ao3
About twenty minutes into the hike, Steve hears Eddie’s breathing change.
They’re bringing up the rear, but they’re still close enough for some of the group’s conversations to be within earshot—Robin and Nancy leading in a silently agreed upon formation, despite Dustin holding the compass. That way, no matter what, the kids are shielded.
Speaking of the kids, they’re currently having a passionate discussion about who among them will reach the Gate the fastest—and yeah, there’s not a chance in hell that’s happening, Steve thinks, but they don’t need to know that yet.
It’s when the debate specifically turns to who’s the best swimmer that he notices the switch in Eddie’s breathing, air sucked in through clenched teeth. A glance behind confirms Steve’s suspicions; Eddie’s breaking away from the party, his face white, eyes steadfastly on the forest floor.
Steve leaves him be, doesn’t draw any attention to it—but he keeps watch in his peripheral, so he spots exactly when Eddie staggers off, soon swallowed up by the trees. He can still hear his footsteps, though, which is reassuring.
Slowly, making sure it seems casual, Steve bends down and picks up the smallest rock he can find, rubs his thumb across it to make sure the edges are smooth enough.
He throws, hits his target: the back of Dustin’s head.
Predictably, Dustin whirls around, mouth already open to voice his indignation.
Steve quickly puts a finger to his lips.
While Dustin doesn’t look all that thrilled about it, he obligingly stays silent. He’s damn quick on the uptake, of course; Steve can see the spark of understanding in his eyes when he notices that Eddie is missing.
He steps forward with urgency, but Steve’s just as quick to shake his head.
No, it’s okay. I’m on it.
He knows it’s not a coincidence that Eddie left so quietly—that having the kids see him in another moment of vulnerability is probably too much to handle on top of the ongoing nightmare he’s found himself in. Steve gets it; God, if he were in Eddie’s shoes, he’d be taking any opportunity that he could to get some privacy.
Even without words, it’s obvious that Dustin wants to protest, frowning hard.
Steve raises an eyebrow meaningfully. Dude, trust me.
Dustin heaves a silent, dramatic sigh, but he nods all the same.
Steve gestures for the water bottle Dustin’s got in his backpack. Mimes for Dustin to throw it to him.
Dustin brings out the bottle, but doesn’t throw it immediately, like he’s doubtful Steve will make the catch.
Steve rolls his eyes. Seriously? Dickhead.
Dustin rolls his eyes right back.
When he throws the bottle, Steve catches it one-handed as a point of pride.
Dustin’s theatrics grow: he gasps, all slack-jawed, wide-eyed disbelief; Steve flips him off.
Then Dustin taps his watch deliberately.
Steve softens, gives him a brief thumbs up before following where Eddie went. He looks back a couple of times, reassured by the sight of Robin and Nancy stopping and rearranging themselves so the group formation is kept up in his absence.
It doesn’t take long to find Eddie. He hears him first, harsh, bitten off retching—and while that’s not exactly a surprise, the sound still makes Steve’s heart sink.
Eddie’s doubled over, leaning against a tree with one hand. Steve feels a sudden impulse to pull his hair back for him but resists it—remembers Eddie violently flinching away from any touch in the boathouse.
So he just makes sure his presence is nice and obvious without being overwhelming—takes leisurely, even footsteps. He sits down opposite, just close enough that Eddie could reach out if he needed to.
But he doesn’t. He’s barely stopped retching before he’s trying to straighten up, grip slipping against the bark. Steve winces at the thought of splinters digging into his palm.
“Woah, man, take it easy—”
“M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.”
His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure.
“Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”
He stretches out right there on the ground, slow and deliberate. It takes a second or two before Eddie—after another wobbly attempt at standing—mirrors him: sinking down until he’s sat, back pressed up against the tree trunk.
Steve listens to his breathing. It’s lost that nauseated gritted teeth sound, but it hitches once, twice, and then—
“I can’t stop—” Eddie covers his face with his hands.
Steve shuffles closer. “You’re okay.”
But Eddie shakes his head. He drops his hands, leans his head back against the tree. His eyes are distant. Haunted. Steve doesn’t need to guess about what he’s seeing.
“Eddie—”
“You know the funniest thing?” Eddie gasps out, like it isn’t funny at all. “I keep thinking if—if only I hadn’t ditched swimming lessons, I might’ve l-learned something fucking useful.”
At a loss for what to say, Steve tries for something normal. Thinks back to high school, something far away from all of this…
“You showed up to swimming,” he says. “I remember.”
He does, though it’s faint.
Honestly, he spent as little time as he could changing in the showers, wanting to make the most out of time in the pool. He didn’t even goof off with Tommy H or any of the other guys, preferring to do solo laps in the deep end. It was repetitive, calming; he treated it like a vacation from the adrenaline of being on the swim team.
Then came that November, and the whole routine became an escape from much more.
Eddie gives him a look that might’ve passed for amusement at one point, if his breathing wasn’t still so shallow.
“Yeah, I—I showed up for, like, the first week, Harrington. Fucking Lewinsky stole my clothes, you only let that kinda thing happen once.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says sincerely. “I didn’t know.”
A wan flicker of a smile passes across Eddie’s face. “Of course you didn’t,” he says. It’s not an accusation. “You were, like, way too busy being part fish.”
Steve huffs a laugh through his nose, but Eddie doesn’t join in. Instead his breathing quickens, like the distraction of high school hasn’t been nearly enough.
“It’s just—I should’ve been more—should’ve known h-how to—” He shakes his head again. Swallows. “After Chr—”
He chokes on her name.
Steve reaches out, only to hesitate and leave his hand hovering in the air between them. “Hey, man, there’s nothing you could’ve—”
“What if it’s not a coincidence?” Eddie whispers. “What if there’s—there’s a… there’s gotta be a reason that—that it’s me.”
Steve moves closer still. Draws back at the last second; Eddie’s still trembling.
“That’s bullshit,” Steve says firmly.
Eddie laughs bitterly. “Is it? D-don’t fucking kid yourself, Harrington, s’not exactly looking good. Two people died r-right in front of me, and I just…” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’d arrest me.”
“Stop, would you just—”
“Come on, man. You’ve gotta know, even if Wheeler and Buckley are still too polite to say it.” Eddie’s voice is soft in resignation. “I’m just wasting your time.”
It’s Steve’s turn to scoff. “Do you seriously think we’d be doing all of this if we thought you were a lost cause?”
Eddie shrugs, the sleeves of his leather jacket scraping against the bark. “There’s only so many signs a guy can ignore, right? Hell, even my watch has stopped, like I’m literally outta fucking time.”
“Okay, no wonder you failed English,” Steve says, “that is overwrought as shit, dude.”
The jab doesn’t quite land—his barely concealed worry just makes him sound sharp. Fraught.
But Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, and he finally seems speechless, and this is it, Steve realises, the one chance he has to get through to him.
“Nothing prepares you for this shit, Eddie,” he says—thinks of 1983, of seeing the impossible. Terrified out of his mind. “I mean it, there’s nothing you could’ve done. Nothing,” he adds pointedly, when it looks like Eddie might protest. “Chrissy, Patrick, it’s fucking awful what they—but it’s not—not a, um. Not a reflection on—it’s not your fault.”
It’s not enough, Steve knows it—feels acutely like a shitty school guidance counsellor, only able to parrot empty platitudes. He has to dig deeper.
He looks at Eddie directly, unflinching. Can read the fear lurking in his eyes, the one he keeps dancing around.
A fierce emotion floods Steve’s chest—like being flung into the deep end without warning, the water already over your head before you can take a breath.
He’s felt it before, mixed up in a wave of anger as he watched Powell raise that goddamn picture to the camera.
Don’t you go believing a word this town says about you, Eddie Munson. Don’t you dare.
Steve braves a touch, places a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t move.
“You’re not the curse, Eddie. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Eddie shudders. He looks away, but not quick enough to hide the definite tears this time.
Steve waits. He doesn’t move his hand for a long moment.
When Eddie’s finished roughly wiping at his face with his sleeve, Steve hands over the water bottle. He’s silently relieved that Eddie takes it without a fight, like accepting even this smallest amount of help means there’s still a part of him that hasn’t given up yet.
There’s still hope.
After a few sips, Eddie sets the water bottle aside. He’s breathing deeper now, and when he looks up, his eyes have that keen, almost analytical gaze.
“What’s…?” he murmurs, and then he’s the one that’s reaching out, as if without thinking, fingertips lightly brushing against Steve’s forehead.
He feels cold, Steve thinks. Like he’s still half frozen from falling into the lake.
“Did you… cut yourself on something?” Eddie says.
Steve’s about to say no automatically before he remembers.
“Right, yeah. Um, our flashlights kinda… exploded when…”
He trails off. Watches with sympathy as Eddie fills in the gaps.
“Oh,” Eddie says very quietly.
