face, disappearing as quickly as it came but you recognize the fear through your tears. He’s terrified of you, even as his drool mixes with your blood. You can’t breathe against the grip he has on your neck, and you know it’s going to bruise if you get out of this alive. Flailing weakly, you push against the demon again, grabbing at his cracked, flaky horns, and again it’s useless. Even in his half-starved, dehydrated and ill state he is so much stronger than you. You vaguely remember something about that on the website as black spots dance across your horizon. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,” you gasped, trying to swallow any amount of air to soothe your burning lungs. Petrified. The demon doesn’t let go, but he isn’t biting any harder. You hope… you hope maybe you’ve gotten through to him somehow. You wonder if anybody would ever find your body out here. If so, would they find the demon as well? You hope he doesn’t have some transferable disease. You curse yourself for stopping your damn car. You hope he remembers to let go of your throat as you finally fall to the darkness and go limp under him. You don’t feel him trembling, collapsing against your chest with a weak groan.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Your throat burns, feels like sandpaper against the flesh as you wake to starry skies and a deeper, throbbing pain in your arm. Something heavy lays over you. Shivering. Muttering something as it twitches. Your clarity returns and your sight adjusts to the dark, revealing the demon that has fallen over you like a limp doll. Pale as death. Exhausted and groaning in his sleep. His eyes flicked under the lids. The demon's teeth had abandoned your arm. Left gaping, circular holes that you try not to look at lest you panic again. You take in your surroundings with nothing but the moonlight illuminating the deserted forest road. The water bottle had been drunk- what was left of it, anyway- and left crumpled on the ground. Streaks of blood painted the inside, like the demon had tried to sweep up any of the moisture that refused to fall with his tongue. You winced, moving your injured arm, but stopped when the demon grunted. His body jerked in his sleep, brows furrowed. Cloth had been tied tight around your wound- the man’s hand was still touching the wrappings. He must have used the last of his strength to prevent you from bleeding out, using scraps he tore from his own filthy, barely usable clothes. And then, he fell from the effort. It would explain the haphazard way he was draped over you. Your nose wrinkles from the stench, and you have to try yet again not to choke as you feel his greasy hair brush your face.

The poor thing seemed to have a permanent scowl, his face downturned even in his restless sleep. You make use of the opportunity to take in his appearance more.

He was almost entirely human-looking, except for the two curved horns on his clammy forehead and the wine-colored cracked skin that stopped before his brows and also colored the underneath of his eyes. His nails, long but blunt, had bits of dried blood under them. You couldn’t tell if they were naturally that dark blue color or it was the dirt caked to them. The demon looked as if he would have been quite built had he not been so emaciated. Even his face, sickly as it was, seemed like it had a hidden beauty to it that couldn’t be marred by his ragged trousers and worn wife-beater that was barely passable as a shirt anymore.

His weight against you is uncomfortable- sharp bone poking in all the wrong places, his breath quick and harsh against the quiet night. You breathe shallowly yourself in an attempt to avoid absorbing his fetid air. Sweat continued to drip from his forehead. You slowly, carefully, hold your uninjured hand in front of his dirt-caked skin and frown. You could feel his fever from an inch away. The wires tying him glint in the moonlight when he shifts. You had bolt cutters in the trunk of the car, along with a cooler of bottled water and more meat. He hadn’t eaten anything- the package was too far out of reach and now ruined by the sleeping sun. Your arm needed to see a hospital. He had missed any arteries, thank God, but you probably needed stitches. And antibiotics. Who knew what was in a demon’s saliva. But… Something in you knew you couldn’t leave this demon alone here, even with the injury he’d inflicted. If you left the demon here and went to the hospital, if the staff found out he was the one responsible, he would be killed without hesitation. You wondered if you might just be crazy.

You had to be.

The demon stirs, slowly opening his eyes. His hands press against you as he blinks, clearing his vision. He growls again with a sharp grimace, then he looked away, scowling tensely at a bush. Like he could light it aflame with his anger. Of course. Was he ever going to stop growling and giving you the stink-eye? It had surpassed the point that it was no longer frightening you. Now it just made you sad. It seemed as if he had no real control over his reaction to people, even if that person was trying to help. As if the anger that found its way through his clenched teeth was instinctual.

