Work Text:
The winters are cruel and unforgiving in your village. And along with the season comes its own special set of superstitions. You’ve heard about them since you were a child, warned of them, the things that live in the woods. The things that monitor the edges of the forest in the hopes of luring an unsuspecting child or lone civilian too close to its domain.
They’re never seen again should they fall for it, or so you’ve heard. The ones lucky to survive such encounters have described their own personal run ins with such things, no one story ever the same as the last; voices that mimic loved ones, already years dead, luring you onto foliage or bright eyes honed on you from the shadows, lurking. A body far too big and tall to be an animal ever sighted before, but the sounds they make… the throats bitten out from your village’s goats or the claw marks found decorating the bodies of the fiercest of wolves… far from human.
"That’s what happened to a girl around two streets over." The store assistant says from where she sits at the table across from you, swallowing the remnants of her breakfast before tapping on her temple. As if reciting the rumour from memory. "Her parents were never quite right after that. Driven a little mad by it."
"They never found her?" You ask.
"No part of her," She says, "Not even her body."
"But what if she's still out there?"
"Nobody's stupid enough to go looking." She shakes her head, matter of fact. "Not in the woods."
There's a stillness to the atmosphere after that. And you take that as your opportunity to finish packing the last of your groceries. Non-perishables are favoured around this time of year, things that will last indoors without waste— to keep you fed, lest you risk venturing out past the woods more than necessary.
It's not that you're afraid of it, just wary. Raised to be that way more than anything because you learn fairly quickly that being reckless is for the stupid, and not many stupid people tend to make it the whole season.
You refuse to be stupid.
Even when your cabin in stashed somewhere a bit further away from town, thirty minutes walk without the storm— fifty if you're unlucky. But you've made this trip enough seasons for you to lose count and you're not one to start acting out of character and taking chances now.
It's just you out there after all, enjoying the serenity of your own company. So you tend to stock up on what you can before the real, harsh part of it hits. Firewood, food, blankets. Things to see you through and keep you from having to pass by places that may have you seeing things in the storm. Especially when the odds are something is staring back.
But thankfully, most things tend to stick to their side of the road.
Most.
You finish packing up the rest of your groceries into your bag pack and secure it over your shoulder, along with a few extras in a grocery bag and give the assistant a curt nod as she passes you your change before finishing off the rest of her breakfast. You refuse it with a wave, and she shrugs before pocketing it.
"You should be careful, stick to the path, no shortcuts. Not in winter." She says, emphasising the advice following your previous conversation.
"I know, my cabin is hardly far. I was just picking up the last of my supplies before heading back."
"It may not seem it but in the cold," The store assistant appears to ponder, then shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. "Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary."
"Got to be." You reassure her with a knowing smile, and the assistant gives you a nod that's equal parts sympathetic and understanding. But then as if she can pick up on her own softening of heart, she rolls her eyes at herself, scoffing.
"You better be. I don't want all my goods going to waste," She says, folding her arms over her chest. "I'll replenish them by the end of next week, best stop by early before they're all gone and then you'll have more important things to worry about when you're starving. Nothing in the wood will want you if you're just a pile of bones."
I better see you here and alive by the end of next week, is what she probably means to say, but that's not quite the reputation she likes to keep around here. So you simply turn around to give her another reassuring smile, and the bell above the store entrance rings as you push yourself out of it.
"Thank you. I'll see you next week then."
Her words make you feel a lot better than she probably thinks.
—
When you take your first step out of the generously warmed village store, the frost in the air immediately steals your breath, catching in your throat as a bone-chilling gust rolls over your padded jacket.
It makes your face pinch up, hugging your arms around yourself like you're manually trying to keep your body heat intact and you bury the lower half of your face into your scarf with a huff. But once you're adjusted, you dig your feet into the snow and begin your journey back home.
You've still got a few hours of daylight, and considering how easy this walk is for you, and how many times you've made it, you wouldn't consider yourself to be particularly worried or needing to rush.
Your first mistake perhaps.
The town feels most alive at this time of the day, the bustling of people preparing for the storms, families reinforcing their homes and bringing in as much supplies as their hands can carry. Here, the sky is bright and blue, scrubbed clean of clouds and the snow that coats the gravelled dirt beneath you glitters.
But you're not from here. Not from the heart of the village anyway, as often as the atmosphere of it all makes you wish you were.
The bare-branched trees look soft and friendly as you continue to walk towards the parting in the wood, like something out of a winter postcard. Still. Inviting.
But as soon as you cross that threshold, when the bustling of the village dies off into an eery, misplaced silence and you're only left with the sound of your own bated breaths and your steady footsteps, you know it's all a careful illusion.
You keep your eyes forward as you begin the quick, easy route back to your cabin just off of the path. To either side of you is a sea of black branches, the dark woods beckoning in whoever of those are easily swayed enough to give up their sanity to explore it.
There's always a feeling that comes with this trip. Even now as you bury your face deeper into your scarf and try to ignore it, you can never quite shift the feeling that you're being watched. From between the humps of hedges and the skeletal trees, that something is waiting for you to take a wrong turn or lose your edge for a second too long for it to be forgivable.
You shift your extra bag of supplies onto your forearm so that you can stuff your hands in your pockets, and you keep your eyes straight ahead as you venture deeper down the marked path.
You're only half paying attention. You want to keep yourself calm, the people around the village know that whatever lives in these woods is known to be able to smell fear and unease, like they're not the masters of creating it.
But in the silence, in the wake of the winter hum, you can hear something breathing.
The dark wood to your sides looks deeper than it should— a shadow that's not a shadow. A crack of a branch, an odd shift of greenery and bushes, like something is mimicking your pace and journey. Like something's watching and following you from over that unmarked territory, simply out of sight.
You can feel your teeth begin to chitter, and you blame it on the weather. On the bone-splitting cold. Not whatever you're convinced you can hear. The desperate pant of breath, the feeling of something behind you. The fog is too thick for you to be able to see your cabin from where you are, and you can feel yourself beginning to panic— like you're being made to feel that way, convinced you've taken a wrong turn and you should turn back. But which way is back? Which way is left and right? Are you lost?
No. It's the woods. They're trying to get into your head, they're trying to convince you that's the case. But by the time you realise this, you don't know where you are, the snow is so thick beneath your boots that the threshold to the wood is no longer marked by the indent of gravel and greenery. It's just white, soft, all-concealing snow.
So instead, against what you know, you begin to run.
And you hear something behind you begin to do the same.
The wind is harsh against your features as you take off, every inhale feels like it coats your throat in ice and your eyes are beginning to grow wet as they bare the brunt of the cold. You squint, trying to peer into the fog, hoping to catch even a glance of your cabin in the distance, willing yourself not to look back to see what's chasing you. Afraid you might lose your edge.
There's a fork in the path infront of you, one you don't remember from all of the times you've taken this route, so you know you're lost. You let your will take you, taking off to the right and losing yourself in the thick, dark trees. You're too desperate to think sense, and your mind keeps flickering back to the store assistant words; Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary.
You're not wary. You're not smart. You're as good as dead.
