#edit: sorry missed the second half so I edited what I said | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sailoryooons · 8 months

Text

Red | KNJ | (m)

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader

☾ Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you.

☾ Word Count: 21,148

☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Fantasy violence, light depections of murder and animal attacks, mentions of gore, discussions about community displacement and violence, Yoongi is an asshole, animal attacks, depictions of blood, tbh reader and Namjoon don’t know each other THAT well when they fuck so idk, implied protecting from a far but not in a stalker way, explicit language, intense sequences of fear and anxiety, reader is attacked by a wolf, there is a mention of animals being hurt/killed but not in explicit details, dead bodies, arson, sexually explicit content invluding vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, a little bit of mention of fluids but not really.

☾ Published: Sunday, January 21 2024

☾ A/N: I wish I could explain to you how this got to be so long. I wrote it over several weeks and each day I picked it back up, I just kept adding dialogue and scenery and setting. Like half of this isn’t even Namjoon and reader reacting - what was I doing? I wish I knew! I hope you like my spin on Red Riding Hood anyway! I tried to do this in a way that it doesn’t seem creepy that Namjoon was silently looking out for reader but like… I could understand if someone finds it creepy I am so sorry lmfao. I did read through this to edit but I 100% missed stuff because I'm a rougher editor and this is unbeta'd.

☾ A/N 2: This is a Red Riding Hood Retelling that is similar in vibe to the 2011 Red Riding Hood movie directed by Catherine Hardwicke.

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Father always said not to go into the woods at night. Like him, though, the woods have always called to you, feeling like a second home. You’ve never been able to explain it, and you’ve stopped trying to.

It’s a little chilly outside, the first breath of harvest air nipping at your skin. In a few weeks, it will be freezing outside, forcing you into cloaks and furs.

Grass crunches beneath your feet as you slip through the small yard and toward the tree line. Your house already sits at the edge of the village, the dark trees stretching high above the rooftops. Soon the trees will be dusted in snow, but for now, they sway gently in the autumn breeze, turned silver by the moonlight.

You’ve always loved the woods. The sounds of the crickets singing and rabbits dashing underfoot are calming, the smell of sticky pine and fresh air invigorating. You especially love them at night, hidden beneath boughs and walking through the shafts of moonlight that slip through the trees.

The best part is that you don’t feel so alone out here. There is a feeling you cannot place each time you enter the woods, like you’re a little closer to discovering yourself. You’ve been chasing that feeling since you were a little girl, hungry for finding whatever it is that drives you out here.

Hands tucked into your pockets, you walk the same route you always follow. It isn’t deep into the woods - you aren’t silly enough to believe you’re safe alone in the dark - but it’s enough of a walk to clear your head.

Howls echo up into the night, a wolf pack on their hunt. The sound of them makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

The wolves don’t come very close to the village anymore since the vicious wolf hunts when you were barely old enough to remember them. The relationship between the men of your home and the wolves in the wood is violent, a chill cooling your skin every time they’re mentioned by one of your neighbors.

A terrible howl splits the night. You feel your body go cold with fear, warmth leaching out of you as you press yourself against a tree, heart in your throat. The sound is something like a howl laced with utter anguish, chilling you down to the marrow. It tapers off into a whimper before falling silent again.

Pressed against the tree, you wait. Your heart is beating so harshly that it feels like you might vomit in fear. Soft whimpering drifts on the wind. You hold your breath and strain your ears. It almost sounds like an injured dog.

It tugs at your heartstrings. You bite your lip, weighing your options. The noise sounded like it came from the south a little off of your path and toward the ravine that splits the part of the woods that is relatively safe from the deeper part where the animals are more lethal and more frequent. You could easily find your way back if you made it to the ravine, and as the whimpering vanishes entirely, you can’t help but imagine an animal in pain.

The most difficult part about working with Dr. Kim at the veterinary clinic is always the animals that he can’t fix. You’ve held the hands of loved ones who couldn’t save their aging dogs, and you’ve hushed lame horses as Dr. Kim prepared draughts to send them to sleep and then to death.

Pivoting, you turn and march toward the initial sound. It may perhaps be the single worst idea you’ve ever had, but you suddenly don’t care. You’ve worked with Dr. Kim enough to know how to triage animal wounds, and the thought of leaving something alone and suffering replaces any sort of fear you originally had.

You’re careful not to lose your footing as the ground slopes steadily as you get closer to the ravines and canyons of the south side. Leaves shift underneath your feet as you go. It feels overly loud in a forest that is suddenly so quiet, only filled with the softest sound of labored breathing.

A small dip in the ground catches you off guard. You gasp, a scream stuck in your throat as you lose your footing and slide down the slope, your back and ass hitting the ground hard as you slide, leaves hissing underneath you. You scramble to grab a hold of something, but the hill isn’t very high and you hit the bottom of it quickly.

Heart pounding, you lay in the damp leaves for a second, panting, hand pressed to your heart as it rattles under your palm. Just as the fear settles down, a growl makes your blood run cold. Slowly, you begin to turn your face toward the left. You realize you’ve slid down a dell, and a few yards from you is a large, shivering form covered in fur.

You blink. Once. Twice. You realize that the large mound of fur is a creature - a wolf. It lays on the ground shaking, a ride of jet black hair standing up on its spine, hackles raised. The wolf’s ears are pinned back and its yellow eyes are wild, nearly consumed by the dark pupils drinking you in. Its teeth are bared, foam and drool lining pink gums as it snares, nose twitching.

It’s the biggest wolf you’ve ever seen. You can’t move. You can only stare at it, wondering why it continues to snarl and stare at you, but not move. Your eyes rove its trembling form from maw to tail, and you realize its front leg is wet and held at an odd angle.

“Oh,” you gasp, realizing that the wolf’s foot is stuck in a claw trap. “I’m so sorry. I… can I help you?”

The wolf stops growling for a moment as if it understands. You stare with wide eyes, not daring to move as it assesses you. It leans toward you and sniffs, the sound of snuffing loud in the silence of the dell. For a few moments, you just watch as the beast regards you.

Then, it chuffs and looks at its own foot, whining. You sit up slowly in amazement. The creature watches you with what you can only describe as a caution. You get up carefully and make your way toward the wolf. It watches your every movement. It can surely smell your fear as you get a few feet away, crouching down with your hands held out to let it know you’re not going to cause harm.

You pause, waiting for permission to examine the wolf’s foot. It gazes at you and for a moment, you lose yourself in that burning, golden gaze. The wolf’s eyes are so human that it’s hard to see it as a simple beast. There is something alive and intelligent there.

As if sensing that you’re waiting for the all-clear, the wolf chuffs and lowers its head toward its foot, gesturing. You smile a little at that, marveling at the communication skills. Carefully, you look at the trap around the wolf’s foot. It’s a metal contraption that is pressure-engaged, with metal teeth. You cringe seeing the red on matted fur and metal.

“You must have stepped on the pressure plate,” you tell the wolf, though it probably doesn’t understand. You gesture to the round plate at the center of the trap. “It would have been in a circle and when stepped on, snapped closed like jaws.”

The wolf whines and bows its head. You wince. “They’re really strong,” you admit, chewing on your lip. “I don’t think I can pull it apart all the way, but I might be able to open it enough just for a moment for you to pull out your leg. Can you do that?”

A huff. Somehow, you think if it could, the wolf might roll its eyes. Your mouth twitches in an almost smile as you get onto your knees, wiping sweaty hands on your pants. This close to the beast, you realize just how large it is.

“This is going to hurt,” you insist. “Please… Please don’t bite me, okay? I want to help you.”

The wolf lowers its head until it's lying on the ground, gold eyes watching you. Its muscles are tense and the hair along the ridge of its back is still standing, afraid and alert.

“Okay. I’m just… I’m just going to touch the trap and try to get a grip first, okay?” The wolf doesn’t answer. It blinks at you, waiting. Licking your lips, you whisper, more to yourself than anything, “Okay, I can do this.”

Slowly, you reach out toward the wolf’s injured foot. You flick your gaze over to the wolf looking for a reaction. It just watches you, though you feel tension. The metal is wicked cold to the touch. You hiss and the creature flinches a little, a whistle-whine escaping its nose. You mutter an apology, fingers pressing to the ridges of the cold metal.

It’s slippery with blood. You chew on your lip, prodding your finger in the space between the metal teeth on the edges where it’s not clamped around the wolf’s paw. You wiggle your finger a little, testing the strength of the closed jaws of the trap. It doesn’t budge and you curse.

Sweat beads on the back of your neck, freezing in the cool air. You lift your other hand, very carefully trying to find a good grip on either side of the jaws to pry them open. The movement jostles the trap a little, the wolf snarling in pain. You flinch and rip your hands away, looking at it. Gold eyes burn and the wolf huffs, as though telling you to be more careful.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I’m nervous and it’s hard to get a grip on it.” The wolf snorts. You glare at it. “I’m sorry, do you want to do this instead?” Your only answer is a rumble as it looks the other direction. “That’s what I thought.”

Sighing, you turn your attention back to the metal. Anyone a little stronger and older could probably pull it open. Seokjin for sure could - even Hoseok who is as old as you are, but plenty stronger. You try not to think about how weak you are, and instead wiggle your fingers through the gaps in the teeth.

The cool metal stings your hands. It’s not a great grip and your fingers are placed in bad positioning due to the teeth of the trap. Taking in a big breath, you try to pull the metal jaws apart.

Nothing happens and you let your breath out, panting lightly as you stop trying to pull. The wolf flicks its tale but makes no other sound. With the way you’re gripping the jaws, you realize that pulling it apart is going to be difficult. It would rely on your forearms to peel the metal jaws backward… But if you were to push down and push apart, you could use your body weight as an extra boost. It would be pushing the jaws apart from above instead of trying to pry them apart with sheer strength.

Leaning high on your knees, you position yourself straight over the trap, your weight settling in on your forearms. You take another deep breath and this time when you pull, you push your weight down on the trap. For a second, it seems like it’s not going to give. You hiss through your teeth, muscles clenching, fingers burning as your skin presses against the metal as hard as you can stand it.

Then, the jaw opens a little. You grind your teeth harder, the ache in your arms growing as you push as hard as you can. Your forearms are trembling. You feel the vein throbbing in your neck and forehead. Just when you think you’re going to fail, the jaws give way again. You growl, feeling a surge of energy go through you at the small victory and you shove your body weight down on it hard. The springs creak a little and open more.

Little by little, the trap opens up. Your vision pulses red as you pant, strength waning. And then it’s like you hit the let-off point of the contraption, pushing it enough that the rest of the way it just falls open. You let go of the trap and the wolf yanks its leg from it. It now lies open and bloody as you collapse on the ground next to it, breathing hard, breath misting the air.

Your heart beats in your ears, pulse thrumming in your neck wildly. For a second, you forget all about the wolf. You laugh up to the dark trees, a giddy feeling shooting through you. You did it, even though you didn’t think you would be able to.

A dark presence alerts you. Slowly, you turn your head to face the wolf. It’s standing almost above you, looking more imposing than it did before. You swallow hard, mouth going dry as it blinks down at you. It favors the injured leg, but stands nonetheless, watching you.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, limbs trembling not only with exhaustion but fear.

The wolf doesn’t kill you at all. Instead, it leans its head down and presses its cold, wet nose to your arm. You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute. Then the beast chuffs, making you peak at it. When you meet its gold eyes, you get the sense it is vaguely amused.

“Oh,” you breathe, relief sagging your aching body. “Cool. You’re not going to kill me.”

Standing, you realize that the wolf is still taller than you. You tilt your head upward, staring. There’s no way this is a normal creature, but you don’t know what else it could possibly be. You recall the legends of werewolves and dire wolves told by the men of your town, but you’re unsure if those are real.

“Let’s take care of this,” you mutter, grabbing a branch and jamming it into the pressure plate of the trap. It snaps shut with a loud clang, snapping the branch, but otherwise ineffective now that it’s re-sprung. The wolf flinches and whines at the sound, no doubt remembering the feeling of the instrument on its leg. “Sorry.”

Silence stretches out over the woods, the night growing deeper and cooler. You shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you turn to the wolf, which watches you keenly.

“Will you be okay?” the question comes out as a whisper. The wolf huffs and steps forward, pressing its snout to your head. It’s cold and wet, making you shiver as it snuffs against your skin. “Good. I um - should start climbing this hill.”

It swivels its head and turns, waiting. You grin, realizing it will accompany you back up, at least. Though injured, the wolf is able to walk with three legs, the wounded leg lifted off the ground. Its gait is awkward and hobbled, but the two of you make it up the hill together, your breathing labored.

At the top, moonlight shines through the trees and you both pause. A series of howls goes up in the night, startling you. The wolf looks up, ears twitching as it tilts its head, listening. Slowly, it turns to look at you, gold eyes sparkling.

“I guess you have to go, huh?” it bows its head once. “Stay safe, okay?”

The wolf steps forward. Presses its muzzle into your temple and huffs, making you grin. You smell pine and bergamot, pleasant and calming. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Slowly, the wolf clambours off, vanishing into the dark woods, leaving you to hurry home yourself.

“Wear this at all times for protection, especially in the forest,” you murmur, holding the neatly scrawled note. You frown and look down at the fine cloak folded on the dresser. It had appeared overnight as if by magic, a funny feeling flipping your stomach. “Where did you come from?”

The cloak, of course, has no answer. You lift your hand to feel it, breathing out a dreamy sigh. The inside is lined with soft bear fur. Outside is some of the finest cloth you’ve ever seen, gentle but sturdy to the touch and dyed the most delicious shade of scarlet.

Carefully, you lift the cloak. It’s a little big for your size, but not unwearable. You slip it over your sleeping gown, loving the way the material ripples like blood over your shoulders, the fur lining keeping you warm. It smells like pine and bergamot, making you pause.

Certainly, a wolf did not bring you a cloak. Still, the timing is quite odd. You don’t know who else could possibly make a cloak so fine in the village, and the smell… you shake your head. A wolf did not bring you a cloak, but it did seem perhaps you had a secret admirer.

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

“Boo!” You scream and drop the collection of logs in your hands, whirling around. Hoseok bursts into laughter, doubling over as he slaps his hands against his knees, hot breath misting the air. “You should see your face!”

“You rotten bastard!” You growl, picking up a log and throwing it at him. It doesn’t hit him, but he jumps away from it anyway, careful not to let it drop on his toes. “That isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not!” You crouch down and start picking up the timber. Hoseok at least has the decency to help you, starting with the log you threw at him. “There was another animal attack last night, in case you didn’t know.”

That makes him pause. “There was?”

“Yes,” you hiss, snatching the last log and standing. “So stop lurking around corners and scaring me. It isn’t funny.”

“Well, an animal isn’t going to attack you in the village. Unless you’re talking about Mingyu’s fiancee, anyway. That one is feral indeed.”

You level Hoseok with a look and he gives you a grin. His nose and ears are red from the cold - and maybe a little guilt for scaring you - and he offers to take the timber from your arms. You let him, shoveling it over to him and marching around the front of your house.

Wind howls between the houses, ripping at the ends of your red cloak. It catches your hood, throwing it up over your head as you shiver and tuck your hands into the fur lining. A shiver rattles up your spine as you kick the snow from your boots and rush inside, Hoseok quick on your heels.

“So what happened?” Hoseok asks, following you to your room.

“The Matheson Family,” you mumble. “They were attacked. San went down to collect new saddles his father ordered and found them slaughtered - their hounds too.”

“They have hunting hounds - what the hell can kill those?”

“Perhaps it’s the wolves again. Dr. Kim was going with the city council to investigate.”

Hoseok sighs. “The timing isn’t good. It’s about time the traders arrived. What if they bypass us entirely if the road is too dangerous?”

It’s a thought that has been plaguing everyone in the village. Because of the remote location on the north side of the woods, your small spec on the map relies on traders at the beginning of every winter for things that you’ll need to make it through: salt, extra grain and fruits, tools too advanced and large for the local smithy, repairs on houses and wagons.

Arrival times of traders fluctuate every year. Sometimes there’s a cold snap, burying roads in heavy snow that are unnavigable. Other times, there is unrest in the woods when a rogue band of thieves gets the idea to rob travelers and hide in the woods until the city council sends a team of men to deal with it.

Now, though, it’s getting into the late period of their arrival. The entire village holds its breath waiting for them, people looking out the open gates down the snowy road hoping to see a courier come ahead to announce the arrival of wagons and troupes of people.

“Do you really think it’s wolves?” Hoseok asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard of wolf attacks like this since…”

Hoseok winces. “It’s fine,” you assure him with a smile. “It’s not like I remember that time, much less remember my dad.”

It’s true. Early memories of your childhood are murky at best. You remember being happy and loving your dad. You remember a period of fear and general uneasiness in the town, wolf attacks rampant and frequent. There had been plenty of men and women who died during that period, including your father.

That was a long time ago, though. For the most part, life in your small village is uninteresting. Some winters are harder than others, like the current season, but you’ve always managed to get by.

“Do you remember much of that time period?” you ask him quietly.

“Not really. Just that everyone was afraid. It was a really harsh winter and it drove wolves down from the mountains. I remember it being strange.”

“Strange how?”

You chew your lip and shake your head, trying to encapsulate the thread of memory you have. Of feeling the tremor of fear in the air, the cold feeling of dread… like something violent was in the village. Something wrong.

“I don’t know. I was so young.”

“Hmm.”

The talk of wolves makes you think about your wolf. Your lips curve at the memory of how gentle the wolf was, the somber eyes, and the smell of pine and bergamot.

It would be a lie to say you had not gone out to the woods several times since that night to try and find the beast again. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve always had a feeling he’s there somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

“Either way,” Hoseok sighs. “Dad seems worried this winter will be like that time. He’s been doing a lot of will and testament papers at the office. He works late every night and is gone early in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Want to hear what Mr. Hillshire is leaving for his kids?” Hoseok leans forward, conspiratorial. “You won’t believe it.”

The bell over the door rings as someone enters the salon of Dr. Kim’s veterinary practice, drawing your attention. You straighten when you see San walk in.

“Hi, San,” you greet. “Here to pick up Maple?”

“Yeah, is that alright? Mom is busy at the shop.”

“Of course.” You wipe your sweaty hands on your skirts and gesture behind you with your thumb. “I’ll go fetch her. Dr. Kim is on an errand but she’s ready to go.”

The back of the building with the kennels is quiet. The Choi family cat and two other sleeping dogs are the only occupants of the practice, making it an easy day. Maple is dozing in her kennel, chirping in protest when you open the cage and scoop her into a carrier. She’s a lazy thing, a calico with pretty eyes and a newly stitched ear.

Carefully you carry her up front. San is standing patiently in the lobby, hands behind his back as he looks around nervously. You raise your brows as you come around the counter, handing over the carrier. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm?”

“You look nervous. It’s just me and the Lowells’ hounds back here.”

“Oh, yes.” His ears blush pink as he accepts the carrier and steps back. “Just a nervous energy in general. I have been since um…”

Oh. You had forgotten that it was San who discovered the Matheson family disemboweled by some kind of animal. The constable had thought that maybe it was a pack of wolves but was concerned by how big the claw marks and destruction were.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt.

“For what?”

“That you had to see that, I guess? It must have been terrifying.”

“A little,” he admits, looking at his shoes. “I walked the path to the Mathesons all the time. I don’t ever recall seeing something that could… do that.”

“Was it that awful?”

He nods. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I go on hunting parties. We’ve seen the leftovers from bears and wolves. This was something worse. It felt like…” He shakes his head and looks up at you. “It felt angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. I know that doesn’t make sense. It was probably just a beast coming down from the mountain because it was starving. You know how harsh winters are.”

You hum in agreement.

San dismisses himself, thanking you again for helping with the family cat and throwing a wave over his shoulder. You return it half-heartedly, already distracted with thoughts of what the animal attacks could mean.

You think about your wolf and how kind and intelligent it was. You don’t remember ever feeling a sense of impending doom like you do now, a heaviness to the air as you stand idly behind the counter.

Dr. Kim's return startles you at the counter. You press your hands flat against the top of the desk, leaning up on your tiptoes as you see his son Seokjin enter behind him. Your heart flutters a little at the sight, still overwhelmed by his handsome face.

Seokjin is tall and broad, with dark hair and a beautiful face. His sharp eyes find you and he gives you a half smile, though there seems to be something on his mind as he follows his father into the backroom, Dr. Kim barely saying hello as he goes, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

The two of them disappear and you watch the door swing shut behind them. Curious, you trail around the counter and softly walk over to the door, pulling it open a smidge.

It’s difficult to pick up on their words, but you can hear Dr. Kim’s timbre speaking in low tones from somewhere in the backroom. You hold your breath and wedge the door open a little more, pressing your ear toward the gap between the frame and the door.

“... again. They’re going to want to start hunting parties again soon.”

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then, “Send a message….”

“... brought it on themselves… it’s time to make things right.”

Behind you, the bell rings at the door. You gasp, letting go of the door to the back room and spin around, heart hammering in your chest. Hoseok stands at the door, raising his brows in question.

“What are you doing here?” you demand, suddenly angry that he’s startled you and ruined your sleuthing.

“I promised your mom I would walk home with you at the end of your shift, remember? Dangerous out there.”

You blink and look out the window, realizing that the heavy gray of evening is setting over the road. You hadn’t realized it was so late.

Nodding, you grab your cloak in a hurry. You pop your head into the back room, both Seokjin and Dr. Kim looking at you as you do. “I’m leaving for the evening, sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you for watching the place while I was gone. Tomorrow we have to make a house call to the Marrow farm. Lame horse.”

Seokjin frowns. “Do you think that is wise?” Dr. Kim looks at his son under heavy brows. “With the current conditions.”

“We’ll be fine.” Something passes between them, son and father locked in a heated gaze. You stand there awkwardly, glancing between the two.

Seokjin breaks his stare from his father and flashes you a grin. “You have someone to walk you home?”

“Yeah, Hoseok is here.” You hug the cloak tighter to your chest and Seokjin’s eyes drop to it. An unreadable expression passes his face before he nods. “Have a good evening!”

“You too.”

Leaving them behind, you head to where Hoseok waits for you, examining drawings of animal skeletons and anatomy. You pull your cloak on, feeling safe and warm under the red material. Hoseok looks up at you, thrusting his thumb at one of the drawings of a horse. “I don’t look like that, right?”

The red cloak tied around you wicks the sweat from the back of your neck. Your fingers work quickly as you tie it, knowing you’re already late to meeting Dr. Kim. Thankfully, you don’t make a habit of being late and you’re sure he won’t mind too much.

Strange dreams had plagued you all night. Images of wolves, blood and mist. Echoes of howling, screaming and thunder. Now as you hurry out of your home and into the wicked wind of winter, you cannot shake a sense of premonition.

Dr. Kim is already on the doorstep when you arrive at the veterinary office, a heavy coat on his shoulders and a bag of tools in his hand. He nods when he sees you and comes down the steps, turning toward the south exit of the village.

Neither of you speak. Beyond the fact that you don’t think you’d be able to hear Dr. Kim over the howling wind, it doesn’t feel like the kind of trip that requires speaking. The evergreens on either side of the road loom over you, bows heavy with snow. Every so often, a branch cracks with the weight of frozen icicles, making you flinch with the sound.

It feels like you’re being watched. Every so often, you swivel your head this way and that, glancing at the trees. The trunks are too close together and the branches to tangle to see beyond them on either side of the road. Still, your skin tingles from something beyond the cold, you just don’t know what.

The Marrow farm is only a little over a mile from the main village, but the snow covered roads make it slow going. As you near the edge of where their acres begin, your boots are already heavy with melted slush and your calves and thighs burn from dragging your feet through the path.

Perhaps it was not a good day to do a house call.

Passing white-covered gates, you’re thankful that at least the wind has died down as the morning turns into midday. The sun is hidden by clouds, but there is a hint of warmth in the air. The Marrow farm is made up of three buildings: the small house in front, the large barn to the back left where they keep their animals, and a giant silo for grains.

As you near the house, a loud banging reaches you. Both you and Dr. Kim pause, listening as the sound carries on the wind. It doesn’t sound like hammering, but rather like a door slamming over and over again.

“Barn door?” you suggest, looking up at Dr. Kim. His dark eyes look at the house, expression grim. “But why would they let it slam relentlessly?”

“Keep your wits about you,” he murmurs, ignoring your question. “Go to the main house. I’ll go round to the barn. Perhaps they’ve forgotten the appointment.”

No smoke comes from the chimney. No snow is cleared from the footpath to the door. The shutters are closed, which makes sense to keep the cold out. As you approach the steps leading up to the porch, you note that none of the hounds are baying. The Marrow’s have several bloodhounds, all of which keep noisy providence around the threshold of the door.

Spine tingling, you lift your hand and knock. There’s no answer. You strain your ears, leaning forward for any hint that the Marrow’s or one of their two sons are coming to the door. Not even the dogs alert them of your presence.

You think about San finding the Mathesons butchered and your stomach drops. You knock again, knuckles stinging with cold as they rap harshly against the wooden door. Tucking your hand back into your cloak, you wait.

Nothing comes.

Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door and twist the handle. It opens easily, swinging inward to a cold, empty home. Inside, the air is still and dead. Behind you, the breeze brushes the edges of your cloak and the hood on your head.

Silence hangs. Licking your lips, you lift a foot. It hands over the threshold, fear making you pause. There is nothing inside the home, and yet you find that you’re utterly terrified of stepping inside. Your stomach knots and for a few moments, you just stand there with your foot in the air, staring with unseeing eyes into the dark interior.

You step into the room and pause. Nothing happens. The air inside the home is stale, like the doors and windows have not been opened for a few days. The cold is bone deep, clinging to the undisturbed air. You scan the room for any sign of life, but see nothing that stirs.

Everything looks lived in. There are knitted blankets tossed across the backs of old arm chairs, boots by the door, unlaced and soft with age. Mugs have been turned upside down and placed on a towel near the basin for drying, and there are dice on the kitchen table.

Navigating slowly, you move to the hall with bedrooms. Doors hang open, revealing unmade beds and clothes on the floor. Here too, the air feels undisturbed. You hear the breeze outside and the soft creak of the house, but nothing else makes a sound, save for the loud beating of your own heart.

Shivering, you make your way to the front of the home. Something foul hangs in the air and you want to be rid of the feeling, quickening your steps to leave through the front door and-

Fear stabs deep into your stomach when you see the wolf standing in the doorway. It stands half in the home, half out, only the front two paws over the threshold. The beast barely fits in the door frame, wide as two men standing side by side and tall as a horse.

You don’t move. It stares at you with bright, burning eyes. Its fur is dark, though there is a jagged ring of light fur around the right, front paw. You swear you smell pine and bergamot. Something nudges at the back of your mind as the two of you stand off - and it clicks into place.

“You,” you breathe. “You’re the wolf I helped!”

For a moment, the bright yellow eyes stare at you. They’re unreadable, and yet… emotive. Intelligent. Understanding. The wolf dips its snout in a nod.

“What are you doing here? Where are the Marrows?”

The wolf’s ears flicker. Slowly, it backs out of the house. Throwing caution to the wind, you rush after him, nearly tripping over a wolfskin rug in the home.

Outside, the wolf stands below the porch. You step on the porch and pull up short, heart racing as you see the pack of wolves standing in front of the home.

The wolves are a variety of colors and sizes. You dare not move your head, but you scan them with your eyes, drinking in the different creatures. The only thing that they have in common is that they are freakishly large.

Your wolf - for in your mind he’s yours - stands in front of you. He growls, hair on his spine raising as he regards the other wolves. There’s a silent standoff of sorts, the wolf you saved facing the others. You cannot understand their body language, but the air seems charged.

The smell of smoke is in the air. You don’t dare look for the source, too afraid to do anything to disrupt the standoff. Breathing in deeply, you think you smell cedar. Oil. Something else that you can’t identify.

Footsteps crunch the snow. You whip your head to the side, a warning on your tongue as Dr. Kim rounds the house, a haunted expression on his face. He stops abruptly, looking at the display in front of him behind frosted glasses. He says nothing - does nothing but glance between you, the wolf in front of you, and the others.

Finally, one of the other wolves chuffs and shakes, dispelling snow. It has an all white coat and intense, dark eyes that look at you with… annoyance, if wolves can look annoyed. It turns to leave and the others follow - all five of them - as the white wolf leads them at a loping trot toward the silo and the woods beyond.

Your wolf turns to peer at you, ears flicking before it breaks off into a run, trailing after its pack to leave you and Dr. Kim standing in silence, watching them go.

Slowly, you turn to Dr. Kim. He scrutinizes you, eyes squinted. “Where did you get that cloak?”

You look down at the rich, red cloth. “I… well it just appeared, one day when I was younger. I don’t know.”

He regards you suspiciously. “I see. Come. We must leave right away.”

Dr. Kim begins walking at a fast pace back toward town, clutching his tool case. “Wait! Where are the Morrows?”

Instead of answering, Dr. Kim continues on. You scramble after him, careful not to slip on the icy stairs. The wind picks up and you smell a fire again, making you turn back as you try to catch up. You almost stumble over your feet, eyebrows shooting up as you see orange flames consuming the barn.

“Dr. Kim!”

Again, he says nothing. You stop and stare, watching as the fire eats away at the barn. The smoke burns black. Fueled by oil, you think. Looking over your shoulder, you watch Dr. Kim’s retreating back and wonder what exactly it is that he’s done.

“Did you set that fire?” you demand, chasing him. He gives you a withering look. “What is going on?”

“Speak nothing of this,” he snaps. “We arrived here to make a housecall and discovered that the barn was on fire. We suspect that Mr. Marrow was burning to melt the snow around the barn and that the barn caught. The Marrow family died inside trying to put out the fire.”

“But the wolves-”

“Do not mention the wolves, girl.”