You stay very still, trying not to scare him. Or make him angrier. With his weight against your sternum, it's not like you could really move if you wanted to. Quietly clearing your burning throat you open your mouth to speak, then close it, unsure of what to say or how to break the ice. What do you say to a demon who nearly tore your arm off a couple hours ago? You wondered if he’d ever had a moment of peace in his life.

His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment you worry he might attack again. When he doesn’t lunge, despite his feral gaze, you finally speak. Maybe you could still work your way into his trust? Or at least, get him to stop jabbing you with his elbow.

“If you let me up,” you start quietly, softly, almost a whisper, “I can get those wires off of you. And get you food and water, but… but you have to promise that you won’t bite me again.” Your eyes are misty from the pain that throbs in your arm. Gravel digs into your back, and despite your compassion for a demon you knew probably had not an ounce of love shown towards him, and your honest wish to help, you are very scared of what this man might do to you if you tried to do anything without his acceptance again.

He studies you intensely, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, contemplating your offer. Like he knew you’re his last chance. He finally nods with a derisive snort, shakily leaning himself off you and slumping against the cedar tree.

You slowly move back, away from his reach, and realize that you don’t even know what to call this man. “What's your name?” You weren’t expecting an answer, weren’t even sure if the demon could speak. For a long moment there was nothing but silence while he continued to gawk at the ground, then- “Sekido,” he muttered quietly. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. You waited for him to keep talking, but he doesn’t.

Just stares at the dirt. “Okay… okay,” you take a deep breath. A name is progress, even if minorly so. “Sekido, I’m going to go to the trunk of my car. I have bolt-cutters in the back. I’m going to get that wire off you before we do anything else, okay? But I can’t do that if you’re going to bite me again. Do you understand?” You prayed he understood. Prayed that he’d let you get this over with. Prayed this was a bad dream and nobody could be so cruel, and you’d wake up without a bite in your arm.

Sekido’s body stills and he nods slightly, just barely noticeable. “Fine, human…” he grumbles. Spits ‘human’ like it’s a disease. As you shuffle to your feet, your legs numb and tingling, pondering the inhumanity that led this man to be tied to a tree, you think it might as well be.

You limp to your car and open the trunk with one hand, shuffling through the random assortment of items stored there (you’ll use them someday) until you reach a small red toolbox. You take the mini bolt cutter and trudge back to the rut. “I’m going to come beside you, okay?” You’d definitely learned your lesson about approaching this man without explicit permission. You weren’t eager to risk a repeat, so for now you would narrate everything you were about to do (in an effort to keep him from panicking) and wait for Sekido to confirm that it was okay.

He eyes the tool in your hand with scrutiny, trying to read your true intentions, and finally gives the slightest nod of his head. The wires cut into his skin horribly- far worse than you’d originally thought. Every movement sawed them deeper. Some areas, the few those odd purple petals were absent, had begun healing over. Quite literally trapping the metal inside. You couldn’t force yourself to imagine what that felt like, but you cursed quietly. “Sekido, I… I don’t know how to cut these things in a way that isn’t going to hurt,” you admit slowly. “They’re in you pretty deep, and-”

“-Just do it!” He snapped, glaring at you viciously. “Or are you too stupid to cut me free?” You blink at the insult. This demon… is not very nice, you think.

Not that you really blame him. Some part of you thought it was a good thing that he felt okay enough to hurl insults, so you said nothing in return. Maybe he didn’t think he would be punished for it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care at this point.

At least he was cooperating.

“I’m sorry.” You lift the pliers to cut the first wire, and it twangs loudly, springing away with coiled force. Sekido jumps slightly as the wire breaks, then glares at you again like you weren’t supposed to see that minor display of weakness. Crimson blood dripped from the open wound. “You’re slow, human. Cut me free.” You ignore his impatience, unwilling to harm him any more than he already was. They were good cutters, but the vibrations left from the cut metal sent ripples into your hand. Rendered it numb. Spilt trickles of blood from the wound on your arm that you caught the demon glancing at once or twice. Finally, all but one had been cut from Sekido’s body. The man had torn the metal strings from his healing body as soon as they’d been clipped, despite your horrified gasp. Saved you from fumbling with them like an idiot.