You half-stumble over a rock, losing your footing for a second when it's concealed by the snow and those footsteps behind you grow closer. The sound of breathing picks up, the branches feel like they're grabbing for your legs and arms, like they wish to hold you in place; string you up for your massacre like an animal to slaughter.
You squeeze your eyes closed as you find your footing again, running with your head tucked beneath your scarf, your groceries tight in the crook of your elbow and your backpack bouncing on your back, hoping that the next time you open them you'll be at home. You'll be in bed, infront of the fire, your feet tucked into a warm blanket and hot cocoa in your lap.
But before you even have the chance, your body collides into something solid and hard— the impact sending you off kilter and flying onto your back. Your head smacks against something blunt as you fall, blurring your vision, your body in the snow, freezing aside from the thick, tar-like warmth that now trickles down your temple. Red over white.
Everything hurts. You can't move. Can't run anymore, and when you open your eyes and squint up at whatever you just knocked into, there's something staring back. Something tall and brooding, leaning over your body— bleeding into the snow. With devouring red eyes, the bleary swish of a tail; a mixture of midnight and crimson, a guttural sound— a growl perhaps.
And then suddenly, everything goes black.
—
You wake with a sudden start, flopped on your back, squinting up at the sharp edges of a roof with a thumping headache. The ceiling is stripped in shadows, and it only takes you a few steadying blinks to realise it's barely a ceiling at all. Not the type you're used to; it's made of rock, damp and cracked, and the hard winter sun from what you can only assume is the opening to a cave makes you wince when you roll onto your side and push yourself up to sit.
That's when the panic begins to set in. Because you're not alone.
There's someone, something opposite you. On the other side of a makeshift fireplace, poking at the embers with a long stick as those same deep, red eyes rove over you. He's huge, occupying space like he owns it, every muscle broad and strong and cut like stone.
But then you look harder, and you see the scars on his skin, the bandages wrapped around his exposed midriff and huge arms. A long tail rests by his side— those same bleeding notes of crimson and midnight, matching the fur along two pointed ears that twitch and peek out from long, shiny hair.
Your heart begins to rabbit in your chest and immediately, you lunge your body back— kicking at the pelts of fur that have been tucked over top of you with a shriek. And your back collides with the cool cave wall behind you until you can't shift back anymore, all while he watches you.
Whatever he is, it is— isn't human. Not as you know them atleast. He doesn't move, doesn't shift. He's too still, like a creature hunting, and you can sense the violence in him waiting. Like he's moments away from lunging over the fire and ripping out your throat with his teeth.
"Hello?" You say, your voice a breath. Weak. Scared.
He doesn't respond. His slow blink like a countdown.
There's another surge of pain in your head and you wince, your hand rising up to press against the throb but then you notice there's fabric there. You thread your fingers at it, realising that it's a bandage similar to the ones wrapped over your company's body, messily—and a little too tightly—knotted around your head and seemingly soaked in what you can only assume is your own blood.
What the heck happened? Fear grips you, the scent of uncanny radiating off of the man opposites you's body in waves. Where even are you? Had he brought you here? Bandaged you up? But why?
Suddenly, the man across from you pushes to stand and you notice that he's dressed in only black pants and those bandages when he immediately crosses the space between you both in three big steps. His presence makes you cower, his sheer size more obvious now that he's standing upright and you squish yourself back against the cave wall like it'll let you sink into it.
But then he leans his huge body down, snatches your hand from your head and glares at you.
You feel like you want to cry, ensnared in his gaze.
"Why… why are you doing this?" You say, his fingers digging into the skin of your wrist, and you can feel claws at their tips. "Please, let me go."
"Hurt." Is the first thing he says, his voice like gravel. Broken and growling, but his eyes motion to your head and his huge tail swishes behind him. "Heal first."
"You did this?" He ignores the question, but he lets you go and his wolf-like ears turn out like he's listening to something. For something. The hackles of his tail stand to attention as he offers the entrance to the cave a glance. Like he's aware of something you're not.
You're frozen rigid, going through the notions of convincing yourself he's only patching you up because nobody likes their food to be bruised and bleeding out, and then half slipping into insanity and thinking this is just a dream. You rub your hand over the skin of your wrist, soothing the part that's now free from his tight grip and only then do you realise that you've been stripped of your winter layers, leaving you in just your pants and shirt.
“Where are my things? My clothes, my…. my supplies. Where are they?”
You panic again, try to push yourself up to stand but then he's whipping around to glare at you once more, growling when you almost stumble off of the pile of pelts you've been placed upon. And you easily crumble back down onto your knees when he storms over towards you again, scaring you into submission when you see a glimmer of his sharp canines.
"Please…" You try to reason, beg.
He doesn't use words to respond to you. Doesn't say anything at all, his hackles still raised and shuddering. But his ears twitch at the pathetic sound of your voice.
"Can I go home? I won't tell anybody I saw you, you'll…" You swallow, "You'll be free to stay here. Just please let me go, I can leave and I—"
"Stay." He growls, cutting you off. His frown right now feels much harsher than winter.
Your lips open then close again, your words failing you. Maybe you're afraid, maybe you've lost too much blood. Your head still thumps, the pain making you feel dizzy and your ability at making a sound argument feels lost with the dryness of your throat.
"Do you have a name?" You say, hoping your wavering voice and a little faux-friendliness may save your life— it being the only survival instinct you're left with out here.
It atleast settles the raised hackles on his tail, "Name?" He mimicks your cadence, chewing on the words, like it's a language unknown— or long forgotten.
"Yes, a name. How others may refer to you? Should I call you something in particular?"
"I go by… many names." He says, turning his back to you and trudges back over to his spot by the fire with a low grunt. His tail thick and swaying behind him.
"Well you either tell me one of them or I make something up on the spot," You say with a dry laugh, feeling bold with your own fear— half lucid from your injury, "And considering my circumstances I can't promise you'll like it."
"Careful."
"You haven't killed me yet and that counts for something." You mutter beneath your breath, not sounding nearly as confident as you wish to. "Unless you plan to eventually."
"Blade."
"Blade?" You tilt your head and he huffs back, affirming you heard it right, "very fitting."
You wonder if Blade, considering what he is, can pick up on your almost sarcastic tone and maybe that's why he half growls at you. Just enough to get the whisper of a smile wiped off of your lips, and you pull your knees up against your chest as you attempt to get comfortable.
The conversation dies after that, and you don't attempt to get it going again. You stare at the embers of the fire infront of you, Blade tending to it with that same stick from earlier. A quick glance towards the front of the cave shows you the depth of the thick snow that's fallen since you've been out cold, and the storm is wailing and loud, obscuring your vision and any plans of escape.
You won't get far without freezing to death, but then again, maybe that would be better than being stuck in the den of a half-wolf hybrid, who no doubt will soon have you roasting on a spit in preparation for his next meal.
And there, in that damp, forgotten cave in the middle of the thick wood that surrounds your village. You rest your bandaged up forehead against your knees, and you finally begin to cry.
—
In the days you’ve been here— how many exactly, you’ve lost count, the passage of time seemingly creeping by in odd turns of the sun that you’ve fallen out of habit of tracking— you’ve learned a few things.
