Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The skin was still warm.

Gojo looked up, trained eyes scanning the thick, intertwined dark trunks of centuries-old trees. Rough bark and gnarled branches greeted his sight, lacing each other in a complex spiderweb of wood that silently dared him to penetrate this warm, moist sanctuary of silent, breathy life. Crooked, uneven roots rose between gentle mounds of rich soil and moss-covered rocks. The undergrowth was bathed in dapples of silvery moonlight. Ribbons of shredded mist clung stubbornly to the rough cracks in the old bark. The forest was quiet.

He looked back at the skin, an abandoned piece of fur lying on the crunched leaves. Short, grayish hair ran along its length. He passed his hand across it once, twice, felt the softness of the fur, still slightly wet, and looked up again.

A seal skin, left in the middle of the forest. Inland. The attentive ears of the hunter picked on the distant, eternal song of the mourning waves, not far, slipping between the more reserved, hushed melody of the forest.

There wasn’t much space left for doubt. Slowly, very slowly, Gojo put the skin back down, exactly as he had found it, laying sheltered under the cover of curled ferns. His blue eyes darted here and there, precise and efficient, seeking other clues, which he found very quickly. Here, a broken twig, near grayish lichen. Blades of grass that had been delicately crushed in the shape of a foot, again and again. The track disappeared right before an ugly-looking, knobby root. The grass beyond it was lightly flattened, in a new footstep.

Gojo followed the appearing trail, his tall body gliding easily and silently among the sharp bushes of thorns and cracked ferns, one hand resting on his hip, where the sheath of his dagger laid. The branches swished gently above him, humming some discreet, unknown songs, but he paid them no attention. All his senses were focused on the life he knew was hidden there. Snakes coiling their bodies under rocks. Foxes darting under hawthorns. Rabbits fleeing hastily toward the safety of their dens. The airy but unmistakable bounces of deer’s hooves against dirt, retreating from their cherished clearings, far from men.

Then he caught it.

A fragment of a voice, fluttering delicately among the branches, shimmering in the half-light that was closing in on him.

A woman’s voice.

Gojo still, freezing completely on the spot, crouched low beneath a rotting branch. He waited for a beat. Listened. A bird tentatively tried its luck, before thinking better of it at the sight of the hunter.

The voice came again.

It flittered and flickered toward him, a timid piece of joy rippling through the deathly silence of the forest. He closed his eyes, focused on the pure, sheer happiness such a tiny sound contained, and the simplicity of the beautiful, fresh notes. Then his mind went over the sound, calculated it, separating the pitches, noting frequencies. From these analyses a picture rose in his head, then another, each more enticing than the last. The voice promised a great reward.

He crept forward, very slowly, careful to land each step on a soft patch of emerald moss. He ignored another seal skin, this time folded under a stump. He was getting closer.

Another voice rippled through the air, fluttering along the first one, followed by another. They flickered, twirled together in a curious, enthusiastic dance, swelling slightly as he continued. The forest was losing ground to a rockier terrain, with thinning trees. Trees thinned out, bushes grew scarce, moss evened out until there was nothing but sprouting rocks, flying grit, broken pebbles and bits of seashells. The gusts of wind brought to Gojo the characteristic, acrid smell of salt and the sharp, unforgiving coldness of the sea. Waves rolled languidly somewhere behind the rocks, their song breaking into dozens of chaotic notes, before reforming again under the strokes of the breeze.

And somewhere behind the rocks, a woman laughed.

Gojo carefully weaved between boulders covered in a thin sheen of coarse, gritty sand, his shoes sinking quietly into the soft ground. The laughter was swelling, bouncing off the rocks in happy littles echoes. All feminine voices, mingling together in a gentle chorus.

The sight that greeted him was more than he could have possibly hoped for. Beautiful, naked women, all laughing together, some sitting atop the boulders, some sprawled across the sand without a care in the world, their fanned-out hair lying on seal skins. He glimpsed some silhouettes playing among the sprays in the sea, calling for their comrades in playful shouts. His eyes went over the naked, vulnerable bodies, then they stopped on you.