Now, only the one wrapped around his neck remained. You were in awe that anyone could survive these injuries, even a demon, and you stare with hesitation at the wire cutting his throat. That is an incredibly vulnerable area. Sekido, to his credit, kept himself rooted to the spot throughout the process, but he flinches violently when you reach for his neck. Still, he does not bite you again. “Hurry up, stupid human. You’re wasting time,” he grumbles. Tries to hide his shaking hands by gripping his thighs so hard it draws blood. His sanguine glare seems like he’s challenging whether you’re brave enough to even attempt it. “It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper. You aren’t sure if it was for him, or for your own state of mind, as you finally reach his neck. As your fingers finally make contact with his neck and the wire, the demon abandons his bravado with wide eyes and a sharp growl. Within milliseconds, his hand grips your wrist, digging into the skin. “Sekido.” His eyes have glazed again. He wobbles a bit, shifting on his knees with a labored groan and steadies himself with a hand against the moss-covered ground. “Hey, look at me,” you coaxed gently, your voice a mix of concern and compassion. As you reach out, your hand delicately covers his. He hisses at the contact, but you don’t pull away. You realize, now, that even if you managed to get this demon free- even if you get him to a vet- he will never survive the week. His chance at rehabilitation is slim at best. He would never be able to handle people or the basic expectations society has of demonkind. You wonder if he even knows how to respond to kindness. Or his own fear- you couldn’t imagine not being terrified in his circumstance but Sekido seemed to consider it a weakness. Even if you saved him tonight, he would be executed before the end of the month. Unless… “It’s gonna be okay,” you reassure him with startling conviction. You’d keep him. You have to, and there’s not a doubt in your mind now that you’ll have a new, half-feral companion in your house come tomorrow. Somehow, you don’t feel so afraid anymore- not of this man who does not know kindness’s name. He desperately needs to. You just hope that he can deal with that.

Finally, Sekido releases a heavy breath and lets go of your wrist. “Quickly.” He orders, tilting his neck just enough to expose the horrible steel binding. The tension in the air is palpable as you gingerly push a finger under wire, and wince as fresh blood seeps from the open wound.

You can feel Sekido’s studious gaze on you. The intensity makes you want to crawl away and hide. You shake the thought from your head and continue to unwrap the cords. The pain in his tense posture is undeniable, but he holds himself still again until the wire slowly begins to loosen its grip on his throat. You can see the relief wash over him as the pressure fades, but the blood flows steadily now.

Another glint of steel beneath the blood forces your face to pale again. The wire had crossed over itself, pushing its brother deeper into Sekido’s flesh than you’d initially thought. Whoever tied Sekido to this tree wanted him to suffer until his death. You wipe away the misty tears threatening to form. How could anyone possibly be so cruel to any living being? Much less to something so human? “There’s another one,” you manage to tell him. “Sekido, I’m not sure if I can…That one is so deep, I…What if you…” Your voice trails off, your concern too heavy to speak. The depth of this wound is staggering, and the thought of worsening his condition looms ominously in your mind. Wilts away the courage you’d managed to keep thus far. Sekido’s lip curled, his patience wearing thin with your hesitation. The demon grunts irritably, his tone laced with anger and frustration as he retorts sharply- “What? What if I bleed out? Idiot human, I’ve been doing that for days!” He grabs your wrist again, and this time he thrusts it to his neck, nearly bloodying your hand in the wound. “Get this fucking thing off me!” He barked. His pale fangs glinted in the moonlight. “I don’t care if it bleeds! Cut it off!” He’s breathing heavily, grips your ankle as you stand up. You slip one blade of the cutters under the wire without another word, at an angle in an attempt to not touch the exposed flesh underneath. Then, as he opens his mouth to order you again you press the blades together with all your strength. It snaps and you hear Sekido’s teeth crash together again. Sends vibrations up your injured arm. You yelp, collapsing beside the demon and curling over on yourself and clutching your bitten arm in an attempt to mitigate the pain with a groan.

Sekido stares at you, gazes at your injury- the injury he caused- and looks away as you catch him.

He won’t apologize. You don’t expect him to, wouldn’t ask it of him. Somehow you know that’s not in his nature.