First, you’ve learned that Blades not much of a talker.
His grasp of the human tongue is sparse or mostly forgotten, something you can only assume is due to his still unknown origin, but you think he has the ability to atleast understand some of what you're saying. Even then he chooses to leave you with little response, or ignore you entirely. Sometimes he'll do you pleasure of grunting out a "No." his favourite word, you've come to learn considering how often he uses it.
So youve spent most of your time in his abandoned and damp nest catching up on sleep, finding it the only thing you're left with, considering he's also not letting you leave here either. You're only ever roused when it's time to change your bandages and even then, you find yourself being manhandled like an exhausted child being dressed for school by their mother.
(If your mother was a half-wolf, half-man monster who was holding you hostage in his nest for the winter that is).
Secondly, you've learned that Blade's fast, faster than most men— which better emphasises the point that he’s no normal man. As if the wolf-like features were already anything to go by.
You’ve tried to escape on days where you've managed to scavenge up what's left of your bravery, more times than you could count on one hand— you’ve went from trying to race right past him on unstable legs to trying to sneak out while he’s hunting, both opportunities have ended the same way. The outcome is Blade’s always been there, to race up right behind you and snatch you by the collar of your shirt before dragging you right back to where you started.
He doesn’t use force with you—not more than necessary anyway—he doesn’t hurt you or threaten you past the odd guttural growl or the show of his canines when you’re acting out. But that alone doesn’t make for a happy existence, and you’re not happy here because this isn’t where you belong.
But no matter how often you scream, cry and beg for Blade to take you home, to show you the way or else you’d rather take your chances and die out in the wood, he doesn’t, and you've given up hoping he ever will.
Third and last, you've accepted that he has no intention of eating you. Not yet anyway. He hunts twice a day, returns back to you with pelts to keep you warm alongside a bloodied mouth and hands.
You can't remember your last meal, can't remember the last thing you tasted that wasn't water he brings you from the lake or the taste of your own saliva, but you won't eat what he brings back for you either. Raw meat, massacred carcasses of forest dwelling animals and your lack of appetite for his kills has become apparent in your increasingly weak state.
But you won't eat it, even when the stench of rot from what's offered to you begins to settle in the atmosphere of the cave, turning your stomach, leaving his efforts to go to waste. You refuse to lose the parts of your humanity that you desperate clutch to.
Blade's noticed it too, and his temper has become increasingly thin in response to your stubbornness.
Today, he returns back to you with the small carcass of a rabbit, his huge hands making the meat look much smaller as he holds it by its feet. You're a lump in his nest, exhausted, starving, buried beneath the numerous pelts of fur and kills— yet still unable to keep yourself warm.
There's a thump at the edge of your makeshift bed, and when you weakly roll onto your side you notice that Blade's shrunk down to his knees opposite you. His mouth is red and bloodied, the crimson trailing down the length of his chin and neck as his devouring eyes hold your bleary gaze. His thick arms are much the same; deep, thick blood extending from palm to elbow, he truly is the picture of the creatures you once heard about in those village stories, the ones that you're taught to avoid.
He's placed the rabbit on the floor between you both, the blood beginning to pool on the rock.
“Eat." Blade says, the first word he's spoken in days.
You give the corpse a glance, feel bile rise in your throat at the rancid, metallic smell, and then turn back to face the wall again.
“No.” You say, "I’m not hungry.”
The growl that Blade responds with is low and fills you with dreaded unease, though before you can turn back around to speak again, you're already moving. His huge hands grabs roughly at the back of your shirt, staining it red, and he drags you back over towards the corpse on the ground, shoving you above it with an easy force that makes the whole word feel like it shifts.
"Eat." Blade growls again, louder, forcing you to hold your face above the kill that he's so graciously offering you.
"I'm not eating that," You spit, desperately trying not to vomit. "I'm not some animal like you are, so unless you're going to feed me something edible I'll sooner starve."
“Foolish girl.” He barks at you, and then with one final shove on the back of your neck, he lets you go. Leaving you to crawl back beneath your pelts, in favour of walking back over to his own space by the fire. “Starve then.”
"I will!"
And at this rate, you actually might. But atleast now you're too weak to keep running.
—
You don't know how long passes before you wake up again, but when you do, you think that you might actually be dead. There's a pleasant scent in the air, one of cooking meat— similar to the foods you would enjoy during breakfast at home or bbq's in the village.
You really must be dead, or hallucinating atleast, because when the delightful smell urges you to push your weakened body up from beneath your warm shelter, the sight your met with is surely unreal.
Blade's still there, in his usual spot by the fire, his ears twitching and tail swaying in big back and forth swipes behind him. But infront of him, rests meat, cooking and sizzling upon a makeshift hot plate of iron resting atop the flames.
Blade watches you rise, what's left of your energy being used to drag your body over to the edge of the bed as drool begins to collect in your mouth. A meal, something edible, assuming he even offers you any of it considering how you've treated him.
But still, you're far too hungry to be stubborn right now. You even consider beginning to beg, but before your mouth opens to begin your pathetic little pleas, Blade points to a pile of already cooked meat at the edge of your bed and you're too quick to grab at it. Like you're afraid he'll change his mind and snatch it away.
All of this time you've been so concerned with losing your humanity, but right now you probably look more animal than ever, shoveling still warm— perfectly cook rabbit hide into your mouth. You're not quiet about it either, too hungry to remember manners or etiquette; it's delicious, tender and juicy. Blade just watches you, and you wipe your mouth on the back of your arm before finally talking.
“You can cook?” You ask, swallowing a mouthful.
Blade huffs in response, poking at another piece of cooking meat on the fire before leaning over to add it to your plate again, and you accept gratefully. You assume his answer to be a yes.
“Then why do you eat them as they are?” You continue, watching Blade add another strip of raw meat to replace the last. His huge muscles flex with every movement as he carefully tends to your meal and you think he looks more man now than he ever has.
But you can tell he's sifting through his vocabulary in his head, reminding you of the reality— chewing on his words before deciding on how to respond.
“Convenience.” Blade eventually says, shrugging. "It makes no difference to me.”
You shove another freshly cooked piece of meat into your mouth and moan at how good it tastes, the sound makes Blade's ears turn out. His tail swishes behind him, that same hue of midnight and crimson catching your eye before he tucks it away behind him when he notices you staring.
"Where did you come from?" You ask, seemingly more talkative now that you're eating.
Blade glances between you and then the meat, “My origin,” He pauses, thinking, “It has no story.” then shaking his head, he shrugs, “No satisfaction.”
"You don't know?"
Blade grunts, meaning no.
"And you're okay with it?"
He shrugs again, indifference. And you stop asking questions after that, not wanting to lose out on your delicious meal knowing his unwillingness to talk. So you sit and eat in a comfortable silence, Blade filling your plate back up with an easy motion everytime you get close to finishing and you take what he offers you, until you're completely full and satisfied.
He continues to cook for you after that, and you decide to stop being as difficult as you have been, blaming your prior attitude on not only being kidnapped but also being hungry (which you would consider to be valid reasons worthy of a little troublemaking). But now, you've atleast stopped complaining nonstop about it, learning quickly that it will change nothing of your circumstances.