He keeps following the trail of the cut—Steve can still feel the chill of him: the light pressure travelling across his skin, like Eddie needs the motion to stay calm.
“Ow,” Eddie says, hushed, almost as if it happened to him, too. “You’re lucky you didn’t get glass in your eye, dude.”
Steve doesn’t say what he’s thinking—that he’d have dealt with it, that he would’ve been fine—because he thinks he understands: that maybe by focusing on something small, it helps keep Eddie here, temporarily blocks out the sight of Chrissy and Patrick’s deaths.
He checks his watch. They’re just creeping up on fifteen minutes; they’d better make tracks soon.
He stands but not abruptly, conscious of not rushing Eddie unnecessarily.
“If we cut across, uh, this way,” he demonstrates with one hand as Eddie gets to his feet, “we’ll catch up pretty quick. Don’t need Henderson’s compass to tell me the way. Honestly, he acts like he knows places better than me when I’ve known them, like, all my life. He does it all the damn time.”
Eddie lets out a laugh that still sounds slightly wet; he sniffs as if to cover up the sound. His smile is shaky at best, but it seems genuine.
“Man, he does that to me, too. What is up with that? Last week, he swore he found some shortcut to the Hellfire room that I’d be totally unaware of, like I’ve not spent forever in the damn building.”
He falls into step with Steve as they walk on, and Steve catches the very slight grimace he makes as he swallows.
Steve checks his jeans pocket. It turns out luck is on his side, at least for this: he’s got a couple of mints, still unwrapped.
When he offers some to Eddie, he gets a heartfelt thanks in reply. But at the same time, Eddie also looks suspiciously close to fighting a smirk.
“What?”
“Nothing!” But the smirk’s definitely won; Eddie tucks the mint into the corner of his mouth as he says, “Just didn’t realise I was getting the full Skull Rock experience.”
It takes a second for Steve to catch on. “The experience—?”
Eddie’s smirk grows. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Steve snorts. “Fuck off, are you twelve?”
“Maybe,” Eddie says, halfway to singsong.
Steve shakes his head, half in amusement, half in thought. Sharing juvenile kisses with girls at Skull Rock feels a world away, almost like it happened to someone else. That’s not even why the mints were in his pocket in the first place—not that he’s gonna put a dampener on Eddie’s teasing or anything. In truth, the habit began the night after Starcourt, using a mint—despite his stinging mouth—to help keep himself awake.
Of course he doesn’t say all of that. Chooses instead to nudge Eddie in the side, fighting a smirk of his own.
Eddie acts like he’s been dramatically winded in response, makes a crack about how that move wouldn’t fall under the Skull Rock experience.
Steve thinks he’s getting a handle on how to read him, charting the improvement of his mood through just how stupid he sounds—when smiling no longer seems like it’ll fracture his face from the strain.
By the time they catch up with the others, they’re both stifling laughter (Steve keeps having to remind himself that this is technically a stealth mission), Eddie reaching across to mess with Steve’s hair in retaliation for being repeatedly nudged in the ribs. His hands feel warmer now, Steve realises with a smile, as he pushes Eddie back with a forearm against his chest.
For the most part, it looks like their disappearances haven’t been noticed—Nancy quietly moving to rejoin Robin at the front as if by chance. Steve knows better, knows everything has been carefully coordinated to look that way; as Eddie relaxes at his side, he feels a rush of gratitude for the group’s tact.
Granted, Dustin kind of breaks the illusion when he turns around and starts walking backwards—but what he lacks in subtlety he makes up for in entertainment: using needlessly big, questioning gestures, brow furrowed in concentration.
When Dustin widens his eyes impatiently, Steve relents and nudges Eddie again. “He’s not gonna stop til you respond, trust me.”
“Hmm? Oh.”
Eddie lifts up Dustin’s water bottle with a grin and gives a thumbs up with his free hand.
Dustin brightens, replying with a thumbs up of his own—still stubbornly walking backwards like it’s simply his preferred way to travel.
“Gonna bet on how long it takes for him to fall flat on his face?” Steve says in an undertone.
Eddie snorts in a way that can’t be disguised as anything else, though he gives it a shot with the world’s least convincing cough. He gives up in the next breath, chuckling through a, “Steve,” in joking disapproval, like Steve’s such a terrible influence, which just sets them both off again.
Dustin’s probably too far away to hear them properly, but he’s clearly got the gist, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He does a series of emphatic gestures that Steve can’t make sense of; it just looks like he’s doing a complicated mime for charades.
Eddie must get the same impression because he soon calls out with a shit-eating grin, “Book or movie?”
Dustin flips them both off, but he can’t quite pull off the deadpan expression, his lips twitching, and Steve knows for sure that he’s hiding a laugh when he turns back around to walk with Max and Lucas.
Eddie smiles as if he’s noticed the same thing. He jostles their shoulders one last time, and it feels like there’s something more intentional behind it. A touch that lingers.
It’s easy when there’s still a long walk ahead of them—when there’s still daylight—to be convinced that they’ve got all the time in the world. Steve’s become kind of an expert at it: in his head, he could make swimming lessons last forever.
But even that old trick doesn’t last; he feels the clock restart as soon as that damn vine wraps around his ankle, cold and unyielding.
In the split second before being dragged under the lake, all he can think is thank God the kids aren’t here.
The thought follows him all the way into The Upside Down—later joined by the fervent wish that he could somehow summon up Dustin’s water bottle, as his head spins through the hopefully staunched bat bites.
“Christ, Harrington,” Eddie says when the dizziness persists, and Steve barely catches himself before falling against a vineless tree. “D’you ever take your own advice?”
“What?” Steve says faintly.
He screws up his eyes, forces himself to blink until his vision doesn’t waver—braces his weight against the tree with a sigh, ready to push himself up—
But Eddie’s hand is suddenly on top of his, halting him.
“Just… wait,” Eddie says. “Just a minute.”
Steve doesn’t know if it is a minute; he tries to keep track in his head, but the seconds slip away from him, and all he can focus on is each breath he takes, until they lose that gasping edge, grow deeper. Slower.
The world sharpens around him, like he’s been underwater without realising and has finally broken through to the surface. He feels the muted scratch of damp wood beneath his palm. The pressure of Eddie’s hand—not enough to hurt, but enough for Steve to tell that he’s still freaked out.
“I’m okay,” he says, looking Eddie in the eye. Does his best to silently project the sentiment of I’m not gonna collapse on you, I promise. “We’re not far from Nancy’s place.”
He can see a flicker of light just ahead, off to the side—thankfully not spots in his vision, just the flashlight he gave to Robin and Nancy; he’d tried to make it sound like he was doing them a favour when he actually thought it’d be best to leave both his hands free, just in case he did end up collapsing. At least he’d have a chance to brace for a fall.
There’s an uncertain air to how the girls are walking, and Steve suspects they feel a little like him: at a loss without the kids sandwiched between them. Now the usual priorities are thrown to the wind; what do you do when you want to shield everyone, all at once?
Eddie’s surveying him like he’s far from convinced by his definition of ‘okay.’
Still, he laughs weakly and says, “Good to know your navigating skills still work in this fucking hellhole.”
Steve’s hand shifts beneath Eddie’s as he stands up properly; it’s only then that Eddie moves away.
“Not far, not far,” he’s muttering under his breath, like he’s trying to reassure himself. His voice cracks in quiet desperation, “God, how long have we even been down here?”
Steve glances down to his wrist. He’s met with a watch face that’s smashed, jagged cracks running through it so he can’t even read the time it must’ve stopped at.
“Hey,” Steve says wryly, tilting his wrist so Eddie can see, “we match.”
Eddie doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even crack a smile. His eyes just go all big and dismayed, like he’s looking at something far worse than a broken watch.
Steve suddenly wants to tell him that it’s fine, to cover up his wrist like it’s somehow more gruesome than the wounds on his stomach—maybe it is, because Eddie keeps staring like he’s bleeding out right in front of him.
“Shit, Steve,” Eddie whispers with this horrible, helpless little laugh—almost like he’s on the verge of tears. He sounds like he did after throwing up, trying to say that something was funny when it was anything but. “You’ve had that forever.”
And Steve feels a rush of something still too big and complex to name, flickers of emotion too rapid to keep track of: the initial pang of sadness he’d pushed aside because the watch had been his grandfather’s, after all; wondering faintly what classes Eddie had shared with him, that would allow him enough time to notice something so small, you’ve had that forever—
So what? Steve thinks. So what, what does it fucking matter?
He’d rip the watch off if it’d help, Eddie’s too, stamp and grind them down until they’re indistinguishable from the ash in this place, and who gives a shit if it’s overwrought, it doesn’t have to mean anything—they still have time; they’re owed it.
He doesn’t do any of that, because the ground shakes again, and he’s ready—anticipates the stumble Eddie makes and reaches out to correct it.
They land safely away from any vines.