Instead, you slowly gather yourself and back away from him- give him his space. Now that he had no reason to force himself to accept your presence you weren’t sure how he would behave. So you rise shakily to your feet and turn to stumble your way back to the car. He watches you. Stares into your back as you put the tool back in the box and contemplate how you could get the demon to follow you now. Thanks to that stupid website, you knew that demons were trained to follow a human's command- under the threat of punishment usually, should the demon refuse. You would never hurt him, but… maybe you could order him into the car? But, would he even listen? You are not his master. You open the backseat door anyway, turn to face the demon who’s eyes seem to glow now in the moonlight. “Sekido,” you start firmly, hoping you wouldn’t have to order him like a misbehaving dog. “I would like you to get in the car.” Sekido’s eyes harden, and his body stiffens. He does not move, glares at you like he’s been doing all evening. After a long and awkward minute of staring at each other, seeing who might break first, you steel your resolve. “Sekido, get in the car,” you order him firmly, though not unkindly. He stays for a moment. You think he might refuse again, but then he slowly, dizzily, stands up and limps his way forward. You want to help him but he snarls when you take a step forward, so you let him crawl from the ditch by himself. He pauses before the door. Grumbles a quiet, “I hate all you humans,” and then slumps over on the seat before pulling himself completely into the car. You almost allow a small, fond smile. What a brat.

“You can hate me as much as you want. I won’t try to stop you,” you replied. You were shocked he was complying so quickly, but it suddenly made sense when he collapses completely in the back. Only then did the thought pass that perhaps you should’ve laid some kind of cover on the seat to protect the leather from the blood and filth. Returning to the back of the car, you grab another bottle of water from the cooler and uncap the lid. You hold it out to Sekido. “Slowly.” Sekido stares at you, then the water, and now your extended hand. He grabs the bottle. Then, he sits there with it, just… staring. “Please drink?” You wait patiently for a few moments, shifting awkwardly on your feet, but he does not drink. You knew the water would be like heaven to his parched throat, but he simply held the liquid, quivering. What else did that awful web article say, you tried to remember. Ah. That’s right. Demons weren’t allowed to have anything, own anything, use anything without permission. Only people own things. You were sure now that Sekido’s previous caretakers had beaten him for simply eating or drinking. Surviving. He obviously wanted the water- his eyes hadn’t left it- but…

You frown, and Sekido gives you a long look- mistaking the downturn of your lips dissatisfaction with him. You look up at the bright moon, steeling yourself for again treating this person as less than, because there was no other way to get through to him right now. “Sekido, drink the water,” you order quietly. He clutches the bottle, crinkling the plastic as he raises it to his lips immediately. Sekido flinches when the cool water drips on his sunburned chin, then he tips his head all the way back and swallows the liquid hungrily. He’s drinking so fast he’s nearly choking on it, and the bottle is empty in seconds- before you even have a chance to request he slow down. “Give me more,” he says bitterly. “I’ll get you more,” you promise slowly, “if you can keep down what you’ve swallowed. You drank that really fast… I want to make sure you don’t get sick, okay?”

You hope he’ll understand your concern. “When we get home, you can have as much as you’d like. And some food, too.” You’d decided against feeding him for the time being- just until you knew he could keep liquids down. If he couldn’t handle water, he definitely couldn’t handle anything as heavy as meat. Sekido glares at you from the back seat. He tries to take a deep breath, but coughs instead. “Just give me more!” He snaps. You want to, you want to more than he knows. “You’ll get more, Sekido. But we have to make sure you don’t stress your stomach. I swear, you’ll have so much water you’ll be bored of it!” His lip curls, and he slams his clenched fist on the leather. “Give it to me now!” he bellows angrily, gripping the back of your chair hard enough to leave imprints from his long fingernails. He didn’t seem concerned at all about consequences anymore. You flinch hard at his volume, startled. Even with all his snarling and grumping, he’d yet to shout at you. You shake your head in frustration, but you could see the desperation in his wrath. In an attempt to keep control of the situation, you take a breath to calm your voice, and you close the back door. “Let’s go home, Sekido,” you say as you slump in the front seat, nose scrunching at the putrid smell that’s invaded your vehicle. You wonder if you’ll have to have the seats scrubbed- remind yourself that it isn’t his fault. Sekido’s head jerks toward the doors as the lock clicked and the engine roared to life. You glanced in the back seat, at the demon you met only hours before- a stranger now trapped in this vehicle with you. His trembling had gotten worse, even with the uncomfortable heat in the car- a burning warmth that brought sweat to your brow. You exit the car again, unlock the rear door, and pop the back hatch to grab an old blanket you’ve kept for emergencies. “Here,” you hold it out to Sekido with your injured arm. He glances at the blanket, then slowly at you- does not take it, even when you push it a little closer. Does not make a sound.