Your priority is just to survive the winter.
There's still times where you and Blade have the odd disagreement, but now that he's got you eating and the wound on your head has healed, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between you both.
One that says, do not make my life any harder than it already is.
But now that you're eating, you've begun to focus on the rest of the problems that had been drowned out before by your once overwhelming hunger.
The most important of those being: your embarrassingly sparse collection of clothes, the wood unfortunately not homing any boutiques amidst the array of wolf-hybrids and other monsters it seems. But also, you have become hauntingly aware of just how long it's been since your last bath.
Unfortunately, going off of Blade's appearance and the fact that he only ever seems to wear black pants and wrapped bandages as a makeshift shirt, you think borrowing something to wear is out of the question. But, everytime you've tried to convince him to atleast take you back to your cabin, you're either met with silence or silenced by the loud rattle of a growl in his chest as a response.
Which is no surprise, considering he barely lets you go to the bathroom without him standing a few feet off to make sure you don't make a run for it. (The last time you tried this, he barely let you fasten your pants before dragging you back to the cave, and almost didn't let you go again for a whole day afterwards— so it's safe to say you learned your lesson).
But even with your growing desperation, and your now prickling unease when it comes to being in such close proximity to Blade given your current state and his strong sense of smell. Nothing could have ever prepared you for how your day begins this time around.
You're still wrapped up in the thick layers of pelts that Blade had collected for you previously, enjoying a dreamless slumber considering there's not really much else you can do around here. Not without your own doggy chaperone anyway, and you don't really have plans to try running from him again anytime soon, lest you end up ripping the only shirt you own with how roughly he picks you up.
But you find it strange when you're awoken suddenly, considering how comfortable you are in your current position and with the still thick dark of night outside the cave, you assume it can't be anywhere close to sunrise. The fire is out, and Blade's not at his usual post— leaving you to assume he's perhaps out hunting or doing whatever else half-wolf hybrid men do around the forest at night.
You'd rather not know now that you think about it.
You stretch your arms over head in a yawn, and then you feel something tickle just above your hip as you begin to drift off again— one of your hands shoving it away while you get comfy. Your feet kick out a bit, hit against something hard but you don't think anything of it.
Until again; that sensation comes back. It's almost relentless, repeated; a wet lap at your hips, travelling across your lower stomach and up beneath your ruined shirt. It tickles, making you half-giggle in your still drowsy state of mind. You're barely awake, not fully aware of what's going on but your hands shove at it again and you begin to laugh.
But there's a growl that follows this time, low and long, snapping you awake. And you feel a squeeze at your hips, something rough and unrelenting and it jostles you slightly— wakes you up a bit more, squinting into the darkness as you try to wriggle away out of instinct. Your heart begins a pace as if out of habit, rapid in your chest and by the time you realise what's happening— you're horrified.
Blade's huge body is looming over yours in his nest, his hands keeping you pinned to the surface beneath you as his tongue laps and licks big, long stripes across your skin. You watch in utter shock at first, at the way he frowns up at you before returning back to what he was doing— pushing more of your shirt up so he can reach more of your body, drooling all over you as he cleans you up.
Maybe it's because you're half-awake, and that's why you don't push him off immediately, maybe you're scared at how easily this huge man is pinning you to the bed, or maybe you just don't want to admit how good it feels.
It's gross when you think about it. Pinned to the surface of a nest of skinned animal pelts, Blade— a half-wolf man bathing you with his tongue as he holds you down. Your breath stutters when his mouth rolls over your ribs, and you accidentally arch up into the next wet, lap of his tongue as he shoots you a curious look.
"That…. that tickles. That's all." You say, trying to play off your reaction.
"Filth." Blade grits back, his lips at your abdomen, teeth grazing the skin as he begins to lower himself down again. You're still drowsy, but find enough energy to push yourself up on your forearms— eyes widening as you watch Blade's form press down lower on your body.
You can't help the way your mind begins to drift off, the delightful feeling of Blade's hot, wet tongue on your bare skin already feeling like too much at once and the bleary drowsiness that still blankets you only makes it feel so much better. You begin to think of how the sensation would feel in other places, swiping back and forth over the perk of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, over the fabric of your panties.
It makes your body begin to twitch and heat, your breathing coming faster than you'd like to admit and when you cast Blade a glance, you notice his tail has taken a wide sway behind him. The colour of crimson and midnight wagging back and forth as he cleans you with his mouth.
His hands are still at your hips, squishing the skin there as he noses at the waistband of your pants and without thinking, your hips try to rise to the touch. Your mouth drops open to gasp, and then suddenly, Blade's fingers begin to yank down the fabric— making you squeak out of surprise as his movements suddenly freeze and you come to your senses.
"Wait! What…" You jolt up, coming face to face with Blade— making his ears twitch. "What the hell are you doing? Get off of me!"
"Clean," Blade growls, as if it's obvious. "Which other way?"
You kick your feet out from beneath him, shoving at his heavy hands on your body. "Surely there is something other than this, I'm not letting you undress me naked and lick me clean. What the hell is wrong with you?"
You eventually manage to rid yourself of Blade's hands, but only because he wills you to by pulling them back. He doesn't move though, he stays hovering over top of you, his ears turning out as if to make himself look more intimidating. And you're not sure if you're just seeing things but he does look much larger than usual, more animal and wild— his earlier efforts leaving drool dripping from his chin.
He begins to growl, like you're some disobedient pup. Like he's sure that'll work.
"I'm not scared of you." You say, hoping your voice doesn't betray you with a waver. But then Blade's eyes glint, and you think the racing of your heart might, because he leans in like he can hear it, like he's going to reach right into the hollow of your chest and rip it out for himself.
The guttural sound of his voice makes it skip over the next beat, "You should be."
It's tense inside of the cave. Blade hovering over top of your body as you rest on your forearms, your body coated in drool and spit from his earlier grooming. The silence is chilling, dangerous— if you were to look at your hands you're sure they would shake.
Until suddenly, Blade lunges for you. His hands drag you across the mattress until you're completely beneath him, and you're unable to do anything but scream when you feel his claws tease at your supple skin. His teeth are by your throat now, his jaws snapping— serving as a reminder.
"Soft skin…" Blade growls, bearing down on you. "Easy to slice."
"G-get off of me!" You shout, pushing at his chest with little pay off. He doesn't shift. "Get off! You stupid hound!"
"Hm?" He drawls again, and your blood runs cold. The tone is dripping with something sinister, his tongue licks a warm stripe beneath your ear and you feel your body begin to tremble. "Fear, I smell?"
You take a breath. Hold it for one second, then two. Then you stop your struggle.
"All of this to prove a point? You're a monster." You respond this time, voice carefully neutral. And Blade draws some of his weight back from you— not entirely, but enough for you not to feel the sharpness of his claws so much.
"Monster?" He hums, "Am I?" He seems to think on it. Taps one sharp finger on your hip as if to punctuate the thoughts. "Maybe."
But then suddenly, Blade's off of you again. And for the first time since you've woken up, you feel like you can finally breathe. You will yourself to begin to move away, keeping your eyes on his form while you inch yourself further towards the wall incase he comes back, thinking that will save you— but he barely casts you a glance.