“Did they kill the Marrows?” His jaw works but he doesn’t answer. “Did they kill the Mathesons?”

“This village has a complicated history,” he says finally. He pulls his coat tighter. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to stay out of it. Say nothing of the wolves and stay away from them. You’ll make it through winter.”

Two weeks pass, the secret heavy on your tongue. You work with Dr. Kim as though nothing happened, and when people ask about the Marrow farm, you recite vague details. You don’t know why you do it but… the image of the wolf - your wolf - floats in your mind each time you spit out the lie.

Thoughts plague you as Hoseok lounges on the porch of the office that belongs to Hoseok’s father, who acts as the town’s scribe and legal affairs recorder. A sudden warm day has brought everyone outdoors, lounging on their porches and trying to take advantage of the melting snow around the buildings. The streets are muddy and murky as kids run by, feet splashing.

A group of men prowl around the outskirts of the village. Sun shines through the slats of the overhang in front of the inn, warming where you lean on the porch railing. Hoseok rattles on about gossip he’s heard from his mother’s tea parties and his father’s work on will and testaments with the growing fear of death in the village.

“Plagues, serial killings, blood feuds and animal attacks,” Hoseok sighs, staring up at the ceiling where he lies. “Good for father’s business. Bad for my cramping hand trying to help him.”

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally, thoughts lost as you stare out into the street with unseeing eyes.

Shouts make you flinch. You stand rod straight, gripping the railing as you look for the source of the disruption. Hoseok stands up immediately, joining you at the railing as the pair of you lean to look toward the entrance to the town.

At first, you think that it’s about another wolf attack. People rush into the street, looking toward the commotion. Then you see it. Gleeful cheers spring up to the buildings closest to the town’s entrance as the first few traders enter the road. Your heart soars when you see donkeys pulling a cart behind them, followed by more people carrying packs and towing small carts.

“The traders!” You breathe, feeling a sigh of relief sweep through you. “They’ve made it!”

Excitement ripples through the village. People come flocking from the buildings to welcome cart after cart full of people. Some traders tow full carriages with riders at the front, the shutters on their carriages tied shut, hiding their wares inside.

Hoseok lounges back down, letting out a sigh of relief. You feel the same, leaning on the railing again to watch as the carts are towed down the road, pulling down different streets to set up shop and find accommodations.

Most of the traders look vaguely familiar to you - you see the Robin’s with their cloth cart and Morty with his towering carriage of unusual wares and charms. The Yang twins set off small, popping fireworks from the back of their cart, making the children squeal.

Something catches your eye. “There are more traders than usual,” you tell Hoseok, frowning as your eyes settle on the large men who walk among the carts, all of whom wear weapons belts and look from side to side as they walk. “I think they’re warriors, Hoseok.”

“Warriors?” he laughs. “Strange.”

“No really, there are several men with blades at the hip and bows on the back. They look… guarded.”

He tilts his head, eyeing where your eyes flit from person to person. “Perhaps the road is as hard as we suspected this year.”

You hum in agreement, watching as the caravans stop and unload, the muddy streets filling with people and chatter and bubbling with excitement. It feels like the bubble of anxiety looming over the town has popped - at least temporarily - relieving the pressure that had been building with every passing day.

Leaning against the rail, you’re content to observe. All manner of people and things are pulled from carts. Vendors start setting up right away, people forming lines for ingredients, cloth, and wares. The largest line of all is for weapons and metal tools, Old Man Heo barely has time to park his cart before the men of the village ask how much for iron arrowheads and blades.

A shiver goes through you as your eyes sweep back toward the town entrance where more people pour in. Fewer caravans come through - now it’s just people with pack mules or bags over their shoulders.

The hairs on your arm stand up when you see him. Wind lifts the edge of your cloak, making it flutter around you. You watch as he walks down the main street with the other travelers, eyes flicking around as he drinks in the buildings and the crowd of villagers coming to welcome the traders.

As though he senses your staring, his head snaps to you. You feel frozen to the spot, your fingers tightening on the rail as you meet his eyes. They’re unfathomably dark and yet… a tingle of familiarity slithers up your spine.

He stares at you in turn. You’re sure he’s looking at you, paused near the cart he stands next to, dark gaze focused on where you stand on the porch.

You’ve never seen him. You’re sure of it. You’d remember a handsome face like that anywhere. His long, dark hair is pushed back from his face, revealing a sharp jawline, a strong nose, and intense eyes. His lips are red from the cold - pretty against tan skin.

He’s tall. Taller than most men in the village and broad, with strong shoulders and thick arms, though it’s hard to tell underneath his tunic. Like the other hardy men accompanying traders, he has a weapons belt snug around his waist and the bulk of his frame implies that he knows how to use them.

The man doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth begins to tilt in what you think might be the start of a smile when Hoseok sits up abruptly, startling you. You break eye contact, looking at Hoseok who bites into an apple, offering you one.

“You frightened me,” you snap, a little irritated at being distracted. When you glance back up at the man, his attention is elsewhere.

“What were you staring at anyway?” he asks, crunching bits of apple.

“Nothing,” you murmur, eyes on the flexing back of the man as he helps unload a wagon near the inn. Something niggles at the back of your mind. I know you. “Nothing at all.”

“Want to visit the vendors later when they’re all set up? I would love to get some spiced wine and listen to Marla’s stories tonight.”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “Let’s do just that.”

Every minute that passes by feels like an eternity. Incurable energy simmers under the surface as you wait for the day to fade to evening. You clean the entire house, you collect wood from outside, you dress and then change into something else, and you ultimately end up pacing back and forth in your room while you wait for Hoseok to arrive.

Your thoughts are consumed by the mystery man you had seen earlier. His handsome face swims in your memory. The clear image of his face is accompanied by some feeling you cannot identify, something that almost feels like nostalgia. How can you feel nostalgia for someone you don’t know?

Hoseok finally arrives, letting himself into your house cheerily. The brief respite from winter is already bleeding away, the wind carrying a painful promise as it lifts your hood outside. The traders, it seems, arrived at the perfect time, the cloudy sky promising snow in the morning once more.

Energy sizzles in the air. It’s as though the momentary fear of the wolf attacks is momentarily forgotten with the arrival of the vendors and travelers. The noise echoes from every street, torches, and fires lighting up the alleyways and down as people hang lamps in the windows and carts string up tea lights.

Though you’re nervous, you are temporarily distracted as Hoseok pulls you through a tangle of carts toward Sal’s Sweets. Your stomach grumbles when you catch the scent of melting sugar and sweet confections, joining the line at Hoseok’s side to pick up hot, sticky sweets.

With hot, sweet rolls drizzled in honey in hand, you and Hoseok explore the vendor carts. It is an explosion of color and lights, glittering jewelry hanging from displays, hot meats sizzling in pants over fires, the flash of powder and light as the Yang twins set off more fireworks, and the smell of spices as you pass by herb carts and tents.

Everywhere you go, you see the men from before, looming near carts with weapons and steely expressions. But not even the eerie sight of them can bring down the spirits of the villagers, kids running with new kites and jars full of fireflies.

As you stand in line with Hoseok who wants new inkwells, you listen to passing chatter. From what you gather, it was a hard trip this way on the caravans this year. The winter was just as harsh on the road as it was in the village, and the traders' voices become quiet when they talk about thieves and monsters in the woods.

You exchange a glance with Hoseok and he nods. Wolves.

Wordlessly, you wait as Hoseok points out the inks that he wants. You begin to crane your neck, looking for the familiar stranger that you had seen before. The square is crowded and packed tight with people, making it nearly impossible to make out much beyond a few feet in front of you.

You spot Dr. Kim walking next to Seokjin, both of their heads bowed as they speak to one another. You narrow your eyes, remembering the way Dr. Kim had silenced you at the Marrow farm. You watch them as they head toward the road that the veterinary practice is on, pausing as a man pushes off the wall to join them.

It’s him you realize. You recognize the broad shoulders and the dark hair as he turns his back to you, walking with the Kims down the road. You don’t even have to think twice.

“Hey,” you tug Hoseok’s sleeve. “I’m going to go see Dr. Kim about something really quick. I’ll meet you at the inn?”

“Sure.” He frowns. “Is it safe to go alone?”

“With all of these people?” You’re already backing away and shrugging. “Definitely.”

Without waiting for Hoseok to respond, you turn on your heel and rush into the crowd. The bodies of people immediately swallow you. The sound and sights and smells become a blur as you push through the crowd, shouldering people aside. You get some nasty looks from the force at which you move, but they immediately forget you as more people press in.

Less people pass you by as you walk up the street, pulling your cloak in tight. The lights in front of the building are off. You creep up the stairs and try the handle, finding it locked. It doesn’t matter, you sneak around the back of the building to the rear entrance and press your ear to the door. When you hear nothing, you try the handle and it twists.

Victorious, you open the door and slide through. The hallway is narrow with four doors on the right leading to examination rooms and two doors on the left. The first door leads to the kennel area where you hear voices. The second leads to the front lobby and desk.

The front lobby is the safest option, lest you get caught eavesdropping in the hallway when they leave. Carefully, you creep by the door, holding your breath and praying the floor doesn’t creak. Your heart pounds as you inch past the door, hearing deep voices on the other side as you go by.

Clearing the door, you hurry into the lobby and to the door behind the desk that leads to the kennels. Crouching down low to hide yourself from anyone walking by the windows, you carefully pull the door open, unwilling to open it any further than the width of your index finger. Pressing your ear to the open gap, you listen.

“We talked about discretion,” Dr. Kim says, his voice frustrated. “This isn’t discretion. This is harassment and fear-mongering.”

“I told you,” a deep, smooth voice answers. You assume it must belong to the stranger and you shiver, eyes fluttering as the sound of it washes over you. “It isn’t my decision to make. I do not lead. Yoongi made it very clear how he wishes to proceed.”

“Yoongi is a lunatic.”

“He’s the alpha.”

You frown. Alpha? You’re familiar with the concept of alphas in packs of dogs and herding animals, but you don’t know what that has to do with people or who Yoongi is.

“The hunts will begin tomorrow.”

You think Dr. Kim means the hunting for the wolves. It makes sense now that the traders are in town and they can stock up on weapons.

“As is the way of things,” the stranger answers with a sigh. “You know why Yoongi has chosen this path.”

“Is revenge worth it?”

“Perhaps your kind do not understand.” The stranger’s voice hardens. You wonder what he means by your kind. “You have one foot in the forest, one in the village.”

“We understand, but we’re also not reckless.” Charged quiet hangs in the air. You hold your breath, your heart thundering in your chest, waiting for the sound of footsteps at the end of a conversation. “Why are you here, Namjoon? You came alone.”

Namjoon. The name washes over you, a warm feeling like the first spray of summer rain. It must be the stranger's name.

Namjoon answers, “There is… a protected here. But I still fear for them. Yoongi and the others are angry - I wish to further keep them from harm.”

A frown twists your mouth. This Namjoon is here to protect someone from Yoongi. You wonder what this has to do with Dr. Kim. Could… Perhaps someone is using the wolves as tools? You’ve certainly seen a hunter train wolves or wolfhounds before, though it’s a dangerous business.

Dr. Kim sighs. “That is the only saving grace of you being here, I’m afraid. Seokjin and I cannot help you. Not without exposing ourselves. I’ve already done what I can.”

“You have my greatest thanks for that. You and yours will always be safe. And not just because of your blood.”

Shuffling makes you lean away from the door immediately. You slowly drop it back in place before crawling over to the desk and hiding under it, straining your hearing as the footsteps go into the back hall and out of the back door. You remain there long after you hear the back door shut, waiting just in case they’re still outside.

When you’re sure they’ve gone, you crawl out from underneath the desk and hurry into the hall and out the back door. The alley is empty when you stick your head out, sagging with relief. You hurry out and close the door behind you, spinning around and-

“You know, most people who don’t want to be seen don’t sneak around in a red cloak.”

The man - Namjoon - looms over you, looking down at you with an amused expression. Your scream is cut off when he winces and cups your mouth with his hand. “Well don’t scream! You’ll summon Giho and Seokjin back this way. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Namjoon waits for a moment, your chest heaving as you nod, signifying that you won’t scream for help. Maybe it’s silly, but you trust him not to hurt you. At the least, he is there to protect someone in the village, so he doesn’t seem like he’s there for nefarious reasons.

When he drops his hands, you press yourself against the door, trying to put a little distance between you. Namjoon’s presence is demanding, a tickle prickling at the base of your spine as you look up at him, mystified.

He’s so beautiful. Up close, you can make out his features far better than earlier that day. His eyes are dark and framed by beautiful, silken lashes. His nose is broad and his jaw is sharp. A dimple appears when he gives you a lopsided grin, dark eyes sizing you up.

The same sense of familiarity from earlier comes back to you, and though you’ve never seen his face before, you swear you know him. Warmth radiates from him, the delicate smell of pine and bergamot reaching you. He feels like… yours. Like some part of him completes you. It is the strangest feeling.

“You okay, Red?” he asks, tone earnest. You furrow your brows at the term and he grins - genuine and warm. “Your cloak. It’s a very bright red. Pretty, though.”

“Thank you?”

He raises a brow. “Are you asking me?”

“I’m… you’re awfully close.”

Namjoon takes a few steps back from you. You suddenly regret saying something as his warmth vanishes, replaced by the cool wind. “Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Why didn’t you alert Dr. Kim if you knew I was snooping.”

“You don’t seem to be a threat. Plus, he’s a bit of a grouch. It didn’t seem worth it to hear him chastise a pretty girl.”

You flush. “How do you know the Kims?”

“Family friends.”

“What were you all talking about?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Just because I’m not chastising you for listening to our private conversation doesn’t mean I’m going to divulge the details of said private conversation.”

You divert your gaze, feeling flushed. He has a point, but if he’s put out by your line of questioning or your eavesdropping, he doesn’t show it. “Come on,” Namjoon says. “Let’s go back to the square. I need a drink and it’s dangerous to walk around right now.”

“Because of the wolves?”

He stares at you. “Because it’s dark and there are a bunch of strangers in your town, and you’re a woman alone. In the dark.”

“You’re a stranger in my town.”

His grin spreads and his dimple deepens. Your stomach flutters. You’re not unaffected by him, a little dizzy and nervous when he sticks out a hand. “Namjoon. I’m a part of the Kim family.”

“Like… Dr. Kim?” you ask, reaching out your hand and giving him your name.

“We’re related, in a way. Pretty name. I think I’ll stick with Red, though.”

Namjoon takes off walking. For a second, you just stand and stare at him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t look back. You lick your lips, heart pounding. You cannot shake the sense of something peculiar about him, something familiar. He’s a Kim - perhaps you know him.

Determined to find out, you take off after him, scurrying to catch up. You fall into step with him and look up to find him smirking down at you before focusing back on the growing noise and lights of the main square.

“Have you been here before?” you ask, watching him from the corner of your eye. He shakes his head and you frown. “I feel like I know you.”

“Perhaps I have one of those faces?”

“No, I’d remember a face like yours.”

Namjoon turns to you, arching a brow. “A face like mine, huh?”

Multiple fire pits dot the streets, groups of people clustered around them to keep warm as the chill seeps back into the village. The inn is bustling with people, the door propped open with a chair as people walk in and out with platters of food and tankards in hand. Multiple villagers have pulled out tables and chairs from their homes, setting them up in the street.

It feels good. The air hums with euphoria and the promise of better days ahead, like suddenly there are not several families mourning their loved ones. The atmosphere reminds you of a festival, and you suppose it kind of is a festival.

The smell of burning fat and ale hits your nose as you walk into the inn. Voices roar over one another and the workers are busy behind the bar. A fireplace crackles in the far corner where you spot Hoseok guarding an extra chair.

“I fear this is where we part ways,” Namjoon announces over the din of voices. “Try not to do any more eavesdropping tonight.” You hesitate, wanting to protest. There are a million burning questions you have for him. He must see it in your face, because he smiles and says, “We’ll run into one another again. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

You were actually, and you know he knows by his smirk. “Goodnight, Red.”

You watch Namjoon go. He moves toward where the innkeeper stands at a podium looking over reservations, blending into the crowd. Just before he reaches the podium he glances over his shoulder at you, catching you watching. He shoots you a grin and you scowl, pivoting on your heel to charge toward Hoseok.

Hoseok raises his eyebrows when he sees you storm over to him and yank the chair out from the table, sitting down in a huff. Without a word, you snatch his tankard of ale and take several, cold gulps before setting it on the table, letting it wash through you.

“Who was that you came in with? And then stormed over here after speaking to?”

“Some relative of the Kims,” you mutter. “I find him very… frustrating.”

“He’s very handsome.”

You glare at Hoseok and see the beginning of a wicked smile. “And frustrating.”

He lifts his cup, shrugging. “Cheers to being frustrating.”

A scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You lurch up from bed, head spinning as you try to gather your wits about you. Blankets tangle your limbs as you try to peel them from sweaty skin. Another scream makes you stumble out of bed, the world tilting on its axis as your body tries to catch up with your sudden lucidity.

In the main room of your home, your mother is stumbling through the kitchen too, lighting a candle and grabbing a holder. You feel relief as you realize the screaming isn’t coming from your home, but your neighbor’s.

Together, you and your mother rush out into the cold in nightgowns, not bothering with shoes or coats. The cold is bitter, immediately stinging your skin as the Liang family joins you in running to the Hutch family home where it sounds like Mrs. Hutch is screaming like a wild animal in her house.

“It’s Leanne,” your mother breathes, words turning to steam in the air.

“Come on,” you urge, pulling your mother as you go, driven by the shrieks.

The front door hangs open as Mr. Liang enters the home first, an ax in hand. It occurs to you that neither you nor your mother have weapons, but Mrs. Hutch has always been kind to your mother, making the both of you charge into the darkness of her home empty-handed.

A metallic tang hits you immediately. You recoil, recognizing the stench of blood immediately. Villagers spill into the home behind you, alerted to the wailing coming from the bedroom. With torches and candles in hand, you spot the red on the dark wood floor in the hallway.

Mr. Liang stands in the doorway of the bedroom, staring with a haunted gaze at what he sees there. Your mother pushes through the people in the home to look over his shoulder, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasps.

“Oh Leanne,” she murmurs in horror, shoving by Mr. Liang.

You don’t go to the room. The smell and the weeping coming from the bedroom give you an inkling of what lay inside. You stand in the living room as people fill the hall, gasping and murmuring. Someone shouts to wake the constable.

“Why?” Mrs. Hutch screams in her room, the despair in her voice rattling your bones. “Why?”

“His throat has been cut,” someone murmurs from the hall. “Murdered in bed.”

Murdered? That throws you for a loop. You had assumed somehow it was an animal attack but… you shiver. Murder is different.

Mr. Liang begins shooing people out of the house. You slink out into the cold and hurry to your own home, bare feet freezing in the cold, wet earth. Your mother stays with Mrs. Hutch, leaving you alone.

The dark presses in on you, every creak of a floorboard making you jump. The shadows seem menacing now and you’re quick to find and light a candle, orange light flooding the home.

Cloth and candle in hand, you return to your room to wipe the cold mud from your feet, skin still burning from the frigid air. Voices carry in from outside, the entire town waking and gathering as the shock of murder ripples through the streets, a stone in a pond.

With sleep nowhere near possible for the remainder of the night, you get dressed. You pull on thick woolen pants, a tunic, and multiple socks, sticking your feet in your boots. Your cloak goes next, fastening it around your throat as you look out your bedroom window.

Your home sits at an angle in a row of houses that circle the village like a ring. You can see the wall of the home next to you, and a sliver of the backyard as well. It’s that tiny space in the backyard that catches your eye, watching as someone moves from the edge of the home out of sight.

Heart in your throat, you grab a candle and run outside. The crowd in front of the Hutch’s has grown, but you ignore them, skirting around your house to the alleyway between you and your neighbor. Nothing catches your eye as you run to the backyard, swiveling as you search in the darkness for the shadow you saw.

The wind howls, drowning out the voices in the street. The treeline behind the houses is dark. You squint your eyes and lift the candle in your hand, the flame barely flickering as the wind makes the trees sway. There is nothing in the darkness and you begin to turn when you see a shadow in the tree line.

It’s barely there - perhaps a trick of the light, even. You take a step forward, boots crunching in the snow. A gust of wind makes your cloak snap at your ankles, candle going out and leaving you without a source of light. You had not realized how dark it was without it, the shadow vanishing from your line of sight.

Fear nestles in the pit of your stomach. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs as your limbs lock, realizing how stupid it was to come outside if there was a killer among the trees. Soft snow crunches somewhere close to you. You squeeze your eyes shut, tucking your chin to your chest as panic makes you shut down, unable to move and-

“Red.”

Namjoon’s voice makes you spin around. He holds a torch level with his head, the flame casting an eerie glow on his face. For a moment, he looks lupine and terrifying, your heart nearly stuttering to a halt.

Then his face twists in concern. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“What are you doing?”

“Dr. Kim sent me over to check on you. No one answered the door so I came around back.”

“Why?”

Namjoon seems confused. “Why did I come around back or why did he send me?”

“Both.”

“I could see the light of your candle and because a murder has just happened.”

You relax a little at the logic in his answer. Snow begins to fall from the sky. You look up at the moonless black, thick clouds floating as the bits of snow drift on the breeze. You shiver and look back to the trees, seeing nothing but tightly packed pines. Still, there is an instinctual sense of trepidation that sits heavy in your gut.

“Come on,” Namjoon says gently. “Let’s go inside. I’ll wait with you until your mother comes home.”

Reluctantly, you follow Namjoon. Eyeing him, you realize he is dressed differently than previously that night. Now, he’s in black breeches and a black linen shirt. The weapons belt is gone and he’s without a coat.

You frown. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I run warm.”

It’s the only answer that he gives you as you walk back into the street which is filled with people and torches. In the distance, you hear the baying of hounds. It chills you, goosebumps exploding up and down your arms as you watch a cluster of firelights gather far off down the road.

“The constable is leading a manhunt. They’ll come to question us too.”

Wordlessly you gesture for Namjoon to join you inside of your home. He closes the door firmly behind you and strides to the fireplace, using the torch to coax the simmering logs to a full flame. Cedar pops as he adds the torch to the fire, orange embers drifting up the chimney.

Rubbing your hands together, you offer him tea and he accepts with a soft smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes as he looks around the only place you’ve ever called home. Suddenly shy of your less-than-luxurious surroundings, you clear your throat and gesture to one of the mismatched armchairs by the fire as you grab a kettle.

Namjoon hardly fits in the chair. You press your lips to keep from laughing, which feels inappropriate with a man dead just a few yards away. With careful hands, you hang the kettle next to the fire, the flame close enough to heat the water as you scurry back to the kitchen and fill tea bags with herbs.

“What kind of tea do you like?”

“Yarrow, if you have it.”

“I do.” You grab the jar, popping the top. “Are you in great pain, Mr. Kim?”

“Call me Namjoon. Mr. Kim feels far too formal.”

“Well, we are strangers, after all.”

Namjoon certainly doesn’t feel like a stranger. You cast him a sidelong glance as you say it, looking for his reaction. He turns his head from the fire, meeting your gaze head-on. His lips curve in a secret smile, making your nerves dance.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Is it? You wonder. You’re not so sure.

Instead of asking him, you bring the mugs with bags of tea over to where he sits, handing him one. Steam rises from the spout of the teapot. With a thick towel, you lift it off of the hanger. Namjoon holds out his cup and lets you pour carefully into his mug, the smell of yarrow and mint wafting toward you. After pouring your own cup, you set the kettle down and sit across from him.

Your cold hands leech the warmth from the mug. You settle comfortably in the chair, relaxing and inhaling the chamomile in your cup. After a few moments of silence, you realize how comfortable and safe you feel with Namjoon, though you’ve only known him for a few short hours.

“Why have you come to the village?”

Namjoon watches the fire as he answers, “You were eavesdropping at the veterinary office. I’m sure you heard me.” You look down at your steaming cup and Namjoon chuckles, raspy and deep. It’s a nice sound.

“You said there was a ‘protected’ here. And something about a Yoongi.”

Namjoon’s face darkens at the mention of Yoongi. You chew on your lip, worried you’ve pushed him too far before you’ve even started to ask him real questions. His jaw works as he contemplates what you’ve said, sipping the tea a little.

“A protected just means someone under protection by my family,” Namjoon says finally. “My extended family is… large. We are a very close group and we consider those in our community blood.”

“It is… not always like that here.”

“Your mother assists Mrs. Hutch, though. That seems like family, in a way.”

“Mrs. Hutch is kind. Not everyone is.”

Namjoon nods. “It is not like that where I am from. We bear the sins of our neighbors and we share the responsibility of keeping everyone safe.”

“That must be nice.” You sip your tea and scald your tongue, hissing and setting the cup down. Namjoon leans forward as though to help you, alarm on his face. “Tea is too hot. I don’t know how you drink it.”

He smiles and shrugs. “I run warm.”

“So you said. How are you related to Dr. Kim?”

“He’s my uncle. He’s my father’s brother. His wife was best friends with my mom.”

“Oh.” You blink in surprise. “She passed away when I was very young. She… died the same winter as my father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Namjoon frowns and cocks his head. “What did your father do?”

“He was a hunter.”

One of the logs pops in the fireplace, making you flinch. You give a nervous laugh and glance at Namjoon, who has gone stone-still. The firelight dances on his face as he peers at you. Your smile falters a little at the gravity you find there.

“He only hunted fowl and deer,” you find yourself explaining. You don’t know why you say it, only that suddenly that feels important. “He didn’t like to hunt bigger game or predators. Mother says that he believed they were best left alone and that a true hunter knows his betters when he sees them.”

Namjoon hums. “Smart man.”

“I don’t know. He died in an animal attack when I was very young.”

“You must resent the woods.”

“Not at all. I think…” You bite your bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “I think that he wouldn’t blame the animals. The woods are their home. My mother says he was always very adamant about that. They don’t usually attack villagers, though.”

“Usually?”

“There are animal attacks happening. I’m sure Dr. Kim told you…?”

“Ah, yes. You think they’re without reason?”

“Perhaps hunger? I don’t know. It does not happen often.”

“Wolves are not known to hunt people.” Namjoon’s fingers drum against his mug, a steady tap. He seems thoughtful as he regards you. “They’re intelligent creatures and their packs are important to them. They take the threat to their land and their family seriously.”

“Like your family?”

He laughs. “Like my family.” Namjoon sips his tea again. “This land used to belong to several packs of wolves, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yes, until settlers drove them out. Not that long ago there were hunting parties for sport. They slaughtered entire packs, destroying bloodlines and nearly wiping out the wolves here entirely.”

“I always found that incredibly sad.”

“Why is that?”

“They’re incredibly important to the ecosystem here. And I guess I always agreed with my dad. I don’t remember him much, but I like to remember that he was good at heart.”

Namjoon hums but says nothing else. You sit in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Namjoon’s presence is steady, keeping out the cold and the fear just beyond the door. You wonder how he does that by just sitting in a chair, or how it feels so natural.

Outside, the world begins to turn gray. You yawn as exhaustion begins to set in and you feel yourself sagging. Eyes burning, you rub them with the back of your hands, blinking a few times to fight the explosion of colors in your vision.

“You can sleep,” Namjoon says softly from where he sits. You glance at him. “You can trust me.”

A hint of pine and bergamot drift toward you, making you drowsy. Namjoon grabs a blanket from the back of his chair and stands up, bringing it to you. He takes your mug and you watch him with sleepy, round eyes as he places the blanket over you.

“Sleep.” His voice is soft, distant. “I will be here.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you drift to sleep, remembering the warm sound of his voice. It… reminds you of your wolf.

Gentle voices pull you from the clutches of sleep. You wake slowly, a cramp in your neck making you reluctant to get up. You smell the fire and the hint of pine and bergamot. You hear a low, raspy voice that you instantly recognize as Namjoon.

How swiftly I know his voice, you think.

“You must wake her,” a male voice says. You recognize it as Dr. Kim. “The constable is coming for questioning.”

“She’s already awake,” Namjoon answers, a smile in his voice. Your eyes snap open at being caught, meeting his dark gaze as he smirks from near your door. “See?”

You scowl at him. How did he know that? Sitting up and stretching, you appraise the two men lurking near your door. “Is my mother still with Mrs. Hutch?”

Dr. Kim nods and steps swiftly into the room around Namjoon. Namjoon reaches out a hand, catching Dr. Kim with his arm and stopping him from entering the room properly. You watch in puzzlement as there’s a silent exchange between the two of them, Namjoon’s face dark as Dr. Kim raises a brow.

Then, Namjoon lets him go. You cock your head to the side, wondering what that’s about. Ignoring Namjoon, Dr. Kim approaches and says, “The constable will be here shortly. Say nothing about the farm.”

The farm. The memory of the wolves brings a chill to your arm, the smell of smoke and burning oil. The confusion and Dr. Kim’s refusal to answer your questions.

“What is going on?” you demand, eyes flickering from Dr. Kim to Namjoon. “Animal attacks, murders, you covering up something at the barn. I’m being lied to.”

“Say nothing about the farm,” Dr. Kim says again, voice firm. Namjoon makes a noise that startles you. It’s almost like a growl, your eyes going wide as he glares at Dr. Kim. “I told you this village has a complicated history. I’m looking after your safety.”

Heavy footsteps sound on the porch. There’s a loud knock on the door, the constable announcing his presence on the other side. Namjoon opens the door for him, standing back to let him in. The constable looks him up and down with confusion before looking at you, a question in his eyes.

“They came to check on me,” you offer. The constable has known you since you were a child, it’s no wonder he’s confused at the presence of a stranger in your home. “How can I help you, constable?”

“I’d like you to answer a few questions about last night. Mr. Liang confirmed you were one of the first people to Hutch’s last night.”