So you make the decision for him and carefully wave it over his back. “Try to relax. Just a little… if you can.” The back door closes before he can respond, and then you’re slowly stepping on the gas pedal to leave the crackling gravel road. You don’t crack the windows.

The overwhelming reality of his situation hits him like a crashing wave, and he clutches the blanket tightly over himself- is grateful your eyes are on the road and not on his pathetic display of weakness. It is the first time he’s had such a simple comfort in longer than he remembers. A sigh leaves his cracked lips at the minimal relief it provided. He is alive. He is alive, and in a car, and someone saved him. Believed he was worth the trouble. It didn’t matter now the reasons behind this odd human’s relentless pursuit of him despite his aggression. All that mattered was that he would survive tonight, even if you would inevitably abandon him. Even if his head was swimming, and he couldn’t focus, and it took all his strength even to sit up. Even if his stomach cramped, and his wounds hurt, and he was still bleeding crimson pus on the leather seats. Even if the heated cushions and warm air did nothing to stave the chills that kept him shivering like a dog. Why on earth was he still so cold?

“Who are you?” Sekido’s gruff voice drifted from the back seat.

You give him your name, tell him you’re nobody special- was just passing by on the road. Couldn’t leave him there. He listens with an almost-amused snort.

Stops cold when you ask him about himself, if he has family. For a long minute, you think he won’t answer. You peer in the mirror, and see his eyes are closed. Maybe he fell asleep. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Would be grateful, even. Then, slowly, quietly: “I… had… family.” You could barely hear him. It was like the words had to be forced from his throat. The wind whipped past the closed window with a hollow sound as the treeline closed in, leading you into a tunnel.

“Can you tell me about them?” Part of you was afraid of pushing too much, afraid that he wasn’t ready to talk about something personal, so you don’t hold your breath as you awaited his response. You just drive, sailing smooth around bends and corners as you try to bring this tortured soul home- attempting to make the journey as gentle as possible. “Three brothers,” he said simply, his breath heavy. “I had a father… a long, long time ago. Dead now, most likely. The old coward…” he trailed off. He didn’t seem to hold hate for this father of his, despite the insult. You decide not to press further about that one yet. “Tell me about your brothers,” you replied softly. “... Aizetsu is the youngest,” Sekido said slowly. “He’s always sad about something, but… kind. Compassionate.” The demon shifted, shivering and pulling the blanket tighter against himself, hoping the pressure might ease his nauseous stomach. “Urogi is obnoxious, loud and stupid. He never shuts up. Always too damn friendly with everyone. Always has enough energy to go around…” He coughed with a grunt and sigh. You glanced in the back, making sure he was alright but said nothing to ask about his condition. Somehow you knew it would only anger him to be seen in this state of supposed weakness. “Karaku is the eldest under me… and so different. Karaku never gets angry about anything. He always had to be touching you… I-... I hated them,” Sekido lied, choked wetly on his own untruth as he tries to bury his emotions the way he buried his head against the seat. Tries to slow the rapid bump-bump-bump of his heart before this strange human hears it. He had no control here. But then, when had he ever had control of anything in his life? “They sound entertaining,” you offer, thinking of your own family. You wonder what yours is up to now, as you pass fields and factories that dot the side of the road. The familiar sights meant that you wouldn’t have much farther to drive. You can’t bring yourself to consider what might have become of your demon’s siblings.

“They are…” He stopped with a frustrated mumble, trying to choke out the words. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he snarled at his own patheticness, grateful you couldn’t see past the blanket covering his head. “They were all I had,” he finished so quietly you had to strain to hear him over the hum of the engine.