Speaking to you over his shoulder with a low, "Rest." and it takes everything in your body to settle your heart rate before you reply.
"Don't clean me without permission next time."
Blade doesn't respond to that, he goes to the edge of the cave and takes a seat there instead, curling his tail beneath his form in one swift, fluid motion. And you tuck your still quivering form back beneath the pelts of fur as you try to settle back down.
You lie facing the entrance, like you're afraid he's going to come back— wait until you're asleep before coming to wrap his jaws around your throat and rip. But he doesn't move and he doesn't speak, leaving you to stare at his shadowy silhouette and admire the broad, cut muscles of his back with nothing else to do.
You try to swallow down the memory of his hot tongue on your body, and for a moment how good it felt. Blaming the fleeting moment of pleasure on your sorry circumstances and the fact it's the only affection you've been shown since you got here.
It makes something between your thighs begin to burn, a trick of the mind perhaps or even a lack of sleep. As soon as you begin to think about what would've happened if you let him yank down your pants you know you've gone too far, and you breathe out a long sigh before closing your eyes.
The sound makes the shadow of Blade's ears twitch, once then twice.
And you barely sleep a wink for the rest of the night.
—
It's been awkward between you both since then, to no fault of Blade's and entirely you're own, but who can blame you? You can barely look him in the eyes now without thinking back to that night; how his mouth felt on your body, the weight of his hands on your hips.
It's humiliating. Not only that, but this is still the man who kidnapped you, you shouldn't be thinking such unsavoury things about the very person who's condemned you to a winter under his consistence watch. Without even offering you a say or a choice.
Even Blade's been doing his own part at avoiding you, opting to spend most of his time curled up at the opening of the cave, like he's keeping watch or keeping distance— you're not quite sure which one. And as much as you know that most people would probably be happy about that fact, it's hard to ignore the perpetual, unsavoury feelings of lust and disappointment that still coil inside of you.
You put it down to the simple fact that you're used to his company by now, you're sure there's a name for it. It's simple human nature to crave the touch of another person, especially when you've spend the most part of recent days living with him, but then again you're not sure if Blade would even be considered that…
A person.
He's humane in some aspects, yes. But he's still animal at his core. Not only in physical traits but in instinct, the way he lives, the way he hunts, kills. So why do you find yourself yearning for someone who is only half man to keep you company?
You assume that you must lose yourself to the tendrils of sleep again while thinking about it, exhausting your mind while trying to justify your distasteful feelings for a man who is denying you of your humanity.
But when your eyes next open it's brighter than usual. Cold. Strange.
It takes you a few moments to realise what you're looking at before you're pushing yourself up with a jolt, realising that your mind is indeed not playing tricks on you, but you're really looking at it. The sky, clouds, those same bare, frost-covered trees that once marked the entrance to the wood that you'd grown so familiar with.
You're not under your usual pelts, instead curled up in the snow— like a baby lamb abandoned by its mother. All alone as your body shifts against the thick layer of white that's began to blanket over top of you. But for some reason, you don't feel particularly cold.
"Blade?" The sound of your own voice surprises you, not because you're surprised you can still talk but because your first instinct is to call out for him. Of all people.
You cast a glance over your shoulder, examining what feels like the endless stretch of woods that surround you; like you're trying to make rhyme of their pattern, piece together where you are and how to find your way back. Did Blade leave you here? Did he finally grow tired of your discontent and give up trying to take care of you?
But why would he drop you in the middle of the wood with no survival instinct? A mere human without a place, no food or warm clothes. He would have been better slaughtering you himself; he atleast owed you that much.
Then again, did he really owe you anything at all?
The thought makes something in your gut turn, and it's sooner replaced with a familiar feeling of unease and dread when you realise just how quiet it is. There's no subtle gusts of wind or sounds from the animals you would expect to hear, there's nothing but a stillness that feels manufactured and deliberate, like the wood itself is afraid of something.
Which is why the distant crack of a branch is so startling.
Your head whips around to look for its origin, and you can see your own breath given the low temperature. The small clouds come fast from between your lips as something settles, and you feel that same ill-realisation return to you in a wave; the feeling of being watched.
You open your mouth to call out again but then something smart inside of you decides against it.
Your lips form a name but they don't speak it aloud, Blade? Your eyes try to narrow in on what you believe you can see, a shadow behind a particular thick tree or a body crouched behind a stretch of shrubbery.
The snow crunches when you push yourself up and take a step back, and then you hear something move with you, towards you. Another shift out of your peripheral vision and another grating, subconscious order from your own mind.
Run.
And so you do. You feel right back to where you started again, all those weeks ago as you try to manoeuvre your body through the unending twists of trees and branches. It feels like they try to reach out for you, snagging at your cheeks and ankles; making you trip and stumble over your own feet in an attempt to stay upright. To stay moving.
You offer a glance over your shoulder this time, and part of you wishes you didn't— you catch a fleeting, fast glimpse of something in the shadows following you. Limbs too long, faces contorted and inhumane. You see eyes in the trees, teeth in the bushes, a presence on your heels.
But then you turn back to continue forward and you see him. In an opening of the woods, a stretch of white snow littered with red. There's a deer by his feet, a gutted and slaughtered carcus as he stares at it unwaveringly.
Blade.
"Blade!" You call out shrill and high, and your joints feel like they scream along with it. His ears twitch and immediately he's able to find you, his heckles raise and his lips draw back to reveal sharp, blood-stained teeth. Yet, you don't falter, you should, but you don't. You run straight for the predator in the woods until you're slamming against his warm, broad chest. Much like you did that day.
"Blade? Somethings out there," You say, desperate as you cower into his chest. Clawing at the bandages in his skin. "S-save me, take me back please!"
"Foolish girl." A voice responds, masculine, slippery—poisonous—speaks straight into your mind. "You’re prey." It ricochets in the trees, as if there were many voices, not his alone.
You snap your head up, and you quickly come to realise that this isn't Blade. Not as you know him anyway.
As he is now, he appears much more than just half-animal. His mouth remains covered in blood, but to an extent you've never saw it before. The crimson drips and seeps into the bandages on his chest, turning them a deep shade of red and his eyes bore an emptiness that you would consider unfamiliar. You feel your hands begin to shake.
"What? Blade it's me." You try to reason, voice meek and small. But when you try to pull away you feel claws on your back, close to puncturing the skin.
"Me?" Blade—The wolf mimics. His voice like a serpent slivering over grass. "A girl who has lost her way?"
Alarm bells begin to go off in your mind, but gaining distance is impossible. You push at his chest, instinct screaming at you to get away. Your chances were better when you were running.
"Sto—stop it! I'm sorry, I'll go back. Just…" You try to reason, but those same claws clack at the base of your spine. Taunting you. "Stop!"
"Now you listen?" Blade's laughter twists through your mind like a ghost combing a corridor, near and far at the same time.
"Take me back." You say, voice shaking. The smell of rot from the corpse at your feet beginning to make you feel sick, but when you step back your legs catch in it's hooves. It sends you to the ground, right at Blade's feet as he stands above you.