Dr. Kim walks to your kitchen and busies himself making tea. Namjoon moves to sit in the chair across from you, his warm presence from the night before replaced with something mildly threatening. You cut him a look but his dark eyes are focused on the constable as though he’s a threat.

The questions are easy enough. When did you wake up? Did you notice anyone around your home when you came home? Did you notice anyone outside? When did you come home?

You leave out running into Namjoon behind your home. You don’t know why, but you feel the need to not draw attention to him. You also leave out the strange incident at the farm, glancing sideways at Dr. Kim when he brings you lemon tea.

When the constable is finished, he eyes Dr. Kim. “Be at the station at four,” he instructs. “We’re splitting hunting parties. One to look for the culprit, the other to get rid of the damn wolves.”

“The wolves were there first, you know?” Namjoon speaks up, looking at you and not the constable. “Have you ever tried figuring out what they want?”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Please ignore my nephew, constable. He likes to insert himself in conversations he doesn’t belong in. Come, let’s look over the hounds before you send them out tonight.”

Together, the constable and Dr. Kim shuffle out. Before he shuts the door, Dr. Kim levels the pair of you with a heavy gaze. You don’t know what that gaze means, but you know that something is going on in this village and that he and Namjoon seem to have some idea about it.

As soon as the door shuts, you turn to Namjoon and demand, “What is going on?”

He sighs. “Would you listen if I just said to wait it out?”

“Do you know who murdered Mr. Hatch?”

Namjoon hesitates and shakes his head. You narrow your eyes, unbelieving. “I really don’t know who did, Red.”

“Why are you really here? Why all the secrets?”

“I told you, my family protects those who belong to their community.”

“What did you mean about asking what the wolves want?”

“I told you last night. There were wolves long before this village existed. Seems to me that if the wolves are suddenly killing the townspeople, perhaps it’s because they want their land back. Or maybe they’re angry from years of being hunted.”

That shuts you up. You can’t argue with that, exactly. But… “Are you saying that the wolves are capable of revenge?”

Namjoon stands and gestures to your cloak. “How often do you wear that?”

“Every day. It’s… sentimental to me.”

His eyes lighten and he offers a half smile. “Good. Red is a lucky color.”

“Where are you going?”

He opens the door, cold wind hissing past the opening. “Your mom is coming. I’ll see you later, Red.”

Without another word, Namjoon slips through the door and shuts it firmly behind him. You stare after him, openmouthed and confused. As promised, you hear your mother come up the steps, light feet scuffing before she quickly lets herself in, shutting the door firmly behind her.

You offer to make your mother breakfast, happy to help as she dozes in the chair. It isn’t until later that you wonder how Namjoon had heard her coming at all.

Little Lucy Larkin

In a little wood

Little Lucy Larkin

Up to no good

Little Lucy Larkin

In her little hood

Little Lucy Larkin

Ware of the woods!

Little Lucy Larkin

Stole a little bread

Little Lucy Larkin

In the woods of dread

Little Lucy Larkin

Is a little thief

Little Lucy Larkin

Die by wolf’s teeth

A sense of unease slithers up your spine as you pull your cloak closer. The voice of the children playing the Little Lucy Game echoes down the street and you pause to watch as the little boy playing Lucy steals the rock from the middle of the circle and the little boy playing the wolf gets up to chase him.

The other kids scream and giggle as the boys give chase, the sound of their laughter eerie in the cold gray of twilight. Shaking it off, you turn and duck your head as you walk up the steps to the Tall Tales Inn.

Warmth and the scent of food greet you. It’s a thinner crowd than the day before but still more people than you’re used to without the traders in town. There is a clear divide in the dining room with traders on one side and townsfolk on the other, the murder quick to make the locals distrust the new people in their streets.

Tense conversations hum in the gold light. You navigate around tables until you find Hoseok sitting with Seokjin. The sight of Seokjin gives you pause. He seems to sense your presence, glancing up and meeting your questioning stare. He gives no reaction, though, turning his attention back to Hoseok who is murmuring quietly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jin,” you say by way of greeting. Hoseok gives you a look at your clipped tone. You ignore it, sitting down and leveling the older man with a stare, his father’s mysteriousness weighing on you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He narrows his eyes a fraction. “Just enjoying the company of friends.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping the constable?”

“I’m on the late-night shift.”

Grinding your teeth, you sit roughly. Hoseok just watches you, brows raised. You say nothing as you order a drink and a meal, picking at the splinters of the tabletop, eyeing Seokjin. If he’s put out by your rudeness he doesn’t show it, drinking heartily from his tankard and watching you with dark, even eyes.

You know Seokjin knows whatever it is his father and Namjoon have been talking about. You yourself have not been able to work out what’s going on in the village, but you’re sure the Kims know. And if Dr. Kim asked you to lie to the constable… well perhaps Seokjin is leading him astray as well.

Hoseok pipes up, steering the conversation everywhere he can to avoid the tension building between you and Seokjin and the topics of murders. You participate as little as possible, mind trying to put together the puzzle pieces of the blooming mystery in your home.

An uncomfortable thought starts to take root in your mind. Is it possible that the Kim family is behind the murders? Dr. Kim has plenty of weapons at his disposal, and they had been talking about revenge, and Dr. Kim had covered up what happened at the Marrow’s farm… but what did that have to do with wolves?

You’re not sure. But you do know that the Kims are purposefully hiding things, that there is a murderer somewhere in the town or near it, and that there is a sense of doom that you cannot shake, a dark itch like stinging nettle in your bones.

Seokjin excuses himself to take an afternoon nap before his hunting party heads out for the evening. Your eyes track him as he goes. Seokjin certainly doesn’t seem evil, but there’s no telling what’s behind his pretty face.

“What is wrong with you?” Hoseok asks, leaning over the table and whispering harshly. “You’re behaving rather odd.”

“Something is going on.”

“Yes, your attitude.”

You turn and glare at him. “No, Hobi. Something is going on with the Kim family. I don’t know how to explain it.” You grip your cup tighter. “But I intend to figure it out.”

Hoseok questions you about what that means. You keep your answers vague, not wanting to rope him into your plan. Too often as children did you lure Hoseok into trouble, and with how dangerous night is becoming in your town, you know it’s a bad idea to endanger him too.

T sun sets over the village. You stand at your bedroom window, watching through the frosty window as the sun turns the sky into a smear of blood. The clouds have cleared away just for this sanguine sunset. It makes your stomach turn, a sense of foreboding heavy in the air.

Still, it doesn’t deter you. Red fades to gray-blue and gray-blue fades to black. Wind rattles the glass in the window pane. Turning from the window, you find your thickest pair of pants and fur-lined tunic. The fabric feels scratchy on your skin.

Dressed, you look at your red cloak folded on the bed. Any other night you would take it with you. It has become your safety net, something that keeps you warm and keeps you safe. You cannot recall a day you haven’t worn it since it mysteriously showed up thirteen years ago, but tonight, you need obscurity.

Instead, you reach for an old, thick cloak that used to belong to your father. It's dark brown and worn at the edges, a little too big for you as the hem brushes the ground. It will serve its purpose in keeping you hidden in the dark of the woods, though.

All you grab is a hunting knife that you don’t know how to use, a wax candle, and a solid piece of flint and sharp rock to light it with. The candle and flint are for emergencies only. You hope it won’t be so dark that you cannot see, but you’re unsure what the clouds are going to do.

Outside, the wind is sharp. Your nostrils burn as you breathe it in and duck away behind your house. No new snow has fallen during the day, which is a good thing. You don’t have to worry about dragging your boots and tiring your calves. It also helps that the sky is clear tonight, the moon a sliver of sharp light.

Baying hounds echo through the village and the forest as the hunting dogs lead the men into the woods. You’re quick on your feet, dashing into the woods and heading north. You don’t want to run right into the hunting party, but you do want to find their burning torches and keep them in your line of sight.

They are easy to find, hovering like orange fireflies in the distance. Careful to make your way in the dark, you follow them. Your breath mists in front of you, hands shaking more from the adrenaline than the cold.

The torches spread out. You chew on your lip, unsure which group would belong to Seokjin. You take a gamble, heading after the group closest to you.

Everything feels too loud. Each snap of a branch under your foot and crunch of dry leaves feels like it’s going to give you away. Still, you’re good at sneaking for the most part, having spent plenty of time skulking through the village to take nightly strolls in the woods.

Voices carry to you. Through a system of running a few steps forward and dodging behind a tree, you manage to follow the men at a distance. You think that you hear the constable’s voice, which is a good sign. If he’s around, perhaps Seokjin is too.

The deeper you go into the forest, the colder it gets. The ground beneath your feet slopes. The evergreens are packed tighter here, needles tickling your hands as you keep your hands held out from your sides as you slide downward.

This is near where I saved that wolf, you think.

It’s true. You recognize the slope of the land and the general area. You cannot tell if it’s exactly where you met the wolf, but it’s close enough that your senses tingle and your eyes sweep the land, expecting something to happen.

A sense of foreboding trails you as the men move deeper into the wood. You turn around and look for the other torches and see nothing but a dark, compact forest. Your stomach flips uncomfortably but you continue, unsure now if it’s safer to turn back or to keep going.

Ahead, the group of men decide to take a break. The hounds sniff the area around them, pulling at the leashes as they go. Crouching low, you watch as the hounds go in circles, following the scent of something that seems to confuse them.

The men take long droughts of water, making you wish you’d thought of that. Mouth dry and hands cold, you huddle against a tree, bark digging into your back.

A few minutes pace by. You close your eyes, resting your head against the tree, breathing cold air in deeply. You don’t know what you expect the group to lead you to, only that you-

Something snaps behind you. Your eyes fly open and your limbs lock. Heart beating like a steady drum, you hold your breath and strain your eyes. For a moment, there’s nothing but the dim voices of the men taking a break. You think it’s nothing until you hear something again, a gentle susurration of leaves.

One of the hounds lifts its head, ears twitching. Your eyes scan the surrounding area back and forth, searching for what you know is there.

It happens so fast that you don’t even see the wolves enter the ring of torchlight until they’re there, snarls rattling the trees. You clamp your hands over your mouth to mute your gasp as the sounds of screams and tearing flesh explode in the night. Hounds screech, their growls savage and choked as the wolves descend.

You don’t know how many there are. Torch lights go down and drown you in darkness. Squeezing your eyes shut, you curl in on yourself, panting through your hands as the sounds echo in your ears. A new fear has stabbed its way between your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Time moves slowly. Or quickly. You cannot tell which. One moment the sounds of a nightmare turned real are just a few hundred yards away. The next, an eerie silence blankets the dark forest.

You don’t want to open your eyes, but you have to. Very slowly, you crack an eye open. At first, there’s nothing. Your vision swims with flashing colors, your eyes trying to adjust. Then, there is the vague outline of trees. Ahead of you, where the men had been, lay shadowed piles.

Shaking, you glance around. You see nothing - hear nothing. You stand slowly. Each inch you gain feels like you’re being too loud. Sweat gathers on the back of your neck. The cool air makes it feel like an icy finger brushing down your nape.

When you’re sure that there’s nothing else around, you take a step toward where the attack happened. Leaves crunch beneath your feet. You stop breathing, waiting for signs of anything. Nothing happens and you let out a trembling breath, taking one more step. Again, you wait to see if your footfalls will trigger something.

You repeat this to the edge of the slaughter - for that’s what it is. A slaughter. Bile rises in your throat as you reach the first body and stamped-out torch. The constable and his hound lay in tatters, only recognizable by the batch on his cloak.

It is carnage. You don’t dare breathe through your nose for fear of breathing in the scent of death, circling the scene with weak knees, hand pressed to your mouth to keep in the whimpers. You see the faces of men you’ve known since you were a child. Ripped, bloodied, gored.

Finally, you lean over and empty the contents of your stomach. It burns on the way up, choking you. Pressing a hand against a tree, you breathe raggedly. The adrenaline coursing through you makes you twitchy and unstable, each nerve feeling like it’s on fire.

Leaves crunch a few feet away. Your head snaps in and you zero in on the source of the noise, mouth hanging open when you see Seokjin standing amongst the trees. He stares at you, frown on his face.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice gentle. You realize he can’t see your face under the cowl of your hood and you’re not in your traditional red. He sighs. “Doesn’t matter.”

You hear shuffling behind him before you see a white wolf. The white wolf from the Marrow farm. There are others, then. You don’t know how you missed them, the darkness of their fur blending in with the darkness around them.

The white one is spotted in red, muzzle matted, teeth slicked. Your stomach lurches. It isn’t hard to guess where it’s from. You take a step back and the wolf growls, lips pulled back. You freeze, looking amongst the pack of wolves that fan out around Seokjin, desperately looking for your wolf with the kind, intelligent eyes.

You do not find him there.

With a growl, the white wolf steps forward. Your instincts kick in and you turn and run, letting out a wild shriek as you do so. If Seokjin recognizes your voice when you scream, you cannot tell. The wolves are after you and you’re barreling through the trees with no hope of outrunning them, especially uphill.

A wolf nips at your ankle and you scream, tripping over your feet in your terror and going down hard. You’re jarred as you hit the ground, bones rattling as pain shoots up your limbs from the impact. Before you can scramble, there are teeth around your ankle, not biting down hard enough to snap, but hard enough to drag.

Your scream is wretched even to your ears. It is a curdling, nightmarish sound. You feel the scrape of leaves and sticks against your skin, cloak picking up dirt and twigs as you go. Your nails dig into the ground but the soil is frozen solid, fingers scraping bluntly against it.

With a surge of self-preservation, you kick your free leg backward as hard as you can. You hit the wolf in the muzzle, making it cry, and let go of your foot. You manage to crawl to your knees, slipping in the foliage as you try to stand before it’s tearing at your cloak, determined to drag you one way or another.

Sliding again as it drags you by the cloak, you try to undo the ties at your throat with shaking fingers. It comes away and frees you from the hellish drag to your death. This time, you’re faster to your feet, turning and running in the opposite direction. You don’t know where you’re going, just that you want to get away.

Your foot slides on the incline and with a shout you go down. This time, your head hits the ground hard. Your ears ring and your vision pulses. Blinking, you roll over and stare up at the canopy of dark trees. The world spins dangerously and you feel nausea churn deep in your stomach.

“Yoongi!” you hear the deep voice but it sounds warbled like you’re hearing it through water. Your head lolls to the side, the ringing in your ears still going as you see feet pass you. “Enough!”

Your field of vision narrows to a sharp point, edges pulling with black. You realize you’re about to pass out, oddly just thankful that you’re already on the ground. Just as your world begins to face, the face of the person in front of you appears.

Namjoon.

“Hey,” a gentle voice calls to you. There are soft hands on your head, brushing against your forehead. It smells like pine and bergamot as you snuggle into them. “I hate to wake you, but you need to wake up every few hours.”

The memory of the wolves comes to you. Your eyes snap open and you blink a few times before your vision adjusts to see Namjoon leaning over you. Cringing away from him, you press yourself into a warm, soft mattress that isn’t your own.

“Easy,” he cautions, holding his hands up. “You smacked your head very hard. I think you have a concussion.”

“Where am I?”

The room isn’t so much a room as it is a shack. There is a single fireplace in the far corner, a pile of logs, and the bed that you’re in. Despite the tiny space, it looks well-built and it’s warm, your heart slowing down as Namjoon leans to sit further from you and give you your space.

“Random shack in the woods near your village. I think it used to be a hunter’s stead for the winter.” He jerks his thumb toward the fireplace. “Hasn’t been used in a while. The wood has rotted.”

“Seokjin - you - what is going on?”

Emotions spill out of you like a broken dam. You don’t know which to acknowledge first: anger, fear, curiosity, gratitude.

Namjoon’s sigh is heavy. He visibly looks wearing, running a hand through his hair. You wonder how soft his hair is, followed immediately by feeling ridiculous for the timing of said thought.

“Just…” he winces. “Try to lean back and take it easy, I’m worried about how hard you hit your head. I promise I have no intentions of hurting you or letting anyone hurt me.”

“You called that white wolf Yoongi. Who is Yoongi? Why was Seokjin in the woods - those people - they’re dead.”

He nods slowly. “They are.”

You lean back carefully. The bed is comfortable and Namjoon keeps his distance, worried eyes on you. “I will try to explain the best I can. It will require a little bit of faith that I’m not lying to you and that I’m not insulting your intelligence by telling you things that will sound insane.”

“Like what?”

“Like werewolves exist.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t laugh, crack a grin, or do anything to make you believe he’s joking. Your first instinct is to blow him off. Werewolves were a tale for children and a way to help the children of the village cope during periods of wolf violence.

Thus far, all Namjoon has done is protect you. Strange as it seems, you know that fact to be true. He didn’t tell Dr. Jim you were eavesdropping, he kept you company after Mr. Hatch’s murder, and he stopped the wolves from taking you.

Namjoon is… there is something between you. You know it.

Hesitantly, you say, “Alright. Werewolves exist. Keep going.”

He is visibly relieved that you’re not questioning or berating him. You don’t exactly believe him yet, but you want to hear his story.

“There were communities of werewolves who lived here long before humans did. When people migrated to this area, they drove them out and forced those communities to become smaller and smaller. When the werewolves asked for their land back or to share resources, they were hunted and slaughtered.”

Namjoon’s throat bobs and emotions flicker across his face. His features settle on pain, and you stop yourself from reaching out to take his hand. “What you vaguely remember as wolf attacks and wolf hunts as a child was those families being exterminated. There are a few families in the village who remember that werewolves exist. They took it upon themselves to remove the problem forever.”

This village has a complicated history.

Dr. Kim’s words float through your mind as you chew on what Namjoon has told you. He lets the information settle, giving you a few moments to think. You don’t recall anyone seriously ever talking about werewolves but…

“They’re angry,” you murmur, remembering how San described the massacre at the Mathesons. “The wolves now - those aren’t wolves. They’re werewolves who are getting revenge. You spoke of revenge with Dr. Kim. Is that why the animal attacks have been happening?”

Namjoon nods grimly. “There is a very small concentration of people in the village who keep the secret about the massacres and the knowledge of werewolves. Those families have been… targeted recently. They still hunt werewolves when they can.”

“Who is Yoongi?”

“Ah,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “He leads the last remaining community of werewolves. His family was murdered by your constable when he was a child.” You blanch. “Yoongi is angry, vengeful, and very influential. When he was voted pack alpha, he decided to eliminate the last remaining threats.”

“He’s the white wolf.” Namjoon raises his brows but nods. You think that makes sense, remembering the white wolf at the Marrow farm and the one who dragged you in the forest. “Why was Seokjin there? Did he lead the constable to-”

Namjoon hesitates and nods. “The Kim family are wolf friends. It’s largely the reason Dr. Kim is a veterinarian. They’re what we call one foot in the forest. There were two others in your village that were wolf friends. Your neighbor was one.”

You twist your fingers in the blanket. “Did Yoongi-”

“No. I believe he was murdered by one of the men who knows what Yoongi and his people are.”

“So that’s why Seokjin led them to Yoongi?” Namjoon gives a curt nod. “This is…. A lot to take in.”

“It is. Sleep a little more and we’ll talk about it more when you wake up. Your head is already swimming enough, yeah?”

Namjoon’s grin is gentle and you shoot one back. “Do you promise to tell me why you’re really here? And why it feels like I know you?”

“Of course. Sleep, Red.”

Namjoon wakes you again a few hours later. This time, it’s with water. It’s cool and fresh, soothing your aching head and waking up your sleepy senses. He lets you drain the entire thing, sitting thoughtfully at the end of your bed.

This time, you feel more alert. Sitting up carefully, you cross your legs and examine him. He’s dressed in simple clothes and a jacket, the fireplace throwing an orange glow on his face. Again, you’re struck with how much you could swear you know him, like his eyes are something you know and love.

He waits for you to get settled, placing your hands in your lap. You fiddle with the edge of your tunic, drinking him in. Strong shoulders, rough hands, tawny skin. Your heart does a flip before you shove away thoughts of how pretty he is to think about what he’s told you so far.

“I have questions.”

He smiles and it’s as warm as the fire behind him. “Of course you do.”

“Did the werewolves kill my father?”

You get the tough one out of the way first. It was a thought you had just before you slept, wondering if your father had been someone who helped the constable murder Yoongi’s family. Though you have decided to dislike the white wolf very strongly, you can’t help but pity him.

“No,” Namjoon says vehemently. “After you told me about your father, I did some asking around. He was a wolf friend. That’s why he didn’t hunt big game, Red. He knew about us.”

A tight feeling works its way up your throat. The relief and anger you feel is a double-edged sword, happy that he didn’t contribute to the displacement Namjoon is speaking of and angry that you know with every bone in your body that he was murdered. The instinct speaks to you the same way it tells you that you know Namjoon.

You look up at him sharply, realizing something. “What do you mean ‘he knew about us’? Us?”

Namjoon’s eyes are dark. He regards you intensely, making you shiver. Slowly, Namjoon begins to roll one of his sleeves. Your eyes drop to his hand as he does, long fingers meticulous. He bares his skin and holds his hand out to you, displaying the jagged, white scar that lopes around his wrist.

Without thinking twice, you reach out to him, pulling his hand toward you. His skin is warm, sending a tingle through your fingertips. His palm is large and rough, your fingers delicate as you flip it to face the ceiling, eyes glued to the scarring around his wrist.

You move your fingers over his palm gently, scraping the calluses as you go. He lets you do what you want, touch stopping at his wrist bone before glancing up at him. His eyes are impossibly dark and he nods, urging you forward.

The scarring is rough. Thick, ropey lines encircle his wrist like his hand was ravished by teeth. It makes you faintly think of Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle or -

“You,” you breathe, eyes meeting his. They are the same warm, intelligent, and welcoming eyes of the wolf you’d saved all those years ago. The wolf who had stood between you and the others at the Marrow farm. The wolf you dream about every night. “I saved you?”

His throat bobs. “You did.”

“I… that’s why it feels like I know you.” Your fingers trace his scar, almost fondly. Namjoon’s eyes flutter. “I do know you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He smirks. “‘Hi, my name is Namjoon and I can turn into a wolf whenever I want and you saved me a few years ago and I’ve been thinking about you ever since’ is not exactly a great opening.”

“Better than ‘you know most people who don’t want to be seen don’t wear a red cloak’.” He scrunches his nose. Cute. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s alright. I’ll talk if you’re willing to listen?”

You nod, not letting go of his hand. Now that you know who and what he is, any residual fear is gone. You scoot toward him, wanting to be closer. “I want to know.”

“Giho is my uncle like I said. He’s not a werewolf, though. That trait passed through my mom’s side of the family. Still, he was family and he knew about the werewolves that my father married into. He's a wolf friend and does what he can to help us, including making house calls and stealing us goods in harsh winters.”

“Huh. I always just thought he was a quiet, grumpy vet.”

“He is very much that, but he has also been a lifeline. He helps Yoongi far more than he should. It puts him in danger. His wife was killed for being a wolf friend. Giho was left alone simply because he is useful to the village.” Your fingers squeeze his hand at the hurt in his voice. “That night you found me… I was pretty young then. Fourteen, to be exact. I was nosing around the village that everyone was so afraid of and never saw the trap. I cannot emphasize how much you saved my life.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do. I was afraid but you were… hurt. And your eyes were so kind. I don’t regret it.”

“What a relief.” You smile, genuinely happy. “I was worried you might after finding out my family were sort of… killing people.”

“When you put it that way,” you wince. “But I do believe you. That humans drove you out. That people are hurting you and your people. You don’t deserve it and I… don’t think I am in a position to offer moral arguments to what you’re doing.”

“I knew I liked you.”

“You barely know me.”

Namjoon turns his hand and catches yours, lacing your fingers. Your heart skitters as he pulls you a little close and leans, eyes narrowed playfully. “Hmm, sorry. I wasn’t really allowed to come hang out around your town, Little Red.”

“Why did you finally come? Is it to help Yoongi?”

He shakes his head. “I only have one goal.”

“Which is?”

“To keep you safe.” That quiets you. Namjoon doesn’t meet your eyes when he continues, “You showed me such kindness, I just wanted to repay you. I liked to keep an eye on you when I could, always from a safe distance. You might not know me, but I grew up knowing you.”

Your mouth goes dry at his words. For someone who poses such a threat, Namjoon is gentle. Soft. Kind. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Did you give me the red cloak?”

“Yeah. It was to mark you as a friend. We give them to those who are under our protection.” He narrows his eyes. “Which is why Yoongi swears he didn’t know it was you in the woods tonight. Seokjin’s eyesight is too piss poor to realize it was you. Idiots.”

“Well if you know about me, tell me about you. What’s your favorite color? What do you like to eat? What's your favorite thing about being a wolf?”

So Namjoon does tell you. You both end up sitting on the bed next to one another, arms touching as he traces the lines on your palm. Your backs are pressed against the wall, feet dangling off the edge of his bed as he tells you about his childhood.

It is fascinating hearing about the dynamics of his community but it’s also sad. Hearing how they live in fear, hearing how so many of the people he knows are gone. Realizing that the things he tells you match up with things you realize about your own community.

Sadness sinks to the bottom of your gut like a rock. It isn’t pity that you feel, but something far more profound. It’s regret that you didn’t know any better. Frustration that he has suffered. A radical feeling of anger and desire for justice knowing you lived in comfort while Namjoon and his family suffered.

There are good parts, too. Namjoon recalls happy moments and blushes when he recalls seeing you a few times. It doesn’t feel weird or strange, knowing someone was looking out for you. It feels comforting, like old friends catching up.

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle as he tells you about his favorite books. You don’t know when you stop listening to him and start staring, but it’s inevitable. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, dimple making an appearance as he recalls a story about putting Yoongi in the dirt with his brother, Taehyung’s help. You love the way he gestures wildly with his hands, every word evocative and enthusiastic.

He’s the kind of person you would have been friends with had he grown up with you. And maybe a little more, you think, watching Namjoon watch you. His gaze is even and heated, making you squirm. His mouth twitches and you’re so sure that he knows he makes you nervous.

“I never thanked you,” you mention. He hums in question, letting you go back to tracing his scare delicately. He twitches and you grin. Good. “For saving me from the jaws of Yoongi.”

“Ah, that. I think he knew it was you. There’s a reason he dragged you instead of killing you on the spot.”

“Huh. Well, that’s very rude.”

“He’s good at that.”

“You sound fond, still.”

He nods. “I love Yoongi. Is my brother, in a way.”

“Well still. Thank you.”

You look up at Namjoon. You’re sitting so close, shoulders pressed against one another. He smells like pine and bergamot, your favorite scent. It’s heady, awakening a foreign ache in you. Your heart speeds up as you lean into him just a little more, watching him through your lashes.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rumbles, voice deep.

Your toes curl. “Like what?”

“LIke you wanna do more than just thank me.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I know.”

Ah. You start to pull away and turn your head, realizing that he’s not interested, but Namjoon catches your chin with his other hand, tilting you back toward him. Your heart stalls when he looks down at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. “I’ve known you for all my life. Not how I wanted, but I’ve known you nonetheless. But you haven’t had the chance to know me.”

“I want to. I feel like I have known you. Like I knew you were always there.”

“Is this what you want?”

This. Namjoon. Whatever is crackling between you. The thing that has sparked since the moment he caught you eavesdropping. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t have to make sense.

Namjoon makes sense though. The way his gaze softens when he sees you. The way he looms on the edge of your life, a silent protector. The way he could do so much damage but is soft instead. The way everything about him feels like the sun on a summer day, like a field of wildflowers in spring.

He must sense you tipping over the edge. His grip on your chin becomes firm and he tilts your face toward him, leaning down to press his warm, full mouth against yours. The effect is instantaneous. You melt into him, sighing as a feeling of belonging slots into place.

The kiss is chaste. Namjoon pulls away and your lashes flutter. You hadn’t even realized your eyes closed. His gaze is dark and half-lidded, his face close enough that you feel his breath. His lips have stoked a fire in you and you want more, you want to spill out the years of longing for something you didn’t know was there, for the sudden confirmation that he’d been there all along.

Surging forward, you press your lips to his again. This time, it’s searing, your mouth fierce as you push up off of the bed. Namjoon falls in your rhythm easily, hand leaving your chin to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap.

Knees slotted on either side of him, you pour everything you have into the kiss. Your fingers card through his thick hair, silky strands sliding between them like you knew they would. His lips are soft on yours, mouth warm as you break the seal of the kiss with your tongue.

Namjoon lets out deep, throaty sounds. It coaxes the flame inside of you to a roar, tongue tangling with his. It’s wet and messy and a little impractical but you don’t feel embarrassed or nervous. It’s Namjoon. It feels like home.

Pleasure tingles down your spine. Namjoon grips your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. It feels hot and your skin is burning up, static trapped between your chests where they’re pressed together. Your hips twitch, tentatively seeking friction in his lap. Namjoon responds immediately, pulling your hips toward him and letting you roll.

Your mouths part but Namjoon doesn’t stop kissing you. You pant while he presses his mouth to your chin and jawline, tongue tough against the softness of your skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growls. You tilt your head back, letting him pepper your throat. “You have no idea.”

“I always felt like something was missing. I think it was you.”

Namjoon moans at your admission. The heat between your legs is almost painful. One of Namjoon’s hands goes from your waist to between your legs, cupping you. You gasp back bowing as he presses firmly, deft fingers providing mind-numbing pleasure.

“That feels good.” You fist the collar of his shirt and squeeze your eyes. You feel tense, color exploding behind your closed lids. “Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. He pulls you in close, fingers curling. Your hips buck and you realize it isn't enough. You need the barrier of clothes gone. You want it more than anything. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Yes.”

You do know. It’s second nature. You knew even that day in the street when you’d first seen him. Just like Namjoon knows what you want and need, land leaving the apex of your thighs to help you off his lap and onto the bed under him.