Eddie’s hand is clamped around his wrist, right at the part where the watch strap used to rub against his skin—back in sophomore year, when he’d always put it on too tight in fear of losing it; “Sorry, sorry,” Eddie’s mouthing, out of breath from the fall, but Steve’s holding on just as tightly, can feel Eddie’s pulse thundering beneath his fingertips.
And it’s so fast and frantic that Steve thinks he can hear it, too, a sound that he can’t get away from, in spite of it all: like a clock ticking. Counting down.
WRIST WATCH
The explosive time shackle
That never goes off
Eternal zero
Synchronize your deaths
—Philip Murray
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Stray Kids Kinktober Day 9
Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist
A/B/O - Lee Know
Word Count: 11.1 K
Summary: It’s not your fault the Orange Needle Lily only grows in a protected part of the forest. While trying to gather ingredients, you’re confronted by a pack desperate for a healer to aid their injured pack member.
—————————————————————————
Running, you were running. Sweat is pouring down your back and the sides of your face. But, there’s no time to stop and wipe it off.
Trees whipped past you with every step, branches caught on your clothes and tore small rips in the fabric, some leaving small slices in your skin.
But that was the least of your worries right now.
You knew you shouldn’t have been here. You knew.
How else were you going to get the ingredients you need? The Orange Needle Lily only grew in a remote area of the Enchanted Forest.
A very well protected area of the Enchanted Forest.
Normally, when you made these trips, you were able to sneak in, pick a large bundle of lilies and then slip out unnoticed.
But from the rain yesterday, the ground was still damp, so you slipped and fell and made one of the loudest noises of your life.
Every single nerve in your body lit up with fear the second it happened. Growls and howls sounded in the distance.
So, you took off.
The snarls have only gotten louder the farther you run from the original area.
Everyone in the Kingdom knew to stay away from that area of the Enchanted Forest. The wolf pack that lives there has made their mark very clearly. Do not enter their land.
And you fucked up.
Loud, heavy, galloping thuds gain on you.
Your eyes scan the woods wildly to search for any sign of familiarity. Are you even running the right way back to your village?
A log is in your way so you hurdle over the top of it.
You need to keep going.
Run, run, run. Keep running. Don’t look back. If you look back for even a second you’re dead meat.
A bone chilling bark comes from right behind you, two over snarls respond to it.
Your village is so close, you can smell the fresh bread being baked.
A dark figure jumps out in front of you and cuts off your path.
You scream and backpedal to get away from its gleaming yellow eyes.
When you turn around you see another dark figure already behind you.
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, pleas for your life are stuck in your mouth.
When the dark figures get closer, you realize they’re two enormous wolves. Of course the pack was chasing you. Of fucking course.
Faster and faster your heart begins to beat. You gulp, hands clutching at your skirts to keep them hiked up.
There’s two wolves encroaching closer and closer. Didn’t you hear three seats of snarls?
“Please,” you beg, your throat getting tighter and tighter with unshed tears of fear. “I was only trying to collect Orange Needle Lilies, look.”
To prove your point, you turn to reach into the pouch that’s hanging around your body.
The wolf in front of you lets out a bone chilling bark. You yelp in response, hands flying up away from your body to show you mean no harm.
“I am so sorry,” you plead, closing your eyes in fear and shrinking in on yourself. “I am a healer!”
With shaky knees, you take a step backwards and the wolf behind you growls.
There’s a long series of snaps and a whoosh to your left. Your head snaps over to look but the wolves keep their eyes on you like prey.
“You are a healer?” A male voice asks from behind a tree.
“Yes! I am from Beckinsale. Please, I mean you no harm.” Tears form in the corners of your eyes. “Orange Needle Lilies only grow within your lands. Please, I mean you no harm. I need them for a tonic.”
From behind a tree, a man with jet black hair and fair skin steps out. He’s only wearing tattered shorts on his muscular body. Dark brown eyes study you carefully.
“How high is your skill?” He asks with a raised brow.
“Very,” you answer quickly. “I am the village healer. All ailments are brought to me.”
He thinks for a moment, keeping his eyes trained on you. “Can you cure infections?”
“Yes, if I have the proper ingredients.”
Why is he asking?
Suddenly, the larger of the two wolves barks at the man and growls after.
“Easy, Changbin,” the man says. “She can heal Minho.”
The other wolf huffs, rolling its amber eyes.
“You have an injury among you?” Your hands grab at the strap of your pouch nervously.
“Aye, we believe it to be an infection.” He shuffles a bit. “Do you think you could take a look?”
A loud huff comes from behind you.
“What other option do we have?” The man grits out between his teeth to the wolf.
The wolf snorts once more.
The man stares directly into your eyes, “You are coming with us. And you’re going to heal our packmate.”
Chills rip down your body, danger is licking at the back of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch together and you swallow nervously.
“Are you going to kill me?” you whisper meagerly.
The man laughs, “We will see once our friend is healed, won’t we, Omega?”
Your jaw clenches with fear at the mention of your secondary gender.
Orange Needle Lilies were used for a specific purpose: scent blockers. Just this morning you had run out of your tonic without realizing your supply of the flower had run out.
The trip was necessary if you had hoped to block your scent at all.
But with the small amount of the blocker tonic and the sheer volume of sweat dripping down your body, there was no way you were going to be able to block your scent. Especially not from a wolf pack.
Lycans’ sense of smell were more powerful than humans. It’s most likely that even if you had put on the full amount of blocker, they would still be able to pick up on your scent.
“Come on, then,” the man says to you and there’s a sharp nudge at your back. One of the wolves was pushing you forward with his snout.
------------------------------------------
The man, who you now know is named Seungmin, walks on your left. The wolf known as Changbin is on your right, and Seungmin told you that the other wolf’s name is Hyunjin.
Neither of you have said a word since then, he just continues to lead you through the Enchanted Forest away from your village.
“You must have a death wish. An omega prancing into a pack’s known territory all by herself.” Seungmin breaks the silence.
“I told you it is the only place the Orange Needle Lily grows,” you murmur, clutching your satchel closer to your body.
“And it is worth your life?”
You answer without hesitating. “Aye.” The next sentence comes out quieter. “A scent blocking tonic saves the life of an unmarked omega.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the three sets of eyes shift to side-eye you. You keep your eyes forward and keep walking.
Eventually, you make it to a small clearing in the woods. Four different hut-like houses sat in a semi-circle. There was a garden off to the side with fresh fruits and vegetables, tables and a spit for cooking over.
“Seungmin!” A voice called over. It sent chills down your spine. Nervously, you look over to see a larger man stalking towards you.
Golden eyes trained on you with an overprotective glint to them. The wind carries past him and his scent wraps around your mind.
Pine and bergamot floods your system. Alpha . He is a pure-blood alpha.
You can’t hold his eye contact, you immediately look down at your shoes in the dirt. Instincts take over and you curl in on yourself in his overbearing presence.
“Who is this?” He growls when he gets closer to you.
“A healer.”
“You brought a stranger into our den?”
“I brought a healer to heal Minho.”
So many scents of different wolves wrap around your brain and overwhelm your senses. Alphas and betas, all of them, but no omegas. At least, none that you’re able to smell.
“She is not getting near Minho.”
“Chan, he is going to die if we do not have him healed!” Seungmin barks back at his alpha.
The pheromones that pour out of them make your skin crawl. Seungmin is only a beta, and yet he is standing up to his alpha so confidently.
He stands nose to nose with Chan, keeping his eye contact. Chan bares his teeth.
The same crackling and whooshing noise comes from behind you.
“Chan, someone needs to heal him. Our remedies are not working.” Changbin says to him.
Chan doesn’t break eye contact with Seungmin, but Seungmin doesn’t back down either.
“He will pull through, we do not need a healer.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes on the dirt. Your voice comes out weak. “What are you using on his wound?”
Chan’s head snaps over to you. “It does not matter to you.”
“Your protective nature will be the death of him!” Seungmin hisses. “Let her heal him before we all lose him.”
Chan bristles and snarls at Seungmin, but he doesn’t flinch away, he stands firm in his stance.
“We are crushing up Snow Weed and laying the paste on the wound.” Hyunjin answers you finally.
You look up at the beta with alarmed eyes. “That will only create a cover over the wound, you are trapping the infection inside his system with no exit!”
Alarmed, you look over at Chan, who is eyeing you closely. “If there truly is an infection, your packmate is in dire need of care. Please, let me heal him. I mean you all no harm.”
The alpha stares at you. Ignoring your instincts, you hold his searing eye contact.
“Chan,” Seungmin draws his attention. Chan doesn’t look away from you but turns his chin slightly towards Seungmin to show he’s listening. “It is our only option.”
The alpha thinks for a long moment before he speaks. “You will heal him, then you will leave.”
“Aye, as you wish.”
“If you harm a hair on my packmate’s head, we will kill you, understood?”
You gulp. “Aye, understood.”
He eyes you closely for four more heartbeats. “Come then, omega.”