"Fear," He drawls, teeth clacking. Eye's honed on you before he lowers himself down to your level. His heckles stand up and your body turns rigid. "It suits you."
"No! Wait." You cry as Blade suddenly lunges at you, jaw at your throat, sinking into flesh and bone like it's made of silk.
And then suddenly, you snap awake.
You're covered in sweat when you do, clutching at the base of your neck like you're surprised to still find it intact. Your chest rises and falls desperately, and you swear you can still feel the pressure of teeth on your jugular. But when you pull your hand away to make sure— you're clean.
There's no blood. No sign of anything.
Your eyes quickly adjust to the darkness in the cave, finding the familiar cracks and dampness of the ceiling to be strangely comforting. But you only find yourself to be truly awake when a looming shadow at the edge of the nest startles you back, and you gasp at the crimson gaze that pours over you.
"Danger?" Blade asks, voice boreing the depths of dark water, smooth, unwavering.
For some reason, you find the tone settling, much different than it was moments ago as you examine the relaxed lines of his face. "Nightmare."
"Hm." He hums, like he's unimpressed or maybe even disappointed. He even turns to leave, no doubt to return to his usual post but before he can travel too far your voice brings him back, and his body stills.
"What else lives out there?" You ask, hand still at your neck. "In the woods. It's not just you, right?"
"Curious girl." Blade doesn't turn, but his tail swishes. As if suddenly amused by the question. "It's best you don't know." He says, unyielding. "For both of us."
"Is that why you've kept me here?" You press regardless, remembering those figures from your dream. Wondering if that's what he's protecting you from. "Atleast answer me that."
"No." His voice is slow, idle.
"What other reason would you have then? Why can't I go home?"
"Mate." Blade says, and his voice clings to you, as if made of wax.
You stiffen. Overfilled with a fleeting, momentary pause of dread and you feel your body flush.
"What?"
He goes to walk away.
"Wait."
You don't know why you say it. But Blade turns this time, and in the moment his gaze meets yours, you realise his eyes are full of you. The pelts, the hunts, the tongue baths. It suddenly makes sense; he wasn't protecting you in the humane sense, but he was preparing you in another. He has no intentions of letting you leave this cave. Ever.
Blade looks at you like he can read you, and he takes a step forward, bringing him back by the side of the nest. And the tendrils of heat begin knotting themselves over and over deep within you.
"Blade?" You say again, tasting his name as you push yourself up to your knees and even now he towers over you. But still you reach out, and for the first time since you've been here, you willingly touch him.
Your palms press into Blade's cheeks and his ears appear to flatten themselves against his hair, your fingers stroking at his jaw while his eyes remain fixed on yours. It's strange to consider, such a gentle touch being used against a wolf's best weapon for killing. Such a place that's honed for hunting, ripping through flesh, grinding through bones. It leaves a silence between you.
But maybe this is your instinct, that of survival. The only chance you've got.
You guide Blade's face down towards you and you lean up to meet him, your lips sliding against his in a gentle, first caress. He doesn't respond to it at first, and you wonder if it's because he doesn't know how to, but he seems to pick up on what you want easily enough when you part his lips with your tongue.
And then suddenly, it comes all at once. Blade's hands are on your hips within the next second and he begins to lap at your mouth with little rhythm. It's messy at first, slick with drool and teeth but you simply let him; opening your mouth wide to allow him the space to taste and he groans like he's pleased with it.
Blade bares more of his weight down on top of you, and it's enough to send you back onto the plush surface of pelts as he follows you down. His hand slides over your jaw to the nape of your neck, and the lick of fear that the touch ignites in your stomach makes you feel even hotter.
Your mouth opens wider and Blade's tongue touches yours, hot and unfamiliar, tentative at first, then greedy. And you try to meet his pace, his drool on your lips; dripping down your chin as he presses you into the nest and his huge body weight squishes you beneath him with ease.
"Is this what you wanted?" You say through a gasp for air, Blade's mouth leaving you little room to breathe.
"Mate." He mutters again, and this time, you press up into him.
"Take it then."
And Blade does. You feel a small pressure on your chest, a ghost of a touch before it's replaced by the sudden brush of cold air; making you gasp when Blade carefully slides a sharp claw along the front of your shirt. The fabric parts for him easily, and your now bare breasts quickly find purchase against his own half-bare chest, making him groan against the warmth of your mouth.
"More." He says again, continuing to drool and lap and lick into your mouth. And then suddenly, he pulls away, making you gasp for breath and sanity alike.
Blade's eyes appear wicked as he lowers himself down to his knees. The position feels familiar, much like how it was the night he bathed you with his own mouth, but you're much more agreeable this time when his tongue curls around the base of your jaw.
You ease yourself up into more of Blade's kisses, making space for him to mouth at you, the tips of his teeth edging over your skin. The pleasure it brings you is rampant and unending, it feels like you've not been touched like this in decades and the same as it was that night, his tail begins to sway again, his ears standing upright and attentive.
With a sharp breath, you feel Blade push your thighs open, wide enough to accomdate his huge size before his weight is pressing down between them.
His mouth trails lower at the same time, tongue and teeth giving attention to your breasts as he bathes them in dizzying lavs of his tongue. Your hands grab at his hair, feeling him suck one of your nipples into his mouth while the other falls victim to his palm, and you arch yourself against those same soft pelts as he flicks them back and forth until they're raw and hard.
You feel far too hot, already feeling absolutely ravaged beneath Blade's animalistic urge. You feel like he's feasting on you, in all of his rough intimacy— pouring his instinct into the promise of ruining you in a way no man ever could.
"Too much?" Blade's word hum against your intimate skin and you shake your head faster than you should.
"No," You gasp, "Not enough."
"Very well," His ear twitches, and his tail takes a sway so harsh you hear it begin to clap. "More then."
Blade's mouth trails down your stomach, leaving a trail of drool and spit in it's wake. You're soaked in more ways that one, discarding the ruined fabric of your shirt until you're left in just your pants and even then, there is little they can do to keep you from Blade's touch.
Just like your shirt, the fabric gives to him so easily. His claws slice through the seams, disappearing in shreds with one sharp tug, and you should feel dread—terror even, realising what would become of your skin should he turn himself on you. But instead, you're helping him pull down your ruined underwear and finding yourself wanting him even more.
"Scared?" Blade hums after a second, teeth clacking over the trembling and now bare inside of your thigh. It's like he can smell it, fear radiating from you in waves, but you don't falter. Not when your brain is so fuzzy with something else. Even when he presses his nose up against you and inhales, long and loud, before exhaling along the glistening sight of your bare pussy.
Right now, lust is much stronger a feeling than fear will ever be.
"No," You say, because in this moment it's true. "Something else."
And your answer makes Blade's ears turn out, his hands squeezing at your hips. "Still such a foolish girl." But then he buries himself between your thighs and you can't focus on anything else but that.
His mouth is hot and rampant, drool dripping down his own chin now as he smears it along the warm spread of your folds with animal eagerness. There's no rhythm to Blade's movements, just big, long laps of his rough tongue splitting through your pussy while his tail swings wildly behind him.