There’s a confidence in his movements that makes the room spin. Long forgotten are the wolf attacks and Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle. Here, it’s only the rasp of your pants against your skin as Namjoon pulls them down. It’s only the heat of his skis as you yank on his tunic, desperate to feel him.

Namjoon does run hot. His skin is burning up as your hands explore his firm chest. He captures your lips again, sucking your bottom lip in his mouth as he spreads your legs open with a knee. You shake under his touch, equal parts eager and stimulated.

He’s so, so gentle as he caresses your inner thigh. When he brings his fingers to your sticky center, you let out a pitiful whine. Namjoon pauses, fingers pressed to your swollen kiss as he laughs and breaks the kiss, forehead pressed against yours.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pout, leaning your head up to bite his chin. “It feels good.”

He gives you a quick kiss. Once. Twice. “Good. I want to make you feel good.”

Namjoon circles his middle finger lazily around your clit. Your feet press into the bed, hips pulling up off the sheets. It feels amazing, pleasure sparking in your stomach. “That,” you gasp. “I like that.”

He dips his head down, attaching his mouth to your neck as he teases your cunt. You don’t have to say anything else, Namjoon’s inquisitive fingers learning what makes you squirm and sigh. You’re a mess beneath him, chest heavy, beats of sweat making your shirt cling to you.

You claw at it, pulling it away from you. Namjoon leans up and lets you take it off, eyes dipping as he smiles appreciatively. He combines the efforts of his fingers with his mouth, bending low to catch a pert nipple with his teeth.

“Shit!” you squeak, making him chuckle again.

His fingers circle your clenching hole, pussy leaking onto his fingers. He presses a finger in and you let out a long, quiet whine. The feeling of his finger pressing against your walls is perfect, your cunt clenching as he shallowing thrusts the finger.

Everything he does is perfect. He sucks at your nipple hungrily as he fingers you slowly, making sure to press up inside your cunt in a way that has you seeing stars. Your fingers tangle in his hair, unable to think about anything except his teeth scraping your sensitive bud and your pussy clenching around his finger.

Namjoon is attentive. The heel of his hand presses to your clit and he eases another finger in, slower than the last. He looks up at you, mouth slick with spit to watch your mouth fall open. You nod, urging him further, sound stuck in your throat.

The wet squelch between your legs as he fucks you with his fingers is obscene. You like it though, driven by the fact that it’s Namjoon doing it. Namjoon who you saved. Namjoon who watched over you.

You open your eyes and look up at him, cradling his face in your hands. His forehead is damp with sweat from the heat building in the little shack. His skin is flushed and his hair hangs in his face. You pull at his bottom lip with your thumb and he gazes at you, hungry and wild, pupils blown.

Greedy, you pull him to you. The kiss is more teeth than lips, the two of you panting. Your leg hooks around his waist and you nibble his bottom lip, hips rolling to meet his thrusts, an orgasm starting its ascent.

“I want you,” you breathe against his mouth. Your lips are sore from arduous kissing. “Please.”

He kisses you. “Okay.”

It’s that simple. You ask for it and he gives it to you.

Namjoon retracts his fingers from your cunt. You feel the sudden loss, fidgeting as you wait. He makes quick work of his pants, kneeling on the bed and bringing his hands covered in your juice to pump his cock. You feel your eyes bulge at his thick length.

He notices and grins, slowing his movements. You watch as his hand smears precum down his shaft, twisting lightly as he gets to the top, his thumb brushing over his dark tip. “You can take it,” he pants, grinning wolfishly. “I know you can.”

Instead of answering, you nod, lifting your hips eagerly. He hums, pleased as he lets go, cock bobbing heavily while he shuffles over and leans over you. He places his hands on either side of your head, arms flexing as he holds his weight to bend down and steal a quick kiss.

You kiss back feverishly, one hand traveling between your sweaty bodies to grip his length, trying to stroke him the way he did. He sighs, breaking the kiss and dropping his forehead against your chin as a shiver ripples through him. You smile, continuing to pump him.

“Want to be inside,” he mumbles, barely coherent.

You open yourself up more, gently guiding the blunt crown of his cock toward your trembling entrance. You hold your breath as his hips follow your hand, breaching your ring of tight muscles and pushing in.

Immediately your muscles spasm and resist, overwhelmed by Namjoon’s girth. You blow out a long breath as he enters you so, so slowly. It’s heaven and it’s hell, it’s pleasure and it’s pain. Namjoon presses his mouth to you, tongue distracting you as he bottoms out, stuffing you full.

Nothing has ever compared to how stretched you are. He doesn’t move, letting your cunt twitch around him. He holds himself up with one hand, the other brushing up and down your side, squeezing bits of flesh comfortingly as you try to still your beating heart under him.

The pain fades. You get greedy, wiggling your hips back and forth experimentally to feel the way Namjoon’s cock rubs against your walls. He blows out air sharply, a half laugh before his hand drops down to your hip, pushing you down into the bed with his weight as he slides backward.

“Ohhhh,” you sigh, head lolling to the side. The pressure of Namjoon pressing you down as he sets a slow pace of fucking into you is just right. You close your eyes, letting him set a slow pace in silence. “Yeah.”

Namjoon’s breath is unsteady. Every little sound he makes sets you on fire. You’re pliant beneath him as he picks up his speed, properly fucking into you. One of your hands reaches up to grab his bicep, nails digging in, the other shooting to his hand on your hip, squeezing his wrist.

Everything feels right. Connected. Overheated. The air is so thick you think you might suffocate, sheets sticking to your balmy skin, toes curling as Namjoon’s cock hits that spot inside of you that drives you mad.

Nothing but this matters. Nothing but knowing your wolf isn’t really a wolf at all, and that he’s been there all along. Just like you’d hoped.

“Fuck,” Namjoon pants. “I never dreamed I’d have you.”

“I dreamed of you,” you gasp on a particularly hard thrust, your nails dragging down his arm. “I just didn’t know it.”

His mouth crashes to yours. “Mine,” he growls. “My savior, mine to protect.”

Your orgasm spins like an out-of-control spool of thread, winding tighter and tighter. Namjoon can tell, chasing your orgasm with reckless abandon, throwing his gentle movements out the window and fucking you hard into the bed.

The sounds and words coming out of your mouth are useless babble, your thoughts turning murky as that spool tightens so much inside of you that it bursts, unspooling and spilling out of you around Namjoon’s cock.

You can’t even breathe as you come, feet kicking, nails digging into his skin, teeth clenched. Your heart beats in your ears, the only thing you can hear for a few seconds as you spasm, eyes clenched shut. You are vaguely aware of Namjoon coming shortly after you, your name ripping through clenched teeth as he does.

There are a few minutes of nothing punctuated by your stilted breathing and rapid pulse. Finally, you blink, stars swimming in your eyes as you look at Namjoon, who hangs his head on your chest. You reach a hand up and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

Your wolf. Somehow you’d always known it. Even when you thought you were crazy.

Gently, Namjoon pulls out of you, fluid spilling between your legs. You don’t care, limbs too heavy to move. Your skin is still burning up from exertion and you roll your head to the side to watch Namjoon as he lays next to you, pulling you toward him.

For a little while, it’s quiet. You listen to the beating of his heart, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. You’re content just to lay there feeling whole just for once.

After a while, Namjoon sighs. “You have to go back eventually.”

“We.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to go back.”

Namjoon pulls away and frowns at your tone, eyes reading your face. Your mouth is set in a firm line and you look at him with all seriousness. “We’re not letting them get away with what the humans did to you and your family.”

“You want to help?”

“Yes.” You pause. “I think it’s what my father would have wanted. It’s what I want. Even if Yoongi bit me.”

“Yoongi will never bite you again,” he vows fiercely. Then, a little more gently, “But he… would be glad to hear your sympathetic stance. I’m glad to hear it, Red.”

“Good.” You snuggle closer. “You’re mine to protect too. And I will make them pay.”

For Namjoon. For your father. You’ll paint the village red.

#namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon fic #kim namjoon fanfic #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #werewolf namjoon #collab

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thehusbandoden · 1 year

Text

You Flinch During an Argument -Dabi

I like- sped through writing this, sorry if it sucks <33

Oh and the drabble kinda went outta line with the headcannons, but just a bit 😅

Edit: I'mma count this series as my 100 followers event cause why not?

Angst to fluff/ Comfort | Headcannons + a drabble | 963 words

Warnings!: Mentions of Dabi's backstory, mention of abuse (not in detail), mention of yelling, crying, thoughts of abandonment, flinching, self doubt. Let me know if I miss any!

Gif credit: @kilruas

Dabi would truly be broken.

As soon as you flinched he was send him back to his childhood, Endeavor screaming at his mother and siblings, the fear in their eyes as he did so.

The similarity left him stumbling backwards, making his way towards the front door.

You would quickly snap out of it, truly not knowing why you flinched. You knew Dabi would never hurt you, you knew that you were safe.

You would quickly realize that Dabi was leaving, and rush after him, panicking as you asked him where he was going, what he was doing, and why was he ignoring you.

Part of Dabi wanted to fall into your arms and be comforted, but he knew that that was wrong. He didn't deserve that. Or you, for a matter of fact.

And so with you crying and begging him not to go, he walked out the front door.

And he stayed away.. for a few months.

It was the second week of the fourth month when he came back, eye bags dark and turquoise eyes hesitant, scared, and lonely.

You would immediately jump on him, crying as you asked him why he left.

But, he still doubted himself and merily patted your back awkwardly.

And that was when you realized how terrified he was.

As soon as you were back on the ground you grabbed Dabi's shirt and pulled his face to yours, kissing him roughly.

As you pulled back to breathe you glared up at Dabi and his wide eyes.

"Dabi. I trust you. I don't know why I flinched that day, but I knew for a fact that you would xneverx hurt me. Phsycially at least. You broke my heart leaving like that."

At that moment Dabi realized what he really needed to focus on and lifted you back up, having you straddle his waist as he wrapped his arms around your smaller form, kissing your lips as a silent apology.

"D-Dabi?" You ask, voice hesitant as he grabs his work phone and jacket before sliding on his platform boots.

"Dabi, where are you going?" You ask, moving towards the man you've grown to adore.

"Dabi, answer me." You whisper, putting your hand on his arm.

Jerking his arm away, Dabi made his way towards your bedroom, confusing you further.

"Dabi! What are you doing?" You ask again, moving to keep up with the villain.

Dabi said nothing as he made his way towards the window, unlatching the glass before preparing to jump out.

"Dabi- don't go! Wait- lets talk about this, I know that it seems a lot worse than it actually is in your head!" You exclaim, voice wobbly as Dabi starts climbing.

"Dabi don't leave me!" You cry, grabbing onto his arm in a desperate hope to keep him here.

Dabi simply shook off your arm before taking off, causing you to mentally breakdown.

In your head you somehow did something wrong and now he was leaving you, going off to find someone better.

Breaking down in sobs, you desperately tried to hold yourself in some sort of comfort, silently begging for your Dabi to come back to you, knowing if you went out looking it would cause a scene.

~About four and a half months later~

You awoke to the soft knock on your window. Slowly blinking your eyes open, you sat up and yawned, wondering what woke you.

You stopped as another knock sounded from your window. You knew that knock. That knock belonged to your beloved Dabi, your one and only.

Rushing towards the window, you quickly unlocked and opened it, reveling in the site of Dabi, who looked quite uncomfortable.

"Dabi!" You exclaim, dragging him into your shared bedroom, careful not to hit his head on the window.

As soon as he was safely inside you jumped on top of him, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. Out of instinct Dabi quickly wrapped his arms around you, making sure you wouldn't fall.

"W-why did you leave me?" You whisper, eyes moist as you bury your face in Dabi's neck, inhaling his comforting scent of campfire smoke and sandalwood.

"I- I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Hurting you, scaring you, loosing you." Dabi muttered, burying his nose in your hair hesitantly.

At that your sobs started, you clung onto Dabi as you cried, staining Dabi's dirty jacket with your tears.

Usually Dabi would bring you to bed, holding you against his chest while whispering comforting words to you. Or maybe even chuckling and sitting you on his lap, kissing you until you were too engrossed in him to think about what was making you upset.

But instead he awkwardly patted your back, his hold becoming a whole lot less certain.

It was at that moment that you realized that he was still terrified of what happened.

Slipping out of his hold, you faced Dabi, tears still falling down your face as you pulled Dabi's shirt, bringing Dabi's lips to yours you clashed them together, kissing Dabi roughly as you clung to his shirt, demanding his attention and trust.

Once your lungs demanded air you pulled away, glaring up at Dabi, whose cheeks were red and eyes wide.

"I trust you, fully." You mutter, pulling Dabi down so your noses touch, "I know you weren't going to hurt me and I know you never will. So please, stop doubting yourself. And make up for the lost time and kiss me."

At your words Dabi hesitated for a few seconds before smashing his lips against yours, pulling you against him as he greedily sought your touch, wanting to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

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Tips <3

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banquetwriter · 5 months

Text

୨୧ untitled ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ crying, major deppression

summary: ʚ you go through a depressive episode and Johnnie helps ɞ

Words: 1777

An: so this was horrible for me to write and I'm so so sorry

Guilt was racking through your body. You don't have any energy left in your body nowadays, it's the reason you haven't posted in almost two months. It's the reason your room and subsequent house are filthy. It's the reason why no matter how hard you try you never ever seem to fit in.

Your cheeks are tear-stained, and you haven’t washed your face in god knows how long. You've showered sure, but you haven't done your proper skincare in weeks.

Your depression has been a part of your life for as long as you can remember. It gets better, sometimes, other times it drains you of everything you have. Every day felt like a battle for you. You sigh looking at your phone it is almost 4 pm.

Your boyfriend, Johnnie, had texted you almost 2 hours ago. The rough nights you experienced led you to wake up late in the afternoon, so the plan usually involved Johnnie heading over whenever you woke up or after he was done filming.

He has wished you a good ‘morning’ and to let him know when he could head over. You wanted to indulge, truly you did, but Johnnie didn't deserve that. He had enough in his life to worry about. There was no need to worry him with your pathetic life.

The issue is you couldn't keep him on the hook like this. You sighed picking up your phone, you numbly typed out a plain excuse, telling him today wouldn't work. You put the phone down and roll over in your bed again.

You sat curled in a little ball staring out your window. There were crows sitting on top of the next-door building. You sat and quietly observed the birds, watching them move side to side. You wish life were that simple, all you had to worry about was eating and flying around.

You didn't have to worry about the eternally crushing depression that sucks your life form. Your face heated up again with the thought of Johnnies, tears pooling in your eyes.

You missed him so much. He was such a caring loving person, it wasn't always easy for him to show that. He had his ways though. Always make sure you eat, get decent sleep, etc.

Your relationship was usually the opposite way, you know just how much he struggled. You were going to be there for absolutely all of it no matter what. Nothing was going to stop you from loving him. He shouldn't have to worry about you.

But he did, it was the reason why when he saw your texting while editing he immediately called you. You were always such a beacon of positivity for him. He knew the signs, from himself and his friends. You had stopped eating unless he forced you to.

You were wearing long sleeves and sweatpants only. You never went out, just stayed in your room. He can't even remember the last time you said more than a few words to him in a single conversation. He placed the phone next to his ear and nervously tapped his foot on the floor of his room.

“Hello?” you answered with a croak. Johnnie never called you unless he really really missed your voice. Which for him was usually the case when it was nighttime. Those were extreme cases, he hated talking on the phone and absolutely despised it. Too many nerves for him.

He didn't speak for a second, half expecting you not to answer for some reason. “Hey,” he starts. You hold your breath for a second knowing what the conversation was about before he even started to speak.

“Can I please come over? I'm worried about you.”Johnnie says over the phone, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. You inhaled with a shaky breath. “You can. It won't be a lot of fun though,” you mumbled back to him fiddling with your piercing.

“Well- when can I come over?” he asked. This awkward tension filled the phone line, the systematic white noise causing your heart to beat heavily. “Whenever you want Johnnie I'm not leaving the house anytime ever,” you reply sarcastically earning an annoyed grunt from Johnnie.

“I can be over soon, I'll let you know when my Uber shows up and I'm on my way ok?” He knew your bad attitude was because of something, and no matter how much it was upsetting him he needed to be here for you.

You on the other hand could cry from guilt. How dare you be a pathetic sack all day, cancel on your boyfriend only for him to kindly offer to be there for you and you are rude to him? On top of that, he has to pay to drive to YOUR house! “No Johnnie don't call an Uber I will come pick you up.” you offered, standing up and searching for your keys.

“I thought you weren't leaving.” he rebutted. You took a deep breath, “but I love you, so I'm not gonna make you pay to cheer me up ok?” you spoke finally finding your keys. “I don't want to stress you out.” you heard over the phone.

You tried to fight his kindness but after a minute it was clear he wasn't going to let you drive. Today was a relaxing day for you, at least it was supposed to be.

You were a protector, it's what made Johnnie fall so in love with you. You were so kind and caring for him, constantly taking care of him when he had those days when he just couldn't take it anymore.

You never did it with the intention to receive it though. So when Johnnie knocked on your door and you trudged to open it for him it shocked you how much he did care.

You tried to make yourself look strong but as your eyes locked tears pooled crowding your vision. You turned away from the door and him as you covered your face with your hands.

You couldn't stop the pull of dread that filled your heart. You felt your knees touch the floor as you collapsed onto the ground. You could hear the door close and Johnnie rushed to your side. He was speaking about something, maybe he was saying how you were going to be ok.

Maybe he was begging you to tell him what was going on. You weren't sure. All you could focus on was ringing in your ears, the thumping of your heart, and the crocodile tears that leaped from your face.

His hands ran against your back and shoulders. Eventually, you were able to look up at him. He wasn't wearing any makeup, just a hat with a button-up and skinny jeans. All you could mutter out was a broken “I'm sorry.”

Your voice cracked and shattered as you spoke. Your boyfriend and the love of your life stared at you back, his face heating up his own tears forming. He sat with you behind your couch on the floor.

“Let's move to the couch,” he said his voice coming out falsely confident, you shook your head, yes taking his hand that helped you up. He wasn't used to helping people like this, he would try his best and maybe give advice.

But he tried to do what you did with him. He sat you down on the couch, taking note of your appearance. You had dulled messy hair, dark almost permanent circles under your eyes, you looked pale and gaunt your face seemingly shrunk.

He rushed away from you, getting you a cup of water, something you did for him without fail. He set it in your hands knowing the coolness would ground you. He moved to your side sitting down next to you. He hesitantly placed his hand on your chest feeling your heartbeat.

It was rapid and intense as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his other arm around you and tilting his head on your shoulder. As you slowly sipped the water between hiccups he felt your heartbeat slow and your breath wasn't so rapid. You were calming down.

Once you finished your cup you set it down and shifted so your head was resting on his almost bare chest. He moved his hat off and sat normally on the couch as you cuddled up to him. He wasn't sure what he should say that could help.

After all, he wasn't very good at this but he so desperately wanted to be. “I don't know when this really started for me. As long as I can remember I was different. Things that seemed so small for other people worried me so much,” you spoke, finally breaking the silence.

He knew some of your past and struggles but nothing too deep. He wanted to hear them from you. This was the best way to do that. He didn't say anything yet, he just looked down and observed you as you played against him.

“I felt this feeling when I was all alone and it was cold and rainy outside. It was almost like a shiver up my spine. I was feeling so safe and protected all alone like that, if I hadn't frozen I could have stayed in the rain forever.” he wasn't sure where exactly your story was going but he knew you and he also knew it was important.

“I was so comfortable with being alone, that stayed with me. There are days more often than not when I cannot do anything. I sit and rot in my bed all day, I don't sleep, I don't eat, I don't do anything.” Johnnie did not know that. He knew since he was busy with filming you often just stayed home.

It doesn't sound like that was a good thing, however. “I am drowning but I've pretended to stay afloat for so long. I'm so fucking tired Johnnie I don't know what I'm going to do anymore.” Your voice was calm but powerful.

You didn't move but you could hear Johnnie's heartbeat increase. “I haven't taken care of myself in so long.” this was whispered, for a second you weren't sure if you had said it out loud. You suppose you did when Johnnie pulled you away from you, your confession hung on the air like wet clothes.

He took a second before he nearly engulfed you with a hug. He squeezed your whole body tight, “Please don't leave.” was all he whispered in your ear. He cradled your body tightly. He slowly started to rock you back and forth. The lull of his body slowly sent you to sleep.

#jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie x you

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yuus-sentient-teddy · 10 months

Text

"You're staying here."

A/N: Spoilers for Prologue, Books 1-6, and certain events. Sorry! I've had this story in my drafts for so many months. I hope ya'll enjoy it and please let me know what you think.

EDIT: I accidentally posted this while in the middle of editing and decided to still work on it while it was posted XD

". . . What? Hang on--"

"Calm down, we just need you to be our in-between in case the beast gets to us. Having you up here means you can get to the Headmaster faster--"

"Wait, stop. Stop." Yuu squinted at Leona, incredulous. "You could have one of your dormmates do that. Your dorm is based on athletics, I'm pretty sure whoever he is could get to the Headmaster faster than me. Not to mention, I'm a Beast Tamer, I should be going with you guys!"

"You're also magicless." Leona was mercilessly blunt with that fact. The words reminded Yuu of all the jabs of random bullies throughout the schoolyear, and they gritted their teeth. Before they could argue back, Leona said, "I'm not saying that that makes you useless, but let's face it: you're not going to survive that oversized house cat unless you can put up a barrier or counter a spell."

"I probably wasn't meant to survive a lot of things since coming here, but look what happened--" Yuu spread their arms out--"I'm alive anyways."

"It's probably because you had one of us or Grim with you," Ace said. "Dealing with the ghosts at Ramshackle the first night and every other thing after that, Grim. Fighting the Phantom in the mines, the three of us. All of the Overblots, a group of us." He was counting off each instance with his fingers, clearly not sorry for making a case against Yuu. "I know you're not thrilled about being left out of something as big as this, but without Grim, you're not going to be able to do much, let alone protect yourself. We can't keep an eye on you either, so it's basically better if you stay here."

He didn't shrink away from the look of betrayal and anger on Yuu's face and stood still when they marched up to him. "Okay, first of all, when have I ever asked any of you to keep an eye on me? Yeah, never. And second in case you forgot, I've handled myself pretty damn well when it came to random magic crap. I literally can't count how many times I almost got burnt by fireballs, impaled by ice, and struck by lightning by people that can't aim, and there are a lot of them at this school. Yeah, Vargas's 'catch-up' lessons helped with my speed, but my point still stands."

They held up a hand, stopping Ace from rebutting. "And if you're going to bring up Grim probably throwing out spells with weird side effects, don't. I've suffered enough curses getting thrown at me and potions being snuck into my food to get used to weird effects."

"Wait, people have been doing those things?!" Kalim's eyes were wide in disbelief and shock. "Why?"

Yuu half-heartedly tossed their arms, palms turning upward, as a form of a shrug. "Probably because they're assholes and I'm an easy guinea pig. If we're being a little pessimistic, it's probably also because no one would miss me. Magicless nobody from another world and all that."

"That's a horrible thing to think about!" Kalim cried. The Ramshackle Prefect was a helpful person and tried avoiding trouble the best they could. Not to mention, they weren't in line for something major like a merchant business or a throne. How could anyone want to trouble Yuu? (And how could Yuu think no one would miss them?)

"No surprise they'd think that," Idia mumbled.

"Hate to break it to you, but even if you got potioned and cursed a lot, there's still going to be something you won't be able to handle," Ruggie said. "I get what you mean, though. I got cursed and potioned a bunch of times before I started working for Leona and still a little after. At some point, you're more annoyed than bothered by whatever happens to you."

There were times he saw his freshman self in Yuu. Struggling to understand the lessons, having to bear with a handful of cruel upperclassmen or fellow classmates, left to carry out a difficult task on their own... he sometimes may or may not have been at the right place at the right time to offer help--in exchange for a favor, of course.

"That still doesn't mean you should throw yourself into a fight without knowing what could happen to you," he added, almost scolding.

"I know, but I still helped with the Overblots, didn't I? I think that's enough proof that I can handle being in dangerous fights," Yuu said, crossing their arms. Their sleeve got pushed up and a healing scar on the back of their wrist was revealed, which caught multiple eyes.

Savanaclaw and the Leech Twins remembered the cry of fear and pain when the Octopus Phantom's tentacle snatched their arm, right after they had stepped out of the way of a funnel of water. Octavinelle and Kalim remembered Yuu being sent flying after the Genie Phantom shot a spell that created a force upon impact. They would have hit the wall like a rag doll if Azul didn't catch them with wind magic. The VDC group members remembered them on the ground, twitching sporadically as one of the Hag Phantom's regular sized apples innocently rolled away like it didn't poison them through touch. (Deuce panicked so hard he summoned a cauldron to crush it even though just stepping on the apple was all that was needed.) And who could forget Yuu yanking their arm out of a nest of thorny branches that had been summoned by the Dragon Phantom? They had scars from thorns that got particularly stuck.

After realizing they were staring, Yuu followed the gazes and put their hands in their pockets as casually as they could.

"If you're worried about us thinking less of you, I assure you we wouldn't," Azul said. "There's nothing about the offer that you should be worried about. Again, it's not because your magiclessness makes you less valuable. It's simply letting you avoid another troublesome fight."

He didn't turn on the charm; no smiles or overly fawning words. He was dead serious and it made Yuu uneasy. Why did he want them to take the offer? Although--and this uneased them much more--it was starting to feel like most of the boys were conspiring to keep them out of the fight.

"After everything you've gone through, you pretty much deserve this. Don't worry about Grim, either." Deuce pounded his chest. "We'll be sure to bring him back in one piece."

"I. . . appreciate. . ." Yuu gestured vaguely while also feeling that 'appreciate' was a strange thing to say. They didn't appreciate being pushed out of something important without being heard, and they weren't sure how to feel about the unexpected concern for their wellbeing, especially at a time like this. "I appreciate you guys wanting to give me a break, but I really am serious about coming with to save Grim."

They saw shoulders slumping and heard frustrated huffs. "Listen!" they yelled, starting to feel frustrated themself. "I almost lost Grim once! I need to be there to make sure I don't lose him again. I know you guys can do what I can't, I've seen you all fight before, and I know you all will be able to handle what's coming, but I can't stand being on the side again! So, like it or not, I'm coming with. And why do any of you care about me getting a few scratches or hits from magic, anyway? It's not like it hasn't happened before."

No one responded.

". . . Guys?"

Finally, Leona clicked his tongue. "So annoying. I told you all it would've been pointless to do this."

"What's going on?" Yuu scanned the faces around them, noticing how uneasy Jack and Riddle looked, how Ace and Deuce seemed to have something to say, how irritated or hesitant everyone else appeared. Malleus approached them and they immediately noticed his brows furrowed in concern. "Tsunotaro. . . ?"

"Two night ago, we all shared a prophetic vision, likely similar to what you have been experiencing as of late. All of us were gathered together battling the chimera form of Grim in the same area as the current one. He casted spells that were beyond his usual abilities, including one that made it hard to breathe. Somehow, in the blink of a moment, you ended up alone with him trying to get him to come to his senses."

Yuu held their breath as Malleus said, "But then he opened his mouth and lunged towards you, and the vision ended. Forgive us for not telling you sooner. It is difficult speaking of someone's prophesied death and we did not want you to lose your confidence."

Multiple eyes carefully watched Yuu process everything he said. Some wondered how this would affect their character (Malleus admired them for their courage, considering their circumstances, and Ace liked them for their gutsy and surprising moments; hopefully nothing would change).

Others hoped that Yuu would relent and let the group fight Grim without them (Rook was regretful of leaving Yuu behind, but someone as special as them needed to be kept safe; Riddle simply didn't want to lose a dear friend).

And others prepared to rebut Yuu if they were still stubborn about going (Leona was mentally groaning and Vil shared his sentiment; aside from the Freshman Squad's reputation for having hard-heads, the two understood how much Grim meant to Yuu).

The Ramshackle Prefect started to observe them in turn with an unreadable expression.

Then they scowled. "You all realize how fucked up it is to keep that a secret, right? I mean, shouldn't I be told I might be walking to my death? Or is it--I don't know. You all think I can't make my own decisions?"

"That's the thing, Yuu. You care a lot about the people around you, and when it comes to Grim, you'd do anything to keep him safe. Even if we told you about the vision, I'm willing to bet you'd try to convince us to let you come anyway," Ace said. "You're right, it was fucked up to keep the vision from you, but we can't let you be so careless about yourself, especially since it's basically confirmed you might die."

"That cat has no idea how lucky he is to have a patient and caring person like yourself," Sebek said. "It wouldn't do for him to learn it through severely injuring you."

"And actually, none of us would be able to stand it if you got hurt or worse and we had the opportunity to prevent it," Ortho said. "You've done a lot already. Just this once, we want to handle this without troubling you."

Yuu silently stared at their Squad, mouth agape.

"When we found out you had gone with Epel and Hunt to find S.T.Y.X.'s headquarters, we seriously thought wouldn't see you again," Deuce said. "You gave us a heart attack with what happened in Scarabia. What you did then was unbearable."

"I know it's pointless to think about, but I sometimes worry over what would have happened if I didn't get my Unique Magic in time," Epel said. "Seeing that vision of Grim pouncing on you, though. . . it's made it harder to sleep at night."

"Frankly, the headmaster could be more considerate of you," Jack said. "Having to take care of Grim and being a Prefect can't be easy. Not to mention, what was he thinking tasking you with stopping Azul?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side. "On top of being a little reckless, it makes it hard to not want to pull you back from any trouble."

"So, whatever you tell us, we're not taking no for an answer," Ace concluded.