------------------------------------------
You could smell the infection before you saw it; you were also able to hear the sound of shallow, wheeze-like breathing the moment you stepped foot inside the hut.
A man lay on a bed in the back of the hut, a blanket covering him. A damp towel sat on his forehead to try and keep him cool. His eyes were squinted shut in pain, mouth open to intake each pathetic pant and gasp for air.
A thick layer of sweat covered his flushed face.
When you rounded the corner and took another step towards him, another person stepped in front of you with bared teeth. A beta– and a protective one at that.
“She is here to heal Minho, Jisung. Back off.” Seungmin called out quickly.
Jisung’s jaw clenches and he hesitates for a moment before taking a step away from you.
Quickly, you walk over to the edge of the bed. You go to reach for the blankets, but you stop your hands over the top.
You turn around and look at Chan, at the Alpha of the pack. “May I?”
His gaze softens for a moment at your sign of respect. Chan nods and you turn back, slowly peeling back the covers.
Minho’s eyes squint tighter and he winces in pain.
The gauze wrapped around his stomach is already soaked through with pus and blood.
Your heart drops to your gut and you place your satchel of healing ingredients on the bed next to him.
“I’m going to cut the gauze off,” you say out loud to the room before picking up a small dagger.
The air thickens in the room as your fingers curl around the weapon. Gingerly, you reach forward and slice through the soaked bandages.
Minho groans in pain and squirms a bit, he’s awake, but obviously feverish. Placing your hand on his cheek, it’s like you put your hands over a fire, he’s burning up.
Once the gauze is off a gasp catches in your throat. Yes, the wound is covered in crushed Snow Weed, but the infection is leaking out all around it.
The skin surrounding the wound is purple and angry. How has he survived this long?
“What happened to make him this way?” You asked, inspecting the wound.
“Arrow wound,” Jisung answers quickly. “He told no one about it until he suddenly collapsed in pain days later. The infection had already taken root by that time.”
You look up at his face, twisted in pain. So, he’s a stubborn bastard.
“I am going to need a fresh pale of water and a clean rag. Do any of you know of the Dusk Tulip?”
When you receive no response, you turn around and look over your shoulder. Five lycans stare back at you blankly.
“Do any of you know what a Tulip looks like?”
Hyunjin nods. You zero in on him. “It is a Tulip that grows at the base of Maple trees. Dark purple in color. I need as many as you can get me.”
Hyunjin nods and immediately turns around to sprint out of the shack.
Jisung moves quickly as well, gathering fresh water and a rag for you.
You move briskly, dipping the rag in the cold water and ringing out the excess.
“Hail, Minho,” you say to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he can hear you. “My name is Y/N, I am the village healer for Beckinsale. And I apologize, this is not going to feel pleasant at all.”
Taking a deep breath, you bring the cloth down to wipe away the Snow Weed coating and the infection that’s seeping out.
Minho grunts and tenses up.
With great care, you clean his wound. The coolness of the water brings a slight bit of relief to his feverish skin.
“Jisung,” you say without looking over at him. “Can you fetch a second pail of water, please?”
Wordlessly, he walks away to grab it.
Chan has not left the corner of the room, he watches you work on Minho wordlessly. His amber gaze scrutinizes every single move you make.
With the wound cleaned off, you watch as the outside edges go from purple to a deep red. You’re giving the wound a few moments to breathe before taking the next step.
The pail of fresh water is placed next to you. You thank Jisung and dip the new, clean rag into it.
You take the sweat covered rag off Minho’s forehead and begin to dab away at his flushed skin. His breathing is extremely labored and hot against your bare arm.
You let your eyes roam over his face. Even pulled in pain, he’s absolutely gorgeous.
The rag with cold water runs all over his face. He keens and leans into it, eyes still closed. Your fingers push his hair off his forehead.
“Chan,” you address the alpha. “You may need to hold him down as I draw the infection out.”
“It will hurt?”
You bite your lip and look down at Minho’s pained face. “Aye, very much so.”
Chan’s boots thud against the wooden floor as he approaches the bed.
“Apologies, Minho. Please know my intentions are not ill.”
Reluctantly, you move away from Minho’s side after placing the fresh, water soaked rag on his forehead.
Chan stands over Minho, hands hovering over his shoulders, ready to grab him.
You move your palms to slightly waver over the wound. Slowly, your eyes shut and you concentrate on the energy within you.
Your hands begin to heat up and emanate a soft, yellow glow.
Within a few seconds, Minho begins to groan in pain. Since your eyes are shut, you’re not able to look at his face and see the way he writhes in anguish.
Chan grabs his shoulders tightly and keeps him down on the bed.
The heat from your palm draws out the infection slowly. With each passing second, Minho’s grunts and growls grow louder and deeper.
“How long will this take?” Chan asks through gritted teeth.
“Only a few more moments, apologies. The infection was in his system for days.”
Since Minho is so lost in the throes of his mind, he doesn’t fight back nearly as much as you thought he would. Either that, or his pain tolerance is something out of this world.
Sweat drips down your face from concentration.
Once you’re sure the entire infection is clear from his system, you drop the spell and take a deep breath. Your eyes open and you look down at the wound.
It looks entirely clean.
Hyunjin comes barreling through the door before you can say anything.
Both you and Chan’s heads whip around.
“Are these correct?” He holds out a bushel full of Dusk Tulips.
“Aye,” you say, relieved, and take them from him. “Perfect. I just need to stitch the wound closed first before I can use these. Thank you.”
Pulling out a needle and thread, you get everything ready to suture the wound shut.
“We did not shut the wound previously because we thought the Snow Weed took away infection,” Seungmin says from behind you.
“Snow Weed creates an impenetrable covering for wounds. You should use it for when large chunks of skin are missing and cannot be sewn shut.” The thread goes through the eye of the needle. “It is still a smart move to put Snow Weed over a wound, do not misinterpret my words.
“In the case of infection, you need to let it come out of the wound, you were mistakenly keeping it in.”
Chan huffs and takes a few steps away from the bed now that he doesn’t need to hold Minho down.
Minho’s face seems to have relaxed considerably. His eyebrows are no longer pinched together, lips parted in a sleeping manner.
“Just a few more moments, Minho. This will not hurt.” You whisper down to him before making the first stitch.
He doesn’t even flinch. But you were also known for being extremely gentle when it came to sutures.
You stick a hand full of Dusk Tulip petals in your mouth and start grinding them between your teeth. Spitting the mass in your hand, you start to press the paste down on the now-closed wound.
“Do you have any fresh bandages?” You turn to Jisung to ask. He nods and rummages through a drawer and gives you the roll.
“I can assist and sit him up.” Seungmin comes closer to the bed. He gently sits Minho up whose muscles are so limp he may as well be a ragdoll.
With the bandage secure around his stomach, Minho is laid back down on the bed.
You grab the rag and dip it in water once more, dabbing any excess sweat from his beautiful skin. You run the rag over his cheeks, down his neck and around the top of his chest.
After swiping over his scent gland, the smell hits you like a ton of bricks.
A fresh citrus and woodsy aroma wraps around you like a python. All of your senses light up like a flame.
Every muscle in your body seizes.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
No way. He’s your…
Quickly, you place the wet rag on his forehead once more and start gathering up your equipment.
“He should wake up in a few hours. Allow him to get plenty of rest. You can change his gauze twice a day. Apply more crushed Dusk Tulips to the wound if the infection persists, but it should be completely gone from his system.”
Your voice wavers and everything falls out quickly. Clearing your throat, you throw everything back into your satchel.
Minho shifts around on the bed, his nose twitching.
“ M…Mate… ”
You cough loudly and turn around to face the other lycans.
“May I please return to my village now?”
Chan eyes you closely, then Minho, then back to you. With each moment, you can feel your heart rate increasing. He’s deadpan for a second and then nods.
“Aye, we will have someone accompany you back to Beckinsale.”
“No need,” you blurt out quickly and walk briskly towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.”
Before they can respond, you’re out the door, and back into the Enchanted Forest.
Back in the hut, Jisung walks back to Minho’s side and sits on the stool next to the bed.
“Thank the Gods we crossed paths with her,” he says, adjusting the blanket around Minho.
“I have a feeling it will not be the last time we see her,” Hyunjin says cockily, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What do you mean?” Jisung turns to him.
“You will find out soon enough.”
------------------------------------------
Minho was floating in a pool of pain for so long. His mind kept coming in and out to the sound of his pack member’s voices.
They were talking to him, trying to get him to open his eyes. He just couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried.
The infection took him by the heart and had him in its evil grip.
For days he went in and out, he had no idea how much time had passed since he was shot with that arrow.
All Minho knew was that he was going to be dead soon. That much was certain.
Until the door to the hut opened and it was like he walked into a Holiday Bakery; cinnamon, apples, and vanilla twisted around his soul and sped up his slowing heart rate.
What was that beautiful smell?
“She is here to heal Minho, Jisung. Back off.”