You feel every pant from his mouth buried straight between your thighs and there's an inkling of shame swirling in your gut when you let your eyes flicker down to watch him. It's like the realisation comes over your suddenly, his tail and ears, his drool and teeth and claws, and you're just letting him lick and kiss at your cunt while wrapped up in his own nest.
You should feel ashamed of yourself, disgusted perhaps— imagining what the other people in the village would think. But then Blade cuts through the glistening petals of your pussy with his tongue and your mind goes blank, the damp, quiet cave suddenly filled with the overwhelming sounds of his suckles and smacks at the mess he's already made of you.
"G-good boy, good wolf." You try to praise him, shaky hands petting at the sharp ears on his head, and you're not sure if the growl it earns you means he likes it or not.
But it feels good buried in your cunt so you can't find it in yourself to stop, and to your delight Blade doesn’t either. You scratch at his ears, pet at his hair and he drools even more spit all over your pussy— drawing circles with his tongue, pressing it in and out of your sweet hole.
His hackles raise as you get wetter and wetter, and it's like Blade can pick up on the inklings of your orgasm, like he can taste it on your folds or feel the way your walls are beginning to squeeze and tremble.
You feel so pliant beneath him, completely nude and exposed, and your cunt continues to squelch lewdly as Blade slurps and laps at the slick his movements seem to press out. He's pushing himself so close against you, you're almost curling in on yourself; his body so big and brooding it feels like he's weighing down on your chest.
"I'm gonna cum," Your lips part, moaning beneath another big, strong lick of Blade's mouth and you feel his ears begin to twitch beneath your pets. As if he can tell something changing, something's coming.
"Cum?" He asks, as if he doesn't understand it, but every syllable gets buried into the place where his mouth wraps around you and it makes you keen.
"Y-yes. That means it's— it's good," Your voice shakes when his movements don't stop, "So, so good."
"Do it then." Blade murmurs before busying himself with you again, lips mouthing at your clit in a way that's similar to how he was kissing you earlier. He suckles at you, drools and growls and rolls his tongue all over you until you're soaked and within the next few seconds your back arches, and your thighs begin to clamp tight around Blade's cheeks.
Your orgasm makes your whole body shake, but it takes Blade little strength to hold your thighs open for him; growling at the idea that you'd try to take his meal from him as his mouth moves hungrily against your pussy. Every swipe of his tongue is greedy, slurping up the cream that your clamping walls push out of you and you're just left to lay there and take it.
Your body feels under fever, overheating and warm beneath Blade's palms and he only pulls away when you begin to twitch, your breaths coming in a frantic pace. Your eyes are bleary when you peer them back open, barely able to make out the looming silhouette of Blade as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs.
You can still make out the glow of his gaze, his ears perked up and watchful of you, leaving your sticky hips alone only to haphazardly rip at his own pants.
You're too slack and limp from your orgasm to realise what's happening, even when Blade's now free, hard cock swings between his legs with the force of his wagging tail. It paints the fat of his scarred thighs with leaky precum, and you're next full breath is interrupted when his huge frame leans over you again. Closer this time.
"Good—" Blade clicks, "good mate." His teeth at your jaw again, and you feel the weight of his palm bare down on the top of your head in the moment. Like he's mimicking your praise from earlier, he noses at your cheek. "Breed."
"Wait… I'm still sensitive, just give me a second." You say, eyes widening at the realisation when his arm reaches down between your bodies. Blade shakes his head, baring his teeth at you.
"Mate, now." He says, absolute and you suck in a frantic and panicked breath once he finally brings a wet and sticky head to you.
Blade keens, tail wagging in a wild sway behind you and he begins to pant at the way your pussy feels along the swollen, thick ridge of his cock. Your body jolts when the head meets your twitching clit with every sticky pass, swiping back and forth before he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside of you.
He's so thick and long it makes your legs kick out, your body almost denying him out of fear you won't be able to take it. Too human to take an animal so big, not made for the weight or the push of a cock like his.
But Blade goes against all of that, and it makes your eyes roll back at his insistence, feeling his teeth catch on your jawline when he's finally able to push the head inside. His hips jolt suddenly, frantic and unpracticed and you realise that wild animals are never really taught the act of patience.
You realise a bit too late to stop him, because Blade's already giving you weak thrusts to ease his cock down, and your body is already clamping up and seizing in pleasure. Every inch he forces inside of you makes your mind go slack, the slow sinking torture aching in a way that makes you cry and grab for him.
But Blade doesn't relent, he licks at you again— long stripes up the column of your throat, leaving you with growled words of "Good," and "Take." high and eager, as drool already starts to form and drip down his chin.
You can imagine how this must look, were it not winter and some innocent hiker were lost out in the woods, they'd surely be horrified to see you. Your body buried beneath Blade's larger one, human cunt stretched to it's limit around his huge cock as he fucks you atop the pelts of his previous kills, buried in his nest with his nose on your pulse.
But why does that make you feel even better? Blade's cock fights to fit inside of you, nearly obstructed by the way his fat balls are already twitching, squeezing up into his body with what is most likely his own eagerness. His instinct to breed and mate is encompassing, and you can feel your own slick begin to dribble down your ass, soaking the fur that he's got you spread out on.
He's almost got you split in half, but you can just keen and whine, feeling Blade's hand turn harsher and rougher the more he sinks inside of you. His teeth are so close to your throat, his claws at your stomach and the slight tendrils of fear make your cunt squeeze around him, a shiver of pleasure running all the way through you.
Until finally, Blade bottoms out and you can't believe how full you feel, you cling onto his large shoulders, his wet, drool-slick lips pressing into the muscles of your neck and then there's a shift.
He doesn't wait like most humans would, and maybe it's because he can't.
Not when he's so deep inside your warm cunt, and he's spent so much of his efforts on opening you up for him— he can't help but rely on the more animal part of him. So he does, he suddenly draws back and then without so much as a breath, Blade swings his hips down onto you over and over again.
He's gives you no time to adjust to his cock as you’re suddenly made to take the force of him so ruthlessly, and for a second you even try to push him off. To let yourself breathe and give yourself some air, but the moment that your arms come down on his chest and try to push; Blade's lips peel back on his teeth, fangs bared and he dares you to try.
Even when his hips are still messily pumping in and out of you, you feel that fear begin to trickle its way back into your gut. You shouldn't feel yourself getting wetter, but when Blade's gaze flickers with something dangerous, you feel your thighs begin to twitch.
Quickly, the fleeting expression of dread on your face quickly turns slack with pleasure, and Blade's ears twitch back with every rushed snap of his hips. His cock buries itself into you even deeper each time, slamming down into you with growling, ineligible sounds of ecstasy. Your hands claw at his back, musing the bandages wrapped around his chest and tearing them from his skin but not even this causes his pace to falter.
"Y—you're going too fast," You try to gasp, voice almost lost beneath Blade's heavy weight. "slow down! I…. I can't take it all at once."
"Learn to." He says, sharp at your throat. "Good mate. Soft and warm. Wet."
"B-Blade…" Your fingers dig into every bulging muscle made available to you as you try to grip onto some level of semblance. But it doesn't last long until your voice is lost to high and messy noises of pleasure, your pussy meeting the cushion of Blade's heavy balls slapping down on your ass.