The anger they had towards everyone for their audacity to keep the vision a secret was dimmed a little (just a little) by their friends' worry for their well-being. At the same time, the worrying made their heart tremble and throat tighten. They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. "You know, this whole time I was expected to be a stone wall. I forgot what it felt like to be cared about."

"Huh?" multiple voices chorused.

"What do you mean by that?" Deuce asked.

"Well, I was pretty much thrown into a lion's den and expected to survive it. I wasn't given much sympathy either by nearly everyone I met, especially during the first month." (A few of the boys internally cringed, remembering the hurtful words he had said.) "There's also the fact that most of the school consists of pricks who are self-absorbed year-round. It's not very comforting to know that if something happens to me, there's a good chance no one's going to give me a hand, except if it's people I get along with or people who can benefit from my suffering."

"I don't blame you for wanting certain attitudes to change, but you know as well as I do that you'll encounter pricks and predators anyway beyond the school walls," Vil said but not without some sympathy.

"I do," they said bitterly. "Look, I get it. I shouldn't expect the world to hold my hand or offer me everything on a silver platter. But--god damn it, would it have killed anyone or even any of you guys to have some sympathy? To be a little more decent?”

"I was able to bear the atmosphere of NRC for a while, but at some point, it gets so fucking tiring. A student population that can't be a smidge nicer unless they're beaten up or more upfront about their actual intentions." They shook their head, then made a derisive sound. "That's why I'm having a hard time processing this. I'm sorry, but I can't wrap my head around the fact that you guys, who come from Night Raven College, are actually showing that you care."

The corner of their lip twitched upward, forming a broken smile. Concern was visible on everyone's faces.

"Yuu," Ace said, "are you okay?"

". . . No. I haven't been okay since coming here, or maybe I wasn't okay before coming here and it just got worse. I don't really know."

They turned their face to the side, but it was too late: everyone saw a tear slide down their cheek. Except for Grim and the rest of the First Year Squad, no one ever saw the Ramshackle Prefect cry. It strangely made everyone concerned, and some reached out a hand.

"Yuu..."

"Prefect..."

They raised a fist to their face, as though it could stop the tears before they could spill. They took a slow, deep breath to calm themself, but they never let that breath go in fear a sob would escape.

"Yuu." A hand gently touched their shoulder. "It's all right."

They shoved the person away. They couldn't see who it was from the torrent of tears that suddenly spilled and blinded their sight. "It's not!"

"I was starting to believe people when they said I wouldn't be anything! They told me I was useless and dumb and a nobody. They told me I should've stayed a janitor because I couldn't do anything right. They'd try to beat me up for some etiquette I didn't know or for some stupid reason."

Insulting Yuu's parents and them. . .

Riddle noticed Trey setting aside a big cookie during preparations for the Unbirthday Party. It was for Yuu. Earlier that day, someone or some people had stolen their bag and stuffed it with crumpled paper and empty food wrappers. Their notebooks--thankfully still in tact--had been tossed haphazardly around the school and led to the field where the bag was left. Trey found all this out when Ace and Deuce returned to Heartslabyul dorm scowling. The Unbirthday Party went on as usual, and Yuu seemed cheered up by the cookie and receiving the honors of petting a hedgehog. Much, much later, Riddle caught a bully red-handed and dished out the consequences for breaking Rule #53: You must replace anything you steal. Sadly, it didn't deter other bullies from stealing Yuu's bag, but Riddle still punished whoever he could for breaking an important rule and troubling someone so undeserving.

Threatening to take a tooth. . .

Leona overheard a conversation while napping in the botanical garden. In between sleep and waking, he initially thought he was dreaming the times he overheard the servants whispering disapprovingly about him. What made him wake up was hearing plots to get Yuu kicked out. He couldn't be bothered to care what ridiculous crap the herbivores in the other dorms or his juniors in Savanaclaw got caught up in, but this was something different. Joke or not, someone had to step in before either party gets kicked out--and that's what he did, telling the students off for planning something ridiculous and highly risky (and glaring harshly when he recognized some of the students as members of the Magift Club). After the students scrammed, he settled back down to sleep and his mind wandered to Yuu. He felt a little deja vu when he thought how they needed a tutor to keep themself from failing (and Grim too even though that fur ball could pay to be less annoying). It would dig into his rest time, but he had an idea for what Yuu could do to make up for that. Say, help a certain hyena finish his given tasks quicker.

"It feels like I'm only here for people to use or take from. I keep wondering why it always happens. Is there something wrong with me? Was there some invisible sign telling people I was a tool that didn't need repairs? Was I cheap labor because I'm on the bottom of some hierarchy?"

Taking Ramshackle Dorm away. . .

Once, Azul came across a group of students playing 'keep away' with Yuu and their lunch box. For a moment, he was reminded of his child self, trying to get back a seashell from a couple of bullies who were tossing it to each other over his head and taunting his slowness. He snapped out of his memories when Ace, Deuce, and Grim entered the scene, magic ablazed and yelling. It wouldn't be the first time he would see this happen: anytime anyone picked on Yuu while using magic, their friends would come to their aid. (If Azul had to be honest, he envied the Ramshackle Prefect for having people like the First Year Squad look out for them.) But then, some time after his Overblot, he came across a couple of students on brooms waving Yuu's homework from their perch. The sight particularly irked him, but before he could step in, one of the bullies lost his grip and a couple of papers got blown away. The rest of the homework got lost when he and his accomplice tried grabbing the sheets. It all drifted onto the wet grass below or sailed over the trees, and the bullies, suddenly remembering they had something more important to do, left Yuu scrambling to salvage what they could. Azul wouldn't forget the Prefect's face when they asked, defeated, what he wanted in exchange for helping them with the missing papers. He neither wouldn't forget their face when they asked how he had been able to deal with being picked on so much. For once, he didn't feel the urge to strike a deal.

Using them for a plan. . .

When the high of partying in the desert died down, all Jamil could think about was how he would tell his family that he Overblotted and why. It churned his stomach picturing their horrified faces, and it was made worse when he wondered what the Al-Asim family would do if they heard that their heir had been caught in a dangerous situation by none other than the loyal best friend. What would happen to him and his family then? Amidst the inner turmoil, the Ramshackle Prefect and Grim were far from his mind until he and Kalim found them practicing for the VDC tryouts. A proper apology was due, but he didn't have one prepared. It didn't seem to matter to the two, though, as they acted like nothing happened. As though he didn't force them to "solve" another dorm problem right after Grim expressed not wanting to. When Vil Overblotted, he saw Grim rearing to fight while voicing how troublesome it was to deal with yet another Overblot. His eyes slid over to Yuu. . . and it was crystal clear they didn't want to deal with anything anymore. They stared at Vil's cackling, levitating figure with despair, eyes telling of exhaustion and mouth tugging into a grimace, a sign of reluctant acceptance. He tried to protect them when he could from poisonous spells--emphasis on tried, since he still had Kalim to keep safe--and afterwards, offered leftover food whenever Scarabia had parties.

"Was an Overblot all it took for people to see me differently? I can't control how other people act, only how I respond. All I can do is take things easy and forgive, but I don't know if I can keep doing it. It's just. . ."

Their voice trembled. "So hard to keep going when it seems like barely anyone wants to consider you."

Word spread fast around Night Raven College and it wasn't long before Vil recognized that Yuu was in a challenging position: they lived in a literal ramshackle dorm, had to live on a small budget, and were entirely new to this world. He had to hand it to them, they possessed quite the will and backbone. After all they experienced, he counted himself lucky that they warmed up to him rather quickly--which was why he noticed how tensely quiet they became the night after their friends snuck a bite of unknowingly cursed dessert. When asked, they told him bluntly that it was painful seeing food used like that. They were struggling to pay off lunch debts and it was made much worse when already broken windows broke a little more or parts of the roof had to be patched up after a short downpour. Vil could see a little hunger in their eyes as they talked of instances where they had to decide between repairs and eating dinner that night, even the next two nights. He didn't know about their struggles in the first place, but he nonetheless felt terrible about what he did and deeply apologized. For the rest of the VDC training camp, he ignored any footsteps that came from the Prefect's bedroom and headed downstairs, even as they made the floorboard creak loudly.

Idia sometimes thought about how the Prefect looked when they thanked him for listening to their rambles of all the anime they watched back on Earth. The two of them were sitting in Ramshackle Dorm's lounge, waiting for the next level of the game to finish loading, when he glanced over. Serene and distant, like they had recounted a fond memory. He thought back to all the isekai manga, anime, and video games he consumed. Some protagonists seemed pretty eager to be in another world, others were immediately wishing to go back home, but those who expressed homesickness did it in a cool way, like staring at a moon while sitting next to a best friend (he did remember reading fanfiction where it was more emotional, though.) None had a protagonist talk about something as mundane as the shows they loved to watch, let alone a protagonist who would talk to someone awkward like him. Didn't Yuu have their squad for these sort of heart to heart things? But they insisted that he was the guy they wanted to talk to; according to them, he was the most similar to the friends they rambled to about anime and would very likely 'get' what they would be talking about. Idia was simultaneously flattered and frightened: flattered because his expertise in the media was recognized and frightened because he was in a position reserved for those with high relationship levels. In fact, he panicked when Yuu suddenly got teary-eyed. The saving grace was the next level finishing loading and the characters getting thrown into chaos. The next time he came to Ramshackle Dorm, he brought with him some anime he thought Yuu would appreciate.

"And that's the thing. I don't understand how people forget there's more to a person than whether they have magic. There were times I wished no one had magic so they'd just shut up and stop acting like they're better than me or anyone else. It's like having magic is an excuse to be an ass."

Yuu sometimes joined Malleus on his nighttime strolls. Most nights they would be sound asleep, which was why he treasured the times they were awake enough to walk with him. The two talked about anything that came to mind: gargoyles, schoolwork, differences between Earth and Twisted Wonderland. Then one night, Yuu casually mentioned that many of the students were rather. . . unwelcoming. "Some of them act like I don't exist, but it's better than getting my homework stolen and thrown to the wind." He was surprised, but not unfamiliar with bullying from Lilia's recollection of cruel humans and various history lessons. He asked why. They shrugged, answering, "Probably because I'm low on the hierarchy. I don't have basic knowledge on magic on top of being magicless." When he said it still didn't warrant such behavior, they smiled sadly and replied, "Well, that's how it goes when you got something another person doesn't, and that other person just so happens to not really fit in a certain place." Later, Malleus was distraught to hear from Lilia that some of the students who were unkind to Yuu were of Diasomnia. The dorm was founded on the elegance of the Thorn Witch, surely the students would act with decor. But Lilia told him not to worry, he had a word with those students on being more open. But Malleus still wondered if there was something he could do. It turns out the answer was simple (even though it took place after his Overblot): hang out with Yuu during the daytime. They were a fellow student, were they not? So why should they be treated any different?

"Sometimes, I wonder if anything would change if I Overblotted. Would anyone wonder then why it happened and be nicer? Or. . ." Yuu let out a bitter scoff. "Would nothing change and people just see me more as an alien freak?"

They scrubbed the tears in their eyes. "Maybe I'm just a dumb ass and my Phantom would just eat me. It's not like I have anything else to offer it. God, what am I doing?"

The weight of what they had spilled for the past couple of minutes started crashing down like a crumbling shelf. They didn't want to see what the others' reactions were and continued to wipe their eyes with their hands and sleeves, even if there wasn't much to wipe. Their mind cycled through anything they could say to escape such an embarrassing situation. So sorry, I didn't know where it came from. Let's go back to arguing why I can't come with you guys to save my cat. He has been nothing but a pain in the ass, I should know, but he's become nicer and been my primary protector. He keeps insisting he'd protect me because he's the boss and I'm his henchman, and it's so endearing sometimes. And he's comforted me when I become so sick and just need someone to hold me--

"How long has this been going on for?" It was a gentle question. Yuu lowered their hand and found Ace and Deuce standing before them, the worry on their faces making their heart clench.

"A long time."

"Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something, you know," Deuce said.

Yuu shook their head. "This school runs on sink or swim. 'Losers don't have the right to complain.' And did you guys forget that we're freshmen? What can you guys do against the whole school? I actually talked about this with the school counselor and all he could do was apologize and tell me he'll put in a note for the headmaster."

Yuu almost laughed at the faces Ace and Deuce made. "I'm pretty sure I'm his first case for something like this."

"Still, you shouldn't just take everything lying down," Deuce said.

"I don't want to anymore, but I'm so tired of fighting. At what point can I stop?"

Yuu was once again seen under a new light. The viewpoint was different for each boy: from magicless outlier to honorary dorm member, notorious problem solver to exhausted errand runner, doe-eyed student to determined but kind mastermind, just to name a few. Yuu had laid bare wounds previously covered up by uniform sleeves, things they couldn't talk about or didn't feel comfortable sharing because otherwise they'd go against the school norm and grab negative attention to themself. Their closest friends knew of these wounds; others caught glimpses of certain parts. With the revelation, they all shared a similar viewpoint: an ordinary person so far from home, dropped into a magical, chaotic world and more vulnerable than what anyone realized. More exhausted and heavily scarred than what anyone realized.

"When Leona told me to stay here, I thought all along you guys didn't think of me as someone who could stand beside you and that everything had just been you all tolerating me." Yuu's voice dropped to a whisper. "That had hurt me more than any of you could know."

". . . Anyone who thinks you're undeserving of your position knows absolutely nothing," Riddle said. "Not counting your grades, you've proven yourself enough to have a place in this school."

Yuu gave Riddle a wobbly smile and he found himself feeling a little bashful. "Thanks, Riddle."

The smile suddenly became strained and they looked away. "I'm sorry. I know I said I took things easy and forgave, but--" they grimaced--"I can't bring myself to let go of some things you and the others did."

A/N: This accidentally became a two parter

EDIT: I forgot to add the link to part 2. Here it is

#twst angst #yuu/mc (twisted wonderland)#riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil shoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #ace trappola #deuce spade #🧸🖊writing

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uchihaharlot · 7 months

Text

Happy Smutty Shisui Sunday! I didn’t forget about my man.

This week I went to hell and back and back and back some more. Hardly had any Shisui or Uchiha simpy time for myself. 😩😭 Completely missed my ovulation horny thirst week!! I hope this makes up for it, to you and to me.

Ovulating or not, I’m still unbearably horny for this man.

NSFW; Shisui has been busting fat loads of his cum inside of you. In hopes that you’d end up pregnant & yes, I know Shisui’s birthday has passed. Consider this some sort of retroactive celebration on top of Shisui smutty Sundays.

WC: an ungodly amount of horny brain goes brrrr; mostly edited. My eye started to twitch so yea.

Well. Obviously after about six months he starts to think something is wrong with him or you. He wasn’t entirely shy when it came to making sure he thrusted his warm cum deep at your cervix. And even so far as to repeatedly fucking one load after another into you. You just sort of figured it was that Uchiha breeding kink and let him have his way to sate the desire. That maybe he couldn’t help it and that might be why you ended up beneath him for hours, folded like a pretzel and flipped over to be taken any which way.

Certainly the breeding was partial to it. Shisui really was and at some point admits to hoping you’d grow round with his baby. “…can we talk?”

Was there something wrong with the swim team? Last he checked; or well the yearly physical. They were in prime condition to root and grow inside your womb. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with him. And maybe he peeped your file and saw everything was in working order for you as well.

“Shisui-kun.” You sit with him at the table; the concern that spreads his face is immaculate. “What’s wrong?”

How does he say this without coming off as weird and maybe even a bit creepy. “I’ve been trying to get you pregnant for the better half of a year and …” full stop when you grab his hand and squeeze.

“Oh, Shisui.” That soft smile he loves so much stretches your lips. “It’s severely impossible at this time.”

Severely?

Well how in the nine circles to hell was that? ‘At this time?’ So it could or had been possible before. “Explain this, please?” It sounded so desperate when he didn’t mean it to. The words wrapped around his larynx and dried his throat, and barely sounded normal as they scratched their way out.

“It’s called birth control.” You try not to laugh, how was he unaware of this? You’ve mentioned it in the past. Maybe long ago.

“No, I would have seen you take the pill. I figured you had stopped since…well, since things are more serious.” How cute was Shisui when he struggled to express his doubts, second guessing if he was full of it or not. Certainly he knew there were other forms of contraception. The look on his face as you explain what an intrauterine device was had you almost in tears of laughter. Even someone like Obito was aware of this.

To think that a measly piece of plastic wrapped in copper was interfering with his family planning!? This was inconceivable—literally! He was an Uchiha for fucks sake. How could something with no substance other than metal and plastic prevent such powerful genes from taking root. This simply did not sit well, but eventually passed as Shisui went through the phases of realization. It almost felt wasteful to think how many times he’s tirelessly laid you down, had you cramped beneath him. Talking filth of spilling into you and milking himself bone dry.

Hot and sweaty; orgasm after orgasm. Even a silent prayer to the gods that he would be blessed with a next of kin. The sour look on his face before he sheepishly smiles said it all as you speak. “I am sorry this disappoints you.”

In reality, couples talked before they had children. Shisui was an entirely different breed of man. He didn’t operate on reckless abandon but to say that the shock value of your uterus not being at his disposal was not something he counted on when he was purposely trying to fuck a baby in you. He almost looks pitiful.

Shrugs it off. Patching up his wounded ego, “it’s fine.” When it didn’t really feel fine. A small part of you felt guilty seeing him so forlorn over it.

And another deplorably sick part of you revels in it, how desperate was Shisui to make your body his in more ways than one. “We can talk about it sometime? Typically…this is a group decision.” With what little words he could manage now, Shisui deliberated the ordeal wasn’t in his favor.

That stung a bit. His irrational need to pump you full of his own personal brand of Uchiha specimen completely outweighed the rational sense of procreation. It was a dual effort and Shisui, too, felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was. You can see it, feel it. How adorably cute he looked with puppy dog reds. So caught in his emotions that the forehead kiss you planted took a beat for it to register. “No harm, no foul.” Your forgiveness was much appreciated. You took it far better than he anticipated in this instance.

From that day forward, a new idea populated in your mind. It was stupid as all hell, but what a better birthday gift than the very thing that tormented his ability to impregnate you. It crossed your doctor as weird when you asked if you could take it with you. Usually it was a firm no, this was a biological hazard. But having the privilege of dating one of the most influential men of all times, from the most prestigious clans the Hidden Village ever produced. The only time you would ever pull that sort of weight over your head. Shisui would surely not appreciate you using the Uchiha name to get what you wanted.

Much less to instill fear into the doctor with no recourse to back it up.

But it works in your favor. Wrapped up cute, the device rests in a small box. Of course this wasn’t a real gift, it was a gag. The real gift was some specially designed and crafted ninja tools, a subscription to that expensive ass hair care he bought throughout the year and well. Your undying love and affection of course. What better way to bring a man to his knees when he came home from a long mission than to tell him that your womb was for the taking? It was hardly romantic, how were you supposed to know this man would froth at the mouth as he entered the kitchen.

Well, you should have known. The skimpy crotchless lingerie you are wearing was a welcome surprise. Then bending over into the oven as if you hadn’t noticed he was there, I mean you did. Looking over your shoulder told you all you needed to see. That thousand yard stare as the kaleidoscope behind his eyes wound tight and instantaneously bled red. Even further widening to elicit what most would call formidable. It was a treat for you when Shisui salaciously threatened you with his Mangekyō. This was a special occasion.

There wasn’t any part of you that his eyes mapped out and took in as you approached him.

“Happy birthday.” You whisper, leaning up to pepper a soft kiss on either cheek before his eagerly opening lips nip at you. “Hungry?”

How easily she looked into the Mangekyō as if it wasn’t a loaded gun. “That’s an understatement.” His hands have been running up and down your sides already, thumbing at the lacy material that did fuck all for the imagination. It literally wrote the entire thing for him. “What’s this?”

Shisui obviously knew it was his birthday, though he hadn’t expected this display of affection. Ok; that’s a blatant lie. He did expect some sort of celebration but this was on an entirely different realm than what he considered.

The opener gag gift. That little wrapped box was easy tore through in swift fashion. Though, its contents perplexed him further. Looking to you again, red silk pearls spin wildly. “That was the baby inhibitor.”

Oh. This was the thing. “Was?” Mission lag had not been kind to Shisui, it was a rough few days. Too many stalled attempts before it was accomplished. But being a genius didn’t leave him entirely ignorant. “Oh.” Like, now it clicks. That this—this exact tiny thing was the actual thing. Which meant, “you’ve been liberated.”

It was a funny way to put it, but to Shisui it meant everything. It meant that he could actually move forward with you. Not that you hadn’t already been moving forward, but this was the sort of progression he desired most.

“…has it?” He asked again, your silence only made him reconsider, and as you held his face with both palms. You gave Shisui the most tender kiss, full-mouthed and deep, he whispered through broken kisses. “Are you truly prepared for this?”

Those words alone send a heat to pool in your lower stomach. That and Shisui’s hands gripping you tightly as they trembled at the curve of your waist. Whether it be excitement or lack of sleep. Probably lack of an actual meal too. He didn’t quite feel like eating dinner in this moment.

“The situation has been rectified.” Those simple yet effective words had more of a profound impact on Shisui. Had you not realized this was something he desperately needed? “It will take a few cycles—”

Words were futile for a man in Shisui’s position. This exact moment found you backwards walked in a series of scorching katon kisses. He nearly singed the back of your throat when he kissed you this way. Maddening him further was the soft touch to his belt as you unclamp it and untucked his cock. Searing more the same kisses your jaw, throat and chest when you stroked his flaming erection. How deliciously sweet but spicy that Uchiha katon tasted as it sat in the back of your esophagus.

Your dainty bodice was left somewhere in between the hall bathroom and the master bedroom door. You were already squirming on two fingers knuckle deep before your head hit the bed. Scoffed at the loss of his cock in your hand. That crotchless little thing had Shisui spreading your slick and tonguing at your clit before you put on whatever act you had planned.

“Your…gifts.” A hopeless mewl when you came on his mouth the first time, Shisui was far too gone.

“…fuck the gifts.” This was more precious than any gift, that you were fully capable of doing him the honors of taking his genetic material and making it into something so valuable and beautiful. “…I don’t care if you take to my seed today, tomorrow or next month. This right here is for practice.”

It wasn’t any sort of sex that you and Shisui had before. Sure, sex was sex when you looked at it from any angle. But this? This was being caged under a man who had little resolve left with his actions. By no means did he hurt or leave a mark that wasn’t planted with the utmost respect for you and your body. Red marks on either side of your neck, chest and thighs. Once Shisui determines you were properly worked out enough for him.

The twitch in his cock as he luridly strokes himself before you, wild eyed and tinted. As he divides you over his length, he shucks both your knees with his arms and full on dips the entirety of his hips into the padding of your ass. It’s almost painful when he presses into you this way.

Only then did he fuck you mercilessly. The consistent deep thrusts are the first to make your eyes roll shut. Hardly ever did he use his teeth, but when you moaned out his name like that. Needy and wanting. There wasn’t anything else he thought of than to bite every inch of skin his mouth came across. You were cramped up so snug beneath him, completely immobilized and at his mercy. The subtle touch of his testicles on a full cock length thrust every now and then. His rhythm unrelenting. Shisui attentively listens to every soft mewl and whimper out of your precious mouth when his lips and fingers don’t have it preoccupied.

But damn did he love the sound of you moaning around his fingers. Choked out on three of them, as your ‘cute little pussy’—or so he called it. Fluttered and milked another deeply buried load into you, at this point he was merely tap to release. Bottoming out into a seemingly bottomless pool of his own cum. It seeped and spilled on to the nice silk sheets you intricately place earlier today.

The dull pulse of another orgasm as he continued to pump so slow, but incredulously deep. As if he purposely never fully fucked his cock into you; which was a far stretch. The many times Shisui inundated the swell of your cunt with his ever throbbing need and used it as a dump was more than you could ever count. How effortlessly he coaxed three more orgasms out of you, each one spasms and threatens another deposit out of him.

This was undoubtedly breeding. No way to describe it overwise. If you hadn’t of guess it by now, the things he said to you were more than an indication of the long night ahead of you. Powerless, but pleased to no end. You didn’t think however many orgasms he worked out of you were possible. You lay almost limp and useless. Along for the ride. Not to mention how sticky and nasty your legs felt. The amount of pain this man’s testicles would bear tomorrow morning was worth while. As if continuing to thrust into you would make his cum leak out less, Shisui was operating on what you assumed was less than half a brain cell. His eyes were lost, distant. Even with the Mangekyō boring into you this way his foresight that he was thoroughly finished hadn’t caught up.

You patted his cheek lovingly. It took a real special woman such as yourself to understand a man like Shisui.

“…Shisui-kun. You can stop now.” It wasn’t a plea, more of a distraction. There hadn’t been any warmth filling you from with in. Just whatever he managed to slosh around inside of you. It caked your insides.

But your seeet voice thrummed through his ears and his heart sank, “…oh …gods.” It was that moment he regained some semblance of control. Having fucked you on autopilot. The apologies flood as the kisses peppered your cheeks.

Here you lie, plugged. Stuffed to the brim of your cunt with his cum. Whatever didn’t manage to leak out still ever present inside you. The viscosity of it only thickens as it sits. So gentle when he slips out, the massive bubbles as his cum fully empties out of you. Shisui didn’t realize the reach of his own body. Scooping you up, he plops you into the tub.

The clock reads three hours that dinner had been sitting on the counter. The warmth of the water soothes your aching legs and back. Shisui hardly used his full strength to outmaneuver you, but this time he hadn’t the slightest how far he took it.

“I’m fine.” You smile, wholly fucked and tired. “…it was just for practice right?”

Shisui ran both hands through damp curls. He had forgotten all that was said. “It won’t be anything like that again.”

But what if you had liked it? “I’m partial to it…” dipping just below the water, up to your nose and not averting your gaze from his. “It was hot.” There you said it.

Shisui smiles the width of his mouth. Hot, you thought it was hot to be fucked like a cocksleeve? “Is that so?”

“…yes.” There wasn’t any way around it. “Just maybe, we take turns?” This was something Shisui could work with.

Slipping into the tub with you, behind you. Shisui leans you against his chest. “I can manage that.” When you mentioned it was rather endearing aside from being mostly prone. He remembers, “about those gifts?”

“After you reheat dinner.” The soft white of the foamy bath water is washed over you by Shisui with a loofah.

He could do that. He would do anything you ask of him. Especially knowing that from this moment forward, he would be undoubtedly indebted to you once that beautiful body of yours was swollen for him.

#shisui uchiha #shisui headcanons #shisui smut #Shisui smutty Sundays #uchiha clan #uchiha headcanons #uchiha family #uchiha shisui

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 10

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* Fluff and intimacy, blink and you'll miss it pregnancy kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, bath sex. Brief mentions of physical pain and past abuse (parent to child and spousal). More secret keeping. Summary: An unexpected development could change everything - but will it be as good a change for everyone as it is for some? Notes: Tumblr is rejecting any effort I try to put into editing my taglist for this story, guys. I'm really really sorry. If you want to be put on the master tag list please send me an ask or a DM and let me know, as that does not seem to be experiencing problems at the moment.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

In the days that follow, routine develops. Walks with Margaery become frequent interludes, there is more chance to spend time with Ellaria or with Raeden, and suppers in your quarters are occasions for the four of you to bask in each other’s attention. A week of pleasant days goes by without incident, all except for the gnawing feeling in your chest that never seems to dissipate.

Despite the joint coupling that happened a week ago, there has not been a repeat. The days have turned longer with meetings and whispered conversations in darkened hallways of the wretched keep. Oberyn has kept you and Ellaria apprised of what is being said, Raeden already knowing, but he will be glad to leave King’s Landing behind when this is over.

There has not been another night with Raeden, despite many pleasant evenings in his arms after supper while the four of you have talked. Each night he and Ellaria have retreated to the second bedchamber and left you and Oberyn to your conception efforts with little or no fuss at all. It seems strange, considering how hard you fought to be able to keep Raeden at your side – but you remind yourself that it does not mean he loves you any less. Or that you love him any differently, either.

Oberyn pours another cup of wine and sighs. “I am ready to be rid of this city.” He tells you as he looks out the window at the city below, watching people and animals scurry about their evening. “Will you miss it?”

“I cannot think so.” The gardens are beautiful and the library welcoming, but apparently both are more stunning in Dorne. “If nothing else, it makes the people I care about unhappy, and my mother is still here.” You shrug at him half-heartedly. “That alone is enough to make me long to be anywhere else.”

“Has she said something to you?” Oberyn turns and gives you a sharp look, instantly ready to cut her with his tongue if she had. You have opened up more to him over the past week and the woman should have been barren rather than a mother.

“She found me this morning in the library,” you admit, not liking the look of concern on his face all at once. “And…asked me to have dinner with her and my father tomorrow.”

“Just you?” He asks, raising a brow and wondering what her play is. She might be trying to curry favor. That would be very plausible considering she would have someone close to the small council, but he knows you are far too smart to fall for her shit.

“I did not want to commit you to an entire meal of her insults,” you admit with a small grimace. “So I said you were otherwise occupied on small council business.”

“So I can interrupt if need be and rescue you.” Oberyn smirks before he shakes his head. “You do not have to go. Make your excuses or just do not show if you wish to not go.”

“I thought you might say that.” He has developed a habit of playing with the hair along your neck when you sit together and it soothes you measurably, making you nearly sigh as you sit together. “But I do not want the last meal I share with my parents to be that disastrous breakfast the morning we were introduced.”

“I thought that meal was quite amusing.” Oberyn hums, remembering his own part with satisfaction, though he frowns when he realizes that it has been days since he was close to his lover.

“Yet remembering it makes you upset?” A fact which, when you point it out, makes you frown in turn.

“Simply your fear that followed.” He assures you. “Hopefully now put well to rest.” He leans in and kisses your chin to dispel the frown and replace it with a smirk.