Selkies were monsters. Incarnations of the devil, unholy temptations crawling out of the sea to snatch up the good will and virtues of men and women alike. Those were the multiple stories the elders liked to feed the village with. Selkies crawled at the very bottom of the depths, gleefully stealing from fishermen’s nets in their animal forms, luring men in when they shed those very skins allowing them to glide into the water.

Selkies were also beautiful, and incredibly fragile when they shed. Defenseless. They made good trophies. Bringing one back to the village might earn him a very decent amount of money, but golden coins were the last things on the hunter’s mind at the moment.

Gojo’s gaze was entirely focused on you, a selkie among many others. He watched as you slid off your own boulder in a sweet, mischievous jump, landing delicately on the sand, laughing as one of your playmates splashed you in an enthusiastic attempt to get you to join in. He listened to your light-hearted giggles, watched you scoop up some sand in retaliation. His eyes crawled over your skin, on full display under the veiled light of the sun, stared on the muscles tensing under the supple flesh of your thighs, on the wet hair flowing along your back, on the smile illuminating your face.

Well, if you were an incarnation of Satan as the elders said, he would gladly take his chance.

It would be easy enough. You and your companions hadn’t even detected the slightest hint of his presence among the boulders. Gojo was fast, and he doubted any of you would have time to recover any of the seal skins lying all around the boulders. You’d be in his arms in barely a matter of seconds, and he felt there were few chances for the others to put up a fight against him. No, they would scatter, scramble, screech, snatch up their skin, and dash into the sea as quickly as their human legs allowed.

You would be his easily.

The white-haired hunter advanced slowly, slithering along the shadows of the rocks, when a sharp cry made him stop dead in his tracks. He looked up, very carefully, and saw a taller selkie, pointing at approaching storm clouds in the sky. One by one, the little group broke, each member seeking out their seal skins, taking some draped over the boulders or under the shadows of sickly bushes, but Gojo didn’t pay attention to them. He was focused on you only and watched, with avid greediness, as you took dainty steps toward a sharp, pointy rock, half-covered in dried algae. There you bent; the simple movement was enough to fuel a desire he was already struggling to restrain, and your hands sunk in the sand, rhythmically, pushing away seashells and polished pebbles, digging further and further. Gojo leaned in slightly behind the safety of his own rock, watching you, with great interest, pull up then dust off with precise, deliberate gestures your own seal skin, which could conceal you from the world of humans, the one he so desperately wanted to bring you to. His sharp eyes immediately noted the dark, gray color of the pelt, mimicking the grayish shade the water adopted when it rained, and the three little patches of white near the tail. Gojo stayed perfectly still, even when you cloaked yourself with the skin, pulling it lovingly over your shoulders, feeling its softness with the tip of your fingers. Finally you pulled the seal’s head over your own, covering your luscious hair, and started walking toward the sea, following your companions. Many had already disappeared among the rising waves, fleeing the growing howls of the angry wind and the characteristic smell of incoming rain. Gojo forced himself not to move, to remain a statue among the rocks, his legs itching with the need to run to you, to carry you back toward his own, earthly realm, but he knew it was too late to attempt anything. Small drops of rain fell among his white locks just as you dipped a foot into the water, testing the temperature. Then, to his amazement, the seal skin closed seamlessly over your own body, covering the flesh, the supple thighs, the soft breasts, the harmonious back he had lusted upon, and you dove in, as gracefully as any normal seal would. A chorus of high-pitched, pleased cries greeted your jump. His eyes widened when you answered with a cry of your own, predatory jaws opening instead of a human mouth. Then you plunged, water gliding smoothly over perfectly adapted fur, and dozens of small heads disappeared in the growling waves.

The following months were a nightmare.

Gojo was going mad with want. The lust your gleaming, soft, bare skin had sparked within him had carved its way into his very bones. There wasn’t a single moment when a picture of you, careless and carefree, splashing your companions, wouldn’t play in a loop through his mind, before being replaced by a much more intimate fantasy, where your hands would glide over his skin instead of the sand.

The next days after catching sight of you and your group, he ignored the bitter regret blooming in his chest and set out in a thorough quest for information. It turned out that the local folklore books stored were greedier than he expected, with very few knowledge written down about your kind, or even your habits, and hunters relied greatly on their prey’s habits to catch them. He had no idea when you would get back on land, or if you ever would, for that matter. The fear of having missed the single opportunity he had encountered in his lifetime to capture a selkie, to capture you, fueled his desperation and fed his growing obsession. Selkies were a tale of whispers and awed eyes, so he changed his approach.