Your own heart ached at the bone-weary exhaustion in his voice. Part of you wanted to tear apart the earth until you found Sekido’s brothers, but you don’t know what they look like and you couldn’t bring yourself to make this man an empty promise. For now, you settled with being glad he was with you, and hoped he would tell you more about himself eventually. Though he had trouble getting the words out, talking seemed to help quell his nauseated stomach a little. “Thank you,” you said, “for sharing. It means a lot.” “Mmmn,” Sekido grumbled quietly. He was trying to act indifferent in an attempt to keep himself calm, but you thought you could feel his appreciation at the same time. Even if he didn’t show it in his stoic, angry face. “Just… drive,” he sighed. You allow yourself to smile as you watch the road in front of you. Sekido’s bossy attitude would be considered a good thing- it meant he might trust that he wouldn’t be hurt for it, and if that was the case then he was welcome to be as commanding as he wanted.

The car was silent for several minutes, except for Sekido’s uncomfortable shifting in the back seat. Then he let out a pained groan. You were already concerned about his awful wounds. You’d hoped they’d start healing, like demons usually do- like you’ve read they usually do, but now that you’re stopped at a traffic light and can finally turn to see him again, you can tell they’re just as inflamed as they were before you got Sekido into the car. Your eyebrows furrow when he releases a small whimper, holding his head with his elbows on his knees. What if… What if something terrible happened before you could get him to a doctor tomorrow? He was incredibly sick already, though the worst had been coming in waves. “Sekido?” He sat back, his head swaying dizzily while he looks at you. Sekido’s bleary gaze wanders aimlessly, unable to focus despite his heavy blinking. His face is pallid, like it’s been drained of blood. “... don’t feel good…”

You debated pulling over but didn’t despite your urge to tend to his distress. You don’t want to upset him more, and you were so close to home now anyway. He opened his mouth and you thought he might say something, but all he does is moan again through clenched teeth as he shudders and holds his stomach. “Sekido, are you okay?”

Drool drips from the corner of his panting mouth as his body wavers. You watch him anxiously. Sekido’s eyes go wide, and his chest heaves, spasms so harsh you can see it in the mirror.

And then he retches.

You can hear it splash on the floor, and your own stomach kicks. “Oh. Oh, God,” you say, one hand against your mouth, pulling over. You crack the window open. Sekido, sits up again with a hiccup, slumps his back against the seat with vomit dripping from his nose and sweat from his brow. Doesn’t have the strength to be disgusted with the bile covering his lips.

He said nothing- looked close to falling unconscious. Or worse, your fear told you. You still know nothing of demons except for what that website promoted, but… he really did look like he might be dying. Sekido’s hands tremble more. You’re trying not to vomit yourself from the smell, bitterly sour and somehow so much worse than the original scent of decay and dirt that had permeated the vehicle with him. You look glance at his wounds again, and the angry infected flesh around them as he falls over again and stays there. Reaching back, you gently pat his upper arm, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain up your own forearm. “Hey…” No response. “Sekido?” You shake him, an icy fear shooting settling in your chest. Something was wrong. “Hey!” Finally, he slaps your hand away with a whiney grunt. Something was very wrong. You shake your head. This demon cannot wait until tomorrow for a doctor. He needs one right now. You tap letters into your GPS system, then your face falls. The nearest 24-hour emergency veterinarian that takes demons is 3 towns away- that's over an hour drive!

Sekido pants something to himself, convulsing with a pitchy groan. His eyes squinted, rolling back as he huffed.

“Hey, you stay with me, okay?” You say with a pained smile and a firm squeeze on his arm. “I told you that you’d be okay, didn’t I? You gotta try to stay awake for me.” “...Tired,” Sekido grumbled quietly.

“Don’t sleep, Sekido. Don’t you dare.” ‘Don’t make me a liar’, you wanted to say. Couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your promise now. Couldn’t bear the thought of this man dying in the backseat of your car after everything.

Weren’t going to let that happen. Tires squealed, quickly turning the vehicle around. You hoped the streets would remain as empty as they have been. Prayed no cops were on the prowl tonight, as you take a deep breath and push your foot on the gas pedal.

Wind tears through your hair, howling as it passes in your race against time. Every second counted.

#pet au #sekido/reader #sekido and reader #hurt/comfort #kny sekido #demon slayer sekido #demon slayer pet au #arkwrites

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