Who? Who was here to heal him? They brought a healer in? Chan allowed them to bring a healer to their den?
The scent gets stronger and stronger. It’s almost enough motivation for Minho to pry his eyes open.
“May I?”
Oh, that sweet, melodic voice. Angels are jealous of that sound, Minho is certain of that.
Your touch is so ginger, he could cry. Minho’s almost forgotten all about the wound drawing his very soul down to the Underworld.
“Hail, Minho.”
Every nerve in his body sings at the sound of his name tumbling from your mouth. He’s not even sure what you look like, but he knows you’re gorgeous. An angel, you have to look like an angel. If he was able to open his eyes, you would have a halo above your head.
“My name is Y/N, I am the village healer for Beckinsale. And I apologize, this is not going to feel pleasant at all.”
Beckinsale? Are you sure you’re not a being of the afterlife here to hold him and keep him safe?
Y/N from Beckinsale who smells like the sweetest pastry he could ever hope to sink his sharp teeth into.
A rag is dipped into water and the cool bite brings relief over his feverish skin. A sigh of relief comes from his nose.
He falls into the feeling of you surrounding him. The way your scent wafts through his body and soothes his very soul.
The pain of his wound is long forgotten about.
“Apologies, Minho. Please know my intentions are not ill.”
Whatever you say, Angel.
Minho is vaguely aware of the pain that grips his stomach, it’s searing, like it’s being cauterized.
But your scent, your beautiful, angelic scent keeps his mind distracted and in the clouds.
Second by second, the pain gets less and less. The weight that’s been sitting in his chest begins to lift. Heat still hovers over his body, but it only feels like he sat a bit too close to a campfire.
Then, for the first time since his injury, Minho begins to drift off to a peaceful sleep. Not one where he’s riddled with fever dreams and infection induced nightmares. No, a dreamless sleep surrounded by cinnamon, apples, and vanilla.
Will you still be here when he wakes up?
He needs you there.
He hasn’t even seen your face! You’re his fated other half!
Minho tries with all his might to wake up, but the comfort of sleep finally wins when you run your beautifully soft fingers through his sweaty hair.
There’s a slight spike in your scent.
You pull away from him quickly.
No, no, no.
Come back. No, please.
“M… Mate.”
You don’t hear him, you mustn’t have. You’re still leaving, please don’t go. No, please.
Your scent gets weaker and weaker. It no longer sits in the room with you.
Minho gives up and falls asleep on the sweat covered bed.
Y/N from Beckinsale.
It definitely won’t be the last time he’s in a room with you.
------------------------------------------
“Now,” you put your hands on your hips after tying the tiniest bandage around a little boy’s knee. “What did we learn about running in the alley?”
“Not to…” he sniffles and wipes the snot leaking from his nose.
You laugh and reach forward, wiping the tears from his eyes gently.
“Exactly, now go on back home for dinner.” You laugh and ruffle his hair. “There’s a basket full of sweets by the door, make sure you grab one. I read in a book somewhere that they make wounds heal faster.”
His eyes light up and he hops off the table, running towards the door and grabbing an entire handful of sweets.
“Thank you, Y/N!” he yells as he runs outside.
Another laugh falls from your lips and you clean up the patient table he was sitting on.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see an almost empty tonic bottle sitting on your workbench.
It’s been three weeks since you healed Minho in the middle of the Enchanted Forest. It’s been three weeks since you had access to Orange Needle Lilies
And it’s been three weeks since you’ve found your mate.
You need more flowers for your own safety. But if you venture back into their land, would they let you leave this time?
Biting your lip nervously, you pace around the floor.
You should’ve asked. You should’ve said that was your one condition for healing him. But were you really in the position to be making demands?
“Shit,” you mutter, still staring at the bottle.
Not having the scent blocker is not a chance you’re willing to take. Especially since there’s an alpha in your village that has been eyeing you up like fresh meat for months now.
You need those flowers.
If you run into the pack, maybe they’ll spare you. You did save Minho’s life after all.
Within a few moments, you have your travel boots laced up and your satchel across your body. A dagger sits comfortably in your pocket.
You’re out the door and walking into the enchanted forest before you can think twice about it.
The air gets thicker the deeper you get into the woods, that’s something you always noticed. It gets heavier and inflates your lungs differently.
A hum rings low through the trees.
Get in, pick the flowers, get out. Get in, pick the flowers, get out.
Your usual area is a clearing in the trees by a babbling brook. The sound of the water flowing over the rocks is usually enough to help conceal your presence to the wolf pack.
You will not slip and fall again.
With a racing heart, you lean down and start clipping the Lilies out of the ground. All of your senses on high alert to your surroundings.
After only about 4 flowers, a twig snaps behind you.
All of your muscles freeze, your blood runs cold.
Slowly, you stand up and look around. Maybe it was just an animal that ran by. Could’ve been a rabbit, or a squirrel.
“You have a lot of nerve coming back here, I will give you that.”
Or a wolf.
“Seungmin,” you gulp and look at the ground nervously. “I apologize, I truly mean no disrespect, I just need these-“
“Flowers, yes, I understand.”
He walks closer to you, face completely unreadable. You look up from the ground at the beta.
Tattered shorts and a mostly ripped shirt adorn his body.
“You cannot keep coming here, Y/N.”
“Please, you do not understand I-“
“Y/N.”
His tone is somewhat begging.
“Seungmin, they do not grow anywhere else.”
“You will have to find an alternative.”
Your jaw clenches and your heart squeezes. An alternative to a scent blocker?
“I do not see the harm in my being here. I only require flowers.”
Your own bravery surprises you.
“If we let you galavant all over our land, we would have to let everyone do so.”
“Galavant? I am picking flowers!” You sputter and frown, an angry look begins pulling at your face. You take a few steps closer to Seungmin.
The beta bristles outwardly at your confrontation but holds his ground.
“Do you forget that I saved your packmate’s life? I am only asking to come pick flowers. Flowers that will save my life.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Your life?”
“I am unmarked, Seungmin. If he catches a whiff I-“
You cut yourself off. Looking down at the ground, you sigh, throat constricting with frustrated tears.
“Just forget it. I will not bother your pack anymore.”
Both of you stand in silence for a long moment before you gather yourself and brush past Seungmin.
You bump your shoulder into his.
It’s petty, but you do it.
“By the way,” you start without looking back. “I can tell by the redness of your eyes you are beginning to fall ill with a seasonal sickness. Chew on onion stems to help keep the symptoms at bay.”
And with that, you walk away from the clearing. Only four Lilies in your satchel.
------------------------------------------
“I am fully healed and you know it, you should have let me go with Seungmin.” Minho’s voice has a sharp bite to it.
Chan continues walking away, not giving Minho the time of day. But the younger wolf walks after him.
“Seungmin can handle one person by himself,” Chan responds, picking up the ax to cut firewood.
“I am aware of that, but you will not let me leave the den. Why am I some sort of prisoner now?”
“Drop it, Minho.”
He splits a log in half with a mighty swing.
“One measly little injury and suddenly you imprison me!”
“Minho.”
Another swing.
“It has been weeks and every time I try to go anywhere you look down upon me.”
“You almost died!” Chan whips around at him, fire in his eyes. “And if it were not for that human you would be dead.” He spits at him.
The way he sneers when he mentions you has Minho’s blood boiling. Anger creeps up under his collar and into his mind.
“Do not speak of her as if she is scum,” Minho growls.
Chan’s eyebrows furrow further in anger. “I never said she was scum, you made that jump yourself.”
Both lycans stare each other in the eye, neither wanting to be the one that breaks the intense eye contact.
“You do not even know her, Minho.”
“I do not need to!”
A whoosh followed by snapping comes from the edge of the woods.
“Another pissing contest?” Seungmin sighs as he walks closer to the two brooding Alphas.
Chan glares at Minho for a moment longer before looking at Seungmin, who was chewing on an onion stem.
“Did you take care of the problem?”
“Aye, it was only-“
“Good.” Chan interrupts him and turns to walk away. He only just started chopping wood; why was he leaving already? And why did he cut Seungmin off?
“Who was it?” Minho presses, lips pursing in confusion.
Seungmin’s eyes flicker from Minho, to Chan, then back to Minho before shaking his head.
“A stray beggar. I took care of the problem.”
He shifts from foot to foot and then walks past Minho. The wind kicks up at that moment.
That’s when Minho smells it.
Cinnamon, apples, and vanilla.
Acting on instinct, Minho’s hand flies out and grabs Seungmin’s tattered shirt in a death-like grip.
He yanks him to be nose to nose.
“It was her,” he grits out between his teeth. “Y/N was there.”
Surprise flickers through Seungmin’s eyes. His hand comes up and grabs Minho’s to try and get him to release his collar.
Chan stops mid step and turns to look at them.
“My mate was here. That’s why you would not allow me to go with Seungmin. Not because you were concerned about my health.”