“There will always be some looming fear in a life frought with responsibility and power.” But you turn into him, seeking a kiss from his lips to yours, and smile softly. “What I am assured of is the support of my husband. And for that I am grateful.”

“There is nothing much more powerful than a prince.” He reminds you. “Unless those rumors of dragons are true.”

“I value your support much more than your power.” It would not be true of every woman he could have married, but it is certainly true if you. And you hope – however quietly – that the fact of it means something to him.

“You have both, Princess.” He softens, his fingers caressing your skin and he’s aware that he is lucky in the choice of bride made for him. It might not have been intended, at least for your sweetness, but he is drawn as a bee is to honey.

“Then I am very lucky.” Returning his gentle gesture, your fingers caress the sharp line of his beard and make your smile grow a little wider.

“I have to shave tonight.” He grunts, watching you carefully. “Another bath.” He doesn’t care for the baths in the Keep. “I have already told Cal, do you wish to join me?”

“Leyth will be grateful,” you muse, glad to accept the invitation. The small and large moments of intimacy you get with him are always worthwhile. “It will save her having to draw one for me tomorrow.”

Oberyn had not been with either servant since coming to the keep, in fact, he had been inside no one but you. “Princess.” He tilts his head and draws a circle on your arm.

“My lord?” Though he has yet to demand your fealty, he is that. Your husband. Your prince. Your lord.

His lips twitch slightly and he lifts a brow, approving of your demeanor. “Have you touched your lover since that time we were all together?” He asks it softly, no accusing, just wondering if you had managed to spend time with him when Oberyn is occupied.

“Not beyond a kiss.” There had not been time for it during the daylight hours and you have spent every night since the consummation of your marriage with your husband. “He has been considerate of our efforts to ensure your heir.”

“Very considerate.” Oberyn hums and adds it to the tally that he is forming in his head. “Do you wish to go to him? Seek other pleasures with him?”

The offer, even though there is no malice in his voice, makes you shrink back a little. “Do you wish for me to leave you after we bathe?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, making an effort to not frown. Reminding himself that you are still innocent in the ways of multiple partners. “I just realized that I have been greedy with your nights.”

“I enjoy our nights.” Perhaps too much, you have thoughts more and more frequently — especially when laying in his arms at night.

“I have enjoyed our nights as well.” He chuckles and brushes his nose along your neck. “Are you wishing for anything? Something I can give you?”

“How could I possibly wish for anything beyond what I already have?” Your soulmate, a doting husband, and a divinely lovely friend in his own soulmate. A growing friendship with the widowed queen. What better companions could you ask for?

“Lovers.” He hums. “Whichever you want. A pretty cunt to eat or a cock to suck.” He chuckles quietly. “I am merely asking if you have grown more curious. Though you drain me dry every night when you ride my cock, perhaps you have secretly wished for more.”

“It would not give me the same satisfaction, I think.” The idea of sharing your bed with a stranger simply to take pleasure in them actually appeals to you very little, you have found. It is the closeness – the intimacy – of the act that you crave. Even the most intensely physical fucking you have ever shared with Oberyn has been fraught with feeling. “I think that…it is important for me that I care for my lovers.”

“Interesting.” He’s not of the same mind frame but he respects that. His own feelings for you are complicated and burgeoning as he spends more time in your presence.

“It may seem a bit unconventional to you.” Which is in no way a thing to regret or censure. It is simply a fact. “But I think so far it has made me happy.”

“Just because it is something I am not used to does not mean it is wrong.” He reaches out and caresses your neck gently to reassure you. “I just wish to make sure you are happy with this arrangement as it is.”

“I am.” Much to your surprise, in fact, and you nuzzle against his hand. “I am happier than I ever thought possible. But if you wish to have others in your bed, you only need to say so.”

“I will hurt you.” It’s a simple statement, but one that holds a heavy weight.

The light in your eyes dims and you glance away, suddenly focused on your fingernails far more than his face. “I do not like how you seem so sure of that.”

Oberyn tuts and reaches for your chin. “I do not want to hurt you, Star.” He rephrases softly. “So I need to know if it will hurt to find me with other lovers.” With Ellaria, there had never been that question, but for some reason, it seems terribly important to work out before he causes a hurt he cannot kiss away.

“I expect it.” It is not precisely an answer to his question, but at least it is honest. “You cannot be satisfied by limitations, I knew that when I first went to your bed and I know that still. And, if I am perfectly honest, I admit to being surprised that you have not bedded anyone else since our first night together. I thought to spend most nights with Raeden. Or…even alone.”

“Why alone?” That makes him frown fiercely, and his dark eyes pierce into yours demanding the answer.

“If you are with someone else and Raeden is with Ellaria, then surely I must be keeping my own company.” It is not a judgment call. Simply a fact. But one that apparently neither of you enjoys.

“Princess, you never have to be alone.” He huffs. “Even if you did not join, you would be welcomed to lounge on a chaise and eat berries while I fuck.” He teases, hoping to chase away the clouds of sorrow in your eyes.

“I fear that while I enjoy being observed, I do not think I would enjoy watching you take pleasure in another.” Yet another unfortunate truth that you feel compelled to divulge to him, but it is what it is. “Unless it were Ellaria or Raeden…or someone else you cared for.”

“Hmmmm.” He nods in understanding, and lets go of your chin to lean in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

"Perhaps you may hurt me, but I fear I will still prove a disappointment to you." He had observed once that he did not have the power to hurt you because he did not hold your heart. The terrible truth is that with every passing day you become less and less sure of the truth of that statement. Fight it though you might, it seems very possible that your affection for your husband has outgrown what it once was. And that makes you not only a potentially disappointing wife, but a disgrace of a soulmate to Raeden as well.

“How?” He tilts his head curiously, wanting to see why you would think so.

"Try as I might, I do not think I am as free as you would wish me to be." As free as Ellaria is, you think loudly and with growing remorse. This night has already strayed a long way from the promise of a shared bath and a warm bed.

“I want you to be as free as you are comfortable.” He takes another sip of his wine. “I have not visited a brothel or tossed a servant’s skirts up.” He reminds you with a wink. “I’ve not even had Cal suck my cock, though that mouth is a gift from the gods, old and new.”

"I will sleep on the chaise tonight if you wish to share your bed with him." You would, your twisting chest tells you without words, do anything he wanted. It is an alarming thing to realize and you wince slightly without realizing it.

“You misunderstand my meaning, star.” He shakes his head and reminds himself not to get frustrated with you. “Checking to see if you have developed curiosities does not mean I wish to have another in our bed.” He murmurs quietly. “Freedom and security is all I am offering. The freedom to take or leave it, and the security to know that I will not rebuke you for it.” His hand takes yours and he brings it up to his lips to kiss the back of it like he had the first time he greeted you.

"And you have the same freedom, which is why I offered." The way he changes from intimate to polite at the drop of a hat is mercurial at best and infuriating at worst, but you remind yourself that you still do not know him as well as you think you do. As well as you wish you did. Your marriage is barely a fortnight old.

He sighs softly and gives you a fond smile. “My stars and moon, I have found that I am exhausted by the time you collapse into my arms.”

"Then perhaps I am not so disappointing a wife after all." For now, you can only pray that he remains satisfied with your time together.

“There will come a time that I hope all of us might be together.” He admits softly, leaning in and nudging your nose. “I would like to see you impaled on your soulmate's cock, full of my heir with your skin glowing and your belly swollen.”

That image – the image of the four of you so deeply entwined together – is one that you will soak in and burrow inside. At this stage of things, it is the truest version of what you desire. "If we are lucky, that day will not be so far away."

Perhaps not. Instead of answering, he nods and stands when he hears footsteps approaching. “That will be Cal.” He hums.

“Do you still wish me to stay? To bathe with you?” After the unexpected conversation, you would not blame him if he had changed his mind.

“Stand up and come to me.” He orders, turning away from the table where he was refilling his cup.

It is not often he gives orders, and your tendency from childhood is to follow them as long as they are not cruel, so you do what he says. Standing from the large, cushioned chair you had been sharing, you get up and cross the room to stand before him.

Cal opens the door and nods respectfully to Oberyn, The prince smirks slightly and nods in return before shifting his eyes towards his wife.“My lord.” Cal comes into the room with buckets of water and nods to you both. “My lady.”

“Strip.” He orders you softly, only to where you can hear him. He wants to see if you will argue or if you will trust him.

It is not necessarily so unusual an order, considering Cal has come to fill the bath, and you reach for your laces thinking only that Oberyn's tone is a bit odd.

Pride fills him, pride that you had admitted a preference for being with those you care for and yet you place your trust in him when Cal is in the room. He sets his cup down and his fingers tangle with yours. “Would you strip in front of Cal if I wished it?” He hums against your neck, “would you let me bare you in front of him to see your gorgeous cunt and delicious tits?”

It is not something you would ever think to do, nor is it something perhaps something that would be everyday behavior for you, but you nod slowly. This feels like a test, and you do not intend to fail him if you can help it. "I trust you," you tell him quietly. Quietly, but surely.

“Good.” He rasps out, sliding his hand up from your laces and cups your neck to drag you against him and plunders your mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Confident that you have passed his test at least for now, you sigh into the kiss and let him take all that he could possibly want from you. Because Oberyn gives as much as he takes it is no hardship - in fact it is entirely the opposite. It feels like being worshiped with every breath.

He breaks the kiss when Cal leaves to fetch more buckets and he smirks at you. “You did well, Princess.” He coos with a wink. “You always do well, you just need to believe it.”

"In time." Relieved that you were correct about his intentions, you let yourself lean into his embrace for a moment. "I think perhaps I have been molded out of clay that you know more of how to reshape than I do."

“Just be honest in how you wish to be shaped, Star.” He murmurs softly.

"I cannot claim to know just yet." An alarming thought does float to the top of your mind, though, pushing to be noticed and clamoring to be said. You swallow it deliberately. Too afraid of the words to even know how to form them on your tongue.

"Then we will make sure that you are not pushed into anything too soon." He toys with the laces of your dress and huffs quietly, unable to wait until you are in Dorne and wearing dresses that are far easier to access than these Northern dresses.

“Once again my gown is vexing to you?” The small tease feels good after such a serious conversation as you have had, and you look over your shoulder at him. “If there was a Dornish dressmaker in the Capitol I would have seen her immediately.”

"Wear nothing and make all of the women stew in their jealousy." He grunts, only teasing slightly because he knows your modesty will not allow that. You still cover up when anyone comes into the room, including Leyth until you are sure that it is just your maid.

“Perhaps one day.” If that day ever comes it will be a long way off, but he knows that. Instead you tip your head back further to kiss his cheek. “But well before that, I will be glad to be rid of all of these undergarments.”

"So do not wear them." He proposes easily. "You do not need them. You should be bare under your dresses."

“Truthfully?” This time you do turn fully, a slightly bemused and embarrassed smile on your face. “I asked Leyth to help me dress without them a few days ago and the dresses simply do not look or fit right. They are made for them.”

"How terribly proper of the ladies of the North." Oberyn snorts and continues to toy with your laces. "When it comes time, I will cut your dresses off of you in my eagerness to touch you, star." He promises quietly.

You hum. “It will be the only time gowns have ever been hunted for sport.”

“Vicious, dangerous creatures – cumbersome gowns.” He smirks slightly and decides to loosen some of your laces to make it easier for him to touch you.

“I can put on my dressing gown before Cal comes back,” you remind him. “If you truly want it gone.”

“No.” He isn’t going to disrobe you since you will be uncomfortable. “I just want to touch my wife.”

“That is certainly permissible.” If you could, you would loosen your laces for him and let his hands slip under your clothing to let him touch anywhere.

"I know." He doesn't say that because as your husband, he has every right to touch you whether you like it or not, but because you will let him touch you.

Cal returns shortly with more steaming water, readying the prince’s bath near the fire and with tamped wood underneath to keep the metal tub warm. As a soldier Oberyn Martell has faced plenty of cold baths and far worse conditions – as a prince he has the luxury of insisting for better. When he goes again it is to leave you and Oberyn alone for the night, and that small relief is enough to relax you a bit more.

"They have private rooms." He tells you. "Cal and Leyth. Allowed to sleep together safely every night." He is talking just to talk, but to also put you at ease. Pulling your dress down as he does.

“They deserve as much.” Neither of them knows any of the fate of their soulmate, they have said, but their love for each other is evident. Not everyone is lucky enough to know the other half of their soul – but at least Cal and Leyth are able to share one heart.

"I think they are happy here with us." He hopes they are at least. He had taken them from the brothel where they had known what to expect and thrown them into the world of nobles and lies.

“And if they decide they are not, they now have the power to make their own way in the world.” A fact which makes you hum softly as Oberyn undresses you. The irony that your servants have far more freedom than you do is not lost on you.

His fingers pause for a split second as he comes to the same conclusion and he resumes the task with a hum. "Yes, they will." He says after a moment.

“I suppose you do, in fact, have more meetings tomorrow?” The amount of time that the small council seems to spend ruminating over the smallest matters is extraordinary to you. Oberyn and Raeden seem perpetually frustrated and tired each evening.

"No." Oberyn lets the dress fall to the floor and he hums as he sees the layers of underclothes. "Tomorrow the trial begins."

“How could I have lost track of time so easily?” Days blend together here, you have found, and you shake your head. “We will all be there.”

"Ellaria will stay here." He knows his lover and she would be bored with the trial. "I know she does not wish to watch an innocent man be wronged."

“Nor do I, but I promised Margaery.” Oberyn had said it was up to you whether or not you came, but a promise to a queen cannot be broken.

"Do you wish to have Raeden sit with you?" He asks softly, knowing that you will feel comforted by his presence.

“Only if he wishes to attend.” It is your turn to undress your husband, but your work is much faster than his for lack of an abundance of laces. “My comfort is not more important than his.”

"Raeden will attend, his comfort notwithstanding." Oberyn tells you. "He is now a Lord representing Dorne."

“Then I will ask him to sit with me.” You lift the robe he wears from his shoulders and lay it nearby with care. “That seems only polite.”

"Polite." He chuckles quietly and plucks the ties of his breeches open. "You are always polite."

“Some of the things about my upbringing were not terrible.” You attest, frowning for affect because you know he is only teasing you. “I never liked thinking of Raeden as being inferior. It is a comfort that you have elevated him so that he no longer is.” The thought makes you sigh slightly, but you swallow it. “To where he belongs.”

"I have given him nothing that he has not earned." Oberyn insists. "Your own father should have elevated him beyond a mere knight." He huffs, shaking his head. "He had a good man under his nose and he could not even sniff him out." He had a less than stellar opinion of the man due to him letting his wife run his household, but this had made him sink even lower.

“I suspect my mother may have had more to do with keeping Raeden a subordinate than anything else,” you admit ruefully. “If Father had elevated him, there would be nothing to keep us from marrying for love.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, making a face that would tell you exactly how he felt about your mother. "And then you would have been actually happy." He murmurs softly.

“Do not say such a thing.” Rather than being insistent or upset, your voice is quiet. Pleading. There are words you cannot bring yourself to say. Things that you feel that you have battled from the very beginning and have only grown stronger. But one thing you are not is unhappy. “I am happy.”

He senses there is something else, something you are unwilling to share and it seems as if there are three people around him who carry secrets that are to be kept from him. "Then we will not talk." He pulls the ties of your shift and pulls it over your head to reveal your body to his eyes and immediately guides you back towards the tub.

“Because I insist I am happy with you, we will not talk?” You ask, bewildered and instantly upset.

"We will not talk so I can show you how I feel." He hums, gripping your hip and pulling you close.

Oberyn's expression is rarely done with words despite how eloquent he can be when he chooses. He would nearly always rather express himself by fucking or fighting, you have found, and while that is admirable in a soldier it is not always particularly helpful in your husband. Especially when you are the sort of person who benefits from having things spelled out for you. It is only because you have shared so many kisses that you understand instinctively that this kiss shared between you is somehow different.

He tries to keep his emotions out of it, but it bleeds through the kiss. Pouring into your mouth from his. Keeping his tongue busy and following it up by keeping his hands moving over you. Guiding you towards the bath and at the same time stripping off his breeches.

The large, heavy tub has held both of you before and you are certain it will again, but tonight when your legs knock against it the wind seems almost to knock out of you at the same time. His movements are as hurried as they are sure, making you all but certain that there are things he is not willing to say to you. It is a vain thing to hope that they might be the same things you cannot bring yourself to say to him, but somehow even the prince himself is keeping secrets.

He reaches up, tangling his hand into your braid and starts to pull it apart. Wanting your hair down, his to touch – to pull. Once the two of you are in the bath, he pulls you into his lap. "What do you want, Princess?" He demands roughly.

Instinctively, your answer ought to be that you have everything you want, for it is very nearly true. But what he means is what do you want from him, and that is a very different question altogether. The bath is the best place for only one kind of intimacy and so you straddle his hips carefully in the wide metal tub. “You, husband.”

His cock is already hard so it is not hard to pull you down on him. Reaching for the cloth and the soap, he rocks his hips up and lathers up the rag so he can drag it over your skin. "I will wash you." He tells you.

"I do not believe I have washed myself once since we married." Though it might be a cheeky observation, it is also true. Oberyn seems to take delight in the show of gentle care.

"You have been bathed by all your lovers, star?" He asks, smirking slightly. "My princess is becoming quite spoiled."

“Ellaria insists. And I have learned quickly not to question her.” The slow, languid pace that you ride him is luxurious and you have no wish to hurry it. Not tonight.

"Has she bathed with you?" He asks curiously. "Or just washed you while exploring your body?"

"I–" It takes a moment of thinking, but you look down at him with a similarly curious expression. "I cannot recall precisely."

He has to give it to his lover, she is good at confusing or redirecting someone. Especially when she distracts them with her sexual prowess. He has no doubt you were cumming while you were being bathed and the fog of pleasure distracted you from anything else.

“Surely it was only a coincidence if she did not.” The wheels of his mind are turning, and sometimes you truly cannot fathom what may come from that. Right now all you want to focus on is him.

“Surely.” He agrees with you, even if he does not mean that. Instead, he kisses along your neck and pays special attention to a small mark on your skin. Laving it with his tongue gently before pulling back to examine it. “What did you do here, Star?” He asks, curious to know what caused it.

“It is Raeden’s mark,” you tell him without thinking anything of the fact. “A scratch from his training as a young man.”

“It is?” Oberyn’s eyes narrow on the mark and he runs his fingers over it again. “Interesting.”

“Only if you consider sparring to be interesting.” Which, at this moment, you absolutely do not. You would much rather concentrate on the man inside you.

“Sparring is always interesting.” He muses, rocking up into you with a rougher thrust that had water splashing over the edge of the tub. “Do you not feel my spear?”

The sharpness of the thrust makes you moan, head falling back as you grip his shoulders to hold on. “Always— I feel you even when you are not inside me.”

“Good.” Oberyn hisses and holds onto you tighter. “I want you to feel me. Every second of every day.”

"Think sometimes you want – oh gods!—" A particularly hard thrust rocks through you and you keen loud enough that you are sure someone heard you, but the idea bothers you less and less. "Want one of us on your cock at all times."

“It would be a nice way to live.” He doesn’t deny it, smirking as he watches your tits bounce and your tongue stick out between your teeth.

"Wicked man." It is barely chiding – a mere tease at best, but you gasp out again as you grind down onto his length with swirls of your hips. "Wicked."

“Completely wicked.” He chuckles and leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple.

“Thank the gods.” You groan deeply as you both give yourselves over to the pleasure once more. It seems every night and every morning that you cannot have enough of each other and you are having such trouble now in keeping your sleepy thoughts to yourself in the first waking moments. It can never be – you promised yourself that – but you never anticipated that Oberyn would be such a good and clever man. Such a supportive and caring husband. The promise you made to yourself was when you thought he would be a cur. It gets more difficult each day not to admit more.

“Gods, Star.” Oberyn groans, getting closer to cumming and he is loving how open you are with him now. How his seemingly uninterested wife now rides him with an eagerness that is nearly unmatched. “You are exquisite.”

“Kiss me.” If he does not you might say something you regret. Or worse – not regret it at all. And that possibility is at its highest when you are coming apart in his arms, which you will be in mere seconds.

He almost refuses, but he has quickly learned he can refuse you nothing. His mouth latches onto your with a kiss that is both passionate and tender, assertive and giving. Sure that he will awaken the ancient dragons below the keep in the dungeons with the force of his groan.

It seems almost a cue for your body, the way that his sounds of pleasure rip through you and always pull a shaking orgasm from your body as he pours that passion into his kiss. Your cunt bears down on him, clutching and pulling him as deep into your body as you can manage while states burst behind your eyes and a cry of your own melts in his tongue for him to swallow.

Oberyn’s singular focus is on you. Feeling the way that your body shakes and keens in pleasure. Only satisfied to take his own release now that you are seen to. His grip bruises and his thrust manage to be brutal, even without the natural momentum of being on top of you. Holding you close in an iron grip until he is buried deep, groaning your name as he floods your womb with his seed.

The moment tears into you, crashing through your nerves and over your heart like a wave heralding the incoming chaos of a storm. There is too much in you to pretend anymore — and despite the way your heart aches at feeling that you have betrayed your love for Raeden, it is no longer something you can deny. The affection you feel for Oberyn has bubbled over. It is more than that. Perhaps it has been from the beginning. But the wracking sob that shakes your frame as he holds you close to him is proof to yourself that you cannot deny it any longer. Falling in love with your husband was never meant to be, but it has happened regardless. And all at once the single sob from your lips is followed by a scream of searing agony. It feels like small fires have lit all over your skin and no water in the world could soothe them.

“Star!” Oberyn’s eyes widen in shock, perhaps a moment of fear as your scream fills the air. It is not one of pleasure, it is pure agony and he’s lifting you off of him for fear he had pushed too deep and wounded you in some way. That he had somehow breached your womb and done you a great wound. “Gods, tell me what is wrong!” He cries, trying to be delicate with you as he stands and lifts you out of the water to rush you over towards the bed.

As quickly as the burning begins it seems to end in a moment’s flash. The pain is all too familiar, but the shock of how intense it is has dropped the well of tears before they can begin, leaving you in shock. All that is left is for you to sputter and cling to him, shaking with disbelief. “It—” You gasp for breath and manage to look down your body even for the briefest moment. “Gods above…” There are new scars marring your skin. Ones that you know all too well – from Oberyn’s body. “H—how?”

“What? What is it?” He demands, not looking at your body, but your face. Too worried about his wife’s health to pay attention to you and needing you to answer him. He’s about to call for a maester. You don’t say anything and so his eyes drift down to find marks on your body that he is familiar with. “Star…” he breathes out. “What has happened?”

Scrambling for the familiar, you frantically bend your leg to see if Raeden’s marks have somehow been replaced, but find the goring mark from the day he saved your life still carved into the skin of your inner thigh where it has been for years. “I do not—” spluttering for an explanation that you could never conceive, your hands search out Raeden’s other marks on your skin and find each one where it should be. “Impossible.” You manage, with confusion and an almost awe-struck fear in your voice.

“You have two sets of marks.” Oberyn manages after a moment, his eyes studiously contemplating the situation before him. A book in the Citadel’s library springs forward in his mind. It had been one on soulmates. Something he had no interest in at the time. Now he wishes he had read the book when boredom had taken hold.

“It is not possible.” You insist again, desperate to understand what is happening despite the evidence in front of you. The evidence that is on you.

“Apparently, you are mistaken.” He reaches out and touches one of your scars, his scars, in wonder. “Fantastic.” He muses as he examines the skin. Wondering how such a thing could be and yet it is here before his eyes.

“Fantastic?” The shock of hearing him be so enthusiastic about this development is almost as shocking as what happened in and of itself. You had been about to start apologizing.

“Two soulmates.” He muses, shaking his head and tracing your other soulmate’s scar. “It seems as though you might wish to be a simple woman with a simple life with your lover, you are not destined for that.”

“You are…pleased?” Fighting the instinct to cover yourself, which is unnecessary in front of your husband and ridiculous considering he wears these marks, you cannot stop staring at him in disbelief.

“Intrigued.” He tells you, his eyes sliding up to meet yours. “Wondering. And pleased.” Of course he’s pleased his wife bears his marks.

“I—” Still at a loss for words, all you can think to do is shake your head a few more times before trying again. “It did not happen to you…how is this possible?”

“I am not sure.” He admits with a small shrug of his shoulders. “There is a book in the Citadel on soulmates. Perhaps you should read it.”

"For once, books are the furthest thing from my mind." Sinking back into the mattress, the urge to cover yourself is overpowering again as you try to process what has happened. How in the instant that you admitted to yourself that what you feel for your husband is more than mere affection, his marks had appeared on you.

Your husband watches you seemingly close yourself off from him again. A wall building between you because you wear his marks. You are pulling away from him, undoing all the closeness the past weeks have brought. He frowns slightly and straightens so he can step back. “I will get you some wine.” He decides that giving you a minute is the best thing and turns around to grab the drying cloth since he is still dripping water onto the stone floors.

The momentary impulse to watch him walk away — to try to understand his melancholy as well as your own unease — becomes all the more unbelievable in an instant. “O-Oberyn…” You gasp, climbing out of the bed again with wide eyes. “Your back…” The switch marks you had received from your mother as a child of seven for the unladylike offense of climbing a tree stand out against his tan skin and you can’t help but gape.

“What about my back?” He asks, drying off slightly and turning towards you. He flashes you a small smile, a cover for his discontent in your reaction. “Scratches you make during sex do not bother me, Star.”

“It is not scratches I made.” Although those are there, too. “It is ones my mother made…”

He pauses, frowning and tilting his head for a moment as your meaning becomes clear to him. “Scars?” He asks. “I am wearing your marks. Is that what you are telling me?”

“Check your arm.” There is a mark there from when your brothers had been teaching you to handle a dagger and Antony accidentally nicked you with the tip of his blade. Your eldest brother had babied you for a week in apology.

He looks down at his arm and frowns. Bringing it up to inspect closer, he sees a mark that he doesn’t recall having before. “What is this from?” He asks, sure that it is your mark.

“Antony caught me with a blade when I was thirteen.” You explain carefully, trying to absorb the implications of what has happened. “My brothers were teaching me to defend myself.”

“What other scars do you have?” He demands, immediately starting to search his skin for marks that are new. “Not Raeden’s, yours.”

“The only other is on my ankle.” Every other scar on your body previously was Raeden’s. Now Oberyn’s mar your skin as well. “I was bitten by a stray dog and caught a fever.”

Bare assed, Oberyn bends down to examine his ankles and chuckles. “I did not know that scars could be so attractive, Star.”

“The dog that left it was mangy and mean,” you chuckle, not knowing what else to say in your disbelief. “How is this possible?”

“I do not know.” Oberyn admits, frustrated that he does not know the answers that you are seeking. “When I was training to be a maester, I had no interest in soulmates, so I did not study the matter.”

“Did you already know Ellaria then?” If he did, you can see him being content not to learn more. He already knew everything he needed to. If not? You cannot imagine not wondering - but you have a different outlook than Oberyn does.

“No.” He shrugs slightly as he stands straight. “I had watched my sister endure her own soulmate running off to be with another woman. Leaving her to deal with the madman who sat on that throne and refuse to come home because she had thought it was her place to stay and wait for Rhaegar to realize his mistake and come home.” He snorts and shakes his head. “She loved him and was stubborn.” The grin he flashes is wry. “A Martell family trait, I’m afraid.

“There are worse things than to love unerringly and to be stubborn about it.” Inching to the edge of the bed, you reach for him to give him the option of returning to your side if he wishes. “In fact they may be traits we share.”

“Yes.” Oberyn takes the invitation and strides over to the bed to sit down. “It is said that a Martell, once they love, it is for life.”

With your arms tangled around each other it seems easier to breathe, and you bury your face in his chest for a moment to do just that. What has happened is a miracle only read about folk tales or fantasy romances. Even then the tales are always of someone gaining a second soulmate after the death of their first. Never about having two soulmates at once. Still, you cannot ignore this gift from the gods. It is miraculous in and of itself. “I do not think there is such a saying about my house, but perhaps there should be.”

He wonders if that means that you love him. He had thought you might but your loyalty to Raeden was strong and you might have fought it. “Yes.” He murmurs softly. “Your Raeden is lucky to have such a fierce love.”

Though you nod slightly against his chest, you lean back to look into his face. For such an expressive man, he betrays nothing unless he wants to. And it makes you sigh softly, swallowing your fear. “If the gods have seen fit to give me two soulmates, I can see fit to love them equally.”

Oberyn's hand finds your cheek, caressing it softly as he stares into your eyes, gauging your comment and finding nothing but naked hope shining in your eyes. "Star..." He murmurs softly. "You must know that there is a place in my heart that belongs to you. I think it has since you begged me to marry you to save your Raeden and it has only grown bigger since then."

“It sounds so dramatic when you say it like that.” Dramatic and poetic – and of course Oberyn is a professed poet.

It was not the response he was expecting and his lips curl into a pout. "You believed me crass before and now dramatic." He huffs at you, his fingers still caressing your skin. "Next you will say I am boring."

“If I claimed so, it would only be to see you pout at me.” You lean close to him, feeling your skin tingle and breath catch with this admission you have made to yourself and the stunning result of having two soulmates. “But…” you press a soft kiss to his lips. “I do not think I could ever love a boring man. And I must confess to loving you more deeply than I have been able to reconcile.”

“You have been fighting it.” He surmises, not surprised by that. There have been moments where he could see your guilt at being apart from Raeden for so long. Times where he had almost sent you to the other man to cast away the unease in your eyes.

"Are you upset with me for doing so?" That is the furthest thing from what you want, but you would understand it. Understand that he was hurt or disappointed by his wife fighting against falling in love with him.