It makes your thighs twitch even more, spreading wider to allow him a harder thrust and it almost makes your legs thump down onto the bed with his near viscious pace. It's like your body is begging for more despite the way your mind dreads the idea of taking it.
Blade's soaked your throat in drool now, his lips hanging open to smear it along your chin and jawline and his tail is wagging behind him in large swings.
It all feels so messy and hot, and you're so consumed by Blade and his being that you can't help but try to drag him closer. He's lost control by this point, and you're in no position to try and slow him down. Like you ever had any power over him to begin with, like you weren't the one at his disposal, wrapped up in his nest while he waited for his opportunity to breed you.
And now you've never felt better, you're letting Blade lap and lick at your pulse, panting heavier the closer to your scent he gets and your fingers dig into the fevered shake of his marred shoulders. His sharp nails pinch at your skin to keep you pressed beneath him, and it feels like there's no stop to his movements.
It's like there's not even a hint of tiredness to Blade's body, and perhaps it's the hunting or mating instinct that allows him to barrel through exhaustion but it keeps his hips fast and unrelenting. His ears pin back onto his head as he tilts more of his weight forward onto your chest, and your cries turn even sweeter as your human body fights to keep up with him.
But it's impossible, already you can feel yourself get closer to the edge again, your body still clinging onto its earlier sensitivity as you're thrown into another mind-bending orgasm. And your eyes squeeze closed momentarily as you will the tears that gather along your lashes not to fall, pussy fighting every single unending thrust that Blade buries past the squeeze.
But Blade doesn't relent, even when he can feel your body growing limp and tired; instead he reaches for your thighs and he picks them up. He bends you so easily with his strength, barely faltering in pace as your muscles contract and squirm, right up until he's got them pushing up to your chest and you feel like you can barely breathe with how deep Blade feels like he reaches.
You can't even speak now, you're just left to gasp and scream and cry, you're so full and spent but Blade's cock continues to bury itself into you— thoroughly fucking and molding your cunt to his shape as pure instinct takes holds of him.
"So easy to break," Blade grits his teeth, nipping at your cheek before pushing even harder onto your legs, and it makes you yelp. "More."
You nod, nod— despite the way he squeezes all the air from your lungs, cock driving into the swollen walls of your pussy as it wets itself in cream and cum. And Blade's growling at how small you must look under him, legs dangling limp in his hold until his cock begins to swell.
You feel it, the way it begins to grow thicker, heavier. Even when you think you're already stretched to your limit, he pushes even more inside of you, his hips snapping down harder as he begins to growl and huff. A mantra of "breed-mate-more-soft-break." as he gives way to his own pleasure.
“Take more of it.” Blade huffs, leaning his chest forward against the weak pushes of your hands. But your voice betrays you, a meek and raw sound.
"O-okay."
Blade's movements begin to turn frantic at your permission, his cock swelling almost painfully at the base as his sloppy mouth attempts to kiss you again. You open your mouth to let him, clashing teeth and spit meeting your lips as he drools between them and you whine out at the desperation of it all. The movement only suddenly overcome by the warm rush of him creaming inside of your cunt over and over and over as your legs shake and tremble at the way you struggle to take it.
Blade's nose presses into your cheek when those tears finally break and trail down the skin, and he laps at them, body grinding with yours as he breeds you. The swollen base of his cock grinds hard into your tight walls as you cry out soft words, and your hands feel weak on his shoulders as his cum stretches you out.
By the time Blade finally stops, your body can barely move, and he does most of the work after that, or as much as he can while still being stuck to you. It takes you a while to realise what's happening, the acceptance that comes with your body realising it's being bred- unable to move with his weight pinning you down. Leaving you to just take it.
But again, your own instinct to survive answers. Your hands move to Blade's hair and you pet there, watching his ears twitch as he turns to lap at your sticky hands.
"Good, good boy." You say, voice breaking with exhaustion. "Is that what you wanted?"
He just huffs at you, doesn't answer, like his display has reverted him back to being more animal than human. But then with a small twitch of his nose, and a full wag of his tail— it's like he remembers.
"Good?" Blade asks, more of a question to you rather than an acknowledgment of your previous compliment.
"Mhm," You say, "It was really good. But now I really need that bath." And then you giggle to yourself, Blade doesn't seem to know how to respond to it, but as if driven by the sound he reaches back down for another round of sloppy kisses.
His ears begin to twitch excitedly as he bathes you in his scent, already drenched thanks to the heavy cum he's plugged you up with, but he claims your mouth in a thanks. And you lie there until he's satisfied, allowing yourself to take it until you both fall asleep on the warm surface of pelts.
—
The next time your eyes open, it appears to still be night going by the darkness that greets you outside the opening to the cave. And it almost scares you when you feel the unfamiliar heat of Blade's body wrapped up by your side. It seems now, he's taken to sleeping beside you, given the fact he's already mated and bred you- this is probably the tamest of things that could follow.
You turn around to give his body a look, and you admire the strange, handsome appearance that greets you. In sleep, he appears to be much more gentle than in wake. Even by human standards, Blade was beautiful; if it weren't for the ears and the tail, you're sure he would be quite popular in the village. You're sure the others would swoon over him given the chance, the long length of his hair and the colour of his eyes, his strength and reliability were other unmistakably valuable qualities.
Ah, the village. Your village.
There's a heavy weight in your chest as you remember it, you wonder if the shop-keeper has been wondering where you've been, if she's already signed you off as another missing girl or if she's still waiting around for you. Supplies stowed away in wake for your arrival.
Instinct is a funny thing. In the same way animals must feel that same longing to hunt and kill, there is something they still have in common with humans.
Survival.
Maybe that's why you think about killing Blade as he rests by your side, you didn't think for a moment that he even slept to begin with. So you think it's an unfamiliar sight, and you almost feel guilty for even considering taking advantage of it. But even now, you still toy with the idea of being misplaced, your inability to settle and commit your life to the damp corners of a cave is not what you want for yourself.
You cast your eyes towards the entrance of the cave again. And then you remember your dream, those other things from the woods, the things that were everywhere but nowhere at once. Blade isn't the only thing that inhibits these woods, but he's the only thing that will protect you in them.
Then why are you thinking about how far he’d be able to track you, how much of a head start you’d gain if you left right now?
You cast another glance at his hulking form again, this time to the muscles in his legs that would send him barrelling behind you, honed from years of hunting in these same woods you’ve avoided for probably only half the length of time that he's lived in them. The twitch of his ears, the way they’d surely hear your escape, your feet slapping against frozen rock, the crack of a branch beneath your bare sole.
Not to mention, your body aches from his earlier efforts and your clothes are shredded, you'd sooner die from the cold and the elements before making it a few metres and that's assuming that the world would do you the kindness of taking you out that way. Before something else finds you and draws out a more terrible, horrifying demise.
But before you can think more on it, before you can weigh up your possibilities of success and consider the idea that you would be betraying the loyalty, the kindness that you have earned over these past few days, weeks with little chance of pay-off….
You’ve already started running.