Minho grips Seungmin even tighter.
“What did you do to her?” He barks. “Did you hurt her? If you even laid a hand on her, I swear to the Gods, I will-“
Seungmin shoves his shoulder roughly. “You will do what? Nothing, now back off. I did not even touch her, she pushed into me as she was leaving.”
“Why was she here?” Minho presses.
“Drop it, Minho.” Chan growls.
He ignores him, “Why does she keep coming here?”
“Flowers.” Seungmin snaps at him, walking away from the two bristling lycans. “She comes here for Orange Needle Lilies, she uses them as a scent blocker.”
“A scent blocker?” Minho asks. Chan doesn’t respond. He stares him down, his alpha gaze does nothing to unnerve his packmate.
A feeling of dread begins to crawl up his spine and settles at the back of his neck.
Minho turns on his heel, his mind made up.
There’s a rough yank on the back of his collar. Involuntarily, Minho growls and turns, teeth bared at whoever grabbed him.
Chan looks down at him with an equally challenging look.
“Where do you think you are going?” Chan barks.
“To Beckinsale,” Minho answers dangerously.
“No, you are not.’
“You are not my father. I am going to see my mate.” Minho shoves away from him.
“I am your pack leader and I am saying no , Minho.”
“To Hell with you, Chan.”
With one last push against his shoulders, Minho frees himself from Chan. They both stare at each other for a long moment, neither wolf saying anything, and neither want to give up.
Eventually, Minho bares his teeth and rolls his eyes before walking away back into the hut.
That nagging, anxious feeling continuously pricks at the back of his neck, making all of his hair stand up on the end.
Something is happening, something is wrong, he just knows it.
------------------------------------------
The last of your scent blocking salve was used three days ago.
Since then you’ve rarely left your home and if you did, you wore a high necked blouse or scarf. You made yourself scarce around the village.
You’re going to have to return to normal life soon, and you will. But not now.
Not when your heat is only a day or so away. It could hit any second now, you can feel the beginning stages thrumming within you. Your skin crawls with tiny pin pricks.
This will be your first heat without scent blockers. And the thought of it is making you a humming ball of anxiety.
There was only one problem– you needed food to make it through the next few days, and that meant leaving your home. Any other alpha or beta will be able to smell you from miles away. As soon as you step outside your door, you’re surely done for.
You bite your thumbnail and pace right by your front door. A tight, high-collared sweater adorned with a thick knit scarf on top rests on your body.
Why didn’t you go out earlier?
Staring down out the window, you find your courage– you need food to get through this, there’s no way you’ll make it through without proper nutrition.
Without another moment to hesitate, you open the door and make your way down to the local market. You wrap the scarf even tighter around your neck and keep your head down.
The sun set about twenty minutes ago, darkness creeping through the sky.
You decide to take back alleys and less populated streets to the market– at the time, it seemed like the best idea.
It wasn’t until you passed by someone and a low growl came from their throat that you realized that it was, in fact, the worst decision you could’ve ever made.
The growl was followed by a deep inhale.
Gulping, you try to walk faster to the market, the end of the alleyway was only about fifteen meters away.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ You think to yourself.
“Mmm,” the male hums from the back of his throat. “If it isn’t the village healer.”
Your blood runs cold. Out of all the people in Beckinsale, it had to be him. The Blacksmith’s son who had been eyeing you for months, maybe even years– preaching around the village about he was going to lay claim to you one day.
Deciding to ignore him and keep walking, you pick up the pace, your legs carrying you faster down the alleyway.
“Do not be daft, girl, I know you heard me.”
Fear creeps up the back of your neck and into your hair. Just keep walking, Y/N. Get into a more populated area.
A strong, vice grip snatches your wrist and yanks you backwards.
Before you could scream, a hand clamps over your mouth and your body is slammed backwards into the alleyway wall. The stone connects with the back of your skull with a crack.
Rotten, nasty smells surround your nose and your body physically recoils away from it. The Blacksmith’s son was a huge, stocky man whose outward appearance accurately reflected his strength. The hand over your mouth was about as big as your face.
“Is that a heat I smell, little omega?” He leans down further, crowding your space. His greasy hair hangs in front of his eyes.
Alpha eyes getting darker and darker as the smell of your heat seeps through the collar of your shirt and scarf.
His other hand comes up and rips the scarf away from your neck.
You squeal behind his hand and reach up, trying your hardest to pry it off your mouth to scream for help. Your nails scratch at his leathery skin, your entire body writhes around against the stone.
Please, anybody come into the alley, please.
His head ducks down and goes right into the crook of your neck and takes a deep inhale. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you hear the dark growl rumble in his chest.
You shove as hard as you can against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. All those years working as a blacksmith has left him built like a brick wall.
“Holy fuck you smell so good,” he moans into your ear taking in your scent. You’re sure you couldn’t smell that good, not with the fear you’re feeling coursing through your veins and souring the scent.
He leans back, eyes completely black. The tears in your eyes spill down your cheeks.
“Cannot wait to claim you as my omega.”
Thick fingers reach up to the top of your shirt and in one sharp movement, he tears open the front, all of the buttons pop open and fly out onto the stone.
Another cry is muffled by his hand.
Your scent seeps through the alley, filling the cracks in the pavement.
Sobs wrack your chest.
“Good little omega…” His disgusting fingers trail down your neck.
Right as they’re about to touch your scent gland, one of the deepest, darkest, strongest growls shoots down the alley.
Both of you jolt.
Your eyes frantically look over at the source; scream after scream being muffled by the Blacksmith’s hand.
Bright, amber eyes glare down the alleyway with murderous intent.
The very sight of them fills you with an unreal level of relief.
“Get your vile hands off my mate .”
His voice is like a balm over your fear. You’ve never felt such instant relief to your emotions in your life. It’s like putting a safety blanket over your shoulders. A haze falls over your mind at the melody.
Mate, alpha, mate, safe, mate.
“Get the fuck outta here, she is unclaimed,” your captor snarls back.
Another snarl comes from the other man.
He begins to take step after step towards the two of you, each one faster than the other.
Once his face is visible, your heart leaps in your chest.
Minho.
Your mate came to save you.
His eyes lock with yours, they soften considerably as they gaze upon your fear twisted face, the tears still stream down your cheeks.
It’s the first time he’s seeing your face. His entire world seems to stop.
You try to whimper his name but it’s still muffled.
Minho’s eyes flicker back to your captor, darkening once more.
“I am giving you one last opportunity to let her go before I tear your throat out.” Minho snarls, still striding towards you. His boots click on the stone.
“I would love to see you try–” The Blacksmith is cut off when Minho punches a sharp right hook into his nose. He stumbles and falls to the ground, clutching at his face. Blood oozes through his fingers.
You’re able to breathe through your mouth finally.
“Alpha.” Is the only word you’re able to utter at Minho, chest rising and falling with heavy pants. Your mate’s eyes snap to yours.
He takes in your form carefully, sweeping over each of your features lovingly. Your eyebrows pull together, your skin begins burning with a need to be touching him. You need him to hold you, touch you, kiss you– anything.
“Alpha, please,” you hiss.
He steps closer to you, taking his cloak off from around his shoulders. He wraps it around you carefully, closing the front.
Fresh citrus and woods envelopes you and you could cry even more from the relief his scent brings you. A gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead.
“Just one moment, dear.”
Minho steps away from you, face immediately morphing into one of murderous intent as he looks at the Blacksmith.
The pathetic man looks up at him with a frightened yelp. “Get away from me!” He cries out.
Minho’s scent invades your senses, wrapping around you and putting you in a protective bubble. You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of Minho beating the living daylights out of the Blacksmith but you couldn’t care less.
Your heat decided to hit you like a brick wall the moment Minho stepped into your senses. Suddenly, he’s the only thing your brain knows.
You sink down onto the ground, shrinking in on yourself inside Minho’s warm cloak.
Muffled screams and muted punches ring out in the background. But you can only mewl softly, curling further and further into the fabric.
You don’t even register when the fighting stops. Two warm hands are grabbing you gently, bringing your chin up to meet dazzling brown eyes.
Minho looks over every inch of your face, his thumbs come up and wipe the tear streaks off your cheeks.
“Did he hurt you?” Everything about his voice is so tender; its a complete one-eighty from the way he was speaking to the Blacksmith.
You shake your head, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your lids droop, chest still heaving with pants.
It’s like an unscratchable itch settles in your smalls.
The longer you surround yourself in Minho’s scent, the wetter and wetter your slick gets the fabric.
“Alpha,” you murmur again, leaning into his touch.
His jaw clenches and he cups you closely, his thumb swipes back and forth over the soft skin of your cheek. Every ounce of his self restraint is being tested.
Minho’s cock jumps in his pants at the sight of you desperate before him.
His resolve on following Chan’s wishes broke about two hours ago when his wolf kept screaming at him to find you, that something was wrong.
Chan be damned, his instincts kept you safe.