“Why would it upset me?” He asks you, tilting his head curiously. “You have freely admitted that you are not like Ellaria or I, sharing the ease of our physical affections. Why would emotions be any different?” It’s reasonable and rational, and he’s surprised that you think he would not understand your internal conflict. “The only upset that I harbor is that you have been upset by it. Even if it was passing moments.”

"You have changed my life in so many ways," you admit quietly, leaning your head once more on his shoulder to have him close. "I think I had no idea just how many changes you would make simply by being at my side. Or by allowing me to be at yours."

“I only allow you to take your rightful place as my Princess.” He teases with a smile as he wraps his arm around you. “You have been the one doing all the work.”

"It was no work to fall in love with you." For better or for worse, it is the truth. And a truth you will no longer be hiding.

“You have been working.” He hums. “Working to make sure that your lover is safe, that my lover’s feelings are respected.” He rubs your arm. “Working to become the woman you are meant to be.”

“I only hope that it is someone you can all be proud of.” If you can accomplish that, you reason, it will have been worth every ounce of effort. Their happiness and comfort is everything to you. Your two soulmates, and fascinating, intimidating Ellaria.

“Two soulmates.” He muses, shaking his head. “I am already proud of you, Star.” He promises. “Never doubt that.”

“Though I am not sure why, I will wear it proudly.” Turning your head, you place a kiss on his shoulder before another sigh escapes you. “We should tell them in the morning. I do not like the idea of keeping secrets.”

“Hmmmm, you don’t?” He asks lazily, kissing your shoulder. “Perhaps we should sit with it another day or so. Find some answers to our questions.”

“How can we?” He could distract a dragon from its gold with that mouth, and you have nowhere near the strength of a dragon. “The trial begins tomorrow. We will not have time to go to the Citadel.”

“Perhaps you could go after the break for the noon meal.” Oberyn is well aware that there will be plenty of breaks for the whims of the lords, and this is important. “You can take Cal with you.”

“What should I be looking for?” The idea of keeping secrets from Raeden and Ellaria bothers you more than you can say, but Oberyn seems resolute — and he usually has good reason for the things that he does.

“See if there is anything written on two soulmates.” He instructs you, knowing your studious mind would quickly absorb the information if it was to be found. “When you arrive, seek out the maester that married us. Do you remember his name?”

“Rhodestone.” The man will forever be an important and anxious memory for you, so you have not forgotten.

He nods in approval and kisses your shoulder again. “Good girl. Tell him that I want to you to have access to every tome on soulmates they have.”

“And I will bring back any findings to you…before we inform our soulmates?” He must have a reason for wanting it done this way, you just wish he would share it with you.

“That seems the best way to present it. Would you not agree?” His eyes slide up to yours and he waits for your honest opinion.

“I suppose I simply do not like secrets,” you admit with a small shrug of your shoulders. “But I can see the virtue in doing research first.”

He hums in agreement. “If you truly wish to tell them, I will not stop you.”

“I would not interrupt them now.” The sounds of their pleasure bleed through the wall and you are only confused – and slightly deflated – by the fact that they did not come to see what had happened when you screamed. “I will think on it again in the morning.”

“I wonder why I did not feel your marks.” He grunts, squeezing you close again since you gave him the answer he wanted before he stands back up. “Do you wish to wash up? Or simply stay in the bed?”

“It would be self-flattery to suggest you did not feel them out of some kind of worry about me.” Even knowing you share the same feelings for each other - knowing the gods have declared you soulmates - you cannot imagine thinking that well of yourself in any way and you slip backward under the bedclothes in answer to his question. “It is likely the immunity of a soldier. Pain does not bother you the way it bothers others.”

“No,” he shakes his head as he moves towards the wine. Determined to get you that cup. “I was concerned with what was happening to you. I feared that I had injured you.”

“With your cock?” The idea almost makes you snort, and in holding it in, you end up smirking at him. “I confess I would never have considered that a possibility.”

He could say something crass or revolting, but he reminds himself that you are very innocent in many ways. He purses his lips at you in a pout. “What else was I to believe? It is not as if I expected you to suddenly gain my scars.” He slides into bed with you, not spilling a drop of the wine and kisses the closest scar that is also on his body.

“No one could have expected it.” His warm breath on your skin is as welcome as the wine and you sip it gratefully.

“Does it upset you to carry my marks?” He asks curiously. Eager to know your thoughts on bearing his and Raeden’s scars on your body. “Does it make you feel disloyal to your lover?”

“I thought it made me disloyal to…to fall in love with you…” you admit, leaning back against the bedhead and contemplating him carefully. “But it seems that I am meant to share my heart as I share my bed. There is no loss here, as I feared there would inevitably be. Only gain.”

He nods slowly and sighs softly. “I know there are a lot of challenges in our situation, but I want you to know that you are free to love whoever you wish. Share with me, of course, but your heart is your own.

“It is not something that comes easily to me, but as you say…once it has blossomed it is endless.” The wine in your hand is helpful for steadying your nerves, but gratefully it is watered down. A clear head is necessary here. “I have wondered for some years if I loved Brynna, and the wondering is why I am not so certain. With Raeden, and with you? It is like an unquenchable fire.”

“There are many types of love.” Oberyn reminds you. “The innocent first loves are there to remind you of something pure. Even if it was fleeting.” You have not had time or space to allow for you to experience such a thing. Girls being held to a vastly different standard than boys in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Perhaps it was innocent and pure, then.” That would be a comfort. That though it was secret and felt terribly wrong, it was nothing of the sort. “It would be nice to think of her that way.”

“You should.” He encourages you. “You have such a capacity for love, Star. I would be surprised if you don’t recall your time with your Brynna with tender affection.”

“I can only hope that Raeden takes the discovery with half as much grace as you have.” That is where your worry lies now, though you cannot imagine what he will actually say either way.

“I think he will not cause you any grief.” He predicts. “He will accept it.”

“Do you think Ellaria will be as accepting?” It does not, after all, only affect you.

“Ellaria will understand why such a thing happens.” He muses, rocking his jaw in contemplation.

“You are always so certain of everything.” As though you could absorb some of his assuredness, you lay your head on his chest when he puts his arms around you. “I envy that.”

“You do?” He hums thoughtfully and smirks as he rubs your back. “I shall teach you how to be certain, love.”

"There is plenty to envy about you." To hear him call you love is a bright and shining moment of goodness that you had not looked for, but it washes over you with joy. "At least I need not envy anyone for being close to you."

“No, I imagine a perfect world would be sleeping beside both of my soulmates.” He chuckles. “Lavishing you both with attention.”

"You would need a very big bed," you laugh softly at the idea, trying to assemble the visual in your mind. "I would want both of my soulmates there, as well."

“Much bigger than this.” He scoffs, indicating the bed you are in. There wouldn’t be much room for a child if one had a bad dream with the two of you in it, let alone two other adults. “We will have to have one made for our chambers in Sunspear.”

"How wonderfully luxurious." Conjuring the image for yourself makes you hum and turn your head to smile at him. "A four-person bed. Can you imagine?"

“I can.” He chuckles again. “Rolling over and deciding who I am going to fuck is a delightful image.”

"I believe that might even be your dream." You cannot help but tease him, enjoying the sound of his laugh immensely.

“Would it not be a dream?” He asks you, cocking a brow up in challenge. “Turning over to mount my cock, or turn the other way to swallow your lovers? Perhaps ignoring both of us to find pleasure with Ellaria. Letting me wake to your combined sweet moans.”

Wanting to be as confident or as bold as he might be, you straighten your spine and smirk back at him. "I think if you woke to our shared moans, it would not take long for you to impale one of us on your cock."

“Perhaps.” He enjoys the confidence in your smile and winks at you. “Or perhaps I will make your Raeden moan louder.” He teases.

"A competition." It makes you actually laugh, even if it is just an amused little chuckle. "That would be very like you both, I think."

“He will be very competitive.” Oberyn predicts with a grin.

"I think you have that effect on people." Still grinning, you lean over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We should sleep, love. Tomorrow is sure to be a trying day."

He snorts in amusement. “Yes it will be, Star.” He agrees. “A trying trial, certainly.”

"I had not even--" The pun had not crossed your mind and you roll your eyes at him with doting affection. "You are teasing me."

“I am.” His nose nudges yours and he kisses you one last time. “Sleep star, we will see where fate takes us in the morning.”

******

Unfortunately, Fate sees you sleeping in, in the morning. Instead of lazily making love again before , you and Oberyn are up and dressing as soon as Leyth and Cal reappear. Apparently you had been impossible to wake an hour ago when they first tried.

“Sit with Raeden.” Oberyn instructs you, reaching up and caressing your cheek. “Make sure that you do not reveal what you are thinking on your face. Act aloof and almost disinterested.”

"Am I still to go to the Citadel during the break?" Provided that Maester Rhodestone will be willing to help you, the idea of trying to find a book - or several books - about soulmates is enticing in the light of day.

“Yes.” He would go himself, but there is no way to delay the trial. “Find what you can.”

"I will find out everything I can." You give him a firm, lingering kiss before his brisk exit from your chamber, knowing that he has to be to the trial early before spectators and all manner of other attendees arrive. Dressed in one of your more modest Northern gowns that will cover all of the new marks you have gained, you add the necklace he gave you the morning of the royal wedding and make sure both of your rings are in place before knocking gently on the chamber door where Raeden and Ellaria are starting to move about.

When the door opens, Ellaria breezes out, completely dressed “Star, you look positively radiant this morning. Oberyn must have planted his seed deep.”

"We slept late this morning." Is this excuse you give, finding it hard to look her in the eye with the secret of last night's truths weighing heavily on your shoulders. "But you look more stunning than ever. I trust you slept well?"

“Like a baby cosseted in silk.” She assures you with a smile as she comes over to cup your cheeks and kiss your lips. “I must thank you for allowing me to spend time with Raeden.”

"As I must thank you for allowing me to spend time with Oberyn." It does not matter that both men are now your soulmates, what matters is that the four of you have struck a balance that works for everyone. Which, right now, you are not sure Oberyn would agree with.

“You are planning to go to the trial, yes?” She asks, having no interest herself but encouraging you if that is your wish.

"I promised Margaery." Otherwise you would now be spending the entire day with Maester Rhodestone, scouring the Citadel for your necessary research. "In fact...I was hoping to ask Raeden to sit with me during the proceedings."

“Lover!” Ellaria calls over her shoulder before she beams at you. “I know he will be pleased to spend time with you.”

"I have missed him," you admit with a slightly sheepish sigh.

“I have been selfish.” She hums. “Keeping your lover for myself.” She pouts slightly and there is a flash of something in her eyes. “I am sorry, Princess.”

"I could have asked at any time." But you had not, and your growing bond with your husband has now resulted in something miraculous. So you press a kiss to her lips and offer her a sincere smile. "I am glad that you have found such affection for each other. It makes our intertwined lives far more enjoyable."

“Yes.” A cloud of doubt passes over her face before a pleased smile chases it away. “I am sure we will be well pleased with our arrangement. Nothing to worry about.”

"There is not anything to worry about," you murmur your agreement with a nod. "Enjoy your day far away from the trial, Ellaria. I am sure we will all much rather hear about how you spend your time than discuss the proceedings over supper tonight."

“I am certain I will have a much more entertaining time than you.” She reaches up and squeezes your shoulders affectionately and gives you one last smile as Raeden steps out of ‘their’ bedroom.

Ellaria slips away with a mysterious smile and you turn to the towering man who has been so familiar to you for years. "Good morning, my love." He is that, no matter who else might also live in your heart, and this morning you find yourself sure of it rather than afraid as you had been last night.

“Good morning.” Raeden’s smile is rather sheepish and he reaches out to pull you against him, still in awe of the fact that he can do so without worry. “Did you sleep well, my love?”

“I did.” You tilt your head back to smile up at him and silently ask for a kiss. “Did you?”

“Should I feel guilty if I say I did?” He asks with an amused twist to his lips. He rubs his hands up your arms and stares into your eyes softly.

“Of course not.” Such a motion makes you frown and you shake your head. “In fact I far prefer for you to sleep well. No matter who you share your bed with. If you had not, I would be asking Ellaria why.”

The nagging guilt eases and he flashes you a small smile. “I have no doubt that you sleep well in the Prince’s bed.” He muses. “After he has worn you out and filled you with his seed.” The jealousy of knowing you must carry Oberyn’s child before his own is nothing but a small twinge and he would never voice it out loud. Too aware of everything the man has given him already.

“I will bear one for him and one for you, and the rest for whichever the gods decree,” you hum, seeming to read his mind. Your connection has always been a very deep one. “But I am afraid I have a favor to ask of you, my love. If that is acceptable?”

“Anything in my power to give you is yours. You know this.” He reminds you, although now he has a chance of giving you more than his loyalty.

“I had hoped to coax you to sit with me during the trial.” It sounds like such a small, silly thing, but it means so much to you. “Years of hiding or affection can be over, if we want it to be. But all I wish for is the comfort of your presence.”

“I would be honored to sit beside the Princess of Dorne, but more importantly, my soulmate.” Raeden straightens proudly and nods. “I am to sit with the other lords.”

“I see nothing wrong with a Princess of Dorne sitting to observe with the lords of her country. You will do your duty as a Head of House and we will have the luxury of each other’s company.” He is so utterly proud to be elevated and recognized for his noble blood and you grin to see him preening. “You deserve this place, my love. Oberyn bestowed it upon you because he saw that right away.”

“I hope so.” He has been worried that it is because he is your soulmate, or worse, because the prince wants to fuck him. Hoping to earn the title that has been bestowed upon him. “It is vastly different from being your guard.”

“I hope it is a good change, and not one that brought you cause for worry?” The last thing you want is to make his life harder, but you also know that this change is something he has desired for a long time. For perhaps his entire life.

“It is very good.” He nods and smiles at you. “I cannot describe it, my love, but I feel….free.” There had not been the mistrust amongst the Dornish lords that he might have faced in the Vale. He knows that it is a good thing for him and is looking forward to establishing his house.

“Then I hope you embrace it fully.” The fact that you feel very much the same is not lost on you - now is the fact that it was the marriage you were sold into that has provided such freedom. For more, you simply reach up to kiss him again. “Your happiness has always been of the utmost importance to me, and that has not changed.”

“You are happy?” His own eyes turn searching, wanting to make sure you are not merely putting on a show for him. He knows the intrigue of the prince, his magnetism is hard to deny, but he wants to make sure that you are truly happy.

"I am." You can feel the way it lightens you from the inside, your heart swelling in your chest with love and pride. The way that new love seems to make you stand taller and smile more easily just the way it had when you fell in love with Raeden. You put both hands on his chest and lean into his warmth, letting it envelope you. "I honestly think I may not ever become used to the title, but I am happy with this life."

“If anyone deserves the title of ‘Princess’ it is you, my love.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “You are kind and gentle, loyal and just. You were a princess to me before you married your husband.”

"I think perhaps you were a little biased, beloved." Still, it is relieving to have such a gentle moment with him, and teasing him does not keep you from savoring it as you nuzzle into his touch. "If it were not so important that we leave our rooms today, I might simply pull you into bed with me never to leave again."

“It is a shame.” Raeden groans quietly as he leans in and kisses your jaw. “I fear I have been negligent in making sure that you know that I still desire you so much I ache with it.”

“Stay with me tonight.” It’s almost a plea, as you tilt your head to let him touch and taste any part of you that he pleases. Every thought but him has left your mind completely.

A small fissure of something akin to fear races across Raeden’s face, almost imperceptible but he nods. “It might be late.” He warns you. “I know the council will want to convene after the first day.”

"I cannot find it in me to care," you admit, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "It will be a treasure to sleep against you and wake up beside you."

“Do not try to burn the candles and stay awake.” He urges you with a smile. “I shall sneak into your bed like a thief and pretend that I must keep you quiet.”

"It sounds far more appealing when it is a game, and not a matter of life or death against my parents' will." Something which had been the entire truth not too long ago. "Promise to wake me, my love. That is all I ask."

“Of course I will.” Despite his concerns, he craves the closeness of your body to his. The reassurance of your kisses and love. “Now we must hurry.”

******

There is nothing less desirable in the entire world than sitting through this trial, but you have not flinched all morning. Oberyn bid you to steel yourself and you have, sitting firm in your seat with Raeden beside you and envying Ellaria's ability to be absent from the proceedings. The only thing that saves you from complete and absolute misery is the call to break for the midday meal. When that break is agreed upon you squeeze Raeden's hand in yours and offer him a weak smile. "I think I need a walk," you murmur, knowing that the fresh air will do you a world of good as you make your way to the Citadel.

Raeden frowns and he bites his lip. “If you need to stray too far, go back and take Cal or Leyth with you.” He insists, wishing he could go himself, but he will be required to converse with Oberyn and stand by him in the talks that are inevitable to come.

"I will stay safe, I promise." The Citadel is not far, thankfully, and you can make the walk on your own. "Will you be alright with Oberyn while I walk?" Given that it was your husband's idea for you to journey out, you know he will not object, but you still want to make sure that Raeden is not too uncomfortable from the morning.

“Yes.” He frowns slightly. “I just wish you had someone with you.” He grumbles, having taken Oberyn’s warning about your safety seriously.

“Will it comfort you if I take Cal?” You will lose time because of it, but not much. His ability to trust you are safe and not be distracted with worry is more important.

His eyes slide past you to where Oberyn is beckoning him. “Does your husband know?” He asks and you nod, because he does know of your plan. “Then I trust his judgment. Go, my love and keep your dagger close.”

"I promise." With a nod and a reassuring smile, you head through the halls of the keep with a confident stride. There is only so much time before the trial will reconvene and you will be expected to return. You must make good use of your time.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand x male OC #Ellaria Sand x female reader #Ellaria Sand #female reader x m!OC #female reader #male OC #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #polyamory #arranged marriage

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yuri-is-online · 2 months

Note

Sorry if this ask makes absolutely no sense I just need you to know the absolute emotion I feel because of this Ayuu.

I need you to know just . how close to tears I am . I just reread your Azul meeting his Yutu and I am. IM CRYING. THE “Your daddy’s here” IS TAKING ME OUT AND SHOOTING ME DEAD . IM GENUINELY TEARING UP. I think I’ve read every part so far twice over, barring the Yuu specific ones cause they Hurt Me. Speaking of hurt, Deuce!Yutu and Riddle!Yutu hurt me so so bad . All of the Yutus do, but they’re the ones that just came to mind rn and it’s so so sad. Especially Riddle! Yutu because he hates his dad :( Idek why I might’ve blocked out why LMAO,,, I love all the Heartslabyul characters and their kids it makes me cry. Especially Trey. He’s such a weirdly domestic freak that the idea of him being denied the family life he’s always been content with is so so sad. ALL OF THEM . THEY MAKE ME SO SAD BECAUSE THEY WANT TO BE WITH YUU!! They want to be with Yuu, and most of them are obviously happy to have a kid, but to know that that’s been taken away from you by circumstances that are literally destroying the world you live and love in? Yeah. That’s Rough!!

I would love to see Jamil!Yutu and how Jamil reacts to his child feeling guilt for something he never did, was never responsible for, and again has to suffer through because of the family theirs has been forced to serve. I think he’d be so mad, so so mad this boy has grown up thinking he’s the biggest blight of his father’s life, the cause of his death, when in reality he’s probably someone Original Timeline! Jamil would have cherished.

I LOVE YOU RUGGIE BUCCHI!!! Sorry I needed to cry that out this made me love him so much more!!! And Rook!! I love you Rook Hunt you weirdo. Ruggie being like “Idrk what to do… but I can bug Leona about it” is so so real. Him not caring if his son is charismatic as long as he knows his cards and is able to survive. Rook as a phantom is genuinely breaking my heart idk why. All of the phantoms break my heart. I don’t want to imagine anything abt them if I do because if I imagine them having even a fraction of sentience I’m heartbroken. Imagine being unable to prevent something from possessing you. Imagine your body and soul being used to tear your home apart— imagine seeing any of that through your own eyes. Imagine seeing your own kid after years of thinking them missing. I would genuinely not be able to handle that. It’s giving the Last of Us zombies where they’re completely aware and conscious throughout the first phase. Scared . Heartbroken .

Anyways, this au is 100000/10 I need you to know this. YOUR MIND IS SO SO BRILLIANT!!! I’m probably gonna keep rereading everything you’ve written so far about it because I’m having so many brain worms . So so many. Sorry for this ramble!! Please ignore this ask if for any reason I might have said something you didn’t like >:]]]] I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL YEAR!!!!

;-; ty so much for your kind words anon I am injecting them into my veins to continue writing. You have said nothing wrong, rambles are nice to receive, though my ask box is a bit cluttered at the moment and I am super busy so getting to things in a timely manner is not something I am able to do.

Riddle! Yutu was the first one to get a post, and I am tempted to re do it as I was still figuring out the format. He hates his dad because he wasn't there for him when he was a child and he doesn't know why. In the good timeline he's something of a daddy's boy; he really wants Riddle to be proud of and praise him

After I finish editing the second part of Rook's post you will be pleased to know the next post is about Jamil. I'm still formulating the outline of it because I've been thinking some thoughts about stars and unique magics

The way I write the phantoms they posses the instincts of their former selves but the individual lacks the input you might associate with consciousness. I'll get more into it in the second half of Rook's post... but there is a degree of awareness of their actions.

There's a lot of tragedy in this ayuu, I'm glad I'm hitting my stride with it c: it's nice to know people are liking it

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au

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can-ya-guess-my-curent-obsession · 1 year

Text

L- Lost: /Losing their S/O in a crowd/

A/N: nothing much to say- besides I think I wrote to much for 2d's

Request: open

Edited: no

Pairing: The band x GN!reader

This is apart of my crack alphabet

Tw: Panic, Murdoc acts a bit toxic(and it's not ok don't let people treat you like that), idk if i missed something

°•□•°•□•°•♡•°•□•°•□•°•♡•°•□•°•□•°•♡•°

-Bold of you to assume 2D wasn't the one getting lost

-It take's 2D a hot minute to realize S/O wasn't even there anymore

-At first he wouldn't realize it, so he would go about walking around doing whatever you two were doing- when he realized you two aren't holding hands anymore, so he looks back to go grab your hand when he realized S/O wasn't there

-Like Murdoc he comes to a freeze- as the info that his S/O is now gone sets it

-2D snaps back to reality when someone accidently bumps into him

-"oh- sorry didn't mean to-" the stranger was cut off by 2D's unintelligible panic talk before 2D scrambled away leaving the stranger confused

-2D would scramble all over the place looking for S/O panicked, to anyone who was looking from an outside perspective would be sincerely confused- I mean he doesn't look crazy or anything but he looks very lost

-And especially if you guys are on tour in a unfamiliar country or place for the first time

-Because if so- he's panicking get's worse

-Eventually he sees someone with a phone- and the realization that he should check his phone

-2D sighs in relief thinking that you probably sent him a text- in which you didn't and panic sets back in

-He spends the next half an hour looking for his S/O when 2D see's his S/O too busy looking at something to notice 2D

-2D stumbles over to S/O a bit winded and babbling about you being gone

-"Luv- where have you been-?" 2D said pulling you into a bone crushing embrace, "Why didn't you answer da' phone?"

-"oh sorry Stu... I got distracted, and my phone is dead so I couldn't answer any text-" you say as 2D still didn't let go

-After some reassuring hugs and a kiss and you two go back to whatever your doing- as 2D basically forgetting what just happened

-He panics a bit but stays in place

-At first he just waits their hopeing S/O wanders back but when two minutes has passed and no sign of you

-Murdocs next checks his messages, and he had zero from you

-So now he's stressed as hell, but he tries to keep calm

-And walks around casually like nothings wrong, while he's sweating bullets and his eyes are darting all over the place looking for you

-every few minutes Mudz takes out his phone checking for a message

-He eventually find you and jogs over to you and grabs S/O by the arm and starts to grumble out frustrated nags

-"The hell- have' ya been, I've been looking all over the fucking place-" Murdoc would snap at S/O, as he drags S/O back to the car

-"Jeez sorry- just got distracted..." S/O would respond

-"Well why didn't you answer yer fuck'en phone?"

"Uh... I left it at home..."

-Murdoc would face palm

- you two didn't get to finish the outing because murdoc was stressed and just wanted to go home and relax

-But the next day you two went back out but this time Murdoc kept his arms around S/O's waist or shoulders

-She looks around for a second before checking her phone to see if you texted her, and when she see's you didn't she would immediately start searching the area for you

-And Noodle finds you immediately- no joke, she take like a minute and then finds you

-"Hay S/O- where did you go?" Noodle said as she placed a hand on your shoulder as she walks up behind you

-"oh hey sorry Noods, I didn't realize I lost you..."

-Noodle accepted the apology and you two went about your outing but this time Noodle walked behind you to make sure you don't wander off

-The most rational out of all of them

-Like Noodle, Russel immediately checked his phone and sighed when he saw no texts

- He would calmly look around for you- it took like ten to thirty minutes to find S/O

-And when he found S/O he didn't ask any question, he just walks up to S/O puts a hand on their shoulder and says "Hey baby- come on we have things to do"

-"Oh- hey Rus look what i found.." S/O would point at the thing that distracted them

-"yeah yeah- lets go hon" Rus would hold your hand as you two go about your day- and he would look over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure you're still there

#gorillaz x reader #murdoc x reader #2d x reader #stuart pot x reader #noodle x reader #murdoc niccals #russel hobbs x reader #murdoc niccals x reader #russel x reader #gorillaz

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hummingbee-o0o · 1 month

Text

WIP Wednesday: IwtV edition 4

(I know I missed it, but shhh, let's pretend it's still Wednesday somewhere)

(from Picking Lint off the Sofa, chapter 2/2)

“So how did you meet?” Sarah asks carefully.

They look at each other for a second, Armand making a face, and Dad laughs a little awkwardly, and there’s such fondness there, such… Jesus Christ, Dad never looked at Mom like that. Which is fucked.

“We met in San Francisco some time ago,” Armand says, smiling. “And we recently reconnected in Dubai.”

“Wait, no,” Sarah says. “Hold on. Some time ago? Jesus, Dad, how long ago? How old is he? What the fuck? Oh my god…”

“Honey—”

“I’m thirty-five,” Armand cuts in smoothly.

They all stare at him for a moment.

“You must have one hell of a moisturising routine,” Lauren finally says sceptically.

He tips his head pleasantly. “I do.”

Right, so he’s half Dad’s age instead of a third. Sarah certainly has some mixed feelings about that, but… they look happy. Good for Dad (not that he deserves it) and good for the not-so-twinky twink. He sure got Dad to step up his fashion game, at least.

“Okay, any other questions?” Dad asks in his fucking who-wants-ice-cream voice.

“Yeah,” says Lauren petulantly. “Where are we on that pony you promised me when I was eight, so I’d go get my shots? A shit move, by the way.”

Dad sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I already said sorry, but you’re right, that was shit. So. I’m sorry. Again.”

Armand, by contrast, perks up. “Oh, you’d like a pony?” he asks brightly.

“Jesus Christ, Armand, please don’t,” Dad says, looking like he’s about to lose his mind, which is the closest emotionally Sarah has felt to her father in years.

(chapter 1/2 here)

#IwtV #WIP Wednesday #IwtV fic #armandaniel #Armand #Daniel Molloy #o0o writes

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apollowhoo · 22 days

Note

Yooo what’s upp???? Dude your writing is super gooddddd I was wondering if you could do an eldest daughter of Hades (born early 1900’s and got placed in Lotus Casino, and biologically older too)- and times with her little siblings bonding and growing close with her, like Bianca during the Titans Curse quest, Nico after the Labirynth after Bianca was gone and coming back to camp, and Hazel during the Argo II?(btw if you can can she be apart of the prophecy?)-

Sorry if it’s too long or specific, it’s fine if you want to edit it a little bit- Thank you so muchhh<3333

ELDEST DAUGHTER OF HADES!READER X BIANCA, NICO, HAZEL

omgg this is so interesting, love the idea!! Btw so sorry but i couldnt add the whole prophecy thing:((

The eldest daughter of Hades had lived through the chaos of the early 1900s, trying to survive a world at war, before her fate was stolen away. Trapped in the Lotus Casino, she was frozen in time as the decades slipped by. When she finally got out, the world she knew was gone and so were the people she’d loved. Alone in a strange new era, she found herself drawn to the one thing she still had: family.

Each sibling carrying their burdens, lost in their own way. As the eldest, she felt a deep responsibility to be the sister they needed, even when they didn’t realized it themselves.

Bianca’s Wish

Bianca was brave and strong-willed. When they met, the bond between them was immediate, unspoken yet undeniable. During the quest for Artemis, as they ventured into the unknown, Bianca was torn between her desire for independence and her need for family.

One night, while the others slept under the starry sky, Bianca found her sister sitting by the fire, eyes lost in distant memories. She approached quietly, her expression soft yet curious.

“Do you ever miss it?” Bianca asked, sitting down beside her. “The time you came from?”

The eldest daughter smiled, a bittersweet glint in her eyes. “Sometimes. It was a different world, Bianca. Simpler, but harder in many ways.” She paused, glancing at her little sister.

Bianca stared at the fire, her fingers playing with the zipper of her jacket. “I just… wish I could’ve grown up with you...maybe know you better.”

The eldest sister wrapped an arm around Bianca, pulling her close. “We’re here now, and that’s what matters. You, me, Nico—we’re family, no matter what.”

Bianca leaned into the embrace. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to relax, to trust that someone would be there to catch her if she fell. In that quiet moment, they was nobody; it was just them, finding solace in each other’s company.

Nico's Darkness

Bianca’s death broke Nico. It didn't matter how much time had passed. He was angry, lost, and consumed by a darkness that seemed to grow with each passing second. He pushed everyone away, including his eldest sister, who tried talking it out of him, knowing that she couldn’t force him to heal—he had to find his way back on his own.