Even though he said nothing to no one about his discovery of a pod of selkies living nearby, the elders of the village were more than happy to help the most competent hunter they had. Seals stole; seals preyed upon the very fish the village depended upon to get by. Seals were playful, and sometimes mischievous. They spoke gladly and very freely, and soon Gojo gathered a lot more information than he could have hoped for.

Of all that he heard, the hunter soon noticed one common point about all the sayings; some were very precise, some purely speculative, but all agreed on the fact that selkies came on land every full moon. Gojo remembered the moonlight dappling the forest during his trip, and the ache in his heart was soothed at the thought that he would be able to see you again.

From then on, most of his days were spent mapping the outcrops of rocks, inspecting the place, noting the hideouts, the thick bushes, the crevices running along the gritty boulders. He walked and walked, tested the ground, carefully memorized every inch of the spot. He focused particularly on the pointy boulder covered in dried algae you had buried your skin beneath. He crouched and mimicked your movements, dug up the soft sand, felt it slither between his fingers.

He thought about plans. Hiding bear traps beneath little mounds of sand. Crouching safely behind a boulder. In the end, another idea came to him, and all that was left for the hunter was to wait.

As the best hunter of the village, Gojo was usually patient, but this time waiting was agony. He watched, with anxious impatience, the moon gently change in the night sky as it hollowed its waxy body bit by bit, to become a thin slice of silver among the glittering stars, before filling itself again. He waited and waited.

Then the moment came.

Gojo was crouched behind a boulder, eyes locked on the waves, one hand stroking absent-mindedly the cold blade of his dagger. This time he had come prepared, with one bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, should his plan fail and you would attempt to run back to the sea.

The night was moody. The moonlight flickered over the boulders, rays of wan white and pale silver dancing over the shifting crown of the waves. The wind was quiet, but the sharp, icy gusts told the hunter a storm could break out at any moment.

Gojo waited, the itch of his mind slowly crawling into his legs. He tightened his hold on the dagger, watching the waves with growing irritation, when he saw it.

One head peeked out behind a wave, before plunging back into the foam. Then another popped up, closer to the shore. Soon the sea was filled with bobbing heads and soft, whiny seal cries. A flock of slender, furry bodies swam effortlessly among the rippling waves until they reached the shore. Gojo held his breath as the first seal hopped on the sand, advancing as best as it could in that awkward, funny manner those creatures had on land. Then he froze completely when the fur parted in the middle, with two hands gently pushing it open from the inside. The head fell back, and hair spilt out on bare, glistening shoulders. The hunter’s eyes focused instantly on the face, but it wasn’t you. Disappointment welled in its chest, and his eyes darted from one selkie to another, as more of them shed their skin as naturally as a butterfly would. Most held their own tight in their arms, rolling it into a bundle of wet fur as they walked toward the outcrops.

That was when he caught sight of you. The three little patches of white near the tail were impossible to miss as you hauled yourself upon the shore, still in animal form. Then you rose, and you shed, and that was truly the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes upon.

You walked delicately on the sand, holding your skin close to your heart, and followed the rest of the group toward the boulders. The wind carried the many sounds of happy chatter and heartfelt laughter, completely oblivious to the danger. His gaze didn’t drift, not for one second, while you came, just as he had hoped, toward your favorite spot. You bent and crouched under the algae-covered boulder, burying your seal skin, just as usual, pushing back dug-up sand and seashells over the mystical part of yourself, before going back cheerfully toward your companions.

Gojo waited a bit more, letting you fully enjoy yourself, laughing and running around, having obviously fun. He checked the rest of the group. Not a single trace of wariness.

He used that time of joy and games to make his way, very slowly, toward the pointy boulder. Whereas his ears were focused on your shouts and cries, his eyes never left the algae and the boulder. Excitement sparked in his legs as he got closer, the boulder growing in his sight, but as he had pushed the itch to snatch you up, he pushed back the slight quivering of impatience in his flesh. He knew that thrill well; the delicious, feverish feeling always flowed over him at the end of an excruciating hunt, when he knew his prey was trapped. He relished in it while he very carefully sank his fingers into the sand, pushing apart broken seashells until his pads brushed against something soft and wet. The feeling exploded all over his body, and his hands shook when he pulled the seal skin out of its prison of dirt. He held the most precious, important piece of you between his fingers. The skin gleamed timidly under his ravenous gaze, and he brought it to his nose, smelling the imprint of the sea, its depths and its mysteries.