“Let’s get you home, Y/N.” He reaches forward and scoops you up into his arms.
As the fabric of his cloak shifts around, your scent mixed with his puffs out and into his nose. An audible moan pulls from his throat and he has to shut his eyes and focus on staying calm lest he wanted to take you against the alleyway wall.
The way your warm, homey smells blends together seamlessly with this outdoorsy ones sends Minho’s brain into a frenzy.
Mate, claim, mate, mark, mate. HIs wolf howls at him.
He takes a deep, shaky breath and stands up with you in his arms. You whimper and curl into him further.
Your head falls into the crook of his neck, your nose nudging at his scent gland.
It’s driving him insane.
“Y/N,” he strains out. “Where– Which way?” He asks.
You moan into his neck, rubbing your head all over him, further blending your scents. His knees almost give out right then and there.
“Need you, Alpha.” Your hand comes out of the cloak and grabs at his shirt.
“I am right here, my little omega.” Minho presses his lips to your forehead. “Please,” he whispers into your skin. “Let me get you home and I will do whatever you need, Y/N. Your alpha will take good care of you.”
Releasing his shirt, you point in one direction down the alley.
Minho doesn’t hesitate, he briskly walks in that direction, keeping you close to his chest. Throughout the entire walk, you motion in vague directions while nosing at his neck, leaving small pecks that make his legs turn to jelly.
You coo softly against him, squirming around every few seconds as your heat takes a hold of your body.
The timer on his self control is ticking down by the second.
He’s been dreaming about you ever since you took care of him like some angel from the afterlife, and now that he finally has you in his arms, he never wants to let go.
Finally, you point to a small cottage tucked away in the corner of the village.
Minho heaves a sigh of relief and almost sprints up to the door, opening it and stepping inside so fast you would think someone was chasing him.
The entire cottage smells like you in the best way.
After spending night after night trying to recall just how sweet you smell, being inside your cottage feels like a dip in a hot bath.
He makes his way through the house and into a room that holds a large bed in the middle.
How can a cottage he’s never set foot in feel so familiar ?
With great care, he lays you down on your bed. When he goes to stand up, your arms lock around his neck.
“No, Alpha, please,” you whine into his neck. “Need you so bad. I need my alpha.”
Minho audibly groans, he has to place a hand on the bed to stop his body from crumpling.
“I will be right back, my dove. I only need to check the locks on the door.”
He buried his own face in your neck, inhaling your gorgeous scent. You keen and coo at his attention.
“You will come right back?” You ask.
“Aye, I will. You will not even know I left the room.”
You press one long, last kiss to the crook of his neck before slowly unwinding your arms from around his neck.
Minho peels himself away from you and goes back to the front door, checking each and every lock on the door and windows.
He should take more time to really inspect each one, but his inner wolf is absolutely clawing at his self control.
Mate. Mark. Claim. Mate. Mine.
Sweat drips down the back of his neck, his hands shaking.
But as much as his wolf wanted to claim you, he also wanted to protect you and never let a single thing ever happen to you again. He would make sure that you were never put into harm's way.
The last lock is inspected and secure.
Minho turns on his heel and practically runs back to your room.
The smell of your arousal permeates the air thicker and thicker the closer he gets to your room. You smell so sickeningly sweet, he can’t wait to sink his teeth into you.
Tiny whimpers invade his ears and each one sends a shot of arousal to his cock.
He knocks on your door before entering.
His mouth goes dry, his inner wolf howls.
In the time that it took for him to check the locks, you pushed pillows and blankets into a nest, his cloak right under your head.
You also stripped yourself of all your clothes. Your beautiful nude form right in the middle of the bed.
Fingers buried deep into your cunt.
Slick drips down your folds and onto the sheets.
Your fingers seem to be doing nothing to help your hazy state. There was only one thing that could help.
“Minho,” you moan out, turning your head to look at him. A thin sheen of sweat covers your body. “ Please. ”
His instincts decide to push him into the passenger’s seat.
He’s striding to you as fast as his legs would take him, his hands already working on ripping his own shirt off.
A growl tears from his throat as he climbs on the bed, stalking up your body with predator-like eyes.
“Did you make a pretty nest for us, little one?”
You nod with a scarlet haze over the bridge of your nose and up your cheeks to your ears.
Minho wastes no time smashing your lips together. He licks and sucks your mouth like it’s candy.
He cages you down on the mattress with his strong arms. Your free hand threads into his hair and keeps him as close as possible.
It’s sloppy and disgusting, spit leaks out down your chin. Your tongues dance with one another, he licks around your mouth while you whimper and suck on his tongue.
Neither of you can control the noises you’re making.
Your walls clench down on your own fingers.
“Been dreaming of you every single night, omega.” He growls against your lips before capturing them again. “Your scent has been driving me wild.”
Mewing, you bite his lower lip and pull back for it to snap back against his teeth.
Slowly, Minho can feel the itch of his own rut beginning to tickle at the base of his spine. Your heat must be triggering it.
“I have never smelled anything as good as you do.” Minho trails his wet kisses down your neck to lick all over your skin. He stops at your scent gland, his tongue raking over it in slow, long, wet, strokes.
He’s taking his time like he would with a dessert.
Every single lick makes you moan and keen into his touch. Your fingers start thrusting in and out of yourself faster and faster. But it doesn’t help, it only makes you burn even more.
“Minho,” you pant, pulling on his hair. He fights against your pull, not wanting to be parted from your scent gland. “Minho!” You try again, whining.
He growls low in his throat, one of his hands coming down to glide down the side of your body to your hip. His large palm rests against your red hot skin.
The licks and sucks are sending you wild.
“Alpha!” You cry out, his body jolts a bit and he finally lifts his head. Blacked out, hazy eyes watch you closely. “Need you to touch me please. ”
Minho smirks and keeps eye contact with you while kissing down your body. He bites your collarbones, kisses the skin between them, then underneath them.
When he gets down to your breast, he envelopes an entire nipple in his mouth and sucks hard .
You cry out, your head tilting back to arch off the bed.
Minho has none of that, this alpha wants eye contact, he wants submission to him. He fists a hand in your hair and yanks your head so that you look at him.
“Eyes on me, Omega.” He licks around your pebbled bud again, sucking harshly. “Perfect,” he says around your nipple. “Perfect for our pups to suckle on.”
Pride rips through you at your alpha’s words. Your heat has you in its clutches, the only thing your body wants is to make pups, breed, fuck, get pregnant.
Minho switches to the other nipple, keeping his eyes on you. Your hand still in his hair cards through gently, pushing the strands off his forehead.
After a harsh bite, you grab a fistful with a moan.
Meanwhile, your slick is dripping down your fingers and staining the sheets underneath you. Every flick of his tongue makes you clench around your fingers.
You start to thrust in and out in time with his licks.
It’s still not enough.
Your eyebrows knit together and you whine, trying to curl your own fingers to make you feel good.
Minho notices your struggle and smirks. “Do you need your alpha to touch you?”
“Yes!” you cry out, frustration creeping down your collar. “I need my alpha so bad!”
Minho hums and runs his hand down your body to grab your wrist. He sits up after leaving one more mark on your chest.
Carefully, he pulls your fingers out of your cunt with a wet squelch.
“Fuck,” he groans under his breath as he watches your slick drip down your folds. The smell is absolutely intoxicating.
Minho brings your hand up to his mouth, he licks all the way up your forearm, up your hand, to take your fingers into his mouth.
His hips jolt forward at your taste.
If he thought your scent was amazing, then your taste was otherworldly.
His eyes close and he loses himself in your taste, suckling on your lithe fingers, tongue swirling around the digits.
You’re panting while watching him. Wherever he touches you is the only place that stops burning with need and desire.
“Minho…” you coo and your hips wiggle around impatiently.
Bringing your hand out of his mouth, he stares directly at your glistening folds.
“Need to taste you more.”
He practically dives in, tongue licking a long strip from bottom to the top, circling your clit to lap back down at your hole.
Your entire body arcs and you scream out in pleasure. One hand flies down to pull at his hair again, your hips grind into his face.
It feels so good .
Minho grabs your hips, thumbs pressing down on the bone to keep you still.
He’s losing himself second by second in your juices. It’s like he’s drinking a honeyed ale, he’s getting absolutely drunk on you.
The entire world could collapse around the two of you right now and he wouldn’t stop.
His rut seems to have taken full control of his body.
Mate, mark, claim, taste, fuck, breed.
His cock is so fucking hard in his trousers but he doesn’t want to take his mouth away from you, not for a second.
Over and over again he laps at your clit, each time you moan and pull his hair.
Incoherent babbles fall from your lips telling him how good he’s making you feel, how much you need him.
“Close, close, close,” you repeat like a prayer, a rubber band pulling tighter and tighter inside you.
One of his hands moves from your hip to thrust two fingers into your pulsing hole. Minho’s eyes roll back in his head at how soft and velvety you feel around his fingers.