But she never stopped trying. One evening at Camp Half-Blood, she sat by the campfire, strumming a tune on her guitar, a melody from her past that had no place in this world. Nico lingered in the shadows, unsure, his expression serious.

“Are you gonna stay there all night, or do you want to join me?” she called, not looking up from her playing.

Nico hesitated before finally slowly coming over and sitting beside her. They didn’t talk about Bianca—Nico wasn’t ready for that. Instead, she began telling him her old memories, half-truths and half-myths about Hades and the strange little moments that made him seem like a normal person then a god.

“He tried to cook once,” she said, grinning slightly at the memory. “It was terrible, of course. Burnt everything. But I’ve never seen him laugh so hard at himself.”

Nico snorted almost in a mocking way. But at the same time, a genuine smile was breaking through the sadness. “Dad? Laughing? That’s hard to imagine.”

The eldest sister gets a little serious “He’s different than you think, Nico. He’s not just the Lord of the Underworld. He’s… complicated. Just like us.”

They sat there for hours, sharing stories that they never told anyone else, all filled with a warmth that Nico had been missing since Bianca’s death. In those moments, he found a piece of himself that he thought was gone forever and he believed that he finally found someone who understood.

Hazel’s Struggle

Hazel Levesque was a wonder to her sister. A girl out of time, so strong yet burdened with the weight of two lives. On the Argo II, the eldest daughter watched Hazel with a mixture of pride and protectiveness, seeing so much of herself in the younger girl.

One afternoon, while the others were busy, Hazel was on deck, practicing her swordsmanship as always. Sweat dripped down her brow, her face set in concentration. But there was a hesitation in her movements, a slight uncertainty, almost like something was bothering her.

“You’re thinking too much,” her sister called, stepping forward. Hazel glanced up, her eyes wide, but she didn’t move. The eldest took the sword from Hazel’s hand, her movements fluid and graceful as she demonstrated.

“Feel it,” she said, her voice encouraging. “You’ve got power, Hazel. You just need to trust it.”

Hazel watched carefully. When she tried again, her sister guiding her hands, it was different. She moved with much more confidence, and for the first time, she felt in control.

Afterward, they sat together, the ship rocking slightly beneath them. Hazel rested her head on her sister’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “I never thought I’d actually have this. Family. A sister.”

The eldest grins slightly, this was all too familiar to her. She wraps her arm around Hazel. “You’ve got us now. Forever. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

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khruschevshoe · 10 months

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Jim and Oluwande got the worst end of the deal. I'd even say they regressed as both characters and partners and anything they had built up in s1 was almost completely stripped away from them. The way they're portrayed together and apart in s2 is not only unlike the characters we saw in s1, but their rich storyline was reduced to extreme side characters used only as plot devices in a way they absolutely did not have to be used. I LOVED them in s1, and I was so disappointed by what s2 did to them and their potential growth, which I think applies to pretty much everything in s2, not only them.

Mind if I piggyback of this ask to go into all my critiques of the handling of Jim/Olu in Season 2? Thanks!

OFMD Critique: Tealoranges, Dropped Storylines, and Wasted Potential

God, the issues I have with the writing of Season 2 extend in so many directions. Jim's character, I felt, was well-handled for at least the first two episodes but then slowly starts skewing wrong as early as episode 3 (I am still chewing glass over the way their reunion scene with Oluwande was written- or, rather, NOT written). Episode 4 was good, but everything after that? Someone said that Jim in the back half of the season feels more like Vico than Jim, and though I do love and appreciate Vico, it's completely true. Jim doesn't feel like the same character we've come to know, whether from Season 1 or even what is set up in early season 2.

And yet, I STILL feel like they're written better than Olu, if you can believe it? So, I haven't talked about this much, but I feel like Olu is done dirty from almost the moment he is introduced in Season 2. At least Jim (through editing alone, but hey, we'll give the show the smallest benefit of the doubt) gets an acknowledgement that they miss Olu during that flashback sequences while they talk to Archie- Olu doesn't even get that. I read about a deleted scene that would have had Pete and Olu desperate to reunite with Lucius and Jim in episode 1 and I feel like that was DESPERATELY needed to make the Season 1 finale -> Season 2 jump make any sort of sense. I like Zheng, but for the love of God, her romance with Olu (which I had my own issues with for the disservice it does both their characters) is not worth destroying the tealoranges build up from Season 1. Just cut something from the first episode or one of the Zheng/Olu scenes from the second episode to make it make sense.

Then, moving onto later in the season- I've posted about how Olu and Jim deserved the grand, epic reunion otherwise 1x10 and everything set up with them in Season 1 doesn't make sense. Could the writers of the show have possibly redistributed some of the glorious cinematography from Ed and Stede over to Jim and Olu? All I need is one shot of their reunion (a proper, emotional one, not played for laughs or friendship or whatever) framed by the sun to parallel Ed and Stede's being framed by the moon and I would have been happy on that front.

And then later in the season...I was down for the poly elements if they could have been executed better. Fanfics have shown that the Archie plot could have been executed well. But the fact that Zheng is straight up NOT MENTIONED until 2x7 by Olu? And then Jim says that he's been pining for her the whole time? I'm sorry, but it doesn't compute. Show, don't tell. There's a reason why I'm down for Jim/Archie/Olu (if executed well), but can't see Zheng/Olu at all.

But of course, 2x7 comes along and we get the "family who fucked" line. And the implication that Olu could have ever left the Revenge without Jim, when in Season 1 he became a wreck because Jim left for A FEW DAYS, much less was FORCEFULLY SEPARATED from him for MONTHS. Then in the finale, at the lupete wedding, they were separated out, him with Zheng and them with Archie, and, well, at that point...I was tired. I'm not gonna lie. Because this wasn't questionable or problematic writing, it just fundamentally DIDN'T MAKE SENSE.

And this is just on a romantic relationship POV. I hated seeing Olu lose his leadership arc from Season 1 and his loyalty to Jim and his nuanced emotional level-headedness/sense of logic. Season 1 really felt like it was slowly building up the idea that the ideal Captain was neither Stede nor Blackbeard but someone a bit more rational, a bit more grounded, a bit more communicative with his crew- someone like Olu. And he gets shoved into the back in Season 2 and reduced to the guy who can't sort scrolls or know that the BOATS ON A MAP MATTER. He gets no influence on plot or major decisions when he was often the voice of reason in Season 1 (we all remember Lucius being a romantic voice of reason in Season 1, but rarely remember that Olu was a major supporting deciding factor in a number of decisions made on the Revenge).

And as for Jim, I wanted more exploration or even just acknowledgement of their trauma post episode-4. I wanted an actual organic continuation of their character arc post-vengeance quest and post-Blackbeard, not just them getting defined by "funny knife thrower with a girlfriend and an ex-boyfriend who they want to get with his crush." They were so much more than that, and it killed me to see the two people who were basically main character 3 and 4 in Season 1 get shoved aside for unneeded subplots about Ricky and Zheng or Gentlebeard's three separate breakups when Jim and Olu's plotline had so much more potential than any of that. They weren't just star-crossed lovers- they were a slow burn ship built of absolutely interesting, complicated, and well-developed characters who brought out the best in each other with a DEVASTATING midpoint to their arc and it honestly would have made a better season not just for them as characters, but for the show overall if someone had just realized that the parallels between a couple that fights and claws to stay together no matter what (tealoranges) and a main ship that was still figuring itself out (Gentlebeard) would have SLAPPED.

(I am now picturing a version of this season where instead of the Izzy fakeout death/Gentlebeard reunion in the beginning of the first episode, we get an Olu/Jim reunion in episode 3 to parallel whatever reunion the writers wanted to slap together for Stede/Ed. I would have actively cried over the Olu/Jim reunion and it would have drastically improved the season.)

#oluwande boodhari #jim jimenez #tealoranges #my asks #ofmd critical #ofmd season 2 #meta #analysis #jim x oluwande #jim x archie x oluwande #rant #just in case #garlicule rides again

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whimsicalcotton · 2 months

Note

36 on the kiss meme?

36 - to give up control

you didn't give me a particular ship so i'm gonna take the liberty of providing myself w more apf because i. am insatiable.

^^^ that's what i said before i started writing and then i got lost in the amberfield sauce. like actually idk what came over me but i straight up just wrote 4.5k of pointless/shameless rachel&max flirting and then took Several days to edit it. sorry? sorry.

--- --- ---

Max Caulfield likes to be sure of herself before she tries something.

Like, super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure. It's caused some problems over the years, and maybe everyone else finds it somewhat irksome, but she needs at least some degree of certainty if she has any hope of working past that initial burst of anxiety that so often arises at the mere thought of doing something unfamiliar. So she tends to stick to the sidelines. Asking a lot of questions she hardly puts to use, watching on as others are able to effortlessly do things she can scarcely bring herself to imagine.

Chloe's been helping her out with it. Or at least attempting to. Serving as the (mostly) gentle push Max needs to step out of her comfort zone, trying to teach her how to be a little more impulsive, but always remaining patient and reassuring when Max finds herself in over her head or chickening out.

And then there's Rachel.

Rachel helps in a… different way. Max thinks she overheard Chloe calling it, “throwing her to the wolves,” in a conversation that probably wasn't meant for her ears.

Whatever it is, it’s how Max finds herself in the blaring lights and veritable sea of drunken bodies known as a party. But it's fine. It's been fine. She’s just been hanging onto Chloe for dear life and trying to remember how to talk like a normal person whenever someone spoke to them. No biggie, no problem.

And then they lost Rachel. And Chloe's immediate response was, “Goddamnit, not again.” That definitely added a few points to the metaphorical uncertainty metre.

Though they still had fun off on their own for a bit. Chloe even mixed her one of those infamous red solo cup drinks, so she's getting a good grade in acting like a normal high-schooler tonight; something that is totally not weird of her to want and surprisingly difficult to achieve. It sort of helped and sort of made it worse that Chloe kept checking in with her every so often, looking at her like she was expecting Max to crack at any second.

Max misses the looks. She realizes it as she's wandering through yet another unfamiliar hallway, semi-frantically looking around whatever rooms she finds, having now lost both Rachel and Chloe. She doesn't know half the faces here, let alone names, so if anyone has to be looking at her she'd really, really prefer it be Chloe.

Alas, for the moment it's just a bunch of strangers’ gazes darting over to her every time she pokes her head into a room, searing into her skin even if only a momentary glance. Not to mention everything everywhere is so goddamn loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I don't know how anyone else's ears aren't bleeding loud. Even in rooms where the music is barely audible, there's chatting and laughing and a hundred conversations all happening at once. And don't even get her started on the lights downstairs.

She's just beginning to debate the merits of tearing her hair out over everything when she nearly crashes into yet another girl she doesn't know.

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, wincing at the sound of her voice. “M-My bad. I didn’t mean to.”

The stranger beams down at her. “Hey, no worries. I saw you come in with Rachel, didn't I?”

Max nods vigorously before realizing she probably looks ridiculous and uttering an, “Uhm, yeah,” in its place. “Have you seen her?”

“Looking for her, huh? Aren't we all. She's pretty slippery when she wants to be.” The stranger leans in to put an arm around Max's shoulder, and she goes rigid as a board under the touch. “Come with me, I think I saw her over this way not that long ago.”

“You think?” Max asks, half in earnest and half in reactionary grouchiness.

“Ooh, the puppy can bite,” answers the stranger, grinning at her with a hungry gleam in her eye. Max gulps. “Have a little faith in me. I've partied with Rachel before, I know where she likes to hang out.”

Max can feel her face going red. Maybe those stupid bright colored lights could actually be helpful right now.

Thankfully the very touchy stranger does actually know what she's doing, and it doesn't take too much walking and weaving through the crowd to find a certain flannel-clad blonde. She's at the head of a table full of people playing cards, and Max has no idea what they're playing but it sure looks like Rachel is winning. She's got her signature big, bright, confident smile plastered across her face, and there's a pile of loose change, cigarettes, and joints off in her corner of the table; next to a small stack of empty solo cups.

“Hey, Rach,” the stranger calls over to her, one arm still wrapped around Max. “Is this your lost puppy I've found?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Max’s face goes hot and she isn't sure if all the ensuing smiles are genuine or mocking and she still doesn't even know the name of the girl draped over her and –

“Maxie!” Rachel's voice is just as bright and boisterous as her winner's grin, and she too has taken to Chloe’s habit of calling her almost every iteration of her name under the sun. But Max is sort of grateful for it right now. “C’mere and watch me wipe the floor with these guys. We're almost done with this game.”

The whole table grumbles in protest to Rachel's gloating, but Max doesn't need to be told twice. She ducks out of the stranger's grip and rushes to Rachel's side, half hidden behind her. She lets out a shakey sigh of relief, knowing there's at least a cap on her nerves now that she's near someone familiar. Usually Chloe is her designated safe person, but she's in no state to be picky, and next to Rachel feels about as safe as she can manage right now.

Rachel looks back to give her a softer, sweeter smile before turning to the girl who brought her here. “My puppy,” she snaps, in full seriousness. “Paws off.”

The girl holds her hands up in mock defense and gives Rachel a scoff, turning to leave.

“Sorry,” she tells Max in a laugh. “A girl's gotta stake her claim. She'd eat you up if I didn't.”

Max chokes on nothing. “She'd what?”

“You heard me,” Rachel answers, pulling some cards from her hand and dropping her offering of cigarettes into the new betting pool at the centre of the table without really paying attention, practically playing with her eyes closed. “You are absolutely fucking adorable, after all.”

Max short circuits for a minute while she tries to process the sentiment. A chorus of groans and grievances circle the table.

“Goddamnit, again?”

“What are you a fucking wizard?”

“C'mon, Rach, you're bleeding me dry here.”

“She barely even looked at her fucking cards! What the hell!”

Rachel answers them all with that dazzling smile, tone honeyed and blithe. “I can't help that Lady Luck favors me so.” She nods towards Max beside her. “Especially now that I have my good luck charm with me. Back out while you still can.”

That's something about Rachel that Max can't help but admire. That damn silver tongue, effortlessly charming and always sharp enough to quip back with ease. She's somehow bolder when she's been drinking, if such a thing is even possible. So far Max has only ever dealt with the aftermath of drunk-Rachel, she's never actually been around to watch it in action. She can see why the girl is often considered the life of the party, bouncing from conversation to conversation without a hitch and still managing to make a show of shuffling the deck all the while.

“Where’s Chloe? Weren’t you guys sticking together?”

Max startles back to attention, still disoriented from being off on her own and maybe the slightest bit buzzed from what little she had to drink earlier. She finds Rachel staring up at her with those all too alluring hazel eyes of hers. Maybe Max doesn't mind her looking, either.

To say it's a struggle to get her voice working would be an understatement. “We were. And then we went looking for you and I– I got lost.”

Rachel hums as if considering a particularly tough equation. “Ah, I see, I see. Well, come sit with me for a bit. Chloe will find us eventually.”

Max raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?”

“Poor, sweet, Maximilian,” Rachel replies in her infamous Shakespearean drama voice. “Always so caught up in the pesky certainties of life. Sit, have a drink, see for yourself if I'm sure or not.”

When Max continues standing there staring at her like a very confused fish out of water, Rachel offers her best impersonation of Chloe by grinning like a great, joyful fool and moving to tug Max down into her lap. Both hands gripping her small waist, relishing in the startled little eep it earns her.

“C’mon, Caulfield. Live a little.” She drops her voice to a murmur, husky and low and so close to Max’s ear that she could probably nibble on it if she wanted to. Not that Max is thinking about that or anything. “You’ll be fine. I'll look after you, promise.”

Max shivers and she knows that Rachel can feel every second of it, that she's enjoying it. For a minute still she debates what to do, but as much as she wants to find Chloe, Max also doesn’t want to get up and risk losing track of Rachel again. Besides, she’s probably right. Chloe will find them eventually. She shouldn’t get so caught up in knowing every last detail ahead of time, that’s the whole point of why they brought her here. Like Rachel said, she should live a little.

So she takes in a breath of that jasmine perfume Rachel's so fond of, tries to relax in her hold, and asks what game they’re playing.

Rachel is all too happy to talk her through it as she deals everyone’s hand, putting an unequivocally silly amount of theatrics into her explanation, not that that stops everybody from hanging onto her every word. Even if most of them have undoubtedly heard the whole spiel before. Max then proceeds to watch her demolish everyone at another few rounds, midway through which someone brings them both a refill of something fruity and red.

“You made mine a double, right?” Rachel calls after them.

“They’re both doubles,” they answer with an enthusiastic thumbs up and a foolish grin, before disappearing back into the crowd outside.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel offers with a half bashful, half guilty expression. “Don't worry if you can't finish yours, I'll take it.” She pauses for a moment, laughs to herself. “Although it would be kinda fun to see you go wild for once.”

And Max, perhaps incentivized by all the physical affection or perhaps looking for a way to enjoy it without feeling like she's going to blow up, takes that as a challenge. “It's okay,” she assures, with far too much determination for her own good, a hamfisted plot to impress already forming in her mind. “I can handle it.”

First things first, she takes a massive gulp of whatever was just handed to her. Then, instead of whatever the hell she thought she was gonna do, she grimaces like she just swallowed a brick.

Rachel laughs, a brilliant, golden sound that serves as higher reward than Max could ever hope for. “Easy there, tiger,” she says, holding Max a little tighter, closer. “You’ve gotta pace yourself.”

“Sorry,” Max splutters in return. “I'm not used to this.”

“I can tell.” Rachel laughs again, this one slow and syrupy; eyes roaming Max’s face with reckless abandon. “Don’t worry, I think it's cute.”

“Jesus, get a room,” one of the boys at the table huffs. “I thought we were playing cards here.”

“I'm in one,” Rachel replies without missing a beat, delightfully glib and sounding far too proud of herself. “And I think you mean losing at cards here. Read ‘em and weep, fellas.”

She lays her cards out for everyone to see with decidedly cocky flair, all but basking in the latest bout of cursing her name to fly around the table. She offers Max a victory toast, giggling once more at the girl's sour expression and knocking back half of her own drink without even flinching. By the time Rachel actually comes out of a round empty handed, they've had so many victory toasts that Max can't remember just how long they've been here. Long enough that she's been able to arrange their hoard of treasure into several smaller piles. Long enough that the sensory onslaught she'd been so arduously fighting through feels a thousand miles away.

Drinking makes everything a little fuzzier, makes all the lights and sounds and staring a little more bearable. It also destroys her sense of time and makes her approximately a thousand percent more likely to say something stupid. But it's not all bad. She manages to crack a few jokes that have everyone laughing, and as the minutes march on and the drinks keep magically appearing beside her on the table, Max finds herself growing bolder.

“Looks like your hot streak is finally over,” someone says to Rachel as the round comes to end, slurring their words and leering over at her in premature triumph.

Max watches in equal parts concern and entertainment as Rachel swings her latest cup around a bit dangerously. “Hey, don't count me out just yet,” she huffs, sneaking a sip between sentences. “Max, quick, give me a kiss for good luck.”

And instead of questioning it, instead of stammering and getting all flustered, Max leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Which is bold by her standards. She's still a bit shy about kissing either of them, but especially Rachel. She's just so intimidatingly pretty, and nice, and way, way out of Max's league. Sometimes she still doesn't understand why Rachel was even willing to be in this little triangle relationship with her, let alone be the one to suggest it in the first place. But when a gift horse opens, you don't look it in the mouth. Or something like that.

And why not try and be a little brave for once? That's what all the liquid courage was for, after all.

But Rachel, as Max has often heard, is someone who isn't afraid to ask for more, more, more. Even as the alcohol robs her of some of her usual eloquence. “I meant tongue luck,” she says, complete with an admittedly adorable and endearingly earnest pout.

For a minute, the nervousness returns tenfold. A thousand worries and wonders swirl around her head and she can't help but think of all the eyes on them, all the pressure, all the ways she could mess this up. All the ways she could disappoint. If it's all just meant to be a joke and she's taking it way too seriously and getting herself worked up over nothing again.

But then she's looking at Rachel and Rachel's looking at her and Max is drunker than she's ever been and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, she doesn’t need to be sure of anything other than the fact that she’s the lucky one for getting to be so close to Rachel. Before she can talk herself out of it, Max takes the girl’s face in both hands and kisses her. Really kisses her, just barely sliding under the bar of full stop making out as she startles back when someone at the table cheers for them.

“I-Is that more what you had in mind?” She mumbles upon pulling away, fixing Rachel with a bashful, doe-eyed stare. She knows people must be staring again, but it’s fine. She can just look at Rachel and pretend no one else exists instead, let go of all her nerves and replace them with those sunny hazel eyes and that silky, honey-blonde hair.

And that's so, so goddamn easy it isn't even funny.

Rachel blinks back at her, momentarily dazed, before breaking out into an expression best described as the cat who got the cream. “Yeah,” she says, half breathless, moving to ruffle Max’s hair. “Good puppy.”

Max just keeps looking at her, for a moment or two, and then she feels her face going red again as it catches up to her, so she rushes to hide in Rachel’s shoulder. “That’s mean,” she whines, piteous and small, doing absolutely nothing to help her case. “That’s so mean.”

“Duly noted,” Rachel answers with a devious little hum, and Max can picture the way she’s grinning ear to ear at the new source of teasing material.

She reaches out over Max to grab her latest hand, and Max knows solely by the way Rachel's fingers dance along her waist that it's another good one. She tries to keep her drunken grin hidden from the silent tension of the rest of the table. The quiet won't last long, of course. Even without looking Max can count down to the oncoming clamor; four, three, two…

The person who'd been taunting Rachel a few minutes ago drops their cards down and heaves a melodramatic sigh, and the guy next to them lets out a cry of, “You fucking jinxed it, dude,” while giving them a playful shove.

“This is madness. This is actual madness.”

“So fucking unfair. Yo, can I get some of that tongue luck over here?”

Max winds up with a fresh lungful of jasmine as Rachel wraps a protective arm around her, threading her fingers through her hair. “Nope,” she answers in Max's stead. “No way. Didn't you hear me earlier? Mine.”

Max is learning a lot of things about herself tonight. Like how it's kind of exciting when Rachel gets territorial over her, or that the more she hears it the less she questions being likened to a puppy. Or that she apparently isn't above letting Rachel hold the cup to her lips and coax her into another victory sip after finding her own cup empty.

Oh, and according to one of the many strangers at the table she's, ‘so light of a lightweight she should win an award.’ Rachel agrees wholeheartedly and gives Max another pat on the head, which Max was too busy enjoying to really pay attention to what they were saying.

All in all a very educational evening.

“I think that’s it for you tonight,” Rachel says, finishing off the rest of her cup in one swig. Max almost shudders just watching her. “Chloe will probably have my head if I get you any more wasted.”

“She’s already gonna have your head.”

Max turns to face the source of the interruption, smiling like she's just laid eyes on the sun after a long dreary winter, but Rachel scoffs and remains oblivious.

“Says who?” she huffs, defensive and gloating. Everyone stares at the space behind her.

“Says me,” answers Chloe, arms crossed, leaning ominously over Rachel and donning an I'm so gonna kill you sort of grin. Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her. Her tone comes out sickly sweet and simmering with a hint of trouble just beneath. “And what have you two been up to while I was running around half the night wondering where the fuck you were?”

“Winning,” Max says, without a hint of irony. In fact she can’t help but to beam with pride as she proclaims, “I’m her good luck puppy.”

Chloe blinks down at her once, twice, and then moves to pull Max up into a hug. Max hums contentedly to herself. She really is the lucky one, having not just one but two girlfriends tossing her around like a hot potato. Oh yeah, this is the life.

“There, there,” Chloe assures, probably meant in jest but Max soaks it up as if it were genuine, leaning up into Chloe's touch as the girl pets her hair. “What's reckless ol’ Rachel got done to you, huh?”

Rachel gasps in melodramatic mock offense. “What have I done? You wound me, good sir.”

“You got Max drunk.”

“Well, you lost her.”

“Not on purpose,” Chloe snaps back. “Pretty big distinction there, Rach.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Max interrupts them with the utmost confidence, even as she finds her tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Ladies, ladies, please.” Both the words themselves and the hiccup that follows them are muffled in the fabric of Chloe’s jacket, but Max doesn't move. “There’s enough a’ me to go around.”

“Oh she's smashed. Jesus, Rach, you really are a bad influence.” Chloe's probably trying to tell her off, but the effect is greatly lessened by the fact that she's audibly covering up a laugh. “Max, Maxster, Maximilian, how are you doing? How much have you–”

“Rachel already used that one tonight,” Max notes, somehow coming in too late and too early at the same time.

“... had. That answers that question.” Chloe pulls back all of a sudden and Max scrambles not to tip over. “Wait, which one? First or second?”

“Second.”

“Ugh, what? C'mon, Rach, you know I've been saving that one.”

Rachel offers her best attempt at that snake-charmer’s smile, and Max finds herself thinking that she'd never be able win an argument against her. “Yeah, sorry, it just kinda slipped out. It is pretty good.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere now, Princess.” Chloe huffs back. “C'mon, up, both of you. I'm cuttin’ ya off.”

One of the guys lets out a cheer. “And my wallet is once again saved by the power of Rachel having a spousal dispute! Thanks, Price. You're a lifesaver.”

Rachel starts saying something about finally getting lucky only to have the competitive smirk wiped off her face by Chloe elbowing her in the side. Max dutifully gathers up the various little piles of Rachel's winnings and the two of them share a look as she hands them over. Though it must have been longer than just a glance, because the next thing Max knows Chloe is between them and has them both by the shirt collars like a pair of unruly kittens getting picked up by the scruff of the neck.

“Well, I’d better get Romeo and Juliet over here back home before they start fucking on the table–”

“Chloe,” Max sputters, having just enough remaining wherewithal to get flustered over such a remark.

Rachel does another one of those laughably dramatic gasps. “What kind of brute do you take me for?” She adds, far too nonchalantly, “I'd bring her to a room first. I'm not an animal.”

“Rachel,” Max squeaks, balking over at the girl with her face undoubtedly turning cherry red. Rachel offers only a drunkard’s smirk and a wink in return.

“ – And as you can see, I've got my hands full.” Chloe continues, barreling over them.

She lets them go and gives them both a pat on the back, trying to get them to start heading out but only succeeding in sending them stumbling into each other.

“Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘em for me,” she sighs. It's quickly replaced with a devilish smirk of her own as she reaches to give the guy a few rough pats on the shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for never learning your lesson when it comes to betting joints against Rachel. I'll be smoking good tonight, thanks to you.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He nods towards Rachel and Max, both of whom are not so subtly eyeing the setup for the next round. “Now get those two outta here before they find a way to win from halfway across the room.”

Chloe turns back to them. “Alright guys, you heard him. Time to scram.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Max says as they head for the door, giving Chloe a haphazard salute.

“Ooh, are we pirates?” Rachel asks, before nodding sagely in approval. “Hell yeah. Yeehaw.”

Chloe fights to form a sentence around the burst of laughter that follows. “That's cowboys, you dumbass. How much have you had?”

“A lot,” Max supplies, trying not to trip over herself as they step into the cool night air outside. “Like, twenty cups.”

“It wasn't twenty,” Rachel huffs. “More like a sensible seven. And jeez, way to tattle on me, Caulfield.”

Max blinks over at her. “Oh, sorry. Can I try again?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Chloe. “Rachel had a nice sensible seven drinks and there's nothing to worry about.” Then, she turns back over to Rachel with a thumbs up and a lopsided, optimistic grin; whispering as if Chloe isn't right next to them and listening to every word. “Was that better?”

“Perfect,” Rachel just barely manages to answer through a bout of giggling. “Thanks, Maxie.”

The sharp flick of a lighter draws both of their attention, and they find Chloe in the process of lighting up one of the joints she'd claimed as ‘drunk-sitter tax.’ They both watch a little too intently as she takes that first drag and lets it plume out into the dark. “Don't mind me,” she coughs. “I'm just tryna get on your guys’ level. You've got like one brain cell between you right now, I gotta get in on this shit if I'm gonna be the one dealing with it.”

“Do you want some tongue luck?” Max asks, too earnest for her own good. “For dealing with us?”

Chloe stops walking. “Do I want what?”

Max turns on her heel and closes their distance, reaching up to take gentle grip of Chloe's jacket. “Here,” she says, getting up on her tiptoes. “Let me show you.”

Chloe makes this cute little noise of surprise, muffled by Max's mouth over hers, and it only serves to spur the girl on. It doesn't take long for Chloe to melt into it however, unconsciously leaning towards Max as she pulls back, keen on continuing.

“Damn,” Chloe whispers, eyeing Max with a look of eagerness and wonder. “Drunk-Max has game.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agrees on the end of a smokey exhale, having nabbed the joint from Chloe's hand while she wasn't paying attention.

Max puffs up like an overexcited budgie trying to show off for its mate. “I can't help being so swaggy.”

For a minute, all is quiet.

“Aaaaand we're back to normal,” Chloe notes with a humorous sigh, while next to her Rachel breaks into a fit of contagious cackling.

Max merely smiles to herself, watching their faces light up as they chase each other in circles over the joint, listening as they calm halfway down only for one of them to start up again and drag the other into a fresh round of barely contained laughter. She may be playing more on the wild side than usual tonight, but she still finds herself sure — super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure – of one thing.

No amount of alcohol could compare to the rush and butterflies of making her girlfriends happy.

#amberpricefield #amberfield #i'll be honest this is the sorta fic that normally wouldn't see the light of day outside my gdocs but. you asked so you shall Receive shgfs #tho i'd be lying if i said i wasn't debating putting this up on ao3 #i just. i just think that max deserves to be a happy/silly drunk. let her have some Fun #also apf being adorable gay dumbasses my beloved <3 #nova writes #nova answers

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