He didn’t bother after this. He stood up from under the boulder at his full height, looking over at the group. A few seconds passed, then a cry erupted; a selkie, sprawled on a rock, pointed toward him. Soon the beach was full of shrieking, writhing bodies, wrenching their skins from the bushes, snatching pelts laid on the rocks. The voices, which had been shouting in playful happiness minutes before, were now echoing in panic screeches off the outcrops, trapped between spiky, rocky edges. Gojo watched, slightly amused, the poor creatures running all around, dashing toward the sea. He didn’t care much. His attention was entirely focused on your face.

You run toward your hideout, just like the others. Not a second was to be wasted when it came to men, you knew that. Then you stopped dead at the sight of the white-haired man and the smug little smile on his face. He was holding your own skin, as preciously as you would have, in his arms. To see a piece of yourself, so dearly cherished by nature, being cradled and chocked between the arms of that infuriating man, sparked something in you. Your features hardened, anger overtaking fear as you stood in all your glory, indifferent to the lust in his gaze or the harsh, unforgiving bite on the wind on your naked body.

Seconds passed. Silence filled the emptiness left between the rocks, sliding between edges and gaps and cracks, where screams had echoed minutes ago. Then you spoke.

“Give me back my skin.”

His eyes widened slightly at the sound of your voice, so sweet and lovely, directed at him, and him only. Human words, shaped into the air from a mystical creature, and meant for him. He was the first to hear them, alone on this desolate beach, and his heart swelled with pleasure. His arms tightened around the fur.

You frowned when he didn’t respond, waited some more, and took a step forward. Gojo smirked when he recognized your stance; eyes darkening, body stilling in building aggressivity, hands curling in fists, legs poised to strike. He loved it, to see such a delicate thing, ready to tear him apart. Before you could make any move, however, the dagger was out in a flash of silver, its tip pressed against the grayish hair on the fur. All fury melted from your face, replaced by genuine fear.  

“No!”

His only answer was to press the tip of the dagger a little more. You winced upon seeing the iron bite inch by inch into the abandoned flesh, felt the ghostly sting of the blade kiss your skin.

“Wait! Please!”

He looked back at you, with that infuriating, infernal smirk on his lips. You knew two things about men. One, they were the most twisted species to have ever walked upon this earth. Two, they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. An image slowly floated to your mind, of your seal skin, ripped in two, with flagging, bloody pieces of flesh being tossed carelessly over the sand. You schooled your features into a pleading expression, pursed your lips in a desperate plea, pushing back a sneer at the obvious, perverted lust dancing in those blue eyes.

“Please. I’ll… I’ll come.”

Gojo smiled. He took off his coat and tossed it to you. You looked at the foreign object, a grotesque parody of sewn, cotton fur, lying at your feet, disgust twisting your lips.

“Don’t make such a face,” he said playfully, his cheerful voice a clear contrast to the dagger still nestled at his side. “Put it on.”

You crouched and slowly picked up the item. The rough fabric stung between your hands. The shape was wrong. The color was wrong. You shivered as it groped your shoulder, clung to your ribs and squeezed over your arms, trapping your body in unknown, itchy fabric. The hunter laughed, a gentle sound that made you seethe with rage. You couldn’t stop a hiss as he bent to put a loving kiss on your seal skin, pressing his lips against the wet fur, spoiling it with his human touch.

“Don’t touch it! It’s mine!”

“It’s mine now,” he said softly but firmly, as one would when correcting a child. “And so are you. Come on.”

He turned, leaving you fuming on the beach. You stayed still for three solid seconds, anger fighting over despair, the sea calling pitifully behind you, mourning your absence. You looked behind you, watched with agonizing terror the waves crashing against the shore, feeling the pull of the water into your very bones.

Then you walked reluctantly behind the hunter, refusing to meet his triumphant stare.