His wolf howls at him to fuck you already, to sink his cock inside you and cum over and over again until it takes hold.
But the man wants— no, needs— you to cum in his mouth.
His tongue flicks over your clit at the same time he curls his fingers up to hit a spot within you and your body tenses.
Instead of crying out, your mouth stretches open and no sound comes out.
Your walls clamp down on his fingers and pulse as your orgasm rips through you. The grip on his hair tightens so much.
As your juices leak out around his fingers, he laps it up greedily.
Once the main waves of your orgasm pass, you finally let out a strained grunt, chest heaving with pants and moans.
His name falls from you like a mantra.
The itch within you was scratched, but just for a split second. The moment you come down from your orgasm, that burning begins once more.
He knows it. He knows the only thing that’ll make it go away is his knot.
His fingers slide out of you and he crawls over you to hover over your panting form.
Your hair is frizzy and messy, eyes hazy and fucked out, swollen lips parted. Minho desperately wants this image of you to stay burned into his memory.
“Minho,” you moan to him.
“Taste how delicious you are.” Gently, he pushes his fingers past your lips.
Immediately, your tongue licks around his digits. The feeling causes him to buck his hips forward into yours. His clothed cock ruts into your soaking cunt.
Both of you moan together.
You suck on his fingers and taste whatever you can.
He can only take it for a few seconds before he pulls them away and replaces them with his tongue.
The taste of your juices is swapped between your tongues.
“Need you,” you moan between kisses. “Need my alpha.” Kiss. “Need your knot.”
Once more he bucks into you involuntarily. He needs you just as bad as you need him.
“I will give you what you want.” He bites your lip. “My little omega.”
He pulls away from you. “Flip over for me, little one.”
Immediately, you do what he says.
Minho stands up from the bed to shuck off his trousers and heavy boots. His cock springs free and he strokes himself a few times, eyes following how you arch your back on your hands and knees, presenting yourself for him.
His tongue licks his lips and then it pulls between his teeth.
You’re so fucking gorgeous.
“Alpha, please ,” you whine and look back over your shoulders.
He crawls back onto the mattress and gives your ass cheek a sharp slap.
“Be patient.”
Minho lines up behind you, fisting the base of his cock. He rubs it up and down your slick.
The two of you moan out in unison.
Mewling, you push your hips backwards to try and spear yourself on him. Minho is quick to slap your asscheek again.
“Omegas who do not behave do not get their alpha’s knots.” His hand rubs over where he slapped.
You whine and bury your face into his cloak still bunched underneath you. Your back arches more and you can’t keep still.
Your hips twitch, hole clenching around nothing the more he rubs his cock head in your slick.
“Minho!” You whine, the frustration is killing you.
He clicks his tongue at your impatience. “Fine, then. I will give you what you want.”
His tone is dark and he shoves into you without further notice.
Your walls stretch around him deliciously. He’s so big you think you can feel him in your throat. The pleasure shoots right into your thighs.
Minho’s eyes roll back in his head at the feeling of your wetness surrounding him.
He doesn’t even try to take it slow. His wolf holds the reins tightly and begins slamming into you over and over again.
He’s thrusting so hard, his hips slap into your ass with each stroke.
More babbling comes from your mouth.
Minho reaches forward and grabs a fistful of your hair, lifting your head up from the cloak.
Your tongue lulls out of your mouth.
“Fucking look at that,” he moans in awe. “Only inside you for a minute and you are already cock drunk.”
Your eyes glaze over and you lose yourself in the feeling of him abusing your little hole.
“Feel so fucking good wrapped around me. You were made for me, little omega.”
The only sound you are able to muster is a tiny ‘ mhmm! ’
“So fucking good for me, good for your alpha.”
“Only for you, Alpha!”
A sharp smack lands on your ass again, you cry out.
“That’s right. Just for me. Just for your alpha. No one else. This cunt right here is all mine. ”
He looks down at where he can see his cock disappearing inside you to come back out coated in your delicious slick. It makes him feel insane.
Minho can’t control himself anymore, not that he would want to.
It’s animalistic, the way he wants to devour you.
He tugs on your hair and brings you up so your back is flush with his chest. The hand in your hair moves around to grab your throat. His other hand splays out on your lower stomach.
“Can fucking feel my cock fucking you right here.” He presses down on your stomach and your head falls back against his shoulder.
The moans you’re making are so involuntary.
“Going to stuff you so full of pups. You’ll look so fucking good pregnant, carrying our children. So swollen and full.”
At the base of his cock, Minho can feel his knot begin to form, it prods and catches on your entrance more every stroke.
“Please, please, please,” you cry like a mantra.
“You want that, little girl? You want to carry my pups? You want me to fuck a baby into you?”
“Yes! Please! Please, Minho! It feels so good!”
His inner wolf howls at your pleasure. It’s all he wants.
“Close, Alpha. Please, mark me, please, please.”
Minho’s hips stutter at your words, but when his tempo comes back, it’s rough . Every stroke is unforgiving, he’s racing towards the finish line as fast and hard as he can.
Fuck, he wants to claim you so bad. It’s all he’s wanted for weeks since you first set foot in the hut.
“My omega wants my mark? She wants me to claim her as mine?”
You nod in his grasp, he feels you gulp. “Yes! I need it. Need everyone to know I’m yours.”
Minho growls, his nose buries into the crook of your neck right at your scent gland.
The idea of you wearing his mark proudly makes him feral: you in low collared shirts to purposefully parade your mating mark, you nursing your pups with that bite inches away.
He needs it like he needs air to breathe. How can one person make him feel this way?
His hand squeezes a bit on your throat.
“I’ll give you my mark, Omega. I’ll claim you. You’ll be mine forever.”
He feels you clench down more. The knot at the base of his cock inflates more and more.
His orgasm is dangling in front of him teasingly. But he needs you to cum again, he needs to feel you clench down around him.
The muscles in his abdomen are painfully tight.
The hand on your hip moves to rub circles on your clit in time with his thrusts.
“‘M close, Minho, please. Bite me, please. My mate, please. ”
His mind whites out.
Sharp canines sink into your flesh around your scent gland.
One of the loudest cries of pleasure ever comes from deep within your chest. Your eyes squeeze shut and your walls clench around him as your second orgasm tears through you like a train.
Minho’s knot shoves inside you as his own pleasure peaks and hits him like a ton of bricks. The sweet metallic taste of your blood flooding his mouth, your scent keeping his brain on Earth.
Cum shoots from his cock and floods your walls for what feels like forever.
Neither of you have ever felt something so heavenly before. Two souls merge into one.
Slowly, you both start coming down to earth. Minho’s hand around your neck starts massaging at the sensitive skin.
You whine when he removes his teeth from your skin.
He coos and laps up at the blood streaming down your body. Small kisses pepper the outside of the mark.
Sweet nothings tumble from his lips. “Beautiful, beautiful mate. All mine. So sweet, so beautiful.”
Carefully, he maneuvers the two of you to lay down on your sides, his knot still buried within you. He has a feeling it will be there for a while.
He brings the blankets up over your exhausted bodies.
Your skin is no longer burning with need, instead you’re in a content, happy bubble, your mate’s arms wrapped around you safely.
Never in your life have you felt such comfort. You’re floating on a cloud.
His woodsy smell acts like a second blanket.
Small hums leave you as you snuggle back into his chest more.
Minho chuckles and kisses your bare shoulder.
Your brain comes out of your heat-induced fog. But, instead of panicking, you find yourself happier than ever.
One of your hands comes up to play with the fingers of the hand that’s by your head. His arm acting like a pillow.
“I would have gotten shot with an arrow sooner if it meant I would find you.” He jokes, breaking the silence.
You giggle. It’s music to his ears.
He continues. “Your voice broke through the delirium of the infection.” Another kiss to your shoulder. “I remember thinking you were an Angel here to bring me into the afterlife.”
You flush, embarrassed at his sweet words.
“And I remember thinking you were the most handsome man I have ever seen, even laying on your deathbed.”
He hums happily and leans up on his elbow. You turn around as much as you can to look up at him with a happy smile.
“It is nice to officially meet you, Minho.”
Your fingers come up to brush over his cheek gently.
His heart swells, eyes shine in the candlelight of your room.
“My beautiful mate.” He leans down and kisses you softly. “Thank you for saving my life.”
You’re hardly able to continue the kiss, you’re smiling too much. “And thank you for saving mine.”
His nose rubs against your cheek in a display of affection.
“No one will ever harm you again, my dove.”
You laugh and brush your fingers through his hair. Kiss after kiss lands on your bare skin. He focuses more on your mating mark.
It makes you feel giddy.
“Well,” you giggle. “I think you may need to protect me from your pack leader.”
Minho chuckles. “He will get over it. I would like to see him try and keep us apart now.”
He leans down and presses your lips together. “My beautiful omega.”
“My handsome alpha.”
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